


Little Talks

by Lena7142, MostFacinorous



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Body Dysphoria, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Chair Bondage, Depression, Discussion of Stockholm Syndrome, Disordered Eating, Fantastic Racism, Genderfluid Loki, Handcuffs, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Imprisonment, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized racism, Invasion of Privacy, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, M/M, Magical Medicine, Major Character Injury, Medical Torture, Mentions of Cancer, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Neglect, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Patricide, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Addiction, Self-Hatred, Sleep Deprivation, Torture, Warning: HYDRA, artwork
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 106
Words: 1,463,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena7142/pseuds/Lena7142, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Avengers Canon-Divergent.<br/>When Loki breaks into the Triskelion in search of the sceptre he'd left behind, he encounters trouble in the form of Steve Rogers and ends up in a SHIELD holding cell, while the good Captain attempts to figure out what to do with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a simple roleplay and soon spiraled out of control to the point that we actually wanted to share it with some folks, and managed to exceed the maximum number of characters allowed in a google document. The segmented style indicates the back and forth change in authors, with Lena writing Steve's POV and mostfacinorous writing Loki's. The title is inspired by the song by Of Monsters and Men.

** Little Talks **

 

_A Steve & Loki Roleplay_

 

 

 

The rush of stepping between worlds never got old, and the adrenaline that came along with it powered Loki through any nerves that might otherwise have manifested on his way into the lower branches of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s headquarters.

He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, the place only ever glimpsed through the eyes of others and accessible to him only through memories of memories. But it seemed to him that the more secret, the deeper these mortals were likely to bury it.

And so he made his way, as silently and innocuously as possibly, further down the spiraling labyrinth of heavy doors and sidestepped scanners.

Until he got stuck.

It was one thing to keep out of the way of trundling trolleys laden with who knew what, to follow people through doors opened for them, but where he intended to go there was no reason for casual access to be granted. He could hardly disguise himself as a maid, as he had in times past, in the halls of Odin. 

He thought quickly and passed behind a stack of technological equipment, which he expected would hide him from view while he turned himself from the bland human he’d been into the Captain he’d encountered during his erstwhile invasion. They seemed to listen to him. Surely he would have the power to access what Loki was after. 

He moved up to the door and pressed his eye to the scanner, unaware that blue eyes was not a specific enough illusion to fool their security, and that even now, warnings were sounding.

 

 

“Rogers, you’re gonna wanna come see this...”

Steve looked up from the mission summary he’d been leafing through to see that a red light was flashing in the corridor, indicating something was wrong. Across the table from him, Maria Hill was scowling at her console.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Security breach. Someone without access just tried to get into a containment floor set at level ten clearance.” Hill typed pointedly at her keyboard, all but punching the keys as her eyes flickered rapidly across the screen. 

Steve frowned, lowering the report in his hand. “Do we have a visual? Any idea who it is?” There had been a scare a few weeks back when a lost intern had ended up wandering into a secure server room and triggering the sensors, but Steve knew better than to count on a second false alarm. Though if an intruder had already breached the Triskelion and reached the lower containment levels without drawing notice--

“That’s the part you’re going to want to see,” Hill said, rotating her screen.

Steve stared at _himself_. Dressed in a slightly older iteration of his uniform -- the one he’d worn in New York, standing at the retinal scan beneath one of the security cameras.

He blinked. “Well that’s disconcerting.”

“I’m going to put out an alert, try to track the footage back to his point of entry and initialize protocol thirty-eight,” Hill muttered, typing fervently. “You should--”

Steve already had his shield in hand, snatching it up from where it had lain against the side of his chair. “What level was that again?”

Moments later he was in the elevator, biting down at the inside of his cheek as he tried unsuccessfully not to think about someone stealing his identity. Someone walking around, speaking to his allies, his colleagues, wearing his uniform and his face, while clearly up to no good. His hands balled into fists at his sides, then uncurled as he took a breath, watching the numbers on the screen drop. His doppelganger hadn’t done anything yet that they knew of. 

Steve intended to keep it that way.

The elevator doors whooshed open with a gentle ding that seemed unnaturally loud in the silent white hallway. Gripping his shield and tugging his cowl into place, Steve stepped out and looked each way. Seeing nothing, he began to move, keeping his strides long but his footfalls soft, shield raised in front of him--

\-- He then whirled around as something red, white and blue, caught the edge of his vision.

 

 

He turned as footfalls alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone, though he could hardly believe it was happenstance that brought the very man whose visage he’d donned to stand face to face with him. 

He supposed Stark had found some way of warning against his presence, or perhaps his shift had been observed after all. Whatever the case, he intended to play as though it was ever his intent to be caught. And if he did not turn back to himself, none of those who were sure to follow could be entirely sure which of them to train their weapons towards. Though, of course, the clothing they wore differed slightly. He frowned a little, taking in the details.

“Ah, Captain.” He spoke with a tone long wielded against courtiers he had no wish to speak with, the perfect razor’s edge blend of platitude and sneer. “So good of you to spare the time and come speak with me.” His eyes darted back the way the other had come in, then observed wryly, “And alone, no less.” He let his own smile twist the Captain’s features, an expression that would no doubt seem ill fitting on the other’s face. 

As he spoke, he began to enact a subtle shift, so that his wardrobe changed, hopefully not noticeably, to better reflect the Captain’s own. It would help if it came to a fight, though he hoped to slide his way out of this problem as he did with most others… through magic or words, or some combination thereof.

Rogers may be alone for now, but Loki did not count on that continuing to be the case.

“What a kind reception, how very civilized of you.” He finished, smiling brightly and daring him to say something to prove Loki wrong. 

It occurred to him, perhaps a little late, that being unsure what brought the man here meant he could not be sure whether he knew to whom he spoke or not. It would be entertaining to find out, though Loki was rather pressed for time, and a little concerned as to how he would escape now, buried so deep as he was.

 

 

Disconcerting.

The word didn’t even begin to cover it. 

Staring at, well,  himself , was frankly surreal. His double was nearly a mirror image, only none of his movements matched Steve’s own, causing a deeply troubling disconnect. He’d heard other soldiers and agents occasionally mention out-of-body experiences; Steve wondered if this was anything like what they meant, staring at one’s own form from the outside and having no authority over it.

It made his skin crawl. And that was before the other him spoke. The voice was his, but not -- a similar timbre and tone, but the words were too crisp, vaguely accented (European?) and just familiar enough to put his teeth on edge. And he was pretty sure he’d never twisted his face into that warped imitation of a smile.

“You know,” he began, keeping his voice low and even despite his profound unease, “You’re a pretty good imitator. I’m not sure whether to be more annoyed or flattered.” And was it just him, or was the uniform modifying itself to better mirror his own?  _Adaptive camouflage?_ He made a note of it in his mind as he scanned the doppelganger for imperfections and found him to be a staggeringly good copy. Except for the eyes. Something was off about the eyes...

And the voice that was his-but-not was so  _aggravatingly_  familiar.

“I don’t suppose in the name of being civilized, you’d be willing to tell me who you are and what you’re doing here?”

 

 

Loki grinned fully now, part of him enjoying this brief interaction, and part of him feeling the seconds ticking by like lowering bars to his cage. 

“Captain, I am positively  crushed  not to be remembered, but I’m afraid further civility will just have to wait until I can better be assured of not being interrupted. If you would be  _so kind_ …” He gestured behind him at the door he’d tried gaining access to. 

It was, of course, only a means of delaying the inevitable fight. But it seemed to him that with a larger group of people, perhaps he would be in luck, and the responders would be equipped with helmets, the likes of which would make for a good way of blending into a crowd. What fun, to slip in amongst the Captain’s army and report his own disappearance. 

Not unlike a childhood means of slipping past the palace guards, really. 

Much as he hated to call this a wash, he would have to rethink and research more before trying again. 

Unless… his mind whirring, he took a step forward, curious to see how the other would react.

 

 

Steve’s eyebrows lifted in disbelief as his double gestured toward the door. “If you think I’m letting you in there, you’re crazier than--”

_ That guy's brain is a bag full of cats. You can smell crazy on him. _

Banner’s words from months ago sprang unbidden to his mind, and it took him a moment of hesitation to recognize why. The twisted smirk. The velvety smooth intonation and crisp accent. The way he pronounced the word  ‘ _Captain_ ’  like it was a weapon. 

The eyes, which should have been deep blue-gray, but instead contained the faintest hint of green.

Steve inhaled sharply, but at that moment, two things happened. Distantly, he heard the grinding hum of the elevator descending, bringing with it back-up. And immediately, in front of him, his double took a step forward. Steve took a matching step back, almost stumbling in body as his mind reeled, swinging his shield up and in front of him to put his only weapon and defense between them .

 

 

 

The shield, he hadn’t counted on. He lifted his arms from his elbows, the final raising of his hands done with a sardonic flip. The multi-universal sign of harmlessness.

“Poor Captain-- I mean you no harm.” He told him frankly, voice pressed into a velveteen purr. 

He heard the approach of others, and in their final few seconds, he had to choose how to approach this. 

His mind danced as it identified potential problems. 

The shield was chief among them. He might be a good double, but with the shield, it was plain which Captain was the true one. He could summon a shield, but it would not stand up to any test that might be done to it. 

He could grab the Captain, press his eye to the scanner, and hope the reason his attempt had failed wasn’t because the Captain did not have access. That would likely involve dragging the Captain in deeper with him, but once he had the sceptre returned to him, he could ensorcell and enlist the Captain to the efforts of escape. 

He could block them off at the door, create a shield of his own to keep he and Rogers in a small bubble, but he couldn’t hold it indefinitely, and Loki had not come today prepared for a siege. 

Which left him with his best tool: his words. 

“Captain, do you know who I am?” He asked. “I have come only to reclaim what is mine, but if your men attack, there will be lives lost. It matters not to me, for your number may overwhelm me in the end, but no means of holding that your people possess will contain me, and once I have again slipped your grasp, their deaths will be for naught.”

 

 

Steve narrowed his eyes at his double’s raised hands and scoffed quietly at the claim of no harm. 

“Loki,” he growled from between gritted teeth. Because who else could it be? The archaic speech, the illusion, the sheer audacity... 

The thought of SHIELD agents -- even  _more_ SHIELD agents -- dead at Loki’s hand made Steve’s stomach twist. He remembered the bloodied Captain America trading cards cast on to the table after Coulson died, and how hard they’d fought to make the sacrifice worth it; to bring Loki down. And now he was back, and it would all just keep happening. 

“And how many lives lost if I give you what you want?” he challenged. He didn’t know what exactly was contained behind that door, but he knew damn well that SHIELD didn’t bury something this deep if it was harmless. ‘Reclaim what is mine’ Loki had said. The scepter? Or some other Asgardian artifact? More enslaved mind-zombies would hardly be a preferable alternative. 

“...Captain?”

Steve bit down on a curse as the presence of a heavy-booted ops team registered behind him. He risked a brief sidelong glance at the lead officer, who was looking in confusion between Steve and the illusion of Steve that Loki wore. The agents all had their weapons at the ready, but with muzzles lowered at they tried to figure out where they were supposed to be pointed. 

 

 

Loki trained his face into an expression more fitting for the Captain’s appearance, but he wiggled his fingers tauntingly, his palms now in place and aimed such that all he would have to do is gather his fingers together and twist his wrists. He tried to decide-- knives in their throats would not be a poor course. Quick and messy, but as painless as he could make it. At least his aim was exemplary. 

But he knew any small kernel of peace he had experienced in the Captain’s interactions today would be lost… though it occurred only after that that he had not even considered killing the Captain along with his men. Peculiar, and enough to give him pause. It meant his mind had recognized Rogers as useful, as something to be preserved. He would have to meditate on why and how-- as soon as he got out of this. 

He decided to play along, for now, answer the question and behave as though he were truly harmless. It wasn’t as though they could ever disarm him. A Loki secure in his power could be reckless, could be showy. He could afford to take risks, for the punishment for his returning to Thanos without his gift, his army defeated and lying, decomposing in some Midgardian field, would be far beyond any pain that may be granted him here.

“How many, Captain? None, today. That is as much as I can promise, but it is better than any alternative I might offer.” 

 

 

Steve ground his teeth together in frustration. It was an infuriating offer; he trusted Loki nowhere near as far as he could throw him, but at the same time, he knew what damage Loki could do -- would do -- and that his dreams would be haunted by the faces of agents whose deaths he  _might_ have prevented. Agents standing close, hovering with weapons half-raised and no idea of what kind of being stood before them.

“Stand down, Sergeant, and pull back two dozen paces,” Steve said, not taking his eyes off of Loki. And then, when the officer swallowed, looking unsure, he added: “Authorization code Delta-Niner-Tango-Seven.”

Fury would kill him for this. It was a risk, certainly, but if it paid off--

Steve glanced at the door mechanism. There were probably several more layers of security behind it if this was the first clearance point Loki had failed to access. Several more layers of security between Loki and what he wanted.

And once they were through, a good solid metal door between Loki and anyone he might choose to harm. Apart from Steve himself.

“Swear it,” Steve said quietly as he heard the soldiers begin to slowly creep back. “Swear it on--” he paused. Thor had sworn on his hammer before, and on the name of the Allfather, but those were things that held meaning for Thor. What mattered enough to Loki for it to give an oath sanctity? Steve pressed his lips together. “Swear it on your magic; you won’t hurt anyone here, and no one dies today.”

 

 

He could see the men shuffling behind the Captain, could sense their unease and the way they were still ready to spring into action. A single wrong move, a too-fast gesture, and Loki would find himself riddled with holes. 

Painful, obnoxious, and requiring healing time, but not fatal, unless they had progressed quite a bit since the last time he had been shot. 

He pondered the Captain’s demand, pursing his lips. He didn’t know-- how could he?-- that the magic didn’t belong to Loki to swear upon. The river was not property of the banks that contained it, guided it, shaped it. He could swear upon it, he supposed, but the best way for a lie to be believed is if it is sprinkled liberally among truths. And he had no reason to lie just yet. 

“I swear to you, on my freedom and my life, so long as I get what I came here for, neither you nor your men have anything to fear from me, unless you attack.” 

As an act of goodwill, he let the glamour he’d applied begin to drip away, the wash of golden light starting at the top of his head and moving downwards to reveal himself-- not as he truly was, of course, but as Rogers would expect him to be. No where in sight were the signs of hardships he’d encountered during his escape. Gone were the still healing scrapes that once were wounds. 

He had known he should have waited before making this attempt, but with each hour that passed weighing over him like an executioner’s blade, he couldn’t afford to coddle himself. 

And his pride was too great to allow his enemies to see him worn to the quick. Manipulative as it might be, perhaps gaining from people who professed to be good the barest traces of sympathy, the payoff was not worth the humiliation he would suffer in the process. 

He stood before them, regal and whole, his bearing proud and his hands still raised, a wary eye trained on the men who watched him. He heard their mutters-- and how good it was, to be known, to hear his name whispered in fear and not in disdain. Power did this. Power was what he yearned after, and here it was so freely granted to him, acknowledged by even those he had not touched with its wrath. It made him yet more sure of himself, more certain that no matter the odds, he would succeed. Especially now that Rogers seemed to waver on the brink of giving him exactly what he wanted.

 

 

It wasn’t the oath he’d asked for, but it sounded sincere enough nonetheless, which Steve supposed was the best he was likely to get. Not that he put much stock in the promise, but it made the tension in his shoulders ease just an iota. If they could just get through this without anyone dying or coming to harm, or Loki getting his hands on dangerous technology, the situation could be salvaged. 

Then Loki’s mask began to shimmer, a cascade of green-gold liquid light washing away the blues and whites, replacing them with gold and black. An extra inch or so of height, blonde hair lengthening and darkening. The disappearance, finally, of the strange cognitive disconnect of speaking to someone else wearing his face brought Steve a brief flicker of relief, which was summarily extinguished by the mutters of the agents behind him.

Oh hell.

Of course, none of them had yet guessed Loki’s identity. There had been an intruder in Captain America’s guise, who Cap had then talked to and extracted a promise of peace from, and that was all they knew. And now, suddenly, stood SHIELD enemy Number One, in all his flashy Asgardian glory. 

“It’s Loki!” Someone hissed unnecessarily. Weapons snapped back up, and the Sergeant’s face worked through a rapid succession of emotions before he lifted his radio. 

“Captain America has been compromised! Repeat, Hostile Number One is on the premises, Captain--”

“Dammit,” Steve cursed beneath his breath. Because Loki’s oath had only been on the condition that no one attacked, and if SHIELD assumed Steve had been brainwashed the way Barton had been, he’d be re-labeled as a hostile in a heartbeat.

There was no time to think or negotiate. Steve threw himself forward at the scanner, slamming his face into it and keeping his eye open, hoping the door would open before someone pulled a trigger.

 

 

He almost expected to be tackled to the ground when the Captain threw himself at him, but that seemed not to be the goal. Instead, he heard the sound of the scanner going and the door beginning to open.

But the Captain had left his back open to attack, and Loki did not count on his men refraining from firing, under the assumption that Loki already possessed the man’s mind. 

Falling back on an earlier plan, he erected a field that held just the two of them, floor to ceiling and barely fast enough to absorb the impact of the first hail of rounds. He was being true to his oath, thus far-- none would be harmed by the shield unless they ran into it, and even then he could not guarantee that it would last under such an onslaught. It was serving its purpose for the time being, however, buying precious moments as the door slid out of the way. 

“A zealous group you have there. You must be very proud.” He commented, strolling past and refusing to allow the Captain to see the strain that a shield of that size put on him. His control was firm, but so much of his energy had gone towards his escape from Asgard and healing himself that he knew he would likely run low before he could escape today. 

No matter. He could recharge his reserves while playing the role of a cooperative captive. He’d done it before. But he needed to get them beyond that door, needed to get it closed and get further in, so that he could drop this exhaustive construct.

“Come along, then. They already think you’ve been compromised, so you may as well make this as easy on the both of us as possible.” It was casual, but meant to hurry the process along.

He turned inside the doorway, taking in the tableau, the stricken face of Captain America, the faces of the SHIELD agents beyond his glimmering forcefield, the raindrop ripples as their weapons did nothing. It was all very gratifying, and he felt that, if nothing else, he had at least fulfilled his daily quota of mischief and chaos. 

 

Steve fought against the instinct to flinch and close his eyes when he heard the first gun bark loudly with its discharge, waiting until the laser had scanned his entire eyeball. Several more shots rang out and he braced himself against pain and impact, only to find they didn’t come. He stole a look over his shoulder and to his surprise, saw a gleaming shield between them and the agents firing, stopping the bullets before they could reach their targets.

Then the door hissed open and Loki strode through. Steve followed him quickly, slapping the console once he was through to return the door to its previous position. Gunfire continued to ring out, though now muffled by half a foot of solid steel. The acrid smell of gunpowder had wafted through with them though, tainting the air from which Steve drew a ragged and deep breath. 

“Yeah, well, someone went and gave them something to shoot at,” he grumbled, glancing around their new surroundings. This hall was dimmer, less finished, with a number of heavy bulkheads and doors leading off to other chambers, many with additional scanners and precautions. At least that gamble had paid off. And no one was dead.

There was the slight problem of being locked in here with a homicidal extraterrestrial deity while all of SHIELD thought he was compromised, but the death toll remained zero so far, largely thanks to Loki’s shielding spell.  _That_ had come as a surprise. He’d almost expected Loki to leap at the excuse for violence, or at the least leave Steve to a hail of bullets once the door was unlocked. Had it been a show of goodwill?

If so, said good will was probably going to run out imminently when Steve stopped cooperating. He clenched his jaw, then took another breath. “You’re here for the scepter, aren’t you?”

 

 

Loki studied the man, taking in the mulish set of his jaw. He’d seen that look before, when he’d first faced him one to one in a crowd of potential victims. He was determined, sure that he would not let Loki triumph. It would be entertaining, charming, even, were he not so pressed for time and drained of energy. 

 But at the moment lying would get him nowhere but further from his prize, and the longer he stayed, the higher his chances of sustaining further damage before the day was out.  

Liesmith he may be, but only when it served him.

“I am, yes.” He said, with a slight inclination of his head that spoke words he thought himself too polite to voice, something along the lines of the muscle bound lunk not being so dumb as appearances might suggest. He twisted his lips into a thin parody of a smile, hoping to disarm the other’s air of rigidity. 

It seemed the Captain was ready for, expecting, perhaps even hoping for a fight. Too bad for him, Loki was in no fit state to oblige him.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where it’s being kept, would you? It would save us ever so much time.” He tried appealing sweetly, though he got the impression it would do little to convince Rogers to give him what he wanted. 

He wondered what it was this man wanted. In all of his research, he could not find the corruption that lurked beneath the surface of all good things, but that did not mean it wasn’t there; just that it was untapped potential. And he always made the best of potential.

Steve didn’t know where the scepter was being kept, as it happened. He hadn’t asked; he hadn’t wanted to think about the weapon that had punched straight through Coulson’s heart. In point of fact, he wasn’t wholly sure it was even housed here, and not in the Fridge or some other SHIELD facility. For all he knew the damn thing was on the moon.

“Why?” he demanded. On the other side of the door, the gunfire had abated. He wondered how long it would be before someone with level ten clearance was sent down to lead a secondary assault team, and what he’d do when they arrived. “It didn’t do you much good last time. Why come back for it?” 

And really, the scepter ultimately hadn’t been too much of an asset in Loki’s invasion, beyond the initial assault in the desert. In the end, with the portal, it had actually proven something of a hindrance. It was something he’d reflected on briefly, after the battle -- wondering what someone armed with a mind-controlling device would even need an alien army for, when he could theoretically enlist the hearts and minds of whoever it touched? It hadn’t added up, but then, Loki was on Asgard and no longer a concern, so he hadn’t dwelled on it. Not with fresh threats cropping up each day.

He was beginning to regret that choice. 

 

 

“Hmm.” Loki didn’t bother answering, quite certain that Rogers wouldn’t understand and didn’t care to. Besides, there was nothing he could say about his situation that wouldn’t take him down several notches in the estimation of someone who was still technically his enemy, despite their current semblance of a truce.

“I suppose we shall have to try each door, then. A pity, I had so hoped to be able to keep those dinner reservations.” He imagined it would drive Rogers to distraction, imagining him loose in his city, living and interacting with its everyday citizens. The same citizens that Loki had not given a second thought to killing by the droves. 

He took a few paces down the corridor, feeling with a shiver when the shield fell and he was able to pull the dregs of the power he’d allotted to it back into himself. He didn’t have time for this, and he wanted to snarl, to lash out, but he had to keep firm, had to stay in control. He was not a cornered dog, and no matter how monstrous his insides may be, at least in appearance he could remain cultured. 

“I wonder, Captain, what it would take to gain your cooperation. Are you a man who lusts for wealth? Power? I could give you most anything your heart desires. All I want in return is what is mine, and then you won’t see hide nor hair of me. What do you say?” He had lowered his voice again, turned it to the near seductive purr that gave even the most stalwart pause, and he’d stopped his inspection of the door to turn one of his truly charming smiles at the other man, the kind of smile that seemed to be a promise. 

Captain America may not have been one of the insects of Asgard, but you still caught more of them with honey than poison. 

That was always administered after the fact.

 

 

Steve frowned as Loki made overtures of bribery, suddenly thankful that Loki was using his own vocal chords and not murmuring those words with Steve’s voice. There was nothing he wanted that Loki could offer him, and even if there were, he’d hardly be willing to surrender his principles for personal gain. But stranger still was the fact that Loki  was  offering; that he was resorting to some manner of diplomacy in lieu of force, and hadn’t committed any violence yet. It almost seemed as if, unlike in their previous encounters, Loki was actively seeking to  avoid  a fight. 

Which, given how hard Steve knew Loki could hit (he’d been damn relieved when Stark and the quinjet had arrived in Stuttgart, though he was loathe to admit it anywhere near Tony’s face), didn’t make much sense. The Asgardian had shown no reservations when it came to mass murder before, and demonstrated little interest in negotiations. What had changed?

“Thanks, but I’m not interested,” he answered, watching Loki warily, searching for any hint that would help solve this puzzle. How long, he wondered, before this little show of politeness disintegrated? How far would Loki go to avoid direct combat, if that was what he was doing?

“What’s the endgame here, Loki?” he pressed on, aware that Loki hadn’t answered his last question. “Taking over the Earth isn’t going to work for you. You have to know that by now.” Not that he knew his own endgame for this scenario -- he was making it up as he went, stalling, but also trying to think of some way out that wouldn’t involve more SHIELD agents showing up into harm’s way. The whole situation was surreal.

 

 

This time, Loki could not keep a sneer out of his voice or off of his face. 

“The endgame, Rogers,” He snapped, “Is my leaving your headquarters with the sceptre in hand and disappearing. I realize you are a soldier and that frostbite may well have sunk into the precious little grey matter you once had, but surely so simple a motive cannot be lost even on  you .” 

The force of his words had caused a few pieces of his hair to fall forward before his face, and he reached up to push them back into place, trying not to make contact with the mask he wore of his own face, lest the haggard form beneath be revealed. He felt the soft ripple, though, and knew he hadn’t been wholly successful. Quickly he spoke again, not having time to plan his words, casting about instead for a diversion from his own appearance. With any luck, his hand had blocked the majority of the magic.

“I don’t want your precious realm, your precious people or your precious mind-- you can keep them. All I want is the device I came for and my freedom, neither of which seems all that grand of a demand, under the circumstances.” He had sunk back to civility, albeit heated civility, by this point. 

Those ripples had hummed through his veins with demands of their own, which he wouldn’t be able to meet for very much longer. He should have waited, and cursed himself for the fool he was. 

“I don’t know what more I can say, or offer, or swear to you, Rogers. Help me, give me the sceptre, and we’ll all be on our merry ways. Don’t, and I will return, over and again until I achieve my goals. And you know as well as I how little I care for that which may be damaged in the process.” 

 

 

The harsh words Loki spat out regarding his intentions sounded a bit more like the vicious god who’d attacked New York, and Steve thought he’d reached Loki’s limit. But then Loki drew back, tucking his hair neatly behind his ear, and for a moment Steve could swear he saw a faint golden shimmer like when Loki had transformed before. Strange...

Loki spoke quickly, voice strained but polite, resorting once more to an attempt at diplomacy followed by what was for him, a very weak threat. And what was this appeal for his freedom, when Loki’s very presence clearly indicated that he was more than capable of slipping any bonds that Earth or Asgard sought to put him in?

Something was very off.

Steve acted on impulse then. It was only a hunch, really -- but it was enough for him to move, in the absence of other options. He lunged forward abruptly, grabbing Loki’s wrist where the skin was bare beneath the edge of his metal bracer, closing his fingers tight. He watched as the space around Loki’s form wavered, like heated air from an oven, then felt his own eyes widen in surprise.

“...Oh.”

 

 

The moment the move was made, Loki tried to tug his hand away, but found himself spread too thin to truly break free of it. 

He scowled, refusing to make eye contact-- he didn’t want to see the gloating superiority that would be there, or, worse yet, the pity. This was not part of the plan, he would never sink so low as to use his true weaknesses as bargaining tools. Pretenses, yes, false troubles, of course, but his real hurts he held close to his chest, the vulnerable parts kept under armor.

He gave a last push, hoping that if he could solidify the illusion, it might hold despite the physical contact, but all his efforts did was cause him to drain the last dregs of his siedhr into a glamour too great to keep. 

He felt the form he’d chosen drop away from him like a bucket of ice water over his head. Fortunately the form Odin had gifted him with, so long ago, was burned into him by magic outside of his own. It held, marred as it was. Ragged and exhausted and beaten as he knew he must look.

The hot flush of humiliation he felt next did nothing to thaw the dread in his stomach and chest. 

“Let me go.” Loki asked quietly, bone tired and aware that he was all but defeated now. He flicked his eyes back up to Rogers’s face to make the final appeal. “Please, just let me go.”

 

 

Steve did as Loki asked, without hesitation for once. He let go and took half a step back, looking Loki over as he did. The armor was darker, more tarnished and possibly stained in a place or two. Loki’s eyes were sunken and underscored with dark circles of exhaustion, and traces of bruising lurked in the shadows of his worn features.

He looked like hell warmed over.

The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. Loki’s reliance on diplomacy; his reluctance to engage in battle, when he was probably running on fumes. The illusion and subterfuge, and indecipherable plan (did he even have a plan for getting out of here beyond grabbing the scepter?). The man looked desperate.

Steve couldn’t help but feel _ something_ for the guy. Sympathy was perhaps a bit strong; he hadn’t forgotten Loki’s crimes or threats. But he wasn’t chomping at the bit to kick him now that he clearly seemed to be down.

“What happened?” he asked quietly. 

 

 

He recoiled out of reach as soon as he possibly could, his feet ungraceful as he stepped backwards, barely managing not to fall. It seemed to him that all of the effort in keeping himself as controlled and operational as possible had been drained from him along with his magic. 

But he had enough pride, bruised now as the rest of him was, to snarl out a retort. “Nothing you need concern yourself with,  _ Captain _ , and no more than I’m sure your team would see as coming to me.” His glare was pointed, as were the words that followed. 

“So now what? You’ve won: you’ve caught me with my proverbial pants down. What do you plan to do about it?” He crossed his arms, the harsh clench of his armor pressing into his ribs a welcome distraction from his current emotional state. 

Rubbed raw and in a bit of a bind… he wasn’t too afraid, to be honest. At most it would be a discomfort, an inconvenience. Short of them dismembering him, he should be fine, though he wasn’t entirely sure, judging by the reactions of the men on the other side of the door, that that wouldn’t happen. He’d deal with that if it seemed to be imminent. In the meantime, he was staring down the man who twice now had bested him, and who seemed resistant to every line of coercion he had attempted. 

He wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed from here, and he wasn’t sure the Captain was, either. Bristling though he was, he considered if he ought to bend his pride a bit further, and beg for pity from the big strong hero. He was sure it was no more than was expected of him at this point.

 

 

What now? It was a good question. Steve didn’t have the means exactly to take Loki into custody with him, though the god didn’t appear to be in any condition to put up much of a fight. The small part of him that pitied Loki and the exhausted resignation in his expression whispered that he could simply let him go -- no harm had been caused after all. But then, he reminded himself, any mayhem Loki proceeded to cause would be on his head, for not apprehending him when he had the chance.

He was saved from a decision, however, as the door slid open behind him. Instinctively, Steve stepped between Loki and the doorway, shield half-raised, though he’d be hard-pressed to say whom he meant to protect from whom.

“Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air!”

Fury was backed by a dozen agents, his .45 up and at the ready. Steve licked his lips and complied by lifting his arms in the air, though his shield remained strapped to his arms. “Don’t shoot. It isn’t what it looks like,” he said, before realizing with a wince that those were words typically spoken when a situation was exactly as bad as it looked. 

Fury snorted. 

Steve looked back over at Loki, his face a silent plea to surrender quietly.

 

 

Loki repeated his trick of lifting his arms from the elbow, just as mocking as the first time, though now with the added levels of exhaustion that made him seem pridefully slow. He gathered himself inward, trying to be as put together as possible. 

“Unless of course,” Loki began, “It looks like your Captain has just successfully stalled me from getting anything done for the last half hour of my life. In that case, it is precisely what it looks like.” 

Loki stepped forward. “I have come only to regain that which I left behind when I was so rudely sent away. Give me my sceptre, and I will be happy to leave your realm and leave your people, exactly as they are.” He knew he was bluffing, and he was sure that with his current appearance, it was likely obvious to those around him as well. Still, he could but try.

“Stop there. You’re sounding pretty desperate, Your Majesty. What makes it worthwhile?” 

“Your Captain has made me  very  desperate.” He made a point of stressing the fact-- The Captain’s sympathies would be of no use to him if the other man was detained as well, and Loki had a feeling that was where this was headed. “Suffice it to say I need it. And you need me gone. This can end well for all involved.” He pursed his lips, looking over the faces around him. 

He sighed. 

“Or you can put me in some sweet holding cell, which I will slip from in two days’ time. Your call, Director.” 

He shot a look over at the Captain, trying to gauge whether they could repeat their earlier escape through a door and deeper into the basement of SHIELD. It would only gain them moments, but that was moments more than they had now. 

 

 

Steve’s brow furrowed as Loki clarified... and came to his defense? He noticed a few of the agents behind Fury exchanging questioning looks and gesturing in Steve’s direction. He imagined Loki to be the sort to gleefully throw him under the bus just to cause more chaos, but instead he seemed to be deliberately distancing himself from Steve.

Of course, everything that had transpired since Loki’s arrival had been a sequence of surprises and unmet expectations, so perhaps Steve had to throw out everything he thought he knew about Thor’s wayward brother. 

Loki’s eyes flitted over to him, and for the briefest moment they made eye contact before Steve hurriedly looked away. 

“Two days’ time? I’ll be holding you to that,” Fury answered, a hint of grim amusement in his voice. With a signal, several soldiers carefully moved forward to surround Loki, and Steve found himself stepping aside. 

“By the way, Captain,” Fury turned and looked at him. “I’m sorry about the cognitive recalibration. Necessary precaution, you see.”

Steve blinked in confusion. “What cog--?”

He only caught the barest glimpse of something moving in his peripheral vision before pain exploded across his temple, driving him to the ground. Blackness crept into his vision, and then a second blow made it complete. 

 

 


	2. Two

It seemed that the minds at S.H.I.E.L.D. had chosen to use their experiences and learn from them. The holding cell he was dropped into had kept him for more than the allotted two days, not because both his magic and body were on the mend, though that was also true, but because the construction was something much more capable of creating a puzzlingly minor disturbance to his power than the fishbowl they had had for him the last time. 

Not magic proof by any means, though he did not plan on telling them that. Additionally the security around him had been stifling to the point of unbearable, he supposed to make sure that Fury’s ego remained carefully intact. He expected that as his third day in their holdings drew to a close, the manpower surrounding him would taper off.

After all, if he could get out, he’d have been true to his word, wouldn’t he? 

Usually, perhaps, but it behooved him to use his proximity to the enemy to learn as much as he could, and hopefully the whereabouts of his sceptre would be one of the hot topics of conversation, after he’d made it so abundantly clear that it was his target and his goal.

If only they had been so careless as to send anyone near him who would so much as speak a word. Food and water, clothing and bedding were brought by nondescript men and women, unarmed and nigh on faceless, as they kept their gazes averted and their lips firmly sealed. 

Loki refused all of it, ignoring his own discomfort and sitting, standing, pacing, but refusing to sleep until someone came to argue with him about his wellbeing or behavior. 

He had not erected any glamours to fix his appearance, but had instead built ones to worsen it slightly, so that as he healed, he remained weak looking and drawn. All the better to play on their sympathies and convince them to lower their guards. 

He looked thin, hungry, perhaps even ill. He wondered how long before they sent in a doctor to see him. 

  
  
  


The advanced healing the serum lent Steve meant he didn’t have a concussion when he came to. It did mean, however, that he had an impressive egg along his hairline and cycled through two weeks’ worth of impressively multicolored bruising within the next few days. Fury’d had the decency to look apologetic, and Steve grudgingly admitted that he might have done the same in his shoes, given the situation and Loki’s past history with mind control. 

Speaking of Loki, he’d half expected after the second day to hear alarms go off signaling a prisoner escape. But the two day mark came and went without so much as a peep or hint of a breakout. 

Driven by curiosity, he found himself approaching the Director on the third day. 

“Hasn’t done much or said a peep,” Fury remarked when asked. “Not that we’ve asked. Figured we’d let him stew for a while and try to get in touch with Asgard in the meantime.”

“We have a way of getting in touch with Asgard?” Steve asked.

Fury sighed, mouth pressing into a grim line. “Not yet, but a Dr. Foster is currently working on it.”

“And if you don’t make contact?”

“Then we’re working on a contingency.”

Steve’s expression darkened slightly. “Do I want to know what that contingency is, sir?”

Fury’s eyebrows arched upwards. “Don’t you have a mission report to be writing, Rogers?”

Steve frowned, then turned sharply on his heel. Rather than heading toward the command center, however, he found himself making his way toward the wing of the facility that held the incarceration levels. Three days, and Loki was still here. Three days, which meant Loki had expended everything he had on this harebrained attempt, and Steve wanted to know why.

Anything that could make a god desperate made him damn uncomfortable.

Not twenty minutes later, he was pressing his hand to a scanner that acknowledged his fingerprints and let him through into a chamber that contained Loki’s cell.

  
  
  


His head came up as the shrill entry alarm pulled his attention toward the door. He was only half surprised to find that it was the Captain. He'd expected Fury to at least make an appearance before sending in one of his Avengers and, given the suspicion already levelled at Rogers for talking to him, and her past success, he thought he'd have to stone face through a visit by Romanoff first. 

Not that it wasn't nice to reserve the energy and save the time of course. Still. He wondered the angle being played here. 

"Captain." He said by way of greeting, curious to see if he could even be heard through this containment, or if the humans deemed him too dangerous. 

He watched the man's approach warily. The best circumstances he could hope for would be that Rogers felt sympathy for him or at the very least responsible for the care shown him.

He reminded himself that he looked terrible, and pulled himself up, wrapping his pride as tightly around himself as he could, well aware of his tendency to overcompensate. And if he looked worried, afraid of him, so much the better. The trick of being underestimated was one of his best and favorites.

"To what do I owe this questionable pleasure?" He inquired, hoping against hope that he wasn't just flapping his mouth and making a further fool of himself. He clung, though, to his pretense of civility, all the while studying the Captain like a specimen that, as a small boy, he would have reacted to by poking it with a stick. 

Fascinating creature, this mortal. And if anyone was likely to help him, intentionally or not, this one seemed to be his best bet.

  
  
  


If part of Steve had hoped to see Loki looking better for having access to a bed and three square meals a day courtesy of SHIELD, he was sorely disappointed. The Asgardian looked every bit as much like ten miles of bad road as when his illusion had first dispelled at Steve’s touch. If anything, he almost looked more haggard and gaunt than before. Steve’s gaze tracked toward the unmade cot, linens still in an untouched heap, and a tray sitting on the floor still full of food. Also untouched. 

At the center of the cell, Loki eyed him with all the wary tension of a caged animal. Which considering his present accommodations, Steve thought with an inner wince, wasn’t a far off comparison. 

The question caught him slightly off guard, as he hadn’t fully thought through his own reasons for coming down here. He supposed if he had to admit it to himself, he wanted to make sure Loki was being treated humanely. He respected Fury, understood that the man made hard calls, but they often had disagreements of principle and after finding the phase two weaponry aboard the helicarrier during the invasion, his trust in SHIELD’s methods had taken a blow. 

“The guard who let me in said you haven’t been eating or sleeping,” he said, tilting his head slightly. 

  
  
  


He watched Rogers’s face, taking in the little knot in between his brows as he surveyed Loki’s quarters. Real concern, then… he wasn’t the Widow, wasn’t so well trained an actor. 

Loki nodded to himself and stalked closer to the wall that Rogers was outside of, advancing rather than retreating, waiting to see if the Captain feared him… or thought him docile enough to offer a hand to. 

“I can’t feel for poisons or set alarms, here, against interference. Would you sleep, if you didn’t know what your enemies might do to you or when?” He let some of the very real exhaustion he was feeling be heard, but still he restrained himself. 

“And it isn’t as though sleep or sustenance will help, not really.” He said slyly, looking away as if ashamed. 

It was a thought he’d toyed with while he was alone, a gambit that he would bet on them being unable to resist. They knew next to nothing about magic, thought their science was just as mighty, an _equal_ to it. He could use that science against them. 

He was sure that even Captain America, a man so apparently without vices, knew about addiction, knew what it did to a person. 

He wouldn’t spell it out right away though. Let him wonder, let him worry. Tease him with a problem that he could solve, a foe he might triumph over. Loki was willing to bet that any friend of his brother’s was just as predictable, just as reliable… and so he was betting.

Maybe with his life.

  
  
  


Steve opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it again. He sincerely doubted SHIELD would go so far as to poison a prisoner or harm him while he slept, but it wasn’t as if Loki had been presented with any reason to believe that. There were a lot of folks on Earth who wanted him dead after what he’d done, so a bit of paranoia was hardly unreasonable. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth, though, and Steve’s mind already began to cycle through ways he might reassure Loki that he was in the custody of the good guys, and that he could eat and sleep in some semblance of peace... Maybe have him pass the tray back so Steve could take a bite and prove the food wasn’t poisoned? 

He stopped and frowned, however, at Loki’s next words. “Won’t help with what?” he asked, words out of his mouth before he could stop them. 

  
  
  


Loki smiled wanly, lifting his arm to rest it against the side of his cage and shifting to lean on it, not lording over the Captain the way he had with Romanoff, but as if he couldn’t keep up the energy it took to stand on his own feet. 

“Suffice it to say that I need things beyond what you and SHIELD’s ever so generous accommodations are willing to provide. No amount of sleep or questionable edibles will help restore to me all that I have lost.” He sneered, trying for self deprecating and certain he was managing it well enough. After all, he had a lifetime of inspiration to draw on.

He leaned forward again, drawing conspiratorially close and gesturing that Rogers do the same. 

“You don’t suppose I’m here because I want to be, do you?” He asked, arching his brow and knowing that his artificially deepened eyes would make the expression even more haunting. 

He caught himself on the verge of calling him ‘Captain’ again, recognizing the long-held understanding that, when attempting to manipulate or intimidate someone, the more you said their name, the more subtle power you seemed to hold over them. But he knew the Captain’s name. Steve Rogers-- he knew it, but even thinking of the man that way felt wrong, the words an uncomfortable shape in his mouth. And so it was ‘Captain’ that spilled out as frequently as possible, the honorific taking the place of the name, and he wondered if it had the same effect. 

“Tell me Captain, what do they think of me? What plans have they made? Trapping a god-- I suppose it doesn’t happen often here. Do they plan to try and document my spiral into dust? Or have they sent you to speed along the process?”

  
  
  


Loki’s answers only seemed to spawn more questions. Steve had to bite down on his tongue to keep from following up further and asking what exactly Loki had lost and what he would need to restore it, knowing from what had happened before that the whole conversation was likely an elaborate trap. He wasn’t willing to bet that Loki was the sort to give up entirely and not try to play him. 

But he also wasn’t willing to just turn and walk out the door either. Curiosity warred with caution, righteous annoyance with sympathy, and his feet carried him hesitantly forward toward the glass barrier separating them both without his mind making the conscious decision to approach. 

“ _You don’t suppose I’m here because I want to be, do you?”_

Steve stiffened. “The thought crossed my mind,” he admitted. Loki’s easy surrender had echoes of Stuttgart in it, where he’d come quietly as part of a greater plan. Only he hadn’t looked totally worn to the bone in Germany. The knowledge that he couldn’t trust anything when it came to Loki, even the evidence of his own eyes, was maddening. He hated this weird hedging, this careful skepticism -- feeling like he was playing a game of chess while simultaneously serving as a piece on the board. He didn’t feel suited to it. 

He almost took a half-step back at Loki’s next barrage of questions. _Spiral into dust?_ A year ago he’d have interpreted that as mere metaphor, but with all he’d seen since of gods and aliens and computers the size of a pin, for all he knew Loki was speaking literally. 

“I’m just...” he paused. Here to check on Loki? Not with anyone’s permission. Ensuring the prisoner’s welfare? In part, perhaps, but he was hesitant to admit as much. He knew well that his tendency toward compassion was often regarded as a weakness, despite his own opinions to the contrary. He wasn’t sure what the best answer, if there was one, would be. Fury’d be irate when he found out Steve had come down here unauthorized, given his lack of experience with proper interrogation protocol. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a sigh and a shrug. All this second guessing was giving him a headache. “I’m not here to give you grief, if that’s what you’re worried about. As far as I know, SHIELD is just planning on handing you back over to Asgard as soon as possible.” Though that had obviously had such lasting results the first time around, Steve thought a tad bitterly. 

  
  
  


His eyes darted back and forth across Rogers's face, trying to read a lie in his words, but unable to see one. 

He was far too good to lie, Loki thought, the concept twisting his face into a small, tired smirk. Too far removed from everything that Loki was. Which, of course, just made the situation shift in his favor. Honest people tended as a rule to underestimate the potential evil of others.

He looked away, averting his eyes and schooling his features into a mask more foreign than any he'd adopted so far on Midgard. He painted himself with regret. 

"Asgard does not have what it will take to heal me either." He said softly. "I told you, I am not here because I wish to be."

  
  
  


Steve was trying to keep his distance, physically and emotionally. He fought the urge to take another step closer to the glass, but something inside him twisted painfully at the resigned and tired look on Loki’s face. 

He leaned in ever so slightly, when Loki spoke with a voice just over a murmur.

He shouldn’t ask. He should leave. He should let SHIELD take care of Loki and remove himself from the situation. He know all this.

He should. But he couldn’t. 

“What _do_ you need?” he returned, just as softly. 

  
  
  


He gave a small smile, tight enough to almost be called a grimace, the expression far more hurt than angry.

"I've already told you, unfortunately." He took a deep breath. "Some magics come with heavy price. An addiction, a hold on your mind. A hold on your body..." He trailed off, pressing a distant sort of longing to his face for a long moment before shaking it off theatrically. 

"I don't just want the sceptre back, Captain. I _need_ it." He gestured down at himself, encompassing his exhausted appearance. He began thinking, began calculating at what rate of deterioration he would have to keep his glamours going. 

He truly would not be able to sleep now. The image would disappear, and he knew he was being watched, being recorded. He couldn’t afford to risk it. 

"But," he continued, ready to complete his play, "Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D., even yourself... None of you are so trusting as to give it to me. But if I could just touch it..." He trailed off again, looking hungry as only a dying man could.

"But of course... That's too much to ask." He pretended to be trying to not be bitter. But he didn't try very hard. “So instead your scientists will get to spend their time enjoying my death. And Asgard will continue mocking me for being so unskilled as to have needed the sceptre in the first place, let alone weak enough to succumb to its poisons.”

  
  
  


Steve worried the inside of his lower lip with his teeth, considering Loki’s words and their implications. Steve had seen addiction; his own father hadn’t come back from the war, but there were many of his peers who’d watched their fathers drown themselves in drink or worse to block out memories of the Great War. It seemed that even more poisons were readily available nowadays for people to squander themselves on. And that wasn’t even including the possibility of magical dependence which, though farfetched, was hardly the most insane thing Steve had heard of since coming out of the ice, or even that week; it would explain the haphazard desperation of Loki’s bid for the scepter, and his run-down state. With that context, the haunted and sallow look of Loki’s face was all-too reminiscent of the junkies Steve occasionally saw on the streets in the less gentrified neighborhoods, and the comparison made the god in the cage seem somewhat smaller than before. 

And if Loki was really dying without the scepter’s aid...

Steve wasn’t a gambling man. He took calculated risks, but would always more readily chance his own life than anyone else’s. If Loki were telling the truth and Steve did nothing and let SHIELD keep him here indefinitely, Loki’s death would be on his hands. Where Loki was a prisoner who had surrendered himself to Steve, that didn’t sit right with him at all. But on the other hand, if Loki got free and used the scepter to hurt others, then their deaths would be Steve’s fault. 

Unless there was some way to control and mitigate damage... Steve zoned out for a moment, staring thoughtfully at the far wall. “Just touch it, huh?” he mused. If there was some way to bring Loki to the scepter, or the scepter to Loki in a controlled environment -- if touching it eased his illness, then his honesty would be confirmed. If he tried to grab it and run, well, Steve would be sure to have backup on standby this time around. It would be a hard sell to Fury, but perhaps not wholly impossible. “I...” he paused, and shook his head. “Look, I can’t promise anything. But I can look into it.”

  
  
  


He let surprise settle across his features, then allowed himself the faintest traces of hope. He had always been a good actor, but fortunately some of this could be real. 

He hadn’t expected to so easily wring such an assurance from this man, but having gained it, he wanted to be absolutely sure that he would try his best. 

“Thank you, Captain.” He sounded eager, desperate, as sincere as he had ever been able to fabricate, breathing the words as if he was elated. “I can’t tell you… Couldn’t begin to explain what it feels like. Just a touch, just a few seconds every so often…” He waited for the Captain to realize that meant they would have to keep him there, if they went down this route. 

Would it be worth it to them? The energy and costs of maintaining his security? He would have to help justify it, perhaps volunteer his services. 

He wondered if they would relax, thinking they had him on a chain. If they thought they controlled his fixes, if they would expect him to stay of his own will, cooperate… he could play that game, at least for a short while. 

Enough time to convince them that he was willing to advise them, educate them on matters of magic, perhaps they would bring him additional toys to return to the Other, when he did finally escape. 

He knew he couldn’t go back empty handed. The sceptre, at least, was necessary. Anything beyond that was honey on the tarts. And he would need to sweeten them up as much as possible, after his failures. 

A plan thus solidifying in his mind, he turned wide eyes upon Rogers, biting his lower lip as if unsure. 

“You may tell your superiors… well. I do not trust them, to be honest. But you-- if you name your price, I will do anything in my, admittedly limited, power. To repay you. Just to feel it again. Just to renew… if only for a time…” He let the words fade, hoping his vaguery was painting even half so dismal a picture as the one he imagined. 

He locked eyes with the man on the other side of the glass and leaned in so that his words caused little puffs of fog to lick over the surface, turning it, for the barest instants, partially opaque. 

“You’re my last hope, Captain.” And he made himself sound hopeful, almost painfully so, so that a failure on the Captain’s part might linger in his mind. Might tear him up as he tried to sleep, might worm its way into his conscience and hook into his sympathies further. 

  
  
  


The shock and burgeoning hope on Loki’s features made Steve’s chest tighten involuntarily. The man on the other side of the glass bore so little resemblance to the arrogant god Steve had thought he’d had a grasp of back in New York, witnessing him so hesitant, so plaintive, felt vaguely wrong in some way. The Loki of before had demanded others kneel to him; this Loki was on the verge of pleading. Steve glanced away.

“Like I said, I’ll see what I can do,” he reiterated cautiously. “But I’m not sure about any long term solutions...” he trailed off as soon as he said it, realizing that if SHIELD _did_ take him up on his proposal, it would likely only be as a long-term solution. If Loki was dependent on the scepter and SHIELD controlled the scepter, well, the situation would be ripe for exploitation. 

Damn. 

Of course, addicts could quit, right? There was treatment; Steve had read up on rehabilitation programs after Natasha had mentioned something called Alcoholics Anonymous in a conversation about Stark. Not that there was likely to be a Magic Users Anonymous chapter scheduled to meet in the evenings in a local church basement, but perhaps Loki could be weaned from his dependency on the scepter.

Not that it would matter if he starved himself first. Steve grimaced and sighed. “Here. Push that tray back through the slot, will ya?” he said, nodding to the untouched meal tray pushed in through a small sealed chamber, only accessible from one side of the glass at a time. 

  
  
  


Under any other circumstances, Loki wouldn’t have hesitated, but the pause could only build the impression of him as weak, afraid. Still, he took his time retrieving it, forcing his hands to shake as he bore the tray closer to where the delivery door stood. Balancing it precariously against one hip, he worked the door and slid it in. 

Wordlessly he shut the door, sending it through and waiting nearby, curious to see what the Captain meant to do with it. It had to be several hours old by now, cooled past any level of appetizing, and the fare was simple even for humans. 

It would be good at least to have the smell out of his small chambers, though his stomach lurched and groaned at the proximity, and he chastised it mentally. On no world would he truly want to eat that, under no circumstances should it arouse in him hunger. Shaky and tenuous though he was acting, he had a steely grip on his will, and it was something he prided himself on. 

Loki had very good taste, overall, and this Midgardian prison slop did not fit into it. 

...Unless, of course, the Captain was about to demand he eat it, or something similar. 

Loki cursed internally. He’d implied he trusted the man. Surely this was to be a test of that. He would have to. 

Blast. 

He took a few steps back from the tray and put his hands up in the air, as he was instructed to, each time someone brought him their weak attempts at sustenance. It was, he supposed, to reassure him that he wasn’t dangerous, though he was certain Rogers would not be so easily swayed. 

“I appreciate even your attempts at help.” He told him. He pulled himself up, again almost visibly gathering his pride. The proud and wounded prince was a tragic persona that he’d used in the past to prey on those weak enough to give him their sympathy. He expected it would work again. In fact, it seemed to him that it already had.

  
  
  
  


Steve tried not to stare at the trembling of Loki’s hands as he picked up the tray, instead averting his eyes and scuffing a foot against the concrete floor. He remembered the frustration of pitying stares back before the serum, compounding the frustration he felt at his own weak body which betrayed him at every turn. Remembered how the indignity hurt worse than the actual sickness sometimes. 

As Loki backed away with his hands in the air (and this time the gesture seemed less mocking and more a resignation to routine -- the very picture of cooperation), Steve stepped forward and slid the tray out of the box from his side of the glass, lifting the cover and eyeing the contents. He recognized the meal as leftovers from one of the lunch options available in the Triskelion cafeteria earlier in the week. Steve ate in the cafeteria fairly routinely and didn’t mind the food, but considering he’d grown up on boiled potatoes and cabbage and then later subsisted on army rations, his taste buds could handle just about anything. And even he had to admit that the cold and grainy mashed potatoes looked fairly unappetizing at this point. SHIELD might not be poisoning Loki, but they sure as hell weren’t enticing him to eat, either.

Pulling a face and setting the tray aside, he took a step back toward the main door. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he announced, pressing his hand to the scanner that released the locks and stepping out into the antechamber where a guard stood at the ready. The door hissed shut behind him and the agent turned and saluted. 

“Sir.” The man struggled to maintain a straight face for a few moments, but then broke into a starstruck grin. “Captain America.”

“Agent,” Steve said with a nod, eyes flicking to the nametag on his uniform. “Murray. I apologize if this is out of line, but I’m hoping I could ask a big favor of you...”

“Sure thing!” Murray replied eagerly. 

Steve reached into one of the many pockets of his uniform, pulled out a slim wallet and, after a second’s mental calculation, withdrew a ten dollar bill. “Could you run up to the mess and get me a sandwich from the sub bar? Whatever they have fresh. No tuna, though. Something with vegetables. And a bottle of water,” he added.

Murray’s face fell and he hesitated. “Sir, I’m not supposed to leave the prisoner alone--”

“And he won’t be,” Steve quickly told him with his most reassuring smile. “I’ll be covering you.”

It was apparently good enough. After a moment’s hesitation, Murray snapped off a salute and took off toward the elevator. Steve watched him go, then re-entered the area containing Loki’s cell. It would take at least twenty minutes for Murray to retrieve the food Steve had requested. 

  
  
  


He couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow at the Captain’s antics, his face betraying only how he felt about the situation-- not what he intended to do about it. 

No matter the similarities, Loki knew this man was not Thor, could not possibly respond as Thor would, and so watching him was going to be a real treat. If he was smart-- and of course he was, far smarter than anyone else he knew-- he would use this time to observe, to get to know the man. To learn his impulses and how he responded to things and, most importantly, why. 

Though, considering the speed of his return, perhaps the Captain had reacted as Thor would-- Loki had a feeling that in both cases it was a demand followed by scurrying underlings. Whatever got the job done, however. 

He could hardly claim that he’d do differently. Though, to be fair, underlings had always been recalcitrant towards even the most mundane of his requests. Fully half the time he was places he oughtn’t be, it wasn’t to spread mischief, only to accomplish something he would otherwise have requested be done for him. So maybe he envied Rogers his command. 

He pursed his lips, then worried the lower one, eyes flicking momentarily towards the camera trained on him from the view of the door. 

Generally when people came in, he stayed as far back as possible. He had already changed that tendency by leaning on the glass, but to really hammer the point home… 

He crouched down at the front of his small room, again as close to directly in front of the Captain as he could get. 

“Tell me, Captain.” He spoke lazily, sure that he needn’t waste all of his skills in pretense about being weak, “What is it that makes you so good, so… _kind?_ ” He had to work to keep his disdain out of the last syllable. He flashed a slightly oily smile at the man, trying to draw him closer with his eyes.

Really, it was the same question he’d posed before, the question of what made the man tick, what he wanted, merely posed from the side of subtlety. He wasn’t offering anything this time, or angling to gain anything from him but information. For now. 

Maybe he’d be more willing to divulge, this way. 

  
  
  


Steve watched as Loki crouched near the glass, seeming less ill at ease and wary than he had before. He crossed the space between the door and the cell, then lowered himself to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the cool concrete. If he was going to wait, he might as well sit, he thought. 

He pursed his lips at Loki’s question. What was Loki getting at, and why? Was this some mindgame like he’d tried to play with Natasha back on the helicarrier, or genuine curiosity. It gave him pause, but then he realized that if he was going to ask for and expect straight answers from Loki, he’d be a hypocrite not to reciprocate. Who knew? Perhaps a little honesty from him would inspire some in turn.

Of course, that still left the problem of the question itself. How did you even answer that? Steve didn’t think of himself as doing much more than meeting the same basic requirements for decency as most folks. He just had a greater ability to do good, and do it visibly. “I don’t,” he paused, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I just... I try?” He winced even as he said it, knowing it was a lame answer. 

“There’s lots of good people in the world. I try my best to be one of them,” he clarified, “And with being Captain America, I’m in a position to help other people. And I like to. Help people, I mean. Time was I couldn’t do much to help anyone, or even myself,” he explained.

  
  
  


He hummed, not sure what else he should have expected. The bumbling for an answer, the fact that he didn’t have one ready and rehearsed, gave Loki the impression that he did not speak often before crowds or to the media of their world, for surely such a question would be commonplace. Unless the Captain was more calculating than he’d given him credit for, and was using such tactics to seem more relatable, charmingly low brow. A man of the people. 

He rather doubted it, though. It seemed like the sort of tactics the Midgardian warriors would no doubt find pointless.

“And when you could not, what an ideal life you must have led, not to have grown bitter nor learned hate.” He spoke as if he was certain of this, but unconcerned. He knew the vaguest outlines of a younger Rogers’ life, thanks to Barton and his summarized biographies, but it would be so much better to tease it from the man himself. 

“Or perhaps it is just the difference in worlds-- when I was in a similar state of inability, there were few enough good people to be found.” He shrugged. “I will be honest with you, Captain America.” He used the full title to lend to the gravity of the statement. “Those who are kindest to me are those I have learned to be the first to mistrust. I suspect that is the opposite of your intent, so understanding your motivation… understanding what you expect and want of me now, will help me to… it will put me more at ease.” 

Implying that it was he who needed to worry about trust, and not the other way around. The Captain so far seemed to prefer being blunt and upfront, so perhaps mimicking his way of approaching a subject would be a good way to go about things. And if he could let the Captain see him choosing to trust him, it might inspire him to follow suit and begin to let down his guards. 

“I don’t ask you to speak for all of S.H.I.E.L.D., of course.” He added as an afterthought. “But you made decisions that skewed towards kindness before Director Fury arrived and your backup appeared. I want to know what you thought-- what you hoped would come of it.”

  
  
  


Steve chuckled wryly at the notion of his ‘ideal’ life, broke and orphaned and beat up every week. Sometimes he wondered that he _didn’t_ end up bitter, and how much Bucky was to thank for that. Thinking of Bucky instantly sobered him though. 

His brow furrowed faintly when Loki referred to his own history. The total lack of trust or friendship he implied sounded pretty bleak. Only, Thor had seemed like a good man, a dedicated brother, and for all his understandable anger, still quite devoted to Loki. It didn’t add up.

“What I wanted was for no one to get hurt,” he answered plainly. “I wasn’t planning anything or trying to get anything from you. I just didn’t want anyone getting killed when it could be avoided.” _I’ve seen enough of that_ , he thought but didn’t say. “Being cruel wouldn’t have made anything better.” It might, of course, have satisfied some small and vengeful part of him that was still furious about the number of names freshly engraved into SHIELD’s memorial wall; about the neighborhoods of New York still ruined and abandoned; about all the families in Manhattan sitting down to dinner with a loved one missing. But that wasn’t a part of him that he cared to indulge. Acting like a bully wouldn’t rebuild the damage or bring the dead back. It’d just make him feel disgusted with himself once the brief vindictive rush wore off. He sighed.

“I want for you to not hurt anyone, Loki. To not take over my planet or kill my people or hurt my friends. Ever again. And I know that’s probably unrealistic. Hell, if we were to get really crazy with what I want, I’d say to see you using all that power I know you can throw around on one of your good days to actually do something positive, for this world or any other. But in the interest of starting small...” he looked right into Loki’s sunken green eyes. “I’d settle for you to just be honest with me.”

  
  
  


Loki felt shaken to the quick of himself, not having expected to be the one bowled over with words, but here he was. _Effective_. He managed to think, while he swallowed around the lump that formed in his throat. 

“What would you say if I told you that honesty on my part may endanger far more than any selfish plans of mine in the past had?” Loki could feel his chapped lips beginning to split, and wished he had at least been wise enough to drink the proffered liquids. 

He licked his lips instead, saliva stinging while he thought what else he could say. 

“Help me, Captain, and you shall have your honesty. Every truth that I can give, safely, without harming you, your friends, your people or your world. This I vow.” He raised his hand, and it felt honest. He wasn’t even sure if he was lying, himself. Which, as far as lies went, was the best they came. 

There was something about the blue eyes boring into his that made him almost _want_ to do what the Captain suggested, abandon all else and do good. He wondered what that path would lead to, what such a future would hold for him, then remembered what lay behind him, that he could not outrun. 

He could not plan for any future, let alone one so unreachable as that, without first finishing his business with the past. 

He considered apologizing for the lies he had already set in motion, but decided not to. He still needed those, and he was smarter than to wedge himself between two oaths.

But he did feel that he needed to offer _something_ , so he spoke, hesitantly, looking the Captain straight in the eyes. 

“Is there any truth in particular that you are after, Captain?” 

  
  
  


Loki might have been known as a skilled liar, and Steve knew he had no reason to ever trust him (and Loki little reason to tell the truth), but he felt compelled, in that moment, to believe in his sincerity. Though he tilted his head in slight bewilderment at these dangerous truths that he mentioned, struggling to hold back questions about the only information Loki wasn’t likely to divulge, according to his oath. It was troubling: what would be so dangerous to talk about that it threatened more lives than the Chitauri invasion?

Steve knew he should hold off and go talk to Fury or Hill or Romanov -- someone who would have a better tactical grasp of the best information to acquire from Loki. The director probably had a whole list of questions he’d be itching to ask. 

But Steve had a question of his own burning through his mind. He hadn’t realized it, but it had been niggling at the back of his thoughts since Loki had reappeared, so different in demeanor from before. There had been traces of the same smug haughtiness, of course, but he had been raised a prince. Thor hadn’t exactly been a picture of humility when he’d called them petty and tiny while they’d all been arguing on the helicarrier, and Steve chalked it up to the whole royalty thing. But where before, Loki had been vicious and megalomaniacal in a way that had reminded Steve disturbingly of Red Skull, there was something so much more human about him now. And he had to wonder...

“Why’d you do it? The invasion?” he asked. 

  
  
  


Did playacted expressions count as lies? Loki assumed they did, so he did not look away or give a pretense of shame. He looked the Captain straight in the eyes while he tried to find the best reasoning he could, the most honest way of saying _because I wanted to_ … that wouldn’t simply drive him away. 

“I wanted revenge on the man I thought was my father, when I discovered the lie. There were so many lies, it seems that I was swaddled in them. Not surprising then, that I am…” He gestured at himself, then abruptly decided that was the wrong approach.

“At any rate, I knew I would need an army, so I went in search of it. And I found someone willing to make me a deal. All he wanted was a single treasure from the Asgardian gallery, not even one of the strong or useful ones. A gauntlet, that was all he asked.” Loki sighed, having the good grace to soften his voice, though he knew it would not soften the blow. “Your world was a feint. I never meant to rule here. I needed only to attract the attentions of Asgard, that I might be captured and held near the treasure I had promised _him._ It could have been any world. As for why I chose this one-- it was personal. My brother-- no, sorry. Thor. Thor loved this world, loved a woman of this world. And the last Asgardian who tried to rule here was overthrown by Odin. He had protected this realm from his brother and my true father alike, and so it seemed… it seemed the thing to do, at the time.” He finished lamely. 

“I did it to prove that they were wrong. I was raised to rule, told that I would, and then, when the truth came out, it became apparent that I was never meant to. Never intended to be anything but a… a gilded performing animal. I had to prove that I was no pet, not a fool, had to make them see me as equal to them. Had to prove that they had made me… better. Better than the creature I was. Am. Better than a monster.” He felt himself working up into a state of near hysteria, and shook it off, looking down at his clenched fists.

He shrugged. “I’m sure you would disagree. I’m sure, to you, my actions have naught but reinforced it. But… it was what I needed to do.” He did not apologize. 

He had promised not to lie.

But he also did not return his gaze to the Captain’s face.

“I understand if you no longer wish to help me, but recall that you asked for the truth, and I have given it.”

  
  
  


It was a hard truth, brutal in the lack of remorse surrounding it, but it was exactly what Steve had asked for, so he swallowed it and didn’t cringe at the admission that Loki had attacked Earth as a diversion, spurred by petty jealousy. 

Some of it made sense. The tactical notion of attacking merely as a means of attracting Asgard’s attention rather than a deliberate campaign to rule certainly explained the flashiness of Loki’s attack, and the myriad flaws in his strategy, from bottlenecking his attack force to not simply using the scepter to enslave every mind on earth. The comfort he drew from the logic of it was undermined, though, by the idea of more players occupying the board -- including someone willing to trade an army for a piece of Asgardian treasure. 

Other parts, though -- Steve felt he was lacking some very fundamental facts of Loki’s story, and wished not for the first time that Thor had been a bit more forthcoming about his family’s history before heading back to Asgard. He felt a slight pang of guilt at the thought of Thor -- he hadn’t asked how Loki has slipped Asgard’s custody, or if Thor was alright. But from the sound of it, there was some critical dysfunction in the Asgardian royal family that Steve and the other Avengers hadn’t been made privy to, beyond Loki simply being adopted. 

And honestly, he couldn’t help having some sympathy for him. He couldn’t condone what Loki had done, but it was clear it hadn’t been personal. Not against Steve or humanity, at any rate (Thor was another story). He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse, but the rambling fragments of Loki’s past that he mentioned -- lies, legacies, revenge, and being a monster -- added levels of complexity that Steve wanted to understand. There were sentiments -- bits and pieces -- that struck familiar chords. Wanting to be better. Feeling like a performing animal and resenting it. Fighting expectations of his worth. 

Of course, it would help if he had more than just vague details to fill in the gaps. Steve frowned, mentally tracing back through Loki’s explanation, trying to find a beginning to the tangled thread of the story. “You did,” he said, in acknowledging to Loki’s last words. “Thank you.” He paused then, licking his lips as he carefully considered his next question, sensing he might be treading on treacherous ground:

“You were lied to about being adopted?” 

  
  
  


Loki smiled then, all sharp angles and predatory lines. 

“Don’t thank me for being a bully, Captain. It will seem hypocritical, and one should be nothing if not consistent. And you needn’t be so concerned for my feelings. Am I not your prisoner?” He settled, turning sideways that he might slump his shoulder against the glass, but still look Rogers in the face if he so pleased. 

“I grew up under the impression that I was truly son of Odin and Frigga, brother to Thor, and a Prince of the Asgardian throne, yes. It wasn’t until an accident shortly before Thor first came to Midgard that I discovered the lies.” 

He did not expand on the answer. He’d promised to be honest, not to volunteer information. 

He picked at his nails, turning his hand as if bored, using the motion to hide the low level panic rising in him. His hands shook now, not from any acting, but from his own anxiety, and he quickly folded them in his lap to hide it.

He didn’t want to go through all of this, did not want to be stripped so naked of his protection, his past and his raw emotions made vulnerable because of a vow and the careful, gentle, all too kind prying of Loki’s enemy. Of Thor’s friend.

“In the interest of being honest…” He started, words hesitant as he sought again not to offend his captor, “I honestly do not wish to talk about it.” 

  
  
  


“That’s not what I--” Steve broke off. He know Loki knew damn well what he meant with his thanks and was being difficult out of sheer orneriness. 

Still, if legends were true, Thor and Loki were each, what, over a thousand years old? And Thor’s file said he turned up in New Mexico only a couple years ago. A millenium was a long time to have something like that kept a secret. Obviously, Loki hadn’t handled the shock of it terribly well. He wanted to know more -- what he meant by being a monster (his lack of remorse about the lives he’d taken suggested there was something more than the metaphorical meaning at work there), who this other Asgardian who had tried to take over Earth was--

He let out a breath. “Okay,” Steve said quietly. “Okay.”

He wanted to know more. But he wasn’t here to interrogate Loki. Loki’d been straight with him, and pushing him too hard too fast probably wouldn’t do any good. He could wait; after all, if what Loki said about being dependent on the scepter was true, he’d probably be in here a while.

He nearly jumped a foot when the awkward silence was broken by a loud, mechanical tone. Turning, he saw a light flashing by the door, indicating that someone was requesting access. For a moment, his mouth went dry; had Fury figured out where he’d gone to? While no one had forbidden Steve from visiting Loki, he hadn’t exactly been given express permission either (though surely he could argue that his security clearance implied a level of tacit permission?)

“Excuse me,” he murmured, standing up and walking over to the door. To his relief, it wasn’t Fury who stood on the other side, but Agent Murray, holding a brown paper bag.

Steve smiled, leaving the door open. “That was quick.”

“I, uh, got you the turkey. I hope that’s okay, they said it was fresh out of the oven,” Murray said, surreptitiously peering around Steve to where Loki sat in his enclosure. “Also I didn’t know if you wanted mustard or mayo so there’s packets of both in the bag,” he added.

“It smells delicious. Thank you -- I really appreciate it,” Steve told him, taking the bag and nodding. 

After a few more words, he sealed the door again, then slid the sandwich from the bag, peeling back the wrapper and breathing in the smell of roast turkey and fresh-baked bread. Some of the cafeteria options at SHIELD were circumspect government fare, but the deli had never let him down. Slipping the food back into the bag (which contained several packets of condiments, a sealed plastic bottle of water, and a prodigious number of napkins), he crossed over to the meal-delivery box, and put the food in before sealing his side of the compartment so the opposite half could unlock. He looked over to Loki and offered a half-hearted smile.

“100% no poison guarantee.”

  
  
  


Loki’s eyes narrowed, and he stood, neither going out of his way to lumber off the floor, nor glossing over the motions to make it look effortless. He could have, had been taught to… but when even his most basic movements were often lies, he found himself having to be attentive to avoid breaking his promise. 

That was going to prove exhausting very quickly. 

“I… am hungry.” Loki spoke reluctantly as he retrieved the bag, the rustling of his hand making contact harsh and grating to his ears. 

He carefully unwrapped the simple fare, the scent and warmth of the food making his fingers ache and his stomach jerk. He could not, in politeness, refuse to eat-- nor was he inclined to. He was hungry, he wanted it. So he locked eyes with the Captain and took the first bite, unblinking, waiting to see if his face would contort with some sort of tell, something like victory or regret. 

After all, not all poisons were deadly. They could be intended to send him to sleep, or make his muscles too loose to fight them off. They could induce in him a fever, that he would have to beg for their help or burn up. 

But none of that seemed to be the case. The food was good, and his mouth created an overabundance of saliva in response to being without even for a few days. 

Swallowing, Loki shifted his eyes around, practicing restraint to keep from eating like a madman, stuffing his face with the fowl and bread and instead nodded his gratitude at the man on the other side. 

“Thank you.” He said lowly. “I am sorry to have-- speaking of my parentage is. Painful.” He chose the words carefully. “But if you want the information just the same… I will trade you. I will answer your questions, if you will answer some of mine. You can of course refuse.” He spoke lightly, making it sound as if he didn’t care one way or another. And frankly, he didn’t. He’d get the information regardless, and probably in a less invasive manner, but that was half of the fun, wasn’t it? 

Besides, he wanted to see if he could so distract the Captain that he forgot the sort of questions he was meant to be asking. It wouldn’t do to become rusty, after all, and if he couldn’t lie, he could still use his words to manipulate a conversation. 

He took another bite, waiting for the man to make a choice.

  
  
  


Steve braced himself for Loki to argue, or turn down the food, and stood at the ready with reasons why Loki still needed to eat; to his surprise, however, the other ate without protest. He felt a sense of relief watching him devour the food, since Loki couldn’t be too terribly ill yet if he still had an appetite, and with luck the food would do him some good and ease Steve’s conscience about Loki’s condition as a prisoner. 

Steve hesitated, considering the deal, and the unexpected olive branch Loki seemed to be extending him. It was an opportunity to find out more -- about Loki and what made him tick -- but at the risk of having to answer Loki’s questions in turn. 

“No questions about security, the location of the scepter, or anything tactical,” he began, “I won’t answer anything I feel would endanger anyone, or questions involving other people’s secrets that aren’t mine to tell. Any question I can’t or won’t answer, you just have to pick a different one.”

  
  
  


Loki chewed another bite, almost disappointed to see how much of his sandwich he had worked through already, but resolved to be satisfied with just this. It was more than he had counted on having today, at any rate. He would just have to slow his eating down, take smaller bites, and stretch it out a little.

“About your world, then. What sort of punishments do they dole out to would be conquerors, such as myself? I want to know, in the event your men cannot return me to Asgard… or choose not to, as the case may be.” 

Let him think that Loki is concerned. Let him think him defenseless and afraid. Because then, Loki will qualify as the sort of person that Rogers finds it necessary to save. And it would be good to have that shield at his back, especially if he was to have to face off with S.H.I.E.L.D. at some point. Creating an impression wasn’t lying, it was just being aware of how one’s actions were perceived. And Loki was very good at that.

Loki seated himself again, bag in his lap and sandwich in hand, and found the water bottle. He frowned at it. 

“I assume this doesn’t count towards our answers game, but if so, then answer this first: is there a mechanism required for accessing the liquid inside?” He held up the bottle that the Captain might see what he spoke of.

He was used to bottles, sure, but generally they were glass, with corks. Or even those with metal cages which held stoppers in place-- never one that was solidly the same material top and bottom. He hadn’t been on Midgard long enough to encounter these before, and it was both frustrating and eye opening to discover how little he knew about the most mundane aspects of life here.

  
  
  


“Ah, sorry, it’s a screw cap. You hold on to the lighter colored cap and twist it counter-clockwise. It’ll snap free from the bottom part of the cap, so you know it hasn’t been opened or tampered with,” Steve supplied. He’d been used to metal bottle caps on glass bottles, and pull-tabs on cans, but the first time he’d been handed a plastic water bottle shortly after waking, he’d regarded it with similar confusion. 

He hadn’t expected Loki’s other question -- he’d anticipated that Loki would go for something personal, as Steve had done -- but it did make sense. For three days, Loki had been in solitary confinement, neither eating or sleeping. Of course he’d probably spent that time wondering what would happen to him.

“Well, you’re sort of a unique case. We haven’t exactly had aliens try to take over our planet before,” Steve began with. “In the past, well...” he thought to the history books he’d read in the last year, summarizing the outcome and fallout of the war he’d only just come out of. “War criminals are usually put on trial and generally executed,” he admitted, then hurried to add, “but I don’t think that’s likely to happen in your case since, being from another world, you’re not exactly within Earth’s jurisdiction. Also, the Council probably wouldn’t want to risk antagonizing Asgard by stepping on their toes.” He shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know for sure, but if I had to guess I’d say they’d keep you imprisoned in solitary until someone from Asgard eventually shows back up.” 

He considered his own question. Of course, he was curious about Loki’s familial issues, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to push that tender topic just yet. So he went for something safer, which SHIELD would likely want to know. “Do you still want to rule? I mean, actually _want to_ , or just want to prove people wrong?”

  
  
  


Loki followed directions, watching as the jagged teeth of tiny torn plastic appeared, when the cap lifted away. 

“Handy.” He remarked, before pressing lips to the opening and proceeding to slake his thirst by downing about half the contents in a single go. 

He capped it again, setting it aside. Who knew the next time someone would think to bring him a bottle, or the next time the Captain might think to drop in.

It was heartening to know that the worst the Captain expected them to do was leave him to rot. If that were the case, he could leave whenever he chose. Just as soon as he knew enough to get what he needed. 

The Captain’s question, though, brought his head to turn sharply to face him, his mouth pinching as he tried to think of what to say-- how to respond. 

“I would be _good_ at it.” He bit out, the words sharp and pointed. But he let the fire in his voice abate, let his shoulder slump and his eyes drop the daggers they had been glaring. “And I don’t know what else to be. I was never raised to do anything but rule, never taught to do anything but measure myself beside Thor and find his weaknesses, then train myself to overcome them. I am a King without a kingdom, a people, or a crown. And no matter what I do, even were I to successfully vanquish a current regime on some backwater realm-- no offense, Captain-- but it would not be home. I don’t have that. I don’t know that I ever will. So even if I did want to rule… I doubt I would find fulfillment in it.” Unless, of course, it was Asgard, and all of the people there could be made to love him. 

“And yourself?” He asked. “Were you not Captain America, what would you be doing? Are you happy as things are?”

  
  
  


Steve considered the question. If he weren’t Captain America. His life had changed so dramatically after the serum. Most people expected that the biggest, most dramatic change Steve had experiences was the transition from the 40’s to the twenty-first century. But while that had been a major adjustment, all of it had been outside of himself. When he’d come out of Howard Stark and Erskine’s machine, his body hadn’t just been changed -- the entire way he’d experienced being alive was altered. And he’d been handed a whole new identity to boot. Separating himself from the role of Captain America was hard, particularly since there was no one left who even remembered skinny little Steve Rogers.

But if he were to shrug off that mantle...

“I don’t know,” he confessed, shuffling his feet. “I never... I tried to avoid thinking about the future much. Which I suppose is a little ironic since now I live in it. But when I was a kid, I was pretty sick all the time, and the doctors said I probably wouldn’t live to see adulthood. When I survived to eighteen, they said I’d never make it to old age. When I joined the army... I think a part of me didn’t really expect that I’d be coming back.” In a way, he hadn’t. Just jumped in time from one war to another. “Didn’t seem worth it to make a lot of long-term plans and goals. And then I was Captain America, and I haven’t put much thought into being anything else. So, I don’t know what I’d be doing if... if things were different.”

And damn if that didn’t sound rather depressing. “But I am happy,” he rushed to add. “As things are. Or happy enough; I get to help people. Make things better. Or try to. Usually.” He winced at the end. Sometimes he felt a creeping sense of doubt about how much he was _actually_ helping, but he tried not to pay it mind.

“What _do_ you find fulfillment in?” he asked, settling back down on the floor again. 

  
  
  


“Are all of your sentiments so noble?” He murmured, shaking his head, more in reaction to the Captain’s answer than as a question. 

Interesting to think that Rogers had spent so much of his life second guessing whether he would live, let alone thrive. Conversely, Loki had spent all of his life taking his elevated status for granted, only to have it ripped away now. The parallel was not lost on him. 

He twitched at the plastic bag in his lap, and sighed. 

“I felt most fulfilled when learning. As I said, the only way to ever gain respect was for me to work as a whetstone, which Thor should sharpen himself against. I would find his weak points and learn how to beat him using them, then he would have to struggle to catch up before, eventually, outstriding me. But during those times I was ahead, even the times I was researching, learning, practicing… I felt good. I truly enjoyed it. And my magic…” He rolled his hands over, looking down at his palms, held empty in his lap. 

“It was good to have something that was solely mine.” He shrugged again, conscious of how spoiled that made him sound, aware of how bitter he must seem… only happy if he got to win. Like the whinging little tag along he had been for most of his youth. 

“And yourself, Captain? Have you any hobbies, outside of shining your boots and shield and winning the hearts of all who meet you?” There was a jab in there, but it was buried under a grain of truth. 

How could any who knew this man not want to like him, to trust him? Even Loki, who had little enough experience with either thing, felt the pull. 

He wondered what sickness would have been like, suffered through then on Midgard, a third-world realm with so little technology even now. He could not imagine it to be easy, nor comfortable. And yet to have birthed such a man as this… perhaps more children ought to be exposed to such hardships. 

“Or did your illnesses not afford you such luxuries?”

  
  
  


“I destroy a lot of punching bags at the gym nowadays,” he said with a half-smile. “I train a lot. To keep fit for the job, but also because it wears me out enough that I can sleep.” Exhausting himself by running twenty miles and then spending an hour boxing against the bag generally helped him fall asleep the minute he hit the sack, though there were still some nights when his mind decided to conjure up ghosts of the war with which to haunt him. 

“Back before, Buck-- my friend would sometimes drag me out on the town. We’d go see a movie, or he’d insist I come dancing with him, if I was having one of my good days. Not that I ever learned how to dance.” He’d been waiting for Peggy, but they’d never got the chance. He pushed away the swell of melancholy, scrambling through his memory for something else to answer with.

“I also draw,” he blurted. “Sketches, mostly. I actually was studying art, before I enlisted. I wasn’t enrolled full-time, I couldn’t handle the tuition more often than not, but I was working on a fine arts degree. Didn’t take too much out of me to hold a pencil, so I was able to make some money on the side doing illustrations, cartoons for the paper, things like that.” He shrugged, thinking back to Loki’s earlier question. “I guess if I weren’t Captain America, I might go back and get my degree.” 

He wondered at Loki’s description of himself as a whetstone. Steve had occasionally joked that his purpose in life was to make Bucky look good by standing next to him, but while he’d felt the odd pang of jealousy now and then, he’d never meant it all that seriously. He loved Bucky too much to hold it against him. But then, he hadn’t been held and measured against Bucky in every capacity his whole life. The expectations of them both had been totally different (meaning with Bucky, people actually had expectations). Would he have turned out differently if it hadn’t been just years, but centuries of needing Bucky to step in and haul his beat-up ass out of some alleyway? Would Loki had turned out differently if he’d been left to pursue his knowledge without anyone telling him he was supposed to be a king?

Or telling him whatever else he’d been told...?

Steve waited a beat, composing his thoughts, deliberating on his next question. “Earlier, you called yourself a monster,” he said, watching Loki carefully. “Why?”

  
  
  


He’d found himself nodding along, his eyes going to trace the Captain’s hands as he spoke of his pastimes, punching and drawing, things that took concentration as well as manual dexterity. 

He knew what his next question should be-- or thought he did, up until Rogers asked his. Then he found his lips pressing together and thinning out into nothing. He averted his eyes, turned his face to the side.

“After all you know of me, you still have to ask.” He said slowly. “As though my actions weren’t enough, my reasoning behind them not qualification aplenty… I said I am a monster, Captain Rogers, because I am.” He squared his shoulders and brought his face up again, pinning the other man with his gaze. 

“Shortly after my birth, my realm was ravaged by the Asgardians. My people died around me, and I was left alone to die as well. My people,” Loki said with distaste. “The frost giants of Jotunheim.” He half expected tales of their beastliness to have survived here as well. He waited, but no look of comprehension chased by disgust appeared on Rogers’ face. So Loki pressed on. 

“The frost giants are dull creatures, ruled loosely by a King who has only as much power as he can maintain. They know nothing of loyalty. They live in the wreckages of once glorious palaces, and they are as cold and bitter as their world. At least, so I was raised to believe, all of my life. I never understood that these creatures Thor swore to slaughter by the dozen were me, were what I was. What I am.” 

He paused again. 

“The face you see before you was not the one I was born with, nor is it the one I have chosen for myself. This is the remains of Odin’s lie. Beneath it, I am… blue. Hideous. Scarred and vicious, beast like and unable to touch anything without destroying it. I am every monster I was taught to fear as a child. And no matter how I may hide it, or try to outrun or overcome it, that monstrosity will always leak out against my best intentions, and often against my will.” He shook his head, clasping his hands together briefly before wrapping his arms around himself. 

He was shaking all over now, the anxiety turning him useless, but his wit was not restricted by his body’s weak abilities. He took a deep breath, finished the rest of the water bottle in a single swallow, and cleared his throat, coaching his voice back into something resembling casual conversational tones. He’d gone high pitched and fast spoken, in a bid to get all of the words out as quickly as possible. Now, though, he needed to be in control. 

“Now then, Captain, How about yourself? What have you ever done that’s so monstrous that you cannot rest easily at night? Or is it something you’ve seen?” The latter option didn’t occur to him until the words were already out of his lips. And then he had a brief surge of fear, of guilt, worrying that the Captain’s answer might very well be a recount of Loki’s bid for dominance.

  
  
  


Steve felt his chest tightening as Loki spoke, regret rising in his throat. More pieces of the puzzle that comprised Loki were falling into place now, though the picture they formed was not a happy one by any means. Thor had mentioned that Loki was adopted. He had failed to mention he was a different _species_. One he’d been raised to hate; to kill. Steve had been handed a new identity when he became Captain America, but from the sound of it, Loki had had his identity utterly ripped from him when he’d found out the truth. Looking at it that way, it was little wonder that he’d snapped. 

Unconsciously, he reached out, pressing his hand against the glass that separated them in an aborted attempt to reach out and offer some semblance of comfort. “I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly. “I shouldn’t.... I’m sorry.” He shouldn’t have asked, he’d realized, from the pain in Loki’s face, then tension in his voice, and the closed-off nature of his posture. 

Loki had just explained the ways in which he was quite literally a monster, but looking as raw as he did in that moment, Steve had never seen him more human.

He wanted to stop. Wanted to call this off. A line had been crossed and he’d pushed too hard when he shouldn’t have -- when he’d agreed earlier not to. But if he backed out now that it was his turn, he doubted Loki would forgive him. He owed him an answer now; one equally painful. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his hand sliding down the glass and back into his lap.

“I got my best friend killed,” he said, not making eye contact. “I was-- He enlisted first, and then I did and, well, long story short, he ended up following my command. He was the only family I had at that point. He’d always had my back.” He paused, tongue darting out nervously to wet his lips. “He was still covering my back when...” He could still remember it with agonizing clarity. The biting cold. The sharp smell of ozone and gunpowder. Bucky picking up his shield. The horrible noise of rending metal as the side of the train tore away. “He was hanging there over a ravine and I couldn’t reach him.” His voice wavered slightly and he swallowed to keep it from cracking. “I couldn’t.... There wasn’t even a way to go back and look for a body, afterwards.” he finished, flattening all affect from his tone. “Sometimes I still see him fall.”

It was something he hadn’t spoken about with anyone after he’d come out of the ice. There had been Peggy, right after he’d lost Bucky, but no one since. And here he was baring that wounded bit of his soul to Loki. He blinked rapidly and looked away.

“I don’t... I don’t think anyone is _born_ a monster.” It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t sure he wanted to ask anything more just yet. 

  
  
  


The apologies were what did it, the look of pity. 

Disgust he could have taken, would have expected. Anger perhaps, at the deception of his form, even dismissal. After all, what did a little truth do? It changed nothing externally, and any Asgardian warrior would call him petty and foolish for allowing it to so bother him. 

But the sympathy, the regret-- that was too much. How dare he ask Loki to hurt himself, and then look so pityingly on him at the results? 

Loki flinched away from the hand raised towards him, and felt foolish for it, knowing as they both did that the glass was there. 

“Ah, it begins to make some sense. Why else would a soldier, a weapon of war, wish so hard for peace? How many men did you kill before the loss of your friend made you rethink your ways?” Loki asked, not intending that the question should be answered. “And it seems to me your friend made the choice. He must have been as stupid as you not to have expected it. I would hazard that any who try to have your back will suffer a similar fate. After all, what good is a shield to those facing away from it?” Loki sneered, his wounded pride driving him to his feet. 

“And how long will you continue being capable of leading, if every man lost on your watch is going to haunt you? Or is that it-- it is, isn’t it? Your kindness, your goodness… these are tools. You think if you can help one person, save one lost soul, perhaps it will stop. Selfish after all, _Captain_. I must admit, you even had me believing, for a moment--” he choked on his words, the vitrol building up in his mouth and throat until he thought he could not see straight. 

He wanted to thrash, to rage, to send the contents of this small room shuddering outward from the epicenter that was his pain, but he clenched his fists instead, turned away from Rogers, and breathed deeply. He held onto his anger, refusing to let the pain win, this time. He had so much more to accomplish here, and he was afraid he might already have damaged what little advancement he’d made irreparably. 

  
  
  


Steve stared in horror, his mouth falling open as Loki spat cruelties at him through the glass. He knew he’d wounded Loki with his last question, and had offered up his own painful truth as an olive branch, not expecting to then be gutted with it. _Maybe you should have expected it,_ a caustic little voice at the back of his mind chided. _It’s Loki._ Calling _him_ selfish, after he’d been willing to sacrifice a planet as a distraction for his own ends? Maybe this had all been an elaborate plan to have Steve expose his weakness so he could twist the knife--

No. He blinked, internally shaking himself. No, that wasn’t it. He’d hurt Loki. This was the action of a wounded animal, lashing out in pain and fear. His anger dissipated as quickly as it had flared.

Though that didn’t mean Loki was wholly wrong...

Not about Steve changing his character because of Bucky’s death. He’d been who he was before that -- if anything, it had darkened something in him. It had hardened his resolve to wipe Hydra off the face of the earth, and took away his biggest reason to hold back; to avoid getting himself killed in combat; to not crash that plane into the arctic, for anything other than Peggy (poor, sweet Peggy...)

But the other part, well. Steve swallowed. For a few moments, silence lingered, broken only by Loki’s ragged breathing. 

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve had too many people die on me. Too many people I couldn’t save. Maybe I think it’ll help if I can keep someone else from dying.” He stood, brushing himself off. “Or self-destructing.”

With that he turned and walked toward the door. 

  
  
  


He hadn’t expected acceptance. It wasn’t a technique that Loki had had employed against him… ever, that he could recall. Certainly not so effectively as this. 

He felt the fight drain out of him, but clenched his jaw shut just the same. 

He wouldn’t apologize. He wouldn’t beg that Rogers turn around and come back. He wouldn’t make himself look and sound any weaker than he already had. He couldn’t-- there was a reason Loki danced as he did around truths. They only ever ended up hurting, only ever caused pain. 

And he’d reacted, probably poorly, baring his teeth as daggers against a man who was not only unarmed, but refused to take up a weapon. 

If Loki had thought he’d figured out everything that made up Captain America and his motives, he’d been wrong. 

Instead he watched him go and seated himself on the cot, letting his mind trace back through all of the things he had managed to get out of the Captain, before he’d let the monster inside of himself out, before he’d knocked things off course. 

He found himself leaning backwards, then stretching out, and he thought that it wasn’t an apology, exactly, wasn’t even really meant for him, but Rogers had been upset about both his failure to eat and his lack of sleep. 

If he covered his head, if he curled in on himself, they wouldn’t be able to notice when the glamours fell away. And it would look as much like Loki had let himself sleep because of Rogers’ visit as Loki’s eating had. 

A grim smile tugged at his lips, and he unfolded the thin blankets at the foot of the bed and began the process of shucking his armor, for the second time that day.

  
  
  


Steve walked toward the door, half-expecting Loki to call out, to say something to make him stop. But no protest emerged, and he reached the scanner without incident, pressing his palm against it and closing his eyes as the door hissed open, covering the sound of the breath he let out. He stepped through, closed the door, turned--

\-- And felt his heart skip a beat. He swallowed. “Sir.”

“Rogers.” Fury’s expression was unreadable. He gestured toward the hallway. “We should talk.”

\---

  
  


Steve braced himself to be reamed out. Sent out on a mission somewhere unpleasant or remote. Suspended from active duty. At the very least, given a stern talking to and banned from accessing Loki’s cell, and possibly punched in the head again.

He found it infinitely more disconcerting when, after the longest and quietest elevator ride of his life, he and Fury entered the Director’s office only to have Fury turn and _smile_ at him.

“Sir?”

“Congratulations on your new assignment, Rogers.” Fury fell back into his leather desk chair and put his boots up on the table. “You’ve just volunteered for the position of Loki’s New Best Friend.”

Steve gaped. “Sir?”

“We’ve had a team working on a file on Loki since he showed up in New Mexico, trying to figure him out.” Fury said. “In the last couple of hours, you’ve gotten us more information from the source than we’ve been able to collect by any other means in the last ten months. He’s opened up to you. Decided he likes you. I’m not about to overlook that.”

“I just talked to him, sir,” Steve said, shifting uneasily. 

Fury snorted. “You did a bit more than that, but I’m willing to go with it. Loki talked to you the way he probably wouldn’t with any of my other operatives. I don’t know whether it’s your boy scout personality or your poster-boy face, but obviously, something is working, and I intend to make full use of that advantage.”

“You want me to mine Loki for information while pretending to be his friend?” Steve asked, frowning.

“You can be best friends and paint each others’ damn nails if you want, but yes, I want information. Though at the rate you’re going, I could almost believe there’s a sliver of a chance you could turn him into an asset,” Fury mused.

Steve hesitated, chewing his lip. “Sir, I’m not sure if that’s the best idea.”

“We’ll keep an eye on you, Captain,” Fury assured him. “We’ll pull you out if we think you’ve been compromised or might give away anything important. I’m not a man for unnecessary risks.” He swung his feet off the desk, leaning forward with a more serious pose. “But neither am I a man to squander an opportunity.”

“What makes you so sure I’ll agree to this?” Steve’s frown deepened.

Fury shrugged. “For the same reasons you went down there today in the first place. Natural curiosity, and the fact that you don’t trust SHIELD. Not 100%,” he held up a hand to cut off Steve’s protests, “Not since you found out about the Tesseract weapons aboard the Helicarrier, and given your experience with the damn thing, I can’t blame you. But this is your opportunity to keep an eye on the Loki’s situation and make sure his treatment as a prisoner is in line with your... sensibilities.” Fury inclined his head slightly.

Steve huffed slightly, then deflated. For a man with only one eye, he had to admit Fury was damn perceptive. “He implied he’s deteriorating because of a dependence on the scepter. That just touching it would significantly improve his condition.”

Fury raised an eyebrow skeptically. “And you believe him?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know for sure he’s lying. And he looks like shit.”

That earned a snort of amusement. “I’ll look into the security concerns involved,” Fury informed him. “And get back to you once a threat assessment has been completed. Does our guest have any other requests in the meantime?”

“Better food, probably,” Steve said. “And it might be best if he was given water in sealed packaging.”

Fury looked nonplussed. “Does he want 800 thread count sheets and a swimming pool installed too?”

“Sir.”

Fury rolled his eye. “I’ll look into it. Although...” he glanced toward the computer screen to his left with a smile. “The sheets no longer seem to be an issue.”

Steve frowned in confusion, until Fury rotated the monitor, showing a security camera feed of Loki’s cell; and Loki, in it, finally sleeping after three whole days. Unthinkingly, Steve felt the corner of his mouth twitch in a smile. 

“Considering the time, you might want to get some shut-eye yourself,” Fury noted. “Go home, Cap. Get some sleep. We’ll debrief you in the morning and prep you for the assignment.”

Steve inhaled, then nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Who knows,” he heard Fury say as he turned to leave. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and you’ll rub off on him.”

  
Steve let out a low chuckle. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.” 


	3. Three

Over twenty-four hours had passed before Steve was able to return to visit Loki, this time with Fury’s blessing and the coaching of a half-dozen interrogating specialists that he’d been inclined to tune out. Instead of his uniform, he wore jeans, a black jacket, and a SHIELD-issue t-shirt, and he had a canvas tote bag in hand as he entered the cell-containment area.

“Loki,” he stated simply by way of greeting.

  


Loki pursed his lips as he stood from where he’d been seated on the bed. He had spent his time being overly conscious of his movements and conservative of his energy.

Had he not been so dedicated to convincing them that his health was waning, he would have at least used the time practicing his aim, or perhaps running through simple pattern dances of combat until his muscles sang with the use.

Instead, he had limited himself to pacing, to sitting on the cot with his back against the back wall, staring straight at the door and blinking as little as possible.

He hadn’t been given much to occupy himself, and he daren’t use his magic to do so, lest they become more suspicious of him, and seek to find new avenues to bind and restrict him. His escape would be much more difficult with his arms bound behind his back, after all.

Food had been delivered and steadfastly rejected, for he knew if he continued on that route, they would have little choice but to send in the Captain with nutrition that he would be willing to take in. It was the only means he had of ensuring the man’s return, and he had clung to it as much as possible. The water bottles, though, Loki drank from with no further issue, given that they had seals on them.

Not that he didn’t think S.H.I.E.L.D. had the ability to tamper with the contents and still replace the seals, but he really wasn’t doing much else, and if they really wanted to test his reaction to their powders, he would be happy to let them. After all, in the aftermath, he’d have solidified Rogers’s stance as his guardian, whether his loose tongue had wounded him or not.

Still, now that he had returned, Loki wasn’t sure what he should say. He should apologize, he knew, but anything that he said would come off either as weak or insincere, and he didn’t think he had spoken incorrectly… only unkindly.

“Captain.” He settled on, then paused before adding, “I… did not expect you would return so soon after my… indiscretion.”  It was stilted, and not exactly an apology. Only an acknowledgement that what he’d done displayed a lack of good judgement.

It was the closest he was prepared to come, not knowing why the Captain was here. For all he knew, he might apologize only to find himself punished for it, and his niceties would have been wasted.

Not that he thought it likely. The man was not unfeeling, and he did not walk with the weight of so unpleasant a responsibility on his shoulders. Or at least, Loki hoped not. He seemed relaxed, certainly his attire was far more casual than it had been any other time Loki had seen him, save the day he was sent off to Asgard in Thor’s care.

Then again, the same could be said of Loki, who, despite his continued strategies of mistrust, had not bothered re-donning the heaviest aspects of his wardrobe. The armor, the heavy leather overcoat… he had made a show of struggling to put them on, before leaving them where they lie in a pile on the floor. Such treatment would not hurt them, and he knew that even when there was not someone present, he was being watched.

He wondered who watched them now, and what those doing so thought of them, this mismatched pair. More to the point, though, he wondered what it was that Rogers thought of them… and why he had returned.

Loki stood before the glass of the front wall of his cage, hands clasped behind his back, posture stiff and waiting.

  


“Yeah, well,” Steve offered a goodnatured shrug. After some sleep and a run, Loki’s words from the day before had lost much of their sting. Which wasn’t to say they hadn’t left their mark, but it wasn’t enough to keep him away. “I thought you might be hungry.” He nodded toward the neglected tray of food, then lifted the canvas bag in his hand as he crossed over toward the box.

He’d gone out after his debriefing to pick up a few things outside of SHIELD -- though this time, on the organization’s dime. Including another sandwich (caprese on lightly-toasted foccacia) from a little shop near the park he’d grown fond of, a bottle of iced tea, a fresh peach from the bag of them he’d picked up at a nearby farmer’s market earlier in the week, and a pair of chocolate chip cookies from a bakery around the corner from his apartment. He took the items out of the bag to place them in the box, surreptitiously watching Loki as he did so. The god still looked haggard, though perhaps not quite as bad as he had before getting some undoubtedly much needed sleep. And though the food delivered since Steve’s last visit had gone untouched, he noticed with some satisfaction that his recommendation about bottled water had been taken, and the plastic remnants were now empty.

  


Loki could not help watching the food with relish, though he still wasn’t completely certain that he should accept it, considering the way they had parted, the last time. The fruit, at least, seemed a safe enough bet, and the liquid came in a sealed container, though the contents sloshed darkly within… something other than water, for a change.

Hesitantly, he thought he might test the Captain’s mood, unable to pick from his few words any idea of his intent.

“I am. Hungry, that is. And… appreciative. For your thinking of me.” It came out gruff, stilted, and he sighed, knowing that such an approach would get him nowhere, leastwise with this man.

He took a deep breath, tucking the pride he had left to him behind the rags of his trickery, comforting himself with the thought that lowering himself only aided him in the long run, only made the foundation for his plans more solid, and made his act more convincing.

“Do you hate me more now, for the things I said? They were cruel, I know. Unforgivable, really, so I won’t ask forgiveness, just.” He paused, struggling to find the way of saying it. “I am weary, Captain, tired of the effort of resisting the things I need, the things my body craves. If you were to… to punish me for my misdeeds. You would tell me, would you not? You would give me that small mercy, rather than…” He gestured at the food on offer, inside of the sliding door, as yet unopened from his side.

 

 

It took Steve a moment to parse out what Loki was implying, but once he did his eyes widened. “Loki,” he said, taking a step forward and looking the other man in the eyes. “I am _not_ going to poison you. I don’t know how things work on Asgard or the other worlds you’ve been to, but we have rules here about how prisoners are to be treated. Especially prisoners of war. Considering the fellas who took a lot of my friends prisoner back in the war ignored a lot of those rules, it’s something I feel pretty strongly about. Okay?” He searched Loki’s eyes for some sign of understanding before letting out a breath.

“And about the things that were said yesterday... don’t worry about it. I’ve heard worse.” He shrugged. If he didn’t hate Loki for trying to enslave his world and kill his friends, a few harsh words were hardly going to drive him away for good. “I’m sorry I asked about... what I asked about. That was obviously a hard subject and I should have left it alone. Though,” he paused, “I meant what I said about not thinking anyone’s born a monster.”

  


Something twinged deep in his chest, and if Loki hadn’t been all too familiar with the sensation as a younger man, he might now panic at the echoes of pain that seemed to be becoming more frequent, in the company of this soldier.

Still, he screwed his face up, opening the door and pulling the food back with him, to be scattered across his bed, his attention diverted between that and his paying attention to the Captain.

The tiny taste of food that he’d had previously had awakened a great yawning chasm in his torso, reminding him that yes, food was a thing he needed, craved, that his body required of him.

“On your world Captain, your monsters are all man-made, all made from men. You have animals, true, but they do not think as we do, do not understand evil. What then, would you call a species with comparable intellectual ability-- clearly I am proof that there is a potential for growth beyond the dull, brutish figures that they are-- who elect, rather than to build civility and foster hope, to instead luxuriate in misery, spread fear, and bring about the downfall of all they encounter?” Loki shook his head, tugging one of the round flat breads free of its paper packaging and inspecting it before taking a bite, the sweetness making his brows raise. Crumbs fell into his lap, and he cupped a hand to catch them, intending to preserve as much of the treat as possible.

“Monsters, Captain, are those who could be good, but are inherently opposed to it.” He frowned, realizing only then that his description of Jotun society could just as easily be applied to him and his own actions.  

“Like me,” he tacked on, almost under his breath. He shoved the rest of the snack in his mouth, to prevent himself from having to say anything too soon thereafter, until he could bring his emotions into check.

  


Steve shook his head. Was this why Loki did the horrible things he did? Because he felt as if he had no other choice, as a matter of nature? He pondered what to say for a few moments, sliding down into a sitting position next to the glass. Next time, he thought, he’d have to bring a chair, or a cushion at the very least.

“My dad died in the Great War. Against a country called Germany. He was a soldier, and well, his whole unit got wiped out about a month before I was born,” he began. “After the war ended, people didn’t think about the Germans too kindly. We even renamed a lot of stuff that had German origins, like calling Sauerkraut Liberty Cabbage and stuff like-- you don’t care. Anyway. The Germans, well, they got a bit of a raw deal after the war, and they eventually started taking it out on other people. Groups that were different. And one guy rose to power, who insisted that those groups were... less than human. Inferior races. And he started systematically wiping them out.” He shifted uncomfortably, thinking briefly of Loki in Stuttgart and the parallels he’d felt there.

“The war I fought in, we were fighting a whole lot of folks on a whole lotta fronts, but me and my guys, well, it was mainly the Germans. And you should have heard the guys I enlisted with talking about what they were going to do to Jerry -- German soldiers, that is -- when they got over there.” He winced. “Point is, when you’re at war with someone, it’s real easy to forget that they’re people. To just focus on how they’re different, evil. Hell, I’d grown up hearing pretty awful things about the Germans from the last war.” He glanced over at Loki, to make sure he was following. “Doctor Abraham Erskine, the man who invented the serum that turned me into Captain America? Was German. And he was one of the kindest, bravest men I ever knew,” he added quietly. “The Germans weren’t monsters. Well, not all of them. Some were, but not because they were German. And a lot of them just happened to be fighting on the wrong side -- happened to be born in the wrong country in the wrong era. And the people who they killed for being different weren’t inferior or subhuman either.”

He pulled a hand over his face, taking a deep breath. “The point I guess I’m trying to make is... These... Frost Giants? You said Asgard went to war with them. Defeated them. And you only grew up knowing the Asgardian side of the story, I’m guessing. So maybe you saw the Hitlers and the Schmidts of their world, but not the Erskines.” He hesitated, hoping he wouldn’t prompt another vitriolic tirade by having broached this subject. “Do you think... do you think it’s possible that maybe they’re not really all monsters?”

The question hung dangerously in the air, and he swallowed before following it up: “I know I don’t know anything about the other realms and I could be off base, but I just wanna throw the idea out there. You said yourself, you were taught that they were all stupid, but you’re obviously a pretty damn smart guy. Maybe there’s nothing inherently evil about them. About you.”

  


Loki snorted, the sandwich he was chewing serving to force him to think before he fired off the first retort that rolled off his tongue.

“No Captain,” he said, voice thick from swallowing, “They truly are all stupid. I went there, I bargained with them, with their king. My true father.” He made a face as if the food he was consuming had suddenly gone bitter in his mouth. “Idiots, the lot of them, too dull to think beyond the surface of what was presented to them.” Loki raised his chin, almost challenging Rogers to think anything but ill of him.

“I killed him. And had Thor not interceded, I would have killed them all. And then none would ever know. Why should Loki, who destroyed the frost giants, ever be suspected of being one himself?” He posed the question archly.

His shoulders slumped and he shook his head.

“It would have changed nothing, however. Whether the beasts in their ruined monuments live or no, it does not change what lurks beneath my false skin.” His lips twisted in displeasure. “There is nothing redeeming about any of the beasts, including myself. If you seek to save someone, I am afraid you have aimed your sights astronomically high, and you are no more likely of succeeding than I am likely to ever rule, or truly be free of the weight of my heritage.” He kept his voice light in telling him so, reporting on it as one might the status of the mead casks, or the weather.

“It has bothered me, though, all this time, wondering why, if Odin chose my skin, he elected to make me so… ugly. So far removed from the Aesir ideal of beauty, or even normalcy. Frigga, my mother, told me the lies were so that I would not feel different, and yet.” He gestured once more at his form, then shook his head.

“I have come to think that perhaps it is my own monstrosity that influenced his sorcery, That no matter how he tried, he could not hide all of the grotesqueries of Jotunkind. Or perhaps it was a punishment for me, perhaps he so reviled my presence, he sought to make me the butt of his court’s jokes, a conscious decision. Whatever the case.” He shrugged, all still speaking as lightly as possible, and lifted the peach consideringly to his lips, biting at it almost savagely.

The juice dripped down his chin, and in his mind he imagined it following the grooves of his birthlines, the dark blue ridges of tissue that marked him as one of the royal crop, Laufey’s son.

He wiped it away with little tolerance for such folly.

  


Steve couldn’t help it; he recoiled slightly at Loki’s casual admission of murdering his own father. And he felt something twist nauseatingly in his insides as he proceeded to cavalierly tell of his attempted _genocide_. Of his own people. That kind of hatred... that kind of _self-hatred..._ He felt sick. Loki was convinced he was a monster. Had tried to kill the monsters. Had become a monster.

The picture of Loki in the plaza in Germany demanding everyone kneel felt permanently etched into Steve’s mind, his own words of comparison from that night echoing in his head.

Maybe Loki was right. Maybe this was an impossible mission; Steve believed in second chances, but were there some things you just couldn’t come back from? Didn’t deserve to come back from? And if so, could he let himself walk away, tell Fury this was all a mistake, and leave Loki to rot? He had no doubt that Loki was trying to push him away, but he could potentially succeed if he continued in this vein. Steve took a breath, trying to get his racing emotions under control -- horror, anger, sorrow, disgust, fear, self-doubt -- and focus on the mission. The mission was to listen to Loki, keep him talking, and help him if he could. If he couldn’t succeed in the latter (though he damn well wouldn’t give up easy), he could at least do the former until Thor showed up or they got a hold of Asgard.

And if Thor did show up, Steve planned to have a lengthy conversation with his teammate to get confirmation of the facts from a secondary source.

He realized he’d briefly tuned out of Loki’s speech, only to find the topic of Loki’s self-loathing had shifted. He failed to contain a snort of disbelief. “Yeah, right. You. _Ugly_. Go ahead and pull the other one,” he grumbled, tone a little harsher than he’d intended as he failed to fully compartmentalize his feelings about Loki’s last revelation.

  


He stiffened at the tone of the Captain’s words, arching his eyebrow at the disbelief etched over the other man’s face. Had he not shrunk back from him mere moments prior? And now, what? Did he mean to try his hand at flattery?

He took another bite, pondering that. The alternatives seemed to be either that the Captain was blind, somewhat twisted in his perceptions, was trained as an artist to see beauty in everything-- even the most grotesque… or that he did, genuinely, find Loki attractive. He did not imagine him the sort to lie, not to harm nor to coddle.

He knew he wasn’t a  _troll_ , but…

Not speaking just yet, he caught the Captain’s eye with his own, then trailed his gaze up and down the man’s form, lingering long enough to make even the most assured uncomfortable. Then he licked the juice of the peach off of his lips, tongue dancing lasciviously as his eyes glittered with the promise of trouble.

“Why Captain.” He purred, sliding his legs open wider on the bed and leaning forward, “I had no idea.” He tossed off a smirk that, though short lived, should at least get the message across. Then he relaxed, shaking his head.

“No, in truth, as you are now you would be more the norm in Asgard, and when you were ill, you would have been treated as some precious thing, something they feared to lose. I, on the other hand was healthy, but small. A runt of a Jotun become a runt of an Asgardian, I suppose. Regardless, you now would be more at home there than ever I was. I was, at best… _exotic_.” He spat the word, exactly as it had once been spat at him.

“Not that it matters, of course. It’s the mind behind it all, ensorcelled face and blue leather alike.” He paused. “Though I don’t suppose my… withdrawal… is doing me any favors.” He held up his hand, as though he expected to see any sort of sign there about the worn state he was in. He flicked his eyes back at the Captain, wordlessly asking that he be updated about the status of the sceptre.

  


Steve shifted awkwardly as Loki’s expression went from arch to... something else, and his eyes began to track slowly down Steve’s form. A pink sliver of tongue darted out over his lips, and Steve felt his cheeks grow uncomfortably and inexplicably warm. There was a moment, where Loki all but _leered_ at him, that Steve’s mind went terrifyingly blank.

And then it was over, Loki leaning back and reverting to his normal (or whatever constituted ‘normal’ with Loki) self. Steve swallowed and resisted the urge to tug at his collar. It was a nice thought, this world Loki described, where at his sickest Steve would have been cared for rather than derided as a burden to society and an invalid, and at his current state would be _normal_ instead of treated as some specimen. There was a time when no one would even look at him twice, and overnight, he had more attention than he knew what to do with. Not that it meant much -- it was a little insulting to know that the interest expressed in him was wholly dependent on his physique, and nothing else about him that should have mattered.

Well, except for with Peggy. And Bucky. Both of them had known him and cared about him before, as well as after the serum. Though he’d lost both of them now. He glanced downward at his hands, where they sat in his lap. He honestly wouldn’t have minded being average, he decided; not big and handsome or skinny and sick, just... normal. He understood the appeal, and understood Loki’s frustration with being outside of it. Though Earth apparently had a much broader definition of what could be considered attractive than Asgard did. Without his armor, Loki was slimmer, slighter, but still had the wiry muscle of an athlete whose sport depended on speed and agility, like a fencer or a swimmer. He had fine, sculpted, almost delicate features in striking lines that Steve would have loved to capture on paper. And his eyes, for all that they were sunken and slightly bloodshot, were a captivating shade of sagebrush green. It was hard to think of anyone calling him _ugly._ Let alone Loki believing it himself.

He winced a bit at Loki’s mention of his withdrawal. “Well, I won’t lie to you, you could use a shower, a haircut, and a few more square meals, but you’re not looking too bad all things considered,” he offered, deliberately avoiding eye contact. Though he knew that wasn’t the information Loki was truly after with his question. “About the scepter -- I’m looking into it. I talked to some people, but it’s gotta go up the chain of command. If it happens, it’ll take some time.” He held his hands out in a gesture of powerlessness.

Then he remembered something, lifting one hand to stall a reply. “Hold on a second --” he reached for the canvas bag he’d brought the food in, rifling through it one-handedly. “In the meantime, I brought you something.”

He pulled out a slender black metal and plastic tablet, with a whitish-gray screen. The tiny text at the bottom labeled it a _StarkReader_ , and he’d spent much of his afternoon preparing it. “They wouldn’t let me bring actual paper books -- something about not giving you a dozen pounds of flammable material--” he shrugged helplessly, “But this thing can hold up to 1,500 books, apparently. Here--” he scooted closer to the glass, holding the reader so Loki could see it as well as he turned it on and selected a book from the menu at random and demonstrated the functionality.

  


His eyes followed the motion of the artist's hands as they danced across the screen, his  fingers pulling forth words from the depths of their technology.

“And what books have you selected for me? Tales of heroes who do the right thing, surely, stories of redemption and working for the good of man?” There was no venom in his jabs, and he chuckled. “Is there someone at S.H.I.E.L.D. whose job it is to approve what books I may and may not have access to from your world?” It amused him, the thought of a person or, more likely, a machine, screening out key phrases.

He was careful not to look directly at it, unwilling to acknowledge and make the man more uncomfortable, but the flush from Loki’s attentions was quite becoming and he had to wonder why it had happened. Surely the Captain received no shortage of interest, and surely it wasn’t because it had been Loki’s, even in jest, to have caused the embarrassment. Perhaps it was that he had admitted to Patricide in practically the same breath.

Of course, how could he have thought anything else-- he had just been saying what a monster he was. There was no glow of interest in his cheeks, only mortification. A compliment from one such as he may be seen as an insult. And of course Rogers’s superiors were watching. He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat and steadfastly refused to address it.

His ego was so great that at times he forgot… even in the midst of talking about it, he forgot how disgusting he was. Well, at least he was Loki, none should be surprised. Still, he resolved not to repeat the experience.

And, begrudgingly, he had to admit he was impressed with the aplomb that the Captain had handled his blunder, his unkindness with. Again.

Where another might have said something hurtful, or reacted by withdrawing, the Captain had come closer, had gone for diversion.

But his list of ways to improve Loki’s looks worried him. Would the Captain be more pleased with him if he did eat, if he bathed and let them shear him?

“This… haircut and bath, are you the one to arrange them as well? Or… it is not a priority for me, of course.” He spoke hastily, trying to recall to the surface his haughtiness, to cover the self doubt he experienced now.

And how was he supposed to support the glamour through contact with water, and potentially a barber? It occurred to him only too late, and he added,

“No, wait. I don’t think. Perhaps myself around water and sharp implements, with people less trustworthy than yourself, is not the brightest of plans.”

  


Steve paled slightly. While he’d told SHIELD he wanted to bring Loki something to read, and gotten approval for the StarkReader, he hadn’t actually made mention of the what he intended to load it up with, or that he planned to deliver it today. As such, he hadn’t given anyone enough time or notice to screen its contents, and Loki was going to read everything that had been selected at Steve’s discretion and Steve’s alone. Though at least the wifi was disabled and impossible to access this far underground; Loki wouldn’t be able to get on the internet or download his own selections.

Oh well. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission; it had worked a startling number of times for him before.

His train of thought was derailed by Loki’s next question. “Hang on, no one’s offered you a chance to bathe?” he blurted, indignant. He’d assumed that, like the food and blankets (up until the last night), Loki had been given the opportunity to tend to such needs and had simply ignored them. He turned to look pointedly up at the security camera in the room’s corner and scowled right in its black eye for a long second before looking back to Loki. “Haircut could be a bit difficult -- we certainly wouldn’t be able to get a professional to this clearance level, but a shower can definitely be arranged, and should have been already,” he said. Prisoners of war were guaranteed the right to proper hygiene under article twenty-nine of the Geneva Convention, and Steve was going to highlight the relevant passage and shove it right under someone’s nose if necessary. “Either tonight or first thing tomorrow, you should have some sort of opportunity to wash. I’m real sorry that you haven’t yet,” he assured, confident that this simple of a request would be met. “If you’re... if you’re uncomfortable around the others, I, uh, can come with you,” he offered, with slightly less confidence, realizing belatedly the nature of Loki’s dismissal of the opportunity consisted not just the security concerns of SHIELD, but his own vulnerability.

It wasn’t lost on him that Loki had just referred to him as trustworthy.

Before he could start blushing again, from the compliment or the thought of accompanying Loki to the shower, he looked down at the tablet. “Anyway, whatever you’re comfortable with,” he mumbled. “The books, ah, I picked them out myself, but I tried to get you a mix of things -- you can let me know what you do and don’t like, and I can take it upstairs and load you more of certain genres or topics.”

He’d gotten a bit overenthusiastic perusing the online library (especially with his SHIELD expense account paying for the damn thing), and had put nearly a hundred titles on the tablet already. There were several volumes of world history, a book on the second world war, a few books of natural history, and some history of human science. He’d also included philosophy -- Plato, Aristotle, and Kant -- as well as numerous classics and works of fiction, ranging from the complete works of Shakespeare to Peter Pan, to A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, to the Catcher in the Rye (he’d been spending a fair amount of his free time catching up on 20th century literature that he’d missed out on, and was eager to share a few of his recent reads with someone who wouldn’t roll their eyes and claim they hadn’t read the book since high school.) He also, he was pretty sure, had loaded up Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, which in retrospect might have been a poor choice, but with luck, Loki wouldn’t get to it right away and he’d have a chance to delete it from the library without him noticing.

“You said that you enjoyed learning things. I thought, since you’re here, you might like learning a bit about Earth’s history and culture,” he offered, looking up to Loki’s expression to see if he’d erred or succeeded.

  


“Well it is one sure way to guarantee it isn’t merely repeat reading for me.” He said slowly, unsure whether to be flattered or concerned with how Rogers was already applying what he had told him to Loki himself. It was true, he did enjoy learning. He wasn’t sure the message he was intended to take from having stories of Midgard so readily thrust at him, though. Was he being prepared for a longer stay? Did they mean to intimidate him by recounting their wars, the ferocities of their weapons and warriors?

He already knew about the last. He’d faced their best. Was facing one of them now.

“Thank you,” He settled on. “I appreciate the thought you have put into so much as bringing it. It will be nice to have something to take my mind off of these four walls.” He found his gaze drifting and looked where the Captain had, directly at the cameras.

It was so easy to forget, in their talks, that it wasn’t just them. That there were others listening… and that anything he might say would likely be weaponized against him at some point. He felt himself go cold again, but part of him knew he wouldn’t have said anything-- wouldn’t have risked any pertinent truths.

As for the other… he swallowed, trying not to work himself up and failing miserably as he worried over the ragged mask he wore. Could he cover his face? Could he turn his back?

“I am not sure-- how would bathing in captivity work? Would I have to be shackled and… and touched?” He sounded meek, and cleared his throat. “I mean, would someone else have to wash me, or would I be allowed… I don’t want to make you have to see more of-- If I’m rough to look at now…” he felt like he was losing the high ground, and hastily retreated to a more comfortable place. “I won’t have just anyone gazing upon the form of a Prince of Asgard, regardless of circumstance.” He pushed the iciness into his voice, but tried to keep his eyes wide, begging the Captain to understand.

He wasn’t shy, he told himself. He just had more to hide than most. And a fear that water would wash away what little armor he was allowed that was left.

  


Steve felt... oddly pleased with Loki’s reaction to the reader. The gratitude might not have been profuse, but his gift hadn’t been met with scorn or contempt, so that was something. “You’re welcome,” he said simply, and was verging on getting up to put the reader in the compartment for transferring food into the cell, when Loki’s next question made him stop.

Of course, Loki had no idea what rights or dignities he’d be allowed here. The timidity in his voice as he asked about the process left Steve feeling oddly guilty, the skin on the back of his neck tingling uncomfortably. “N-no! I mean, yes, you might have to be shackled on the way to the showers, but no one will touch you! Not, I mean, like that,” he hurried to explain, although already the image sprang into his mind of Loki, naked, needing to be soaped up and _goddammit where did that come from--?_

He shook his head as if to physically dislodge the thought. “You would probably need to be supervised by at least one other person in the immediate vicinity,” he hazarded, not willing to promise Loki privacy he wouldn’t be given, “but you’d be able to wash yourself. If you have a preference for who accompanies you, ah, we can try to accommodate that.”

He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt so awkward. He’s seen other men, soldiers, bare before hundreds of times in the army showers. Perhaps it was Loki’s own obvious discomfort with the idea? “Honestly, it’s not that bad. The showers here are a lot like the ones in the barracks back in the army, only cleaner,” he offered. “And the hot water actually works.”

  


 

“The shackles would be removed, then? And you-- it couldn’t be any but you.” He spoke the last firmly, finding again his voice, a position to hide behind, giving orders now. “If you do not wish it, you needn’t agree. I can wait, wait until your superiors have made a decision regarding the sceptre, at least.” He pursed his lips, then let his resolve crack a little. “Though hot water does sound like a blessing.” He granted.

Squaring his shoulders, he put his demanding voice back on.

“I do not mind being led to the chambers, and if you must watch, then fine. I will not react well to mirth or taunting-- I know, obviously, what it is you see and you needn’t point out to me any of the flaws that you may find. I’d appreciate if you didn’t point them out to others either, but I realize that may be too much to ask.” He was a tiny bit bitter about that, though. “I will not have others wandering in whilst I am vulnerable, and there will be no touching me unless my clothes are firmly in place. Understood?” He glared at Rogers, daring him to fight on any of these terms.

“You have my word I will not attempt escape or violence during the process, upon you or any other, so long as my requests are fulfilled.” Inside, he quailed.

He’d had his own bathing room in Asgard, had avoided wearing less than two or three layers worth of clothing, lest the true extent of his slightness be realized. And that was when he could easily have bewitched himself to appear larger, when he could have at least pretended to be muscular.

He could not imagine how he would appear here, when even the weakest of the humans on the Captain’s team of heroes was larger than he. Would they be angry, realizing they had been so nearly bested by something so insignificant?

And the Captain had already compared Loki to his own formative years, spent in illness. The very thought made him angry, made him self conscious again.

“Will you allow me to turn my back to you to bathe, or do you insist on monitoring my shame as well as my actions?”

  


Goddamn it, it was just... it was just a _shower_! Steve wanted to shout. It shouldn’t be this difficult to navigate. “Yeah, you can turn away, I’m not... Look, the idea is just to let you get clean and stay healthy, okay? We have international laws about the treatment of prisoners, and hygiene is included. This isn’t-- it’s not about embarrassing you. I promise.”

He took a deep breath. Of course, he had to think about this from Loki’s side. He was in enemy territory, talking about being naked and powerless and as vulnerable as it was possible to be. It was natural for him to want to know what he was walking into; to make a few stipulations to exert some semblance of control. This wasn’t just Loki being difficult for the sake of being difficult. With that in mind, he nodded.

“So long as you keep your word, it’ll just be me in the showers with you. Other agents will wait immediately outside,” he said, aware that he was negotiating without SHIELD’s permission, but trusting that for the sake of maintaining his fragile but burgeoning bond with Loki, he’d be allowed authority in this. “If you try to escape, attack, or show any signs of hurting yourself or anyone else, they’ll be called in. Otherwise, you’ll be allowed to undress, bathe, and dress yourself with no additional physical contact from anyone else,” he confirmed, his voice slipping into the cadence he’d used in countless mission briefings with his commandos.

“You won’t be harassed or taunted--” he paused, swallowing, thinking of all the cruel words he’d heard growing up about his own feeble body and knowing he’d be the _last_ to criticize Loki’s form, or anyone else’s -- “And no comment will be made about your physical condition to you or any other parties _unless_ I see something that leads me to believe you are in need of immediate medical attention,” he added. He wasn’t sure what imperfections Loki referred to, but if there were any wounds concealed under his armor that he was trying to hide, he wouldn’t promise anything that would prevent him from getting Loki necessary medical care.

“If you want, we can wait until morning, or I can go now and see if there’s anyone on duty available to go with us,” he offered, slipping out of his Captain voice and into a gentler tone. He hadn’t planned on this being traumatic when he’d made the offer, but if Loki was feeling anxiety about the whole thing, it could be best just to get it over with.

  


Loki frowned, barely noticing that the arms which had crossed over his chest when Rogers began speaking had wrapped further around him, until he was physically holding himself together.

“I wonder how your international laws apply to those from off planet. And, if they do, how willing your superiors would be to keep them. As I recall, the last time I was a prisoner, a heavy tap on my cage would send me plummeting to my doom. Or is that in line with your rules?” It started with a murmur and ended in a sharp pointed sneer.

He had heard the way the Captain responded to his own attempts at using his commanding voice, and Loki knew when he had been beat at his own game. Or that facet of it, at any rate.

He ducked his head, his shoulders high and tense.

“You have already reported my medical grievances.” He informed him, not meeting his eyes. “I realize I am… demanding.” He looked up.

“I am not at ease here, and I do not know… anything. There is no surety for me to lean on or resort to, save you. And I know that is intentional on the part of those who make those decisions. I realize it is not entirely your choice to be here, speaking to me. And I live now in the fear that you will change your mind, or be commanded to change it. And then, what will become of me? And what will become of me if you are the only comfort I am to know here? You are kind Captain, but I almost wish you were less so. It makes it hard to remember where I stand, and what I stand to lose. Especially as the days go on and I feel the hunger for the sceptre more strongly…” A truth with a double meaning, an implied reference to a past lie, but not a direct new lie, and thus, not a violation of his oath.

“I know, too, the tricks of building reliance, gentle touches and caring gestures, such as your condensed library, your gifts of food. Then there are the ways of wearing one down with only words, small observations, little criticisms, planted to worm their way into your mind, designed to drive you to distraction. I do not wish to fall for it, but more, I do not wish to cease trusting you for having seen you attempt it. Just as I mustn’t forget what I am here, you mustn’t forget that I am many times your years. I have seen much in my life, and come to know many fears.” He let his words rest there for a moment, then shrugged. “I cannot make your duties easier for you. But as far as times, as far as petty concerns such as scheduling,  make arrangements for whatever is easiest for you. Simply let me know. I can wait.”

  


Steve realized his mouth was hanging slightly open, and he quickly shut it. He didn’t quite know what to say or how to respond. He couldn’t deny that part of his reason for being here was to manipulate Loki, though hopefully for his own good, or that his superiors had sent him here, probably with the hope of creating the dependency Loki just described. But Loki all made it sound like Steve had a much better idea of what he was doing than he felt. Half of it was just impulse. And despite Loki being the villain, the mass-murdering remorseless self-described monster, it was Steve who felt badly in that moment.

“I don’t know whether to feel shamed or flattered that you think I’m capable of that much guile,” he said, chuffing slightly in a self-deprecating chuckle that held little mirth.

“Before... you were an active hostile. And don’t try to tell me that the cell in that helicarrier wasn’t exactly where you intended to be,” he pointed out. “Circumstances now are different. And just because you aren’t technically human doesn’t mean you’re not a person and deserving of some fundamental rights.” Lawyers, obviously, could argue that point until the end of days, and he knew SHIELD would potentially ignore certain human rights provisions under the loophole that Loki wasn’t human, but that was why Steve was here, wasn’t it? “I told you before, I have personal reasons for caring about how prisoners are treated,” he reminded him.

“And as for demanding...” he shrugged. “I work with Tony Stark. Demanding is relative.” He stood, stretching out his joints and feeling pins and needles where his legs had gone slightly numb against the cold floor (he was _definitely_ getting a cushion next time), and moved to place the reader where Loki could access it. “I know I probably can’t say anything that’ll make you honestly comfortable or reassured, considering the circumstances and where you are. And I’m sorry about that. I can’t blame you for being uneasy. I can just offer you my word that while you’re in my custody, I don’t intend you harm.” He closed the seal on the box, gave Loki a nod, and moved toward the door.

“I’ll be back soon.”

  


The corners of his mouth itched to turn upwards and he crossed his cell to take the offered gift from the tray. He was glad that Rogers had elected to leave it just the same, and gladder still to have seen his slack-jawed reaction to Loki’s words.

It had worked, his descriptions of processes that he had employed in the past to create loyalty forcing the other man to be brutally aware, to second guess his every move from here on out.

Loki had proven himself unlikely to attack, and would continue to do so. But he had also exposed himself as likely to be hurt by even the smallest of inconsistencies, the tiniest misstep. If Rogers was tensed and strained, he could relax. And each day that would go by without a blowup on his part would become a day that Rogers would be grateful for.

Oh no, guile was not the good Captain’s forte, but it was very much Loki’s. Lying might be out for the time being, but the careful application of truth made him feel powerful.  

He took the reader back to his bed and began blindly skimming through titles to give his hands something to do and the cameras something to watch.

Rogers’s insistence on his personhood would probably do nothing but help him, but Loki did not feel much like a person. Hadn’t for a while, now. He was as he said, a monster, a beast. And were he a person, he mightn’t be so calculating now. Stepping back mentally, he was being shown that even triumphant, this man was kind, and caring, and though he appreciated the relative comfort he was working to afford him, Loki could not return an iota of the care he was being shown. He told himself it was situational, told himself that it was a choice… but in reality, he thought something inside of him might have twisted so far as to shatter.

Thor was like Rogers, he could give out care like midsummer sweet cakes. Loki, on the other hand, could only sit on his bed and plot. And wait for the Captain to return with a decision.

He settled at last on something called Peter Pan, and let himself dissolve into the words before him.

  


It had gotten late, and while SHIELD headquarters were manned 24/7, the bulk of the workforce had gone home for the night. While this meant it took Steve nearly an hour to set up something as basic as a shower for a prisoner, scouting out the showers on the level above where Loki was being kept and tracking down personnel who could leave their posts to accompany him, it also meant that most of the higher-ranking agents who could veto his whole endeavor were off-duty, and he outranked most of the poor shmucks on the night shift.

An hour and a half had passed by the time he returned to Loki’s cell. He was still in his street clothes, though he wore the shoulder-holster that his shield clipped to, its weight a familiar presence on his back. The four agents around him were armed and loaded with tactical gear. One carried the heavy shackles that Loki would need to wear outside his cell, another a change of clothes (Steve had guessed at Loki’s measurements, basing them off his own since they were similar heights with narrow hips), a towel, and a shower caddy with soap and shampoo.

Before Steve could say anything, the agent with the cuffs and another one both stepped forward and shouted for Loki to step to the center of his cell with his hands up in the air. Once he complied, the agent unencumbered by the clothes and soap moved to a panel by the wall and typed in a sequence that prompted a segment of Loki’s cell to disengage, allowing the agents to move in and shackle him. The process didn’t take long, and Steve’s expression was somewhat apologetic. They moved quickly through the deserted corridors, into the elevator, up a level, down another corridor, taking a few more turns than Steve thought was strictly necessary, and finally arrived at the locker room and bathing facilities. When they reached the door just outside the showers themselves, the guard stepped forward and, with the air of a man expecting a bomb to go off, removed the shackles. When the metal clicked and fell loose without any explosions or disasters, another agent stepped forward and dumped the heap of fabric and the caddy into Loki’s arms.

“We’ll be along shortly,” Steve announced with a nod to the men, stepping forward to hold the door open for Loki before following him in and letting it close.

“The red knob is for hot, the blue for cold, but sometimes it takes the hot water a little while to get through the pipes, so I wouldn’t recommend standing right under it when you start it,” Steve promptly advised.

  


Loki’s brow twitched and he held the large bundle of cloth and soap to his chest, encircling it with his arms and dragging his fingers over where the shackles had been on his wrist-- not because it had been too tight, but because the cuffs reminded him of what being back in Asgard had been like.

“I’m sorry Captain,” and he did at least try to sound apologetic, polite but confused. “I don’t think I understand.”

He was certain he seemed obtuse, but he had been expecting, at best, a tub large enough to partially submerge himself in, and at worst a small pail of water. He’d been assured they would be warm, which was good, it was the sort of luxury he was used to, but now he faced an empty gleaming alcove of a room, with naught but silver pipework in it.

“I am used to basins and boiling water over fires to warm it, but I think your facilities work rather differently.”

There was something so unfriendly about all of this, the lack of wood and warm hued golds making it all seem too bright, too clean, too smooth. It was hard to imagine that any creature so weak as the Midgardians would choose to live in such overbearingly cheerless surroundings. It felt bleak.

Eager to get this done with, though, Loki put the pile of goods onto a bench, and walked into the smaller room.

“How does it work?”

  


“Ah,” Steve said, realizing this would be slightly more complicated than he’d accounted for. _Aliens._ It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Loki came from another world. One that apparently didn’t have indoor plumbing from the sound of it.

“Well, you see the spigot up here?” He stepped in and reached up to tap the shower head. “Water comes out of there in a bunch of small streams. You stand under it, and, well, bathe. The water flows into that drain in the floor there so the room doesn’t flood,” he explained. “Pipes carry to the water to and from here. The knobs let you control the temperature. So if it gets a bit too hot, you can add some colder water with the blue knob. When you’re done, you rotate the knobs to the off position to turn the water off.”

He reached for the shower caddy, handing it back to Loki. “The white bar is soap. You guys have soap, right?” He wondered now how many assumptions he’d been making, taking Loki’s knowledge of the world for granted. The guy was smart, though. Surely there was a lot he was just figuring out as he encountered it. “The blue bottle here is shampoo. The top snaps open like this --” he demonstrated, knowing from the plastic water bottle incident that Loki probably wouldn’t be familiar with snap-tops either, “and you squeeze out an amount about the size of a large coin into your hand, then work it into a lather in your hair. Cleans out all the oil and grease that builds up. Just try not to get any into your eyes,” he warned. “It stings a bit.”

He took a step back, clearing the immediate space of the shower. “Anything I missed?”

  


“No, I think not-- it’s charming though, that rather than mimic lakes and pools, your people chose to create artificial waterfalls to cleanse yourselves.” He could not help but feel a sense of amused superiority.

Silly humans.

Still, the system itself was sound, he supposed, if lazy. Trust them to find ways that they needn’t employ their lessers, such as self emptying bathing chambers.

He placed the soaps into the alcove on the floor, and reached up to turn the dials, keeping a wary eye on the spigot overhead.

When the water came streaming instantly out, he jumped backwards, not avoiding the stream in the least and soaking his clothes.

He turned quickly so that his face was not towards the captain, and made a show of wiping the water from his eyes while he let the light and ripples solidify.

The falling water was going to be a problem on that front.

He made his way out of the shower, dripping now, and hesitated. “I am going to disrobe.” He spoke without looking at the other man, and resolved to pretend he wasn’t there.

He willed himself to focus instead on the problem of his illusory shadows beneath his eyes, the sunken cheeks and the carefully cultivated appearance of poor health.

Without those things, he would not have as compelling of an argument for the return of the sceptre.

He eyed the stream and noted the definite edges. If he kept only the back of his head in it… and then, when he turned, if he dropped the illusion and put his face fully beneath it… but he would have to turn away first, lest the effect of the magic leaving give away his game.

Still, it seemed… doable.

He pulled his shirt off over his head, leaning forward in the process, arching his back to hide his face.

The ties on his breeches gave him only a few moments’ pause, and he folded both articles and sat them on the bench beside the towel.

A wicked thought occurred to him, and he suppressed it for the moment. Oh, it was good. A good reminder. But not just yet. First, he would bathe.

Naked, and with his shoulders squared and the promise of not too far flung future trickery in mind, he walked straight into the stream-- and let out an undignified shriek.

“C-cold.” He gasped, unwilling to send the Captain into a fighting reaction for his own idiocy. He reached for the red knob, attempting to rectify the issue.

  


Steve winced a bit as Loki doused himself in water, glad that he’d thought to have clean (and more importantly now, dry) clothes provided. He stifled any reaction, standing with his feet apart and hands clasped in front of him facing the door, shoulder perpendicular to Loki’s shower stall so he’d be able to see the god in his peripheral vision, but Loki wouldn’t feel overly scrutinized. It was the most privacy he could reasonably afford him, since he wasn’t quite stupid or trusting enough to turn his back on Loki completely.

If his gaze darted over briefly as Loki undressed, tracing down the line of his spine and noting the way that the wiry muscles moved under his skin, well, he was only checking for any additional signs of injury. He averted his gaze before Loki turned around, just as a whisper of fabric indicated that he was now fully nude.

Then he screamed.

Steve turned, jumping half a foot, but felt his heartrate slow as Loki gasped out an explanation. He just as quickly turned away, pressing his lips together into a thin white line in order to stifle any sign of amusement at Loki’s misfortune, despite the warning he’d given him about the water. He’d promised, after all, that he wouldn’t laugh.

(Even if it was a little funny.)

“We’re okay in here,” he called out, before any of the agents outside could grow alarmed and barge in, adding to Loki’s indignity. His gaze flickered sideways. “You good?”

  


“Sorry.” He offered, in lieu of a proper answer. The water was beginning to bear the faintest traces of heat, but Loki still felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him.

The Captain’s positioning, his mostly turned away stance made it easier for him, but Loki recalled the way the man had risen from the floor in his cell room.

“I won’t-- that is, if you wanted to use the bench, sit down while I-- I wouldn’t mind.”

He couldn’t think of a more polite way to offer it to him, as Loki did not truly control the room, as his unfamiliarity with the water system was reminding him even now. And it was not the sort of  generous offer that Loki was used to making, in regards to comfort, but still.

He turned his back partially to the Captain as well, and retrieved the liquid hair cleanser. Pouring it into his palm as instructed, Loki took small delight in the iridescence of the semi-gelatinous substance, letting it pool before pressing it into his hair.

He wrinkled his nose at the texture of it, the way the grease had built up and made his head heavy. The Captain hadn’t been kidding, then. This wash was long over due.

Growing uncomfortable, though, with the silence broken only by the patter of the water striking the floor, Loki chose to speak.

“Your people do know how to swim, do they not? I am trying to understand why this is the normal means of bathing, rather than submersion, and it occurs to me that inability to swim might be a factor.”

And a weakness, he thought to himself, entertaining the notion of a spell great enough to raise the waters and flood all of Midgard, preserving only those smart enough to adapt.

“Or is it that there are none lowly enough to draw baths for you, to be hired to empty them?” He tried to think of what he knew of their caste system, but Loki had had only very isolated samplings of the mortals and how they worked.

The Captain, at least, was good at explaining things.

  


“Uh, thanks,” Steve said, eying the bench. Sitting there would have him facing Loki more directly, though if Loki had indicated it, perhaps he was more comfortable with Steve there? After a moment’s hesitation, he crossed over to it and sank down, angling himself at the end so as to afford Loki as much privacy as he could from this position.

“We know how to swim,” he answered with a chuckle when Loki broke the silence with another question. “Well, a lot of us do. We have baths, also, but most people in the United States opt for showering. I actually grew up with a tin tub to wash in, and the hot water didn’t work too often, though that’s not too common in this part of the world today,” he added. “As for why: mainly because it’s quicker than drawing a bath and having to soak in it and then drain it. We can fill them ourselves -- the water is carried through pipes, same as the shower -- but it takes time to fill, and a lot of people prefer to wash in the morning when they’re in a rush,” he explained.

He felt some of the awkward tension bleeding from his shoulders as he slipped into the ease of detailing normal phenomena of day-to-day human life. The topic was so mundane. Harmless. “Some folks think you get cleaner in a shower, since you’re not sitting in a tub of your own grime and dirt. Some just really like the feel of hot water pounding against your scalp. In the army, we had them because they used less water, and you could fit a lot more shower stalls than bathtubs in a camp, so it was just more efficient altogether.”

He stole a quick glance at Loki, who had succeeded in working the shampoo into a thick lather in his hair, some of the suds slipping down his shoulders, where his skin was almost as pale as the antiseptic tiling around them. He swallowed, looking over at the far wall instead. Steam was beginning to form around them, and the temperature in the showers had him feeling distinctly warm.

  


“Hm.” Loki had no real return comment, his eyes slipping closed momentarily as Rogers’s voice directed his attention to the sensation of the water on his head.

It was good, a good feeling, a comforting one, somehow, despite his initial worry that it would feel punishing, like a barrage of weight dropped from above him. This, though, wasn’t that at all.

“And yourself? What do you prefer, having experienced the many differences in bathing options?” Loki didn’t much care what he spoke about, but he enjoyed the Captain’s voice. It was calming, while his own nerves were on edge, and the stream of conversation eased things. Still, he absorbed the words, and listening to Rogers describe sensations was positively enthralling.

Darting a quick look over and finding that he had sat with his back mostly to him, Loki decided now was the time to risk it. He turned fully away, dropped his glamour as quickly as possible, and then put his hands to his face and pressed it into the downpour.

It felt a little like pushing his face into a pillow, at first, and he clenched his eyes against the suds falling down this way, remembering the other man’s warning of the sting.

Once he’d let it fall that way for a minute perhaps, he lifted his face and pushed his hair backwards along his skull with both hands, slicking the water back in the same direction as well.

Feeling it trailing down his back, once it was no longer being covered in the constant fall of water, made him shiver, and he realized that another side effect of this means of washing was how sensitive one’s skin became.

Very pleasant. In the correct situation, he could almost imagine it being erotically so. But, he reminded himself, this was neither the time nor place for such thoughts, and he was not alone.

Besides, it wouldn’t do to allow his imagination or anything else to rile him up. There was no time he was not being observed. As far as privacy went, this was likely to be the closest he got for a long while.

 

 

“Probably the shower,” he admitted. “Though not the barracks ones. I usually take one at home after my morning run.” Usually scalding hot, until the steam almost smothered him, driving the aches and strains from his muscles as they loosened under the barrage of heat; save for in the heights of summer, when he was almost dizzy from the oppressive DC temperatures, at which point he would leave the water set to bracingly cold. “I got to sit in a hot tub once when Stark invited all of us over after... well...” After New York, he failed to say, though he quickly banished the context from his mind. It was too much of a headache to reconcile the slender, naked figure standing mere feet away from him with the maniacal invader that nearly destroyed his home city. “It’s a, it’s a big bath a bunch of people can all fit in comfortably. It’s hot, and there’s bubbles and currents and it feels pretty nice. Sort of a luxury item, though. You don’t find them on most folks’ properties. But it was... an interesting experience,” he concluded.

“Although,” he began again, as another thought came to him, triggered by Loki’s earlier mention of swimming, “There was one time, in the war, summer of ‘44 when we were trekking through northern Italy and it was absolutely miserable. We were up in the foothills of Lombard, and there were these swamps, and we were muddy and sweaty and covered in dust and joking that we’d probably kill any Germans who came across us with our stench alone. Then we found a river -- beautiful little mountain stream -- that poured right into a natural deep pool.” He grinned at the memory. “It was freezing -- the water came down from the Alps -- but we were all past the point of caring. We were stripping as we ran, all racing to jump in first. I’ve never been that happy to get clean in my life.”

It was perhaps a little funny, and a little sad, that some of his happiest memories came from such a dark period in history. There had been horrors too, and most of his worst memories stemmed from the same time, but he’d had brothers. Friends. Bucky. _Purpose_.

It was a hard thing to wake up and found he’d lost nearly all of that.

  


“Your hot tubs sound like our Springs. There are two in the city and several outside of the gates, the ones in the city have structures built around them, creating a communal soaking area fed by natural flows, heated by the earth they travel through. Outside of the city though, they are wild little pools. It is very pleasant to soak in them, provided you can find one to use by yourself.” Or with others whom you don’t mind being around, like Rogers with his various teammates.

That was not something Loki was familiar with, really. Probably another side effect of his heritage. He could not imagine trust being something that came easily to constantly warring brutes.

The heat now was beginning to be overwhelming, making his head swim and his senses feel sluggish, and Loki tugged the knob in the opposite direction, letting the cool dominate again. He checked once more to see that Rogers was not watching, and bent to lift the bar soap. This format he was more familiar with, though it was nothing like the lye soaps made in Asgard, much smoother and almost milky in hue.

He squeezed it experimentally and the pressure sent the slick brick toppling to the floor.

He retrieved it quickly, afraid of looking foolish in the process, and more afraid that the noise of it would cause Rogers to look, to see his face in its current unlined state.

But as the water cooled, he thought on the other man’s story, imagining him running through the wild, shucking his garb until he stood gloriously bare and ready to dive into the frigid waters of a mountainous river.

He had no reference for the plants or rivers of Midgard, and so could only imagine Rogers nude in Asgard’s wild, but it was still a pretty picture.

“You should consider drawing it.” He murmured, the heat perhaps having affected his filters. “Your mountain bath. It sounds beautiful.”

  


“I did, at the time,” Steve said looking down at his hands. He’d glanced up briefly a moment before when he’d heard a clatter, but once again averted his gaze when he realized Loki had just dropped the soap. Oddly enough, talking to Loki like this was easy. Speaking about the past -- normally, when he mentioned his time before the ice, he either got a wisecrack about his age, or a knowing look of sad understanding that he neither wanted nor needed. Loki, however, treated him with no pity. It probably wasn’t even in his emotional repertoire.

“Had a whole sketchbook full of drawings. Some of the scenery. Cities we marched through. People I knew,” he mused, remembering how sketching would soothe his nerves by keeping his hands busy when his mind refused to quiet itself before a mission. “Don’t know what happened to it. Probably got tossed out in all the chaos after I went MIA.” He hoped. The possibility of all those intimate moments from his life now being on a display in some museum felt... violating.

“I’ve redrawn some stuff from memory. Tried to make sure I remembered everyone’s face for weeks after I woke up from the ice.” He’d filled a whole sketchbook with Peggy alone, from every angle, every expression. Another with Dum Dum, Jim, Monty, Gabe, Jacques, Howard, Colonel Phillips... The only one he hadn’t drawn in those weeks was Bucky, since every time he closed his eyes to picture his face, he could only conjure up the image of Bucky reaching out, falling, his mouth open in a silent scream. He drew in a deep, steadying breath, the steam-filled air heavy in his lungs.

“Are there... are there places you miss? Like the hot springs?” he asked.

  
  


The soap stripped away at built up grime he hadn’t even realized he had amassed.

“You have lost much, Captain, and yet in my bargaining, you did not even think to ask for it back. You are a strange, interesting man.” It was said lightly, not dismissively, but only as conversation and not as a dig at Rogers’s intentions.

He hummed thoughtfully as he twisted to wash the backs of his thighs, fingers finding muscles knotted beneath the surface. Ah well. A few days, a week more of his vacation in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody, and his muscles wouldn’t have the definition to hold the knots. He wondered if they would take it as threatening if he began stretching and exercising while he was alone.

He was roused from that line of thinking when the Captain asked a question of him, in turn.

“The palace library.” He answered instantly. “It holds books on every world, every culture, every war and coup and social or political scandal, the biggest crimes and the histories of… well, everything. And it is the only room in the palace that, no matter how large an army of maids and servants go at it with their cleaning supplies, will always smell old, and dusty. It smells wise.” He stopped, vaguely embarrassed at the near dreamy response it pulled from him, and he quickly sluiced off the rest of the soap he’d put on his body. “The stables, too. The most quiet places in Asgard, and often the warmest. Visiting the horses in the depths of an Asgardian winter… there was nothing so comforting. It was like being a child again, head in your mother’s lap.”

He turned away, replaced the glamour, twitched it a little to account for the damp and the way the heat would have lessened some of the stress in his face, but the discoloration under his eyes remained, and the haunted look he’d given himself.   

Then he straightened and turned off the spout by reversing the turns of the water knobs.

He stood, facing outwards, unsure what came next. He did not cross his arms or seek to hide behind cupped palms. Shame filled he may be, embarrassed, scowling and awaiting the contempt he was sure might be levelled at him, but he would not appear weak, not let Rogers see him as emotionally vulnerable as well as physically so.

“I’m done.”

His eye fell on his clothing, the ones he had removed, and he recalled his trick. He let a small smile appear on his face, but waited for the Captain to tell him what was expected.

  


The descriptions Loki wove transported Steve to another time and place with ease. He imagined the smell of musty, slightly molded book bindings and crackling yellow pages; of soft light filtering in between the stacks at the New York Public Library, where voices were kept at a reverent whisper, as if in a church. And Loki, who felt at his most fulfilled when he had knowledge at his fingertips... it must have been a paradise. He tried to picture the stables, and the musky odors of hay and horse and leather tack mixing in a warm stall while the snow squalled outside. There was a peace and nostalgia in Loki’s voice that resonated with something inside of him, something familiar and bittersweet. They’d both been separated from their homes, by space and time, after all.

He didn’t realize the shower water had shut off until Loki spoke. “Oh,” he said with a start, shaken free from the reverie. He glanced up at Loki, standing nude and dripping and glowering rather impressively. “Here,” he quickly reached for the towel on the bench next to him, tossing it over. “You can dry yourself off with that. There’s clean clothes here when you’re done, though I don’t recommend putting the socks on in here since they’ll just get wet.”

He stood and moved away from the bench to afford Loki some privacy for when he dressed. Waiting for him lay a pair of navy blue standard issue SHIELD trousers, black socks, white briefs, a gray t-shirt, and a black zip-up hoodie with the SHIELD emblem on the sleeve, all scavenged from various SHIELD-issue stores. Steve had been rather relieved to discover that they didn’t keep enough long-term prisoners in the holding cells to merit any kind of prisoner jumpsuit, since he doubted Loki would concede to it.

  


He caught the towel and pressed it over his face, draped it over his head, and turned his back to Rogers to dry himself, making sure the dry version of his mask was in place before he dried his hair and began working his way down the rest of his body.

That task completed, he picked up the trousers of the outfit Rogers had assembled for him, and sneered openly, not afraid of hurting his feelings with his back turned to him.

He cleared his throat.

“Captain?” The smirk threatened to seep into his words, and he swallowed it down.

“I am not in my cell.”

The declaration, the reminder, was intentional and slow, and he let it hang in the air between them for a moment before he continued.

“I am not escaping or attempting to attack or harm anyone. You know I cannot leave without the sceptre. However…” He raised his hands and pulled them down over his body, luxuriating in the familiar feel of his own clothing, untarnished with grime and comfortable in their worn state. He knew he would not be comfortable in a full coat or long vest, but he felt exposed without his layers, and so had compromised with a short waistcoat, one which crossed over him and buckled tightly around his form. It felt like armor without the threat, the imposing presence of metal. His shirt below it was loose and his breeches soft and tight, but with enough give for mobility. It was what he was used to, what he needed to feel comfortable.

And like he’d said, he could be doing much worse things.

“And while I am here, and in possession of some small measure of power, I will ask you again, is there anything that you want? I know you are doing your utmost, this is not a bribe, but rather a thank you. For the kindness you have shown me thus far.” His brow rose, curious to see what Rogers would ask of him in such circumstances.

  
  


Steve’s mouth went dry at the display of magic, clearly renewed since Loki’s capture and no longer suppressed here in the showers. Loki had preceded it with his assurances of cooperation, but it was a sudden reminder of what he could do. Of what he had done. Of what he might yet do. It put him on edge, where seconds ago he had been relaxed and daydreaming, and the transition was jarring.

Not to mention it made him feel rather stupid for having spent as much time as he and the other agents had trying to track down clothes to fit Loki this late in the evening.

“Neat trick,” he heard himself say. “I guess hoodies aren’t really your style.”

And then Loki made his offer. His wording was kind; his tone sincere, but Steve balked. Balked, perhaps all the more because he knew now what he might ask for. Though it was quite possibly outside the purview of Loki’s power. Could he raise the dead? Or undo time? Surely if he had the capacity to do the latter, he would simply have jumped back to before his failed invasion to recover the scepter. And the former--

No. There were things that shouldn’t be meddled with. Steve’s life from before was gone. Bucky was gone. He knew this. He was accepting this. And he wasn’t going to cave in now.

He shook his head. “Thank you, but no,” he said, voice flat. He took the door by the handle and held it open for Loki, not looking him in the eye.

  


He could see the way that the Captain withdrew, could see him tense and turn away, and the marvelous trick he thought he was playing fell flat.

But the door opened, and they were no longer alone, so Loki could not address it. The little gleeful bubble in his chest deflated, leaving a gaping void there instead, and so he walked through the doorway, averting his face as he passed. Rogers seemed not to want to look at him now, so he would not force him to. In honesty, it was the reaction he’d expected all evening, but why now would he be treated to it, when he thought it had gone so well, considering his earlier misgivings?

Could it be that his species was not abhorrent, his face not odd, but that here it was his magic that would turn people away? If so, he had truly miscalculated. But more than that, it _hurt_ , this denial of the thing he was most proud of about himself.

He did not speak, merely walked close enough to the guards to spare them the effort of coming to him, and held out his arms, allowing them to return him to his shackled state and allowing them to guide him back to his room and his cell.

The icy grip at the base of his throat did not abate as he was led from the room, nor did it thaw with the knowledge that he could free himself, could turn and walk away from them, and there would be nothing they could do about it. Save perhaps glaring at his disgusting display.

It was childish, he knew, this rejection. He should be beyond it.

He wasn’t, though.

And that only added to the hurt he felt in the first place.

 

 

Steve and the other agents delivered Loki back to his cell without incident. It was nearing midnight, and Steve could think of little else to say, so once Loki was secure once more, he nodded to him, bid him goodnight, and left.

He felt deeply drained by the time he got home, and fell asleep quickly after peeling out of his clothes and dropping into bed.

 

\---

_He was dancing with Peggy, finally._

“ _I thought you were going to be late,” she said, quirking an eyebrow as her perfect red mouth curved in a smile._

“ _And leave my gal waiting?” he countered, grinning at her. He pulled her in close, and then, with one hand weaving into her dark hair, leaned in to kiss her deeply._

_Her mouth was warm and soft and his heart quickened, eyes drifting closed. The kiss grew more urgent, more forceful. Suddenly he was thrown back, hard against the tile wall, and when he opened his eyes, he wasn’t looking into Peggy’s dark eyes but Loki’s green ones._

“ _This is not a bribe,” he murmured gently, “but rather a thank you.”_

_His heart nearly stopped. The music of the band was replaced with the pattering of water as once more they stood in the SHIELD showers, steam coiling and oppressive around them. Steve opened his mouth, only words didn’t come, and then Loki was pressed against him, mouth interlocked with his, body hot and wet against Steve’s own naked flesh. His hands traced down Loki’s sides, following the paths of droplets that formed like pearls against his skin. He moaned into the kiss, fingers pulling through Loki’s soapy hair, bodies grinding together. When they came up for air, Loki’s fingers traced his jaw delicately, and his face split into a smile._

“ _Oh Captain,” he breathed._

_And then Loki hooked his fingers under his own chin and pulled, grabbing the flesh of his face and peeling it back, tearing it free like a mask to reveal a grinning, blue skull._

_Steve tried to scream; he fell back against the wall._

_Loki laughed and with a gesture, summoned armor, black and chitinous with gleaming obsidian horns._

“ _Oh Captain,” he repeated. “I am not in my cell.”_

 _And then the scepter was in his hand, and he was driving it forward, slamming it into Steve’s chest and piercing through it in an explosion of pain and blue light. Steve tried to cry out, but no sound came. He couldn’t even inhale. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe breathe breathe_ BREATHE--

 

He lurched upright in his bed, gasping loudly and painfully. He rolled to the side, desperately untangling himself from the restrictive blankets, only to tumble out of bed, crashing to the floor and taking his bedside lamp with him.

Sitting on the floorboards, back against the mattress, he focused on trying to fill his lungs with air, an act that required more of his concentration than it had in years. Finally, his heart no longer sought to pound its way free from his ribs, and he could draw breath normally

He didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

  


  
  



	4. Four

 

He stopped at a bakery on the way to work the next morning, picking up a box of bagels. They weren’t New York bagels, but they’d do in a pinch. Though after the previous night, both real and unreal, he wasn’t particularly looking forward to seeing Loki again.

Fate, it seemed, didn’t want him to see Loki either.

“We got a situation,” Fury said, meeting him in the lobby. “Suit up.”

It turned out that an extremist group had launched an attack on a lab outside of Baltimore that had been doing experimental research on neurotoxins. The resulting operation to neutralize the attackers had been long, complicated, and rapidly devolved into violence and chaos. By the time the neurotoxins were all secure and the lab staff evacuated, half the building was destroyed and Steve had taken a bullet graze to the leg pushing a frantic lab technician out of the way of a hail of gunfire. He wasn’t released from the hospital or the SHIELD debrief until late that night, and fell into his bed half-dressed and doped up on painkillers with hardly a thought of Loki.

Which meant it was a full day and a half after the shower incident that he finally returned to Loki’s cell, still limping and feeling grim for having neglected the prisoner in his charge.

He hoped that the contents of the warm, flat box in his hands might help in the way of an apology.

“Hey,” he said on entering, announcing his presence.

 

 

“I’ve offended.” Loki said, uncurling from his position laying on his side on the cot. He hadn’t heeded the alarms, unaware that they heralded Rogers’ approach rather than another delivery by silent agents, but he reacted to the Captain with an immediacy that betrayed him.

The words had been on the tip of his tongue since he’d returned to his cell, and the wait to be able to say them made them nearly frantic to trip forth into the world. His gaze raked over the other man, before he dropped it quickly to the floor of his cell, not wishing to present his face to him, in the event that Rogers was still disinclined to look at him, after… After.

“It was not my intention. I _am_ sorry.” He wasn’t groveling, no whine to his voice, but he did not speak strongly, either, unsure to what degree he had ruined things.

He did know though that he needed to put it right. And to that end, he hung back in his cell, standing but hovering near the bedside, rather than rushing forward to meet the Captain. He twisted his fingers together, holding his hands in front of him, the polar opposite of his raised hands and twirling fingers. No magic could come of hands so clenched.

“I did not mean to drive you away. Truly, I… I apologize.” Even all the time given to what he ought to say had not served him well. He still felt tense and miserable as he had getting back, and his last day had been a repeat of his first few, wherein he did not eat, nor sleep, nor do anything other than bury himself in the Stark Reader and feel badly for making use of the Captain’s gift to him, when he had so bungled his attempt to return the favor.

“I do not pretend that I fully understand-- perhaps if I did, I would-- but. But it won’t happen again, if you tell me what I did wrong.” He had puzzled over it, examined each moment of that night, and could still not find any answers but the obvious one, that Rogers hated his abilities. And he had tried, but still could not understand why that bothered him as it did.

He saw that Rogers carried something, and he darted his eyes to the tray which sat unaccepted in the security door, then chided himself for thinking that whatever it was was for him.

He certainly had not earned any kindnesses. And he knew that his refusal to eat and sleep was likely to only increase the ire Captain America felt towards him, but he couldn’t help it. It was the only way he knew of increasing his chances to even have this moment to apologize.

Though why he should care… _the sceptre_ , he reminded himself. But how likely was that to happen now?

He supposed he would know by the end of this visit whether his time here was at an end, whether his play had been of any use at all. Or if he had only managed to spend time gaining respect for Captain America while simultaneously making himself even more of an enemy.

 

 

Steve felt a horrible swell of guilt. He leaned down and put the box on the ground, wincing at the pulling sensation on the stitches in his leg. To his relief, someone had put a folding chair in the antechamber, and he limped over to it, picking it up and hauling it back over with him to set it down next to the cell. “Loki,” he said softly, “I’m not mad at you.”

Of course, Loki’d had no way of knowing that. Steve had been shaken the other night and left abruptly after turning down Loki’s offer. And then he hadn’t come back. He doubted if anyone had thought to come let Loki know where he’d gone, and if they had, Loki wouldn’t have had cause to believe them. Steve himself hadn’t thought to even make an effort to let Loki know, which made his cheeks burn with shame as he dropped into the chair. “I got called out on a mission. I was going to be here yesterday morning but then there was an emergency. You didn’t do anything--” he trailed off, realizing that was both true and untrue. Loki hadn’t done anything to make Steve angry. But he’d unsettled him, unwittingly, and Steve hadn’t wanted to come back yesterday, even before the call-out.

He pushed a hand back through his hair and exhaled. “I’m not mad at you,” he reiterated. “It’s just... you’re actually pretty easy to talk to, you know that? Heck, I actually kinda like talking to you. Which makes it really easy to... forget sometimes.” Forget Stuttgart. Forget New York. Forget the Helicarrier and Coulson and Barton and all the rest. (And why did it feel sometimes like his life was just one long chain of sins for him to feel guilt over?)

“And the other day, when you did the thing with your clothes, well...” he licked his lips. “I don’t know if you remember, but the very first time we met, you did something similar with your armor. It was a reminder. That’s all. So that’s why I was... a bit curt with you that night. But I didn’t deliberately avoid you yesterday because of it.” He looked up at Loki, searching his face for signs of how he was processing this information.

 

 

He smiled sadly, the effort of keeping his emotions from flickering across his face like so many words suddenly more difficult than usual. He did just the same, but only by a narrow margin.

“Yes. We mustn’t forget.” He responded, graver than he’d thought he would sound. “Like I said, I have to remember who I am when I am here, what I am always, and you--” He gestured between them, then sat down on his bed, letting his hands fall limply into his lap. “You have to remember who you are and what I have done.” It was a cold sort of comfort, knowing that it was not some new wrong he’d done, but rather an old one that he’d dredged up.

“Next time, I will just take the clothing you bring. I’m sorry. And if… when your superiors decide they want me to use my-- want my powers for their ends. You don’t have to watch, if it disquiets you so.” He felt like a child, being made to clean up after a joke gone awry. He swallowed.

“You’ve been hurt.” He observed, attempting to change their focus away from his well intentioned failure. He wasn’t sure that he could ask what had happened, though-- clearly if it was to do with a mission, it would qualify as one of the things he had agreed not to inquire about. “Is it bad?” He asked instead, hoping the genuine concern he felt did not seem false, coming as it did from him.

 

 

“Well, in all fairness, the pants probably would have been a bit too short in the ankle for you anyway,” Steve said with a rueful smile. “It’s not the magic so much as,” he pulled a hand over the lower half of his face as he grasped for the words, “it’s the associations? I guess... And no one is saying anything about using you. They’re still trying to contact Asgard,” Steve quickly added, before Loki could interpret any failure to address that point as some kind of tacit confirmation. He hated that he didn’t have any more concrete information on that front. As days stretched on with no word from Asgard, he knew the frustration of Loki’s situation had to be growing. He’d found himself wondering as he rode in that morning just what would happen if Thor didn’t get back to them. Would this be sustainable longterm?

He gratefully latched on to the change of topic. “Yeah, I took a hit the other day. Part of the reason I couldn’t come by -- even after the action, they didn’t want to let me leave the hospital,” he grumbled, looking down at the offending leg. He heard the concern in Loki’s voice and felt a twinge of surprise at its presence. A week ago, he’d have doubted Loki would sound worried about _anyone’s_ well-being, let alone Steve’s. “It’s just a graze. It smarts a bit, but it’s shallow and I heal fast,” he said, looking up with a forced smile.

He caught sight of the untouched tray in the food-delivery box and frowned. “Did you eat since I was last here?” If Loki had starved himself in his absence, he was going to feel twice as guilty. He didn’t even know what had happened to the bagels he’d tried to bring the day prior.

 

 

“I was…” Loki hedged, “...not in the mood.” He felt guilty, making Rogers’ face contort in such a way, only adding to the pain he was already in.

“I’m sorry to see you wounded,” he told him, surprised by how honest that statement was. He had to close his eyes, consider the implications of it. Would he hesitate to endanger him in the future, because of his stay here? It certainly helped that it was not an inherent part of him that Rogers loathed, so much as the things he’d done.

Not that he could change either now, but just the same. It helped.

It also would depend, he mused, on how they separated, on what sort of terms this tableau came to a close.

Which, quite possibly, would turn ugly in but a few moments. Because he had to address the more pressing information the Captain had just given him.

“I do not wish you to take this as a threat,” He spoke slowly. “But I will not return to Asgard without a fight. I have cooperated thus far, respected your wishes. But I will not go back there to languish and eventually die. If your heads of S.H.I.E.L.D. are not even considering my bargain, I have little confidence in their delivering to me what I need, which tells me only that I should have been seeking a means of getting it myself, rather than wasting my time and yours, playing the good little prisoner.” He frowned, rubbing his fingers together, a nervous habit he’d thought long since discarded.

“It’s not that I am ungrateful, Captain, it is that I have goals, needs, and I am trying to go the right course and play nice, at current, to acquire the sceptre. I cannot in good faith continue on this route if it is blocked to me. Will you tell them? Tell them I am open to negotiate, and not to presume that they have any high ground other than what I have allowed them.”

He looked straight at the video camera behind the Captain’s shoulder.

“And ask them to consider what may be of more use to them? Me, willing to work at their behest, a magic user and dignitary on a leash, or my brother, who is already on their side, but is at best a loose gun, a wild card who may choose whether or not to obey. And think what control over him my influence may grant. Tell them I will need an answer by tomorrow’s eve.” It was a challenge, through and through, and he was glad of his glamours, a visible clue to the madness he contained.

Turning his eyes back to the Captain though, and realizing what he had just done, he lowered his voice.

“You have my word I will make no move until you have healed thoroughly. I would not risk wounding you again, just because your superiors are idiots. You do not deserve to be punished for their poor choices.”

 

 

Steve blinked in surprise. “Thanks, I think,” he said. From Loki, it was a surprisingly thoughtful assurance, unsettling though the context may have been. That Loki seemed honestly troubled by Steve’s injury and invested in his welfare made something in his chest squeeze slightly. Though of course, he reminded himself, Loki needed him. For food, negotiations, any kind of contact -- he was probably relieved not to have the closest thing he had to an ally in here taken out of commission. But still...

The mention of his eventual death on Asgard made Steve flinch. It seemed that if Loki was uncomfortable with the idea of Steve being badly hurt, Steve was beginning to feel something of the same in reciprocation. Not that he had any idea what fate actually awaited Loki on Asgard. And after all he had done, would he deserve it? Was it even Steve’s place to judge?

“You’re really serious about working with us?” he asked after a moment. Loki had mentioned trading his services before for access to the scepter, but Steve hadn’t put much stock in the offer, figuring Loki only meant to bribe his way into the presence of the weapon before vanishing with it. But Loki’s cooperation and honesty in the past few days now shone a new light on the offer, as something that could potentially hold water. _I could almost believe there’s a sliver of a chance you could turn him into an asset_ , Fury had said. What if the chance was more than just a sliver?

“You’d actually collaborate with SHIELD in defense of Earth? Long term? Take orders and.... and help protect people?” He had a hard time believing Loki would put up with that, but then, he’d put up with a supervised shower with no fuss the other night. Perhaps the possibility wasn’t so far-fetched.

 

 

He registered the Captain’s surprise with amusement, only briefly troubled by the direct line of questioning. After all, if anyone could navigate between oaths and necessary evils, it was he.

“Would it destroy you, Captain? Working beside me, knowing that my motives are not so pure as your own?” He volleyed back, side stepping having to answer. He supposed it depended what constituted long term… but lying by omission was still lying, and he would have to consider that at some point. He’d have to decide how and what he _could_ tell the man, without endangering both he and his realm.

No, better still not to. Better to stick to what he had left of the original plan.

Though he wasn’t sure now that he could use the sceptre on Rogers, given the opportunity. The sensation of bile rising in his throat at the thought was unpleasant for more reasons than one, and he swallowed it down, deciding to worry about that when it became closer to a reality. If it did.

“I am serious about needing access to the sceptre, and about being willing to trade my services for it.” He didn’t know how long he had before Thanos chose to track him down, or even how good his offer would have to be to spare his own life, let alone any incidental lives in the area when it did happen. Judging by his reaction to Rogers' minor leg injury, though, he suspected it would be for the best if he was far away from this man at least, before that happened.

Still, it was as Fandral once said, go to Midgard, toss around some lightning bolts, or in his case, a few spells, let them think you a god, a hero… let them come to trust you. And then…

...and then disappear, before something far bigger than you could come and grind them all into the dust they claim to have been born of.

 

 

Steve shook his head. “Loki, I’ve seen you fight. I’ve fought against you. And I can honestly say I’d rather have you on my side than against it.” Did he trust Loki to have his back? No, not entirely. But having that kind of power neutral at worst and backing them up at best, even precariously, was better than having to face it head on. Again. Regardless of his motives. Steve was a moral person and an idealist, sure, but that didn’t mean he was impractical. He knew many of his allies didn’t share his worldview, but was willing to overlook those differences in pursuit of a common goal.

“I’m due to meet this afternoon with Fury, regarding the scepter,” he let him know, standing up with some discomfort and crouching over the box on the floor. A plastic bag on top of it yielded a few paper plates and napkins, which he took out before lifting the lid and briefly savoring the smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce. “I’ll let you know what the progress update on that is.” Last he’d heard, someone in Engineering had been tasked with blueprints for a Loki-safe room in which he could touch the scepter with minimal risk of escape or theft, and a requisition had gone out to the Fridge.

Using his fingers (they wouldn’t let him bring in a knife, even plastic), he tore through the thick, doughy crust of the pizza and separated out two large slices, sliding them each on to one of the plates, breaking through the long trailing threads of cheese. “And to make up for yesterday,” he said, changing the topic, “I’ve brought you one of the best foods Earth has to offer.” He flipped the box shut to keep the pizza warm, picked up the plates, and made his way over to the food-compartment, sliding in one of the plates with some napkins, and keeping the other for himself. “It’s called pizza.”

 

 

Here he was, afraid he was making a declaration of war, discovering truly disconcerting feelings regarding the fragility of the man on the other side of the glass, and the Captain was bringing him…

His stomach lurched as the smell wafted in.

“Pizza, you said?” He asked, mood switching to something close to pleasure.

He accepted the plate, lifting it to his face to inhale the scent that made his stomach urge him to cease with the niceties and get on with eating it.

He saw that the Captain had kept his own piece, and he smiled, sinking gracefully down into a cross legged position in front of him at the wall.

“Did you wait to share your dinner with me?” He felt oddly flattered by the notion, and the warm feeling in his chest was not entirely because of the heat coming through the thin plate.

He lifted the food gingerly, or attempted to, but the heat made it slide and squish around, evading him. He frowned at it and nudged the thin end off the edge of the serving surface, then lifted it to eye level so that he could capture it in his mouth.

It was delicious. And burning the inside of his mouth.

He let it sit on his tongue, exhaling over the top of it, trying to blow the steam out as the semi-acidic, semi-sweet sauce overwhelmed his tastebuds.

“‘S Good.” He managed, muffled as the statement was by the mouthful that he could not quite chew yet.

 

 

Steve had half expected Loki to turn up his nose at the messy pizza or make some critical comment, but either he was hungrier than he let on, or even Asgardians -- Frost Giants -- _whatever_ \-- couldn’t resist the allure of good pizza. He watched the god sitting on the floor, eating his slice from where it hung over the edge of his plate, and couldn’t help but smile as he settled himself on the ground, forgoing the chair in favor of sitting on the same level as Loki. “Just wait until you have New York Pizza. There’s a place in Brooklyn that I swear is the best in the world, although Salvatore’s does a pretty good pie,” he said, taking a bite of his own and savoring the flavor.

It wasn’t until half a second later that he realized he’d spoken as if Loki _would_ try New York pizza. Which would require a world in which Loki visited New York under more peaceful circumstances. _As an ally of SHIELD?_ The more he considered Loki’s offer of aid the more he he realized, sitting here on the floor with drippy strings of melted cheese falling against his chin, that he wanted it to be true. To not be a ploy or all some elaborate trick. Wanted Loki to redeem himself and do good in the world and be the man who spoke reverently of libraries that smelled like wisdom and the fulfillment of seeking knowledge, not the lunatic who commanded men and women to kneel.

And he was terrified that if he let Loki touch the scepter, he would vanish only to reappear with carnage in his wake. Not because he expected it of him -- but because he didn’t want to.

The mouthful of pizza suddenly seemed to choke him, and he swallowed with a bit of difficulty. “Can I ask you something?” he wished he’d thought to bring a soda or something for them to wash the pizza down with, though it was a bit too late now. “How did you end up here anyway? I mean, what happened with Asgard after you and Thor left?”

 

 

Loki made a face around his next, cooler, and thus more flavorful, bite.

He chewed slowly and swallowed, using the time to think it through. He dropped the plate of pizza into his lap and looked down at it wistfully.

“I told you I would answer questions that would not endanger you. This won’t, and I will answer it, if you really want to know but… for now, could we just. Would you mind if I wait until we’re through eating?” He gave him the same sort of playful pleading face that he had once given the palace cooks, while trying to convince them that pre-feast desserts were not only a perfectly good idea, but something he should have often.

He was in a reasonably good mood at the moment, and hungry, and he knew that recounting the story would put him off both things.

But especially after their last evening together, Loki didn’t think he would deny Rogers this, if he pushed. He just couldn’t help but hope he wouldn’t.

“It’s ah.. not a pleasant set of memories, and your pizza does not deserve to be tainted with bitterness.” He offered a quirked half smile, trying to keep the mood lighthearted, as it had been. Hoping he had not offended him, in denying him this in immediacy. “Even if this is not the best of pizza that Midgard has to offer.”

He considered making a tasteless joke about being willing to spare the realm just for delicacies such as this, but managed to keep it contained. As Rogers had said, his invasion was as yet a sore spot, and Loki needed to be more aware and considerate of that.

 

 

Steve faltered as he brought his slice up for another bite, trying not to show any signs of the twinge of alarm Loki’s request brought up. Looking at him now, clean and maybe a little less starved, but no less exhausted and shadowed than he’d been the first time his illusion slipped in the containment corridor, he realized that something had to have happened to reduce him to such a condition. And _of course_ , it wouldn’t be a happy story. He could have slapped himself. _Stupid_. He seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding Loki’s sore spots.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied. “It can wait.” He took another bite, and idly wondered what SHIELD’s interrogators would make of the tapes of his conversations with Loki if they ever saw them. If most of the organization thought him compromised or insane.

Fury seemed to have some semblance faith in him, at least, but to what end, Steve wasn’t wholly sure.

Swallowing, he wiped a bit of grease off with the back of his hand. “Is there something else you wanna talk about?” he asked. “I’m pretty sure it’s actually your turn for a question now anyway.” Steve had asked about his willingness to work with SHIELD, after all, and their initial bargain for honesty had stipulated an answer for an answer.

 

 

“Mm.” Loki hummed around his mouthful, sad to see his piece dwindling.

“Will you accept a request? Nothing too difficult, I promise you, and you can tell me no if you feel it’s out of line.” He was… almost shy about this, testing waters that he had made rocky on his own, but hoping they could remain afloat through them. Hoping Rogers wouldn’t close down on him, shut him out.

He considered making it a joke, asking for more pizza… though he wasn’t sure the Captain really intended to share more than the one slice, and if so, he would consider himself lucky for having had even that.

But he took a steadying breath and asked for what he really wanted.

“Would you… next time you come, will you bring some of your drawings? I’d like to see them, see what it is you find beautiful enough to preserve, in this world.” He didn’t want to sound over eager, or too flattering. The request was sincere, as an alarming amount of things he said lately had been.

He felt a flush starting, and that shocked him, too.

“Like I said, you don’t have to, of course. If you don’t want-- I understand.”

But he wanted to see what the hands of a peaceful man, turned soldier, could do. What an artist’s eyes saw that would make it worth putting his life in danger. What else out there was, like pizza, worth saving from the destructive forces that must threaten every day.

 

 

Steve felt the tension coiling in his shoulders when Loki said he had a request, anticipating something involving the scepter, or some other challenge Steve might have to wrenchingly refuse.

Instead Loki caught him entirely by surprise.

It wasn’t the first time someone had asked to see his drawings, but normally it was strangers, coming up behind him as he sat sketching in the park or a café, glancing over his shoulder and asking if they could see his other works. He’d never brought his sketchbook to his job as Captain America, so none of his colleagues or the people who actually knew him had any idea about his hobby.

Except Loki.

He could say no. It would be like baring a piece of his soul. A collection of all his most fragile memories, his vulnerabilities in illustrated form. He’d be insane to share it.

“Yeah, sure,” he said.

He was mostly sure his voice didn’t hitch at all. “I’ll bring them tomorrow.” He took a bite of crust and chewed, looking down and away from Loki’s face to hide his anxiety, gaze dropping to the god’s nearly empty plate. He reached for the box.

“Here, pass me your plate, I’ll get you another piece.” He grabbed the unused folding chair and dragged it over so it was right under the food-delivery-box, placing the pizza box on the seat so it would be easier to pass pieces through to Loki. He’d bought an extra large, knowing his own appetite and guessing that Loki would probably be just as hungry. “So, uh, did you find anything you liked on the reader?”

 

 

He was tickled pink to have been told he could see the man’s work, his true work, not the bruises he left or the people he locked away.

He got up and pushed the plate through, his movements more restrained and regal-- not cold, just no longer as desperate as someone who had gone without eating.

“I’ve finished Peter Pan.” He offered. He’d also started on one of the historical books, but he felt that he lacked a certain situational awareness. He had grown up knowing the basics of most of the other worlds, but given how behind the Midgardians had been, they had… not lost sight of them, but had somewhat let them keep to themselves, ignoring them for a while. So what he knew and where the text started-- there was a large gap. But he thought he was doing alright, catching on mainly through contextual clues. The contents of that, though, did not have the same level of conversability as the fiction he’d provided did.

“I liked it. I liked the pirate, trying to save those children from Pan.”

He stayed where he was, daring to wait near the opening rather than retreat to the middle of the cell with his hands up, the way any other delivery would have been received.

He wondered if that would worry Rogers; if he would even notice, but decided that he could take that minor liberty. After all, he had made a point of being out of his cell and using magic around him, without doing any harm.

“Did you have a recommendation for what I might read next? Something you like-- I assume you are familiar with what you put on it.”

He hoped so, at least. Other than Frigga, he had never had someone with whom to discuss the contents of what he’d read, and even she was often only able to speak of them through her wisdom, not through the shared experience of the novels. His tastes and hers did not meet often. But perhaps Rogers…

He liked the idea of having a safe subject to speak of with him. Something that would not remind either of them of things they did not truly wish to have brought back to the foreground of their thoughts.

 

 

Steve blinked. “You liked--?” Of course. Of course Loki liked the villain, with the curling black hair and good form. He briefly wondered what Loki would look like as a pirate... clad in anachronistic armor as he was, it didn’t require a broad stretch of the imagination. He shook his head with a chuckle. “It’s been a long time since I read _Peter Pan_. Well. Had it read to me.” He remembered his mother reading it aloud to him as a boy, him hanging on her every word even as sleep threatened to overtake him. He was surprised that Loki had opted for something so whimsical; he would have expected him to pick up Homer’s _Odyssey_ , or perhaps one of the history books. Looking back he could hardly recall why he’d selected something so fantastical from his childhood, except perhaps in the name of providing as much variety as possible.

He pulled Loki’s plate back out and loaded it up with another generous slice of pizza, passing it back through before dishing up his own, mulling over in his mind which books he’d placed on the StarkReader. “Well, if you like pirates, you’d probably like _Captain Blood_ ,” he mused, smiling as he remembered the time he and Bucky had snuck into the movie theater to see the film adaptation, starring a swashbuckling Errol Flynn in the titular role. “Though if you want something a bit more serious, _Moby Dick_ has a character that Barrie drew some of the inspiration for Hook from.” He’d been much older before he’d drawn the parallels between Hook with his absurd ticking crocodile and Ahab and his white whale. He wondered what Loki, with his destructive preoccupation with ruling, would think of Ahab’s doomed obsession.

“Of course, if you’re interested in language, William Shakespeare is considered one of the greatest writers in the history of the English language,” he added, lowering himself back down to the floor with only a slight wince of pain. “I put pretty much everything from his folios on there, I’m pretty sure.” He’d given _Titus Andronicus_ a pass, both on counts of quality and sheer brutality, since Loki probably didn’t need any more ideas. “ _Hamlet_ is pretty good. Um. I also liked _Henry V_.” He took a bite of his pizza and then grinned around the mouthful. “One of the guys in my unit, Monty, after a couple of beers would sometimes climb up on the bar of whatever pub we were drinking in, and recite the whole St. Crispian’s day speech.” And he and the Howling Commandos had all cheered and clapped each other on the shoulders at the words, even when Monty began to forget them in his drink, smiling at we few, we happy few, we band of brothers.

But of course, those recommendations were based on what he’d thought Loki might like. Loki had specifically asked him what he’d liked. He sobered in contemplation. _The Red Badge of Courage_? He didn’t know if he’d remembered to put it on. He didn’t think he had. _Great Expectations_? Perhaps... He chewed as he pondered.

Oh. Well, of course. He smiled again. “ _The Sword in the Stone_ ,” he told Loki. “That was one of my all-time favorites. I think you’ll like it too.”

 

 

He thought to ask the Captain about his friends, like this Monty, but then remembered it was likely that the man in question was dead, had lived his life and been lost between one breath and the next for Rogers. So he held his tongue and directed his attention to the books he had listed off.

“I don’t know that seriousness is what I would like to read for, at the moment.” He usually hesitated to tell others he enjoyed reading for escapism as much as for the knowledge gained. After all, truly great men met their troubles head on. They did not attempt to hide from them behind masks and between pages.

But Rogers had been willing enough to wait for their discussion of what had happened before he came here. Perhaps he understood clinging to the lighter things in life, too.

“I will read _The Sword In The Stone_... Though I am taking it on faith that it is not truly a story solely about a blade sheathed in rock.” He smiled, trying to make it obvious that he was jesting.

He withdrew the plate from the delivery door and reclaimed his seat, waiting for Rogers to do the same before he began devouring this new piece.

Halfway through, though, he had to shake his hair back and out of his face, and it gave him pause.

He swallowed, clearing his throat.

“I have one further request, before I tell you of my escape from Asgard, and again, if it is not something you are comfortable with…” He shrugged, trivializing it. “Haggard as I may be, I would like to go before Fury and whomever else may have authority over my offer, looking as well as possible. To that end… you had mentioned my needing a haircut. I know you cannot bring a civilian hairdresser here, but if you were to bring a blade… preferably not in a stone.. and just remove some of the length…” He paused. “Though if you do not feel safe around me and something sharp, I would not blame you.” He spoke delicately, sure that this would be a request that the Captain would have to deny. But maybe he could talk him into bringing a small length of twine or ribbon, just enough to capture some of the longer layers in. It was probably enough now to braid, if Loki had ever mastered the art of doing so on his own head. Many centuries of life, and it had simply never been a priority.

He tried to imagine asking the Captain to braid his hair for him instead, but that felt too akin to the parties thrown by the younger girls of court, teaching one another how to decorate themselves to draw the eye.

He wanted to appear formidable, not marriageable. Perhaps the cut would be the best idea.

He shoveled another bite into his mouth, the taste distracting him from the mental image of the Captain’s clever artists hands arranging his hair into a neat plait.

 

 

A bit of tomato sauce slid down the wrong pipe and Steve coughed, eyes watering. “Hang on,” he said, holding up a hand as he swallowed convulsively and recovered his breath. “Nnng. Sorry. Swallowed wrong.”

It was funny, how a few days ago Loki had been so skeptical of accepting food or any kindness, and now was comfortable making the kind of mundane requests one might ask of... well, of a friend. And Steve had been the one to bring the haircut up initially, though now he winced at the thought of it. “Getting scissors in here will probably be a hard sell,” he admitted. Though he didn’t believe, at this point, that Loki would actually try to hurt him (at least, not badly -- the way his brows had pinched together when he’d noted Steve’s limp made him confident of that much), SHIELD would be much less amenable to the idea. “It may be doable, but they’ll probably insist on some extra security precautions, if that’s okay,” he said. Extra guards in the room, perhaps, though Steve didn’t know how he felt about cutting hair in front of a live audience. If not that, they might insist Loki be restrained in some capacity. He grimaced. “And I should warn you, I’m not terribly good at cutting hair.”

Not that he had no experience with it -- as a boy, his mother had always cut his hair for him. After she’d passed, well, Bucky would go to the barber for a shave and a haircut, but where Steve didn’t have the need for the former with his perpetually smooth chin, he’d opted to cut his own hair and save the money. He could usually get it pretty neat in the front, though sometimes he’d have to ask Bucky or Mrs. Ferguson who lived downstairs to help him even up the back. He imagined it would be a lot easier with Loki where he could actually see what he was doing, at least.

“I think we should be more worried about you trusting me than the other way around,” he joked. “Worse comes to worse, I can at least bring you a brush and a hairtie.” The shower had done wonders for the amount of grease in Loki’s hair, but where it had been slicked back into almost sinister spikes before, it now fell in loose but though rather bedraggled waves. Steve wondered if it was as soft as it looked…

 

 

“Delicious as it is, it would be very disappointing if Captain America died in front of my cell, and the cause of death was determined to be pizza.” He spoke mildly, brows knotted again in a faint line of concern, though he knew he could do nothing to help. As the other man’s breathing evened, though, he relaxed a little and went back to his own pizza, pondering the problems posed by his asking for a haircut.

“Whatever will ease their minds.” Loki said amicably. “I intend to behave, though I think you and I both know that any security provided would be little enough trouble for me, should I choose not to. As you said, you have seen me in battle.” There was a tiny hint of pride at that. It was nice to be considered formidable, after so long of being the weakest one in most of the practices he’d taken place in.

“In regards to your capabilities-- it is but hair. It will grow again. Besides, you are an artist, and I know so little of your culture. I wouldn’t begin to know if what you do is ‘good’ or not. Provided they will allow you, of course.” He shrugged. “And as for trust, of the two of us in these rooms, only one of us has attempted to kill the other. Their- and your- hesitance is completely understandable.” He tucked the hair that had crept back down into his line of sight back behind his ear.

He did wonder what Rogers would do to it, given the chance, though. He kept his hair almost like Fandral’s, perhaps shorter, and Loki had not sported anything like that since he was very small, and even then he had preferred it be pushed straight back from his face-- so that when he looked down at the pages of his books, he would not be forced to read through his hair.

“If all else fails, I would be infinitely grateful for a comb. I possess the false vanity of an Aesir, and though my confidence is not tied to my appearance-- thank goodness- I do feel better suited for situations of negotiation when I am visually equipped for them.” It was important, he felt, to stress that this was not about looking good for the sake of it, but rather for a good reason.

It would be hard enough getting the humans to take him seriously unless he made some demonstration of his power-- which would likely set them on guard. He could only make it easier on himself by appearing to them as someone they could respect, perhaps fear a little, but at least see as an equal or better.

“I imagine it is a bit like your uniform. It makes you feel prepared, doesn’t it? Focused. Even though you know that it is not the important part of your station, though your prowess is what makes you The Captain, and not the regalia… you still feel better suited to your post with it on, do you not?”

And how interesting, how familiar and relaxed it made these visits, that Rogers had elected multiple times now to come to him out of uniform. How oddly intimate. But he would not comment on it. After all, he too was in a more relaxed version of his own outfits.

He wished, for the meeting with Fury, that he could summon his armor, his helmet, but after Rogers’ poor reaction the last time, it was perhaps better that he not. Still, he would do whatever else he could, within the bounds of the constraints S.H.I.E.L.D. placed upon him.

 

 

“If I die by pizza, it had better at least be New York pizza,” he replied with a wry grin. As embarrassing as choking to death would be, there were worse ways to go, many of which he’d witnessed himself. It would be pretty ironic if, when he did die, it was something so mundane and devoid of violence.

The way Loki’s brow furrowed at Steve’s choking undermined the vague threat of the words that followed about his abilities. Steve hummed. Death by scissors wouldn’t be much less stupid sounding than death by pizza, but he didn’t think it was in the cards for his immediate future. He watched as Loki tucked his hair behind his ear, the nimble movement of his fingers drawing attention to the fine definition of his jaw and briefly moving the curtain of hair back long enough to expose the line of his throat.

Steve was suddenly grateful he didn’t have any pizza in his mouth to choke on. He cleared his throat again, batting away the unwanted suggestions of a dream he’d managed to forget about for the most part and definitely didn’t want to think about right now.

“I think the uniform has a few more layers of complexity involved with it,” he replied. “Sometimes I feel like it comes with its own whole identity --- but I get what you’re saying,” he quickly added. There had been things he’d dared to say and do behind the strength and confidence of the cowl, the name of _Captain America_ , that Steve Rogers would have blushed and stuttered over. “It definitely helps with a lot of things. And, well, I don’t think you’re vain.” He fiddled with his crust. “My mom always put a lot of stock in ‘putting a good face forward.’ Even when we didn’t have a lot, we kept it clean, took pride it in, made sure that when people looked at us, they knew we respected ourselves. Made it easier to face the world.” They might have been poor, but it was the kind of poverty that stoically kept its chin up with the reminder that others had it worse, and kept its secondhand shoes shined and its threadbare shirts ironed. “Sometimes I catch flack for how often I polish my gear--” or how neat and tidy and ‘wholesome’ (as people called it) he kept his appearance, “--but it’s habit. Keeping respectable.”

He shrugged, realizing he’d gone on a bit of a tangent, and popped the last of his crust into his mouth, chewing it for a moment. “Can I ask you a favor in return?” he said once he swallowed, thinking he probably wouldn’t encounter much better timing, since he’s just acquiesced to two of Loki’s requests. “I know the food here isn’t the best, but times I’m not here, and on days when I may get called out, I’d really appreciate it if you ate something.”

 

 

Loki found himself smiling softly at the thought of a young, less muscled Steve Rogers doing his best to look presentable. Loki had had no such limitations as he had, and had thus opted, as he reached the end of his growing years and it became plain he was to remain this small, to adopt a style of over coat to make his shoulders seem wider, collars to make his neck look thicker. Putting a good face forward. Even when it wasn’t his face, at all. He wrestled with the smile briefly, then elected to do something to hide it.

Loki stood, took the remains of his latest bottle of water from his cot-- down to perhaps a third of it-- and placed it in the tray.

“Sorry there isn’t more, but finish it off if you like.” He closed the door on his side and walked back again to reclaim his seat.

At Rogers’ request, he wrinkled his nose.

“I appreciate your concern.” He said softly, recognizing that was indeed the motivation behind it. “But you realize that Asgardians are hearty enough not to eat for a week without discomfort-- unless you’re Volstagg-- and Frost Giants live in a barren wasteland? To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure what they eat. It does me no great harm not to consume the pittances they pass me… but doing so, without knowing what they may contain? That could do me harm.” He paused, pursing his lips, because he did not want to offend by denying Rogers so simple of a request, despite his misgivings about it.

“I trust you Captain, but no matter how well oiled a machine, there will always be someone hiding in the ranks who will step out of line for personal vengeance. And I have given a good many of your people reason to want me dead.” He took a deep breath and blew it out sharply.

“If you want me to eat, if it will ease your mind and allow you to focus on your duties and return sooner… I will. Because you have asked it. But I will do so uneasily.”

 

 

It took him a moment to realize Loki was offering him his water, and felt his heart nearly skip when he did. Loki was being... _kind_. His first instinct was to refuse -- it was Loki’s water, and Steve could get his own -- but he stopped himself before the words came out of his mouth. It was a generous gesture, and in refusing, there was a possibility he’d offend Loki, which he certainly didn’t want to do when Loki was finally letting a more caring part of him show. A part most people probably never so much as witnessed. Getting up and opening his side of the box, he took the bottle and drank carefully from it -- enough to wash down the errant pizza and clear his throat, but not so much that he drank it dry. He put what remained back in the container. “Thank you,” he told him, as sincerely as he could.

Sitting back down, he listened to Loki’s explanation of his minimal needs. “Huh,” Steve said reflectively. Knowing his own accelerated metabolism and having seen Thor put away food like he had a bottomless pit for a stomach, he would have thought Asgardians might have needed to eat more, not less than the average human. But then, he obviously knew damn little about Asgardians. Or Frost Giants. Or a lot of things, lately, it seemed.

“I can tell you now, anyone who’s been vetted to handle your food knows by now that I come by every day, and knows that if they mess with you, they’ll be dealing with me and Fury both,” Steve assured him. “I can understand if you’re still not comfortable with it, but, well, on days that I can’t be here -- if I get called away for a mission that ends up taking a while and I can’t come by -- I’d feel a lot better knowing you weren’t starving on top of, well, everything else, just because I’m not around.” He knew it was his dependency that carved the hollows in Loki’s cheeks and gave him that worn and wan look more than malnutrition, but he still hated the idea of Loki going hungry because Steve had let him down.

He looked at the pizza box. They’d demolished over half of the pie already, and he was debating another slice, but then reminded himself he had leftovers in his fridge that were going to go bad if he didn’t eat them at some point when he got home. “Do you want the rest?” he asked.

 

 

“Then I will make a habit of accepting my rations, when you are not here.” Loki told him gravely. “Though I might accuse you of trying to make me less capable of fighting you, stuffing me full and not allowing me to run it off.” He grinned, to show he was teasing, and looked down at the crust on his plate.

“I am sated for the time being, and since this area is small and devoid of a breeze, I would suspect the smell might become overbearing after a while, if you leave any with me. That is why I have taken to keeping the trays in the door system-- that, at least, contains the stench, if only for a time.”

He sat the plate down beside him and reclined, crossing his legs and lowering himself until he lay against the glass, carefully not pressing his face to it. He propped his head on one hand and regarded the other man.

“To be honest, I am surprised you are able to be here as much as you have been.” He told him. “But I suppose there is more yet that Fury and whomever else you report to wish to know, hm?” It was rhetorical, merely a segue. “So… I suppose you’re ready to know about Asgard now, and how I ended up here. Or do you need to leave, attend to other Captainly duties? I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” He spoke slyly, making himself comfortable in the event he did have to talk at any length.

 

 

Steve snorted and grinned widely. “Yeah, you’ve figured out the dastardly plan -- we plan to take you down with pizza and sandwiches,” he joked back. With Loki full, he went ahead and helped himself to another, thinner slice, and shut the box. He didn’t doubt that someone in SHIELD headquarters would take him up on the offer of leftover pizza. If nothing else, he could leave it in one of the break room refrigerators, where it would undoubtedly vanish overnight.

“Honestly,” he said, shifting so he was also sitting against the glass, leaning his shoulder against the cell wall so he could stretch his leg out comfortably, facing Loki at a slight angle now. “They really only call Captain America out when something big is going down. Since there’s not a major war front for me to fight on--” he shrugged, “--I’m intermittently needed at best.”

Which wasn’t to say he had nothing to do. He had seventy years of history to catch up on, and while he’d garnered all the highlights from his reading within the first several months, there were volumes upon volumes of knowledge SHIELD expected him to eventually familiarize himself with. Sometimes he volunteered for smaller operations -- ones that didn’t require a supersoldier necessarily, but benefitted from the morale boost his presence seemed to provide. And of late, he’d been looking into volunteer opportunities outside of SHIELD’s scope. Failing that, there was always physical training. “When I don’t have high-priority orders, well,” he shifted his weight again, making himself more comfortable. “I usually end up wherever it seems I can do the most good.” The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile, and he tapped the StarkPhone clipped to his belt. “And if anything comes up, they can call me. In the meantime...” he trailed off, the implication clear, but hopefully not demanding. He was ready to listen, whenever Loki was ready to speak.

 

 

“Hm.” He hummed. “Well. If you have the time…” He trailed off, trying to put his thoughts together.

“When last you saw me, chained and gagged, I was led straight back to Asgard. Up the bridge of the Bifrost, through the court, into the palace… past everyone I knew, or had known. And they did not return my speech until I was outside the doors of Odin’s throne room. I was dragged past Frigga and before the Allfather like a dog, on several leashes against my escape. And I asked--” He let out a bitter chuckle. “I asked if I made them proud.” He shook his head slowly.

“My mo-Frigga begged that I not makes things worse on myself, as though my trial-- for that was what this was-- as if there was more than one outcome to it. I had, in my time as regent, attempted to kill an entire race. A race of monsters, the king of whom had attempted to assassinate Odin while he slept, but a full race just the same.” He paused.

“I suppose by then the gatekeeper would have told the Allfather of how I brought the Frost Giants through, gave them access. I told Laufey he could kill Odin. And then I reneged on my word and killed him and his guards. It was all the excuse I would have needed to justify my actions. I would have been a hero, the favored son, at last.” He could feel his voice warming with the joy he’d felt, concocting that particular plot, and now he felt the returned bitterness of his failure. “And then I… came here. Came here, and tried, not to kill, but to rule. There is… The dangers I may not speak of, that fits into the story here, so suffice it to say, what you know of my invasion came to pass.” He glossed over it, eager to get on to the part of the story where he could feel proud of his intellect, his superiority, again.

“At any rate, my crimes were great, but I was still- as far as the majority of the people there are concerned- a son of Odin. Execution would bring further shame to his family name than leaving me alive could conceivably do.” He snorted. “Or so he must have thought. I doubt he expected I would be able to escape the cell.” He stopped, pursed his lips, and sighed. “I’m sure Frigga interfered on my behalf as well. Regardless, I was placed in a quiet, posh little room far beneath the main floors of the palace. It held me in, contained my magic. I could launch anything I liked at the walls, but it would only absorb the energy, and use it to continue holding me in.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“A fun puzzle for a few days. I would have been content to unravel it better, if not for... The um. Threat. Of that which I shan’t speak of. I ended up understanding myself to be on a deadline, an undefined, but assuredly short, deadline. And that was how I came to realize I needed to have the sceptre returned to me. The first signs that I would need it. And so I began formulating a plan of escape. Frigga had been sending me reading material, and I requested from her the title of a certain book.” He felt his lips pulling into a slanted grin.

“There are depths of the library that I doubt even Odin knows exist. I found, once, many decades ago, a book cursed to drain the energies of those who sought to wield it. So I asked her for it. And then I held onto it as long as I could, until it drained me to the brink of collapse. And I waited for someone to come, someone to worry that something might be wrong.” He grew bitter again.

“We have a story, probably written specifically to tell me, as a child, about a young boy who delighted in convincing the others in his village that there were a myriad of curses about, and making them pay him to exorcise the evils of their world. Eventually, the villagers caught on, and he was ostracized, sent to live on the very edge of the woods. There, a sorceress came to him, and cast a spell over his body, so that come nightfall, he would contort in ever increasing agony, and his skin would pull off his bones and fly out into the night, destroying the livestock of his people. After only one night of this, he tried to tell the villagers. But they did not believe him. So that night, again, he writhed and shrieked and sobbed for help as his skin went out into the night. And the next day the villagers arrived at his door, accusing him of killing their pack animals. He told them again of the sorceress’s spell, and they spat at him and threatened him, then left. That night he tried to fight the pain and keep his skin on his bones, but he lost the fight. The next day, the villagers returned and killed him.” Loki drew a shuddering breath. “A bedtime tale for a child who plays tricks. But the message, it seemed, should have sunk in better than it had. It took three days for them to realize I had not moved, or eaten, or drunk anything at all. It took another day for them to think perhaps I wasn’t acting. And thus--” he gestured at his face.

“Believe me, I am far more easy on the eyes now than I was then. I must have looked moments from going to dust when they finally sent in the healers.” He shuddered at the memory of how weak he’d been, and how he’d still had to do more.

“When they arrived, they triggered a spell I had arranged before taking hold of the book. It froze them, and then returned to me a tiny gasp of my seidhr. With it, I lodged the book against the edge of the cell, from whence the barriers came, stopping them from stopping me. I hobbled, stumbled, and crawled to one of the secret ways between the worlds, and stayed there until I was healed enough to continue… but I should have waited longer before I came here. I suppose… the rest you know.”

The rest, which he didn’t know, was the speed at which Loki had, in fact, recovered after being apprehended. Three days was really all it had taken. Feeling his power pulsing again through him was like suddenly gulping in long breaths after swimming underwater, or inhaling the steam from hot cider after stepping in from the bitterest of colds.

Despite the threats hanging over his head, Loki was fine. More or less. And sometimes… sometimes he even forgot why he was here. Looking out at Rogers, watching him as he spoke, he was reminded of how easy it would be to forget. To simply stay here, trade in his lies and glamours for the easy company.

But he knew, too, that he couldn’t. Some day soon, it would all come crashing around his ears if he didn’t stick to his plans. If he didn’t follow through.

He was not eager for it, though. And maybe… maybe he could wait. Just a little bit longer. Wait before he destroyed all of the trust he had been building, ruined their rapport, and lost this opportunity forever.

He did not look forward to Steve’s face when he realized what Loki was doing. When Steve, too, began to hate him.

 

 

Steve listened attentively, doing his best to steel his expression against reaction until Loki was finished. He remembered how Loki had looked that day in Central Park, battered and beaten, but still retaining a hard and prideful glint in his eyes over the muzzle. He wondered if that glint had endured all the way through Asgard.

He managed not to visibly flinch this time at Loki’s mention of his attempted genocide and his patricide (nearly two counts, as it happened), though a muscle in his jaw twitched slightly at the reminder. And as Loki recounted his betrayal of someone called Laufey, he felt a faint prickling on the back of his neck. _And then I reneged on my word and killed him._ Said so casually, a footnote in the story.

A story that continued to unfold, preventing him from dwelling on any one moment, as it happened. Though the gaps Loki left were large and perplexing, particularly with the alleged danger Loki claimed that the information to fill those gaps would carry. How had Loki gone from double-crossing an assassin in a perversely theatric show of filial loyalty to appearing in a SHIELD facility on Earth? Steve had to bite his tongue to keep from interrupting and pressing for more details, because surely Loki could tell him _something_ more without revealing anything too risky.

But then Loki was telling of his sentencing, and subsequent punishment. Steve had been worried, when Loki initially declined to answer about Asgard while eating, that this part of the story would include some kind of cruelty that Loki thought would turn their stomachs. To hear that Loki was placed in a comfortable cell -- perhaps not wholly different from this one -- rather than physically punished or sentenced to a death he’d only barely escaped, was something of a relief. Not that the feeling lasted. He leaned forward slightly as Loki detailed the mechanism of his escape, and experienced a drop in the pit of his stomach as he launched into a parable that sounded like a much more brutal and archaic telling of The Boy Who Cried Wolf. Knowing Loki had been left a week on the brink of death before anyone had cared to _look_...

( _He went three days without food here_ , a treacherous voice in the back of Steve’s mind pointed out, deflating his anger and supplanting it with shame.)

It was a fairly grim story, all told; one in which Loki was hardly the hero. He did terrible things, and then he was punished -- not with any disproportionate cruelty, from the sound of it, though perhaps a shade of neglect -- only to escape and succeed in being captured once again. It explained the condition Loki had arrived in, and his disappearance from Asgard (though not Asgard’s failure to pursue him here -- unless they didn’t know where to look?). But more troubling than what Loki told him, was what he didn’t tell. The unaccounted for time before the invasion, and the threat he spoke of which drove up the timetable of his escape; Steve knew not to ask, but he suddenly found himself wondering who exactly the knowledge would endanger. Something had driven Loki to nearly kill himself to escape prison. Something more than just whatever need he felt for the scepter. A threat.

Steve frowned. Was Loki running scared of something?

_And what would scare a god?_

He digested the information in silence for a few moments, then ultimately nodded. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. He calculated the likelihood of success from pressing his luck at this point with another question, then decided to risk it. “I know this might fall under the category of questions you feel would be... unsafe to answer. If so, just nod or shake your head, you don’t have to give me details,” he prefaced. “Is anyone coming after you?” It was an open question he knew, where an answer might refer to Thor or Asgard or anyone else, but he watched Loki’s face carefully for any hint of answer beyond what his words might convey.

 

 

Loki felt the tension that had been boiling under the surface of his emotions come to a new level. His brow knotted and he felt his face go tight, until he quickly smoothed it away. He considered shaking his head no, not a lie if he didn’t speak… but that felt disingenuous. After all, he had sworn to be truthful.

"There is rarely a time when I am not being pursued." He said, trying for lightness and missing the mark completely, sounding exhausted instead, and perhaps a little...afraid. He cleared his throat and swallowed air in the hopes that it would relieve the suffocating sensation in his chest.

He felt trapped by his oath of honesty, as he’d known he would be, at one point or another.

He opted for a half truth.

“In my attempt to-- when I was regent, I caused-- The Bifrost has been destroyed. No one from Asgard can come here, without my showing them how.” He chuckled nervously. “For all their years, and all the ways between worlds, I am the only one who knows how to get from there to here without using the Bifrost or exhausting the Allfather’s powers.” He presented himself as prideful about that, but in truth he was only glad that none of those he knew would be able to interfere.

He knew he would have to decide what to do about the sceptre, and soon. As much as he enjoyed… and he did, he realized, he _enjoyed_ being here… the longer he waited, the longer he spent here, the greater their chances of being harmed when, inevitably, He returned for him.

Loki knew he should not harbor false hopes for life beyond that. He had managed to steal the gauntlet on his way out of the palace, and he needed to reclaim the scepter, in order to meet the demands He had made, but Loki wasn’t certain that, once he had met the demands, he wouldn’t be summarily killed. Or worse, played with and then killed.

He hoped that sweetening the pot, bringing forth further relics, would please Him, flatter Him enough to get him to let Loki go.

But in order for that to work, he would need to step up his game here, speed the process, get the sceptre, grab whatever else he could get his hands on, and get out. Likely the best way to do that would be to apply the sceptre to the Captain, but… He heaved a sigh.

Once he was gone, there would be no coming back. He wouldn’t harm the Captain. But he would have to betray him, and someday very soon.

But not yet. He clung to that fact like it was all that kept his feet on the ground.

Rogers didn’t have to know yet.

 

 

Loki sounded weary when he spoke. Steve’s face tightened, and he wondered if he could live like that -- how anyone could live like that -- always having a shadow of pursuit hanging overhead, like the sword of Damocles, ready to come down at any moment. His answer made it sound like a reasonably sure thing that Asgard, at least, wouldn’t be following him here. Also that they probably wouldn’t be seeing anyone from Asgard or Thor in particular any time soon, even if Dr. Foster did perfect a method of interrealm communication. Which meant Loki could be here for the long haul; he’d have to push the idea of a long-term agenda regarding Loki the next time he spoke to Fury.

But despite that assurance, Loki still looked haunted. Hunted. Wouldn’t the bridge or conduit or whatever this Bifrost was being broken have earned him more of a respite? Steve’s lips formed a thin white line. He was beginning to realize that what Loki said was sometimes nowhere near as significant as what he _didn’t_ say. The gaps in his narrative were plentiful and oddly shaped, and Steve suspected that with enough time, and attention paid on his part, a picture would begin to emerge from those absences; the story of what Loki wasn’t telling him. The story of what Loki deemed too dangerous to tell him.

It was a story Steve desperately wanted to learn. Though asking Loki would do no good; even if he somehow managed to strong-arm the knowledge out of him, the tentative bond of trust they’d managed to build would be shattered.

He asked something that skirted closer to the story Loki had been willing to tell so far. “Did the... Did the Frost Giants break the Bifrost?” he asked, knowing that the last thing Loki had mentioned before that in his tale was the part where he’d stabbed Laufey on the back ( _reneged on his word..._ ) and fought the Frost Giants. He had to wonder how Thor had managed to follow Loki to Earth after that, without the transportational power of the Tesseract.

 

 

He chuckled hollowly.

“No, Captain. And… I suppose yes. A Frost Giant was responsible for the breaking of the Bifrost. But the blows themselves were administered by Thor.” His mouth twisted up, well aware he could stop there, his answer honestly given, but also that the curiosity in the Captain’s face, the unasked questions that hung between them would not be satisfied. And at least the topic was safe, if not painting him in a particularly good light.

“Thor came too late to stop me killing my father, but Odin slumbered on. And I announced my intent to end the Jotun race. After all, Laufey’s attempt on Odin’s life was a violation of the peace treaty between our people. According to the laws of Asgard, my retribution was my right. Thor however sought to stop me, and we… fought.” It was the first time he’d engaged with Thor meaning to die, to kill, to be killed… He’d been in so much pain, so much turmoil. And Thor didn’t know. That time was much like now, between he and Rogers. Thor didn’t know he was a monster, only that he’d done monstrous things. Was doing monstrous things. Rogers knew the opposite.

“You have seen the marks left by the Bifrost on the land. They go deep, as your scientists have no doubt discovered, and that is from mere moments of its power. I left it open, froze the gates unable to shut, and left the aim directed at the surface of Jotunheim, that the power might obliterate my enemies, my heritage… my shame. And the only way Thor could stop it was to separate the Bifrost from its power source. He destroyed it by severing its connection to Asgard. It fell from its perch on the edge of the world, and that is how the Bifrost was destroyed.” He looked away, unwilling to face the accusations and condemnation that would no doubt be in the Captain’s eyes and the hard set of his mouth. He sat up, toying with the supple leather of his boots.

“As you can imagine, such things are not easily remedied.” He muttered. “The only way for the Asgardians to travel now is by the power of the Allfather, the power tied into the land itself. And the more of it he uses, the sooner his next sleep will have to come. Particularly as the last one was interrupted so spectacularly. I suppose they might also use the Tesseract, were they wise enough, but from what I know of Odin, he will tuck it away somewhere safe, rather than risking my returning for it.”

Because he had looked. It was something He would have liked as a gift, and so worth dragging himself through the security of the safe rooms for.

“I think Asgard will not come for me, after all.”

 

 

Steve wondered if Loki knew how raw his face looked as he talked about the destruction of the Bifrost. About what he’d done. He felt as if he owed it to him to avert his gaze from the pained tension in Loki’s expression, but he couldn’t look away. This was truth. This was hard, ugly, bitter truth, but he didn’t doubt it as truth for a moment. (A part of him, the artist part, wished that Loki were a drawing in that moment so he could use his thumb to smudge the lines in his face to smoothness...)

According to the laws of Asgard, Loki said. A peace treaty broken by an enemy people. An enemy people Loki had tricked and lured into Asgard, by his own admission, but universally hated by his description. He wondered if Thor hadn’t arrived, would anyone else have stopped Loki’s attempt at destroying a world? It was clear Loki’s hatred of the Frost Giants ran bitterly deep, but that hate had clearly been taught to him and came from somewhere. Hate he turned inward at himself, from the way he talked. _A Frost Giant was responsible for the breaking of the Bifrost._

He couldn’t tell if the knowledge that Asgard wasn’t coming should bring relief or sadness for either or both of them.

And the Allfather’s power did at least account for how Thor had arrived in pursuit of Loki the last time -- and why he’d come alone, when surely a few more Asgardians could have otherwise been spared to come down and recover a rogue prince much more efficiently than Thor and the Avengers had eventually managed. “So Odin did wake up? After Laufey showed up? I mean, I’m guessing that’s what you meant by his sleep being interrupted spectacularly...”

 

 

Loki shook his head, feeling the water rise in his eyes, warm and stinging. He battled the tears back, fought the lump in his throat down.

“It was the Bifrost falling that woke him. In his sleep he is tied to the very core of Asgard, and the damage we wreaked…” Loki lifted one shoulder in a listless shrug. “Thor and I would have been thrown from the bridge, but that Thor caught hold of the spear I wielded, and Odin caught hold of Thor. We hung over the abyss, dangling beyond the edges of our world, and I looked up, proud. I was the son who had saved him. Before he slept he had told me the truth, and I had tried to undo… it must have destroyed him, all those years, knowing what lurked under my skin. I told him that I could have done it. For all of us. I could have kept the secret, would have-- would have kept our family together. I would have been willingly complicit in his lies, and Thor need never know, and the rest of Asgard the same. And he denied me.” He shuddered.

“It was so long taught to me that I was not only a person, but a prince. Now it is sometimes difficult to remember that I am neither, and that this feeling of being owed things- it is baseless. He did not owe me my station, my life… only I felt he did. Because he’d taught me so. I felt lost, I couldn’t face it, couldn’t make sense of it. I couldn’t stomach the humiliation, the horror. So I let go. I let go of the spear and left them to live their perfect golden lives, free at last of their shame, their shadow… I didn’t realize I would survive.” He shrugged again.

“It’s not every day you wake to find your realm under attack.” He glanced up wryly under his lashes, mouth half crooked into a smile that didn’t fit his face. “Though, I suppose for you, that may be less true. At any rate. That was what I meant by his awakening being spectacular.”

 

 

Curiosity became alarm became cold dread pooling in his stomach as Loki’s words sunk into Steve’s mind. There had been horror before, yes -- Loki’s actions and the death he’d wrought were terrible and hateful, though the more Steve spoke with him and heard Loki’s explanations of his home and expectation, the more he felt he could perhaps come to understand, if not excuse some of those actions. They weren’t the acts of a monster, as Loki would claim, but a man. A warped, misguided, mistaken man, but a man (well, god in all technicality) nonetheless.

Or he thought he’d understood.

He hadn’t realized...

Loki had let go. Loki had been hanging over the edge, hanging from a spear, a flimsy bit of metal over a long and impossible drop and dammit Steve could picture it all too well, reaching out and _hold on--_

He swallowed, throat constricting and eyes prickling with heat. Loki was a killer, Loki was a manipulator, Loki had ruined lives, ruined worlds, but he’d also been desperate, been in pain. Steve remembered sitting in an empty bar in a bombed out town, drinking the one intact bottle of liquor he found down to the last drop. Once, it would have been enough to kill him. Then, it wasn’t even enough to numb the grief that tore at his insides like a wild animal. He wondered if that was how Loki had felt. Or if, as his fingers had let go, there had been a small moment of relief, assuring Peggy that there was no time, no other way, he had to put the plane in the water and he’d be done and _it would be over and he could be done with this whole damn war_ \--

Steve blinked a few times. His lashes clumped damply. He opened his mouth to say something, but there were no words.

I’m sorry, he wanted to say. Sorry for asking. Sorry for pushing. Sorry that Loki had been driven to that point, of not believing he was a person, of not believing he deserved to live simply because of what-- of _who_ he was. But he knew the words would be misunderstood. Loki would read them as pity.

So Steve said nothing, but reached out and put his hand up against the glass that separated them, wishing it were gone and he could reach further, his heart worn plainly on his face.

 

 

The tears that had built at the edges of Loki’s eyes broke free, and he quickly swung his face downwards, raising a hand to hide the disturbances that would be made in the mask from the-- _stupid, useless… get control!_

He sniffled loudly, trying to contain it, trying to get hold of himself. But he put his hand out just the same, aimed without looking and hoped he at least got close.

He couldn’t feel the heat of the Captain through the glass, but he could imagine it there.

“You should go, Captain.” He managed, words as wet as his eyes were.

He needed to turn away, needed to firm his resolve and hide his face in the blankets, drop his mask for a while and just exist.

He felt drained, completely, and the food he’d eaten sat now, low in his stomach and weighted as lead.

But he didn’t want to make Rogers think he blamed him, or thought ill of him for asking.

“I think.” He swallowed, willing the thickness to leave his voice. “I think I’d like to be alone. To stabilize. If it’s all the same to you.”

 

 

Steve hesitated. His insides felt leaden, and he wanted to say something, wanted to _fix this_ \--

But he’d already done enough harm. He’d demanded, asking and asking where Loki had chosen to omit, and this was where it had led. Because Loki had been honest with him, as he’d promised. Steve had unwittingly torn aside Loki’s armor and left him this bare and vulnerable thing, green eyes so bright with tears before they’d been turned away.

The least he could do was respect this one wish, and give back Loki a shred of the control he’d torn away.

“Okay,” he said softly. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, collecting the folding chair and the pizza box. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promised, wondering if Loki would even still want to look at him then.

The leaden feeling remained in his stomach the rest of the way home.

 

 


	5. Five

Exhausted as he had been, he slept quickly and well, despite dreams that made him relive the things he had spoken of during his waking hours. He woke and put his mask back on, then dragged himself through stretches, so that when he was allowed out next, he might better be able to walk, to move, without feeling stiff or slovenly.

His accusation of Rogers’ intent to fatten him up reminded him how complacent he’d been. How he still had things to worry about, fights yet to be had. He had to appear ill, but he had to stay in shape, also. She he forced his muscles to shake sooner than they would have, normally, chose to forego the majority of the more strenuous movement based exercises he could do, pacing instead to make them think he was agitated, concerned… perhaps feeling the effects of the sceptre’s pull.

And finally, when he had gotten rid of most of his excess energy, he sat himself on his cot, opened the StarkReader, and located Rogers’ favorite story, the Sword in the Stone.

He lost himself in it, enough that when the midday tray arrived, he ignored it at first out of habit, before guiltily remembering he’d promised Rogers he would eat. He did, trying not to think as he consumed the fowl, vegetables, and broth, as well as the small pocket of salty hardtack.

That slight distraction out of the way, he went back to his book… and was still there when Rogers arrived, some time later.

 

 

Steve barely slept. He’d tossed and turned half the night, and when he did drift off, his dreams were tormented.

He’d woken with a start, not sure which name it was that had been on his lips.

As he went for his morning workout (his leg still healing, he decided against running, but lifted weights at the local gym instead), he planned what he’d bring Loki for breakfast (a second attempt at bagels?), intending to stop by first thing that morning to see if he was alright. But his phone had been buzzing when he got back to his apartment with a reminder that he was supposed to make a mid-morning appearance at the opening of new Youth Center promoting civic responsibility he’d agreed to help sponsor. That obligation, while rewarding, wound up taking all of his morning and a chunk of his afternoon, and soon it appeared he’d be making yet another dinnertime visit.

He returned to his apartment to retrieve the things he’d promised. He called and spoke to someone at SHIELD about the haircut, and an appointment for the appropriate security measures to be put in place was scheduled. He had a full duffel bag slung over his shoulder when he reached the Triskelion’s lower levels, earning wide-eyed looks from the guards on duty. He removed a smaller bag -- containing scissors and a few other implements and handed it to one of the agents to ‘hold on to’, then proceeded inside, hoping that Loki would be feeling better, and that he wouldn’t have closed himself off as a result of the previous day’s episode.

“Hey,” he said as he stepped inside, seeing Loki sitting on the bed with the StarkReader in hand. “How... how are you doing?”

 

 

Loki looked up, surprised by the hesitation and concern in the Captain’s words.

Brow furrowing, he sat the digital library aside and stood.

“I am well enough, Captain. As well as can be expected. Are you-- has something happened?” There was a bag over his shoulder, and Loki worried with a start that he was leaving, that he had come to say goodbye, that he couldn’t handle Loki any more.

Had his stories condemned him to being abandoned yet again?

Cold fear clutched at his throat and he inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his face to go as blank as he could get it.

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended again.” He hastened to add, sure that it wouldn’t help but equally certain it would cause no further harm. “It was not my intent to drive you away with my stories, only to tell you what you wished to know.” He could feel himself lapsing back into cool formality, and the part of him that was filled with terror at the thought of his driving away his champion on this realm was shrieking inside his skull, trying to claw free, urging him to beg for forgiveness.

He smothered it, though, and waited, hands crossed loosely behind his back so the Captain would not see him clenching and unclenching them nervously.

 

 

“What? No, no! You’re fine! Everything is fine!” Steve hastened to clarify. “I just... I promised you some things the other day, and I had to bring some stuff. Also food.” He lowered the bag to the floor and unzipped it next to the delivery box. “First things first...”

He pulled out two tupperware containers and a pair of small plastic forks, along with half a dozen plastic water bottles. Then came another, smaller tupperware, a small paper bag, and several pieces of fruit. Everything went in the box, except for one of the water bottles, a fork, and one of the initial two containers. “I, ah, thought you might like some more fresh things,” he explained. “There’s a salad with apples and walnuts and some roasted chicken with a cranberry vinaigrette, chocolate chip cookies, fruit, and that smaller container there has cornbread my neighbor baked yesterday...” he pointed to each of the selections, then sealed the box and sat down on the floor in his usual spot, opening the salad he’d brought for his own dinner. He’d thrown them together during the time he had back at his apartment that afternoon, running briefly out to the little market around the corner from his building to get fresh lettuce and a rotisserie chicken to cut up.

He picked up his fork, then put it down again, taking a breath. “About yesterday,” he began, bracing himself, “I owe you an apology. You agreed to answer my questions, and answer them honestly. And you’ve kept that promise. I abused it, however, when I pushed and asked questions that weren’t relevant to the safety of this planet, and invaded your privacy.” He’d rehearsed the words on his way over so he wouldn’t stumble over them, but not they felt stilted and awkward in his mouth. “I took advantage of your oath and put you in an uncomfortable position, and... and I’m sorry,” he finished lamely.

 

 

Loki had retrieved his own portion of the meal, leaving four of the bottles within the chamber, for either of them to access as they needed, and had knelt to begin opening the boxes when the Captain began speaking. He paused, his hands resting on the lid to look up and at the other man through the glass.

He tilted his head to the side.

“You haven’t taken advantage of me, Captain Rogers.” He opted for the longer form of his name, attempting to match the oddly formal tone, after the assurances that nothing was wrong. “If I objected to answering you, I would tell you as much-- I have been honest about my feelings, when they were relevant. It is… oddly flattering, actually, to have anyone interested in me or my side of a story.” He looked back down at the food before him, trying not to show how touched he was that Rogers should worry so much about his feelings.

He cleared his throat, lifting the fork and the salad container and pausing to inhale the sweet and acidic scent of the glaze on the greens.

“That said, I have told you before, you needn’t worry about my feelings. I am, after all, your prisoner still. But I do appreciate your consideration and the level of honor you hold yourself to. Even for a people so honor bound as mi--as the Asgardians, it is a rarity.” He glossed over his stumble by pushing a bite of the salad into his mouth, eyes slipping wider in surprise at the combined tastes.

Rogers had barely arrived, and already there was so much that had been unexpected this evening. He relished it.

 

 

Steve relaxed slightly. Though both of them were a little stiff in their speech, it seemed that Loki wasn’t particularly upset with him for his line of questioning the day before. The reminder that Steve held him as a prisoner smarted slightly, but Steve didn’t contest it. He had a point, after all; Steve had little reason to be this invested, or to care quite as much about Loki as he did. But reason or not, he felt genuinely troubled by the god’s distress the day before, particularly knowing he’d been the cause of it. Or at least, that he’d brought that past distress back up into a fresh memory. He couldn’t look at the polite, quiet, intelligent, eloquent man in front of him and, despite what he’d done, still believe that he deserved that level of pain.

He speared a forkful of salad and chicken, chewing as an excuse to avoid replying. When he finally swallowed, he remembered what the other thing he’d wanted to tell Loki right off the bat.

“So, about the haircut,” he began, changing tack. “I talked with SHIELD, and they agreed to it, on the condition that you’re restrained. In--” he checked his watch, noting the time until the shift change, “-- an hour and a half, a couple of guards would come in, bind your hands, bring in the supplies, and then wait outside while I cut your hair, then come back in to unlock everything once we’re done,” he explained. It had been a small battle getting Hill to agree to have the guards out of the room and Steve alone with Loki, even shackled. But he’d argued that excessive supervision of Loki’s right to hygiene constituted humiliation, and once he’d gotten started on a rant about rights violations, she’d thrown her hands in the air and told him that _fine_ , if he got stabbed to death with scissors while playing hairdresser, it was on him and she was washing her hands of it. “Does that sound okay?” Loki had been amenable to all the security precautions so far, but Steve was willing to give him the option to back out altogether if he preferred.

 

 

“Are you asking if I feel safe alone in a room with you with my hands bound?” He asked, one eyebrow arching and his mouth quirking playfully upwards. “Why Captain. I would be delighted.” He let the tease drop into a playful purr, and he made a show of suckling the vinaigrette off of the tines of his fork, tongue darting between them in an obscene display that lasted barely a second.

Once finished, he speared a piece of chicken.

“Your terms are more than acceptable. It isn’t as if I would want to put my hands between my hair and your blades, so I doubt I would have much use for them during that time.” He shrugged, keeping his voice light and carefree as possible, even as he imagined Rogers putting his hand out to him the night before, offering the closest he could come to human contact. Binding his hands would deny him that, just as the walls of his cage had. Perhaps it was for the best, though. He remembered the imagined warmth and yearned, for a moment...

Loki restrained the shiver that tried to shuffle down his spine. It wouldn’t do to dwell. He had been imprisoned and estranged for long enough now that such casual gestures as a hand put out to comfort seemed more powerful than it ought to. And it was an enticement he could not afford to experience. He kept his face calm and pried open the bread container, reveling in the familiarly gritty texture of this fare.

If his being emotional had so upset Rogers, he would simply attempt not to do so any more, unless he meant to use it as a tool. It was embarrassing, at any rate, appearing so weak before a man he was coming to realize was truly as great as the stories Loki had heard of him suggested.

“Have you considered what you might do to my hair, Captain?” He wasn’t afraid, not really, just curious. He wondered how the Captain would best like him, if he would favor leaving Loki’s hair as long as he could without it appearing unkempt, or if he would give him the cut of the S.H.I.E.L.D. staff, short and close to the scalp.

 

 

Steve felt the blood rush to his cheeks in response to Loki’s deflective teasing, and that briefest glimpse of pink tongue. Well, at least he wasn’t angry or anxious about the arrangement -- or if he was, he concealed it masterfully. Steve had been nervous that this latest indignity coming hard on the heels of Loki’s emotional revelation of the night before wouldn’t go over well, but it appeared his worries were unfounded. Loki continued to be a more or less model prisoner; cooperative, honest, polite, peaceful, and reasonable. In short: absolutely nothing like he had been before.

Steve tore his gaze from Loki’s smirking lips and glanced down, only to find himself looking at those long and delicate fingers as they pried free the tupperware lid and picked at Mrs. Mason’s fresh-baked cornbread that she insisted on giving to Steve in return for the handful of times he’d been around to help her bring in her groceries. Loki had nimble, adroit hands; strong and delicate at the same time. Could they be convinced to create instead of destroying, Steve mused, taking another bite of his salad and crunching down on a walnut.

“It’s up to you,” he told him. “It’s your hair. How short do you want it?” He rather hoped Loki would want it long enough so those long pale fingers would still have to reach up to carefully tuck it behind his ear and _where the hell did that come from?_ Steve banished that line of thought, unsettled by how easily it came to mind.

 

 

Loki hummed around the crumbling bread in his mouth, surprised to find it as sweet as it was.

For once he was not playing for time as he swallowed and chased the dryness away with water from the bottle.

“I suppose as long as the damaged parts are removed, perhaps just down the back of my neck?” He watched Rogers’ face, hoping for a reaction that would betray the suitability of his choice. “I don’t know what your superiors would consider an appropriate length-- in Asgard only the very young keep their hair short-- or those unafraid to be judged as foolishly fashionable. Thor’s friend Fandral, for instance, keeps his hair only a tad longer than yours, and he is considered a fop.”

He smirked, remembering all the times he had responded to jabs about his coloration with pointed comments about Fandral’s length. It did not make him a better person, but it did make him feel better. And after his trick with Sif’s hair, they could not rib him for his hue any longer. Hogun of course was expected to be darker of tress, being as he was of Vanaheim. But when the three of them stood together, they represented the whole of the dark haired persons of rank.

“And as it seems I will be on Midgard for a time, I would adhere to your customs, as much as you would advise I ought to, and not find offensive.”

In his time here and from what he has observed, it seemed that it was the women, nearly exclusively, who wore their hair long. He was a little concerned, therefore, that like his seidhr back ho--back on Asgard, his hair here marked him as effeminate, which would only undermine his negotiative tactics. Unless, of course, it disarmed them, or made their attentions stray to slurs rather than focusing on the matter at hand.

“I will accept your guidance on the matter, if you would like to give it.”

 

 

Steve nodded, when Loki suggested the back of his neck as a possible length. “That I can do.” Much shorter, and the limits of his skills as a barber would become much more apparent. Loki had been very forgiving up to this point, but he didn’t want to try that forgiveness by mangling Loki’s appearance.

He let out a quick exhale of amusement regarding Asgard’s opinion of short hair. “A fop, huh?” he asked with a grin, running a hand a touch self-consciously through his bangs, brushing them to the side. Natasha had been trying to get him to go for a more modern haircut and he was on the brink of giving in, but he liked having _something_ to neatly comb in the morning.

“Can’t say I’m the best person to ask about current fashions. Apparently I sometimes dress like someone’s grandfather,” he remarked. He’d been getting better about that, at least. He’d mostly given up suspenders, though he kept wearing belts; the low-waisted jeans he wore now always felt like they were going to slip off and leave him indecent. “The military tends to keep theirs really short, but that’s more a matter of practicality than style. The civilian population runs the gamut pretty much these days, from what I’ve seen anyhow, so we can do whatever you like. I’d recommend at least a couple inches above the shoulders, though, for a more professional look. Really long hair on a guy is usually a bit, ah, counter-cultural.”

Though, with the way Loki’s hair curled softly now that it had been washed, he suspected that it would curl rather wildly if cut too short, without any length to weigh it down. Yes, just a bit below his jaw would look alright. Probably. He hoped. “Anyway, we’ve got some time before we have to worry about it.”

 

 

Loki nodded, digesting his words while he put the last of the leafy food into his mouth.

“I am confident in your tastes, Captain. A man so observant as you are could hardly make poor choices in aesthetics, regardless of the time period. As they say, classics are timeless.”

He swallowed another mouthful of water then cleared his throat as he realized what the deprecation and self conscious hair touching meant.

“I did not mean to imply that you are a fop, nor do I think you look like ‘someone’s Grandpa’. For the record, your garb seems perfectly suited to you. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable--” He broke off, sure that his words were only continuing to make him so. He cleared his throat again. “You look nice.” He finished lamely, distracting himself by replacing the lids on the storage containers and standing.

He replaced them in the box, alongside the waters.

“Thank you, by the way, for your thoughtfulness. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed fresher foods before now.” He offered a small grateful smile his way and returned to the spot that he always ended up at, when Rogers visited.

He paused, remembering who he was and where he was-- this was not, despite all appearances, a pleasant picnic and two friends chatting. ‘ _You look nice_ ’, how juvenile. He berated himself for it and tried instead to find something of substance to say.

“Your wounds seem to have healed somewhat, are you feeling better?” He cursed himself again, for now it sounded as though he was fishing to learn what the man’s healing was like, trying to find or learn weaknesses.

Loki was out of practice in being… kind, he supposed, for lack of better word. Charming he could manage, but that was a superficial state. Which, he reminded himself, was what he should be, as opposed to this current urge to actually care.

But that would not end well, for either of them.

 

 

_You look nice._

Steve blushed to the tips of his ears. “Oh, um.” It was just a compliment; Loki was just making sure he hadn’t insulted him with comparison to Thor’s friend what-was-his-name. It was politeness, nothing more.

But it was a kind thing to say.

“Thanks,” he managed, poking at the remains of his salad. He latched on to the next topic Loki brought up. “And you’re welcome. I remember how happy I was to get good, fresh food after so much time living on army rations.” Though the produce available had changed since he’d been frozen. He remembered the first time after waking up that he’d tried a banana, and the ensuing horror that it tasted _nothing_ like a banana as he knew it. He wondered if any of the fruit they had here was similar to what they had on Asgard, or if all the food was completely foreign to Loki.

“Yeah, leg’s doing better. The stitches will probably come out in another day or two. I can put weight on it without too much trouble, though I had to skip my run this morning,” he explained. “At the moment, it itches more than it hurts, to be honest.” He smiled ruefully. Accelerated healing was a boon, but sometimes it meant having all the unpleasantness of getting over an injury simply compressed into a shorter block of time. And he still didn’t recover as fast as Thor appeared to.

How fast did Frost Giants heal? He opened his mouth to ask, then caught himself just in time, remembering that the topic was not a welcome one. He grasped for a subject before Loki caught him gaping open-mouthed like a fish. “I saw you had the reader out when I came in,” he came up with. “Anything else you’ve been reading that you liked?”

 

 

“I am glad to hear that you do not take so long as the others of your kind to heal.” He offered, likely bungling that, too, implying again (correctly of course, but it was rude to say so) that Midgardians were so drastically inferior a species. He moved on quickly, hoping to distract before the Captain could register his offense.

“I have been having a go at your _Sword in the Stone_.” Loki admitted, feeling sheepish for not having finished it yet. But he frowned, remembering a worry that he had experienced, reading it.

“I like the characters well enough, but… may I ask you a question? And it may seem silly. But. Do you believe that our lives, our fates, are predetermined? I have always hoped we had choice, however… Enough in my life has led me to believe that no matter how one chooses, you have a path, and you will go down it. And with Merlin aging backwards… well it seems that if he remembers things, it can hardly be any way but that.” Loki shrugged, trying to make light of the dread he felt settled onto his chest, waiting for Rogers’s answer.

Because if that was the case, it would mean that no matter how kind or good he learned to be, tried to be… he would end up in the role of the villain. And Rogers himself, Thor, everyone that Loki knew, save Him, would end up on the opposing side.

He wanted to focus on the tales of the small, lesser of the children, bullied and treated poorly becoming king, and a good king at that. But though he could see the parallel that Rogers wanted him to draw, he also saw in himself the fact that he would likely not have made such good choices, such kind ones.

There was something inherently rotten in him, and he held the hope that he could change it… but that hope was battered at so many turns.

 

 

Steve looked down thoughtfully, brow creasing. He’d hoped that Loki would taken something else away from the book... notions of generosity, of Might and Right, Merlin’s teachings or the optimism inherent in the whole tale. Destiny wasn’t a topic he’d quite expected to come up, although he wondered if he should have.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “And it’s not silly; it’s downright philosophical. There’s a lot of religions that have been debating that question for a long time; I don’t think any of them have come up with a sure answer.” He shrugged. “And Merlin is fictional -- just a myth, or, if he ever was real, the stories we have about him are distorted past recognition. I imagine the aging-backwards bit got added to the stories later.” He didn’t want Loki putting too much stock in the life of a storybook character as evidence for predestination.

He wasn’t sure what he himself made of the notion. He remembered being dragged to Sunday morning mass and hearing about how God had a plan for everyone. He also remembered being bitter that God’s plan for him apparently involved being undersized and asthmatic; because that was clearly adding _so much_ to His world. He’d rethought that notion briefly after the experiment with the serum, but remained uncertain. It seemed a bit conceited to believe that it was his _destiny_ to become Captain America, in the way Arthur had been destined to be king. By sheer dumb luck, it could have been any other guy. Was it Bucky’s fate to die on that train? If he believed that, then he was absolved of all responsibility.

“I don’t think so,” he finally added, then, “No.” He believed in free will. In choice. Freedom was one the the things Captain America stood for, after all. “I think... I think we have certain paths available to us,” he said, “and some are probably clearer and easier for us to head down than others. And once we start on a path, it’s hard to turn around and go pick a different one... but there’s always a choice.” He shook his head. “My mom said to me once that we don’t get to pick what we’re born as, but we do get to choose who we want to be. The life that’s given to you; you don’t always have control over that. But you have control over what you decide to do with it.” Steve himself was a fair enough illustration of that; he’d been born nobody. He’d become somebody, largely out of luck and the sheer bloody-minded stubbornness that made him too stupid to back down from an impossible fight. There had been a lot of outside factors that had shaped his life -- people, events, place and time -- but the core of him, the essence of who he was... that stemmed from the choices he made, good or ill.

“And even if we do have fates, like in the book,” he added, tackling the other side, just in case, “I don’t think we have any way of knowing what they are or being sure of how the story ends. We’re not Merlin; no one ages backwards. You and me... we’re Wart. And as far as Wart knew--” Steve shrugged, “-- His destiny was to be Kay’s squire. Nothing else.”

 

 

Loki leaned back onto his arms, propping himself on them and feeling oddly justified, though he knew that wasn’t what the Captain had intended.

“As it was my destiny to be a tool, a shadow, and yours to be small and ill.” He nodded. “And look at us now-- you are a hero, and I a villain, so far beyond what any who knew us would expect. If they expected anything of us at all.” He smirked. “We have done well for ourselves, in our respective endeavors.”

He wished he could believe it was true, on his end, but at least he meant it, as far as Rogers was concerned.

“I think, had I been born else and made other choices, I might very much have liked to be like you, Captain. As it is, I hope that your S.H.I.E.L.D. chooses to take me up on my offer. I would not, I think, like to be opposed to you. Not after--” He gestured around the room, meaning to include everything that had happened within it. It was merely musing, kind hearted as it was meant to be, a compliment and a way of bookending the answer. He had no interest in making a debate of it, in seeing how the Captains’ face would contort if he heard Loki speak of his own lack of hope, snuffed by centuries of assurances that he was as he was meant to be, going the only way he could. And it was true, he thought. Odin had predetermined his destiny the day he’d been brought to Asgard, long before he had the mind to make a choice.

He would be, he knew, opposed by Captain America again. But this time would have to be relegated to the same fount of fond memories where he stored his time with Thor, with his family, before he had known better.

He knew Rogers meant to say that Loki could choose still, could walk away from his past, and were he not still being pursued by it, that might be true. As it was, there was some comfort to be had in the pretense that it was possible.

Seeking to steer himself away from the despair that sprung from the hopelessness he felt at times, he found his eye falling on the Captain’s bag beside him.

It had already been emptied, he thought, from the food and drinks Rogers had brought. But it was odd that he had elected to use something so large and opaque, when his usual carrying sacks were of thin plastic, semi-transparent and flimsy, and this food had been nowhere near so heavy as other things from past days.

“Speaking of choice,” He quipped, “I suppose your guards were particularly pleased by today’s choice of luggage.”

 

 

A small sigh escaped Steve’s lips. It wasn’t what he had meant, the idea that Loki had escaped destiny by becoming a villain. But he suspected that no matter what he said, Loki would find a way to twist his words to his own conclusion. Not out of malice, but a kind of quiet stubbornness Steve recognized all too well. Furthermore, Loki was clever and eloquent in that way, where Steve had a propensity to get tongue-tied unless he was giving orders in the heat of the moment, or reciting rehearsed words. He’d always spoken more clearly with his actions anyhow.

He licked his lips, unsure of how to respond when Loki confided that if things could be different, he’d have liked to be like _Steve_. Of course, kids were always coming up to him at public events, saying they wanted to be a hero like him, and that was nice, but that was Captain America -- the man on the recruitment posters and the TV -- that they aspired to emulate. Loki saw him in plainclothes; saw him stumbling and stuttering and limping on a bad leg. Loki saw him as _Steve_.

And he honestly didn’t know what to make of that.

He also hoped Fury was amenable to the idea of letting Loki out of his cage; of letting him help the world he’d hurt, and of giving him a chance to pursue redemption. Steve didn’t believe that Loki was beyond redeeming -- though he suspected that more than Fury, more than the Council, the hardest person to convince of that would be Loki himself.

But that wouldn’t be an argument he’d make any breakthroughs with in a single sitting. It might take time, but with Loki locked up down here, time was something they had plenty of. So when Loki steered the subject to shallower waters, for once, Steve didn’t push, opting instead to force a smile.

“They weren’t crazy about it, no,” he agreed. He’d explained and accounted for the assorted items coming in, and handed over any that could be considered hazardous (well, mainly pointy). He suspected that the amount of time he was spending with Loki and the amicable relationship they’d developed was going to attract notice sooner or later and get his judgement called into question, but Steve was through sidestepping and second-guessing every action and show of compassion. He’d decided somewhere along the line to gamble on Loki, and on all of this being worthwhile.

He pulled the duffel over and unzipped it further, pulling out and setting aside the towel, comb, and spray bottle that would help with Loki’s haircut later on (His mother had always just wet his hair from water in a basin, but Keisha in Logistics had spent four years undercover as a personal stylist and told him about the spray bottle trick). “So, there were two favors you asked yesterday. All this is for the one. And the other...” he reached into the bag and carefully pulled out a pair of sketchbooks, bound in dark brown moleskine. “You asked to see these,” he explained, hesitating as he wondered whether to flip the pages himself on his side of the glass, or to pass them through to Loki.

 

 

He felt his eyes widen and a greedy, lazy smile dawn across his face.

"I am pleasantly surprised you remembered, Rogers. And I certainly did not expect such an immediate follow through-- particularly not with as much work as must have been part of arranging the other request's fulfillment."

His eyes darted, taking in the two sketch books.

"Are they organized by subject or only by when the art was done?" He asked, unsure whether he was meant to choose one, or how the Captain wanted to show them.

Just by the way he held them it became apparent that these were some of his treasures. Perhaps he was hesitant to pass them through to Loki... Not for fear of his damaging them, Loki reasoned, but in the same irrational way that any person was protective of their treasures.

While he did miss the sensation of the smooth slide of pages under his fingers, the minute sensation was nothing when weighed against the Captain's ease of mind. And what an odd thought process that was for him, especially of late.

"Would you like to select the pages to show me and tell me what they are?" He asked, trying to make it easy on him. "I'm afraid there is likely to be a good deal of subject matter that will be utterly foreign to me." He grimaced apologetically, more for show than anything else.

"Provided, of course, that we have enough time before the guards come. I'm not... Overly familiar with your methods of time keeping, especially lacking familiar stars to measure against. Or time mark candles."

He didn't want Rogers' art to be interrupted. He didn't know about here, but back in Asgard, that would be unspeakably disrespectful. As if saying that Loki didn't care enough to give him the time and attention needed for his presentation. No matter how casual that presentation may be.

He paused, suddenly afraid he'd overstepped bounds or misunderstood.

"That is, if you'd like to do it that way. Of course it is your art, I will enjoy it however you judge best."

 

 

“They’re not really organized at all,” Steve admitted. He’d grabbed two books without much thought -- one that had been at his bedside that he’d sketched a bit in the night before while sleep eluded him, and then feeling bad because that one still contained so many blank pages, an older one that he’d already filled, so Loki wouldn’t feel cheated.

The contents were a mish-mash. Sketches of the city. Architectural drawings -- of the world as he saw it, and of the world as he remembered. He tried to draw the corner in Brooklyn where he grew up from memory. But there were also drawings of the people around him that he saw, small moments captured. A gestural sketch of waitress clearing off a table in a cafe. Kids playing soccer in the park.

And then of course, there were the portraits.

Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on the sketchbooks. He hadn’t shown the portraits to anyone. Loki’s offer to allow him to select which drawings he wanted to show -- the safe ones, the _mundane_ ones -- was tempting. He could show Loki the simple renderings of scenes in the park and technical renderings of national monuments. It would be enough to satisfy the request.

“We have time,” Steve murmured, checking his watch. An hour remained before the shift change of the guards that would accompany Loki’s haircut. Where Loki would allow Steve to come at him with sharp shears while he sat bound and guarded, in a display of total trust.

Steve looked down at the books and felt his shoulders slump. He could police himself and the pages he showed, but it would be a poor show of faith. Loki had bared his darkest secrets to Steve, after all. It was hard to convince himself that he didn’t owe him this much in return.

Before he could overthink it, Steve walked over to the bin and placed the sketchbooks in with the sealed containers of food and water bottles, closing the panel on his side and letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It was, quite literally, out of his hands now. Loki would be able to see everything, and ask about what he would. He took a halting step back, then sat back down next to the glass. “If you... if you want to know anything about what’s in there, just ask,” he said.

 

 

His brows rose in his face, but he didn’t argue, moving quietly to the box to retrieve the books, surprised at Rogers’ willingness to let go of his treasures, to put them on trash to pass them to Loki.

But perhaps he’d misread the hesitance to start with. Perhaps it was less the artbooks themselves, and more about the contents therein, the subjects. That would make sense, the Captain treasuring his world so.

Loki lifted them out, pleasantly surprised by the weight. The StarkReader was a wonder, but the heft behind them-- he remembered what Rogers had said about the powers that be there being afraid of handing him flammable material, and he was tempted to make a joke about that now, but he knew if the Captain had been nervous to hand them over, such joshing would not help to relax him.

Instead, Loki returned to his seat with them and lay them flat in his lap, so that Rogers should be able to see what he was looking at without having to stand.

He stroked the cover, delighting in the texture, much less hard, much less sterile than Midgardians tended to like their wares.

It was clear that one of them was newer, the majority of the pages unbent by the weight of a stylus, so Loki put that book on the bottom, for working his way up to. Unless instructed otherwise, he would finish with that.

“Why this material?” He asked, not looking up as the tapped the moleskine and opened the page. “I had come to understand-- oh.” The word came out a soft breath as Rogers’ skill with a pencil came into view, capturing the lines and detail of a building, perhaps a religious establishment, or at least something archaic and brick-- not like Stark’s skyscraper, again, not so clean and smooth.

Enthralled, he turned the page-- and this _was_ Stark’s tower, the linework flawless and the focus on the light values as the sun glanced off its gleaming sides.

“Oh Captain,” he breathed, pausing to turn the next page and run his fingers reverently down the paper. “You’ve been modest. You possess a great deal of skill.” His eyes flicked up to the man watching, curious to see his reaction, even to such mild praise, given earnestly as it was.

 

 

Steve appreciated the careful way Loki handled the books. Their only value was of the sentimental variety, yet they held a lot of meaning for Steve. But after hearing Loki talk so reverently about the books in the libraries of Asgard, he didn’t think for a minute to doubt Loki’s treatment of any books -- or sketchpads -- he was given.

His heart leapt slightly as Loki’s words fell short at the same moment that the older sketchbook’s cover fell open, and he watched those green eyes widen. The first page was St. Patrick’s cathedral, with its gothic arches rendered in loving detail, as Steve had spent an entire afternoon sitting on a bench across the road from the church, not quite daring to go in. Some of the pencil lines had smudged faintly, giving the upper part of the page with the towering spires a soft and ethereal look. Chancing an upward glance, he saw Loki’s face open and filled with a quiet... awe? He seemed riveted as he turned the next page with the gentlest rustle of paper, revealing a three-point perspective view of Stark’s dramatically foreshortened tower.

“I... thank you.” Steve looked away, knowing perfectly well that he was blushing and feeling all the more embarrassed for it. Though whether the small thrill that ran up his spine was from the compliment, or the hauntingly familiar way in which Loki’s voice, soft and velvety said the words _oh, Captain,_ he wasn’t sure. (The compliment. It had to be the compliment. He’d never been any good at taking them.) “I did okay in school, but...” he trailed off and shrugged. He remembered one professor smiling at him condescendingly and telling him he had plenty of skill for a _tradesman_ , just none of the ingenuity for an artist. The comment had smarted, somehow more than most of the other belittlements that had been part of his daily life. “One of my back-up plans if I couldn’t enlist or get posted to the front was to help out in the war effort doing posters or illustrating manuals.” Something still remotely useful, if not heroic. Not that he’d ever really accepted that he’d be forced to fall back on that plan. He’d wanted so desperately to be allowed to fight.

Loki’s long white fingers turned the next page, revealing a roughly-pencilled and unfinished image of the waitress at Steve’s favorite café chatting with an elderly, mustachioed and bespeckled patron. And the next--

Steve swallowed. Peggy stared up at him from the page. Her head tilted down but the corner of her perfect mouth (dark gray in pencil, but he could remember the exact shade of victory red she wore) quirked up in a wry and knowing smile.

 

 

Loki hummed, not having anything to say about the Captain’s alternative career choice, because he would have considered that a waste, but felt it impolite to say so. Instead he leaned in closer, taking in the composition of the scene with the serving girl and the old man, finger hovering over the lines as he mentally retraced his impressions of the city, from when he’d been destroying it. It looked familiar, and he didn’t want to mention the fact, because he had a feeling no good memories would be associated with that.

So he turned his attention to the woman on the other page, her eyes glinting with steel and a little touch of mischief.

“Ooh, I like her.” He decided, speaking the words aloud. “She looks like the sort to challenge you more than agree.” He took in the smile she wore, the secretive but knowledgeable look on her face.

“Your lover?” He guessed, judging by the almost intimate closeness of the image, how lovingly detailed she was. Not like the servant, drawn from a distance and less refined. The Captain seemed not to care for her as he did this woman. Loki felt a slight disquiet in his gut, but he supposed it came from his failure to inquire. He hadn’t thought, in his time here, to ask whether the Captain went home to anyone when he left here.

Not that he would have told Loki, perhaps. For her safety.

Loki made a quick study of her face, memorizing it as best as he could, so that if he saw her, he would be sure to spare her as well. In not wishing to hurt the Captain, hurting his lady-love would be just as bad as if he had visited any harm she might suffer upon the man himself. He wouldn’t do that to him, either.

“She is very lovely.” He said finally, turning the page before the Captain answered, lest he take Loki’s attentions as a threat.

 

 

Steve felt the corners of his own mouth tug upwards at Loki’s assessment of Peggy. That was her, alright, he thought, recalling fondly the first time he’d laid eyes on her. She’d punched Private Hodge out within seconds of meeting him, and part of Steve had fallen in love on the spot. He was glad that he’d captured that well enough that Loki picked up on it.

“Thanks,” he answered. “She was. Lovely, I mean. Not my lover. Well,” he paused, considering it. There had been love, hadn’t there? It had been the first and only time where Steve had felt romantically about someone and seen his affection reciprocated. “She-- we might have been, I think. If we’d had time.”

The smile vanished, though he tried to keep his tone light. “We kissed, once. We were planning on going dancing some time, but then I crash-landed in the arctic for seventy years, which is a bit of a long time for a gal to wait for a dance.” He’d even gone to the Stork Club after waking, once SHIELD cleared him to go outside into the city without a chaperone, some horrible little part of him hoping against hope that he might find her there, looking dreadfully annoyed with him for being late.

Instead he’d found that the building had been demolished, a park now resting in its place. That more than anything had driven home how much he’d lost with the passage of time.

He suddenly found himself desperately wishing that Loki would turn the page, despite knowing how many more sketches of Peggy appeared throughout the book.

 

 

He pulled his attention away from the drawings for a moment to take in the expression on the Captain’s face, the poorly concealed sense of loss, the yearning. That look caused his stomach to lurch and his chest to tense up.

“I am sorry Captain Rogers. It had not occurred to me that those you once knew would be here, as well as your contemporary peers.” He retreated to his formality, hoping that it would come across as more sincere for it. The Captain seemed to believe him, now, when he spoke casually, but later, once he had done what he needed to do, he knew the man would run through all that had passed, examining each moment. He did not want his honest apologies to be lost in the web of lies he created.

Loki was glad to see another safe-seeming cityscape that he did not recognize gracing the next page, the line of store fronts each with a hanging shade above the doors, the fabric sketched in so that he could almost imagine the wind blowing through the narrow passage between the tall bricks, the upper level windows even bearing a hint here at the people within, and a reflection there of the sky and other buildings beyond.

“And these.” Loki asked, maneuvering away from a topic that seemed too close to a raw nerve. “Do you go to these places to draw them? Or do you summon up the images from memory?” The streets were curiously devoid of traffic, in the drawing, though whether that was because of the location or time of the drawing or because of artistic liberties taken, it was hard for him to know.

 

 

“It’s okay,” Steve told him, smile strained. “A lot of them are actually people from... from Before.”

There were two _Befores_ in Steve’s life, really -- while he was fighting in the war, his life had been diving into Before Project Rebirth, and the After where he’d become a supersoldier. But then the plane and the ice had happened, and now Before encompassed all of his life prior to waking up in a different century. He glanced up at Loki. Did Loki think about his life in terms of Before and After; Before the Bifrost, or Before finding out of his adoption? Steve certainly didn’t dare ask.

“I like drawing them, though. Makes it feel -- like if I still remember them and their faces, it’s like they’re not completely gone.” And in showing Loki, he’d be sharing the knowledge of these names and faces with a being whose lifespan would far exceed his own. In a way, it would offer the memory of Peggy and the Commandos and the rest a kind of limited immortality. He found he liked that thought.

The next page was an imagined view of his old neighborhood from memory; another nostalgic fragment, preserved as best he knew how. “Bit of both. That one’s just from memory -- it’s where I grew up. But some of the others are from observation.” He shrugged. “Mostly depends on how nostalgic I’m feeling.” The life drawings were much better for honing his technique and tended to a greater level of realism, but he often considered them practice. After all, they helped him fill in the blanks of his memory when conjuring scenes in his imagination of places that no longer existed; at least not in the way he’d known them.

He smiled as Loki turned the page. “That one’s actually a combination of both.” He’d seen two men sitting at a table in a restaurant with beers and started to loosely sketch them -- the way one leaned forward, animated, and the other lounged back, laconically amused as he nursed his beer. He’d roughed out the general shapes of their poses while waiting for his own meal, and put the drawing away before it developed into too much detail. Later, when he’d picked the sketchbook back up to continue work on the drawing, and with the addition of some specific features and a derby hat, the two men from the restaurant transformed into Falsworth and Dugan, with Monty leaning forward to excitedly explain something to Dum Dum, who was far more interested in the contents of his stein.

 

 

“They’re animated, their personalities… you can see a lot just in the lines of them.” Loki told him appreciatively. “Friends of yours, then, people you know, or knew-- not strangers.” He wasn’t asking, wasn’t digging for information, merely guessing. He was warming up to the game of trying to put himself in the Captain’s mind, see through his eyes.

Then he frowned.

“It is an odd juxtaposition, my mental images of you-- in battle with your shield, you at peace with your charcoal and lead, and you here. I…” he bit it off and let hang the word, unable to take it back and unable to finish the sentence he’d intended to say.

He would have loved to watch Rogers work, were the circumstances different.

“You manage to find beauty in each thing you draw, somehow, manage to bring it to the fore. It is an impressive skill and an enviable vision. If the entire realm were so optimistic as your artist’s eyes…” He shrugged, unsure where he meant to go with it.

He flipped the page again, and took in the figures here, captured in their movements, but their poses making it obvious that they had been moving, that it was the movement that originally drew the Captain’s eye.

“Tell me, Rogers-- what is it about your subjects, what is it that makes you decide what and who to draw? What do you look for in them? Or what do you find there, if not looking?”

The art on these pages were such an interesting glimpse into Rogers’ mind, and it was no less of a marvel than any other part of this man. If Loki had more time, if he were less concerned with how he might damage him, hurt him when he left, he would have enjoyed delving deeper, getting to know him better.

 

  


“Yeah, guys I fought with,” Steve confirmed with a smile, both at the memory and the praise. He wondered what Loki would have made of the Commandos if they’d ever had the chance to meet. Jones would have had a thousand questions about Asgardian linguistics and modes of communication, and Monty would have been over the moon to have someone else of intellect and sophistication around. Dum Dum probably would have rubbed him the wrong way at first, but, well, Dum Dum did that to just about everyone. The whole hypothetical scenario filled him with a bittersweet feeling.

“Well,” he began, looking up at Loki meaningfully, “Everyone’s got more than one side, once you take the time to get to know them.” Like a would-be conqueror having an aspect that was soft-spoken and sensitive and fond of books.

Not wishing to be overly blunt in hammering home the point, however, he looked back down at the pages as Loki leafed through them. “It’s a mix, I suppose. Sometimes it’s things I think are interesting or pretty or things that are meaningful and that I care about...” he trailed off, caught up in his own thoughts as he tried to piece together an honest answer. It took him a minute to touch on the truth. “I draw things I want-- things I need to remember.” Sometimes it was a person, or a place that held meaning from his past. Sometimes a scene of beauty. And sometimes, just a moment of utter humanity -- ordinary people living ordinary lives, lovely in their simultaneous mundanity and complexity -- a reminder of why he did what he did. Who and what he did this all for.

Of course, Loki didn’t need to know about the pages that had been torn out. The things he didn’t want to remember but knew he needed to. Drawings of the war he pencilled in the hours of the night when he couldn’t sleep; picturesque European villages after the bombs had dropped; the frail figures, shaped like living skeletons with haunted eyes that they rescued from the camps; a rough sketch over and over of a hand reaching out that he could never quite reach, where his pencil always managed to punch and tear through the paper. These things he needed to remember, but there was nothing beautiful in them. He ripped them out and crumpled them up and threw them away, carefully going back later and removing the edges of the paper with an exacto blade, removing any evidence of their presence.

But Loki didn’t need to know.

 

 

“And which do you prefer drawing, Captain?” Loki asked, letting the pages rest gently on his fingers, but more enthralled by the way the expressions moved across the Captain’s face. He was so transparent, so guileless… nearly as readable as his own drawings, each emotion written there for any to read. There was a beauty to that, much like the beauty the Captain saw in others, and Loki couldn’t help but wonder if Rogers had ever drawn himself, what he saw when he looked in the mirror.

Did he see himself as he had been? Did he feel that was something he needed to remember? Or did he see himself haggard from battle, as Loki had seen him when it was over? Or did he see himself as the artist, as the observer?

It was hard to imagine-- heroic, strong, kind, beautiful Steven Rogers, intentionally placing himself on the outside. But that was it, Loki realized. These were all outside views. With the exception of Peggy, the Captain’s would-be-lover, none of the subjects engaged the viewer of these drawings.

He wondered, suddenly, how often the artist felt alone, and his heart squeezed for the thought. But it would not let go of him.

 

 

Surely Rogers had friends, surely he had places to be, people who missed him. Perhaps he did have a lover now, whom Loki was stealing time from. And it was impossible to ask, to just ask, and know. But gentling little pieces of the truth out, that he was doing well at. It was a skill of his.

And this was a puzzle that Loki was enjoying… much like Rogers pushing to learn more of him, though this felt… subtler. A learning progress better suited to Loki.

“Is it easier to draw from memory for you?” Was it easier to draw from times he had lived, been part of? Or easier to draw as if he were invisible, a fly on the wall of his own world, his own life?

He didn’t know what he would do with the knowledge of the answers, but he wanted them just the same, in the same greedy way that he’d wanted to see the contents of these books.

And wasn’t that troubling?

Steve considered it. He found it nice, in a way, actually having to think about his answers and give them honestly, rather than just parroting the words most people wanted to hear from him, or offering the most diplomatic answer. It was a long time since he’d had a conversation that was personal, without any expectations or politics involved.

“Not easier, no,” he finally said. “Drawing from life, I get more accuracy. I can just put down what I see, and make adjustments from there. The proportions are better, and I don’t have to think about the lighting as much.” And he didn’t have to remember. It was a more relaxed, rote exercise, just drawing what he saw, rather than dredging up subjects from his memories. “I think I like memory better though, in some ways,” he added. “It’s more personal. More.... I don’t know. Cathartic?”

It was certainly more challenging, technically and emotionally, and some of the drawings left him feeling oddly exhausted once he’d finally finished them in a way that running ten miles didn’t even manage to. But they held meaning. Purpose. And when he concluded the finishing touches, sharpening the lines and cleaning up the highlights with the kneaded eraser that lived in his jacket pocket, he felt a greater sense of accomplishment.

“Oh,” he interrupted as Loki turned the next page, revealing a portrait of a man in a white coat, smiling down into the glass of schnapps in his hand. “That’s Dr. Erskine. I told you about him, I think.”

 

 

Loki smiled down into the book in his hands, letting himself soak in the Captain’s words, only interrupted from his thoughts by Rogers pointing out the man on the next page.

“Is he the reason you hope so much? He has that same sort of look-- the one you get when you tell me I can be better.” The smile became bittersweet, as he knew these drawings must be for Rogers. “He’s the man who created the body you inhabit now, isn’t he? Your benefactor.”

This then, was the equivalent in Rogers’ life of Loki discovering his ability to reach in, to use his power. They had begun similarly, in their respective places, but this was the split… this was the man who had given Rogers his chance to prove himself. And he had not only succeeded, but excelled.

Loki wondered what it was this Erskine man had seen, looking at the thin, ill, struggling artist that Rogers had been. What specific trait had drawn him to Rogers. Loki looked up at him again, pensive.

If he were making the perfect soldier, as he knew Rogers was meant to be, he would not have searched for kindness, not consideration or an inner strength of will. He would not have chosen someone whose morality was strong enough to break a weaker man’s, and to challenge those who stood against it.

Loki would have chosen someone obedient.

And he supposed he would have chosen wrong.

“He seems very wise.” Loki concluded softly, tilting the page as though doing so would make Erskine look up, so that he could look into his eyes, attempt to gain the wisdom that they held. But this was but a drawing. An impressive one, but a drawing just the same. It held no wisdom, only the emotions put there by the man who sat… vulnerable.

Rogers was vulnerable before him, Loki realized, and his heart leapt, until it sank quickly, realizing that the part of him which responded to every day things was the part that thought first how he could use such vulnerability to his advantage.

Maybe they had not begun life so much alike as he’d thought.

 

 

Steve licked his lips and nodded. He remembered the terror he’d first felt at the recruitment center when Erskine had come in and commented on his multiple, falsified enlistment forms, thinking he was about to be arrested. And then the way his heart had leapt with joy and a kind of fearful exhilaration when instead he’d been declared fit for duty. Erskine had looked at him and seen something that led him to give Steve a chance when no one else would.

Now he knew just how much that one spark of belief and a chance could change a life.

“He was,” he agreed. “Wise.” Erskine had been quietly unassuming in his shabby, professorial clothes. An immigrant, like Steve’s own parents, and an outsider who didn’t draw attention to himself. He’d also been kind and perceptive, taking an interest in Steve’s welfare and potential, and in the very brief time that Steve knew him, he had wondered if that was what growing up with a father might have been like.

Then it had all been ripped away with a gunshot. Steve sighed. “Erskine was the one to pioneer the serum. First, because HYDRA forced him to. Then, once he escaped to the States and got asylum, for the SSR. He refined the formula, and ended up picking me as a first test subject.” _The little guy._ “He said that a weak man knows the value of strength.” Steve reached up and scratched the back of his neck. “I guess he figured since I knew how it felt to get bullied, I wouldn’t use it to bully others.” He wondered, sometimes, whether it was really the qualities that Erskine had seen in him that drove him, or just the need to live up to the faith that he’d held in him; the overwhelming hope that somewhere, the good doctor was looking down and not disappointed in his work.

“The idea was to create an army of supersoldiers, but then Erskine was--” Steve swallowed. “He died. And the only other vial of the serum was destroyed and his notes lost. They never managed to recreate it, from what I understand.” Steve had become the first and last of his breed. He wondered about that sometimes -- if it would have been better or worse if the serum had been spread. On the one hand, he hated the idea of more people like Red Skull getting their hands on the serum. Didn’t even like the thought of an army of men like Hodge with the strength to throw someone through a wall. But at the same time, what he would have given for Bucky to have the safety of that extra strength and resilience, or to spread that gift to all the everyday heroes he saw, saving lives without costumes or recognition or abilities beyond what they were born with.

 

 

“I am sorry for your losses Captain. You have suffered so many of them. But I am also envious of your ability to capture these memories, the good ones, the ones worth keeping, and transform them into something you can hold. Something you can touch. Something physical and real.”

He knew from experience how easy it was to let the happiness of the past turn to smoke and slip through your fingers. These portraits represented moments that would be able to remain unsullied by any tragedy that might follow. That had followed. No matter how long he lived, The Captain would have these to look back at, to stir the images in his mind. To remind himself that things had been good, that he wasn’t mad, believing them so.

Loki wouldn’t even begin to know what of his past he would preserve. He could not bottle the happiness that ignorance brought, the smiles that had not been tainted with bitter understanding. Because each memory now was flavored with the betrayal he had suffered. And perhaps if he had been able to save pieces…

No. He knew, in reality, what would have happened. Stricken with fear and rage and hatred he would have destroyed any such souvenirs of his younger life in a blaze of green flame. And he would not have felt any better for it.

“Your artwork is truly a treasure, Captain. Not only in skill, but in content.Thank you.” he said, then added, “For sharing with me, for showing me. I realize this means a lot to you. I… appreciate it.”

 

 

Loss. He bit his tongue. Sometimes, when he was feeling the slump into self-pity, he had to remind himself that others had it worse. That there were people who had lost far more than he had, and come out of their own battles less intact. And for all that he’d lost people he’d loved and cared about, he’d had them in his life, however briefly. For all the pain their absence caused, most days he knew that he wouldn’t have traded that time with them just to make the ache go away.

(The other days, well... he’d worn through a lot of running shoes getting through those days.)

Steve smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, though you should probably see some more earth artwork at some point to get a standard of comparison. There’s some really amazing stuff in our museums,” he deflected, knowing Loki would probably be much less impressed once he had seen enough better artists to recognize Steve as a rank amateur.

“Thank you for... well, for being interested.” And being kind. “I haven’t actually shown these to anyone. A couple of the architectural sketches to strangers, but that’s about it.” He shrugged. “It was nice to share them with someone.” Someone who would remember. Someone who didn’t look at him with pity or try to psychoanalyze him or suck up to him. Loki’s commentary had been generous, but not sycophantic. Though it probably said something about Steve, that he felt more comfortable treating a caged supervillain as a confidant than any of his colleagues.

And speaking of colleagues -- Steve startled at the sound of the blaring tone that announced someone was about to come through the door. He wondered if that was for his benefit, or if Loki was treated to the obnoxious noise every time a meal got delivered. He checked his watch and realized their hour was up, with only one sketchbook down. “Looks like it’s time for that haircut,” he commented unnecessarily, standing up as the door hissed open and several SHIELD agents entered.

One carried a metal chair, another the bag Steve had handed over earlier with the scissors, a third a set of restraints, and the fourth was armed with a large gun.

The one with the gun barked orders for Loki to stand in the center of the room, facing away from the door with his hands up -- oblivious of Steve’s frown. The door to Loki’s cell opened and the guards entered, one putting the chair down in the center and then flicking the switches on a series of mechanisms attached to the chair’s lower legs. It took Steve a moment to recognize them as the magnetic clamps that held all the furniture to the floors on the helicarrier -- apparently, Loki wasn’t even being trusted with an unsecured _chair_.

He watched, a pace behind, stomach turning uncomfortably as Loki was ordered into the chair and the restraints attached, shackling his wrists firmly to the arms of the chair, and his ankles to the legs. It was complete overkill, but Loki had consented, and Steve knew he’d win neither of them favors by protesting. He bit down hard on his tongue, and brusquely accepted the scissors from the SHIELD agent who held them once they’d finished, watching coldly as they retreated to the other side of the door.

 

 

It was one thing to be restrained, another thing altogether to be refused the ability to concede to it, and instead be treated like some kind of animal. There was no chance of remaining dignified this way-- only humiliation.

Just because he was a beast inside did not mean that he wished to allow others to treat him as such.

He was glad at least that it had taken them long enough to approach that Loki had been able to place the Captain’s books on his cot, safely out of harm’s way.

Once he was strapped down, fighting back the bile as he recalled the circumstances behind the last time he was in a similar position, he kept his eyes averted.

“If I may have just a moment, Captain.” He gasped out, the panic already beginning to subside.

Thanos did not question his potential allies lightly, and the pain that Loki recalled following, as Thanos split his mind open for peering into…

He took deep breaths, then nodded his head.

It was Rogers, he was not going to torture him. He was incapable of that sort of assignation of pain, both morally and physically.

Still, only able to look straight ahead, Loki found himself tensed and trembling in anticipation of the imminent contact.

Aside from the rough handling of him here, the last person to have touched him with any sort of kindness had been Frigga, grasping him in gratitude after he’d ‘saved’ Odin’s life. ...or Thor, begging him to abandon his plots, though that was born more of desperation than any form of true affection.

He was sure, by then, Thor knew what lay beneath. He had seen the changes in his face, the way he spoke to him.

He breathed deeply again.

“Alright Captain. Ready when you are.”

He did not feel ready.

 

 

Steve didn’t want to watch as Loki was chained, but he found himself keeping an eye on things anyway, just to make sure he could call the agents out if they used unnecessary force. Which was how he glimpsed the way Loki’s eyes grew wide, pupils dilating and the rise and fall of his chest accelerating. His frown deepened. Loki had remained calm when he’d been shackled for the walk to the shower. What was different? Was it the chair? Or--

Steve felt his throat constrict by degrees. In his mind’s eye, it wasn’t a chair, but a table, though restraints had been applied just as liberally as the man on it gasped out his name, rank and serial number--

He was jerked free from the thought by Loki’s gasping request for a moment. “Of course,” he murmured, moving away and averting his eyes now that the agents were no longer present. He moved to retrieve the towel and other supplies from where he’d left them by the duffel bag, backing away and wondering what it was that had happened to Loki to prompt that reaction, and if it had anything to do with the omitted parts of Loki’s story, the ones he claimed too dangerous to tell.

His imagination took him nowhere good, and he realized he was holding the scissors so hard they were digging a painful line into the palm of his hand. Looking down, he loosened his grip, waiting for a signal from Loki that it was all right for him to approach. Once he received it, he kept his movements slow, entering the cell and putting everything down on the bed within Loki’s line of view, and keeping a few feet of distance as he spoke. “Okay. I’m going to put the towel over your shoulders so we don’t get hair all over your armor. Makes it easier to clean up,” he explained, realizing as he did so that he was calmly describing and projecting his actions in the same way he’d learned to do with shell-shocked soldiers. “Then, I’m just going to wet your hair with the spray bottle and comb it out, so we’ll straighten out the waves and I’ll be able to cut it as evenly as possible. Sound good?”

 

 

Loki closed his eyes, willing the rigid lines of his body to relax while the Captain spoke, and opened them again to see how it was all staged that he might see what was going on.

Thoughtful.

“Of course, Captain. I trust you.” He tried for flippant, but managed something closer to strained at best.

He took another deep breath, steadying himself, and shuddered within the limits of his bindings.

“I must say, this was a little more than I’d counted on, restraint wise. Not that I have anywhere else to be, but…” He let it trail off, again trying to be jovial and hearing himself fall miserably flat. And he used to be so good at playacting through his panic.

He tilted his head back as best as he was able, letting the overlong hair dangle down the back of the chair.

“I should warn you of its tendency to curl. You will have to wet it generously.” He offered. He felt inexplicably delicate, but the Captain’s voice was somehow soothing, strong and with an air of command, telling him what would happen, no room for doubt from either of them. It was very reassuring.

It made it easier to relax.

“One thing though, will you… continue talking?” He realized such a request made him sound weak, but the man had already seen him in tears, seen him drained of energy and saw him now, trussed like cattle bound for market. Humiliated as he was, he could not imagine the request could allow him to sink any further in the man’s estimation of him.

 

 

The pit of Steve’s stomach seemed to be at war with itself, caught between warmth at Loki’s expression of trust and clenching ice at his obvious discomfort with the restraints. “Yeah, I didn’t realize they’d be so... thorough,” he admitted lamely. He should have asked for specifications in hindsight. Even if he probably wouldn’t have succeeded in talking them out of this level of security, he could have at least prepared Loki better so it wouldn’t have come as so nasty a shock. Steve watched as Loki’s adam’s apple bobbed along the long line of his exposed throat as he tilted his head back, and the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach dropped even lower.

“Sure,” he said, voice catching and emerging a few notes higher in pitch than he’d meant. He swallowed, taking a breath and making himself smile, since his own tension would do nothing to put Loki at ease. “Duly noted about the curling. I brought plenty of water.” His own hair had always been pretty straight and lank, but he remembered Bucky using almost a whole tin of grease to get his thicker hair to lie slick and flat on his head, grumbling as he combed it flat only for its natural wave to reassert itself.

The memory made the smile come more easily, and he picked up the towel and moved behind Loki, settling it over his shoulders. “Did you have barbers in Asgard to cut your hair? I mean, when you cut it. I know you said it was popular to keep it long, but I imagine after a hundred years it’d be a bit of a nuisance,” he rambled, tucking in the edge of the towel in the collar of Loki’s armor, then slipping his fingers under Loki’s hair and lifting it, exposing the hairline along his neck before lowering back over the fabric of the towel.

“And I’m probably going to ask you this a couple times, but just so I get it right, is this okay for the length you’ll want?” he placed his fingers at the point of Loki’s hairline, then gently traced around, ghosting his touch along the sides of Loki’s neck until the pads of his fingers rested about an inch and a half below his ears, near the point of his pulse. “Longer or shorter?” he asked, surprised as he made contact just how _warm_ Loki felt. Perhaps the words ‘frost giant’ had led him to expect otherwise, or perhaps his own hands had grown cold, in which case he’d owe Loki an apology for his frigid fingers.

 

 

Loki shivered, the gentle touch so light and over so sensitive of skin that he couldn’t help but react. He swallowed.

“The length is fine.” He said stiffly, the best he could manage as conflicting emotions of fear and panic and a sudden curl of low-grade arousal caused him to find his mouth going dry and his throat going tight.

This reaction was so _skewed_ , it did nothing but make him more nervy. And on top of all of that, he realized that he still had to worry about his face and the illusion that rested there.

Fortunately he was rested enough, if he could just regain his control over himself, calm down enough to manage it.. incidental touches shouldn’t pose an issue, particularly not if he tilted his head back up at some point. But for now, best to remain as he was, best to make it as easy as possible and keep the hair from falling in his face. It was the only reason he could imaging the Captain needing to touch his skin anyway.

It would be fine, he reasoned, through the haze of his tumultuous emotions. This would all be fine.

“We… do not have barbers. When it is required, hair trimming is relegated to someone you are close to, a-- a companion, a trusted friend or a lover, usually.” He would have shrugged, save that his arms were locked too firmly in place. “It is often a show of confidence in the other. Even growing in the palace, servants would never be given the honor. My hair, and Thor’s, was always seen to by our mother. His mother.”

He could feel gooseflesh rising on his neck, the smallest of his hairs standing on end from the soft touches there.

“Not to make you think-- I haven’t asked you to do womens’ work or any such thing. Had we not had Frigga, it is likely Thor and I would have tended to one another.” He didn’t want to bruise the Captain’s ego. The last thing he needed was one more worry on his plate just then, though talking did help, help tear him away from the concerns weighing on his mind.

  


Was it Steve’s imagination, or did Loki’s pulse leap under his touch? He felt oddly tempted to let his fingers linger there once Loki confirmed the length, but pulled away after another second. His hand felt instantly cooler when it left Loki’s skin. “Grabbing the water,” he announced in a murmur, moving over to pick up the spray bottle and listening as Loki talked.

As he moved back behind Loki, he was thankful the god couldn’t see him blush at the words ‘ _a trusted friend or a lover_.’ It abruptly lent a whole new context to the situation, and Steve belatedly wondered how intrusive this must seem -- if Loki felt it as a violation of sorts, or if it was all right because, as Loki had stated earlier, he trusted Steve. Either way, he was thankful he’d agreed to cut it himself and hadn’t tried talking Keisha from Logistics into it.

“Nothing wrong with the work women do,” he quickly replied, knowing Peggy would have smacked him upside the head if he’d ever dared imply otherwise. He tested the water on the back of his hand first -- though it had been cold coming out of the tap, it had warmed to room temperature after sitting around -- then spritzed a light mist on to the back of Loki’s hair, giving it a few squirts before picking up the comb and lightly teasing it through the thick black locks. “My mom used to cut my hair too,” he added, latching on to the common ground they shared. “The first Friday of the month, every month. She’d do Bucky’s sometimes too, if his was getting unruly, when we were kids.” It was funny to imagine a young Loki sitting primly as his mother -- some warm and faceless entity in Steve’s mind -- trimmed his hair. Or had he been the squirmy sort then, unable to sit still and eager to run out and play?

“I know your options are limited here,” he continued, spraying and combing in alternation, lifting the upper layers to get at the hair below and working the water throughout to dampen it evenly, “but I appreciate the vote of confidence all the same.” It was flattering that Loki had even consented to a haircut, considering.

 

 

Loki closed his eyes and willed the tension out of him, relaxing into the light tugs that the Captain’s movements created.

They didn’t hurt, more a brushing than a pulling, and in fact it was… it was soothing. Not the way Frigga had done, fresh out of the bathing pools, but nice despite the difference, or perhaps because of it.

Now that he was focusing on the feeling rather than the panic, he could tell the differences. His mother had always had dainty hands, usually chill. Rogers had larger hands, stronger, though no less dexterous for it, and even his fingers emanated warmth. He was gentle, not with the long practice of years and familiarity, but because he was paying attention, deliberately trying not to hurt Loki.

Loki could feel his lips parting as he let himself melt into the movements of the man behind him as he worked.

Like this, calm and silent, the presence behind him warm and solid and confident, it was easy to believe, to pretend for a moment, that he was being groomed by someone who did legitimately care about him. That he was wanted, perhaps even loved. He imagined what that would be like, what his life would be if this truly was his place-- not restrained, of course, but if he and Rogers were truly close, companions, friends… close enough that this would be a voluntary act, and not one done because there were no other options.

For that single moment, he could almost taste the relief as his muscles finally ceased their shaking from the tension, and he slumped against the chair, his turmoil having exhausted him.

Of course, he opened his eyes when that moment ended, and the walls of the cell stared back at him, the contrast between the fantasy he’d allowed himself to indulge in and the reality of his situation striking him squarely in the gut. It made his mouth drop open in a near silent gasp, and he felt the liquid in his eyes brim upwards and begin spilling down his face.

“You-- didn’t hurt me.” He ground out. “Sorry…” He knew he had no hope of hiding the tears, but he also couldn’t think of a way to explain them away.

Who sat in a chair for a bit, closed their eyes, relaxed, and started crying?

Someone with something clearly wrong with them. Idiots who let their emotions run away with them, let their imaginations play tricks.

Fools, who thought it might be good to become attached to their captors.

Damn.

 

 

Steve had the back of Loki’s hair thoroughly combed out and dampened into a silky, flat sheet of hair. There had been a few tangles to work through, but he’d picked at them carefully with his fingers, taking great pains not to tear at them and cause discomfort. Fortunately, none of Loki’s hair appeared to have matted, so he wouldn’t have to cut any snarls free. The lower inches of hair, below where they’d agreed to cut, were rougher in texture, split and dried, a few places almost looking as if they’d been singed, which evoked troubling thoughts. He tried not to pay it too much mind, focusing instead on the task at hand. Moving to the side, he stood at Loki’s shoulder to get to the front part, pulling it gently away from his face so he could dampen the hair at his temples--

\--And noticed the moisture on his face. For a moment he thought he’d somehow managed to spray water on Loki’s cheeks, but no, from that angle it wouldn’t have been possible. And it certainly wouldn’t look like tears.

Steve’s insides clenched in horror. “Are you -- Did I--?” Had he hurt Loki somehow? Unwittingly terrorized him? His mind raced back through all the idle chatter he’d spewed, trying to find the source of Loki’s distress.

Even with Loki’s assurances that he wasn’t hurt, Steve felt paralyzed. He could handle facing down a platoon of Nazi tanks, but he was powerless and had no idea of what to do here. He watched in silent mystification as the tears tracked down the elegant planes of Loki’s face, realizing belatedly that Loki couldn’t wipe them away with his hands bound. His throat tightened.

“Here,” he murmured, dropping and kneeling next to the chair so he wasn’t looming over Loki. Reaching up, he ran the pad of his thumb across Loki’s cheek to catch a teardrop as it fell, brushing it away.

Then Loki’s face _shimmered_.

For a second, Steve’s mind went completely blank, his hand still hovering so close to Loki’s face he could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. Loki’s face had shimmered, rippling like the distorted surface of a pool of water with the same golden glow as when Steve had last touched him and dispelled his illusions. The implications made his stomach sink and his brows knit together in a mix of confusion, betrayal and anxiety.

“...Loki?”

 

 

His first instinct had been to lean into the touch, to take what comfort he could from the small gesture, but too late he remembered; remembered why he shouldn’t, remembered why Rogers couldn’t-- but it was _too late_.

He cringed away just the same, horrified, his mind already racing to find a way to put things right.

“I’m sorry Captain, please, don’t-- I can explain, don’t call them back in!” He began pulling at the bindings on his various body parts, playing up his panic while he sifted rapidly through his options.

There weren’t many. The truth was too messy and would deny him any chance of contact with the sceptre. A lie about this being the ‘better’ face would result in him having more intensive masks to apply. The other option was--

was _abhorrent_ , but… perhaps the most far flung was the best. And he knew he was out of time to think.

He fell still and stared up at the Captain, making use of the already wet eyes that he boasted, widening them and letting his lower lip tremble just slightly before sucking it into his mouth in an apparent bid to stop it.

“I was just-- just thinking how, were I in Asgard now, none would touch me… because if they did, the final masks would fail me, and I would be left…” He let out a soft sob, completely unfeigned as he felt the humiliation of what he was about to do pressing down on his chest, pressing the air out of him.

He let all of his masks fall away. He forced Odin’s to dissolve too, a feat of more concentration than the others, but not completely beyond him. He could feel it waiting to spring back into place, but he held it down and he let his true heritage take over, the reds of his eyes turning the room into shades of crimson and orange, and the Captain along with it, though glowing in a way his surroundings did not. His heart, racing from the adrenaline of discovery, slowed to a glacier’s crawl, and his breathing followed suit.

Despite that, though, he spoke quickly in a bid to keep the Captain from creating or incurring any further damage.

“You mustn’t touch me while I am like this.” He said. He could feel the tears crystallizing on his face, where they slid into the grooves in his cheeks. “I am so cold now, your flesh would burn.” But surely the Captain could feel it, could sense the difference as he sucked all of the warmth out of the air around him.

“And so you see.” He concluded bitterly, wishing he had freedom of motion, enough to turn his face away, to hide himself, or at least not have to see the rest of himself, held in place below. “For all the pretty words and assurances, for all the stories and lies and wars… this is the truth, Captain. The unavoidable. This is who-- _what_ \-- I am. So do not ask me why I cry.” His words were sharp, and he held the form in place, gathering himself, trying to get the tears to stop flowing before he turned back. At least then he wouldn’t have to let the Captain wipe them away again, and the mask wouldn’t flicker under his touch.

This form, if good for nothing else, allowed him to have some space, though he knew he only needed ask to receive it. He didn’t want it. But just for a moment more, he needed it.

“I am sorry for the continued artifice, but surely you can understand why I-- oh.” He had tried to gesture as he spoke, the movement simple and habitual, but it shattered the cold-weakened metal of the cuff around the wrist of his left hand.

He held the hand up, again adopting the look of panic, though he was sure it had no effect, painted as it was across the face of a monster.

“I mean you no harm, with might or magic. Look, proof-- Nothing threatening.”

He transformed the poor chair that the Captain usually sat in into something plush and luxurious, only because he could, and because now when he visited, assuming he still would, at least one of them might sit comfortably. Satisfied with that small working, he then gestured at the shattered metal of the cuff.

Letting the color of the Aesir seep back into his skin, he restored his appearance as a half starved, exhausted, addicted man. Once the cold posed no further threat to his restraints, he gestured the metal back into wholeness, and returned his own arm to its pinned down state.

That done, he collapsed back into the chair as if utterly exhausted.

“It is something unwise to use what limited power I have now on, but…” He laughed drily. “My vanity demands it, and your peoples’ cell would not hold me otherwise.” He turned his face to look at the Captain as fully as he could.

“Please don’t kill me. I cannot help what I am. All I can do is try to be close to what I was taught to be.” He felt as hurt as he sounded, and his heart was beating fast again, hammering at his ribs, afraid of the Captain’s response.

 

 

Steve was torn between recoiling as Loki’s skin rippled with magic, and reaching back out to comfort him; the god began to panic, bucking at his restraints as his breathing hitched and his lip quavered, eyes spilling over with more tears.

And then Loki _changed_.

Steve’s lips parted with a surprised intake of breath as what few traces of pink in Loki’s pale skin leeched away, and were replaced by a deepening shade of blue. _Cerulean,_ he corrected in his mind, as he stared, utterly transfixed. The contours of Loki’s face shifted as he watched, his cheekbones growing even sharper, the skin thick and ridged with a texture like boiled leather in some places; creases and raised lines formed in symmetric, geometric patterns over his forehead, cheeks, chin, and even the backs of his hands, like tattoos or tribal scarification. He met Loki’s gaze, and felt his own eyes widen as crimson tendrils spilled out from the pupils of Loki’s eyes, chasing the green from his irises before bleeding out into the sclera and filling them with vermillion.

Steve breathed out as the transformation completed. His breath turned to a cloud of vapor in the rapidly-cooling air.

For a second, he was overwhelmed with how _alien_ Loki looked.

Then, he realized how much he still looked exactly like Loki. A blue-skinned, red-eyed, oddly-patterned Loki, yes, with what was probably a significantly lower body temperature -- but the shapes of his features remained, slightly emphasized now, and his glistening eyes held the same pain that made Steve’s chest clench in protective sympathy. This wasn’t like Schmidt tearing away his mask of a face to reveal the grotesquery beneath.

It was simply.... different.

Loki’s warning came just in time to prevent Steve from reaching out to unthinkingly trace the raised lines forming chevrons on the backs of his hands -- fingers hovering an inch away, he could feel the bite of cold radiating from Loki’s flesh, where moments before there had been warmth. He swallowed, then flinched as the brittle metal of Loki’s restraints shattered, and watched in awe at Loki’s subsequent frantic show of benevolent magic, too stunned by it all to get a word in edgewise. It wasn’t until the intercom crackled with a ‘ _Captain? Is everything all right in there?’_ that his mouth managed to reconnect with his mind.

He grabbed the radio from his hip. “Everything’s fine,” he quickly said. “We’re fine. Everything is fine. Everything is secure.” _Don’t come in._

Tense silence lingered for a moment, then the intercom snapped and popped again. ‘ _Roger that.’_

Steve breathed out and looked back at Loki, once more human-looking and restrained, a picture of abject misery.

He felt like he might be sick.

“I’m not...” his voice caught and it took him a moment to find it. “No one is going to kill you.” He knew in that moment with certainty, that if anyone tried, they’d have to go through him first. Moving back over to Loki, he hesitantly reached out, hand hovering near his face for a moment before he touched the cool but rapidly-warming skin and softly brushed away the thawing remains of the tears there. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, knowing how raw a wound he’d just opened by prompting Loki to change into the part of himself he hated the most.

 

 

After that, the Captain still wanted to comfort him, wanted to dry his tears and be sure he was safe. Loki couldn’t understand it-- why was he not shrinking back, in fear, in disgust…?

But at least the lie was safe for now, safe enough to guarantee its effectiveness, if the sceptre was truly en route to being within his grasp.

“There is no pain associated with changing, when you know what you are doing. I am only tired.” He did not resist this time, taking advantage of whatever quirk in the Captain’s makeup made him wish to touch, to feel Loki’s face, perhaps to check and see if the form of the monster was truly beneath the glamours he wore.

He knew that his features must be shuddering and rippling beneath the man’s touch, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, as he soaked in the heat from his fingers, skin now craving the warmth the same way his emotions craved the contact.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured. “It’s been. I have not been so close to anyone in such a long time, it caused me to…” He couldn’t shrug, and so instead had to try and struggle to find a way to end it. “Remember. How long it had been.” He said, feeling lame.

“You needn’t worry, and I am sorry for the interruption.” He pressed on a brave face, despite the fact that he felt just as wrung out now as he was pretending to be, in all ways except magically. The thought occurred to him, though, and he felt it would be impolite not to offer.

“If-- if you are no longer comfortable, though, if you don’t want to.. to touch me. Please don’t feel pressure to finish the job. I.” he swallowed. “I understand.” The last words came out very small, and he wished he were that small too. He certainly felt it.

He cleared his throat and tried to smile, attempting to hide the hurt behind humor. “I certainly wouldn’t want to touch me, either.”

 

 

Steve watched as Loki’s skin shimmered and rippled with the disturbed illusion beneath his touch, but paid it no mind the second time around. He wondered briefly at how he couldn’t feel the ridges or lines he’d seen moments before, but then, he couldn’t feel the cold either, so it made sense that the spell he used to hold this form would hide the tactile signs as well as the visual ones.

He had been surprised by Loki’s display of magic -- he’d thought the cell’s dampeners SHIELD had engineered would have stifled the ability, his poor condition even more so -- but the exhaustion etched on Loki’s face now spoke of the toll it must have taken. Had it been a burst of adrenaline that had fueled the power he’d displayed? And did it wear him down, just holding on the face he wore each day?

Steve finally pulled away as Loki’s reaction made the intimacy of the gesture sink in. It had almost been a caress, really. He blushed. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, fingertips still tingling. He wondered how long it had been since someone had touched Loki without violence.

He wondered how long it had been for himself, outside of handshakes and the occasional clasp on the shoulder.

It almost hurt to hear the smallness in Loki’s voice, to see the way he shrunk in on himself even more. Steve opened his mouth to protest, that of course he would finish the job, that he wasn’t uncomfortable, that he _did_ want to touch--

He did--

Oh.

He stopped, mouth still open, mind short-circuiting like one of Stark’s unfinished inventions. He closed his mouth, then opened it again, but words failed to happen. Panic welled up at the back of his mind, both at the epiphany he was now desperately trying to shove back into the pandora’s box of his subconscious, and at the knowledge that with each passing second, Loki would be more likely to interpret his silence as the revulsion he inexplicably expected.

Finally, Steve managed to get his hands to obey, if not his tongue. Reaching out, he avoided Loki’s face, but took delicate hold of a long tress of black hair, running it between his fingers. He tugged just lightly enough to stretch it flat and measured it to the previously-agreed length, then added another half-inch on remembering that it would curl when dry. With his other hand, he picked up the scissors, and wordlessly, carefully, made the first cut.

The first dark hank fell to the floor. Steve looked Loki in the eyes -- green again, a vibrant complement to their other hue -- and offered a smile he hoped would say enough.

 

 

The silence was unexpected, but welcome, as words-- finding them, making sense of them-- all felt like too much of a burden just now. Besides, they felt likely to only rip his tenuous hold over his tears further to shreds.

If he’d felt emotionally fragile getting strapped into the chair, he felt emotionally numb now, completely drained of his ability to feel anything.

It felt like he was drifting, a hazy, lost sort of feeling. That calming presence behind him, the assured hands at the back of his head… even the sound of the scissors, the slow but steady slide and click of the hair being severed… it all felt centuries away. Shrouded, as if by sleep.

He stared straight ahead, trying to make sense of it.

He’d succeeded. He’d accomplished what he needed to. Why then, did he feel so terrible?

Perhaps it was the fact of the lie. Or who he was lying to. Rogers had gasped, had been shocked by and, Loki was certain, repulsed by his appearance, though the Captain was kind enough not to show it. Kind enough to not wish to say anything on the subject now.

Loki almost wished he had lied, though, wished that the Captain was capable of such things. If he had told Loki that such an appearance here meant little, did not make him a monster or a beast, or even as disgusting as he was, Loki would have perhaps believed him, if only for a second.

But the Captain was too good for any such falsehoods. No doubt that was the source now of his silence.

But it still made Loki feel something, something sharper than the haze in his head, a stinging, biting cold in his chest, as though, like his tears, his heart now froze.

“You have my word I will not use what I am as… as any sort of a weapon.” He said, the words coming out on a croak. He cleared his throat. “If-- I wish you would forget that happened, that things might return to as they were. I am… as I have ever been. Nothing has changed.”

He knew he needed to say it, especially to ensure his meeting with Fury would not be cancelled, that he would still be allowed to reclaim the sceptre. But he found himself desperately hoping the Captain would say something-- _anything_ \-- that he might at least know what reparations he needed to see to, if reparations were even possible.

 

 

Steve paused in his work, which had fallen into a methodical cadence of touch, measure, snip, measure, release, over and over. He had worked his way around to Loki’s back, an increasing pile of black hair now accumulating by his feet. “I know,” he answered, frowning and wishing he could see Loki’s expression. “You told me before that you were a Frost Giant. It’s okay,” he added, troubled by the strained quality of Loki’s voice.

There was a good chance now, however, that SHIELD would want to retrofit Loki’s cell with more cold resistant materials. They’d definitely redesign his restraints to withstand extreme drops in temperature, now that someone had no doubt witnessed Loki’s ability through the camera feed. Steve believed him that he did not intend to use it as a weapon -- he might have easily taken the opportunity to escape just now, and the fact he hadn’t didn’t leave Steve as surprised as it should’ve. Loki’s own horror at his change looked too intense for him to capitalize on it. But SHIELD would only see at it as another security measure to address.

He measured and snipped off another lock of hair, lightly brushing a few stray bits and pieces from the back of Loki’s neck. Did the raised lines on his face extend to his back? He imagined how the geometric patterns might mirror themselves down the length of Loki’s spine as he worked, almost wishing he could ask Loki to change again so he could see better, but it would be a selfish request and he knew it. Loki had been beyond uncomfortable, ranging into downright terrified.

Steve frowned, lowering the scissors. “Loki?” He fiddled with the end of one of Loki’s curls for a second before dropping it. “When you changed, you... You asked me please not to kill you.” Repeating the words, or even acknowledging that they’d been said made his guts feel like lead. Did Loki really think that little of him? Was the trust he’d expressed that fragile. “Why did-- why would you think--” he trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

 

 

Loki wasn’t entirely sure what hurt more: the pain in the Captain’s voice, or being asked in the first place. He couldn’t tell the source of the Captain’s pain-- a reaction to his self loathing, or upset that he would think him capable?

The easy answer was that he hadn’t thought. That it had just been a reaction. But that was only a half truth, and he owed him better than that.

He bit his lip, locking in any unwise words that could be born of an emotional reaction, and instead schooled himself into being calm, being as matter-of-fact about it as possible.

“In Asgard, Frost Giants are to be killed on sight. And even if you knew it was me, some primal part, some far buried instinct within you must have been screaming that you should slay the monster, for your own safety. I would not have blamed you. But I am, overall…” He hesitated, then finished, “I’d rather not be killed. Especially knowing that, perceived as a different threat than I might otherwise seem, it might have tipped the scales. Put me too far from being saved.”

He was glad not to be able to see the Captain’s face as he posed his own question in return.

“Why does it surprise you, Captain? Did you think me above begging for my life? Or did you feel that I have no value on it, because of my loathsome heritage?”

He was not a brave man, not a good man. There should be no shock to discover that he was weak, even when his form was that of a beast. But perhaps it was that very juxtaposition that had thrown the Captain off.

“Here is another question for you: Why was it not your automatic reaction to do so?”

 

 

 _Killed on sight._ Steve had understood that Frost Giants were hated from what Loki had told him earlier, but he hadn’t realized to what extent. It put Loki’s attempted genocide in another light. Not to mention his state of mind. The self-loathing he’d grasped more or less, but how terrified must Loki have been when he found out the truth, if he expected even those he trusted to murder him on instinct? Of course he would have been desperate to separate himself from that identity, if it carried a death sentence with it. Steve felt his hands ball into fists at his sides.

There was a very thin silver lining, at least. Loki had admitted to making an attempt on his life before, but here and now, he’d expressed the desire to live. Steve still felt miserable, but at least something had changed for the better.

“You’re still you,” he answered, uncurling his fingers and flexing his hands to loosen them. He didn’t want to accidentally pull Loki’s hair out because he was too tense. “And I don’t want to kill you. You just looked different was all.” Steve had a fair bit of experience with dramatic changes of external appearance. He’d stayed himself, the scrappy idiot kid from Brooklyn, even after he’d more than doubled in body mass. It wasn’t hard to figure that Loki would be Loki regardless of his coloring.

Gingerly, he reached out and ran his fingers down through Loki’s hair, which was already drying and beginning to curl again, despite his thorough combing. “I hoped by now you wouldn’t feel like you’d have to ask me that,” he added, concentrating on keeping his voice even and controlled. His hand paused, fingers entwined in the silky flow of Loki’s hair. “I don’t think you’re a monster.”

 

 

Loki let a pregnant pause develop between them while he sat still, letting the words sink in. He felt a warm ball of hope trying to inflate in his chest, and he quickly tamped it down. He knew all too well the destructive force of what happened when fully developed hopes were crushed.

“Even you fear Banner, when he becomes his monster.” He pointed out. “Just because I am smaller does not make me less dangerous. And I am still me-- still guilty of transgressions that you have said would be punishable by death, were I in your leaders’ complete control. If not a monster, Captain, what is it that you think I am?”

And more importantly, how did he survive long enough to have become the man he was, if he didn’t have the instinct to run from something that could do him harm, and probably meant him ill?

Not that Loki wanted to hurt him. Just the opposite, in fact. He could still feel the Captain’s warm hand on his face, could still feel his touch like an electric tingle across his skin.

His eyes wanted to fall shut, his body wanted to respond to the Captain’s carding of his hair, and he was running low on energy, almost unable to help himself.

Only his words were distracting him from it, and he wished that there was a way to ask the Captain to come back around, to hold his face and tell him he didn’t deserve to be a monster, that they could pretend he wasn’t.

But that was childish, and not how the universe worked. He was what he was, and he had to live with it.

And if he got the Captain’s hands in his hair and his slightly insane reassurances, so be it. It was better than many of the alternatives.

 

 

Steve considered Loki’s point. “Banner...” he licked his lips, considering his words carefully. “Banner is working on controlling the Hulk. And for a long while, he couldn’t. Hulk did a lot of damage, and a lot of people got hurt in the collateral. The way Bruce explained it though -- Hulk is a creature of instinct. He reacts, and when he’s in pain or scared, he lashes out.” Steve had watched the tapes of the mess in Harlem, and it had been hard not to feel unnerved, but he’d also seen the Hulk calmer and more amiable. The Hulk came from Banner’s rage, and that rage rarely came to life unless something was fueling it.

He measured out another piece of hair, picking the scissors back up now that his hands no longer shook. “However, in the right time and place, guided in the right direction, Hulk saved a lot of people. Saved Tony’s life in New York, matter of fact. He’s destructive, but he’s not evil. And Bruce is working hard to help make up for the damage that Hulk did.” Steve didn’t fault the doctor for the actions of his green alter-ego, but he respected the desire to make reparations in any way he could, from loosing the Hulk on those who deserves his rage, to volunteering in clinics and working on potentially world-changing research with Stark in his labs. Would Banner approve of Steve’s efforts with Loki? Steve didn’t imagine any of the other Avengers would be supportive of the idea, with the possible exception of Thor if he ever came back. Barton would probably hate him forever if he found out. But maybe Banner would have empathy, if he knew Loki’s story.

And what was it he believed Loki to be? A month ago, ‘monster’ might have come to mind, but for his actions, not his species. The notion brought a sour taste to his mouth. A month ago, he knew so much less. “I think you’re someone who did bad things and made bad choices. And that a lot of that was because you ended up in a bad situation.” Like being adopted by a race of people who lied to him and taught him to hate himself, he reflected grimly, knowing it was an unkind thought and not particularly caring. “I think you have in it you to do really awful things. But I think you also have it in you to do a lot better. To do a lot of good. And...” He carefully snipped off one last errant curl, checking over his work to make sure it was even in the back before stepping around to the front so he could look at Loki face to face. “....I think that with a second chance, you could prove me right.”

 

 

After wishing that he could look the Captain in the face not so very long before, Loki found himself wishing he could turn his face away, hide himself from the hope that was written on the other man’s.

He had so much confidence in Loki, such expectations. Loki felt guilty, knowing he would do nothing but let him down. That he planned to do so as soon as he possibly could. He was ashamed, and all he could do was look straight ahead, into the Captain’s impossibly blue eyes, while his own began tearing up again.

He was getting tired of this, getting tired of being as weak as he was. All he wanted was to be released from these bindings, to pace and rage and sleep and sob. And all he could do was sit here and cry and wish that he were even half so good as Rogers thought he could be.

“I am not in control of my monster, Captain. You saw me, I cannot so much as move, cannot exist without destroying and causing damage when I am it. You cannot put a Jotun on a leash and ask it to aid you in saving the world. But a sorcerer-- I can be so much more than my monster, but I cannot escape it. That part of me is where the evil stems from. If I could carve it out of me, believe me, I would. But I can’t. And I’m sorry to disappoint you. If it helps, I’ve only disappointed myself as well. I was never meant to end up like this, never…” He trailed off, sniffling as if to try and force his eyes to suck the tears back into themselves. He took a deep, steadying breath.

“Like with your art-- you see so much good in people. How do you ever live through all of the disappointment when you find you’re wrong?” He tried to imagine what Rogers didn’t draw, what things he saw in the world that made him upset. Aside from Loki. Aside from what he had tried to do.

He imagined that Rogers did not turn a blind eye, but instead stepped up to try and change things, to make them better. It was an exhausting proposition, and yet… he did not doubt it to be true. And he also could not fathom having the time, the energy, the patience…

He was never meant to be as good as Rogers was. He was never meant to do anything but destroy and die. Hardly the most heroic of futures.

 

 

Steve frowned as Loki spoke of his lack of control, of the monster he believed himself to be, and wished he had the words to convince him otherwise. He remembered hating his own frail and useless body once upon a time, and looking in the mirror with loathing at his concave chest and bony limbs. But he’d always had _someone_ in his life, be it his mother or Bucky, who believed that he was worthwhile in spite of it. Loki, it seemed, either had no such assurances after he’d found the truth, or no one had succeeded in convincingly him effectively.

Noting that a few pieces of hair on the left were a smidgen longer than the right, he took them between his fingers and snipped a quarter inch off the ends, doubling back over his work to make sure it was even as possible, though the natural curl of Loki’s hair would probably disguise any irregularities. At this length it framed his face differently, and between the gentle waves of hair softening the harsh lines of his cheeks and jaw and the glistening of his eyes with still-unshed tears, Loki looked years younger. _Centuries,_ Steve reflected, considering the relative lifespan of Asgardians.

“Because people surprise you,” he murmured in reply, making another careful snip, aware that at this point he was focusing on infinitesimal bits of hair no one would notice, but still feeling the need to make it as perfect as he could. “I’ve seen evil. Real evil. Things done by people that give me nightmares still.” War was hell and while the comics and the newsreels always focused on the heroism and valor of Captain America and his team, Steve had lived through the far less rosy reality of the second world war. Sometimes he still woke in a cold sweat, the sound of shells whistling in his ears.

“But,” he continued, “I’ve also seen people step up and do amazing things. Ordinary people risking their lives to help total strangers, or to stand up for what they believe in.” For every Schmidt or Zola or Himmler, there had been members of the French resistance -- women and children -- putting everything on the line to help the Allies fight the German occupation; there had been corn-fed all-American boys younger than Steve willing to run into an open field of fire to drag back a wounded comrade; there had been Peggy, and Bucky, and Howard, and Erskine, shining like beacons in all the darkness.

“And that’s exactly how I live through the disappointments,” he remarked, finally putting the scissors down and pulling the towel away from Loki’s shoulders, quickly brushing away a few errant scraps of hair. “Focusing on the good, knowing it’s there--” he shrugged, stepping back in front of Loki and offering him a diffident smile. “It’s how I manage to get out of bed in the mornings. And every time I start to forget, there’s something or someone that’ll remind me.”

He tilted his head, stepping back to survey his work. “I think you’re all set. I’m gonna call the agents in the hall back in to unlock you. And probably bring a broom and dustpan for the mess,” he added, looking down at the small animal’s worth of black hair now littering the floor.

 

 

Loki felt almost as though the tremors would come back, he was so upset. And it was hard to say why.

Because the Captain refused to give up hope on him? Or because he could only wish he would?

“The first surprise that awaits you from me, Captain, is when you learn that I am right: You cannot fix me, cannot save me, cannot count on me to do good, unless your people bind me to it with an oath, in exchange for what I need.” He warned him, unwilling to be the painful memory that became attributed to ‘being surprised’ in the Captain’s mind.

But as Rogers finished his work, as he moved rapidly around Loki’s head, Loki felt another shock of that poisonous, dangerous feeling. Guilt, hope, _comfort_ , and he realized his monster wasn’t the only thing out of control.

He wanted to shake himself, ask what he thought he was doing. Wanted to know how it was possible he was falling for this. But then, Rogers had been nothing but sincere, nothing but kind-- and Loki realized that was likely it. He was so starved for it, had been so denied closeness of any kind, for so long…

And then he was done, was stepping back, moving further away. Loki found himself trying to lean towards him, trying to follow and hampered by the restraints.

Then he spoke, and the dread which hadn’t fully dissipated returned again in full force.

“When they come in.. will you stay by me? Close? I don’t-- they’ve seen. And you may not be inclined to kill me, knowing what I-- but they…” He shuddered at the thought of the men from before returning. They’d been bad enough, but now armed with the knowledge of what he was…

“It is not that I am afraid to die. I doubt they would manage to kill me before you sprung to the rescue, as your morality would force you to do, but… I do not enjoy being wounded, Captain, any more than the next person. And if they do choose to attack me, it is not likely it would result in my demise. Merely prolonged suffering. And once the doors are sealed to this chamber again, there will be very little I can do to help myself.”

That was a lie-- the first direct lie he had told since his oath, and he wasn’t sure why he told it. It was such a small thing, of such little consequence… maybe because he felt exposed, too vulnerable and raw. Perhaps to prove his point, that the Captain could not trust him. Whatever the reason, he immediately felt a flush of shame, the slow creep of guilt moving up his face. He steeled himself against it.

Let them see his tears, let them continue to underestimate him. In the meantime, it seemed he had swayed the good Captain as thoroughly onto his side as possible.

Even if that bore the unfortunate side effect of his experiencing the sensations of infatuation.

He would recover from them soon enough; he always had in the past. But how dangerous, how novel, the worst person he knew befriending the greatest. And the irony, that someone so dark, so twisted as he should so suddenly feel a craving for the light, for the good.

The sort of tales the bards sang of. Except that none should know, none would find out. And the first bard to try, Loki would see to it that he never saw anything of beauty again, poetic or otherwise.

  


A surge of protective instinct collected in a lump in Steve’s throat. “Of course,” He quickly answered, stepping just a little closer. “I’ll be right here.” The thought of Loki being attacked, hurt, treated as worthless all on account of an accident of birth, of how he looked -- Steve would be lying if he told himself it didn’t strike a familiar chord. “No one’s going--”

He stopped himself. Of course, _some people_ would still try to hurt Loki. And maybe there were things Loki deserved the be punished for, but they had everything to do with his actions and nothing to do with his being a frost giant. While Steve was hesitant to allow anything drastic to happen to him on account of the former, having a better understanding now of Loki’s reasons and state of mind, he was _definitely_ not going to let him come to harm due to the latter. “I’ll be right here,” he repeated, putting a hand on the back of a chair, inches away from Loki. He wanted to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but knew he’d be loathe to pull his hand away when the guards came in.

He lifted his comm, made his request for sweeping supplies, then turned back to Loki. “The whole Frost Giant thing-- It doesn’t matter here. Not like you think.” Everyone knew Thor and Loki were aliens. While Loki’s change of appearance reinforced the point, there was none of the cultural context it would have carried in Asgard. For those who hated Loki, thought him a monster and wished him dead, it had nothing to do with the color of his eyes and skin.

Steve wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or not, so he elected not to say it out loud.

He was still grasping for something to add when the door hissed open, one of the guard running to catch up with the other three, slightly out of breath and carrying a slender vacuum cleaner, having no doubt just sprinted from the nearest janitorial closet.

Steve stayed next to Loki, one hand firmly on the chair as the vacuum hummed around their feet, collecting all the hair and leaving the floor pristine once more. One guard collected the scissors, towel and other supplies, then frowned and tilted his head toward the bed. “What are those?”

Steve turned, and realized the sketchbooks were still on Loki’s bed. “Oh. Those are mine,” he quickly provided, then took a halting step away from Loki just long enough to lean over and scoop the sketchbooks up and hold them to his chest before taking his position back up.

The guards released the magnetic clamps on the chair legs, then undid the restraints on Loki’s ankles. Next, the restraints on his wrists were released from the chair’s arms and he was instructed to stand, slowly, arms in the air. The chair was removed, and a guard continued to stand with his oversized gun pointed at Loki. He nodded at Steve, nonverbally indicating that the Captain should step aside. Steve ignored him, and remained where he was as the shackles were unlocked from Loki’s wrists, and the guards barked for him to face the opposite wall, retreated toward the door.

“Captain Rogers?”

They were waiting for him. He had to leave, so they could reseal the cell. For a moment, he was overcome with the desire to give Loki a hug, a squeeze, a clap on the back -- anything -- but he stomped down the urge. “I’ll bring these back tomorrow, if you want,” he said softly, before crossing back to the other side of the cell in time for it to close.

 

 

Loki was loathe to so much as speak in front of these men, uncertain as he was about their standing in regards to him. But the Captain deserved an answer, after having waited as long as he did to move away, after standing guard protectively over him.

“That--” He broke off, his voice sounding too small to his ears and his eyes widening slightly in panic.

He was out of his chains now, and so he drew himself up, wrapping the princely pride around him like a cloak that no longer quite fit, too stiff, too rough against his rubbed-raw dignity. Still, he brought his chin up and nodded his head regally, only hoping the Captain would understand.

He did always seem to. But it wouldn’t do to get comfortable with that, to rely on it, and so Loki tried again.

Conveying anything with body language was difficult, facing away and with his hands in the air as he was, and yet he was sure there were cameras positioned to see him even still.

“I… would like that, Captain. And… thank you.” He kept his voice devoid of emotion, his face as blank as possible. There were men at the door with weapons, and if it seemed to them or any of those not in the room that he, in his grief and his swelling uncertainty, was manipulating Rogers, was influencing him, magically or not… Loki did not like the chances of his being harmed for it.

He waited until they were gone to collapse in on himself on the cot, to curl up into a small ball and cover himself, and let his feelings overwhelm him, so that he could start sorting them out, picking through them and putting them away.

He had once been so good at compartmentalizing, at burying things, back before he’d started letting his emotions run rampant and flow through him. He needed to reclaim that lost skill.

And he could not even be angry with himself for his developing feelings for Captain Rogers. It would end in nothing but hurt, disgust, and enmity, but if there was ever anyone deserving of the fond feelings they inspired in others, it was Rogers.

The good news was that even Loki could not imagine anyone who would be unaffected by it, so while he bottled his thoughts on the matter, he was certain that soon enough, someone else would step forward, someone whom the Captain could feel the same way about, too.

He shuddered at the unwanted wave of near nausea that his jealousy sent through him at the prospect, and buried that, too. He would not act on this, and had no grounds for it if he wanted to.

It was enough the Captain was kind, gentle, protected him and didn’t wish to see him hurt or dead. He had no right to ask for any more than that and he would not. He resolved to keep this secret as well as, if not better than the one of Thanos. They both felt equally destructive. And the Captain did not deserve being forced to bear the weight of either of those things.

 

 

Steve collected his things in his duffel quickly, leaving behind the spare water and containers of food for Loki to eat, or the prison personnel to take away. He figured Loki could use some privacy and some time to compose himself. He figured he probably needed the same.

Duffel slung over his shoulder, he barely paid any attention the whole way out of SHIELD, slipping into a near-trance on the ride home that he only snapped out of when a truck nearly sideswiped him on his bike, sending him to the brink of the pavement as a horn blared loud enough for him to feel it in his bones. His mind was still racing elsewhere, though, when he finally got back to his apartment and collapsed on to his threadbare old couch, burying his face in his hands.

_What the hell was he doing?_

He hadn’t meant to get this involved, but the scene kept replaying in his mind. The glass wall had briefly no longer separated them, and all Steve could think of was the warmth of Loki’s skin, and the way his pulse leapt and quickened under Steve’s touch.

The way Steve’s pulse had quickened as well.

And suddenly, sitting alone in the dark, all he could think of was Loki. Loki with his perplexed frown as he looked up from whatever meager kindness he’d been offered, not understanding it. Loki and the careful way he spoke about books and Steve’s art. Loki and the reverent, nearly poetic way he described the libraries and stables alike of his youth. Loki, green eyes and red eyes alike, brimming with tears. Loki and the soft warm skin of his neck; Loki and his trembling lip as he tried to reign in a storm of emotion; Loki naked, the shower water tracing down his back, and _did those raised lines of his true skin cover his body, and what would they feel like if Steve touched them and ran his hands--_

No. Steve stood, abruptly, walking into the kitchen and turning the knob on the stove until after several clicks, the pilot light caught the gas with a small whoosh, igniting the burner beneath the kettle. _No_. He wasn’t going to think like that. He couldn’t think like that. Loki was SHIELD’s enemy, and despite the sympathy Steve held for him, a charged criminal on multiple worlds. Loki was dangerous. More importantly, Loki was a prisoner; Steve had only laid hands on him when he had been restrained to the point of panic. His touch would certainly be unwelcome if Loki had the power to draw away. Because perhaps more fundamental of all, _Loki was a man._

Steve put both hands on the counter and breathed in and out, trying to get a grip. Loki was a man. Steve couldn’t think about him... like that. He didn’t think about men like that.

 _Much_ , a traitorous voice in the back of his mind reminded him. But surely that didn’t count? Bucky was... Bucky was special. He’d been the only friend Steve had. The only person in his life that looked at him anywhere close to how Steve imagined he’d be looked at by someone who loved him. He’d just gotten confused in his mind, was all, when he wondered how it would feel to sleep with his head on Bucky’s chest, or if the stubble coming in on his jaw would be itchy if Steve ever kissed him. He loved Bucky, of course, with all his heart. But he wasn’t supposed to love him that way, so when he caught himself spending too much time thinking about the stormy gray-blue of Bucky’s eyes, or the shapes of the muscles in his back when he got home from a day at the docks and peeled off his shirt, he closed his eyes and made himself think of pretty girls until he could believe that warm, happy feeling inside was because of Vivien Leigh or Mae West. Because he wasn’t a queer. Couldn’t be queer, because they didn’t let queers into the army, or if they did by accident they gave you a blue ticket and sent you home as soon as they found out, and if you were white with a blue ticket then everyone _knew_ you were queer and that would be that.

He forced himself to take another deep breath, realizing that the cheap countertop had begun to dent beneath his fingers. He’d stopped himself from thinking about it and eventually the thoughts went away almost entirely. And then he’d met Peggy. And Peggy had been beautiful and smart and strong and he’d been head over heels for her and everything for a brief time, as the world was getting blown to bits around him, was _right._

She was still alive, he knew. He’d looked her up. Looked them all up. For the most part, he’d found a lot of classy obituaries and death certificates, but apparently Peggy was in a home, old and frail and losing her memory, but still alive. He’d meant to come calling -- to bring her flowers and apologize for not showing up to their dance.

He didn’t, though.

He still had her address scrawled on a piece of paper in a drawer, but he hadn’t gone. Because Steve Rogers wasn’t a good man; he was a selfish man and a coward and he loved the Peggy of his memories so much, he was too afraid to see her now, because then he’d remember her as she came to be and not as she was, and how could Loki look at him like he was a good person when he spent his days with a man who’d killed hundreds because he couldn’t bear to look the woman he’d loved in the eyes in case she was too far gone to recognize him?

On the stove, the kettle began to whistle. Steve turned the burner off.

He’d loved Peggy. He still loved Peggy. And he’d loved Bucky, though sometimes he wasn’t sure in what way precisely.

Loki...

He didn’t love Loki. That was absurd. What he felt was... sympathy? Pity? Protectiveness? Responsibility? More than that, though. Empathy and understanding, for sure. Respect, to a degree. Concern. Hell, even a degree of affection, yes. Companionship. Loki was assigned to him as a project and he’d become something more. A ward. A confidant. A friend.

But nothing more. Steve wouldn’t allow anything more because it would surely be one-sided. Part of his mind screamed at him to quit; to walk into Fury’s office the next morning and tell him he was compromised, that he wasn’t fit for the job, and to back away, for Loki’s own good. Because how could Loki ever trust him if he found out the thoughts Steve’d had?

But if he walked away, what would Loki be left with? He doubted anyone else was crazy enough to care the way Steve had allowed himself to care -- to get that close. Loki had been abandoned and lied to, and if Steve walked away now, he’d shatter whatever foundations he’d begun to build for Loki’s rehabilitation. He sighed, reaching up into the cupboard and staring at the mugs there, failing to select one. He couldn’t do that to Loki. Which only left him with the option of continuing as he had been, but being vigilant about his own errant desires.

Mind made up, he wound up back on the couch with a cup of chamomile tea as he switched on the radio and tuned it to the classical music station. Reaching into his duffel, he pulled out the sketchbooks he’d brought to Loki’s cell that day, remembering the way Loki had run his fingers over the moleskine covers, taking in the texture with a look of curious surprise. He held the second one, the one they hadn’t looked over that day, in his lap for several long moments before leaning over and recovering his pencil case from the end-table.

  
Tea set aside, he opened the sketchbook, and turned to a blank page.


	6. Six

He didn’t sleep that night, too busily involved in sorting the matters of his own mind, his own heart.

The only conclusions he’d come to were that he was a fool, that he would continue to be a fool, that misery would follow him regardless of where he tried to hide from it. The lack of rest was an unkind companion, and it lent strength to the loathing that echoed in his skull.

He shifted, rolled, and eventually gave up, choosing to sit on the floor in front of the cot with his back to it, resting as easily as he could. He drew his knees to his chin and stared off into the room beyond, waiting for the lights to slowly graduate upwards in level, the false dawn of their electricity tricking his body into believing that the schedule he kept was natural.

He did manage to go through another of the bottled waters that Rogers had left for him, and move himself, trance-like, through the series of stretches he’d decided to make a habit of.

And then there was nothing to it but to wait, wait for someone to come or something to happen. He had thought too much on the subjects of himself, Rogers, his plan, his heritage… he turned off his mind and refused to think any longer.

He tried reading, but his eyes refused to focus on the page before him. He was restless, listless, needing to do something, but lacking the energy and motivation… perhaps even the will.

The childish pose, small and protective of himself, made him feel better, for some reason, and so he remained that way, and even managed to doze a bit in that state, careful to tuck his face downwards, his forehead against his knees.

He made the lines deeper, the bruise colored shadows under his eyes just a few shades darker.

Let him show physical signs of the hardships he felt, the turmoil within him. If anything, it would speed the process up, cause the Captain to believe him more.

Again he felt the now dreaded wash of guilt over him, at the need for this continued artifice, at the comfort he took from it.

Breakfast came and he did not even look at the person who made the delivery, neither rose nor put his hands into the air, unwilling to accept it and not going to work for the right to refuse.

It was the first time he hadn’t at calmly acquiesced to their demands, and he could see the woman becoming perplexed, then agitated. Eventually she left the food just the same and beat a hasty retreat, and part of him, the part that was still an idiot child who delighted in turning pillow covers into snakes on the way to the launderers, felt a twinge of glee for her reaction.

He quashed it, unsure why he was so uncomfortable with even the smallest of pleasures.

It was a problem, he knew, as Rogers would return that day, and expect him to be as he had been, or close to it. Perhaps expect him to be attempting to pretend the previous day hadn’t happened. Certainly he would have to pretend his realizations of affections hadn’t.

 _Fool_. His mind hissed again, helpfully.

He could not act any differently, would even have to cease some of the niceties he had taken as a habit before he understood why.

He could already imagine the look of confusion and hurt on the Captain’s face when he did, though, when he began distancing himself. His chest ached in preparation for it.

What a wretch he had become.

 

 

When Steve got to the Triskelion that morning, he had barely passed the main security checkpoint before Nick Fury appeared, fingers crooked in a summoning gesture that made Steve feel distinctly like a student being called to the principal’s office. Shouldering the backpack which contained his daily offering for Loki, Steve followed the Director to his own private access elevator.

“Rogers.”

“Director.”

The elevator glided in near-silence, and it took Steve a few moments to note that they were going down instead of up.

“You know, when I told you I didn’t care if you and Loki became BFFs,” Fury began, “I didn’t actually think you were going to braid each other’s hair.”

Steve blushed slightly. “No braiding took place, sir. Just a haircut. And it was one-sided.”

“Hmm.” Fury kept his gaze forward, and standing on his left side, all Steve could see was the patch that covered his eye.

“Sir?”

“You seem to be getting pretty close to him. Sharing dinners, having a book club, cutting his hair...” Fury turned and looked at him, and Steve felt skewered by that pointed stare. “Are you compromised, Rogers?”

Steve swallowed. _Yes? No? I don’t know?_ He didn’t want to let Loki go and help him take over the earth, but did it count as being compromised if he wanted to hold him and run his fingers through his hair again?

“I might be a bit, sir,” he admitted, but continued before Fury could cut him off. “I think you need me to be, though.”

“And how’s that?” Fury looked curious and skeptical in equal parts.

Steve took a moment to orient his thoughts, confident that Fury would give it to him. “We need a long-term solution. Thor came alone last time because the bridge Asgard uses to travel was broken. That’s why Thor and Loki went back to Asgard via the Tesseract. Loki has the ability to travel between worlds with magic, he says, but he’s pretty much the only one. The fact that Asgard hasn’t shown up yet holds with what he’s said. I don’t think they’re coming.”

Fury made a noncommittal noise. “And what do you propose?”

“We can’t kill him,” Steve said quickly. “We don’t have that authority, Thor would never forgive us, and frankly, I’m not sure we even can, considering the Hulk barely bruised him.” That and Steve would never allow it. “It’s not an option.” He swallowed. “And we can’t contain him.”

“We have so far.”

“Only, I think, because he’s allowed us to. He wants access to the scepter -- needs access to it -- so he’s being cooperative. If he really wanted out of here, I think he could make a damn good go of it, sir.” Knowing Loki had magic even within his cell -- that he could freeze through his bonds in seconds, without even thinking about it -- Steve had realized that it wasn’t SHIELD’s walls or restraints keeping Loki here. Loki would claim it was the scepter. Steve hoped it was maybe something more.

“So the long-term solution is we give him visitation rights to his mind-controlling spear, and hope he doesn’t get bored and run off with it?” Fury arched an eyebrow.

Steve frowned. “The long term solution is rehabilitation.”

“Rehabilitation,” Fury repeated, enunciating each syllable. “I think your optimism might be a little out of hand.”

Steve shook his head. “You’re the one who said he could be an asset.”

“We need to work on your ability to recognize humor, Captain.”

“But it’s true. Loki’s powerful. We keep that power locked up in a cell, wasting away, it does no one any good. We give him something positive to do, something rewarding, and everyone benefits.”

“And how do we manage to get him to do that?”

Steve licked his lips. “By letting me be compromised,” he said.

Fury looked unimpressed. “I’m not following.”

He took a breath. He knew Fury had access to the tapes and that nothing between him and Loki was actually private, but speaking about it managed to feel like a violation of privacy all the same. Still, if it was for Loki’s benefit, perhaps he would forgive him. “Loki thinks he’s a monster. So he acts like a monster. If we convince him otherwise, maybe he’ll see he doesn’t have to be that way. But to do that, we have to make him believe it, and Loki’s got a thing about being lied to--”

“--So whoever talks to him has to believe what they’re saying. That he’s redeemable,” Fury finished.

“I believe he’s not a monster.”

“There’s a lot of grieving families out there who would disagree with you.”

Steve looked down at his feet. “I know. And I owe it to them to see him get the chance to make it up to them.”

Silence lingered. The elevator dinged to a halt. The doors whooshed open and Fury sighed. “You believe him about needing the scepter?”

Steve thought about Loki’s face, with its drawn lines and sunken eyes. He grimaced. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well, I hope you’re right, because otherwise I’m going to have some very annoyed engineers on my hands.”

Steve followed Fury out of the elevator and down a corridor he didn’t recognize. “Care to elaborate, sir?”

“After that little stunt your new boyfriend pulled the other night with the cuffs--” Fury began, not noticing as Steve stumbled and nearly tripped over his own feet, “--I had a whole team spend the night reinforcing everything in here with a cryo-resistant polymer so we won’t have a repeat of him getting frosty with the security measures.” He pressed his hand and eye to a set of scanners which unlocked another door. “See for yourself.”

Steve stepped forward into the room -- still clearly under construction, but taking shape. It was heavily secured and enforced, with two containment chambers interlocking with a small connecting gap. One was vertical, enough for a few people to stand together. The other was smaller, horizontal, about the size of--

“--The scepter,” Steve breathed. “You’re letting him touch it?”

“Once it arrives,” Fury replied. “It’s coming in sometime overnight on a jet from one of the research compounds. And quit giving me that look -- did you really think we were gonna bury that kind of tech underground like a bone?”

Steve glowered. “I hoped after the Cube that yeah, you would.”

“Well, I hoped after the Cube that we’d seen the last of Loki. Looks like we don’t always get what we want.” Fury clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll be expecting him to continue  playing nice in exchange for this.”

Steve nodded beside him. “He’s volunteered the use of his power,” he carefully remarked.

“Mmm. We’ll probably start him on consulting work to start with. See how he deals with that before we make any plans of the kind I’m probably going to regret.”

“Yes sir,” Steve said, though he felt a small spark of excitement creeping up his spine. He thought he’d have to fight Fury harder for this, but the Director seemed to be seeing things from his side. Loki would be able to touch the scepter soon, easing the sickness from his face, and in turn, he’d get a chance. “How long until the chamber is finished?”

“Tomorrow at the earliest, provided there are no further complications,” Fury answered. Then he rounded on Steve, his expression somber. “If this all goes to shit, Rogers, I am going to be Extremely. Put. Out. That bastard has taken enough of my best men from me, I don’t plan to lose any more.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve told him. “I promise, I’ll keep an eye on him and be right in there with him.”

Fury’s posture slumped ever so slightly. “Yeah,” he said, rueful. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Sir?”

Fury waved a hand at him. “Dismissed, soldier.”

Steve lingered for a second or two, then nodded, snapping off a salute. “Yes sir.”

He had an extra spring in his step as he made his way through the elevators, hallways and checkpoints to Loki’s cell, knowing that he finally had positive news to convey. He entered the enclosure with still a hint of a smile on his face, clearing his throat to announce his presence--

\-- Only to falter at the site of Loki curled up on the floor in a fetal ball.

“Loki?”

 

 

He’d been quiet, well behaved-- he hadn’t anticipated this level of concern in the Captain’s voice for one missed breakfast.  He supposed it might have been the fault of the cameras, damn eyes on him all the time, reporting his moves to everyone-- he felt oddly twitchy, but tamped it down. That would do him no good. If pressed, he would find a way to explain away his lack of sleep. Not, he thought, that it bore explaining.

He unfurled himself, standing smoothly, only wincing a bit at the soreness in his knees from holding that position for as long as he had.

“Yes, Captain?” He asked evenly. It was easy, he found, easier than expected, to hold himself rigid, even if he was certain the tension was bleeding through into his stance.

He brought his hands up to push his hair into place, as he’d had to do every time he stood or sat for a while now, only remembering a moment too late that that was no longer the case.

“How does it suit me?” He asked, tired eyes begging that the Captain go along with this facade of stability.

The best lies, after all, were the ones that you yourself could come to believe in time.

He couldn’t help, though, letting his eyes rake down the Captain’s form, the stare frank and admiring and not, he hoped, too obvious. But he chided himself for the thought. After all, even if he noticed, the Captain would only mistake it for Loki sizing him up, perhaps preparing to attack him.

Loki didn’t want that. Not at all. He felt his stiffened spine deflating a little, and sighed.

“You seem to be moving easier today.” He said, grudgingly offering some kindness. He had to make it seem that nothing had changed. He had to make everything go back to as it was, or he would lose all of it.

 

 

For a moment, seeing Loki curled up on the floor sent a spike of fear through him, but as the god in the cell stood and straightened out, he didn’t appear injured or overly worse for wear -- though the shadows in his face had grown more prominent than ever, the bruising around his eyes almost violet.  

Still, Steve made himself smile. “It looks good,” he offered. “If I do say so myself, at any rate.” He’d managed not to make Loki look any worse, at least, though it seemed Fury’s plans to move forward with granting Loki access to the scepter were well-timed. He began to suspect that Loki’s use of magic the other day had taken more out of him than he’d thought, if he was looking this rough today.  Loki looked him over and for a second Steve felt as if he were being weighed and measured, but then Loki inquired after his injury. Stiffly, but politely.

“Oh, yeah, the leg. Can barely feel it.” He had an appointment to get the stitches out later in the week, but he’d probably cut them free in the bathroom that night. He’d already healed, and they were just driving him nuts when his pant-leg chafed against them at this point. “I think the graze looked worse than it was. Lot of blood, but not a lot of damage.” He pulled up the chair -- the one Loki had transformed the day before -- and cautiously lowered himself into it, wondering if the magic would dissipate with touch the way Loki’s glamour had.

It didn’t. And the chair was remarkably comfortable, though he kept himself seated forward at the edge; it didn’t feel right to recline when Loki had little in the way of comfortable seating beyond his cot. “Speaking of your hair, it looks like we got you cleaned up just in time,” he told him. “I met with Fury this morning.”

 

 

His brows rose before he could stop them, and he found himself leaning forward, his interest making itself known far more strongly than he probably would have liked. But Rogers seemed fit to burst, obviously eager to tell him.

“Has he agreed to let me plead my case?” he asked, wonderingly. He hadn’t even seen the director since being placed here, and he’d expected that he would simply be forgotten until he had to break himself out, at this rate. “Should I… Is there anything I ought to know? Customs or--” He had a moment of realization and swallowed, shrinking into himself again, but unable-- unwilling to put words to this new fear that rendered him silent.

If he’d had to be so contained when he was alone in the room with the Captain, a man he had been alone out of his cell with before, with no disastrous results, how much worse would they require he allow, to be faced with someone even more highly ranked?

How much worse could they do? Especially after he’d demonstrated his ability to circumvent their security.

And the real question, how much use would he be, if he did let them bind him as thoroughly as they’d want? How much could he take, and still negotiate?

Was this attempt doomed before it even started?

He felt the concerns come crashing down on him like a physical weight, and nearly staggered from it. He schooled himself, shaking it off as best as he could appear to, but he’d already gone silent for too long, no way to recover now without looking awkward.

“I’m sorry, I--” Loki gestured at himself, hoping the haggard mask would be enough to explain the problem. “Sorry. Go ahead, what were you going to say?”

 

 

“He seems open to the idea of something mutually beneficial,” Steve answered, careful not to get Loki’s hopes up _too_ high, despite his own burning optimism. The excitement on Loki’s face matched his own, and he felt a hint of giddiness as the god leaned forward eagerly.

But then Loki froze, recoiling, a series of microexpressions Steve couldn’t distinguish flitting across his features as his eyes stared off into the distance. It was a similar look he’d worn when the restraints had gone on, and Steve had seen it before then too. Both on Loki, he realized, and on the faces of men back from the front...

“Loki, you with me?” he ventured.

And then Loki was back, looking tired and stressed and threadbare, but no longer trapped within whatever pits of his mind he’d stumbled into. Steve vacillated briefly between addressing whatever had just happened and continuing on as if all was normal, eventually deciding on the latter.

“There’s no real protocol,” he began to explain, keeping his voice even and calm, despite his prior excitement transmuting into hints of anxiety. “Just be honest, polite, and respectful -- same as you’ve been, really -- and everything should go smoothly.” Loki had been the picture of cooperation so far, and had been unfailingly polite to Steve. If nothing set him off, the encounter would hopefully go alright. Though Steve made a note to himself that he should check in with Fury and maybe brief him on topics to avoid when it came to Loki. Just to be safe.

“They’re working on building a containment chamber for the scepter to offer you access to it under supervision. It’s still in the works, but hopefully they’ll finish it soon. Fury will probably come in here and talk with you like you and I have been talking--” SHIELD didn’t seem too nervous about people approaching Loki from the opposite side of the thick glass, and everyone was less jumpy while Loki was in his cage alone, so that seemed the most reasonable approach, “-- And to start off, he’ll probably just be interested in information you have.”

 

 

“So I will not be transported elsewhere? Even after-- After yesterday and the lack of control I demonstrated over my beast-form?” He was surprised and grateful, at the very least, and perhaps it was his exposure to the Captain, but he felt… carefully excited.

Until he mentioned the sceptre.

It would not be long now, until he could lay hand on it, until he gathered himself and all of the power he’d been reserving, and vanished from Midgard. His betrayal was getting ever closer, and he was having second thoughts.

But what could he do? If he didn’t, if he stayed and didn’t take the sceptre and run, there was little doubt what would happen when He came for Loki. Punishment beyond his wildest nightmares for him, and death for everyone else around.

And with his departure moved up, he no longer had to plan for a long term temptation in the form of the Captain, which meant, if he was to vanish in only a short time, he could act as he pleased, take the comfort he could, while it was willingly given.

He doubted he’d see him again, after this.

And that thought was what drove him forward, loosened his limbs and gave courage to his tongue.

“Captain Rogers,” He used the low, slow, seductive voice he’d only fallen into mockingly before. “I really cannot thank you enough for how--” He stopped himself, realizing he’d been about to use the word ‘instrumental’, and that was wrong. He didn’t want Rogers to think he was using him. Not yet. Not until he had no choice but to think as much. “How _wonderful_ you have been to me.” The pause was short enough to pass as an act of theatricality, and he hoped it would be taken as such.

He looked downwards, then flicked his eyes upwards to meet Rogers’s, well aware that such a motion would make them appear even greener, and forgetting, for the briefest moment, that he wore a mask to make even his already plain skin even more distasteful.

“If there is _anything_ I can do for you, to return the favor…” He let his voice roll into a suggestive purr, sinking gracefully onto his knees before the glass. “Do please let me know.” He ended it on a throaty whisper, letting his breath dance across the glass between them.

 

 

Steve didn’t think Loki would be moved, except possibly to a similar yet slightly modified cell, to account for the temperature change he could affect. The glass in his cell was the Hulk-proof variety, so it was probably as re-enforced as it would get, but SHIELD might still plan to do some tweaks -- applying that polymer Fury had mentioned, for starters. At least until Loki’d had a chance to demonstrate his full cooperation and prove that he was trustworthy enough to be allowed some leeway. But as it was, Steve had no real information to give on that front.

Slinging his backpack off his shoulders, Steve set it in his lap and began to rifle through it for the food he’d packed. It was approaching lunch time, and he wanted to see if Loki liked--

He stopped, hands and mind halting abruptly at the tone of Loki’s voice. It was lower, throatier somehow than before, in a way that reminded Steve all too clearly of the promise he’d made himself the other night.

He looked up a second before Loki did, and the sudden feeling of near-uncomfortable warmth he felt kept him from expressing anything that he may have wanted to say; _You’re welcome; it’s nothing; I was just... um..._

Loki was sliding to his knees in front of the glass, so close that it fogged with every breath. Breath that Steve was now holding because something was very very off.

“If there is _anything_ I can do for you, to return the favor…”

_This is not a bribe, but rather a thank you..._

The heavy tingle of adrenaline roared through his limbs, a mix of sudden panic and something else entirely. It had to be all in his head though; his stupid mind misconstruing things and interpreting the situation as he wanted it to be only he didn’t want this _he didn’t he--_

He opened his mouth to reply and for a horrible second, his voice didn’t seem to be forthcoming. Then it arrived, all in a rush. “Thanks, will do. Are you hungry?” he said, inwardly cringing at the non sequitur, but rambling onward nonetheless: “I brought lunch; well, technically it’s more breakfast food but it’s better to have it for lunch than for dinner--”

 

 

His bemused smile at the rush of words faded as he registered it as the disinterest that it so clearly was.

Well of course. He kept forgetting he no longer had the appeal of the crown family to make him worth more than his modest face and the stories of what his silver tongue was good for.  And Rogers did not even have the benefit of those hissed derisions. Well, little enough surprise, then, in his rejection. Especially given he knew what lay beneath his false skin.

And to so gloss it over, offering food stuffs rather than calling attention to his failure-- it was verging on disgusting, how _good_ he was.

“I must admit, I didn’t have much appetite this morning.” Loki said, gesturing to the still-occupied box. “But now… Yes, thank you. I would be happy to break my fast with your breakfast lunch food.” He let his lips twist, turning his slightly bitter tasting disappointment into playful sardonicism.

Though his mind was reeling, the Captain seemed to be trying as hard as he could to keep everything on a level of normalcy, perhaps to preserve his feelings after yesterday.

And yesterday-- he cursed himself. Well of _course_ Rogers wouldn’t want him now. It was amazing he was so much as talking to him. And how he planned to eat, knowing what it was he was speaking to now... he doubted that Rogers would be able to go without imagining it. Loki wondered if he would be able to see in his eyes, if he would be able to tell when the Captain was withholding his disgust.

Unwilling to pursue that path of thinking any further, Loki stood and approached the door through which he would receive whatever edibles Rogers had brought that day.

He did watch though, trying to tell if some of the discomfort came not only from his unwanted proposition, but also from his mere proximity.

He wouldn’t blame him for being afraid to come close-- even if he had managed the day prior, after the change had been completed. He’d had time to think on it now. Time to come to his senses and realize just how _dangerous_ Loki was.

 

 

As Loki acquiesced to share a meal, Steve felt himself relaxing the tiniest bit. Whatever he thought he’d heard in Loki’s voice was gone now, the look on his face -- whatever it had been -- now a dry smile. Maybe it had been a joke. If it had been anything at all. Perhaps Loki had simply been expressing honest gratitude? And Steve’s response, he realized with a pang of disgust, had been to see it as something more.

Regardless, they were back into their usual routine now. Steve brought food; they ate the food and shared; they talked. The whole situation had a normalcy he found comforting, along with the knowledge that Loki would be here, and he would listen, providing a source of constancy.

“So, there’s this bakery near the park I go to, and it was in one of the sketches I showed you the other day, I think,” Steve began, unzipping his bag and opening the box, pulling out the neglected breakfast tray and setting it aside. “They do a lot of really good breads and such, but their pastries are really terrific.” Out of the bag came a bottle of juice, and a carton containing several muffins, a few croissants with tiny pads of butter, a pair of maples rounds, and a sticky bun. Along with a handful of napkins and small plastic container of mixed fruit, in case Loki needed something to wash down the sugar. “You really need to try one of the maple rounds -- they’re the ones with the the light brown frosting on the top. Harvey’s makes the absolute best.” He snagged one of them back for himself as he spoke, as well as one of the muffins before sealing the box so Loki could access it from his side.

He looked up at Loki through the glass and offered a weak smile, hoping Loki wasn’t put off by his awkwardness. Hoping Loki hadn’t picked up on... on whatever had happened in Steve’s mind.

 

 

He watched the artist’s hands as they moved through the mundanities of the task, sending food through for him.

“How do you decide which delicacies to bring each day?” He asked wonderingly, well aware that Asgard’s varied foods eventually pared down to breads, pies with meat, pies with fruit, and variations on roasted or boiled animal with vegetables.

Perhaps if S.H.I.E.L.D. had been there to greet him with pizza rather than recognition as Thor’s brother, things would have turned out differently. Rogers’s smile would not look so unsure as it did, now.

He averted his gaze from it, certain it was his own doing and hoping that refusal to acknowledge the temporary insanity he’d slipped into in thinking he might be wanted here as something other than a tool and prisoner, might cause it to go away.

Self conscious smiles had no place on the Captain’s lips, and Loki thought it sad that he hadn’t seen more real ones, more natural smiles. He wondered if he could make the Captain laugh-- but chalked his wish to see him do so up to his senseless infatuation.

Lifting the offered pastries, Loki wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at, so he took the one Rogers had indicated, the treat already making his fingers tacky.

He brought with him the drink, but left the other pastries in the drawer, in the event that the Captain might be ready for his next one before Loki finished his.

He returned to his place at the front of the cell, close to the Captain but no longer so close to the glass as to create any further awkwardness.

The first bite into the confection came as a surprise. First, it was sweet-- overwhelmingly so, when one did not expect it. It was filled with something with the consistency of… whipped butter, perhaps thicker, closer to a pudding.

“It’s… is it from a nut?” There was an earthy flavor to it that he couldn’t put a name to, something puzzling and yet pleasing about the taste.

He bit into it again, heedless now of the way the sides of it pressed against his face, leaving traces of the sweetness there, causing ripples to move outward from the touch.

Lies had always made his life easier. He didn’t know why he’d bothered with his attempts at honesty, really. Other than because the Captain had asked it of him.

 

 

Steve’s smile came more easily at the sight of Loki’s eyes widening on his first bite, clearly not expecting the maple cream filling. If people could see the look of wonder and joy on Loki’s face when he bit into pizza or pastries or paged through his drawings, instead of just remembering the cruel smirk he wore on the helicarrier, they’d have to understand where Steve was coming from. Would have to realize that Loki was worth helping.

“From a tree, technically. They boil and distil the sap harvested from maple trees until it renders down to a sugary syrup. It’s mostly made up in the North-Eastern part of the country, few hundred miles up the coast from here,” Steve explained. “Bucky and I got to see a sugar shack once, where they make the syrup. It wasn’t tapping season, so we didn’t get to see them making it, but it was still pretty neat. Though I imagine the whole process is more mechanical now.” It had been a good summer, when they’d been eleven or so, and had visited Bucky’s aunt and uncle in New England. Steve and his mother rarely got out of the city, so the Barneses invited him to join them and ‘keep James out of trouble.’ He smiled fondly at the recollection. “Anyway, the maple syrup is the flavor you’re tasting. Good, huh?” He took a bite of his own, a bit of frosting smearing over his cheek. Rich, sugary sweetness overwhelmed his senses for a moment, then he chewed and swallowed.

“I guess I’ve been picking stuff a little at random,” he admitted. The sandwiches had been purely convenient. The pizza was easy to get a hold of and just seemed like something everyone ought to experience. The fresh fruit and the salad from the other day had sprung from a nagging worry that Loki wasn’t getting enough vitamins, an initiative more or less abandoned in today’s food. He grinned. “Though, we got some good news today, and baked goods are usually used to celebrate, so that worked out pretty well.” Despite the fact he’d had no idea when swinging by the bakery that Fury would give him an update on the scepter -- it had been open and on the way, and he’d remembered that Loki had eaten the cookie he’d brought him one time and hoped that meant he enjoyed sweet things.

“I’m actually still getting used to the food nowadays. There’s more variety and more stuff available year ‘round than what I could get growing up, so that’s nice. And the city has cuisine from all over the world, so I’ve been working on trying new things.” Thai, in particular, he’d found that he liked. He took another bite of his maple round, then paused. “Is there something you’d like me to try to find?” He wasn’t sure what Asgardians ate. Boar and bread and ale? Or did they not even have the same plants and animals as Earth? “I mean, you can find just about anything in a lot of the little markets around here, so, if there’s something you miss, I can keep an eye out...”

 

 

“We have a similar process, from your description, for one of the medicines of Asgard, one of the potions administered by our healers to ease pains in old battle wounds and childbirth. But the substance is not… good.” he grimaced, even the remembered taste nearly enough to make him gag. “It is called Dreyrugrvidr, bloodstained wood, because the process of harvesting the sap creates a wound in the tree that appears to bleed.”

He finished the treat, somewhat sad, at first, to see it go, but pleased at least that the remains of it clung to his fingers.

He cast a wry look at Rogers, and though the man would no doubt be uninterested in the process, he decided to Hel with it, and began using his tongue to catch the lasts of the sweetness.

He did not bother making a show of it-- no point in wasting the energy or prolonging it, when it would go unappreciated. But he would be sure the icing did not share his fate.

He hummed around his finger, trying to think if there were any foods he had had here that he enjoyed.

“I do not know of Midgardian fare, and I doubt that I could request anything that you would be able to retrieve. I do like stews, particularly those with red meat. I enjoy thick crusted chewy breads. But the only food I know the name of that I have not yet tried here is your celebratory meal, when you and your friends stopped me. I don’t know your customs, though, and so if it would be incorrect-- if Shawarma is a victor’s food, I will not be offended if you do not bring it.” He shrugged and gave up on licking the finger, sucking the entire digit into his mouth.

“However if you wished to bring more of these and your pizzas, I would not object.” He offered, feeling very much like a small child, begging for the fruit pies he’d adored so much then.

 

 

Steve tried not to stare as Loki casually licked his fingers, pink tongue chasing the last bits of cream from his hand. Tearing his eyes away before his cheeks could flush and betray him, Steve used the back of his sleeve to wipe the traces of sugar from his own face, paying no attention to the way Loki _hummed_ around his fingers.

He focused instead on Loki’s descriptions of the foods he was accustomed to. Bread was easy -- there was a nice artisanal bakery near the river that would fit the ticket just fine. And stew, hell, he could make that himself at home; boiling the hell out of a bunch of things in a pot until they were edible constituted the better part of Steve and Bucky’s combined cooking skills for a long time. And now, with better meat and fresher vegetables, he’d downloaded a few recipes he’d been meaning to try. Getting it to the Triskelion still hot enough to eat would be tricky, though maybe he could use one of the microwaves upstairs to heat it up before bringing it down...

The word ‘shawarma’ distracted him from his strategizing, and he winced. “Oh, that’s...it’s not a victor’s food. Or anything special really. Tony just had a whim to try it out and then wouldn’t let it go; none of us had the energy to fight him on it.” They’d been hungry and beat and Steve was pretty sure he’d have eaten anything put in front of him at that point, then possibly used the plate for a pillow to sleep another seventy years. The shawarma itself had been nothing special.

“It’s just shavings of grilled meat from a spit with some vegetables all in a bread-like wrap thing,” he explained, knowing he was probably doing the food a disserve with his poor description. “But if you’d like to try it, I can try to bring some.” Thor at least, had seemed to enjoy it. Of course, Thor seemed to enjoy just about everything loosely classified as ‘food’ in the short time Steve had shared his company. “Pizzas and pastries are easy though--” and reasonably priced “--so I can definitely bring more of those.” Not that Loki would be able to live off cheese pizza and sugar alone; he’d make sure to keep bringing some semblance of variety with him. But it was good to have some ideas of what the god liked, so he wasn’t just guessing as he went. He finished off his maple round, licking one glob of frosting from his index finger briefly before wiping the rest off on his jeans. He’d planned on doing laundry later anyhow.

Feeling as if he ought to continue the conversation in some way, his mind turned utterly blank when he tried to come up with a topic. What would be interesting enough not to bore Loki to tears, without accidentally dredging up old (and not so old) wounds? Talking to Loki was fascinating, but occasionally felt like navigating a minefield.

He latched on to something Loki had mentioned a few minutes ago. “So, healing in Asgard... is it mostly based on potions?” What would the medicine of an advanced alien civilization of near-indestructible beings even look like? Steve was still adjusting to the leaps and bound made in the field during his time in the ice. He could only imagine what Asgard had.

 

 

“My need is not pressing-- well. Eating, as I have said, matters little to me. But what you bring, I will eat. If you think it worth sharing, I would be pleased to indulge with you.” he gestured across at the box, then stood, deciding he might like another, even if the variation was disappointingly lacking in the nutty earth taste of _maple_.

 

Gazing across the offerings, he selected the drippiest, messiest looking one, hoping it would be as sweet as the cloying taste that lingered on the back of his tongue.

He found one of the soft paper squares and tucked it under the spiraling roll to return with it to his now customary position.

 

He held it in his lap for a moment, considering the Captain’s question.

 

“I had no idea you were interested in the healing arts, Captain-- though with your propensity for care and sure hands, you no doubt excel at those as well.” He twisted his mouth. “Not all medicine is potionry. We’ve poultices and baths, foods to be eaten, stones to be powdered and applied, mosses… differing troubles have differing treatments. Often, though, it is an imbalance in the krellr, in the… the life?” He squinted, not entirely certain that was right. “In the same way my magic, my seidhr, flows through me, krellr flows through each one of us. And it sometimes meets trials, and has to be redirected.” He was certain they had their machines to see to such issues here, but in Asgard it required people trained for years in the skills it took not to cause more harm than good in the attempt.

“I cannot claim to be anything like a master, but I did enjoy working alongside my moth- Frigga, in the healing gardens and the Healers’ benches, learning to prepare as many of the stocks as I could.” Hardly warrior’s work, that, and something he was oft-mocked for, but it was not completely devoid of male practitioners. A good many men felt the calling to be healers. Loki thought, perhaps, if everything had been different, it was a path he might have been allowed to go down. As it was, he’d been allowed only the busy work. The majority of the secrets of the art were kept from him, under the guise of not having any time for it, with his training to one day be the ‘spare’, in the event of some great tragedy befalling the heir of the kingdom.

He lifted the new pastry to his mouth and inhaled as he bit, his eyes going large and hand rising to catch the bite almost as soon as it touched his tongue.

He coughed, eyes watering.

“Wh-aht?” He coughed again and put the evil treat down in favor of opening the juice to wash it away. He glared at it until his throat stopped stinging, and then looked up at Rogers, concerned.

“I think the pastry has been compromised.” He explained, voice strained.

 

 

Steve had a few choice things to say about Loki sure as heck looking like he needed to eat, and sleep, and probably a whole lot more, but he bit his tongue.

Poultices, stones, mosses... it all sounded pretty archaic really, when Steve had just managed to wrap his head around the concept of MRIs. But maybe technology for Asgardians had grown so advanced that it had cycled back around to something that looked primitive. Steve thought of the sleek, simple-looking phone in his pocket, which resembled magic more than any of the radio communicative technology he’d used in the war. Any race that lived for thousands of years obviously had to have hit on something pretty functional where health was concerned. The stuff about energy -- krellr, Loki had called it -- sounded like something from one of the Yoga and meditation books Banner had recommended to him via email. Steve hadn’t really got the hang of it and thought some of it sounded a bit silly, but now he figured he might go back and re-read some of it that night in a fresh light.

Healing gardens sounded nice. Peaceful. He liked that idea. Nothing like the overcrowded clinics he’d been taken to as a boy or the noisy field hospitals that stank of blood. More than the idea of gardens, though, he liked the idea of Loki, learning to heal, preparing medicines and _helping people._ Those long, nimble fingers would be so much better suited to wrapping a bandage than swinging a spear, surely.

“My mother was a nurse,” he supplied, as an explanation for his interest and as a source of common ground, Loki having just abortively mentioned his own mother. “Not sure if I mentioned that before. It’s a kind of job as a healer here. Most of what I know, which isn’t much, I learned from her.” And a lot of that had been applied to him, with his multitude of ailments. But he’d always marveled at his mother, the saver of lives, and looked up to her, desperate to make her proud even after she was gone. “I also learned a little bit of field triage in the war, but that was mostly just--”

Loki’s sputtering cut him off. Steve turned to him in concern. “Are you okay?” He looked down at the offending pastry in Loki’s lap: one of the honey-coated sticky buns. Could it have been poisoned or tampered with in some way? No -- the baked goods had been in his bag since he put them in there on leaving the bakery, and everything had been made fresh that morning. He frowned. “Here, pass it back through, let me try.”

 

 

Loki frowned.

“Certainly not! I hardly think your mother, the nurse, would approve of you risking yourself to prove the aborted attempt at the life of a war criminal. I am not dead, and you are not going to ‘try’.” He was scowling. “And while we are on the subject of your questionable discretion with danger, have you _any idea_ the damage you would have sustained if you had touched me yesterday when I was.. that other thing?” The mental image that played out, of Rogers’s skin blackening on contact, horrified and sickened him, and if the assassination attempt hadn’t put him off his hunger, the thoughts would have done the job.

He shook his head.

“You are a foolhardy man, Captain Rogers. Don’t take poison for your enemies.” It hurt, reminding them both that was still technically what he was. He tried to gloss it over by lifting the baked good delicately to inspect it.

“I am not surprised that it happened, though I am surprised that it took so long. And that anyone capable enough to get near you would be so amateur as to use so pungent and sharp tasting a poison to do the job-- it is instantly detectable, and from smell alone, as well, had I stopped to inhale.” He sneered.

“On Asgard, we have poisons so undetectable, it would seem the victims had merely been plucked by Death. They are so thin and clear that they may be painted onto fingernails or tipped into the wax of a candle. I am, I think, insulted at the ham handedness behind all of this.” What had started as a way of steering the conversation away had turned into a full on rant, and he sighed.

“Perhaps the first thing I should teach your _Agents_ is how to properly kill someone.”

 

 

Steve very nearly rolled his eyes at Loki’s protests. He almost sounded like his mother; worse, he almost sounded like _Bucky_. “It obviously didn’t do you much harm,” he pointed out. Maybe the dough had just been off? Bad eggs in the batter, or something rancid in the glaze. He looked at Loki with reproach. “Don’t talk about yourself like that, you’re a person, not a thing. And in case you didn’t notice,” he added, “I got frozen solid for seventy years and came out okay.” He held his arms wide as if to demonstrate his hale and hearty state. “I’m tougher than I look. You wouldn’t have hurt me beyond what I could heal.” And he’d come very close to touching Loki in that state, fingers itching to trace the lines of his skin. While it upset him to see Loki’s self-loathing rearing its head, it was oddly pleasant, in a sort-of-annoying way, to know Loki cared enough to berate him for his recklessness.

Even if he still insisted on counting them enemies.

But Loki had moved on to ranting on about the amateur quality of the attempt (how the _hell_ would someone have even known the sticky bun was for Loki--?), citing the smell and taste, sharp and pungent...

Steve frowned, a thought forming in his mind. He glanced worriedly at the camera at Loki’s words about teaching the agents; while he knew Loki was referring to the exchange of information in return for access to the staff, to a paranoid SHIELD agent, it sounded like a threat. Then he looked back to the sticky bun.

_Taste and smell._

“Hold on,” he said. “Do you-- do you have cinnamon in Asgard?” Surely it couldn’t be that simple; that benign. But though the taste was more or less a staple in many desserts, to someone never exposed to it, inhaling a bit on accident would be cause for alarm.

 

 

He felt distinctly disgruntled now, perhaps even cross about the quality of his would-be assassin.  So if his words came out a little on the petulant side, none could blame him.

“I am a _god--_ a frost giant-- and you are but a soldier. Besides, I did not have contact with it for more than a moment, and you intended to knowingly put poison into your mouth. And I can be a thing if I feel like a thing. In that state, I do. And Captain, there is a difference between experiencing the ice, and encountering a being whose nature _is_ the ice. I have seen Asgardian limbs burned to the quick from a moment’s grasp of a Frost Giant. Even with your speed of healing, I shudder to think-- and you _will not_ be experimenting, regardless of our future cooperations, is that clear?” He pressed his lips into a thin line, and tried to think beyond his annoyance.

Cinnamon?

“I don’t know what that-- cinnamon-- is.”  He crossed his arms, trying to hold on to his pout, but his curiosity won out. “Why, what is it?”

He sighed.

“I will give you the cake if you promise not to eat it.” He felt like he was talking to a particularly rowdy small child, but it would help Rogers to track down the imbecile who tried.

 

 

While Steve didn’t relish the idea of being frozen, or ever having that same intimacy with ice again, he wasn’t going to show Loki any fear regarding his nature. He set his jaw stubbornly. “I won’t experiment, but I won’t treat you any differently,” he stated. He wasn’t about to go grabbing Loki or making him endure the form he obviously hated, but if the change happened again, Steve wouldn’t shrink away. No matter how much part of him cringed in terror at the thought of ice creeping up his flesh and into his bones.

“It’s a spice,” he informed Loki. “Made from bark, I think. It’s used in a lot of dishes here, and a lot of desserts. It’s got a pretty sharp, earthy taste to it, and it can sting your sinuses a bit if you’re not used to it. I think... I think that might be what you’re experiencing. In which case it’s not poison. Now come on, give it here...”

He opened his side of the compartment and withdrew the sticky bun, tilting it in the light. Apart from the missing bite that Loki had taken, it appeared unmarred and untampered with. Lifting it to his face, he took a sniff, and the rich smell of cinnamon, musty and tangy all at once, along with the softer smell of the honey sugar glaze filled his senses.

He looked up at Loki.

He’d never actually _promised_...

With an impish grin, he took a great big bite. “S’fine t’ me.”

 

 

Loki looked on, aghast, as crumbs from the the tainted pastry fell down to cling to the man’s collar.

“Ste- _Rogers!_ ”

He pressed himself to the glass, suddenly aware how little it would take-- a cake could kill him, and Loki wouldn’t watch that.

He glanced at the cameras and then back at Rogers, but was surprised to see him standing there, looking proud of himself, with a grin he may as well have lifted from Loki’s own arsenal plastered across his face.

“You _utter imbecile_.” Loki hissed, relieved and hiding it behind his derision. “You damned prat, if it had been, if you were wrong-- what if the bark you speak of is like our Hvasslind? What if I am familiar but by a different name, and you are being actively poisoned for your daring?” He didn’t understand the anger coiling in him.

“Why would you endanger yourself that way?” He asked, the horror draining the anger out as the realization that nothing seemed to be going wrong sank in.

“And what of me, Rogers? If you are harmed, if you are unable to come back, what would I do?” He knew it sounded selfish, but he _felt_ selfish. If only about Rogers, about his time.

This was getting to be too much. Part of him could only hope the sceptre’s preparations hurried on their way… and the other part wished they would never finish. Irrational, all of it.

 

 

It wasn’t a very _nice_ thing to do. But it was harmless, really -- Steve had been sure (well, 95% sure) that the problem was the cinnamon, not a poison that couldn’t possibly have contaminated that single confection out of everything he’d brought, when it had been in his bag on his person the whole time. And the food was sweet and spiced and delicious in his mouth. They hadn’t been able to afford cinnamon much when he was young, so it was used sparingly when at all, but sometimes his mother would add a dash of it to certain foods for him, insisting it was good for his lungs. And then on his birthday, his mother would bake him a cinnamon-filled apple pie  -- apple pie had been the only thing his ma could bake worth a damn, but it had been Steve’s favorite, and even now the taste made him warm and happy.

Loki, on the other land, looked the opposite of happy. He threw himself at the glass and for a second Steve read pure terror on his features, though it swiftly turned to indignant rage. Despite his hissing tirade, Steve still felt a bubble of warmth in his chest.

Loki had been worried.

Loki had been worried about _Steve._

Loki _cared---_

The bubble popped. Steve’s smile faded. Of course. Loki cared about what happened to _him_. Steve was his champion here, after all; the only one who took interest in his welfare and brought him food he’d willingly eat. He believed that Loki held him no ill-will, and probably had some amicable feelings toward him (he’d shared his water and made other attempts to reciprocate comfort), but the intensity of his responses -- to the idea of Steve being harmed by his touch and to Steve eating the sweet -- had to be for more than just concern about Steve’s health. Loki was afraid for himself too, by extension. It was only natural.

“There wasn’t any danger,” he countered, putting the pastry down, no longer quite as hungry, though he sucked the sweet glaze off of his thumb all the same. He sighed, slumping back into his seat. He couldn’t begrudge Loki his anxiety. Even if for a fleeting moment he’d hoped...

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said, genuinely abashed.

 

 

He paused, surprised at the tone of his apology. When similarly berated, Thor had at best sounded like a child caught with a hand in a cookie jar. His apologies were half hearted at best-- not sorry for what he’d done, but sorry for having been caught.

But like all things that Rogers did, there was a genuine earnestness to it that threw Loki from his perch.

“I have no room to speak I suppose. It was but a trick.” Not a particularly kind one, and so more surprising, coming from Rogers as it had. “I do worry, though.” He averted his eyes, the very image of modest concern-- especially after throwing himself against the glass, he needed to reclaim his dignity.

And it was difficult for him to admit his unease, when he knew very well that he should not be so invested. But he wanted-- when he was gone and Rogers hated him, he wanted the man to look back and at least have some inkling that Loki wished things were otherwise.

“You’re so strong and good and kind, and yet so easily could you be lost. It boggles the mind. This stay would be far less pleasant were you not involved… and this world would be far less full without you in it.” He weighed the words after the fact, afraid that perhaps he’d spoken too strongly, but it was out now, and there was hardly anything he could do about it.

So instead he crossed his arms and took a step back.

“I think, for the record, I do not like your _cinnamon_.” He managed to turn the word into an invective, and leaned down to retrieve the juice bottle again, glaring daggers at the remains of the treat in Rogers’s hands. “It could perhaps remain on the list of foods not welcomed back.”

 

 

Steve looked down, then glanced up through his lashes, still feeling guilty. Loki’s gaze was averted, head angled away in pose that brought Steve’s attention to the perfect, geometric line of his jaw and neck, now better visible for the cut of his hair. A strand had fallen loose, and Steve’s fingertips itched to brush it away. But even if the glass didn’t separate them... it would be wholly inappropriate.

And yet. The praise Loki heaped on him made him simultaneously want to beam and to crumple into a ball and be invisible. Did he... did he really think that? Or was this just Loki being polite after reaming Steve out? _He took an oath not to lie._ His mind reeled and Steve licked his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You...” he halted, not quite sure what to say without betraying himself. Without overstepping. _You’re strong and have it in you to be good and kind. You could bring so much to the world._ “You’ve made my life a lot more interesting,” he finished, timidly smiling and then suddenly feeling a little bit sick. Was that enough? Was it too much?

He meant it, he realized. He woke in the mornings with plans and a sense of metaphorical direction, for the first time since waking from the ice -- barring the invasion. He hadn’t felt that way since the war, which sounded awful in his mind, but then, he’d had a purpose. He’d had a battle to fight in and something to fight for.

Now, instead of fighting to win the war and save his friends, he was fighting a much gentler, lonely battle to save Loki from himself.

A nervous chuckle escaped him when Loki passed judgement on the cinnamon. “Duly noted. No cinnamon.” Which was a shame, since that meant no apple pie, but still left him with a lot of options. “You’ll want to avoid the zucchini muffin, in that case. Maybe try one of the croissants? They’re the flaky, crescent-shaped ones,” he indicated. “Not spicy. I _promise_.”

 

 

Loki cast a considering glance at the contents of the food box, shaking his head to hide his reaction to the Captain’s praise. Or… it sounded like praise. The wording was ambiguous; one of the most potent curses Loki knew was “may your life be interesting”. But this didn’t seem like that at all. So he let himself feel flattered.

“I think I’ve eaten my fill for the moment. Thank you, though.” The half-rounds the Captain had indicated looked delicious-- but also like they were very dry, and he only had one water bottle and half the juice container left. He would wait.

Then again, he didn’t want to seem ungrateful, or like he suspected the Captain of trying to poison him still. ( _cinnamon_ , ugh.)

“Well…” He broke half of it off, surprised by the texture. When Rogers said it was flaky, he meant it-- the majority of the contents seemed to be air. He bit into it, having to raise a hand quickly to avoid crumbs getting everywhere.

“It’s good.” He proclaimed, through the mouthful of slightly crisp flakes. There was a buttery taste to it, like the stuff had been folded into every crease, and Loki could only imagine how much of it would be needed to create that flavor. It left grease from it on Loki’s fingers, and he was glad for the almost bland flavor.

Thinking, Loki decided to bring the conversation back around to the plans for the future, just to get as much information as possible.

“You said that Fury would want information from me-- have you any idea what it may be? I want to be sure it is something I know, before he gets here. Not that I can exactly research, but…” He gestured with the croissant, trailing off.

 

 

Loki didn’t seem overly offended or discomforted, so Steve took that as a good sign. And when he voiced his appreciation for the croissant, he sensed he’d been forgiven for the sticky bun fiasco. He even smiled, more easily this time, at the sight of Loki with flaky bits of pastry on his hands and chin. Next time he’d have to get something with powdered sugar. Though given how pale Loki was, it might not even be visible against his skin.

“Honestly?” He picked out the zucchini chocolate muffin, which he knew contained traces of the offending cinnamon, and began working back the paper wrapping. “I’m not sure, but if I had to guess... Up until Thor showed up in New Mexico a couple years ago, we had no idea that we weren’t alone in the universe. Any interactions we had with Asgard back in the dark ages were so long ago and badly documented, they were just myths. Then, all of a sudden, we’ve got gods and aliens and a Chitauri fleet knocking down our door.”

He broke off a small bit of the muffin top and popped it into his mouth. “Knowing more about what’s out there -- about who’s out there -- will help us be prepared. So he’ll probably ask a lot about the other worlds and species you know about, their customs and technology relative to ours, and any threats we ought to be worried about.” That was what Steve would ask, at any rate. True, he was more about field tactics than long-term strategy and politics like Fury, but even he knew that when you found yourself dropped into new terrain, the first thing you did was get a lay of the land. And the universe had just gotten a whole lot bigger. “Thor filled us in on some stuff, but having a secondary source, especially someone with more of an academic background is really gonna help us out so we can make sure we don’t draw unwanted attention, cause unintended offense, or get caught with our pants down against another alien army.”

Loki was intelligent, well-read, with an eye for detail. Not to mention he’d been raised in a royal family, trained for politics and educated from an early age. As far as a source on interplanetary matters, SHIELD would be hard-pressed to find anyone better suited.

Outside of strategy, though, there was _so much_ Loki must know... Fury would want to know anything relevant to global defense, but if he eventually deemed Loki safe to consult with SHIELD scientists, then his knowledge of technology, magic, medicine (rudimentary as he claimed it was) could propel science years -- _decades_ ahead of itself. Steve smiled, imagining how Howard would have reacted to the chance to pick Loki’s brain had he still been alive. He’d have been like a kid on Christmas.

 

 

Loki found himself nodding along, almost eager at the idea of this false future they were building.

“That at least I am well versed in-- the histories of the realms, at least a broad overview of them, and the customs and niceties of their ruling classes. I’m afraid I can’t speak overmuch of the average citizen, but as far as military might and weaponry is concerned, I am knowledgeable until the last few years of advancement.

He brushed the bits of crust that clung to his face away.  

“But insofar as answering questions, I wonder if it mightn’t help to write at least some form of etiquette book or guideline. Oh, and the languages… Not that I am particularly well suited to teaching, but at the very least I have a rudimentary grasp of about five other realms’ modes of common speech.” It was incredible to him that he might be genuinely _useful_ with all of the studying he’d thrown himself into, all of the scholarly pursuits he had been mocked for, when he should have been training in the weapons yard and hunting and wrestling and proving himself a proper man.

But then, he’d done a very good job of proving himself not to be a proper man at all. The court of Asgard had just had to learn to get used to it. As would the mortals here, if Loki were truly going to be staying.

He wondered what their societal views were on such things-- the sort of things he had begun daydreaming about indulging in with Rogers. Asgard had been annoyed, but not scandalized. After all, it was well known any and all did what-- and whom-- they wanted, they just tended to do so quietly and in their own homes.

Loki had had no such luxury, as a prince of the realm and a member of the court, there was little he could do that would not immediately be broadcast on a sea of whispers and tittering.

Had it been Thor they might have cared, but in the laws of inheritance, he was not the heir, only the spare. They didn’t need to worry about him unless something happened to Thor-- unthinkable, given his prowess-- and if they did need to concern themselves with Loki, well, they would do so then.

These humans seemed to be a reasonably hedonistic race, he couldn’t imagine them finding flaw with anything as particularly pleasurable as sharing a bed with anyone.

Watching Rogers’s fingers as he plucked at his muffin, Loki wondered… but knew better than to ask from nothing, lest he seem too incriminatingly interested. He had asked about the woman in Rogers’ drawing book, though…

“I am sorry, Captain, that we did not have enough time to finish looking at your art together yesterday, speaking of customs. An interruption such as that would have been offensive enough to be a reasonable cause for a skirmish, back on Asgard.” He waited, hopeful, to see if Rogers would volunteer to return with the books again.

It was truly a delight seeing what he could do with those beautiful hands of his.

 

 

“That would be brilliant,” Steve agreed, eager and elated to find Loki so ready to share his knowledge with humanity. Even on subjects where Loki considered himself ill-informed, he knew more than anyone on Earth did (which was zilch). If Dr. Foster’s technology for communicating with other realms ever came to fruition, then having an understanding of the languages and etiquette of those worlds would definitely behoove them, and help avoid an awkward first contact. “I’ll look into getting something for you to write with.”

Pen and paper would be easiest, though SHIELD would probably continue to insist on limiting Loki’s access to paper for a time. A laptop, though, if it had all networking and wireless abilities gutted from it, loaded only with a word processing program, might work. He’d have to run the idea by Hill, he reflected, nibbling on some more of his muffin.

“Oh, that reminds me. I almost forgot--” Steve put aside the muffin, grabbing a napkin to wipe his fingers clean, then pulled his backpack over. “Sorry about that, by the way. Didn’t mean for it to cause offense. I guess I didn’t think it would take all that much time. Not that there’s anything wrong with taking time,” he said, hoping he wasn’t babbling. He pulled out the sketchbook they hadn’t had time to look at yesterday, then hesitated, remembering that he’d added to it the night before. _What_ he’d added to it the night before.

He pressed his lips into a line. Of course, he had promised Loki he’d bring the artwork back for him to look at today. And he’d enjoyed watching Loki’s rapt attention to the pages and the delicate way he handled the paper.

Surely he wouldn’t mind.

Opening the container, he leaned the sketchbook up against the side of the glass, away from the baked goods where it wouldn’t get any glaze or crumbs on it.

 

 

He waved his hand, dismissing the Captain’s words.

“The offense would not be mine, but yours. As the artist, the attention and time for appreciating your art should belong solely to you.”

Loki was gratified to see that he’d thought to bring the book that Loki hadn’t opened. He looked down at his hands, then at the paper napkin that he held.

There were more in there, but he worried they wouldn’t be enough. He stood and brought out his water bottle, pouring some on the thin paper before using it to clean all of the tackiness off of his fingers and palms. He could not imagine being rude enough to leave fingerprints or debris on the pages.

“As for my writing, Captain, if necessary I could also dictate the content to someone. I would not dare to presume to put further demand on your time, but surely there is some lowly ranked wretch around who will write for me, if needed. I can hardly blame anyone for not wanting to give me anything sharp enough to write with.”

Hands properly cleaned up, Loki made sure they were thoroughly dry before gently lifting the notebook from the bin and returning to his seat.

He still delighted in the texture of the pages, amused by the quaint smoothness and overbearing shade of white. He wasn’t sure if the parchment he was used to was superior, but he thought he preferred it, if only because he was used to it.

He opened the cover, meeting immediately with the eyes of another of Rogers’ solo portraits.

“Who is this?” he asked.

 

 

Steve bit down on the inside of his cheek at Loki’s comment about a ‘low ranked wretch.’ Having some SHIELD employee on hand to take dictation wasn’t exactly a more efficient use of time and resources than simply finding an acceptable means for Loki to write himself. It hadn’t escaped Steve the contemptuous way Loki spoke about the agents and lower-ranked personnel around him; it was one of Loki’s less-flattering attributes, and one he’d been meaning to address, though perhaps later. It was probably very ingrained for someone who’d grown up royalty, with servants, after all.

The idea of dictation though, was one he hadn’t considered; mainly because, like Loki, his first thought was of some secretarial worker taking down speech in short-hand. But knowing the amount of voice-automated tech he’d seen in the last year, it was possible that SHIELD would be able to set up some sort of dictation software so Loki would only have to speak aloud to have his words transcribed. (Heck, for all he knew, they’d done so already. And didn’t _that_ put a sour taste in his mouth.)

Loki brought him back to the present with a question, sketchbook open on his lap. Steve glanced down, blinked, and swallowed.

For a long time after coming out of the ice, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to draw Bucky. Anyone and everyone else, but not him. It had only been recently that he’d made the effort to tentatively sketch out the face he’d known all his life. He’d even started a brand new sketchbook the first time he’d sat down to do it.

The sketch on the first page was rough, unfinished, the lines more sketchy and unsure than his work of others. Bucky was looking away, almost not even facing the viewer, and the smile wasn’t quite right.

(He could never get Buck’s smile quite right these days.)

“That’s Bucky,” he said, softly. The next few pages were Bucky too, if he remembered right.

 

 

And here, it seemed, was the perfect opportunity to expand upon his earlier thoughts. But Loki paused, hesitant to dredge up old ghosts for the Captain, when it was so obvious, from the way he sat to the way he spoke, that this was a tender matter.

But Loki also knew it was likely he didn’t have much time. He looked down at the man on the page, unable to see much of him, but able to see enough to understand where he might appeal.

Everything about the art was tender, the strokes less sharp, less sure than some of the others, clearly this was someone important to Rogers, someone from the past. Like his… Peggy. Loki applauded himself for remembering the name, considering what had followed.

But he thought perhaps to come back to him, to ask for more information after seeing what lay beyond.

It was obvious, holding the book, that only these first few pages were filled, which made him all the more regretful that they hadn’t made it through them at the last viewing.

He did not comment on that first page, merely flipped to the next-- but there he was again.

This one had captured his face better, and it was easy to understand what it was the Captain saw in him. He was a young man, younger than Loki had supposed in the first drawing, and his eyes held a hint of mischief, but it was nearly drowning in overwhelming sadness.

He wondered if that was what had drawn Rogers to him, if he’d felt the need to save this Bucky.

His jaw held a hardness to it, like he had set it stubbornly against whatever the imagined speaker was saying. He was not looking at the viewer-- or the artist, when he had drawn it. Instead he gazed right off the page.

Leaving Rogers on the outside of this moment, even when the subject was so clearly someone whom he loved.

And for Loki, the temptation was too great.

“He is beautiful.” Loki spoke softly too, building into the tone that Rogers had set, out of respect. “Was he your lover also?” He said it gently, his voice carefully devoid of judgement or interest beyond what he usually showed.

It was, after all, just a question.

 

 

Steve nodded ever so slightly when Loki called Bucky beautiful. He had been. Well, handsome, most would say. But the other word worked too, and came to mind in those quiet moments when Steve looked at Bucky when Bucky thought he wasn’t being watched. It was those moments Steve felt most compelled to try to capture, in spite of their elusiveness.

But the next question made Steve freeze, his stomach twisting and dropping. Did Loki... did he _know_ ? Had he somehow slipped up? Steve’s gaze flicked upward, but Loki’s expression remained as impassive as if he’d asked about the weather, giving Steve no hint as to why he’d asked _that of all things._

“I--” his throat constricted painfully. “No. No, he--” Bucky had been everything to Steve, except for that. Friend, brother, guardian, follower; and all of that should have been enough. Had been enough. Steve could never have asked for more.

He knew he probably owed Loki a more elaborate answer, but his voice snagged painfully, his whole face burning with shame.

_I loved him._

Part of him wanted to say the words, wanted to tell someone -- _anyone_ \-- and part of him wanted to die and take the secret to his grave. Bucky deserved better than that, after all. Bucky had been normal and perfect and even when Steve became Captain America, there was still a part of him that wanted to be more like Bucky; _wanted_ Bucky--

Dammit. He swallowed hard and looked away, grinding his jaw together and hoping Loki didn’t catch the dampness in his eyes and he tried to pull it together. “No,” he managed to choke out. Nothing more.

 

 

Loki felt something in his chest plummet into his stomach.

Something was wrong.

Even with his nearly-a-lover, Rogers had been… sadly wistful, at most. This was something more. Something that turned Rogers’s face red and made him look away, something that made him want to _hide_ from Loki.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly, unsure what it was he was apologizing for. He felt chastened, though. He shouldn’t be prying. There was no future for it anyway, even if the answer had been yes, even if Rogers had an interest in such things. Which, it seemed, he very much did not.

Loki was afraid that he’d impugned the honor of the Captain’s friend-- perhaps the Midgardians were not so advanced as he’d credited them for.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, a little louder as his nerves forced him to speak up again. “I hope you don’t think less of me for asking. It’s just… very clear that you care for him a great deal. And not knowing how Midgardians view such relationships…” He trailed off and shrugged. “Regardless of what he is to you-- was to you-- you have no doubt done him proud. Wouldn’t you agree?” He chose to err on the side of kindness, because the expression on the Captain’s face made him feel ill, more uncomfortable with that raw grief than he was with being bound for his haircut.

He attempted to reach out, to appeal to Rogers and drive his mind away from the thought of Loki’s inquiry about his tastes.

“Will you tell me about him?” He asked.

 

 

 _How Midgardians view such relationships._ Steve’s gaze flickered anxiously up to the security camera in the corner, then away again. Was he that transparent? Had Loki recognized something he himself had kept swaddled in denial for years, or-- He blinked. _Midgardians_. Did Asgard have a different view of... of people who felt the way Steve felt?

He knew that a lot had changed, or was supposed to have changed, while he’d been under. One of the first things SHIELD had given him with the materials to help him “adjust” had been a list of words no longer viewed as acceptable, and their politically-correct alternatives. He’d been slightly affronted, since he’d been raised better to use most of those terms anyhow, but it had been somewhat heartening to know they were more broadly frowned upon. But while it was no longer illegal for two men to be... to be like _that_ , he’d also heard the cruel slurs shouted in public and the snide comments made as asides. Things might be better, but they weren’t that much better. He couldn’t-- he couldn’t tell anyone. What would be the point anyway?

 _Proud._ He let out a chuckle, and it almost emerged as a sob. He was a coward, too afraid to admit his inclinations to himself, let alone anyone else. He was a coward and he’d let Bucky die. He’d let Bucky die and had crashed a plane into the arctic and if Bucky were alive, he’d be well within his rights to hate Steve.

Only he wouldn’t, because Bucky had always been better than that.

He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Talking about Bucky... he could do that. He’d been able to reference him incidentally, often as an aside or an anecdote, in conversation much more often these days. Saying his name felt less like pouring salt in an open wound, even if he did still wake some nights in a cold sweat with that same name on the tip of his tongue.

The SHIELD therapists he’d been sent to see after his thawing and again after the battle had recommended he talk about Bucky, but he hadn’t been ready then. It was all too raw. Nobody seemed to understand that while the world’d had decades to recover from the wounds of the war, Steve had _just come_ from the front lines. And while everything was fresh in mind still, he’d had some time to process. Some time to recover, just a bit.

Another breath, this one less shaky. “Bucky was my best friend,” he began. “We met when we were kids and we pretty much latched on to each other from then on. We grew up together.”  And there were happy memories of that time, which he had to make himself focus on. “He was bigger and stronger, but he always used that to look out for me. To have my back and haul me out of trouble wherever I happened to find it.” And Steve had always been finding trouble. Bucky, in response, had always been finding Steve. “We were practically family. He... he loved me like a brother,” he explained, and refused to feel bitter. Bucky’s love in any form had been a gift.

 

 

Loki could feel the expression on his face softening as the Captain went on, nodding and refusing to call attention to his voice, how it was thicker than usual. How it had taken him several breaths and several more heartbeats to be able to speak. Loki had been right. he really had loved this man. Not… not the way he’d thought, but.

“I daresay I can understand that feeling.” He ventured. He didn’t want to ask what had happened to Bucky. Whatever it was, it rendered Rogers unspeakably sad.

It was an aching realization, the dawning understanding that he would do anything to be able to take that from him, to leave him with only the happy memories. But even if he were able to use his magic without betraying his plans, it would be outside of his abilities.

And, he reflected, it was possible he wouldn’t do it anyway. He did not want to see Rogers modified. He was perfect as he was. The sadness… it was part of what made him human, made him kind. Without being able to understand it, how would he help others? And if he couldn’t do that, how would he ever be happy again?

“I think it is admirable, being able to find a family for yourself.” He said. “No doubt the others in your other book, the man with the hat and his companions, they were family too. Not so deeply family as Bucky perhaps, not so long lasting and close, but… I envy you that. You seem to have found another family here now, too. Have you…” He paused, treading lightly and afraid to step indelicately on his feelings. “Have you spoken to any of your Avengers about Bucky?”

Not that he didn’t want to listen. But perhaps Rogers would be more at ease among friends than with his enemy. Or at least around people who, when his face fell that way, when it crumpled and the grief couldn’t be held back, could reach out, touch him, embrace him.

Someone who could make him feel less lonely. Unlike Loki.

 

 

Family. Steve’s biological family had been small to start with, with no aunts or uncles and any extended relatives still in Ireland somewhere. With his father dead, it had just been him and his mother. Then just him.

But he’d had Bucky, and Bucky _had_ been family. And then the commandos had been his brothers in arms; family, as Loki had seen. Here and now though... He chewed the inside of his lip, contemplating that. If the Avengers were a family, they were a highly dysfunctional one. They’d managed to band together for New York, but parted ways in the aftermath. Thor had vanished into another world. Stark had wound up back in Malibu, and Steve didn’t make much effort to keep in touch -- even after they managed to stop going at each others’ throats, he still had trouble looking at Tony without being reminded of Howard, and that did neither of them any favors. Bruce kept his location largely off the grid, and while he and Steve had exchanged emails and book recommendations, he’d seen little of the doctor, who seemed determined to keep most people at arm’s length -- a safe distance. Barton and Romanoff were a bit easier to get in touch with, and Steve had gone out for a few drinks with them both, Natasha in particular, which had granted him some sense of camaraderie. But again, there was something between them, something shared and special, to which Steve was an outsider.

It was a stark and somewhat sobering realization. He wasn’t friendless. But he wouldn’t say he had any family -- not here and now.

“You know,” he said, a breathless chuckle slipping free, a little amused and a little sad, “I haven’t. You’re actually the first person I’ve talked to about him, really.” There had been a handful of reporters and biographers, and when they’d brought Bucky up he’d set the record straight, but that had been different. It hadn’t felt this open. This terrifying.

But now that he’d started, he almost didn’t want to stop.

“He joined up before I did. Not that I didn’t try, but they didn’t let me in the first four or five times I tried to enlist. I was so mad he was going to war without me. Not at him, mind you -- just, at the idea that he’d be going where I couldn’t follow.” And wasn’t that ironic. Because even when Steve had caught up to him in Europe, Bucky had managed to slip from his grasp.

“Then Erskine found me and the serum happened and for a while, they didn’t let me do any fighting -- I was pretty much a dancing monkey, just there to lift heavy things and sell war bonds and boost morale. But I found him, eventually.” Just not soon enough. “By the time I got over there, most of his outfit had been captured. Hydra -- a division of the enemy -- they had him, and they...” Steve had to stop, feeling sick at the memory of Bucky strapped to the table, sweating and barely coherent. He swallowed down the bile that threatened to creep up his throat. “We broke out. Him and me and Dugan and all the rest. And even though, after what had happened to him, he could have been sent home honorably, he stayed. Stayed to follow me.”

He took another breath, looking down at his hands, white-knuckled in his lap.

 

 

“Well I am honored that you find me worth telling this to.” Loki told him, as earnestly as he could. “And you didn’t answer, before, when I asked if you thought you’d made him proud. And I realize I cannot speak for him, and wouldn’t dream of it-- I am the last person for you to equate with him, even based on the little I know of the man. But… I think, conclusively, it could be said that even then you made him proud. He would never have followed you if you didn’t, never have stayed with you if there wasn’t something he saw in you worth staying for.” Loki spoke lowly and quickly, because he could see the mounting upset and knew that the Captain wasn’t done, but that whatever followed could only be worse.

“He may not be here now, and I am… deeply sorry for that. Not just for you-- though I can see… see that it pains you. But I am sorry too, for him, that he has not had the chance to see you becoming the man who sits before me now.”

These words were parodies, slanted versions of fantasies he’d had, wherein Odin gave speeches to Thor before the court, when they believed Loki dead and gone. Honored at last, once he was no longer around to make trouble. The thought had been an oddly comforting one, but now… this was better, this was more fitting, more real. Because the Captain deserved this comfort in a  way Loki never had.

“He would have been proud, he,” Loki lifted the book, turning the pages to face the Captain through the glass. “Bucky, I think, would not want you so torn by him. Any man that has followed you has done so willingly, gladly. And your brother, your Bucky, probably moreso than all the rest.”

Loki paused, let his words lapse and trail off into the silence.

The Captain had not told anyone, and he knew, saying what he did here, it was unlikely that what he said would remain a secret, remain between the two of them. Loki snapped a gaze full of loathing at the cameras, for the briefest instant, and wished he could fry them, destroy them, without jeopardizing his own ends. Instead, he looked back to the Captain and asked him, very softly-- for he was as afraid of the answer as he knew he needed to hear it, knew the Captain needed to say it.

“What happened to Bucky, Captain?”

 

 

Steve bit back a groan as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and face buried in his hands, unable to look Loki in the eyes.

It hurt. It hurt to hear Loki speak such kind words, and it hurt even worse to know they were probably true in part, even if they were undeserved. Because Bucky had always acted proud of him. Oh, he’d never let the Captain America thing go to his head, but he’d been the first one to raise a cheer for Steve and had been his staunchest supporter through it all. Even before, when Steve had been a frail idiot getting his ass handed to him in every lot and alley in Brooklyn, Bucky had never chided him or derided him. He’d just helped to brush him off, asking how bad the other guy must look now, always assuming Steve had had a good reason.

Every word was a balm and a blow, all at the same time.

It took him a few seconds to be able to speak, and when he did, the words came out jumbled and disjointed. “We... There was a mission. I was leading it. There was a train--” R _emember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island? This is payback, isn’t it..._ “-- Bucky had my back, but--” He stopped to breathe, chest so tight for a moment it felt like his asthma has returned. Bucky always had his back. But the one time he’d needed it, Steve had failed to have his.

“The train was over a ravine. The side got blown out. He--” he paused and shook his head as if he could physically dislodge the image of Bucky reaching for him, so close, just a bit closer--

“I couldn’t reach him-- I--” his throat was closing up and he couldn’t breathe. _Just a bit closer--_

“He fell.”

Realizing his face was wet, he reached up and roughly wiped away at the tears that had run down his cheeks unnoticed. “I couldn’t...” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I got him killed.”

He wiped at his face again, abruptly feeling spent. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t... You don’t need to have me dump any of this on you.” He felt all the worse for how good and willing a listener Loki had proved. He had enough to shoulder without adding Steve’s self-recrimination.

 

 

He wished he could reach out, wipe the tears from the Captain’s face the way he had done for him.

“You feel guilty about enough without adding to your burden by worrying about mine.” He murmured, gripping the book a little tighter, but still careful not to pull at the pages. He understood now the pain that went into these drawings, the pain in the wistful expressions of loss in the lines of Bucky’s body.

“But do not dishonour Bucky’s memory by removing his will. He chose to follow you, chose to have your back and protect you, obey you. His choice played its own part in his death, and in shouldering more than your share of the guilt, you are doing him a disservice. Beyond that, think: Had he not, had things gone differently and you fallen instead, you do not have to imagine the pain he would be in. If nothing else, think how you have saved him this heartache that you have borne in his stead, for surely as you care for him, so he did for you.” Loki shook his head, gazing down at the figure in the book.

“I am very sorry for your loss, Captain Rogers. But I am glad that you have chosen to speak of it. Allowing it to fester as you have… I am, more than ever, surprised at how overwhelmingly kind you are, knowing that you have secrets like this one eating away at you.” Hesitation battled against Loki’s impulse, and he moved closer to the glass.

“I cannot comfort you with more than words, and I resent that now more than ever. All I can do is listen, and tell you that no matter your guilt, your regrets, what you have done since has done nothing but prove that his choices were correct. And just know that if you need me to listen, be it to this or any other thing… true it is hardly private here, but my ears are yours. Rogers, Bucky would be so glad to see what you have made of yourself. All of the things that he saw in you, your kindness, your care for others, your logic and sensibility, your humor, your leadership… everyone sees that now. And whether they know it or not, when they look at you, they see the imprint he has left on your life.” He ran his fingers gently, reverently over the edge of the page with Bucky’s portrait on it.

“And I for one am grateful to him.”

 

 

Steve took a few deep and shaky breaths, trying to compose himself, even as his eyes brimmed with more tears.

They weren’t unfamiliar words, he realized. He’d been told much the same thing, sitting in the bombed out bar where Bucky had promised to follow him into anything, trying to get drunk to no avail. It had been Peggy who’d found him then.

She’d been right. Loki was right. So why did he still selfishly wish it had been him instead?

He reached out and put a hand against the glass. Part of him wished he could touch Loki, could let himself be ensconced in someone’s arms -- in Loki’s arms, specifically. Closing his eyes he focused on his breathing, the tight knot in his chest slowly loosening as Loki’s unbearably kind words washed over him.

Bucky was gone. He’d lost him and everything that may-have-but-likely-never-would-have been. He’d lost his best friend in the world, and he’d carry that for the rest of his life. But he’d also keep it together and make himself _earn_ it. Earn Bucky’s sacrifice in any small part by doing enough good for the both of them; by making a difference and doing Bucky proud. By saving someone, anyone, everyone...

He opened his eyes and looked at Loki. “Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse.

He hoped Loki understood just how much he meant it.

Looking down at his hands again, he fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. “I... I’ve been lucky,” he said haltingly. “I’ve had... the good luck to have... some really amazing people in my life.” He glanced back up and offered Loki a small and quavering smile.

 

 

Loki knew it was pointless, the gesture hollow, but he still leaned in and flicked at the glass with his thumb, as though wiping a tear from the Captain’s face.

He felt guilty for having dredged it up, for having asked so callously about if Rogers had slept with Bucky, when it was obvious that his care ran so deep for the man as to have eclipsed that portion of their relationship or lack thereof entirely. And especially with such guiltily selfish aims… such casual ones, as well, for it wasn’t as if… his throat caught for some reason, when Rogers spoke of his luck at the amazing people in his life, and for a brief, shining moment, Loki thought perhaps that was meant to include him. But then, that was vain of him, and a gross exaggeration on the part of his mind, wishful thinking overruling his logic.

“I think the problem is that you cannot accept that each of those amazing people would say that they have also been lucky to know you.” His periods of hesitation were growing shorter, perhaps because he knew Rogers needed to hear it. “I know I have been.”

“I won’t extoll your virtues in depth, because I don’t intend to send you from crying to flushed and stammering, but know that what you have gone through is what has formed you, shaped you into the man you are. All of your sorrows, your joys, your losses and your loves. You carry that with you and you make it worthwhile with every continued breath. Your Peggy, your commandos, Bucky… not a one of them would object. Unless of course you chose to eat _their_ cinnamon as well.”

He pulled a comically indignant face, hoping that playing the fool to some small extent would help to bring the Captain back, help him resurface from the sorrow that threatened now to drag him into its depths.

“Honestly, were I to return to Asgard, I would have to warn against it-- my entire civilization’s estimation for you would rise; yours are the people who punish their mouths as a treat. You see, even Bucky would have to be proud of that.”

 

 

Steve had been on the brink of crying again but then Loki’s remarks on a cinnamon had him laughing, his chest hurting but in a good way. He wiped at his face again, sniffling slightly and smiling a bit more. “Thank you,” he repeated, voice still thick. “And I promise never to make you eat cinnamon again.”

He wanted to say more -- to return Loki’s words to him in some way, to explain that for all Loki had been through and his pain, he was still capable of so much kindness (like that he was showing Steve now), and could be _so good --_ but he didn’t trust himself to string the words together coherently in a way Loki would believe. At this point he’d botch it up and probably ruin everything, offending Loki and steering the conversation to a place where both of them were hurting, and he couldn’t manage it just then. He needed to breathe a bit first.

He hiccuped.

“Shit,” he swore softly, clamping a hand over his mouth, then looking apologetically up at Loki. “Sorry. I’m a bit of a mess today. But really... Thank you. I think,” he hesitated, swallowing. He felt raw. “I think I’d been holding that in for a long time.” He hiccupped again, and winced. “The.... everything about Bucky, I meant. Not the hiccups.” He felt tired and achey in the way he had as a kid shortly after a fever had broken.

“I guess I should also probably keep you away from cayenne pepper,” he noted ruefully.

 

 

He took pity on the man, though the small sounds that escaped were nothing but endearing.

“There is yet a water bottle in the serving drawer. Please-- help yourself.”

He bit his lower lip, unsure how best to respond.

“I cannot speak to your foods, but our seasonings, while flavorful, do not tend to so tear at our mouths. As such, I cannot begin to fathom the attraction to something that does.” He shrugged. “But as I said, I will eat whatever you bring to me. Only… perhaps a warning. That’s all.” He imagined trying to choke down the rest of that bun, wondered if he would be able to if Rogers asked it of him.

He would, of course. He had been through much worse, but… it would be unpleasant just the same. He did not want to be demanding.

But at least the Captain was smiling again, watery smiles, still fraught with pain, but smiles just the same. His face looked younger, this way, more open than usual, which Loki had not thought possible.

If Loki had the Captain’s skills, this is how he would capture the man, color still high on his cheeks, eyes still bright from his tears, but a sweet small smile on his lips and his long lashes sweeping up toward his brows, slanted upwards in surprised pleasure.

He closed his eyes briefly, seeking to remember his precisely that way, giving himself that picture to take with him when he crawled back to Thanos, back to who knew what untold horrors.

He opened his eyes back up and returned the smile, bright and cheerful and intended to hide the fear that he could feel clinging to his back.

He looked down at the book in his hands, but elected not to turn the page yet. He didn’t want to risk the next drawing containing some new sorrow for the man to remember, some new memory to rend his heart further. Not yet.

 

 

“Thanks,” Steve said, pulling out the water and taking a sip, but no more. He felt badly drinking Loki’s limited supply of water when he was capable of going out and getting more himself. He put it back after screwing the top on and returned to his seat. “You don’t have to eat anything I bring you if you don’t like it,” he told Loki, just in case that wasn’t obvious. “I’ll try to avoid anything too spicy, and give you a heads up if I’m not sure if it’ll be too strong or not. If you find other stuff you don’t like, just let me know.” Indian food was probably flat out, which was a shame. Italian, maybe? Garlic and oregano could be a bit potent, but they didn’t burn. The mental image of Loki’s thin lips pursed around a long strand of spaghetti made Steve’s mouth quirk upwards.

“I wonder if we have any of the same spices, or similar,” Steve mused. If Asgardians had come to Earth before (and they had to, at some point for the myths to exist), then could they have brought things with them? Their culture and language possibly helped shape old nordic culture. But what about plants? Seeds? Viruses, even? There were a lot of non-indigenous species in the US, Steve knew from his reading, brought over from colonists and settlers. Did some things on Earth have their origins from beyond the stars? His imagination began to run with the idea, speculating what mundane objects or customs could have celestial roots...

 

 

“I will be sure to let you know if and when I come across any.” Loki promised. “And I like trying the food you bring, I like--” He drew in a breath, having flipped the page in the book in his lap idly while he spoke.

His eyes caught on the familiar face that lay before him, a duplicate of himself, familiar but sunken, worn and tired.

It was so easy to forget that this was how the Captain saw him now, practically cadaverous and lined… and yet the way he was rendered, eyes cast downwards and brow creased, worrying something over, in one, in profile, his face placid and blank, though his eyes shone fiercely… a sketch of how he sat, the way his body curled in on itself when he was situated before the glass for their talks.

He was drawn the same way as any other subject in the book before this, nothing to differentiate him from any of the Captain’s _friends_ , from the people he cared for. Loki’s heart skipped, and he pushed down the bubble that grew in his stomach.

“Oh, Captain.” He breathed, tracing the air over the slant of his nose on the picture of him looking away.

“Your art is beautiful, but the subject… surely you could have found something better suited to be preserved by your talents.” He smiled sadly, reminded as he had been how he looked, here. That he was not just plain, as usual, but had gone through pains to transform himself into something ignoble and shabby. Something to be pitied.

No wonder, again, that his advances had been so squarely turned down. Who would be attracted to this?

He suddenly wished he were free to change his face as he wished, to become someone more pleasing to the eye, if only for a while. So that when the Captain felt as poorly as he did, at least he wasn’t being comforted by some sort of hagspawn. Perhaps a woman… not precisely Peggy, but someone… someone the Captain might be more inclined to love.

He shook his head at the stupidity of such thoughts.

“I am flattered, Rogers. Truly.” He said, and he was… though dismayed as well. He would not voice that. The Captain had done an admirable job of recreating what he saw. It was not his fault that what he saw was… well. Loki.

And worse, he realized there was a good chance he drew him only because his time outside of this room was more limited, because of the time he had to dedicate to Loki and his well being. Perhaps he had only drawn him for lack of a chance to find a better model.

Suddenly, Loki felt he’d said too much. He looked up at the Captain, trying to tell if his vanity had offended.

 

 

It took Steve a moment to realize why Loki had abruptly stopped speaking, but when he did, he found himself holding his breath.

He’d filled the page with sketches, trying to capture a sense of Loki. The pensive furrow of his brows. The aquiline angles of his face, and the brightness of his eyes, shadowed though they were. Unable to sleep, he’d done his best to recreate Loki from memory in careful pencil strokes.

Now, he wondered if he’d made a grave error in judgment by keeping the drawings and letting Loki see. Would he be offended by the record of him in captivity? Angry at Steve’s presumptuousness? He’d made a point never to share his drawings with his subjects, even when they were alive and well, mostly out of nerves. He bit on his lip and waited for Loki to say something.

Then Loki spoke and with one look at his face Steve’s heart sank.

“I draw the things and people that are important to me,” he murmured, almost a mumble, glancing away from the offending paper. Of course, Loki had been raised too well to say anything cruel, but he hardly seemed happy about the drawings. He immediately began kicking himself.

Too late, he noticed Loki’s fingers tugging at the corner of the page, sliding it upward. His heart leapt. “Wait, you should probably not--”

 

 

The Captain’s words came as the page settled. He’d stared at himself enough, eager to move on to the next great beauty that the artist had seen.

Instead he dropped the book onto the floor before him, not even having the good grace to wince as the binding hit the ground.

His hands were shaking and he stared down at the page, unable to take his eyes off of it, unable to look up and meet the Captain’s.

“You--” Loki tried to swallow, but found it difficult. This page held him as well, staring up at the true Loki, malevolent and intense, his face even more misshapen than the glamour he wore, the Captain’s drawing the first time he had ever seen himself-- _really_ seen himself, as he truly was.

He’d known he was repulsive, disgusting and vile and malformed, but this.

It was still him, still recognizably so, and it seemed the Aesir form had not been so much Odin’s fault after all. He had just painted over the horror that lay beneath. But it was Rogers-- Rogers, who he’d begun to think of as a friend, Rogers whom he’d trusted, Rogers upon whom he’d cast childish aspirations of romance-- it was Rogers who put it in his face, forced him to see.

He felt shaky and ill, the portraits of him as he was supposed to be one thing, and this quite another.

“Oh, Captain,” He said again, this time his tone biting and hurtful, as well as hurt. “I have to say, I am amazed. I hadn’t imagined you capable of such cruelty.”

He left the book where it lay between them, the pages standing open like an accusation.

His mind was racing, trying to find ways of healing this hurt already, the same way his magic would seek out the edges of a wound and work inwards to repair it.

“You said,” he spoke slowly, “That you draw things important to you. Things you need to remember.” He scoffed, pointing down at the image of the beast inside of him.

“I should apologize, I’m sure. But it seems to me you need no help _remembering_. I daresay the image of the monster I am is engraved in your eyes, burned into your nightmares.”

He took a deep breath, the harsh edge falling off of his voice while he told himself not to cry. He wouldn’t cry. Not for this.

“Why?” He asked, instead. “Why would you-- why would you _want_ to…?” Loki, known for his words, found his supply depleted. All he could do was look up into that beautiful, kind face and wonder what he had missed, what he hadn’t seen.

 

 

The slam of the book against the ground made Steve jolt, standing up with his breath catching in his chest. He hadn’t thought-- he hadn’t planned--

It had been years since he used watercolors. Perhaps that was why. He’d done the underdrawing in pencil but he couldn’t get it quite right, quite capture the alien beauty of Loki’s other form. So he’d mixed a cerulean wash to gently lay in the color of Loki’s skin, lifting the pigment with the edge of a dry brush in careful dabs to lighten the lines that tracked down his face. Cerulean and crimson, spilling only slightly from their borders, with black ink wash a perfect match for Loki’s hair.

Only not perfect, clearly. He’d got it wrong. He’d got something horribly wrong, though he wasn’t sure what--

It had been the first drawing since Peggy looking right up at the viewer.

He took a step back at the accusation. “I-- what?” Was it because it was badly done? No, no worse or better than the others, though perhaps a bit sloppy in his technique, gone unpracticed for seventy-odd years. His brow furrowed in confusion as Loki continued.

Realization trickled down his spine like ice water. He had remembered Loki’s face. Had done his best in those moments of transformation to remember every line, to preserve them as perfectly as he could, capturing that enthralling geometry. But Loki had hated it. Loki thought--

“Because you’re beautiful!” he blurted.

And froze, all color abruptly leaching from his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I...” He took a step back, horror now icy in his stomach. Without another word he snatched his bag up from the floor -- forgetting the pastries, forgetting the sketchbooks -- and all but ran for the door.  
The icy pit remained in his stomach even after it hissed shut behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing art you see is by Lena, and can also be found on her tumblr blog, at <http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/post/100955157314/jotunn-loki-illustration-of-steves-watercolor>


	7. Seven

 

His fingers found the leather of the book that night, where it hid under his pillow. 

He curled in the darkness, his face towards the wall, trying to sort through what he felt. It had hurt, almost more than the picture, when Rogers had run from him. 

He had taken what little privacy he could manage, turning his back to the door, getting his face out of the view of the cameras, before burying it in his hands. 

Beautiful. That. That _thing_ , beautiful. He would have called it a trick if not for the way Rogers had reacted, the way he’d had the blood flow out of his face, the way he’d fled. The dawning look of horror that had come over him even before then. 

Was it some sort of… perversion? Was it a Midgardian flaw-- when the Jotun had been here in the past, had they tortured the humans into being attracted to such creatures? But why, what purpose would that serve? He remembered Rogers’ hand, hovering a breath away from touching what he had become, strapped to that chair. He had _wanted_ to touch him, unaware of the damage it would cause. _Wanted_ to draw him, unaware of the damage there, too. 

He didn’t know what to do, how to fix this. There was no doubt he had hurt Rogers’s feelings, offended him at the very least and insulted him terribly, more likely. But he could not simply ask forgiveness and let it be glossed over. He had been hurt too, hurt in the same way the few Aesir he had partnered with over the centuries had hurt him, telling him how _exotic_ his looks and coloration were, telling him how striking he was, how he stood out… they meant it as compliments, much the way he assumed the painting was meant to be. But even in the medium, it felt like an insult. Every other subject of his was rendered in shades of grey, from the darkly complexioned one of his war companions to the lady he had loved and the man who was his brother. 

But no, for Loki… his hand clenched around the book. 

The lights came up, not the slow rise he was used to, and he was certain it was far too early to be their time, yet when the door whisked open, it was hardly a surprise. 

What was a surprise, however, was that it was not Rogers but Fury who came striding in. He was alone, as near as Loki could tell, and he half expected to be informed that he was about to be murdered, however they had discovered they could. Or that he would be punished for having so upset their Captain. 

He shuddered, standing to face whatever this was as calmly and proudly as possible. 

“Director.” He greeted. 

“Sit down.” Fury came the last few feet, pointing at the cot as he did. He cast a quick glance at the chair beside him, Steve’s chair, the comfortable and heavy one that Loki had made for him. 

Loki sat, obeying the tone of voice more than the command. 

“I have a problem.” Fury told him, and Loki did not ask, merely cocked an eyebrow, his heart hammering and his face the picture of barely concealed disdain and insolence. 

“Now, your sceptre chamber is done, it’s ready, but I have a few questions for you, starting with, _did you do anything to the cameras in this room?_ ” 

Loki blinked, his head tilting sideways before he could stop it. 

“Beg pardon?” He asked politely, the truest expression of confusion he had. 

“Something happened in here yesterday, and all I have on the tapes is about three hours of static. Now, those cameras are digital, and none of the others on our system experienced any problems, so you tell me: how did that happen?” 

“I do not know anything about your technology, Director. And if I were capable of stopping you watching, don’t you suppose I would have done so one of the other numerous occasions I made myself seem vulnerable, while I have been here?” He pointed out cooly and logically. Then he changed tacks, quickly enough that he hoped it would be disorienting. “No, I’m sorry, but if your security is for some reason compromised, it is your own fault. Not mine.” 

Fury glared at him, but Loki would not be cowed. Unlike some, he was well used to ire being directed at him from only one eye. 

“How about Earth, then. What do you know-- are we in imminent danger? From other-- whatever, gods, planets, is there anyone up there right now thinking that we look like a comfy place to put their feet up?” 

At first Loki was terrified, afraid that somehow Fury knew, that he could tell that Thanos had some pull over him yet. But no, it was a general question. 

“Hmm.” Loki hummed, building his theatrics and remembering that he did have to cooperate, for the sake of being allowed access to the sceptre, now that the day was finally here and it was so close. “Well it is difficult to say. I haven’t exactly stayed in touch. Most realms want me dead, you see.” He gave him a sharp smile, toothy and wicked. “But you have been known to the majority of realms for ages now, and if you have experienced no harm yet, I should imagine you may expect more of the same.” 

The rest of the questions that followed were in a similar vein, questions of how one would go about forming a formal alliance, what weaponry other realms had at their disposal. Finally Loki had had enough. 

“I’d be happy to write you a book on the subject, Director.” He said, playing exhausted as best as he could. “But as you can see, the longer I spend away from the sceptre, the more I break down. I’m afraid you’ve found the limits of my energy just now.” He tried to sound apologetic, but he was sure the look on his face ruined that. “And as my sleep was so rudely cut short…” 

“Go the fuck to sleep. We’ll deal with the rest of this when Rogers gets in. But don’t get me wrong, my eye is gonna be on you.” 

“I should expect no less. Director.” He nodded and watched the man leave before laying himself out on his cot. 

He wondered what had happened to those cameras, and more importantly, what that visit meant. 

He would get to the sceptre that day. This would be his last day here, his last day with Rogers. 

He considered tearing the images of his Aesir form from the book, taking them with him. But he couldn’t-- not with things as they were now. The word beautiful bounced around his skull, and he lay there, finally actually managing to sleep. 

  
  


  
  


“You look like hell.” 

“Mmm.” Steve barely managed to acknowledge the assessment. Hill raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t comment further. 

He had only slept for an hour, tossing and turning and going back over everything in his mind. He’d felt emotionally and physically exhausted, but every distant horn on the street made him startle and every creaking floorboard set his mind racing. He couldn’t get comfortable, the temperature too warm with the blanket over him and too cold without, and eventually grew so peeved with the stitches in his leg that he’d ripped them out by hand in the bathtub of his apartment, watching tiny crimson dots well up in their place before wiping it clean and putting on a fresh bandage. 

He’d eventually curled up on the couch, staring out the window and the gradually-lightening sky. 

He felt like hell. 

“So, big day today,” Hill tried again, eying him dubiously. 

“I know.” He wore his uniform -- the navy blue SHIELD-issue one, not the one with the stripes -- in contrast to his usual civilian wear, in honor of the occasion, knowing he’d be under scrutiny along with Loki. 

Loki. Steve wanted to groan. He’d screwed up. He was still unclear on exactly what he’d managed and how -- so much had happened, so much said, and his mind had been in a whirl, drunk on grief and camaraderie and... and... 

He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d forgot to bring any food today. 

_Idiot._

“You gonna escort him up?” 

Steve straightened his back. “I think it might be best if I went over the layout of the containment chamber one more time.” He wasn’t sure he could afford to look Loki in the eye after everything. Wasn’t sure he could do it again. And right now, he could probably only make things worse; he was the last thing Loki needed now, on the brink of an agreement that could give him his second chance. 

Steve doubted he’d be getting a second chance of his own. Though at this point it was probably a third or fourth. 

“Huh,” Hill said, a hint of disbelief in her voice, but to Steve’s gratitude she didn’t push. “Whatever. You have 00:20 until they bring him in, so you may want to head down soon.” 

“Thanks,” he said, nodding and heading for the elevator banks. 

“Oh, Rogers?” 

He looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?” 

Hill narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you notice anything weird with the cameras yesterday?” 

Steve frowned. “No. Why?” 

A pause hung in the air. “No reason.” 

He inclined his head uncertainly, not sure what to make of the exchange, then continued on his way. 

Fury was waiting in the chamber, along with several guards on each side of the door, and in each of the corners. The scepter, still gleaming as wickedly as the day Steve had first laid eyes on it, rested within several inches of reinforced cold-proof barrier glass. No security measure had been spared, and Steve felt vaguely nauseous. He told himself it was because he missed breakfast. 

Fury raised an eyebrow. “I almost thought you weren’t going to show.” 

“I had a rough morning,” Steve said flatly, taking up position. 

“Hm.” Fury checked the starkphone at his hip when it buzzed, and nodded as he keyed in a response. “Agents have got the prisoner en route.” 

Steve tensed up. He could imagine Loki, chin up, proud, but breathing rapidly, pulse fluttering in the long column of his throat as he was ordered, chained, restrained and marched out of his cell at gunpoint without Steve present to protect and reassure. 

Not that he probably wanted to lay eyes on Steve anyhow anymore. 

Inside the chamber, he could swear the scepter _ glimmered._ Behind him, the door hissed, and Steve felt every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Slowly, he turned. 

  
  


  
  


The first thing he saw, walking into the room, should have been the sceptre. It was clearly the centerpiece, dramatically lit and so reinforced and well guarded to have been comical, if Loki wasn’t a tiny bit concerned about how he would get out of the room with it. But these were all background details, barely footnotes as his eyes fell on Rog--on _Captain America_ , because he was clearly in costume, clearly at attention and on his toes. 

He looked… he looked the way Loki felt, really. Nervous and hurting and trying to hide it. 

Perhaps it was for the best that they would not be able to talk now. And then he would leave, and they would never be able to talk again. He felt his eyes grow warm with the threat of tears, but he knew he couldn’t afford them. He lifted his chin, gave the Captain one of his fake self assured little grins, and let the men and women around him prod him into the tiny holding cell, the one which held nothing, but whose front wall was against the sceptre’s container, and a space, just large enough for his hands to fit, lie between them. 

His hands, but not the shackles he had been delivered in. This was a problem. 

He looked past his guards to make a quizzical face and raise the cuffs inquiringly in the direction of The Captain and The Director. 

Fury just pointed at the chamber whose mouth he stood at, and Loki, perplexed, stepped further inside. 

As expected, he did not enter alone, two men following and, once the chamber’s door sealed behind them, they turned their backs to it and their guns to him. 

“Alright, cut him loose.” Fury’s order was audible, though Loki doubted it would have been without the gap cut into the wall. 

He turned to hold his wrists up for the men beside him to access, but before he’d even raised them upwards, the shackles split themselves in two and dropped into the waiting hands of one of the soldiers. 

Loki felt off kilter, not knowing what to expect. He missed the Captain, who explained everything before it began, told him what was coming and talked him out of his fear and nerves. But even if everything was well between them, Loki knew that would not be the case, here. He sent one last look towards Rogers, one lingering, regretful look, and then he shuffled forward, put his hands through, and grasped the scepter. 

Light exploded, but Loki couldn’t tell if it was in the room, or only behind his eyelids. 

  
  


  
  


Steve’s jaw clenched as Loki offered him a small, wry grin before he was ushered forward into the container. Steve stood at attention, wordless, watching the proceeds as Loki was manhandled, refusing to wince or show anything less than complete professionalism. 

He felt brittle. Wound so tight he might shatter. 

But so far, things appeared to be going well. Whatever discussion Fury had with Loki had apparently yielded answers worthy of this event. Loki would be allowed contact with the scepter, and hopefully, would have what he needed to heal. 

Steve concentrated on the little details. The positions of the guards. The soft hum of the ventilation. The pace of his own breathing. 

Then Loki’s shackles fell away, and the moment of truth arrived. Steve’s nails dug into the calloused palms of his hands, and then Loki turned and looked right at him. 

For the briefest moment, he looked so very sad. 

Then Loki reached forward, took hold of the scepter, and went rigid, as if shocked. His eyes closed and his entire figure went tense, then began to tremble ever so slightly. The drawn lines in his face eased and the hollows in his cheeks filled out to a less starved level of definition. The bruises underscoring his eyes bled away, and for a moment, Steve felt profound relief. It was working. Loki was getting what he needed. 

But in the place of the haggardness came a slew of subtle expressions -- expressions Steve had grown intimately familiar in the last several days with Loki. There was surprise, alarm, confusion, fear... 

Pain. 

Steve’s stomach dropped. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured. 

Fury looked over at him, then barked the order. “The prisoner will step away from the artifact!” The words weren’t out of his mouth yet before Steve was halfway across the distance to the containment cell. 

  
  


  
  


He hadn’t expected this. He had meant to take hold, to feel the power linking with his own, and then to turn and wield the combined forces of his seidhr and the sceptre to break free. Instead he felt that pulling feeling, the way he had before, when he had gone to Thanos with his mind to give his reports. It was a latching feeling, a tug at the back of his eyes, and then he was there, standing on the floating remains of… something, the great throne above him, the Other moving in silent taunting circles around him. 

“You have something for me.” Thanos said, without preamble. Loki swallowed the bile. “I have the gauntlet.” He said. “I am currently in possession of the sceptre, though not for long. There are-- complications.” 

“That doesn’t matter. Give me the gauntlet. The rest can wait, the pieces are not yet in place. Lucky for you, you aren’t the only one who has failed me.” 

“I can’t give it to you, I’m… not truly here?” Loki felt the self preservation instincts telling him to be silent, to just do what Thanos said. But he couldn’t; it was impossible. 

Thanos flicked his eyes to the figures beside him in the shadows, two women surging forward. 

They each gripped one of Loki’s arms and he winced, a whimpered “No!” breaking free of his mouth as he was dragged up the steps, and Thanos descended to meet him. 

His great purple hand came down and reached the side of Loki’s head, and then there was pain, exactly as he had promised, pain like he never had known, and it felt like something in him was being ripped-- a ragged wound torn in the seidhr that encompassed him. 

He screamed, and saw, blurrily and dimly, as Thanos drew his hand away, bearing the gauntlet with it. 

_Good._ he thought distantly. _He got what he wanted._

“Stay with my sceptre. When I need it, I will let you know.” Thanos said, the words sounding more like a threat than anything else. 

The women let him go, and he fell to his knees, the impact sending him careening back to Midgard, back into his body. 

He registered the motion around him, saw Rogers come running, and without thinking, his response was to release the sceptre and put his hands in the air. 

He did so… and then his knees gave out. 

  
  


  
  


Loki’s mouth had fallen open in a silent scream; Steve’s insides turned to ice. Somehow, the scepter or the safeguards or _something_ was hurting him. 

Loki was in danger, and Steve was just watching it happen. 

“Open the compartment!” he shouted as he ran up the steps. The guards locked in with Loki exchanged unsure expressions. Steve looked desperately back over his shoulder at Fury, then at the nearest guard to what appeared to be the computer terminal controlling the mechanism. “NOW!” 

“Let him in,” Fury said, grudgingly, and a moment later the cell came unsealed. Steve pushed his way in just as Loki let go, tearing himself away from the scepter and raising his hands feebly as he collapsed. 

Steve lunged forward and caught him just before he hit the ground, lowering him slowly so he didn’t clock his head on the glass. “Loki?” he called. “Loki!” His voice climbed in pitch, and he didn’t care. _Be okay, please be okay..._ He reached up to place a hand against the side of Loki’s face, tapping his cheek. “Loki, are you with me?” 

  
  


  
  


Loki jerked under the contact, his eyes open and unblinking until the taps on his face, his name, called him back to himself. 

Before his mind caught up, before he could express what had happened, he opened his mouth and let out a dry sob, his hands reaching up to grab at Rogers, pulling himself in closer, burying his face as best as he could in whatever part of the man was closest. He didn’t care. 

He was alive, that much was for sure, as his mind struggled to make sense of it all. He ached. All of him ached. And there was a ragged spot inside of him, his magic… but more, the small dimension wherein he had stored some tools of survival, his knives, the secret things he never wanted to have stripped from him… that was what Thanos had reached into, where he had pulled the gauntlet from. And it couldn’t possibly be, but it felt like it was _bleeding_. 

“I’m fine. Fine, I’m fine.” He was babbling, suddenly, unaware of his decision to speak and unable to stop the words, the lies, from tumbling out. 

He clung to the Captain like a man drowning and tried to convince himself of it as well. 

He was fine. He wasn’t dead. He’d figure out what the problem was, he could heal it. He had to stay here, had to keep this all up. Thanos would tell him-- he had to wait for Thanos. 

And finally, a quiet smug thought snuck into his mind, something wholly separate from the terror that had infused all of the rest of him. 

The Captain, who wouldn’t even acknowledge recognizing him when he’d come in, was holding him. Finally, he was holding Rogers. That, at least, out of everything else that felt wrong in the world, felt completely right. 

It would have to end, of course, probably should have already. And he realized it was him holding on, Rogers… Rogers couldn’t pull away. No doubt the men with guns would pry him away before much longer, but for a moment, for just a moment more… Loki closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, memorizing this. 

“I’m fine.” He repeated, and the hysteria had abandoned him. He almost believed it. 

  
  


  
  


The sob that tore its way from Loki’s throat prompted a sympathetic knot in Steve’s chest -- a chest which suddenly had a desperate god burrowing into it, clinging to fistfuls of his uniform. A surge of protective instinct coursed through him. Without thinking, Steve reached out and wrapped his arms around Loki in turn. And dammit, he was _shaking_. Steve’s face contorted in anger and worry, and it took him a moment to recognize that his armload of quaking god was murmuring something into the fabric of his clothing; it took a moment longer for him to recognize the words that formed the litany. 

“Like hell you are,” he replied, though at least Loki was conscious and speaking. 

It was small comfort though, given everything else he’d been reduced to. 

“Sir?” The nearest guard had his weapon raised, but his expression was utterly bemused. Steve ground his teeth and looked around; every agent in the chamber was fixated, expressions ranging from perplexed to outright hostile. Fury looked particularly nonplussed, and not too pleased to boot. 

He looked back down at Loki, and set his jaw. “I’m taking him to Medical.”

Fury snorted. “Like hell you are. He doesn’t have any kind of clearance for those levels, and we don’t have the security protocols in place for a class ten threat.”

Steve lifted his head, looked Fury in the eye, and scowled deeply. When he spoke, he infused his voice with every ounce of steel he had: “ _I’m taking him. To. Medical.”_ His grip on Loki tightened, daring anyone to challenge him. 

He sure as hell wasn’t throwing him back in a cage like this. 

Fury’s mouth twisted in displeasure, but Steve could see from the way his one eye flicked about that he was contemplating all his options. Finally, he made a small noise of frustrated disgust. “Agents Ramirez, Smith, Scofield; escort Captain Rogers and the prisoner to Medical Bay C. Agent Ho, kindly inform Dr. Varma of the situation. Set a full security detail on standby. Authorize clearance code nine on the entire ward.” 

Steve felt some of the tension bleed from his shoulders, but Fury wasn’t done. 

“Everything that happens from here on out is your personal responsibility, Captain,” he stated. 

“Yes sir,” Steve replied, not expecting any less. He already felt responsible enough that it was making his insides writhe. He then lowered his voice so only Loki could hear: 

“Can you stand?” 

  
  


  
  


He turned his face, turned his eyes upwards, and though he knew he must look better, knew that there was no mask over his most basic one, he felt awful. 

“You can’t leave me with them.” he swallowed, unable to even hear his own voice through the sound of his heart thundering in his ears. 

He understood what was going on, understood what was happening. And he understood, too, that with Rogers challenging Fury’s authority, he couldn’t ask him not to go to their healers. Because if Rogers acquiesced to Loki and not to his own Director, it would not go well for either of them. 

“Help me to me feet. I will not let you carry me.” It was bad enough there were so many people to have seen him bawling and acting like a small child. He needed to preserve some of his dignity at least, regardless of how much it pained him to do so. 

He was sore, but whole, it seemed, in body at least. He knew that the doctors would find nothing wrong with his physical form. He doubted they had the instruments needed to diagnose what was wrong inside of him. 

He let his forehead fall back against the Captain’s breast and huffed out a sigh. 

“They know from the cameras what sort of monster I am. They will want to learn more about it. You mustn’t let them try to get me back to being a Jotun. It-- I-- no more deaths.” The words were heavy, his eyelids and limbs heavier. 

“Help me up now.” He was so tired, but his mind was working just fine. This was a strange in between state that he found disconcerting, uncomfortable. 

And he registered how odd it was that the man who, a few short hours prior, had been the primary source of pain in his life, was suddenly-- and even then, had still been-- the greatest source of comfort in it.

He struggled to his feet and stood, swaying, in the small room. He did not want to raise his head, did not want to turn his face towards Fury, but he knew he must. For appearances’ sake, and to keep his access to the sceptre open, he did it. 

“Thank you, Director.” He raised his voice as much as his sore throat would allow, and hoped that the silence that pressed in on his ears was truly there, so that his words would carry. He did not manage to see if it did or not, though, his neck muscles just as worn as the rest of him, and his head more than happy to droop, his back bowing as he continued to cling onto the Captain, his safety. 

  
  


  
  


“I won’t,” Steve promised. “I won’t let you out of my sight.” He cringed, realizing he hadn’t even _thought_ of SHIELD doctors leaping at the chance to poke and prod Loki to further their own knowledge of alien biology. He’d been so concerned about the effect of the spear, he’d been caught up in a kind of tunnel vision; even Loki, distressed as he was, had thought of the risks. 

But he wouldn’t be leaving him alone for a second; there’d be no more tests than strictly needed to make sure Loki was okay; no messing with his other form, or even mentioning it if Steve had anything to say about it. 

Loki just had to be okay. 

It didn’t take too much effort to haul Loki up to his feet; he could probably flat-out carry Loki up to the Medical Bay, but he wouldn’t wound the remnants of his pride that way. He was a smidge taller than Steve, but narrower, and his height made it easier to sling one of his arms up around Steve’s shoulders, held in place with Steve’s right hand while his left wrapped around Loki’s side. He’d carried Bucky out of Hydra’s base in a similar position; the thought made him hold to Loki all the more firmly. “Just lean your weight on me,” he instructed beneath his breath. The agents Fury called out fell into formation around them, and the doors opened ahead of them. Steve gave Fury a stiff nod to accompany Loki’s thanks as they walked past (or, in Loki’s case, staggered), and then they were out in the corridor, heaving for the elevators, and onward toward Medical. 

The infirmary floors were thankfully located in a similar wing of the Triskelion, albeit a good forty floors higher up. It meant that while the tension in the lengthy elevator ride could be cut with a knife, he didn’t have far to make Loki walk once they were out and moving once more. The amount of security they crossed through blurred together, and orderlies in crisp scrubs ushered them down side halls and through curtained rooms, undoubtedly away from any other patients presently in recovery. It wasn’t long before a small, dark-haired woman in a white lab coat appeared before them with a clipboard and a neutral expression. 

“What’ve we got?” 

Her nametag, Steve noted, read _Dr. Varma_. The physician Fury had assigned, then. “He touched an artifact, went rigid, and then collapsed,” he summarized. “Can we get him in a bed, please?” Loki was making a good show of keeping upright, but Steve could feel the small tremors in his frame. 

  
  


  
  


Once safely collapsed onto a cot not altogether different than the one he’d been sleeping on in his own quarters, Loki propped himself on his elbows to address the woman. 

“Healer, you will find me tired, muscularly sore, but for the most part, intact.” He didn’t have the energy to argue, and so his tone allowed no room for it. “I realize my body is foreign to you- you will be forced, therefore, to believe me when I say that my um, _addiction_ is the cause of this. My body has expended a good deal of energy restoring itself. I will sleep, and feast if I am allowed, and I will be as healthy as I may be. For a time.” He did not look at the Captain as he spoke, for if he did not speak to him, he was not lying _to him_. 

He was not entirely sure what the man had seen, what any of them had seen, and so he did not know whether or not there would be more questions to answer later. He didn’t know how he would answer them, either. But he’d cross that bridge when he reached it. 

“You’re familiar with the artifact, then?” The healer asked, and Loki closed his eyes and nodded, speaking with his eyes shut and trusting Rogers to keep him safe while he did so. He pulled his arms out from behind himself. 

“It’s done what it was supposed to.” he murmured. That much was true, though he hadn’t been aware it was supposed to bring him to see his Master. He had not been prepared. Next time… next time he would be. 

And there would be a next time, he held no illusions about that. 

He could feel himself drifting off, and he worried that something would happen. If a call came in, if Fury ordered it so-- the Captain wouldn’t leave him, would he? His eyes cracked open again, blurry from his squint, and he ignored whatever it was the woman was saying. He turned his face, instead, towards the Captain, and held his hand out, wordlessly asking for the Captain’s hand in return. 

_Artists’ hands,_ he thought to himself _but rough, too… like a warrior and a smith. Hands that see use._ Not like his hands. 

The Captain had held his hand while he half carried him into the halls, into the elevators. 

“Kind hands.” He muttered, not entirely certain whether the voice was in his head now, or if he spoke aloud. “Such beautiful hands.” The white roaring of the blood pushing through his veins came upon him like a wave, tugging him under. He felt something touch his hand, and a tiny smile pulled at the corners of his mouth while he slumped back against the pillows, and rested. 

  
  


  
  


Steve saw Dr. Varma’s eyes widen incrementally at Loki’s use of the word ‘addiction’, and wondered how the hell he was going to explain the concept of magical dependency when he didn’t understand the first thing about it himself. Loki looked like he was about to pass out, so Steve doubted he’d be much help in elaborating. 

Fortunately, the good doctor seemed willing to skim over that bit, for the time being. “While I respect that you know a lot more about your own anatomical processes than we do at the moment, the fact that you collapsed is generally considered cause for medical concern,” she remarked, then frowned slightly as Loki closed his eyes, turning her attention toward Steve. “When was the last time he ate or drank anything?”

Steve winced. He hadn’t been in that morning to see if Loki had nibbled at anything on the breakfast tray, but he could guess. “He had a croissant and some juice around lunch yesterday, as far as I know,” he said, trying not to cringe under the doctor’s judgemental look. He wanted to add more, but when he looked down, Loki’s hand was outstretched --

\-- Reaching for him. A wordless plea. Steve’s eyes flicked from Loki to the doctor and back again. Loki murmured something nearly inaudible, and Steve had to lean in to catch it. 

His mouth went dry. _Beautiful._ The same word that had prompted so much anguish before. Steve flinched, but looking down at Loki’s weakly proffered fingers, he couldn’t draw away. Sliding down into the chair next to the cot, he reached out and slipped his own hand into Loki’s, weaving their fingers together and giving a soft squeeze. 

“Hm,” Dr. Varma hummed, her face inscrutable. 

The hint of a smile on Loki’s face as he sunk limply back into the pillows was worth it. Steve let the image of that smile -- sleepy and open and vulnerable -- sink into his mind for several seconds, before turning back to the doctor. 

To her credit, she remained all business. “I want to get him on an IV drip to make sure he’s hydrated and increase his blood sugar. Just fortified saline, nothing fancy,” she promised when Steve frowned. “I’ll run a few basic tests just to check his vitals and keep an eye on him. If he’s right and he just needs to sleep it off...” she trailed off, looking at Loki critically, then her gaze snapped up to Steve. “Do you believe him?” 

Steve faltered. His grip on Loki’s hand tightened. “I,” he looked over at Loki. “He swore an oath.”

“Hm.” That noncommittal hum again. “When he’s back on his feet I want to run some more tests--” 

“No,” Steve snapped. “No one is running any experiments on him.” 

Dr. Varma’s expression darkened. “I want to run some more tests,” she repeated, deliberately, “So we can establish a baseline for his biology to compare against if he has any further collapses or deteriorations in his condition.” She looked at Steve disapprovingly. “I swore an oath too, you know. The Hippocratic one. I’m a doctor, he’s a patient, and as far as I care, that’s all I need for me to do my job. Understood, Captain?” 

Steve shrunk back under the reprimand. “Yes, ma’am. Doctor. Sorry,” he apologized. 

Her expression softened slightly. “I’ll have a nurse come by with that IV shortly. Are you sure _you_ don’t require any medical attention yourself?” 

“What? No, no I’m fine. Just tired.” 

“Hm. There’s other beds,” she pointed out. 

Steve looked down at his and Loki’s interlocked fingers, shaking his head. “I’m fine here.”

“Alright then.” And with that, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. 

A nurse came in, as promised, setting up the IV (allowing Steve to examine the bag first), and checking Loki’s pulse rate, blood pressure, and breathing, clipping a pulse-oximeter to his finger near where the IV needle threaded into the back of his hand. All notation went down on a chart clipped to the foot of Loki’s bed, and Steve found it oddly comforting that everything was written by hand. Soon enough, the nurse departed, and then it was just Steve and a sleeping (unconscious?) Loki, his chest rising and falling in a slow and steady rhythm.    
Steve yawned, his own exhaustion beginning to catch up with him. He wasn’t going anywhere. He’d made a promise. He did lean forward though, letting his elbow rest on the bed and his head in his hand as he let his eyes close, just for a moment…

 

 

The lights didn’t slide here, the false dawn didn’t wake him. He actually could not speak as to what did, but when he opened his eyes, his hand was warm, nearly hot-- rolling and turning in surprise, he realized why.

Rogers was holding it. Rogers had stayed. 

He was glad there was no one else around, and no visible cameras. The shock that was so clearly visible on his features for a few breaths while he acclimated to the situation would have been damning, he was sure. 

Rogers slept. 

His head was propped on his arm, his back no doubt prepared to if not already aching from the slumped position he was in, and he held Loki’s hand firmly, but gently, like he thought he might break it. 

Loki could see where the Captain’s eyelashes dusted over his cheek, see the small freckles where they dotted his skin. 

Through it all there was the thrill of understanding that he was here for Loki. Because Loki had asked him to be. 

He was still weary, still felt tired, though less so. It was more of an inconvenience than an overwhelming need for sleep now. All he could do was look down at the tubing in his arm, surprised by its presence. 

But if Rogers had allowed it, and Loki had been able to wake just fine, surely it was alright. He wasn’t wild about the idea of S.H.I.E.L.D. pumping unknown liquids into his body. But he would not fight it for now. 

He lay propped on his pillows, his more unconscious mind worrying at the tears in his seidhr, already trying to begin repairs. It hurt less today, the hollow feeling lessened by the time that had passed. 

Consciously, though, he wondered how much he dared do. He had no idea how long he would be here now, no clue how long he would be asked to keep up his charade, or how long he would be allowed to stay near Rogers. Especially now, especially after… all that he had done. 

He grimaced, imagining Fury’s reaction to his clinging, his closeness. 

It felt good to touch him, though. Loki hadn’t realized how much he wanted to. Even now… 

Loki ran his fingers softly over the Captain’s hair, carding through it as carefully as he could, and then traced the man’s eyebrows, mapping the planes of his face with the pad of his thumb. It was enrapturing, having him here like this. His reach dipped lower, and his finger barely touched the corner of Rogers’s mouth when the Captain stirred, and Loki froze, sure he had overstepped.

  
  


  
  


Steve smiled faintly at the feeling of fingers gently carding through his hair, drifting upward through layers of sleep. His mother had used to run her fingers through his hair, tracing circles on his scalp while she hummed old Irish folk tunes to help him fall asleep.

It felt nice.

For a while he simply drifted, enjoying the sensation of a soft, cool touch running over his brows, his cheek, his lip. He took in a deep breath, a yawn rising in his chest, and the flood of oxygen coaxed his brain toward wakefulness enough for his eyelids, still heavy with sleep, to flutter open.

The touch on his face stopped. Steve blinked and peered up at Loki, his black hair tousled and features gently illuminated by the softer light of the hospital wing. Sleepily, he smiled up at him, and for a moment, everything was just so... nice...

Then Steve remembered.

The smile dropped away and he sat up, blinking away traces of sleep. With his free hand, he pinched away the sand that formed at the corners of his eyes, then attempted to comb his hair back into place, chasing away the ghostly sensation of fingers lightly running through it, which he surely must’ve dreamt. “Hey,” he said, then grimaced and cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?” 

Loki looked far better than he had in the past week, but then, he’d also looked significantly better right before he collapsed in pain, so he knew better than to rely on the evidence of his eyes. Still, he found himself looking Loki over, and bit his lip when his eyes rested on the IV. How long had Loki been awake? (How long had Steve been asleep?) Surely he must have noticed the tube feeding into his flesh, but without any answers-- 

“The intravenous line is just to keep you hydrated,” he blurted. “Just water and some salt and vitamins, nothing else. They let me try it first. The monitors are just to make sure your heart and everything are ok. That’s all.” 

  
  


  
  


Loki’s was honestly surprised how long it took the Captain to come around to his senses. He’d imagined, somehow, that waking with Loki staring at him would be cause for alarm-- he’d steeled himself for the way he’d back away, skittish and scared. But it seemed that was not his default reaction-- _no self preservation skills._

“I’m tired, but well. And I… thank you for telling me, but I trust you. This part of your world is beyond the reach of my understanding.” He cast a quick gaze around. “Our medicines have clearly developed very differently.” He screwed his mouth up at the understatement, then looked back at the man who had slept beside him, out of-- what? Fear? Compassion? A sense of duty? 

“And yourself, Captain? How are you? I can’t imagine this was the most comfortable sleeping arrangement you’ve experienced.” Wryly, he noted that it was likely more comfortable than speaking to Loki had been, at first. But not by much. 

As a nurse came in to check on the machinery, which had begun humming as Loki returned to alertness, he wondered who else had been in and out of this room. 

He imagined Fury looming over his and Rogers’ unconscious forms, and felt… protective, first, then concerned for himself, as well. His brow furrowed. 

“I am… sorry.” He began, choosing his words carefully, “For any trouble my unfortunate collapse has caused you. I suppose Fury is at rope’s end trying to find out what new horrible thing I have done.” The self deprecation hid his worry perfectly. 

_ Hopefully not sold Midgard to the mad titan.  _

He didn’t know, himself. 

He could not help but wonder what Fury would do, if he did tell him. Kill Loki, if he had any intelligence. Send he and the sceptre to the furthest reaches available to them, if his mercy overruled. If Rogers prevailed. 

He could not imagine Rogers letting him go alone, though. It was easy to picture-- sent into exile for the good of their world, and no doubt the idiot would insist on joining him. 

Loki squeezed the Captain’s hand and withdrew, feeling a strange bitter joy in his chest as he broke the contact. He did not comment on it, however. 

Nor did he do the right thing, the thing Rogers would do, which would be to tell him. He was infatuated with a man who was much better than he was. That would only end poorly for them both, he knew.

  
  


  
  


Steve relaxed at Loki’s apparent lack of distress over the IV, feeling the small surge of warmth he experienced every time Loki expressed his trust out loud. He rolled his head to ease a crick out of his neck and grinned. “You kidding? Compared to sleeping in a foxhole, this is practically the Ritz.” It might not have been particularly comfortable, but Steve had slept in far worse places. Being indoors, off the ground, somewhere temperature controlled and anywhere even in the vague vicinity of a bed put his impromptu nap pretty far up from the bottom of the list. 

His posture straightened as the door open, but it was only one of the medical staff, who gave him a curt nod before going about his business, paying little mind to either of them. Steve watched his methodical, competent movements for a few seconds, until Loki spoke.

“Considering you’re the only one who got hurt, Fury doesn’t have much ground to stand on if he wants to complain,” Steve pointed out. Nothing had been destroyed, no one attacked -- all Fury really had valid reason to be angry about was Steve’s own insubordination, which he’d no doubt be paying for later on, but that wasn’t of primary concern. 

Loki’s hand slipped out of his at long last, and his fingers abruptly felt cold in its absence. Steve looked down at him and frowned, pressing his lips together. “Can you tell me what happened? You scared the hell outta me.”

  
  


  
  


Loki winced at being asked directly. He couldn’t-- _wouldn’t_ lie to the Captain. 

“Rogers, you recall my promise to you? That I would not deny you any answers that would not endanger yourself and those around you?” He looked down at the bed he was tucked into. “This is one such thing-- you are safe, now, and will remain so if I have any say in the matter. But following this line of questioning will render you very much not so.” Let him come to his own conclusions about it. Let him think the sceptre needed to discharge or whatever logic dictated made sense to him. 

But Loki would not let Rogers shoulder this burden from him. He’d done too much already. 

Loki looked up, eyes hard and jaw set. 

“You can push me on this matter, and I will not lie to you. But I will not see you come to harm for my sake, either. I am sorry, for scaring you. And I appreciate the worry you displayed, and the care in bringing me here, but you know I am hardier than all that. The internal damage is already on its way to healing, and I will be able to walk back to my cell as soon as your guards arrive. So you see, I’m fine, as I told you yesterday. It will all be fine.” He offered a hopeful smile, begging Rogers to go along with it. Begging him not to press further. 

  
  


  
  


Steve shook his head. He’d been willing up to now not to push; to respect whatever reasons drove Loki to keep his silence on certain topics, and allow the gaps in his story, working around them. Part of him still wanted to back off, to avoid risking the trust between them by pressing Loki on subjects he didn’t want to touch, but he couldn’t just let this go. 

He waited just long enough for the nurse to finish up and depart. “Endangering yourself counts,” he said. “You say you’re hardier than this, and yeah, okay, you are, I probably overreacted,” he conceded, though he balked at the words _internal damage_ because what in the hell had that thing done? “But I think we’re also a lot more capable of dealing with threats than you think. _I’m_ hardier than you think. And if something is... something is threatening you, or endangering you--” a Threat, Loki had referred to it, when describing his reasons for nearly killing himself to escape his cell on Asgard. Something from the parts of Loki’s past he refused to speak of, which caused Steve increasing amounts of alarm, “--Then I need to know enough to help.” 

And he wanted to help. Loki was frightened of something. Something he believed too dangerous to divulge. Something that had driven him from Asgard on a half-baked desperate bid for the scepter. 

Something that could rattle a god.

“You were in pain,” Steve said, quieter this time. “Loki...”

  
  


  
  


Displeasure turned his hopeful smile to a frown, and even the Captain’s unveiled concern, the quiet, private kind, could not sway him from his upset. 

“I will be in a good deal more pain if you are harmed for my past follies.” He said, the words tight and emerging through locked teeth. He sighed in annoyance and pushed his hair back from his face, trying to tame not only the strands, but also his temper. 

“There is nothing you or Midgard’s greatest can do. There is nothing Asgard can do. There is nothing the realms united could do or say to save me, at this point. And if you get in the way of the fate that awaits me, there is nothing any could do to harm me further. Do you understand?” He spoke fiercely, the ferocity behind the words belied by the sentimentality he packed into them. It was revealing, too revealing all around, but he did not want to stop. 

“I have time yet, I know not how long, but let me spend my time as I will. Let me return to your cells, let us continue our talks. Let me pass on my knowledge. The conclusion is foregone, Captain, the only thing I do not know is how soon it will be enacted.” 

It was… freeing, somehow, to speak of it, even in such broad language, even so cryptically and vaguely as this. Acknowledging it felt powerful in its own way, like taking hold of his fear. 

Like telling it that he would not be conquered. 

Even though he would be. Even though all were, eventually. 

Selfishly, he realized he was glad that it would be him to go first, and he wondered if the Captain would remember him in sketches, and whether those would be in shades of grey or tinged with blue. Even the thought made him flinch.

  
  


  
  


Steve felt an awful rush of cold as Loki spoke. Any thrill he might have felt at the obvious display of loyalty and care was obliterated by the growing horror at what Loki was saying; what he was resigning himself to.

Steve shook his head. “No. I don’t believe that. I’m not--” he stopped to suck in a breath. He didn’t know what kind of fate Loki meant, but it sounded like the permanent kind, and he wasn’t having any of that. Wasn’t losing anyone else. Not after his parents and Erskine and Bucky and everyone he’d ever known and cared about. He wasn’t going to give up this easy. “If you’ve got time, then that’s time to figure out a solution. There’s gotta be a way to fix this.” Was it the scepter? Was Loki’s addiction killing him? There had to be some way of weaning him off of it, surely, some sort of rehabilitation to break him from it without killing him. Or was there something else? Something that lived in the omissions between Loki’s attempted suicide and the time of the invasion? 

It struck Steve that when he’d asked Loki if anyone was pursuing him, Loki had only answered about Asgard.

“Whatever’s going on with you, please,” he plead, reaching out and putting a hand on Loki’s wrist, gripping it firmly, looking Loki in the eyes. “Let me help.” 

  
  


  
  


He looked down at the hand on his arm, face threatening to crumple beneath the resolve he had built.

He shook his head and kept his face down, hoping Rogers would not see the tears that welled. 

He had not cried so much in years as he had since coming here. 

“Sweet Captain, you cannot help. Haven’t you heard me? Do I speak in vain? There is nothing anyone can do. Not Odin with all of his power, nor S.H.I.E.L.D., nor Laufey if he lived. I do not know of any who could change the path I am on now. And if I am careful, I believe I can avoid taking any one else down with me.” He bit his lip nearly hard enough to break the skin and looked up, forcing his face to harden again. 

“I won’t speak of this any more with you. I won’t lie; I never promised to talk.” He threw his chin up, openly challenging the man, even as he turned his hand and clasped Rogers’s wrist, in return. 

“All you can do for me is keep me close enough to the sceptre that when I feel its pull, I can…” He trailed off and shrugged, skirting close enough to a lie and then stopping. he was being so very careful with all of this. 

At least if he was to die, this one man would think him honorable, afterwords. 

  
  


  
  


Steve continued to shake his head. “We have to get you away from that thing. There’s got to be some substitute, something we can do to help you not be dependent on it. You didn’t need it before, right?” Thor had seemed as mystified by the weapon as the rest of them, and he’d grown up with Loki. He felt a pang of guilt, recognizing how instrumental he’d been in getting Loki in that chamber. He’d lobbied so hard for Loki to be granted access to the scepter; what if it was going to kill him instead of save him? 

“If that’s what’s causing all of this, we can--” 

He broke off as the door opened, jerking back, his grip on Loki’s arm releasing. Dr. Varma walked in, glancing up from the chart in her hands, oblivious to what she’d interrupted. 

“Oh good, you’re both awake,” she remarked, then turned her attention to Loki. “So, the good news is nothing looks wrong with your vitals, from what we can tell. They appear to be stable. Your blood pressure is a little on the low side, though, so make sure you drink more fluids. I’m making a recommendation for a vitamin supplement to be added to your nutritional regimen.” She flipped a page in the chart, then put it down and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her labcoat. “You’re cleared for release, but if you experience any further irregularities, have someone contact me immediately and we’ll run a full diagnostic. Okay?” 

In the doorway behind her, Steve could see the guards falling into formation, ready to take Loki back to his cell. 

  
  


  
  


Loki shot Rogers a smirk that read entirely as an ‘I told you so’, and began to stand, before remembering his IV and held the hand out imperiously towards the healer. 

“If you would be so kind?” He asked, voice dripping with disdain over having had to ask. 

He saw the look she shot him and merely raised his brows at her, before letting her see to her work, while he turned back to the Captain. 

“When we return to the cell, you-- or one of the guards, if you would prefer-- will find your book of drawings under the pillow on the bed. I thought it might need to be removed, as I am not supposed to have flammable items within my grasp.” Not a threat, and it didn’t sound like one. 

If he’d intended to destroy the pictures of himself, he could have. In truth, he had considered it. But that would be disrespectful, perhaps as cruel as the act of making them in the first place, and so he had hesitated. 

He would return them, and try to put it from his mind. He knew, though, that it was unlikely the Captain would return with future drawings, so whether or not Rogers was able to put away his preoccupation with the warped skin Loki wore beneath his own, he would never know. 

Perhaps for the best, he thought. 

Freed, at last, from the wires and cords that had held him to the bed, Loki rose, taking extra care to make the movements graceful and lithe nearly to the point of being sensuous. He wanted to look as though the sceptre had restored life to him, not done any real damage. 

He knew he would have a difficult time of convincing Rogers to let him see it again, hold it again, but with any luck, he would be capable.

His silver tongue had to be good for something, after all, and since Rogers didn’t seem altogether interested in his putting it to his preferred use… well. 

Loki would have to be creative.

  
  


  
  


Steve glanced away at the mention of the sketchbook. He’d forgotten all about it, but the reminder now, of how Loki reacted, of what he’d said, flooded all back to mind.

And yet...

And yet Loki had reached for him. Loki hadn’t recoiled, but had clung to him, gripping his hand and not letting go. He hadn’t seemed disgusted or infuriated or alienated by Steve’s proclamation. Had he simply ignored it? Or perhaps he hadn’t understood how Steve had meant it, that such words weren’t right in that context. That was likely it; a cultural barrier. Perhaps it was more normal in Asgard for men to call one another beautiful without it meaning... that. He’d had more than enough misunderstandings with Thor in his short time here, it was frankly a miracle Loki understood the nuance of human language as well as he did.

And yet...

_He is beautiful. Was he your lover also?_

There had been no mistaking that meaning. Loki had asked it so casually, without judgement, no noticeably different than when he’d asked about Peggy. Was it possible he didn’t care? Was it possible--

No, Steve reminded himself. He wasn’t going down that mental road. He shouldn’t, he couldn’t, he... watched as Loki rose, sinuous in his motions as he stretched and slid of the bed to his feet. If it had been Steve hooked up to the heart monitors, he dreaded to think what they’d show in that moment. He drew a steadying breath and stood, nodding to Dr. Varma instead. “Thank you for your help,” he told her stiffly, then lead Loki into the hall.

He didn’t make eye contact the whole way back to the cell. His hand, however, kept fidgeting, clenching and unclenching, as if seeking the grip of phantom fingers. 

  
  


  
  


He couldn’t tell which he preferred: being shackled and bound and weighed down, but allowed to walk on his own to feet, allowed the freedom to move… or being confined to his cell, free of all of this. 

At least in the cell he was left to himself and his thoughts and his books, for the most part. And when he wasn’t, it was the Captain, bringing him food, sharing words with him. He enjoyed their time more than he had most things, since he’d left Asgard the first time. There was something to be said for chaos and vengeance, but there was something to be said too for quiet companionship. 

Not that it was likely to be particularly quiet now. He had said too much, as was his wont, and demonstrated too many emotions. Rogers was trying to piece together a puzzle that he had no business knowing existed, let alone seeing the greater picture. 

He let the men do as they needed, his hands in the air and his back to the door while they removed his cuffs and left. He ignored the guns trained on him-- they were so common now, they barely felt like a threat. 

He wouldn’t speak in front of them, because the Captain did not. He was not sure if it was Rogers refusing to be too familiar, too informal around his inferiors, or if he labored under the false sense of isolation that the room gave them. Clearly, the cameras were not intrusive, but they remained there just the same. 

Still, Loki remembered with a pang the way Rogers had released him and sprung away when the doctor had come in, the way he did not speak to him around others. 

Could it be this camaraderie was manufactured? Did he behave this way specifically for Loki, with the intent of building in him the feelings he now held? Again, the Captain seemed to lack the necessary artifice. 

Perhaps the key lay in the way he had called Loki’s Jotun form beautiful. Was he ashamed of that? Drawn to it, but afraid that any should know? Loki himself was appalled at the thought. He couldn’t imagine how the Midgardians would feel. How the Captain might be ostracized if his peers were to discover it. 

He could see, in his head, the way that the beast on the page looked at the viewer-- the same way the woman who had been Rogers’ almost-lover had. The way only those two of all the portraits did. 

As the guards filed out and Loki was left alone with the Captain again, he moved to his bed and pulled the book from its hiding place. 

“Do you have time to discuss this?” He asked. “Or do you have more pressing matters to tend to? I can’t imagine the last day has been particularly easy, so I understand if…” Loki shrugged, not completing the sentence, as a way of allowing the Captain to leave if he did not wish to address this. 

But the subject had been broached, and it was as good a way as any to divert the Captain’s mind from the worries of Loki and what he was hiding. 

He would not allow the Captain to involve himself, to get hurt… even if Loki had to hurt himself more in the process. 

He opened the sketchbook to the page with himself on it, the horrific version, twisted and colorful and perverse, and sat it, image facing outwards, in front of the glass. 

Taunting. Challenging. 

He was not returning it without this discussion, that much was certain.

  
  


  
  


Steve had to focus on not grinding his teeth together as Loki was ordered into his cell at gunpoint, yet again. Each time it irked him more. He knew Fury would probably be on higher alert regarding all things concerning Loki after the unexpected episode with the scepter, but none of that had been Loki’s fault, and no one had been injured save for Loki. Since his imprisonment, Loki had been cooperative, polite, and nonviolent. He hadn’t made a single bid for escape, and if the incident with the scepter had been some brilliant ploy (as someone was bound to argue), why not, in the aftermath take advantage of the reduced security of the Medical Bay to make a break for it? Why not slip away when his hands had been unbound and slung over Steve’s shoulders? Why not do anything while Steve had been fast asleep beside him?

It registered, in that moment as the shackles were removed from Loki’s wrists, what he’d just done. He’d fallen asleep, alone, with Loki; he’d allowed himself to be completely vulnerable in the presence of a man who’d once tried to bash in his skull.

And he hadn’t even thought twice about it.

He didn’t consider Loki a danger to him. If anything, he suspected strongly that Loki would come to his defense if he were endangered and Loki were able to act. All this security was pointless and stupid and a waste of everyone’s time, and it grated at him. Maybe... Maybe he could talk to Fury. Reduce _some_ of the restrictions and see Loki offered a few more creature comforts. None of this was necessary. If he could just get someone else to see it, then maybe--

His train of thought derailed; the guards turned to walk back toward the hall, as they always did, but as they passed him one of the men -- Scott? No, Scofield -- looked right at Steve and fixed him with the most dark and withering stare he’d ever witnessed in his life. He almost took a step back, blinking in surprise, but before he could even process the sheer anger and disgust on the agent’s face, the main door had already hissed closed. 

What the hell had _that_ been about?

Loki, of course, gave him no time to recover. He’d already retrieved the sketchbook from his bed and had opened it to the offending drawing, the one that had spawned so much rancor the day before. Steve wanted to groan. He’d hoped they were past... that. With Loki holding his hand and grabbing his shirt he’d thought he’d been forgiven for his artistic misdeed, but it appeared he’d thought wrong. That or Loki was deflecting, or possibly punishing him for pushing the subject of what happened with the scepter earlier when Loki had resisted. 

He recognized the out offered him for what it was, though, and part of him yearned to take it and run. It was bad enough that he’d said what he had yesterday; anyone reviewing those tapes would find his words circumspect if not outright damning. But then adding in his reaction that morning when Loki had collapsed and Steve’s overbearing protectiveness there and in Medical... well, people would start putting two and two together. The thought filled him with dread. People would see him. People would _know_. He’d kept it a secret for so long, but now -- he got a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. He ought to leave. Tell Loki he needed to do... something, anything, just make something up...

“What needs discussing?” he asked instead, voice strained as he mentally cursed himself. 

  
  


  
  


Loki shook his head, refusing to fall for his pretense of ignorance-- the first real pretense that Loki had seen in him. The first one not shaped purely by his mind. 

The Captain had gotten upset-- had tried to stop him finding it, had run away. That said enough, told him he had known he’d done something wrong. 

“Were you-- you aren’t trying to mock me, are you?” he spoke gently, a touch sadly. It was really no more than he would have gotten in Asgard, though he had expected better from him. “You didn’t do this to show others, to… to remind yourself that what lies underneath is…” He rested his fingers along the top of the book, rather than saying the words. He was tired of saying it. 

“I wanted to be sure… and wanted to be sure you know how dangerous it is… If I turn into it again, regardless of reason or… or aesthetic appreciation...” He swallowed, because he could not imagine a world in which anyone, but particularly not someone so beautiful in his own right, would find such a creature appealing. 

And it… it _hurt_ , that the Captain found the monster beautiful. When everything that Loki wanted to be, everything that he usually _was_ , held no interest to him. But he could stomach that, given time to get used to it.

“If for any reason I become that… you should. You should stay away. I might be myself but I have only ever held that form for heartbeats, moments… I do not know how long I might remain myself, how long before the mind of the monster takes over. I do not know what it might do. To you.” He clenched his eyes shut, trying to banish the mental images of himself, when he woke, stroking the Captain’s face. 

If not for this shift in skin, Rogers’s face would be scarred now, darkened and burned from the cold. It was grotesque, and the artwork was… much the same. 

And true, these things had bothered him, but he was dodging the true issue. Which felt like lying-- and might as well be, so he took a deep breath and plunged into it.

“And I suppose more than anything, I don’t understand how someone as beautiful as you, someone with such an eye for beauty as you, could be so…” He didn’t want to use the word perverse, not to Rogers’s face. “It’s disgusting.” He said instead. “Its entire existence is disgusting. And it… upsets me, your attempts at glorifying it.” There, that was the crux of it. That was what he had needed to say. The rest, the hurt, the rejection-- that had nothing to do with Rogers. That was entirely his own fault, for having allowed himself to be an idiot, and to have cast those emotions onto the other man. 

This, though, could be addressed.

  
  


  
  


“What? No!” Steve scrambled at the hurt in Loki’s voice when he asked if he was being mocked, the bottom of his stomach dropping out. For someone who expressed trust in him as often as he did, Loki demonstrated it pretty inconsistently if he thought Steve would hit him where it hurt deliberately like that. It smarted, but the ache also went deeper, driven there by the kicked-dog look on Loki’s face. “I didn’t-- I wouldn’t--” he inhaled, organizing his thoughts enough that his words emerged coherently. 

“Loki, no one has seen that sketchbook but you. No one. And I don’t have plans to show anyone else,” he explained as firmly as he could. The images of Bucky contained in the early pages were still hard enough to look at himself, let alone hand them over to anyone else. That he’d been able to show them to Loki was telling of, well, something. He grimaced. “And I won’t touch you when you’re... well. I wouldn’t touch you when you don’t want me to anyhow, okay?” 

He’d felt the cold radiating off Loki’s skin enough to believe him that it probably would have been painful to touch. But the rest... How could something that resembled Loki so much in all but the most superficial of ways be that different in character, in being? Maybe part of him had hoped on some level, when he’d handed the sketchbook over with its contents, that it would somehow be obvious to Loki. That his ‘monster’ was every bit as stunning as the rest of him. If so, it had backfired rather magnificently, he realized grimly. How did Loki see it so differently?

“It’s not disgusting,” he argued, deciding to skim over the bit where _Loki called him beautiful,_ because he wasn’t sure he could handle thinking the implications of that through without being reduced to a gibbering idiot. Or more of a gibbering idiot than he’d already managed to be that day. “None of you is disgusting, okay?” His voice emerged sharper than he’d meant, his hurt and confusion feeding a rising sense of frustration. How could Loki possibly not see? “I just drew you! I did a drawing of you exactly as you are now, and then I tweaked a few lines added a watercolor wash over it! That’s it!” he exclaimed. “It was just adding color and shadow and picking the lines out in dry brush, okay? Nothing else. You’re still you. You still sound and think and act like you; it’s just some magic thrown over it, just like watercolor pigment, right?” He’d seen the shimmer over Loki’s skin where he’d touched. 

  
  


  
  


Loki’s eyes filled with hot tears, and he scrubbed angrily at his cheeks, though they hadn’t fallen yet. He had to let himself be angry, had to speak to the Captain’s words of comparison, rather than his promise not to touch Loki, lest he say something he would regret. Lest he explain to him that he _always_ wanted him to touch him. Even now. Even filled with a cool anger over the way Rogers apparently thought he looked.

“I am not.” he spoke slowly, lowly, and clearly, the anger seeping out of every word, “ _Anything_ like those… those _creatures_. Do you understand me? _That is not me._ I keep this--” he gestured at his face, the movement short and jerky with rage, “In place every day to distance myself. I speak carefully, I educate myself-- _everything I am, everything I do, is to further me from what I was supposed to be._ ” He was nearly hissing it by the end, the ache like a spear through his chest. He swept his hand across his body, as though pushing aside whatever it was the Captain thought he saw in him. 

How could the Captain think so much of him while simultaneously thinking so little of him?

He lifted the book, closing it without looking at its contents. 

“I have nothing in common with the monster you drew. That isn’t me. I was supposed to be that, once, perhaps. But if there is any gratefulness in me towards the King of Asgard, it is that he educated me, elevated me beyond that fate.” He was growing to hate that word too, _fate_. Perhaps it would have been better if he had remained in frozen Jotunheim. If he had died as a babe, or, if he had survived, lived to be only a frosty simpleton, like the father he’d known and slain from that world. 

Loki crossed the cell and placed the book-- still gently, still carefully and respectfully, despite its contents, into the tray. 

“Please don’t draw it any more. Or, if you must, if you need to exorcise it from your mind… Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know, I don’t want to see. It’s horrific, and does not deserve to grace your pages, to climb forth from your stylus.” He spoke firmly on this point, lifting his hands and rubbing them firmly over his face, feeling the anger already burned out of him, feeling tired instead. 

“I am not… I know I am no great beauty, Captain, but if there is a form you must choose to portray me in, let it be this one, let it be me as I try to be seen. Not as the thing that I have no choice in, that I cannot help but contain. It is like a disease. It is a curse. I think… I know you did not mean to harm, but… it is… unkind.” He struggled with the words, trying to explain the drop in his stomach at even the thought of being seen as the creature. “And if you truly know no difference between my forms, know the difference I feel between them. I would not turn to my monster, even to save myself from freezing to death. That should tell you…” he shook his head. 

“I _hate_ it, Captain. I don’t know why you don’t, but you are wrong not to. There is no good to be found there.” 

  
  


  
  


As the ire in Loki’s voice mounted and his bright green eyes shone with tears, Steve realized he’d messed up. He’d messed up big. He’d wanted to help and instead he’d somehow botched things up and he felt pretty sure he was watching any progress he might have made with Loki’s self-worth unraveling. Unless he’d only imagined that progress in this first place; a bit of wishful thinking to convince himself he was helping and not just _useless._ Worse than useless right now, since he’d apparently just made things worse. 

He wanted to reach out and catch the tears from Loki’s eyes before they fell, rubbing them away, but even if the glass hadn’t been in the way, he could only imagine how Loki would recoil from his touch now. And he’d promised not to touch when Loki didn’t want him to. 

If he’d been Erskine, he’d have had something gentle and wise and slightly funny to impart. If he’d been Peggy, he’d come up with something sympathetic and kind but also motivating and practical to say. If he’d been Bucky.... hell, Bucky couldn’t even draw a stick figure, so he’d never have got into this mess in the first place. Steve fought the urge to drop into the chair and bury his face in his hands as he had before. 

_Wrong_. The word stung. He’d known all his life that what he liked was wrong. What he wanted was wrong. And so he’d tried to ignore it and make it not exist, but it lingered inside, his own hidden monster. And yes, the beauty he found in Loki was wrong too, though not the way Loki seemed to think. It wasn’t the blue skin or the red eyes or the green ones but the man underneath, and he couldn’t even say it knowing that somewhere, someone would be watching. That Loki would probably be every bit as repulsed regardless of the source of Steve’s attraction. 

“Okay,” he said softly, voice tight. He stood and walked over to the box, retrieving the sketchbook. “I won’t... I won’t draw you like that again. I’m sorry.” If he did, the drawings would never see the light of day. He’d just be tracing the delicate lines on the insides of his own eyelids, blending shades of blue in his mind’s eye. But Loki would never know.

He swallowed, turning toward the door, then pausing. “But for the record...” he looked over his shoulder. “I don’t believe you. About that last part.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MostFacinorous Author's Note: This one was the start of it, but I figure you all deserve a fair warning- Chapter 8 of Little Talks never fails to make me cry. So if you need the heads up, this is it- have some Kleenexes and chocolate ready. Next is my favorite chapter, and I cannot wait to hear what you think of it!


	8. Eight

He felt awful with how Rogers left, and he wondered if he should have stressed further that it wasn’t him, wasn’t his art… it was Loki, was how he viewed him. 

Why couldn’t he just hate that side of Loki as comfortably and casually as everyone else? Why did he have to try and save Loki from everything, including himself? 

It was frustrating, knowing he was upset because the Captain was being too gentle, too kind. And more frustrating still, knowing that he had achieved nothing, trying to explain his point of view, other than upsetting Rogers still further. 

He lay on his cot that night, thinking about the things that had happened and ignoring his stomach’s loud protestations. 

It wasn’t until he was alone and the lights dimmed that he realized that, apart from whatever liquid sustenance they had pumped into him in the medical rooms, he hadn’t eaten. 

He tried not to let it bother him. 

Rogers had been of course preoccupied. And it wasn’t like it would really hurt him. At the very least, when he woke the next day and ate the simple fare brought to him, he could pretend it was just his appeasing the Captain, and not because he was truly all that hungry. 

He buried himself in his book, waiting for Rogers to return, idle thoughts flicking to what he might say to better things-- if he mightn’t be able to avoid upsetting him for just one day. If perhaps he could tell him about Thanos in trade, prove to him that there was no helping it, that it was better that he just leave matters lie. 

Convince him to let Loki live what remained of his life as he would. Perhaps mostly with him. 

And wasn’t that full of its own sad sort of humor?

When dinner was brought to him on a tray, Loki began to worry that he’d ostracized himself from Rogers again. Of course, who wouldn’t want to take some time away from him, after all of that? And more, they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. 

Loki thought that he could at least have sent word with some underling, though. 

It wasn’t until a few hours later, when he was still fretting about it like a maiden whose flirtations had been coolly met, that he remembered that he wasn’t entitled to that sort of communication. Just a prisoner, after all. 

A prisoner, missing his favorite jailer. 

He didn’t want to believe it until night fell, and he shifted about the cot before giving up and running himself through his small exercises, again and again, now that he could drop his pretense of exhaustion for a time. 

In the dark, he worked his body until he was exhausted, and then lay there until the adrenaline had faded enough for him to drop off to sleep. 

The next day, he ate again, voraciously, and finished reading a basic history text for this world. He began on Plato, and his republic. 

But the frustration and sense of helplessness was mounting, and so when the agent bearing the dinner tray came in, Loki nearly threw himself at the glass. 

“ What word have you of Captain Rogers?” He asked, palms flat against the front. 

The man paused, then barked at him, obviously torn between his fear of Loki and his orders.

“ Step to the center of the cell and raise your hands!” He seemed angry, and Loki supposed it was due him. He should know better by now, at least. 

He did as he was told, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. 

“ Please, I just wanted to know…” He tried again, but the man dropped the tray onto the bottom of the box hard enough that the contents of the bowl sloshed alarmingly. 

“ Were you asked to speak? No? So keep your mouth  _ shut _ !” Loki flinched. 

This was precisely why he hadn’t tried speaking with any other of his captors. 

He pressed his lips into a thin line, then let the man turn and leave. On his way out, though, he paused. 

“I’ll be back for the tray in an hour.”

That was surprising. Usually they left it there to be collected the next morning, or sometimes longer, particularly if it was left by Rogers. 

He didn’t acknowledge the man’s words, certain he would only be reprimanded if he had. But once he was gone he inspected the meal. 

It was cold soup, the fat floating around the top partially having been sloshed out and onto the tray that bore it. 

Hungry though he was, the sight appalled him. He drank the bottle of water that came with it, but left the rest in the containing area. 

Then he sat himself on his cot and waited, not looking forward to the return of the angry man, but grateful at least that his gun had remained slung across his back, rather than directed at Loki. 

When he returned, Loki put his Stark Reader down immediately and stood, hands raised without being asked. 

The man took the tray without really looking at it and paused outside the glass, his eyes lingering over Loki unpleasantly. 

“ So, you should know Captain America isn’t gonna be comin’ around any more.” He said, gruff as before, with only the barest hint of remorse, just enough that Loki thought he may have imagined it. 

He couldn’t resist, the statement shocking him so much that his mouth fell open. 

“ What-- what does that mean?” 

The man glared and Loki raised his hands just a little higher, closing his mouth with a nearly audible snap. 

“ It means my name is Agent Scofield, and you and I are gonna be seein’ a lot of one another.” He said, narrowing his eyes as he did so. 

Loki was reeling internally, and said no more as the tray was taken away and the man left. 

He spent the night awake, and did not eat the disgusting breakfast Scofield presented him with. He did not speak to him, and Scofield’s only comment when he swapped trays out was about how he was wasting S.H.I.E.L.D. resources, and maybe he oughtn’t bring the food at all, if Loki wasn’t going to touch it. 

He forced the heinous dinner down, as a result, choking and tearing up when the food turned out to be abrasively spiced… like the cinnamon, he hoped. Not poison, he hoped. 

Halfway through the night, though, he changed his mind. 

He lost count of time after that. It stopped mattering. 

  
  


  
  


Steve had nearly reached the parking garage when his phone rang. Letting out a litany of curses that would have made Dum Dum proud, he groped around in the pockets of his uniform, fumbling the sketchbook until he managed to produce the phone and answer it.

“ Rogers.”

“ Captain,” came Fury’s voice. “You’ve got a call out. My office, ASAP.”

Steve almost protested, almost demanded if this could wait, but on remembering his insolent outburst that morning (and damn, had it only been that morning? With everything that had happened it felt like ages), he figured he shouldn’t press his luck with further insubordination.

“ I’m on my way,” he replied. He looked down at the sketchbook and grimaced. If he was getting called out, he didn’t have time to take it home, and he didn’t want to deal with the questions if he handed it off to a SHIELD agent who got a bit nosy. Chewing his lip, he came to a decision, sprinting the rest of the way to the parking garage and the space where he’d left his bike, stuffing the sketchbook into the tail bag and zipping it shut before turning back and booking his way back up to the Triskelion.

His secret wasn’t exactly safe, but at least he’d keep his promise to Loki and make sure no one else saw the sketches. 

Fury was standing in his office, looking a bit less ruffled but no less unhappy than he had that morning. “Captain. You’ve got an assignment.”

“ Sir.”

Fury launched into a speedy debrief. The head of the American consulate in Symkaria had apparently requested SHIELD’s intervention personally; the Consul’s two teenage children had gone missing eighteen hours earlier under suspicious circumstances, and a small faction of Latverian separatists were among the parties potentially responsible for the bombing that took place simultaneously. If the separatists had somehow acquired Latverian national military technology or old Stark Industries tech, then SHIELD wanted to know, wanted the secure any intel, and wanted the situation contained. And, of course, Fury added, seeing Steve’s expression darken, wanted the children safe and returned to their family. 

Steve looked over the files, the pictures of the missing children, and nodded. “Do I have a team?”

“ Romanoff is working deep cover. Barton isn’t back from Alaska yet. You’ll be taking Langevin, Moretti, and Kestravic -- she speaks fluent Latverian, so she’ll be able to clear the way for you.”

“ Got it,” Steve said. 

“ Good. They’re all already loaded up. Your jet leaves in twenty.”

Steve paled. Twenty minutes wasn’t enough time to get down to the lower levels, through security, and have any kind of conversation with Loki. “Sir--”

Fury sighed. “I’ll have someone assigned to personally deliver Loki’s meals and keep an eye on him. He’s not exactly going anywhere.”

Steve licked his lips, then remembered something Dr. Varma had said. “No one does any medical tests on him without me present,” he said. 

Fury raised an eyebrow. “Deal. Now. Will you kindly get the hell out of my office before you miss your plane?”

Steve snapped off a salute, and tried to ignore the feeling of guilt in his stomach as he took the elevator to the tarmac.

How long would it take to rescue two kids in a country as tiny as Symkaria, anyway?

  
  


*

 

Steve’s mind was so scattered, Moretti had to remind him to strap in before take-off. 

“ You okay, Cap?”

“ Yeah,” Steve answered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just running on fumes.”

Moretti looked sympathetic. “Well, it might not be first class, but it’s a five hour flight so you should try to get some shut-eye if you can.”

“Might not be first class, but I don’t have the Luftwaffe shooting at me, so it’s the next best thing,” Steve commented, which got a smile in return. He leaned back, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible (which wasn’t much), and closed his eyes. 

  
  


*

  
  


He was jarred awake violently. 

“ Shit! What the hell was that thing?”

“ We’re losing altitude!”

“ \--Nothing on the RADAR, is it cloaked? Someone--”

“ Mayday! I repeat, this is Alpha-Six-One-Charlie-Niner, we are under--”

The plane shuddered violently and Steve’s head slammed hard against the bulkhead. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“ No idea,” Kestravic shouted over the rush of noise and the blaring alarms. “But you might want one of these!” She tossed him something the size of a backpack, and on closer inspection, Steve’s stomach sank at the realization he was holding a parachute. 

“ 20,000 feet.... 19,000...”

“ I still can’t see whatever it is, I’m taking us down--”

“ \--Alpha-Six-One-Charlie-Niner, someone, please, respond! Anyone!”

Everything dropped, lurched, and then tilted forward precipitously. Steve slung the parachute over his shoulder just in time for the plane to lurch and twist horribly one more time, and then the shrieking grinding of metal was replaced by darkness and the roar of wind as he fell.

  
  


***

  
  


He only bothered getting up to raise his hands when Scofield came in. He drank. He choked down what he could for food. 

He wished he could have the comfort of a double, taking over his stoic misery so that Loki could scream and cry and throw things… but with the cameras, he knew there was no good way to switch himself out, knew the sounds would be hard to muffle and knew he would only cast more doubt upon himself if he did anything. 

He still had to be near the sceptre. 

He wondered if he would even be allowed back to it. Especially without Rog-- Captain America there to champion him. He had to assume, for now. 

It wasn’t as though he had anywhere better to be. 

He didn’t understand what had happened, hadn’t gotten any more information on Captain America’s whereabouts. Did he hate him? Had he scared him away? Had he just given up on him? Had he  _ died _ ? Each option was more horrible than the last, until he felt like he couldn’t take it. 

Another meal came, which he choked down, but there was no water to help. He vomited in the corner of his cell, and they chained and shackled his arms and feet to move him into the wider room to clean it up. 

The armchair caught on fire before the door closed, and they put it out while shouting threats, but he didn’t do anything else. No one had been near it. 

It was a tiny protest, a small chaos to cause, and it made him feel better. For a time. 

 

The next two meals were bright orange with spice that dyed their plates. He didn’t eat. 

It was a routine of hollowness for him now. He sat on his bed and let the pressure of his heartbeat sway him softly. 

He read books, or stared at them. 

He hadn’t sat down in front of the glass in far too long. His cot became indented with his weight. He only opened his mouth to eat, when he couldn’t help but do so. 

He figured the only plus side to all of this was that eventually he would start looking as badly as he had before, and this time he wouldn’t have to expend the energy to fake it. The next time he took the sceptre, if Thanos didn’t kill him, he’d make an escape with it. He’d need his power for that. 

There was no anger in him, no one to take revenge against but himself, and he did, denying himself what he knew he needed. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t bring Rogers back. 

He’d let him paint ten thousand Frost Giants if it would. The thought made him feel desperate, helpless. Sick. 

He stood up when the door made its alert sound, turning and raising his hands to receive Scofield-- early, he thought, but he couldn’t be sure. Didn’t really care. 

  
  


  
  


Eleven days.

  
  


It had been eleven days since Steve had climbed aboard the jet that had ultimately been shot down over Latverian airspace. Eleven days since he’d last had his feet both solidly anchored on American soil. He let out a small sigh of relief as he descended from the boarding ramp and felt his boots hit the tarmac, with its unyielding solidity. 

The sun shone down on his face, and he took a moment to drink it in; the heady relief of being  _ home _ , with no rebels or doombots or genetically modified wolves trying to kill him. The uncomfortable twinges across his body when he moved reminded him of how uncomfortably close a few of them had come, and while most of the burns and bites were already healed, the bruising on his jaw would take another couple days to fade, and it’d be a week before his shattered ribs had fully knit together again. But he’d been luckier than most; Langevin had been killed in the crash and Kestravic would be in PT relearning how to walk for the next couple of months. 

He moved aside as she rolled her temporary wheelchair down the ramp, offering her a smile. “Told you we’d get you home.”

She snorted, though her mouth tugged upward in a smile. “Yeah, yeah. If I never have to fly on a plane again, it’ll be too soon.” 

A number of SHIELD personnel were already moving toward them, several in the navy blue scrubs from Medical, ready to look over the surviving agents and assess their condition. Steve waved them away as they approached him. “I’m fine,” he said. “Focus on the others, I’m okay.”

The nearest medic eyed his bruised face (turned out, doombots could hit  _ hard _ ) with a skeptical look, but complied and said nothing. Steve was allowed to walk unmolested toward the Triskelion, and he only stopped briefly in the locker rooms to change out of his ripped and bloodstained uniform and into a SHIELD-issue set of sweatpants and a t-shirt before making his way up to give his report.

Debriefing proved to be slow and miserable and tedious; Steve felt like he repeated himself half a dozen times, about how their plane had been taken down by a bogey, which they later suspected to be a rogue doombot; how they’d been taken captive and held in an underground compound for three days before escaping; about how the separatists had turned out to be two rival rebel factions, one of which supported Latverian annexation, and the ensuing confusion of finding out which group had placed the bomb, which had taken the kids, and which was trying to kill them at any given moment. The mission had been accomplished in the end; they’d returned the kidnapped children to the consulate, completely disassembled the responsible party’s base of operations, and had taken out several “rogue” bots, though Moretti had almost lost an eye and Steve had been forced to carry Kestravic out on his back through nearly twenty kilometers of overgrown forest. 

It could have been worse. But it also could have gone significantly better. 

“ It’ll be hard to tie any of this back to Latveria’s sovereign government, if Von Doom had any hand in it,” Fury reflected, looking nearly as tired as Steve felt. He sighed. “You did good work, Rogers. Glad to have you back with us.”

“ Thank you, sir,” Steve said with a nod. 

“ Now go home and get some sleep; you look like ten miles of bad road.”

“ Aw, come on, I’m eight a half miles tops.”

Fury rolled his eye. “Get out of here.” 

Steve smiled wearily. “I will.”

He just had one thing to do first. It had been eleven days, after all. 

He felt like he could sleep for a week, but instead of heading out to the parking lot to get his bike and drive home, he swung by the cafeteria. Thankfully it was open, and he threw together a couple of sandwiches at the deli bar, grabbing a few waters and a bag of chips and telling the woman at the checkout to put the whole thing on his tab. From there he made his way to the elevator, almost nodding off on his feet as it descended, until finally he reached his chosen floor.

He felt a rising sense of guilt as he approached. He hadn’t had a chance to tell Loki where he was going or how long he’d be away(not that any prediction he’d have made would have been close to the actual outcome), but he hoped someone would have taken the time to explain where he had gone. They hadn’t left things in the best of places last time, though with luck, some time apart had given Loki a chance to calm down and he’d be less upset about the whole business with the drawing. Instead, he might just be upset at Steve for his unannounced absence, though Steve hoped he’d understand how little control he’d had over the situation.

In spite of his guilt and worries, he still felt his heart lift a bit as he placed his hand on the scanner and heard the door hiss open. He hadn’t had too much time in eleven days of insanity to reflect on Loki, but he had missed this. Strangely enough, their visits had become part of his sense of ‘normal’, and he was damn eager to get back to it.

He walked in to see Loki with his hands up and facing away; he frowned, until he remembered how the guards ordered him to step away when they delivered his food. Loki must have just assumed the door was opening for one of them. It had been a while, after all.

“Hey,” he said quietly, letting the door shut behind him. He smiled weakly and took a chance. “Did you miss me?”

  
  


  
  


Loki’s heart lurched in his chest and his stomach bottomed out. He turned so quickly that his head, already light from how little he’d eaten of late, swam and his vision blinked a bit. 

“Captain?” His voice was gravel and screech, unused as it had been. But no matter how he sounded, it was nothing compared to how Rogers looked. 

Even his war had not left the man so punished looking, and he wondered if he was really there at all, or if it was his mind and magic playing tricks. He would hardly put it past himself, trickster as he was and the poor care he’d been taking, though this was the most cruel of any joke he could imagine. 

Or worse… if he was some form of spirit. He didn’t know how such things worked on Midgard, but he knew enough realms saw their departed often enough that he knew to be scared.

He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, his hands still in the air until he felt the tears tracking down his cheeks. Then he brought them to his face. He tried to smother both sounds and visuals with them, taking a half a moment of privacy and gathering himself to speak. 

“ I thought--” He started, but he couldn’t put words to everything he’d thought. He’d spent too long thinking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I will answer  _ any  _ question you have, I’ll take off my glamours if you want, draw me however monstrous you like, I can fix the chair, I won’t do magic, just don’t hate me, don’t be…  _ don’t be dead _ .” 

Loki inched forward toward the glass and pressed his hand to it, the tips of his fingers damp from his tears and leaving smears on the surface. 

From here, he could see the dark marks on his face, see how awkwardly he stood. It hurt, all of this hurt, because he hadn’t thought he had room for hope any more. 

And the worst part, the guiltiest thing, was how, if he was imagining Rogers, he had been sure to include food. He’d prioritized him as a meal bearer, and wasn’t that just like him. So much more concerned with his own comfort than the state of his… friend. 

But of course, Rogers was like that. Of course he would not come back empty handed. 

It was all too bewildering, and Loki leaned his forehead against the glass. 

“Are you real?” He whispered, and in those words he could feel his heart breaking all over again.

  
  


  
  


Loki turned, and Steve felt the bottom drop out. He looked like death warmed over; hair lank and tangled, eyes sunken, cheeks hollow -- it was even worse than the first time that Steve touched him and his glamour fell, back before he’d touched the scepter. How had he deteriorated so quickly? He’d looked fine when Steve had left, unless he’d somehow managed not to eat for eleven days-- 

Steve suddenly felt ill. Oh God. What if Loki  _ hadn’t _ eaten for eleven days? Except he’d asked him to, just in case something like this happened, and Loki said he would. 

When Loki spoke Steve’s name (or title, really, but he answered to it every bit as readily), his voice was as wrecked as the rest of him. He stared at Steve with a kind of vacant horror, like he was seeing a ghost. And when his words finally spilled forth, hoarse and pleading, Steve found his own voice trapped in his throat, pinned by shock. 

No one told him, he realized, numb with dread. No one had told Loki where he’d gone. Or if they had, they hadn’t told him that he was alive. A sickening thought struck him -- had Loki found out his plane had been shot down? He’d been out of communication with SHIELD for several days after the crash, and in that time, it wouldn’t have been unreasonable to think him dead. And if no one had bothered to tell Loki...

Oh hell. 

Carefully, he put the bag with the sandwiches on the floor (the chair was conspicuously missing), then walked over to the wall of the cell until he could put his hand right up on the other side from where Loki’s lay; though their fingertips were separated by a solid inch of nearly-indestructible glass, he could almost convince himself that he could feel the warmth of Loki’s touch through it. 

“I’m real,” he said, his own voice emerging tight and choked, rough with exhaustion and emotion. “I’m... Loki, what happened?”

  
  


  
  


“You’re real.” He repeated. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a long second, just to be sure. 

He dropped to the floor in front of the glass, hugging his knees and wishing he could wrap his arms around the man instead. 

“ He only told me you wouldn’t be around anymore. I thought-- every thought was worse. I thought I’d offended. I thought you’d given up on me. I thought… I thought you were dead.” He looked back up at him, and his eyes narrowed. He stood angrily and leaned in so their faces were separated only by glass and inches. 

“ You’re hurt though. Who hurt you? I’ll kill them, I will destroy all of them if you want, just tell me--” He choked on his words. His water bottle was empty and his mouth still tasted like the curry he’d tried to eat. He coughed and turned his head away to keep from fogging the glass. He needed to see Rogers. It felt like waking up. 

He saw the water Rogers held and gestured at it, then at the box that held what remained of his last meal, a silent plea for the drink. 

“ I’m sorry about…everything, really, everything I said before you left. I don’t care. And I’m sorry-- I made a promise to you, regarding my eating. I tried to keep to it, but.” He gestured again at the tray and winced. “He kept asking what I thought of the bhut jolokia. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t…” He coughed again. 

It had made him want to claw his tongue out, and he had scratched at his throat the first few times. He was sure whoever was reviewing the videos had a good laugh at that one. Honestly, he had expected no better when he’d first arrived. It was only Rogers here who was inclined to try to see more in him. 

They were such small tortures, all things considered. And he felt bad for bringing them up, especially when Rogers was so obviously hurting, so obviously injured and exhausted and… and yet he was  _ here _ . 

“I was so certain you hated me, I thought you had… had given me to him.” Loki shook his head. “I am so sorry. I should have known better. You didn’t know, did you?” He could see, just from the Captain’s face, that he hadn’t. 

  
  


  
  


Steve’s eyes were burning and his throat was so tight it felt like he’d swallowed a razor. The picture of what Loki had gone through became clearer. And they’d been clever, the bastards. They’d managed to starve him while still technically feeding him by giving him food impossible for him to eat, too spiced probably for even Steve to handle. They’d tormented him psychologically by letting him think the worst, no doubt under the cover that Steve’s whereabouts were ‘classified.’ 

They’d brought him down to this, and the sons of bitches had kept their toes inside the lines all the while. 

Steve’s horror turned to anger. No, not anger. Rage. Loki was under  _ his _ protection; and someone had dared to do this. To be this cruel. Loki was Steve’s responsibility--

He stilled. Loki was Steve’s responsibility, and Steve had just left him here. He hadn’t exacted any promises beyond not experimenting on him, hadn’t asked anyone personally to check in on him, and hadn’t even fought Fury on delaying the plane an extra fifteen goddamn minutes so he could say goodbye. And not once during the mission, he realized with a sinking sense of loathing, when he’d finally managed to communicate with SHIELD, had he asked about Loki’s welfare. He’d just assumed he would be fine. He’d trusted that the agents would have the humanity to do their jobs properly, and obviously he’d trusted wrong.

This was on him.

And the worst part was that Loki didn’t even blame him. Loki worried for him. Loki was upset that  _ Steve _ was hurt when at least his captors had possessed the decency to feed him. Loki would forgive him.

He’d taken a half-step toward the box, food and water back in hand, but now he stopped. “No,” he murmured, either in answer to Loki’s question or to himself, he didn’t quite know. 

Both maybe. 

He turned around and instead made a direct line for the panel with the controls to Loki’s cell, punching in his personal override. The moments it took for his access to be verified might have been years for all the patience he had. When the cell slid open, he barged in, dropping the food on the bed, walking up to Loki and firmly placing the bottle of water in his hand, wrapping those long white fingers around it.

“ I didn’t....” He paused, the rage and worry and grief and recrimination bubbling up into a mess that left him barely able to speak. “I’m so sorry.”

Somewhere an alarm had begun to go off, and he didn’t even give a damn.

  
  


  
  


Loki took the water and stood, thirst forgotten in the face of Rogers being here, being  _ right here _ , touching him, touching his hand, unmistakably real and solid and warm and kind...

He threw his arms around Rogers’s middle and pulled himself in, crowding close to him in the small space. He felt the shifting under him and didn’t hold too tight, for fear of upsetting him. Who knew what had happened to cause such markings. He didn’t want to act as bindings to the Captain. Didn’t want to send his mind back into whatever it was he had just escaped. 

The alarm was blaring, and he was terrified. The last time he’d heard that alarm was when he’d set the chair aflame. But he was terrified for the Captain, not for himself. He’d broken no rules now. He wouldn’t let them punish him.

“ You never gave up on me.” He said, voice rough with tears that wanted to come and hadn’t yet. “I’m sorry I was so quick to give up on you.” The shame pierced his throat and travelled straight down. It was true. His trust was so shoddy, so oft betrayed that he could not help but let go at every chance. But he shouldn’t have. He knew that now. 

He burrowed his face into Rogers’ shoulder, turning away from him, keeping his face far away from the temptation of Rogers’ lips. That hadn’t changed, and besides, who knew what horrible punishing spice lingered in his mouth. 

“ Don’t get in trouble for me.” He said instead, shifting to be able to let go, to spring away the second the other agents arrived. The way the Captain always did. For his comfort. But he held on, just a little longer, soaking in the knowledge that he was  _ here _ , he was alive and safe and didn’t hate him, hadn’t abandoned him. 

That there was reason, again, for Loki to care. 

  
  


  
  


Steve bit back a grunt as Loki crashed into him, preventing himself from flinching out of sheer force of will as his ribs shifted agonizingly. The breaks had mostly fused in the days since he sustained them, but pain still flared up his side.

Not that it mattered one bit in that moment.

Loki was wrapped around him, warm and in his arms where Steve could hold and protect him. The god burrowed his face into Steve’s collar, and Steve wrapped him in a hug, resting his cheek against Loki’s hair as he drew shallow breaths. Any pain in that moment was utterly worth it.

“ I won’t go away again,” he murmured in Loki’s ear so he could be heard over the alarm, loosening his hold just enough that he could rub small and soothing circles on Loki’s back. “And if they’re mad at me, well, I have a list of places they can stuff it.” Steve was already planning on raising hell for the way Loki had been treated. If anyone had a problem with him offering him the barest shred of decency and human comfort, they could go hang. And if Fury thought he could send him off again, well, Steve was willing to risk it; he sincerely doubted SHIELD would give Captain America a pink slip. 

Already he could hear the thundering of booted feet in the hallway. Instinctively, he squeezed Loki tighter, ignoring the aching in his side. But then he remembered himself and stepped back just enough that he could grip Loki by both arms and look him in the eyes. “Loki, I need you to tell me who did this to you.”  _ Besides me. _ The anger was hot in his blood again, and his voice emerged low and clear and even now.

  
  


The moment was perfect, and if he could have remained there forever, he would have. It felt as much like healing as any magic, and he wondered if perhaps the touch held a magic of its own. Rogers’s breathing was hitched, and he realized that he had no idea the extent of his injuries. He was glad when the embrace was returned, even tightened by the other man, too afraid he would have been pushed away, though he knew he had no reason for that fear. Still, he made note to find out, as soon as possible, how he was injured, where and by whom.

Loki would not see those hurts exacerbated. Not for his sake, and not by those who should be obeying Rogers. Supporting him. Who should have protected him from whatever harms had befallen him. 

Loki was getting angry.

The door slid open and Loki took a step back, out of Rogers’ grasp. he closed his eyes, lifted his hands up to face the door, and opened them, seeing the face there that he had… he hadn’t thought to hate him. He’d just accepted it as his due. The face that had brought him so much pain, standing there with a gun levelled at Loki’s head.

And he was afraid that speaking would cause him to shoot, but Loki had courage now, standing right beside him. He knew he could throw up a shield, if it meant protecting the Captain. And himself-- he wanted to protect himself now, from this man. So he looked to Rogers. 

“ Scofield.” He said, voice clearer and stronger than it had been since the day Rogers left. “The only person I saw while you were gone was Scofield.” 

Loki looked back and saw the blood draining from the man’s face, and in that moment he smiled like the predator he truly was. 

Loki was no one’s victim, and were it not for Rogers standing at his side, he would have visited upon him the sort of justice Loki, once-son of Asgard, favored. 

Instead, he tried to imagine what the man saw, looking at them. 

Did he suppose them to be friends? Clearly the expressions they wore made them look every bit as deadly as they were, and together they were strong enough to destroy everyone in the room, and then some. Not that the Captain ever would. It would grate on his sense of decency. 

Still, the potential for power… In that moment of strength, Loki almost believed they could take on Thanos. Almost. 

He looked to Rogers for direction, willing to follow wherever he may choose to lead them from here.

  
  


  
  


Seeing the look of recognition in Loki’s eyes as he glanced toward the door, Steve turned and stared down the man who had entered.  _ Speak of the devil. _ Steve didn’t know Agent Scofield personally; he recognized him from this detail before, and as one of the agents who had accompanied him and Loki from the scepter chamber to the infirmary, but that was all. Now, seeing him standing there with a gun leveled right at them, he took a protective step in front of Loki. 

“ Agent.” 

“ Captain, I’m going to need you to step away from the prisoner with your hands in the air,” Scofield said; despite his pallor, the timbre of his voice remained strong. 

Steve’s expression remained unimpressed. He took another step forward, then sidled casually in the direction of the still open door. “Or you’ll shoot at me through bulletproof glass?”

Scofield scowled, moving in sync with Steve and keeping his weapon raised. “I repeat, raise you hands and step away--”

“ I think you and I need to have a conversation, Agent Scofield,” Steve said, the gentle firmness of his voice belied by his thunderous frown. “About the events of the last eleven days and your treatment of the man in your custody.”

Something in the agent snapped in that moment. “Man?” Scofield spat. “You can call it a man, if you want, Cap, but that doesn’t make that-- that  _ thing _ any less of a monster.” His eyes lit up with fury, and if Steve had thought he’d seen hate in Scofield’s eyes before, the glare he’d witnessed then had nothing with the mad glint in his eyes now. “Why the hell are you even  _ defending  _ him? He’s a killer! Do you have any idea how many good men died on the helicarrier because of him?”

A vein in Steve’s jaw leapt and quivered. “The deaths he caused are no excuse for--”

“ No excuse?” Scofield’s voice rose. “No excuse?” He pointed the gun back toward Loki. “He’s a mass fucking murderer, he’s the one with no excuse! He’s a war criminal and you’re fucking coddling him and getting pissed because someone is giving him just a fraction of what he damn well deserves. I mean, what the fuck -- did he throw the same mind-control whammy on you as Barton? Is that why you’ve been eating right out of his hand and mooning over him? Cause let me tell you, it’s bad enough already that he even still has a pulse without this asshole turning Captain America into some kind of faggot on the way, after he--”

“ That’s enough,” Steve hissed, stepping out of the cell and crossing toward Scofield. 

“ What?” the agent’s voice cracked in a hysterical chuckle. “Are you gonna hit me? For not being nice to your pet alien boyto--hrrgh!”

Steve didn’t even realize the moment his hand closed around Scofield’s throat, but he took satisfaction in the thud the man’s body made as he slammed him against the wall. It was short-lived, however, as he made himself loosen his grip into something just enough to pin the man without actually choking him. When he spoke, it was with a low and dangerously even voice: “I understand your reasons for hating him, Scofield. I do. I don’t agree with them, and I don’t share them, but I can understand them and respect that your anger has validity,” he said. “I know a lot of people died in the invasion, and I know the pain of losing allies and friends. But in no way does that justify starving and abusing a prisoner in a blatant violation of human rights--”

Scofield snorted, his laughter strained. “You’re forgetting Cap. That thing isn’t  _ even fucking human.” _

Steve drew a calming breath through his nose to keep himself from doing something he would regret. Then he let it out. “No,” he agreed. “He isn’t. But you are. So  _ damn well act like it.” _ He stepped back and dropped Scofield, who slumped back against the wall, massaging his throat. He raised his voice, so the agents who had collected in the doorway sometime during the altercation could now hear him. “Agent Scofield, consider yourself relieved of all duties on his level, and all rotations in regards to this prisoner.”

  
  


  
  


While Rogers moved forward, Loki took a step back. 

It was enough thinking these things, but hearing them aloud… and then hearing more on top of it... 

Of course they would suspect Loki of having enchanted the Captain. He’d considered it once, after all. It had been part of his plan, for a time. No more. 

But the rest-- true, he was a monster, not much of a man, true he had killed many, that he deserved what was given to him and much more besides. But what the man said about Rogers-- that was unexpected, made a certain amount of sense. Loki had no idea what a faggot was, but he could make a guess, and he swallowed. 

Because even if the Captain’s rebuttals had been kind and gentle, it didn’t mean no one else had seen Loki’s approaches. And now this man, this man who had cruelty so strongly running in his veins,  _ hated _ the Captain for it. 

He stood dumbly, watching to see if Rogers needed help, but it seemed that the other agents were more likely to follow him than they were to follow Scofield at this point. And he had known that Rogers had power, but seeing it in action, seeing it put to use against someone who wasn’t himself, that was thrilling, even if he did wince for the Captain’s injuries when he hoisted the man into the air against a wall. 

He didn’t know Rogers could banish people from their posts, either, but he should not have been surprised. 

He hid the turmoil he felt, from having too many emotions in too short a time, by opening his water bottle and having a sip. An insolent move, he thought, considering how there were still armed men in the room.

Not that they were paying any attention to him, probably too stunned by the Captain’s show of force to even mind that there was a… an alien monster mass murderer in an open cage at their backs. 

Quietly, he stepped up to the door and put a new chair in place, then sat himself down on his cot, and let them sort out their personnel issues. 

But he promised himself silently that if the Captain suffered at all for this, he would step up and do something about it. He was done being passive. He was done letting Rogers take responsibility for all of the things he had done. 

And he needed still to learn the extent of Rogers’s hurts, and apologize for the way his inclinations had tarnished Rogers’s agents’ view of him. He only hoped he could reverse it.

  
  


  
  


Steve half-expected Scofield to continue fighting him, and the man’s face had twisted in a snarl, but military training apparently won out when he noticed the presence of his fellow agents; he turned sharply and stormed out, gun mercifully back in its holster.

Steve let out a breath, wincing. His legs felt simultaneously heavy and weightless, adrenaline rushing through his body and singing through his nerves. He felt a little dizzy, a little sick, and a little giddy, and mostly he just wanted to fall against the wall and slide down into a heap on the floor. But the other agents were all looking to him for direction, as the highest-ranking member of SHIELD in the room. 

“ The situation is under control. You can return to your posts,” he informed them. 

One agent eyed the open door of Loki’s cell warily. “Sir, the prisoner’s enclosure has been compromised--”

“ Yes, and he’s clearly used that opportunity to escape,” Steve snapped back, more caustic than he intended. “Everything is under control. There is no need for reinforcements at this time. Thank you for your diligence; that will be all.”

He wasn’t sure it would work -- while he outranked them all, he wasn’t their direct commanding officer. But apparently, in the absence of other immediate orders and in the wake of his confrontation with Scofield, they came to a uniform decision to follow the order. A few sloppy salutes later, the door hissed closed, though Steve didn’t miss seeing two of the guards taking up stations on either side of it. 

He waited a beat, then let himself slump against the nearest wall, sliding bonelessly down it into a sitting position.

“ Damn,” he murmured. He pulled his knees up toward his chest and briefly dropped his head into his hands before raking his fingers back through his hair. Finally, he looked up at Loki where he sat in the cell.

“There’s, um. Sandwiches. In the bag,” he indicated. “Not spicy. I’ll try to get pizza tomorrow. I’m sorry about... all of that.” He grimaced. He felt nauseous still, as if Scofield’s vitriol had somehow physically poisoned him, though he knew that was all in his mind. 

  
  


  
  


Loki watched the Captain’s collapse with rising concern, and, with a glance up at the cameras, he cautiously left his cell, picking up the tray from his cot as he went and bringing his water with him. 

He seated himself in front of Rogers, the tray beside them. 

“ I’m sorry.” Loki said. He felt small, and he sighed, organizing his words. “I’m sorry that you had to deal with this while you are hurt, and I’m sorry that I… I’m sorry my attitudes about attraction caused your agents to think you were… compromised.” He shook his head. “You have been nothing but a gentleman, and kind, and courteous. If there is fault to be had on that front, it is entirely my own. Until I asked about yourself and Bucky, I did not realize your people found such relations shameful, and I apologize for any offenses my misunderstandings have caused.” He pressed a hand to Rogers’s, just the same. 

“I can accept those faults as my own, if you can forgive me them. I hope we may be… friends, perhaps. At least, not enemies. It has been some time since I have thought of us as such, and your actions today have done nothing but reinforce that.” Loki bit his lip, and gestured at the meal Rogers had brought for them. 

“ Share this meal with me, tell me… what you are permitted to, of your time away. Tell me something else. It doesn’t matter. Tell me how you are hurt, so I do not hurt you further, and I will rub your shoulders. Thor… often asked that I do so, when he returned from a hunt or a battle. You look like you could use it.” 

Loki was not well versed in caring for others, and it had been some time since he had done so. He did not have much available to him, could not offer Rogers a feast or mead, could not play music for him or any of the other shows of appreciation that Asgard would award a returned hero with. His offer felt modest indeed, but it was all he could do. And it was not enough. 

Were that he could take them out of here, see to Rogers as he had seen to Loki, wash him and-- but that veered again into the guilty land, at least on Midgard, of his attraction to the man. 

The concept was… confusing. Asgardians valued children, and as such there was some limited disappointment when men exclusively approached other men, but it was not… not the same as this. And besides, neither he nor Rogers showed signs of being exclusive to their genders-- particularly not Rogers, who showed more signs of loving only women, loving Peggy in particular. 

“Let me care for you, Captain, as you have cared for me.” He spoke softly, only hoping the man would not be offended by his offer, by his closeness. Not now. Not after everything else. 

  
  


  
  


“ That... sounds nice,” Steve admitted. Hell, the thought of Loki’s long, dextrous fingers kneading into the aching muscles of his shoulders and back sounded like absolute bliss.

It had been a long time since anyone had taken care of him. Of course, there had been a time when he’d needed constant care, and he’d hated it. Hated that he’d been so dependent on his mother’s medical ministrations or Bucky’s protection. He’d drawn away from it, insisting on his independence. And then he hadn’t been skinny little Steve, but Captain Rogers, and it had been him doing all the caring; looking out for his men, rescuing Bucky from Hydra, hell, even looking out for the USO girls to make sure no smarmy bastard tried to cop an unwelcome feel. Launched into the future, he’d been put in charge of the Avengers when he’d still been catching his breath, and now with SHIELD, he had responsibility bearing down on him with every mission. For the past eleven days, the surviving members of his team had looked to him to lead; to get them home alive. Between carrying a wounded teammate on his back, trying to calm traumatized captive children, and then placating a frantic consul in an attempt to prevent an incident that might provoke a war, he had nothing left.

And as selfish as it felt when Loki was so sickly himself, letting someone dote on him for just a little while once again had its appeal. A friend, caring for a fellow friend. 

But as it turned out, his conscience wouldn’t allow it. Not without saying something first. “You should eat something, though. You must be starving.” He nodded toward the food. “And I swear, it all looks worse than it is. The bruises, I mean. I’ve got a couple cracked ribs, but the rest is doing a lot better already.” He tried to force a smile, but it felt weak and dishonest, and he and Loki had a deal when it came to lying. He let it fade.

“ I’m sorry you had to hear all that,” he continued softly. “What he said... you’re not, you know.” He knew that when Scofield looked at Loki, he saw the god who had terrorized Earth with an alien army. But when Steve looked at him now, he found it impossible to reconcile that entity with the kind, thoughtful man sitting in front of him. “None of this was your fault.” If Scofield had pegged Steve for being... well, he wasn’t exactly wrong, and that had been a product of Steve’s own carelessness. 

It surprised him slightly, though, to hear Loki speak of such things as if they were normal. He seemed genuinely puzzled that it was shameful for a man to love another man, which he supposed matched up with how casually he’d asked about Bucky being Steve’s lover. Asgard, Steve realized, must simply not care.

That too sounded nice, he thought a bit wistfully. 

  
  


  
  


“ We both should.” He pointed out, opening the bag and offering one of the sandwiches to Rogers. “Even if you say you look worse than you are, you look poorly enough for that to still be worrisome. Not,” he added, “That I suppose I’ve much room to talk. These last… however long. It has not been easy on either of us.” He spoke wryly, keeping the tone light. 

He wanted to address Rogers’ claims that Scofield had been wrong, but he knew that was the sort of thing that had caused their disagreements before. 

He just had to come to terms with that being all that the Captain could see of him, that he would eventually let him down. He couldn’t be comfortable with that thought, but he would certainly keep his peace on the subject. At least for now. At least while Rogers looked as exhausted, as spread thin and beaten as he did.

“ Have your healers at least seen to your broken ribs? Done what your science can to ensure they heal correctly?” Loki imagined the doctor he had met, and shuddered at the thought of her reaction to being avoided, as the Healers at the palace had been… fairly perturbed to find themselves thwarted, whenever he or Thor did not immediately report to the healing wings for treatment.

He unwrapped the sandwich, sniffing at it the way he had taken to doing with his food brought by Scofield, more from habit than from actual fear that Rogers would continue the trend of passing him inedible, painful dishes. 

The first bite was like a cool breeze in the eternal summer that his mouth had become, a soothing balm. The bread did wonders, and the moisture underneath, the white sauce and the cheese… he thought his eyes might have rolled back in his head with pleasure. 

“ I cannot tell you how much I have missed this.” Loki told him, forgetting his manners in the bliss of his food, and speaking through his mouthful. “Eating, without the burn. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.” He felt unusually affectionate, especially for him, and he could not tell if it was the relief or the added freedom of being out of his cell or if it was just having the Captain so near, without the glass or cuffs between them. 

He liked it.

  
  


  
  


Steve took a bite of his own sandwich, and the taste of food in his mouth abruptly reminded his body of a hunger he’d been oblivious to up to that point. He scarfed it down eagerly, barely remembering to chew. He’d had a military-issue ration bar sometime on the plane back over from Europe, but he’d lived off rations long enough to know there were rations and there was food, and the two weren’t necessarily the same thing. 

He looked up at Loki and smiled to see his own joy mirrored on Loki’s face; his expression as he spoke through a mouthful of sandwich was utter bliss. 

“ I’m glad,” he said with a chuckle, and the sick, leaden feeling that Scofield’s tirade had left in him finally began to break down into something warmer and softer. 

“I already set the ribs,” he added with a half-shrug using his good side. “At this point there’s really not anything they can do. At the rate I heal, it’s a waste of their time.  I’ll probably wrap them when I get home, take some Ibuprofen, but they’ll be fine by next week.” It was a nice change, from when a cracked rib had once meant weeks of barely moving, and constant worry about pneumonia setting in. Gingerly, he lowered his sandwich into his lap, then lifted the hem of his shirt, exposing the mottled expanse of bruising that stretched from his waist to his armpit. “It’s ugly, but it’ll sort itself out in its own time, so long as I don’t do anything stupid.” He lowered the shirt and returned his attention to the last few bites of his meal. 

  
  


  
  


The glimpse of the Captain’s chest was brief, but it was enough to plant wild ideas in Loki’s mind, ideas that were wrong by this world’s standards. He licked his lips and banished the thought of gently tracing the outlines of the bruising with his tongue. 

Those sorts of images would get neither of them anywhere, and only would serve to make him cause more unkindness from Rogers’ inferiors. 

He sent another look up at the cameras, wondering what they thought of the two of them now, in the way they currently were, on the floor, eating together like equals. 

Would the alarms sound again the moment he reached out out to touch the Captain’s shoulders? Would they be separated, Rogers reprimanded for letting Loki out, and Loki punished for supposedly perverting the Captain’s mind and body alike? 

There was so much more going on beyond this small room, of only the Captain and he, but he resolved, just for once, just for today, to disregard all of it. Thanos, Asgard, S.H.I.E.L.D., everything. He needed it as much as Rogers did. 

They had both been battered by the time they spent apart, and they could both draw comfort from one another. He could not ask or wish for more than that from Rogers, and he could hardly fail to return the kindness that had been shown to him thus far. 

“I am glad you heal so quickly.” Loki volunteered. “You seem much less delicate than those around you, because of it. I would never be able to offer to ease their muscles for instance. I would have to be too afraid of hurting them.” Not that he wasn’t afraid of hurting Rogers, but he felt like he knew- at least to an extent- his abilities, his strengths, and, in return, his tolerances. He’d fought the man, once. That was enough to get a measure on him. 

“I will still be gentle, though. Do not be afraid to tell me how to better the experience for you. I assure you, contrary to all appearances, I do take direction well, when I choose.” 

He didn’t have much sandwich left, and his stomach was already feeling full, shrunken as it had been by the time he went, by and large, without. 

“ As for doing something stupid, I would try asking you not to, but it does seem built in to your character.” It was a light, off handed comment, but Loki realized only after he spoke how deeply true it was. 

Something else to discuss, if he was given the chance, once this brief respite had ended. 

  
  


  
  


Steve finished his sandwich and washed it down with a swig from one of the extra waters, and while he remained exhausted, he found himself feeling a bit more human and a bit less lightheaded. He thought briefly of all the times he and Bucky had grabbed a pair of hotdogs from a cart for a dime apiece and had taken their food to the park to sit on the ground and throw crumbs from their hot dog buns at the pigeons. Sitting here on the floor, eating with Loki -- it reminded him of that, but even more importantly, it helped him forget about the hellish mission he’d just been on. It felt like picking back up with where they’d been before, talking and eating and sharing each other’s company. The only difference now being the lack of a glass wall between them. 

A lack of glass that meant they could touch. Not like  _ that _ , of course, and never in any way Loki wouldn’t appreciate. But the hug they’d shared before and even the casual contact made when Loki touched his hand mere moments ago filled Steve with an electric kind of warmth. Somewhere along the line, Loki’s presence had gone from something threatening that filled Steve with wariness, to something comforting that filled him with a peace he was hard pressed to find around anyone else. Not since... Well, not for a long time. 

Funny thing, that.

He couldn’t help but laugh at Loki’s assessment. “Yeah, Bucky used to say I was one part brave and three parts stupid,” he agreed, and this time the mention of Bucky didn’t hurt quite the way it had before. “Of course, it was even worse when I’d jump into fights back when I  _ was _ ‘ delicate’ and couldn’t heal worth a damn.” 

Bucky would usually roll his eyes as he got a wet cloth to dab blood away from Steve’s split lip or busted knuckles or whatever else he came home with after scrapping in an alleyway.  _ Moron, _ he’d mutter affectionately as he cleaned him up.  _ Jerk, _ Steve would return, smiling tiredly.

He wondered what Bucky would make of Loki. If he’d hate him; if he’d roll his eyes at Loki’s ‘posh’ attitude... Or if he’d get it; if he’d see the way Loki was fretting over Steve and understand, and approve of the fact that  _ someone _ was worrying about him and looking out for him. He liked to think it would be the latter.

Sandwich gone, Steve pushed himself cautiously away from the wall, minding his ribs and scooting forward so that Loki could reach his back. “You said you used to do this for Thor?”

  
  


  
  


“ Hm.” Loki mumbled in the affirmative. “One of the problems of weapons training with my lout of a brother was that his approach to blades involved hitting as hard as he could, over and over again. It meant learning to keep a good grip on my weapons… which in turn meant building strong fingers. We later learned that made me very good at things such as this.”

Loki reared up onto his knees for added height, and slowly raised his hands. 

Remembering the Captain’s procedure for cutting his hair, and realizing that Rogers was likely still wound tightly from whatever had done this to him, he spoke first. 

“ I am going to put my hands on the tops of your shoulders now.” He said, gently and matter of factly. His voice was not capable of having the same solid, comforting presence as Rogers’ own, but he hoped it was at least somewhat soothing. 

He began with a gentle pressure, his thumbs lighting on the Captain’s neck on either side of his spine.

How much trust this took from Rogers, how much faith he was showing in him. Two quick motions and Loki could take his life here and now. He could be dead before he ever lifted his hands to defend himself, before any of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s agents could come intercede. The fact they were not doing so now was impressive, really. But no. He did not want Rogers dead, and what’s more, Scofield would expect this line of thought from Loki. He felt guilty for its even fluttering through his mind. 

His thumbs started in small, slow circles pressing in and sliding outwards, trying to identify where the Captain stored his stress. It was a difficult thing to tell, given that all of him felt like rock. And that wasn’t merely muscles that were fit, but muscles that were too tight. 

Loki made a sympathetic sound. 

“ How long has it been since you’ve allowed someone to tend to this? You are so terribly tight, I am amazed you can turn your head, let alone make use of your arms or stand.” 

He swept the heels of his palms sideways across the skin, the T shirt rumpling beneath them. He frowned. 

“ Would you object to removing your shirt? While I am out of my cell, I can make my own oil or lotions to ease the process-- but I promise to tell you before I do any magics, if it will ease your mind.” He hurried to add, afraid to upset the man now that he was close enough to feel his pulse fluttering under his fingers while he worked. 

“I want to assure you that I mean you no harm, and would give anything at my disposal to keep you from it.” He could only imagine the Captain’s expression at that. Loki fiddled with the neck of the shirt, still rubbing over it, pressing through it, while he spoke and gave Rogers the time to consider the request.

  
  


  
  


Steve let his head fall forward as Loki’s fingers began working into his trapezius muscles. Loki’s hands were cool, but not cold, dry and soft and tender in their touch. It felt good, and it wasn’t lost on him that he’d just turned his back, in total trust, to a man who’d once tried to kill him and everyone else he knew.

Because he  _ did  _ trust Loki. Loki had trusted him, been honest with him, so Steve had hesitantly began to return the favor, and Loki had proven himself worthy of that trust; he hadn’t lied or betrayed Steve, hadn’t broken his oath, hadn’t made use of any of his myriad opportunities to escape or cause harm. He’d been attentive and respectful and, and kind. As stunned as Steve had once been by Loki’s capacity for cruelty, he now found himself overwhelmed by his ability to show compassion. Glancing upward, he shot a challenging glare at the unobtrusive camera in the corner. If anyone was watching, well, they’d have no choice but to watch Steve’s trust, and witness Loki’s kindness. 

Part of it made his skin crawl, to know all his secrets were being recorded and looked over, but he’d gotten a bit used to it in all truth, once he’d woken up and found that his old socks were now part of a damn museum exhibit. Working for an Intelligence agency, he’d grown rapidly disillusioned about privacy. And if  _ he  _ could see how much decency Loki actually had, well, everyone else would just have to see it too. 

He’d find a way to make them see.

He groaned as Loki hit a particularly knotted spot, and boy did that feel amazing. He was so drunk on sensation he almost missed Loki’s request. “Huh? Oh, yeah, sure...” He began to work his shirt up, breath hitching as he lifted his arm up to pull it over his head. He’d probably be wearing a lot more button downs over the next few days; he didn’t care if Nat said they made him look like a grandpa. Pulling free of the shirt, he quickly folded it before placing it on the ground, out of habit more than anything. “I don’t think... I honestly don’t know when I last got one of these,” he mused. “My ma used to rub my back sometimes to help loosen up my lungs when I was growing up. So, not since 1937, I guess.”

It didn’t even occur to him to be nervous by Loki’s voiced intent to use his magic. He’d seen it in action a few times now, since Loki dressed himself in the shower, and while it never stopped being incredible, it no longer spawned a thin coil of dread in his gut. He felt himself smile at Loki’s assurances that he intended no harm.

“I know,” He murmured. He let his head fall back forward loosely, melting into Loki’s touch on his bare skin. “I know.”

  
  


  
  


Loki was indignant to hear that his--  _ the _ Captain had been so neglected. 

The slip, even in his thinking, agitated him, and he took it out by pressing into the muscles. Not hard enough to hurt unduly, but enough to work out what lay underneath. 

“I don’t suppose that shield of yours does any favors to your body.. and your healing does not appear to include simple maintenance. But it astounds me that your Director does not require this as part of your care. Our fighting men all have their lovers or brothers to see to their aches, or, lacking that, our brothels often, if not usually, include it in their packages. How can you be expected to operate at your best if you don’t have someone to take care of you when you come home?” 

And he didn’t just mean a lover-- though if the Captain had taken any, they had been remiss in their duties. No, his friends, his Avengers… were they not a team? Did they not care for each other after the fact? 

Loki himself had been seen to by and had seen to the welfare of Thor’s closest friends often enough, working along side the healers, offering his hands or knowledge. Parties who went out together were to remain together until each returning member was seen to or released into the care of someone closer to them. It was… it was a matter of honor, and proof of kinship. You didn’t leave your brothers in arms to suffer alone. Not physically, at least.

Loki reached into his own storage space, the hand of his magic gingerly avoiding the raw edges that Thanos had left within him, and extracted the sveiti oil he had placed there, opening his eyes with the jar holding the creamy slick in his hand. 

He sat it down and only then did he allow his eyes to travel down the length of Rogers’ back. 

“Oh Captain…” He murmured, unable to stop himself from trailing gentle fingers over the bruises. He did not press in, but even the image made him feel cold inside. 

He could have died. Loki had known what it felt, believing him dead, but seeing the proof of how close to reality that had come…

He could only imagine the force that must have caused this, when he, himself, could not. 

“ When you have lost the tenderness of your skin, you will come back and let me take care of those areas. I dare not touch them today. I don’t want to cause you any further hurts.” His fingertips ghosted over the areas, still, and he left some of the oil in its wake, known for healing and helping with the skin that bore the brunt of armor being smashed against it. He did not know how it would work with the body of a human, even one as superior as Rogers, but he did not think it would hurt. 

He ran his hands up, returning them to their higher position, and used the oil to let his skin glide over the Captain’s, no friction now, only the pressure where he needed it, where it would help. He felt his thumbs beginning to feel warm, and rolled them to pick some of the oil up as well, letting the sensation fade under the effects of it. 

The smell reminded him of many nights in Asgard, after practices, trying to soothe his own aches with similar treatment. It had been a long time since he’d had reason to use this oil on someone, since he had been close enough to someone to care for them. He couldn’t even pinpoint the time he had stopped using it on himself… though he was certain it came fast on the heels of the revelation of what he was. He’d probably decided, without realizing, that he no longer deserved it. 

Stupid. 

  
  


  
  


Steve blushed at the mention of ‘brothels.’ He’d known some of the fellas in the war would take some time to spend with the local girls in whatever village they’d set up camp near, but Steve had never been among them. Barring that one ill-conceived kiss with Private Lorraine, he’d been loyal to Peggy, and even if he didn’t have her, he doubted he could have gone through with such an encounter without nearly dying of embarrassment. Even if only for a backrub.

“ We get-- mmm-- regular medical check-ups and physicals,” he said, in some defense of SHIELD’s protocols. “They’re just not this-- guh, yeah, right there-- this... um....” his train of thought gently derailed and drifted off into the ether. He had access to medical care, but all of that was cold, clinical, and Steve’d had enough doctors poking at him in his youth to last a lifetime. But he’d never had something like this; it was the exact antithesis of those awkward, uncomfortable examinations he’d endured until the serum rewrote his entire body. A body that apparently still did require some attention, as he could feel Loki working tension out of muscles he didn’t even know he had. 

The thought of someone doing this for him every time he came home was a  _ very _ nice thought, he had to admit. Coming back from SHIELD, not to a cold and dark apartment, but to soft hands kneading away all his aches and pains; to Loki, gently (and not so gently) banishing the stiffness from his shoulders, arms, back, neck...

Hands drew away and Steve almost made a sound of protest, biting it back at the last moment. And when Loki breathed out  ‘ _ oh, Captain’ _ with all the quiet reverence of a prayer, he felt a shiver run up his spine. 

He stilled slightly at the first touch of the oil. It was cool, but not cold, and it warmed quickly between his and Loki’s skin. Loki’s already gentle hands were now smooth and soft as silk, but with the strength of iron as they applied expert pressure, gliding across the expanse of Steve’s back. A low moan escaped his throat, rumbling in his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched like this. If he’d even been touched like this. It was intimate in a way he just hadn’t ever been with anyone, though his heart leapt at the idea of doing such again, when Loki recommended he return when he’d healed more. Though that would require the massage to end, which Steve never wanted it to. He let his eyes drift closed and just  _ felt _ . Let his mind float and his body surrender to the expertise of Loki’s hands. “Have to do this for you sometime,” he mumbled, feeling that was only fair. 

Then Loki’s thumb hit a pressure point that made something come uncoiled in a way that hurt and felt amazing all at once; he gasped, an ache he’d probably carried so long he’d grown numb to it dissolving. In its wake was nothing but bliss. 

  
  


  
  


Loki flushed and ducked his face, glad that the Captain could not see his reaction to the noises he was making, and trying valiantly to ensure that the cameras-- and those on the other side of them-- did not either. 

He willed himself not to react in kind, though he had to bit his lip to distract himself from it with the slight pain of his blunt teeth digging into his own flesh. 

He cleared his throat as softly as he could, then spoke again in the soft, calming voice he’d learned at Frigga’s side in the halls of healing. 

“I’d like that, though perhaps someday… when we are not so observed.” He spoke quietly, in the hopes that perhaps the cameras would not pick up the sounds. “I do not mind your seeing me, but…” he cut the words short and shrugged, before remembering the Captain could not see it. 

“ I would not like to expose strangers to my physique.” He worded it gently, unwilling to open another argument this way about their disparate perceptions of Loki and his body. 

He ran his hands together, zeroing in on the spot on the other side of the Captain’s spine that matched the one he’d just released. 

He realized such a time may not come, ever. He would be observed here with Rogers until the sceptre called to him, and he was forced to take it to Thanos and his death. But this was about the pretense of the future, the pretense that there was a future. So he would talk of somedays, though they gnawed a hole in his chest that stood in direct contrast to the warmth he felt in his stomach, at the way Rogers’s back twitched and shifted under his hands, and the  _ sounds _ .

He closed his eyes, feeling safe in doing that at least, and just listened. Surely it would not hurt to believe… to pretend, while he was in the business of it, that this could be a future as well. Though this was not a shared fantasy, it was just for Loki. And he felt selfish and guilty for it… but the good, for the moment, outweighed those feelings. 

The vibrations of the noises in his chest traveled through his hands, up his arms and straight to the pooling discomfort in the center of his being. 

He had a small area for relieving himself, something like a self-emptying pot, with paper shields before it. But there was no way he was going to be able to use that space to release this pressure. They could see, and even if they couldn’t, they would  _ hear.  _ And after this, they would know, without a doubt, what had caused it. 

It would reflect poorly on the Captain, and it would give him yet another weakness for them to exploit. 

And so he would need to gain control of himself before he rose, before he had even finished touching the man before him. 

And wouldn’t that be a challenge?

Closing his eyes, now, seemed less wise, and he forced himself to press the heel of his foot against the budding tightness in his pants, until it was almost painful, in the hopes that would discourage this idiocy before it brought harm unto them both. 

  
  


  
  


Steve’s smile faded at Loki’s modesty, knowing but not understanding the reason for it. It was like pulling teeth, trying to get Loki to see any of the good in himself; any of his beauty. And he  _ was _ beautiful -- Steve had gotten an eyeful of his physique when he’d taken Loki to the showers, all slender limbs and lithe muscles under gleaming pale skin, water tracking down the long lines of his body, spreading his hair over his shoulders like ink. He’d wanted to draw him then, in some part, though he was glad now that he hadn’t. Loki had been irate over a simple portrait; he could only imagine the hurt and disgust such an image of him as his most vulnerable would have yielded.

Of course, it had been weeks now since Loki had last had a shower, and Scofield wouldn’t have bothered to take him. Perhaps he was due for another...

He leaned forward slightly as Loki’s hands traced downward to his lower back, and the change in his position made him abruptly aware of the slight tightness of the seam of his sweatpants. His eyes widened in dawning horror; he was, well, not  _ hard _ , but... But in enough of a condition to make him thankful he’d changed out of his very snug uniform and into something looser. 

And Loki’s hands still felt  _ so damn good.  _

He pressed his lips together. It was probably a purely physiological response, or he could pass it off as one if Loki noticed. With all the nerve bundles his fingers had been targeting, one of them must have surely set off some kind of chain reaction through his body. It was just a neurological hiccup; not a result of the intense pleasure or the thought of oiling up his own hands and tracing them down the sides of Loki’s long throat, over his shoulders, slipping down his spine to the divets of his hips---

Steve twitched. Allowing his mind to wander was clearly not the best strategy anymore. Breathing deeply, he sought for conversation topics. Something that would bring the blood back to his mind instead of more southerly locations. 

“ So, you... you got a lot of backrubs like this in Asgard? After battles and all?” he asked. Right, backrubs were still a bit too on topic, but perhaps a segue into Asgard would help. His voice emerged only a touch higher than normal, though he winced at how breathless he sounded. “From lovers, er, or, I mean... Your mentioned your friends and Thor?” And wasn’t  _ that _ an awkward juxtaposition, he thought, mentally kicking himself. 

  
  


  
  


Loki knew what he  _ wanted _ this line of questions to be about, though he doubted that was the Captain’s intent. Still, he was glad for the opportunity to speak-- surely such a topic could only help to discourage his body’s responses to Rogers’. 

“After hunts or battles, sometimes. More often in my feet or legs. The way I fight requires more footwork and finesse, and cramps in those muscles afterwards can be near crippling. I am not strong enough for Thor’s hacking to do me much good, but fortunately leg muscles ease with very little effort. So at least on my part, the care was quick. Often they would see to me first, that I might then return the favor.” He’d often felt cheated, not experiencing any of the sort of feeling the warriors three had expressed at his hands, but at least Volstagg had a grip like to loosen deep in the muscles, the sort of pressure that left invisible bruises that lingered and relieved. Loki had favored his hands, for those times. 

“My lovers did not often have any such aspirations of closeness or bonding.” He said bluntly. “They were periodic fixtures in my bed, or I in theirs, for the express interest of relieving sexual tension. But even then…” He trailed off, remembering the way he’d felt the first time he’d lain with a woman, and she had asked that he leave his clothing on. So she could imagine he was so gloriously muscled as his brother. 

“Even then I was not fond of allowing strangers to view me in my entirety.” 

That was an understatement. He’d later taken to tying his partners’ hands up or down, that he could safely spell himself bigger, more defined, and not worry that wandering hands would shatter the illusion. 

Save when he was on his back, when he let someone else take charge. In those instances, his smallness was part of his allure. He understood it all too well, how it made his partners feel stronger, bigger, better…kind, even, for gracing someone so blatantly against what was considered attractive with their attentions. He blew out a harsh breath of air, grateful to note that the old hurts were helping to solve his current problem. 

“ You have a stubbornness just here,” Loki said, changing the subject quickly and squeezing to indicate the area. “May I use a little more pressure, or would that hurt too much? I can work at it slowly if you prefer, I just didn’t want to risk overwhelming you.” Or risk taking the Captain by surprise, and wrenching any more of those delicious noises from his throat. 

Loki wanted to groan, wanted to bury his face in the Captain’s back. 

He’d known he was attracted. He just hadn’t realized how strongly, and with what level of desperation his body was clinging to this. It would make his trying not to offend by coming across as too interested in him in that way all the more difficult.

  
  


  
  


Steve’s expression furrowed faintly at Loki’s talk of his lovers. Not about the fact that he had them, of course -- everyone (well, everyone who wasn’t Steve, it felt like) had some sort of history, and as a being with centuries upon centuries of life, Loki must have acquired a fair amount of experience.  _ He _ hadn’t spent the bulk of his existence frozen in a block of arctic ice, after all. No, he expected that Loki’d had plenty of women in his bed before (how could someone who looked like that not?), but the toneless way he spoke of them made something inside of Steve sink. 

What he described sounded hollow. Pleasurable, but without substance. Lonely even. He felt the stirrings of disappointment the more he dwelled on it. 

He knew he’d be a hypocrite though, to criticize Loki’s unwillingness to display his body. Disrobing came easier to Steve now, but it didn’t mean he was typically comfortable with it. When he’d been small, he hated taking off his shirt because his chest was concave and his ribs were all visible and his shoulderblades jutted out, and people looked at him like he was an invalid, which wasn’t all that far from the truth. Now, he had the benefit of looking healthy and strong and fitting all the ideals, but in a way it was just as bad. People stared openly when he took off his shirt, until he felt his cheeks begin to flush. 

They didn’t look at him like an invalid anymore. They just looked at him like a piece of meat. 

He tensed as Loki squeezed a part of his back. “Yeah, go ahead,” he replied. Even if it did hurt, it might help as a distraction. And he doubted Loki would actually injure him; he was too damn skilled at this. 

“So you weren’t close to anyone?” he asked, wincing immediately after. That sounded dangerously like pity. Or prying. He wasn’t sure which Loki would look on more unkindly. He had to steer the conversation away from talk of lovers. “What about, I mean... what about family? I know you and Thor are on the outs, but you grew up together. Sounds like you had to have been close at some point.” He wondered if Loki could feel the tension flooding back into his body, and if he’d be cross with seeing his good work undone by Steve’s own awkwardness. 

  
  


  
  


Loki tapped at the neck muscles that bunched above his hands. 

“ Stop that.” He told him gently. “I won’t be angry at you. I did promise to tell you anything, remember?” He may have been pleading, desperate and frightened and not entirely in control of himself, but he knew what he’d said. He would keep his word, to this man at the very least. 

He waited for the Captain to at least make an effort to relax before moving his hands back to the problem area. 

“ Thor and I were very close growing up. We were near-constant companions, until he made other friends who shared more of his interests. There was no need for him to bother me in the library any longer, or for me to skulk about the edges of his practice rings. It was a process of growing up and growing apart… we still had adventures, but as we and our differences continued growing, it became obvious to me that his version of existence was preferred. And while the space between us grew, so did my jealousy, until… until at times I hated him almost as much as I loved him. It was confusing. Upsetting. I avoided him to avoid feeling that guilt, that envy… it did not mix well with my love for him. And it festered, and…” Loki paused. “It is my fault of course, I allowed myself to be overtaken by the monstrous feelings inside of me, even before I knew the truth of it. I acted on those beastly urges, and the guilt deepened, the hatred intensified. I hurt him, and then I pushed him away, and I still do. It was… a relief, really, to learn that we were not truly brothers, that the comparisons were more unwarranted than any who made them could have guessed.” Loki sighed. 

“ Sometimes-- and don’t be angry at me for saying so Captain, as I know you are trying to-- relax these muscles.” He tapped the offending area again. 

“ Sometimes it is comforting to know that I am a monster, because at least then there is an expectation that is warranted. I am expected to be awful because that is the only logical conclusion for it. When I am, I am not letting anyone down, and when I rise beyond it, at best those who notice are pleasantly surprised. It is a far superior fate to being the younger brother, the spare son, with no future, no prospects, and no value beyond the bloodline he supposedly was heir to.” He kept his voice soothing and light, surprised again at the honesty in the admission. 

“ I suppose there is our difference, again. You are far too good to ever have been so divided about your Bucky.” That was the only time he sounded sad about any of it, and he was pleased with himself for having managed. If he had been more like the Captain, perhaps life would have been better for him. 

He pressed into the muscle with the aggression he felt at his own lot in life, still holding back lest he injure this man who was trusting him not to, but pressing enough to ease both his own tension and that of the muscles he fought with. 

  
  


  
  


Steve frowned but tried to keep himself relaxed as Loki described his youth with Thor. It was sad to think of, that inseparable brothers could just drift apart like that until they were on opposite sides of a battlefield, trying to kill each other. Sad to think that the bond between the two of them might be damaged beyond repair, assuming Thor ever turned back up again. 

He couldn’t quite suppress a wince as Loki called himself a monster yet again. On the one hand, he could understand; having been a nobody and then having been Captain America, he sometimes missed the lack of pressure, the lack of responsibility bestowed on him by his sheer existence. Being skinny little Steve Rogers from Brooklyn had its own hardships, but everyone was generally pretty happy with him if he stayed out of trouble and kept breathing (though he was prone to having trouble with both). 

But while it made his heart ache a bit to hear Loki speak of his own flaws and fault in allowing his hate to fester and his role in pushing Thor away, it was also an expression of remorse. Of regret and culpability and responsibility for his actions. A responsibility he seemed to dodge with his next words, however, by ascribing those flaws to something innate. 

“ Funny,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly so he could see Loki out of the corner of his vision. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who surrenders to anyone’s expectations.” He’d already blown away all of Steve’s preconceived notions since his arrival at SHIELD, after all.

He was tempted to point that of course he’d had moments where he’d been jealous of Bucky -- he wasn’t a saint -- and he’d often found himself wishing he could be as handsome and charming and strong and healthy as his best friend, even as he coveted Bucky’s presence in his life. Maybe that was it; that his desire to have Bucky around outweighed his jealous desire to  _ be _ Bucky. He’d also been dependent on Bucky in so many ways... Maybe if he’d been a bit stronger, a bit more independent, a bit more capable of making it on his own as Loki was, time would have eventually driven a wedge between the two of them. If they’d ever had time, that is. Steve’s frown deepened.

“I was an only child. So was Buck. I mean, we pretty much made a choice to be like brothers, but I had my ma, and he had his folks, so we didn’t have to worry about sibling rivalry of any kind,” he pointed out. Not having any biological relation to Bucky also saved Steve some tiny semblance of shame for what he’d felt for him, though he had plenty of shame regarding that already. “We didn’t get compared so much. I mean, I wasn’t even in the same league, it would have been apples to oranges, but...” he trailed off. “I guess we had it easier, in some ways, is what I’m saying.”

  
  


  
  


He pressed harder unintentionally when Rogers spoke of him ‘surrendering’ to expectations, and removed his hands from the man, lest he do more damage as his temper flared. 

He tapped it down a little, enough to reply without hissing his words. 

“ You speak of the expectations over me as if they came suddenly and I, like a horse, could buck and reject them.  _ I was a prince _ . My entire life was made of expectations, albeit hollow ones. Everyone knew Thor would be king, Thor the unmatchable, the golden son. I had to be trained, taught how to rule… but they all knew it was just a waste of my time. I wish I had known. Perhaps I would not have taken it so seriously, the-- the responsibility, they told me, of the future of Asgard, rested in my hands. And I thought that to mean that they had seen the flaws I saw in Thor, his idiocy and unfairness. I thought that meant that, for the first time in my life, I was to be  _ useful _ , trusted, taken seriously. I did not surrender to expectations, Captain, I embraced them. While Thor shirked his duties at every turn, I applied myself, I  _ tried _ . And here I am.” He spread his arms, though he knew the gesture would be lost. 

He calmed himself and shook his head, returning to his work now that the potentially damaging topic had been addressed. 

“ It was unfair of me to compare you and I, I know. We have that fundamental difference that makes any comparison, any wish I might have to have been more like you, into something irrelevant. You have something I have always lacked, an outlook that tends toward the good, that finds beauty in things. All I can see is darkness, twisting in everything, because I find it first within myself.” Rogers did not like when he spoke thus, but he would have to get used to it. It was a truth, and Loki had promised him those truths.

He kneaded the heels of his hands in deeper, the pain he was causing almost certain to be at odds with his next words. 

“I admire you Captain, though not in the way I admired Thor. I envied him the life he led, the friends, the love he had from those close to him, the adoration, the strength, the power… with you… I admire your hope, Captain, but I do not want it. I know that it hurts far too much.” 

  
  


  
  


Steve grunted in discomfort as the heels of Loki’s hands dug in hard against Steve’s tensing muscles. He wanted to protest, to say that wasn’t the set of expectations he’d meant, that it had come out wrong... but that probably wouldn’t go over any better than his last words. His brain was clearly not in top gear, and he’d do a lot better to stop and go home and think about his words before just blurting out the first well-intentioned thing to pop into his head. 

He was sure there was some way to get through to Loki. To make him see. But just repeating over and over that he wasn’t a monster would be about as effective as shouting at a wall. They’d all watched Thor take that brute-force approach to communication, calling Loki ‘brother’ over and over with impassioned pleas for him to stop all throughout the invasion, and it hadn’t been terribly fruitful. Repeating himself over and over wouldn’t get him anywhere; he’d need to approach this issue tactically.

He might, he realized, even need backup. Or advice from someone who might actually understand... A tentative, precarious idea began to form in Steve’s mind. A plan.

He wouldn’t win this battle tonight; not when they were both so battered already. But he wasn’t giving up.

He reached back and grasped one of the hands working at his shoulder, covering it with his and bringing it to stillness. He waited a moment, trying to order his thoughts so he didn’t go sticking his foot in his mouth yet again before speaking. 

“ There’s darkness in everything, you’re right about that. And I’ve seen a hell of a lot of dark,” he explained quietly, turning slightly so his back was no longer directed to Loki, but not enough to dislodge his hand. “I’ve seen real evil. Stuff that gives me nightmares. Hell, I’ve done things that gave me nightmares,” he confessed, voice just over a whisper. He knew few people would believe it of him, but even if his actions had been morally justifiable, even if his purpose had been good, he’d still killed people during the war. He knew what it looked like when the life left a man’s eyes. He knew what it felt like to have put it out yourself. 

“ But, well, there’s a saying that it’s only in the darkness you can see the stars,” he continued, blushing a bit, knowing it sounded campy, but... “Good can shine awful bright. More shadows there are, the more important it is for you to find and follow that light. Otherwise, you get lost in the dark.” He gave the hand under his a brief squeeze, hoping the gesture wouldn’t presume too much.

“Hope hurts, yeah. But hell if it’s not better than nothing at all.”

  
  


  
  


Loki let his hands fall still, expecting that the Captain would move away, or tell him to, that he’d upset him again. Instead he turned to him, let Loki’s hand linger on his back.

If Loki had thought this felt intimate before, it was nothing in comparison to their closeness paired with the earnest voice Rogers spoke in. The way he projected his hope onto Loki, the way he spoke of light in the darkness… it was almost overwhelming, after the day they’d had. 

Loki slid his hand up the man’s back until it draped over his shoulder, and he dropped his forehead against the shoulder closer to him while he struggled to understand how he felt. 

Ragged, but on the mend, of course not numb to his pain, but able to ignore it in light of the comfort he felt. Rogers was warm against the front of him, and Loki wanted nothing more than to curl up into that warmth and sleep for a year, inappropriate as that want may be. 

“ You are the good and the light, Captain.” He said softly against his arm. “Why do you think so many are so keen to follow you? We’re all in the darkness, and you might see stars, small pinpricks of light in others, but who could compete, who would want to, with your light? And…” He stopped. He couldn’t say any more, lest he cause the Captain discomfort, both here and later, when his Agents would level more accusations at him, the way Scofield had. 

“ I appreciate your trying to find the light in me, Captain. You are the first person to care enough to make an attempt in a very long time. But it terrifies me.” He said it bluntly, because it needed to be said. “It scares me that you expect too much of me, and that one day I will let you down-- whether intentionally or not. And I will see that hope, and that… the expectation of good… One day you’re going to look at me, and it won’t be there any more. And that will destroy me, whatever small part of me that managed to leech some of your good into itself, will die.” 

He turned his head to the side, so that he could look up and try to see the Captain’s face. But he let his head rest against his arm. 

This was wonderful, but he knew it would have to end. He would have to go back into the cell, and the Captain would have to lock him in. He would have to leave, and have to report to his superiors, and he would have to explain to them the fight with Scofield, and Loki’s closeness to him. And Loki didn’t care that his name would be tarnished as they discovered his argr, didn’t care if they used it as one further reason to hurt and condemn and despise him. Only he did not want to tarnish the Captain with his closeness, did not want to open him to further accusations… but he also did not want to let him go. 

Even in this small way, he was letting the Captain down, as his greed and selfishness won out, and he held him all the tighter, absorbing the comfort he could take now before he was denied it again, as he knew he soon would be. 

  
  


  
  


Steve had to consciously keep from leaning into Loki as the other man’s head came to rest against his shoulder, a warm and comforting weight that simultaneously calmed him and made him aware of the thudding beat of his heart. It wasn’t quite an embrace; it could be chalked up to their mutual exhaustion after their respective ordeals. And if Steve wanted Loki to stay there indefinitely, warm and reassuring and alive, well, no one needed to know.

Loki’s admission of his fear was like a fist squeezing Steve’s heart; because he  _ knew _ that fear. A part of him felt it every time he saw the crowds cheering for him, the children with Cap t-shirts and little plastic shields waving at him, the look of awe in the eyes of soldiers following him; Loki might have been terrified of letting Steve down, but Steve was just as scared. That if he failed -- if Captain America failed -- it wouldn’t be his own hope that extinguished, but the hope he was responsible for maintaining in others. It was an honor and a burden and a curse and some days he wanted to run away from it all and live in anonymity again, but that would just fulfill every failure he dreaded. 

If he let Loki down and shattered the fragile spark of hope he might still have... He feared that more than anything else. He’d let down enough of those closest to him already.

_ Never,  _ he wanted to whisper into Loki’s ear.  _ I’m never giving up on you.  _ But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, such a raw and honest and painful promise. Not here. Not like this.

Instead he pulled away, turning and looking Loki in the eyes, smiling a weak and weary smile. “There’s already good in you, Loki. It’s a lot brighter than you think,” he said. 

With that he swung his legs around and got up into a crouch, reaching for their discarded trash and for his shirt. He stifled a groan as he pulled it on over his head, but noted that his body ached far less than it had before; the ribs hurt, but the pervasive pain had ebbed and the stiffness loosened, giving him a greater range of mobility than he’d entered with. 

“You should probably get some rest,” he said, slowly standing with the wrappers and empty water bottles in the bag. Part of him wanted to linger, but he knew he had duties to attend to. The first and foremost would be making sure Scofield was taken off the roster; he had the authority to banish the man from the room, but he’d have to actually contact the man’s SO to get him removed from his present station. In fact, he’d been remiss up til now, and probably ought to request a list of all the agents assigned to Loki’s detail so he could personally vet them, to keep anything like this from happening again. He glanced back at Loki. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Promise. With something good to eat, too.”

  
  


  
  


He watched him as he pulled away and stood, but for once there was no feeling that he’d upset him. He was just left with a warm glow within him, one that was not nearly so uncomfortable as his words would have led him to believe it would be.

“I’ll look forward to it,” He said softly, standing on his own and fighting the urge to wrap his arms around himself to preserve the warmth he’d trapped to his front, if just for a little while longer. But he did not want to garner pity, and he knew enough from the times he had gone seeking it that folding in on himself would do only that. 

He twisted the lid back over his oil, and banished it back into the recesses of his keeping, rubbing the last of it over the tips of his fingers. Consideringly, he looked down at himself, then up at the Captain. 

“ Before I return to my enclosure--” he said, “I am just going to change into less soiled wear.” He had promised to warn him before he did magic, and that promise kept, he quickly let one pair of clothes melt into another, the loose green shirt and black pants simpler still than the last outfit he had had. More comfortable, but leaving him more exposed-- less armored. He doubted he would need it though, with the Captain back and so quick to defend him, so fast to leap to his side.

Thus restored, at least in part, he stood tall, took himself back into his cell in as dignified a way as he could, and allowed the Captain to lock him in. He had no reason for the anxiety he felt, now, knowing things would go back to as they were before Scofield, that he would be fed and cared for, allowed and encouraged to speak and eat and sleep and read. 

“ If you-- when you do come back, would you mind bringing some extra waters? I am afraid I have gone through all of my stores, in your absence.” He winced, feeling as though he had danced around the issue rather than addressing it properly, a close friend to a lie, but it was for the best, wasn’t it? To preserve their happy parting?

“ And Captain…” He wasn’t sure it was appropriate, at this junction, but still it seemed the best way to express how he felt. “Welcome home. I am very glad you’ve returned.” He forced as much emotion into the somewhat distant words as he could, coupled with a glance upwards towards the cameras, to hopefully remind the Captain why such a distance was necessary. Especially after Loki had nearly twined himself around the man while they were on the floor. 

He would have to be more careful from here on out-- no doubt made easier by the glass that would again be between them. 

  
  


  
  


It wasn’t until after Loki had changed his clothes into something more comfortable-seeming -- simple enough to almost look more human than Asgardian -- that Steve realized he’d had no reaction. Nothing like the sour shock he’d gotten the last time he’d witnessed that particular trick. Instead of dwelling on the magic Loki had used in Stuttgart, the only thing that came to mind was how well the green of his shirt brought out the color of his eyes. 

“ Extra water, you got it,” he agreed after sealing the cell, knowing the other agents wouldn’t take kindly to finding it unlocked. “And hey, if there’s anything else you need -- blankets, shower, more books loaded up on your reader -- whatever. Let me know.” Though he felt a small spike of anger at the fact that Loki had been so neglected he’d gone without  _ water _ , it was good at least that Loki felt comfortable asking for things. Thus far Steve had been able to accommodate just about everything, and considering what Loki had put up with this past week and a half, he certainly deserved a little extra in the way of creature comforts now.

He turned toward the door, then looked back over his shoulder at Loki with one last lopsided smile. “Thanks. Good to be home. I’ll, uh,” he ducked his head, “I’ll see you soon.”

Then he was out in the corridor. He breathed deeply, the full emotional range of the evening -- from shock to horror to rage to exhaustion to pleasure and comfort and shame -- all bearing down on him with crushing weight. He wanted to go home and sleep for a year.

But he had promises to keep, and miles to go before he’d sleep.

Starting with getting Scofield permanently reassigned. Then meeting with Fury, if he’d yet to go home himself. And finally, a phonecall.

Steve straightened his shoulders and headed toward the elevators. 

  
  


“ Sir.”

Fury looked up from the files on his desk. “Didn’t I tell you to go home, Rogers?”

“ I went down to check on Loki, sir.”

With a heavy sigh, Fury set aside his work. “Of course you did. You know, I thought giving you some space away from him might improve your sense of perspective--”

Steve’s brows knit together. “You  _ what _ ?” He took a step forward. “When you sent me to Symkaria, you  _ knew-- _ ”

Fury held up a hand, forestalling him. “I didn’t know anything about what would happen in Symkaria, or I would have made sure you and your team were better prepared. I was under the impression it would have been a couple days at most, but I hoped it would be enough for you to get your head on straight where Loki is concerned.”

Steve flinched almost imperceptibly at the choice of words. “My head is fine, sir.”

“ Really? Because it seems to me that you disobeyed an order to take care of yourself in favor of spending some time with your favorite supervillain.”

“ And it’s a damn good thing I did,” Steve snapped. “Or was that also part of the plan for giving me some space?”

Fury’s eye narrowed. “I’m not sure what you mean, Rogers, but I’m fairly certain I don’t like your tone.”

“ Agent Scofield. He led Loki to believe I’d been killed in action, and then starved him out by giving Loki food he couldn’t eat,” Steve ground out from between clenched teeth.

Fury’s eyebrows lifted. “Just because Loki chooses not to eat the meals brought to him by anyone by you, doesn’t mean--”

“ He can’t eat spicy food,” Steve said, cutting him off. “They don’t have it on Asgard, he can’t handle it. So Scofield fed him nothing but  _ ghost peppers  _ and no water for eleven days! I don’t think the definition of mistreatment of a prisoner has so radically changed in the last seventy years that you can--”

“ I was unaware of Agent Scofield’s actions,” Fury said, raising his voice. “And I am sorry to hear about it, and will see he’s removed from that detail on review if what you say is true.”

“ How could you be unaware?” Steve snapped, exhaustion and the emotional rollercoaster of the past few hours reducing his hold on his temper to near nothingness. “This happened on your watch, with your people, under your roof. Hell, you were in the same damn building, Nick, and he--”

Fury stood abruptly. “You might recall, Captain Rogers, that I had several agents missing in the field after being shot down by unknown hostiles,  _ Captain _ _ America _ among them, and a brewing international incident we were doing our best to keep from turning into an all out war. Forgive me if I didn’t make it my top priority to ensure that a prisoner was getting his wheaties!”

Steve chewed his bottom lip, still angry, but rebuked. “I let him out of his cell.”

Fury didn’t so much as move a muscle. “You what.”

Steve took a deep breath, or as deep as his ribs would let him. “I let him out of his cell. We sat on the floor. I fed him, gave him water, and we talked. Scofield turned up, said some things, I kicked him out. Loki and I... talked more, and then he went back in his cell. Not once did he act violently, or make any attempt at escape.” He looked Fury in the eyes. “He’s got his magic back. He’s had plenty of opportunities to attempt escape. And with the way he’s been treated, he’s been given plenty of reasons. Since he showed up at SHIELD, he hasn’t hurt anyone, hasn’t been violent... He’s been cooperative and has demonstrated the ability to be reasonable and, and a decent person.”

“ And you’re telling me all this because...?”

“ The security currently assigned to him is unnecessary. That manpower and resources would be best allocated elsewhere. Holding him in that cell--”

“ I suppose you also want me to set him up with a nice little suite at the local Comfort Inn too?” Fury snorted. “He’s being held in that cell because he is a criminal, Rogers. Loki killed a lot of people. The reason you’re the only one who’s worried about him being comfortable is because everyone else hasn’t forgotten that fact. He stays a prisoner, because he deserves to do time.”

Steve’s expression turned dark. “I thought we were on the same page about rehabilitating him.”

“ People get rehabilitated in prison all the time,” Fury replied, unfazed.

“ If everyone keeps treating him like a monster,” Steve said lowly, “then that’s all he’s ever going to believe he’s capable of being.”

“ Well then,” Fury remarked. “It’s a good thing he has you now, Rogers, doesn’t he?”

Steve took a breath as something in his gut turned, Fury’s words a disturbing echo of the conversation he’d had with Loki and his epiphany about his terror of letting Loki down. “I suppose so,” he muttered.

Some of the hardness went out of Fury’s expression. “Go home and get some sleep, Rogers. For real this time. We can discuss this more later.”

Steve swallowed. “Yes sir.” He turned and made it halfway toward the door before he stopped and looked back. “Actually, sir, I have one more request.”

A heavy sigh. “Of course you do.” Fury sat back down. “Lay it on me.”

Steve told him.

  
  


\---

  
  


After getting home, Steve barely took the time to strip before crawling into his bed, kicking off his socks as he wriggled underneath the blankets. His skin felt soft against the sheets where Loki’s oil had seeped into it, and even after the conversation with Fury, he felt looser than he had in weeks.

He fell asleep within minutes.

  
  


 

 


	9. Nine

Morning came all too soon, but despite being technically off duty for the day, Steve forced himself to roll out of bed with a groan.

He might not have orders from SHIELD at the moment, but he had things to do.

Standing in the shower, he let the hot spray beat down on his shoulders until the bathroom filled with so much steam he couldn't see. The water felt good on his aches and bruises, and with the warmth of it, he could almost imagine warm and slender hands were massaging away his hurts.

He swallowed when he realized that his body was beginning to respond to the fantasy (or did it count as a memory, since it had happened?), switching the water back to cold. It had all been on camera. People had seen. People had seen him shirtless and getting oil rubbed on him and Scofield calling him a-- People had seen. People knew. Scofield knew.

It was terrifying. It was out of his hands.

"Fuck," he whispered, letting his head fall forward against the tile until the water ran frigid and he turned it off, stepping out to dry himself. If this had happened back before, he'd be running scared for his life right now. Changing cities, probably, so they couldn't find him and beat the crap out of him. He knew that wasn't how it worked anymore, but it was hard to shake the feeling of impending doom. People still hated queers. No one would want him as Captain America if it became public knowledge.

He would have to be more careful. Or just wait and hope that Scofield wasn't out for revenge, and whoever reviewed those tapes didn't decide that Captain America being a great big sissy constituted the biggest compromise of an agent ever.

Dressed and shaved with his hair neatly parted and combed, he grabbed his backpack, wallet, and keys. He picked up his phone, checked it, then scrolled through his contacts, snatching a pen and a scrap of paper from a drawer and copying the number down before turning the phone off and leaving it on his counter.

And people thought he hadn't adapted to 21st technology. Steve knew better.

The air outside was crisp and cool and felt good in his lungs, though he had to keep reminding himself not to breathe too deep. A run was out of the question, but stretching his legs at a leisurely pace felt good. He stopped at Harvey's and picked up a few maple rounds, then stopped at the 24-hour corner store where he bought a twelve-pack of bottled waters, loading them into his bag. And around the corner from the store stood one of the last banks of payphones in the neighborhood.

Fumbling with the change in his pocket leftover from his purchases, Steve put in a quarter, dialed the number he'd written down, and then waited for the call to connect.

The other end didn't pick up until the third ring. _"’llo?"_

Steve licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. "Dr. Banner?"

_"...Who is this?"_

"It's Steve."

A pause. _"Rogers?"_

"Do you have an abundance of other Steves in your life?"

_"Well, yes actually, it's a pretty common name. Hang on, I don't recognize the number you're calling from--"_

"It's a payphone," Steve explained. "Look, I'm sorry if this is a bad time, I have no idea what time zone you're even in... Is this a safe line to be calling you on?"

Bruce paused again. _"Steve, are you in trouble?"_

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. No. Maybe." He'd thought about Loki in the shower again and yes, he was in big trouble there, but not the kind Bruce thought. "I just need to ask you about something privately."

_"Well, Stark modified my phone so it can't be bugged or tracked, so you're safe on my end. And it's early afternoon where I'm at."_

Steve exhaled in relief. "Ok, good."

_"What's this about?"_

He grimaced. "So, about a month ago, Loki showed back up..."

He heard a muffled curse on the other end, followed by someone breathing deeply. _"Sorry. So, I take it you need the Other Guy?"_

"What? No! No, no Other Guy!" Steve squawked. "Definitely no on the Other Guy. I actually just need you. I mean, your advice."

_"....On Loki."_

Steve did his best to summarize the situation, though it took him several more quarters to get through all of it: Loki's arrival and the scepter and Steve's visits with him, his efforts to rehabilitate Loki and the realization that Loki wasn't irredeemably awful and crazy but actually had a lot of good qualities. He cringed a little as he divulged Loki's heritage and the whole mess involved with that, familialy and psychologically, knowing Loki would be appalled by the breach of his privacy. But then, the cameras had caught it all, and Bruce might actually have something helpful to say, having lived with a monster just under his skin.

He remembered what Bruce had said about putting a gun in his mouth. He told him about what Loki had said about falling too.

When he was done, he feared for a moment they'd been disconnected in the silence that followed. Finally, Bruce said something.

_"Well that's pretty messed up."_

"No kidding." Steve ran a hand back through his hair. "He's not... he's not a monster. But I can't get that through to him. I can't get anyone else to see it either."

Bruce hummed thoughtfully. _"So you asked the only other monster you know."_

"The man I know who's been called a monster and proved to be a hero," Steve corrected.

Bruce chuckled.

_"You know, I started having a much easier time dealing with The Other Guy after New York. The second time, I mean. People changed their attitudes about him a lot once I-- once he--_ we _saved people. Saved lives. Sounds like your main defense of Loki right now is 'he isn't murdering anyone' which, let's be honest, is a little weak. I know there's not much he can do locked up, and believe me, I get how crummy that can be. But if you can give him the opportunity to do a good act, to help someone visibly, more than just talking and sharing intel for his own benefit... You might be able to make some headway."_

Steve nodded, even though Bruce couldn't see him. "That's... that's a really good point. Thanks." He exhaled in relief, glad that Bruce had listened, and offered actual advice instead of telling Steve he was insane or compromised. "Seriously, thank you."

_"Let me know how it works out. And if you do end up needing the Other Guy. Though I really hope you don't."_

"Same," Steve agreed. "I'll keep you posted. Take care."

He hung up the phone and leaned against the wall for several minutes before hoisting up his backpack with the water and the pastries and heading back toward his apartment.

He had a few more calls to make.

  
  


\---

  
  


It was still early when he arrived at SHIELD.

"Morning!" Steve called out as he entered the chamber, the lights going from dim to full brightness on his entry. "I brought breakfast."

  
  
  


Loki looked up from where he lay on the cot, reading the dark words on the softly glowing screen.

"I don't know I have ever seen you here so early, Captain." He greeted cautiously, uncertain of the reasoning behind the scheduling of this visit. "Unless of course the timing mechanism was also compromised in your absence." He gestured upwards at the lights while waiting for his eyes to adjust.

That would have been shrewd of Scofield, he realized, lengthening or shortening days, while Loki had no other means of measuring them.

He sat up to properly greet the man, casting a critical eye over the visible signs of Rogers' past week.

"Your healing is always a marvel." He commented. "How are you feeling today?"

It was small talk and he knew it, but after the previous day's clinging, he spent a good deal of time considering how he behaved, the myriad of ways he'd allowed his masks to slip, the ways he'd bared himself. He had to be more careful, for the Captain's sake, if not his own.

The prospect of breakfast was a glorious one, given that it was unlikely to make his throat feel as if it was peeling on the inside, and was guaranteed to be fully cooked, at worst, but more likely absolutely delightful, given the Captain's tastes thus far.

The sandwiches had been wonderful, but they had only served to reawaken his appetite, and it was only a matter of time before his stomach reawakened from it's latest quiet period, and made an embarrassment of itself.

He'd slept well enough, and he hoped he looked a little better for it, though he knew the vanity was pointless given that he was meant to be putting more distance between he and Captain Rogers. He certainly felt better, though.

He stalked closer, glad, for once, of the glass. There would be no guessing about physical contact, no temptation to touch. The most intimate he could get was his hand raised before him and his words honeyed and low... and that, he meant to avoid.

"And what have you brought for us to eat today? Nothing with cinnamon, I am sure." He let his lips fold into a smile, reminding Rogers of the incident, now funny with some time and more pressing horrors covering it.

  
  
  


It might have been the two large coffees he'd downed on the way over, or it might have been the joy and relief that came with finding he might actually have an ally in all this with Banner, but the dourness he'd felt on waking that morning was almost entirely gone, leaving Steve feeling almost chipper. "What, you getting tired of my ugly mug already?" he asked with an impish, lopsided smile when Loki noted the early hour. It was true, most of his visits were in the afternoon or evening, but he had plans for today. Plans that he wanted to wait on until Loki had an opportunity to eat breakfast.

"I'm doing a lot better, actually," Steve said, setting down his bag with only the slightest wince. "I don't know where you learned... what you did, but I'm not convinced it wasn't magic, because I don't think I've ever felt this much better this quick after taking a beating, even with the serum," he added with a grin. He expected to still be quite sore, even with his healing ability, but the places Loki had rubbed the night before were dramatically improved already. He felt a bit jealous of warriors in Asgard and Loki's old friends who got that treatment after every battle, from the sound of it.

Opening the bag, he began to remove its contents. The first thing he withdrew was a small gray box he'd picked up from Communications on the way down, which he pocketed for later. Next came the pastry bag from Harvey's, another bag with small splotches of grease darkening the paper, and a small styrofoam take-out box, along with a large quantity of napkins. Finally, from the bottom of the bag where it wouldn't crush anything else, came the package of waters, which he placed in the bin first. "First things first, we have beverages -- I have another one in the backpack for me, these are all for you," he said, before bending down and retrieving the paper bags. "Then, for sweet: we have maple rounds--" he withdrew and set aside one for himself and placed the other in the bin for Loki, "--and for savory: ham, egg and cheese sandwiches." Similarly, he took out his own portion, placing the second wrapped sandwich in with the rest.

"And last but not least, in the interest of expanding your palate to the best things earth has to offer..." he opened the styrofoam container, revealing a dozen long red-brown strips, cooked just to the edge of crispiness, "bacon." He put it in and sealed the box so Loki could open it from his side. "Bon appetit."

  
  
  


Loki raised an eyebrow at the audible cheer, and he was not so self absorbed as to think it was due to him. The glow around the man was almost overwhelming, and with a dull feeling of guilt, Loki realized he'd seen these sort of reactions before. Usually from his bedmates, the morning after something pleasant and vaguely acrobatic had been achieved. He blushed at the thought of Rogers leaving him to go home, wondering if he had come to see Loki before his lover, or if she had known he was back first.

He bit back his answer about tiring of seeing Rogers' face: _Never._ And tried not to think of him tupping some lucky woman who... doubtless was only nearly so amazing as he.

A small ripple of jealousy threatened, and Loki turned to the box full of food to detract from it.

"The oil I used has many restorative properties... it is good for damages such as you met with. I would offer it to you, but." He gestured at the room he stood in, words stopping short of a lie.

The moment the safety door was opened, Loki could smell it, and his stomach lurched and let out the loudest complaint so far.

He looked up at the Captain, sheepish.

"This all smells wonderful." He told him gratefully, withdrawing the topmost treat, the bacon.

He put an end of it into his mouth, and his eyes widened while he chewed, the rest of it following shortly.

He carried the rest of that box and the other food items out and sat them in his usual seating area, going back to grab a water as well.

He swallowed and seated himself.

" _Bacon,_ " he said wonderingly, "May truly be my favorite of the fare you have brought so far." he paused a moment, considering, before lurching forward. "Has anyone ever thought to put it on Pizza?" He asked urgently, excited at the prospect. "I think it would be _amazing_ atop a pizza."

He restrained himself, though, from merely finishing off the box of the stuff, moving on to open the sandwich.

This, at least, was an entirely familiar fare.

"I wonder whether our pigs and chickens came from your world, or yours from ours." Loki said thoughtfully as he bit into it, "Or if they both came from somewhere else altogether." But as he chewed, he frowned.

"Though time seems to have changed them, if they do share a common ancestor. Yours are much less robust... less flavorful." He was sad for that, and almost had formulated a thought to offer to bring Rogers a taste of what ham _should_ taste like, before he remembered. That he wasn't going back to Asgard. That once he left here, he would not come back.

He took another bite and chewed in silence.

To compensate, he tore off the top of the sandwich and placed a couple strips of bacon on it, before replacing the bread.

"I think your bacon may have the restorative properties of my oils. Further research will have to be done on this theory, though." He told him, eyes bright with mischief. Then he cast a belated look at the strips in the box, and back at the Captain, considering.

"Did you... want some?" he asked cautiously, entirely unsure if he wanted to make the offer, but knowing he would share, if asked.

  
  
  


Steve chuckled. "I snuck a piece for myself when I picked it up at the diner on my way here, so it's all yours now." Loki's obvious delight with the bacon was contagious. The way his eyes widened with a childlike surprise and joy of discovery on that first bite just about made Steve's morning, all on its own. "And they do put it on pizza, as a matter of fact. Though I think some people put just about anything on pizza these days. Like pineapple." He made a bit of a face. Clint always insisted it was the best, but Steve couldn't quite get his head around the idea.

At least now he had a good idea of what to bring Loki for later...

"You know, I was actually wondering about that back when we were talking about spices and how you don't have a lot of the same plants and herbs that we do on Asgard," he mused, peeling the paper back from his own sandwich. "Because I swear I heard Thor mention horses before, and it sounds like we've got some domesticated animals in common if you all have chickens and pigs, but then he was going on about bilge-snipes or something that I've never heard of before." Which begged the question, which came first? The chicken or... the Asgardian chicken? Had Asgardians brought their animals to earth, or vice versa? Or, like the people, had they just formed into similar shapes with completely separate origins, either through parallel courses of evolution or at the hand of some greater divine creator?

It was times like this Steve really wished he'd gotten more schooling. He could only imagine how many smart questions Banner or Stark would have been able to ask on this topic. The best he could do was shrug and note the strangeness of it all while chewing on his sandwich.

"Though," he added, once he'd swallowed, "the changes in taste may have happened more recently. A lot of flavors changed a bunch just in my lifetime. Ham tastes kinda different -- a lot of meat, really -- and the plants are all bigger. Corn tastes different. Don't even get me started on bananas, they're like an entirely different fruit--" Natasha had laughed so hard she'd nearly been sick the first time Steve bit into a banana in front of her and then spit it out indignantly because that was _not_ what bananas tasted like!

"A lot of it is pasteurization, I think. But also they raise the animals different, feed ‘em differently... farms are much bigger now. They also breed them for more meat on their bones," he explained, pulling information from the memory he had of pages upon pages of dry SHIELD historic material he'd been supposed to study. He'd skimmed a lot of it. "And then they do all this genetic modification of the crops, so they all turn out looking and tasting different. Though, I suppose I'm hardly in much of a position to be criticizing scientific modification of living things," he remarked, gesturing down at himself before taking another bite.

It was nice though, to be able to gripe about this stuff to someone who didn't look at him like he was insane when he complained about things tasting different. Who didn't just expect him to know and be familiar with everything about the 21st century. Loki offered a respite from that -- from all the tech and talk and pop-culture references he didn't get that served to remind him that no matter how many documents he read or shows he watched or cell phones he learned to navigate, he was an outsider -- a _man out of time_ as Loki (ironically) of all people had so succinctly put it.

"Speaking of your oils," he began, knowing it was a slightly awkward segue, but determined to make it work. "Um, I know you said you didn't study healing magic very intensely, but if you weren't in the cell, do you think you could, hypothetically, help with any kinds of human illness?"

  
  
  


A sharp pang of panic struck Loki, and he looked up quickly, but was careful to keep his face as schooled and blank as possible.

What could be so wrong with him that the Doctors of his world, his serum, and his friend the inventor combined could not treat it? And more, why hadn't Loki seen signs of it before now? He was supposed to be observant.

"I would try, absolutely. It... depends on what ails you, but anything I can do to help, _of course_ I will." His policy of distance should have demanded less of a fervent response, but worry seemed to have overridden it, for the time being.

"I may not have studied it as intensely as those who did so for a living, but I spent what time I did not devote to my princely duties and studies and time in the library learning at the elbows of some of the best Healers Asgard has to offer. I may be able to help..." But he was developing doubt, too. After all, if there was so much different about the plants of their world, what if the diseases differed as radically? Or worse, if he could heal it, but did not have the supplies?

He would get them, he decided grimly. If it meant abandoning the sceptre and having to break in beneath the noses of the Einherjar, he would do his utmost.

Loki looked critically over the Captain, lingering on his eyes, his fingernails, the red tints in his skin.

"What-- er." he broke off, unsure how it was most polite to ask. "Do you know what it is? And how long you've... been ill?"

The wild thought that perhaps Rogers had picked up something nasty between his sheets made Loki feel a little smug, if only for a moment, but such things were oft easily cured, and did not usually develop so fast, in his experience. Still, not being able to tell what was wrong outwardly was frustrating and worrisome, to him.

Suppose it had been introduced intentionally, as a weapon, by whatever enemies had so managed to otherwise abuse him?

That made a certain amount of sense. Whatever the disease, it was weakening his system, allowing him to bruise, to be easily hurt... oh no, and Loki had used his more than human strength on Rogers the day prior, what if--

The mental image of Rogers' back, flush with bright new markings put there by Loki's witless hands, made him feel disgusted with himself.

He opened his water and took a pull to give Rogers a chance to speak, before his mind went wild and he began spewing questions that sounded less like professional interest and more like the worry and panic he really felt.

  
  
  


Steve had nodded, happy and somewhat vindicated as Loki had leapt to the challenge, insisting that _of course he would help_ with even more enthusiasm than Steve would have expected. Just that he was so willing to try--

He nearly choked on a mouthful of sandwich when Loki asked his question. How long he'd been...? He coughed, swallowing what he could, a few crumbs escaping his lips. "Wha-- No! Nonono no, not me, sorry, I'm fine!" he insisted, grabbing for his water and washing down the food, soothing his throat. "I'm not sick. I don't even know if I can get sick anymore, to be honest, not that I miss it," he clarified, then added one more "sorry," to cover the misunderstanding.

"I was just asking hypothetically. It sounds like a lot of what you deal with on Asgard is battle wounds, so I'm not sure how much illness is a thing there, or how different it would be. And I know you mentioned that life energy thing -- keller, was it? -- and I don't know if that's something that you'd be able to manipulate with humans or not, or if you'd need books of human anatomy and diseases to study first... If, you know. You wanted to heal someone. Hypothetically."

He was rambling a bit now, partly because he didn't know the first thing about Asgardian healing since it sounded so incredibly foreign to what little human medicine he had familiarity with. And partly out of guilt, for inadvertently making Loki think he was sick, when he'd only just gotten over the miserable shock of believing Steve to be potentially dead.

  
  
  


"Krellr." Loki corrected automatically, his body relaxing while his mind whirled. "I do not see why what I know should not work. Our oils seem to work well enough on you, and your tolerances, while smaller as a people, are not dissimilar to that of Asgardians. And I know I was treated as an Aesir would have been, whenever I experienced something to ail me, and given my wildly different body in my true form..." He made a distasteful face. "I will only know by trying, I am afraid. The terms you use in your fields will no doubt differ greatly from those I am aware of in mine, if even Krellr is so foreign a concept to your people."

He made a face again, this time at how carried away he'd allowed his own thoughts to get, and he picked up the roll, the Maple round, and bit into it as a sweet balm for the panic he'd experienced.

A misunderstanding, no harm done. He was relieved not to be losing the Captain, not again, so soon after...

He swallowed.

"Are you hoping to find a use for me, outside of these walls? Because I have to warn you, I think it incredibly unlikely you will gain permission to expose your sick to me, unbound and with access to my power. Your Agents could not even remove me from my cell to clean up my vomit without having four guns aimed at me, and healing is not an easy process. Suppose one of them grew anxious and my patient cried out?" He could picture, all too well, himself too absorbed in his work to throw up a shield in time, the sharp sting of a bullet actually entering him.

They would not kill him, most likely, and his armor had deflected them in the past, but... He did not like the thought any more for those assurances.

"And provided you could arrange it in situations that would be... agreeable, as you said, there is no certainty that I would succeed. Do not go challenging your orders and risking your name on this endeavor. Again, I appreciate your faith in me and my ability to do good, but..." He hesitated.

"My self preservation instincts, unlike yours, are strong, because they are the only things that have kept me alive this long." Not strong enough, and alive for who knew how much longer, but that was beside the point. "I can make no promises, Rogers, and I sincerely hope you have not made any on my behalf yet, and that you do not intend to."

He finished the sweet, unaware he had consumed it so quickly, and he shook his head, sucking again at his fingers to savor every last trace of it.

"In your hypothetical situation, however... knowing what you know of the illness, explained to me in layman's terms, would almost certainly be beneficial. Knowing how the ailment works on the body, what its particular brand of destruction is, will help to treat it, almost without fail." He gave Rogers a look that he had seen often from the Healers in his youth, a look that spoke of suspicion of withheld information.  

Rogers would make a poor gambler, and Loki did not like it.

  
  
  


_Krellr_. He mentally repeated it several times to anchor the word in his memory so he wouldn't forget it again.

Steve chewed on the inside of his lip. "I haven't promised anyone anything," he quickly assured. Not yet, at any rate. Everything was still nebulous at best, as he'd needed information first. "I'm just asking. I mean, I might have..." he trailed off. He didn't want to lie to Loki, but he also didn't quite want to divulge his plans just yet. The longer Loki had to think about something, the more time he'd have to twist it around and convince himself of his own poor character. "I have an idea, but it's nothing concrete enough to discuss right now," he concluded. "But that's helpful. And I will tell you everything soon." Very soon, if he could get things in motion now that he knew what he wanted to try was within the realm of possibility.

"And," he added, while finishing off his sandwich, "If, hypothetically, a situation did come up... I'd only ever ask you to try." He swallowed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I know that it would be a longshot, that humans are different and our sicknesses are different and your background is as a warrior more than a healer." Success would be ideal, of course, and hopefully an attempt wouldn't leave the situation any worse, but just that Loki would be willing to try would mean so much.

But he did have a point about the restrictions imposed by security. A point Steve meant to address. That things had been so bad that Loki had vomited and then been carted out ill and in chains at gunpoint made the egg sandwich do an unpleasant flip in him stomach.

"About the guards," he began. "I talked to Fury. Scofield's being reassigned to another division. I'm going to be personally going through and vetting every agent assigned to you." It would be tedious, and Steve knew the likelihood of finding very many SHIELD agents who didn't have an axe to grind where Loki was concerned was slim, but with luck -- a few rookies who had cleared the academy recently enough not to have known anyone on the helicarrier, and a few old hands with enough decency and professionalism not to let a grudge override their duty -- he could put together a roster of people he trusted to do right by Loki while he was in their custody. "Nothing like that is going to happen again. In fact--"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small gray box. Opening it up revealed two gray blocks of plastic, one of which he crossed over to place in Loki's bin.

"This is a pager," he explained. "I have a matching one. They communicate both ways, one with the other, but that's it. You type a message like this," he demonstrated, turning his on and typing 'HELLO' before hitting the button to send, "and the message goes through." Loki's pager buzzed, lighting up with Steve's message. "They've got a really long range signal, so it reaches all the way down here, and you can contact me when I'm not around. Not good for long conversations, obviously, but if there's an emergency, you have a way of letting me know."

  
  
  


"Your equivalent of a page boy?" Loki asked, amused. "We employ young lads for such things, in Asgard. Messengers and runners and pages, though I should not be surprised your people have found ways around it."

He retrieved the device and turned it over in his hands.

"It certainly smells better." He quipped. He found the keys less troublesome than might otherwise have been thought, and quickly typed a responding, 'INDEED'.  He smiled at the device, though, and then up at Rogers.

"I will try not to be too invasive into your off hours with this... and I appreciate your providing such a thing. It's... nice, to have that sort of fallback plan." He grappled with the words, trying to find a good balance between being flattered at the care and thought that went into such a gift, and trying to keep it cool and impersonal, as it seemed he must.

Thinking back to Scofield though, he could not help but be relieved.

"I wanted to thank you, again, for being so quick to come to my aid... and so quick to believe me. There are not many men who would take the word of one such as I over the word of their own men." And perhaps that was in part the reason that Scofield had seen fit to speak to the Captain so. Especially so soon after the trial of the Captain's will against the director's... not the best series of events to keep others from thinking that he controlled Rogers.

Loki looked back at the remainder of the food, his stomach not yet ready to accept all of it. That was not a problem he had encountered before, with the Captain's offerings, and as such he was unsure how to address it. He left the parts of the meal where they lie for the time being, opting to lean against the glass, rather than sit among the food and draw attention to his insignificant quandary. Regardless, he was not giving up his bacon. He intended to eat it cold if necessary.

Especially when it was so uninteresting in light of the Captain's potential plans.

"I can appreciate not wishing to speak of plans until they have solidified," He said cautiously, "However the sooner I know what will be needed, the sooner I will be able to devote some time to considering how best to see to it. You understand." He said, gesturing with one hand.

"I do have to confess myself intrigued, though." He made a face while he thought.

"If you would ask your Doctors... or perhaps not, their practices are too... divorced, I suppose, from my own. Are there herbalists on Midgard who would be able to give you a guide to the plants and fauna of this world with healing capabilities? Again, if given in layman's terms, I may be able to find suitable substitutes to those of Asgardian make." He was not entirely certain of that, but it would be good information to have, just the same.

  
  
  


"I'll see what I can track down," Steve replied, nodding.

"Actually, if you don't mind handing it over for a bit -- pass me your StarkReader. I'll load up any good articles or textbooks I can find that might be helpful." He'd also thought of a few more books Loki might enjoy, which he'd download and put on in addition. But he had little doubt, with the incredible accessibility of information in the current day and age, that with a little time spent on the internet and possibly a visit to Archives, he could find anything Loki needed. "I'll swing back again as soon as possible to drop it off." He wasn't wholly sure what Loki did with his days down here, immersed in a dull solitude that probably would have had Steve going insane after the first few days, let alone weeks -- but he didn't intend to deprive him for long of one of the few sources of diversion available to him.

"As for Scofield..." Steve shrugged. "It was obvious something was wrong the minute you turned around. You've been honest with me. And he pretty much confirmed it, too." He twisted his mouth, as if sucking on something sour. "I like to think the best of people, but I've seen enough people with power abuse that power to not be surprised by it anymore. Angry, yes, but not surprised." He'd gone to war to 'fight bullies' as he'd told Erskine, but had found in far too many cases that bullies resided on his side of the trenches. Men like Hodge who liked the rush they got from pointing a gun at someone. He'd seen SHIELD operatives enact morally questionable objectives, and he'd come to realize all too quickly that just because someone fought on the angels didn't mean they were one, so to speak.

Hell, sometimes he wasn't sure they were on the side of the angels at all.

"But yeah," he said, clearing his throat and tapping his own pager to distract himself from that grim line of thought. "This will also let me give you a heads up if I have to go away on short notice. I may not be able to be in constant communication during a mission, but I'll check it when I can, and if I can't come back to help with a problem right off I can at least get in touch with someone I trust to lend a hand." Building a list of people he actually trusted with Loki would be the key point there. At the moment, the list was very short, consisting of himself alone thus far. "And even if you're just low on water or something, you can give me a heads up and I can grab some to bring the next time I'm in." He didn't expect Loki would abuse the pager to prod at him excessively; he was too stoic, too collected for that. So he wanted it clear that he didn't mind Loki using the pager for non-life-and-death instances.

It wasn't as if he'd be interrupting Steve's busy social calendar, after all.

  
  
  


Loki lifted the reader from his bed, hesitating only briefly before placing it into the box.

"Of course." He said graciously, he thought, though inwardly he frowned.

It was the one item of comfort that Scofield had not relieved him of, the only part of his day that did not mean being bored out of his mind. He had no doubt that Rogers meant to return it, but things had a tendency of not always going to plan with him. He did appreciate that the pagers would allow Rogers to update him, no matter how tersely, about any changes or delays he may encounter, though.

It still was unsettling thinking that Rogers' visit, usually something that he looked forward to and passed his time until it came by reading, had come too early to be anticipated, and was now to deprive him of any way to occupy himself, other than by being left to his own thoughts.

He wondered if they would allow him to take some of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s busy work, like repairing those charming suits everyone wore, or if perhaps a needle proved too great a risk to allow into his hands. The thought was laughable.

Loki felt his lips twitch as he listened to Rogers' small tirade against the misuse of power. He seemed to completely miss the irony of whom he was speaking to about that, given that it was not aimed at Loki, but rather at one man who had hurt him in the mildest of ways. Next to the countless that Loki had been the cause of death for, it seemed to incredibly trifling.

"I will send any requests I may have."  Loki told Rogers seriously. "But I think it better to say here and now that I have a standing request for bacon, as often as you can bring it." He let his lips twitch upwards. "And perhaps you could find me material on how such a wondrous thing is made, that I may replicate it, in the off chance that I am ever able to leave this cell again." The moment the words were out of his mouth, he realized the flatness of the end of that statement, the result of his uncertainty in how he was to busy himself, had turned it far more serious and deeper than he had intended.

He tossed a nervous smile on his face, trying to play it off, while sifting through his mind in search of something to hide the discordant note in what he had managed to keep an otherwise pleasant visit.

"At any rate, I will try, at least for the next few days, not to overburden you with my needs. It seems I am not the only person glad to see you returned to us, comparatively whole." He threw a sly, knowing tone into the statement, teasing Rogers and trying to make it sound as far from a threat as possible. "I would not want to interrupt her time refamiliarizing herself with you, after your absence."

He applauded himself for the utter lack of jealousy in his tone, the lack of transparency that would reveal the ugly feelings he experienced, making such a statement.

  
  
  


Steve had smiled at Loki's request for bacon, chuckling softly. It was good to know he'd landed on something to count as a reliable standby. The chuckle diminished and faded with the minder of Loki's indefinite imprisonment. Did Loki spend a lot of time thinking about the things he might or might never do again? Looking around and realizing there really was nothing in the cell beyond the bed, the tiny washcloset in the corner, and the food and tech that he himself had brought, Steve felt even worse for taking the reader with him. He resolved to be back that afternoon simply to drop it off, maybe with something else to help Loki pass the time in case he got bored of reading. Drawing supplies he suspected would go over poorly, but perhaps something to write--

Steve almost cursed himself out loud. Writing! He'd completely forgotten that he was supposed to be looking into a way for Loki to record his knowledge for SHIELD. Paper and pen was the obvious and simple solution, but he knew SHIELD would likely want to control how much access to paper Loki had at any given time. Perhaps he'd made a stop back at Tech after this, both to thank them for the pagers and ask for other suggestions regarding the writing dilemma.

He ducked his head for a half second in shame, hoping Loki hadn't noticed, and that he'd forgive Steve's absentmindedness. He needed to start writing all of these things down. The list of calls he had to make to move plans forward, pizza with bacon on it, books on herbal medicine (Bruce would probably have tips there, though Steve was loathe to bother him again so soon after his last call), writing materials, vetting the guards...

Still running through his mental list, it took a few seconds for his brain to catch up with Loki's last words, and realize that they made no sense. He blinked, frowned, went over them again, and came to the same perplexing result. "Huh?" He looked at Loki, as if something in the god's expression would illuminate his meaning. There was something a big suggestive in Loki's smile, but with a strange tightness around the edges. "I'm sorry, I'm not following..."

  
  
  


Loki chuckled the sound perhaps a little strained.

"Your lady, Captain. It seems that she expressed her own gratitude for your return. I have never seen you look so..." he gestured, not sure he had a word for it-- "satisfied." He settled on, "As when you came in. You must give her my sincerest apologies for keeping you as late as I did."

He did, in fact, feel guilt for taking so much of the Captain's time. Not that he could necessarily avoid it, unless he made more of an effort to befriend the other guards he met with... but he could imagine the difficulty he would have, if he so much as tried speaking with them and was met with jumpiness and an over fondness for their weapons.

"And assure her that I will not get in the way of your continued..." he gestured again, "celebrations?" he hazarded. "Yours is a life worth celebrating, Captain. No need to be ashamed of it. And I promise I mean neither of you any harm... you could have said at any time that you needed to leave to see her, I'd have understood."

Though he understood, too, the mentality of not bringing someone who, assumably was less suited to defending herself against Loki, into his awareness.

After all. He _was_ Loki. He understood perfectly well what that entailed.

  
  
  


"My... Lady?"

Steve reeled slightly. Peggy was, well, she hadn't seen him since 1945 and Steve hadn't even been to see her since then, despite knowing she was alive, though unlikely to recognize him or remember who he was in her condition. Surely Loki had enough of a grasp of human aging to realize that. Unless he'd somehow forgotten--

\--Or meant someone else entirely. Someone who didn't exist. Steve's face flushed hot, the color rising in his cheeks as all the tawdry implications sunk in. Loki thought he'd been chipper that morning because he'd, well...

Because of something Steve most certainly had not done.

"I, uh, I don't have a girlfriend, Loki," he said, feeling like his face was burning but keeping his voice as calm and nonchalant as he could. "I haven't since... well, since Peggy. If that counts." They hadn't exactly managed to date: their relationship had consisted of a whole lot of lingering looks, wasted time, and one mind-blowing kiss followed by one of the only promises he'd made knowing he could never keep it.

_Too busy_ was the excuse he always made when his female colleagues raised arch eyebrows at him and offered to set him up with assorted single acquaintances, or when his male peers chuckled about how he must have to chase the ladies off with a stick while giving him curious sideways looks.

"I just had a lot of coffee this morning. And a good talk with a friend on the phone. You haven't, ah, kept me away from anyone." He chewed his lip and hoped Loki wouldn't pry further. Wouldn't look at him and demand _why not?_

(He didn't want to lie to Loki. But he wasn't sure how to go about telling the truth.)

  
  
  


He cocked his head, confused as to how he could have misread the situation so drastically, not once but twice today.

He could only conclude that his abilities to understand, his observational skills, were just as challenged by his interest in the Captain as the rest of him was.

"Apologies." He said, now more than embarrassed. He ducked his face, "I... had merely presumed." Obviously no need to say what he had... but...

_I haven't since... well, since Peggy._

Peggy, she of the 'might have been'. Surely Rogers had had others interested in him since then?

But it seemed likely, to Loki at least, that he had simply not been interested in them. After all, Rogers did not see people as undeserving, but surely there was interest to be found in an equality, a meeting of minds and... well, naturally, where would such a man as Rogers find such a woman?

And with this society's apparent abhorrence of homosexual interest, Loki could only conclude that Rogers was-- had been, for a very long time now-- alone.

He did not feel the pity he knew he ought to, for that, did not feel sorry for the man. After all, Loki had been alone as well. But he felt an odd sort of pleasure at the knowledge.

He chastised himself for it.

It did not wipe away the problem of Rogers being himself and Loki likewise, nor did it absolve him of the sins of the deaths he'd caused, or the apparent sin of his inclinations.

But it did mean that the jealousy he'd felt growing low in his stomach as unfounded, the dislike he would have had to fight down, meeting such a woman, had no place to rest. and so he felt better for the admission on the Captain's part.

"I am... relieved, at least, that there is no one to hate me for depriving them of you. But it does seem like your life is... quiet, when it is not endangered. If not a lover, have you not found others to share your time with? Surely I am keeping you from someone or something you would rather be doing." He wanted to give Rogers the option to spend less time here, did not want to imprison him along with himself. After all, the only wrong Rogers had done was befriending Loki, and being good enough and kind enough and gentle enough to him that Loki had grown feelings, had begun to want him.

  
  
  


To Steve's surprise, Loki appeared every bit as embarrassed by his revelation, ducking his head in apology for the assumption. Not that Steve blamed him. Most people did assume...

He wasn't sure whether to be mortified or mollified or some strange combination of the two.

"It's fine," he mumbled, reaching up to scatch the back of his neck and then compulsively brush his bangs back out of his eyes. "You're um. Not. I mean, yes, it's quiet. I read a lot. Go running and training and all that. Try to catch up on all the history and culture and science I missed. Draw a fair bit -- you knew that part, though." His tongue flicked nervously between his lips. "But you could probably say I'm kind of a wallflower when I'm off the clock and out of the suit."

It wasn't that he had no friends. He kept in touch with Bruce. Hung out with Natasha on occasion for beers and a movie after a mission, and had gone to a baseball game with Barton (who _had_ complained the whole time about everyone's aim, but at least the hotdogs had been pretty good). He got along with most of his fellows at SHIELD and had occasional chats with his neighbors as well, including the sweet old lady who baked him cornbread. He wasn't antisocial by any means. He just didn't have _close_ friends.

"I guess it's a little daunting, starting from scratch," he said, picking at the empty wrapping his sandwich had been in. "I woke up and everyone was gone. I've been holding back a bit, I think, with really getting to know anyone." He shrugged. "Some part of me seems convinced that one day I'll wake up and another few decades will have gone by and everyone will be dead again. Which is stupid, I know," he quickly added, "But it's one of those dumb ideas that's hard to shake."

Some mornings he woke with his heart in his throat, gripped in half-lucid terror as he flailed for his phone or a clock or anything to tell him the date. He made a habit of getting up at the crack of dawn no matter what his plans for the day, so he wouldn't feel the icy dread of having _overslept_ again.

He nudged himself internally with the guilty reminder that he had no right to moon about his social life or self-imposed lack thereof; Loki had only Steve for company (and wasn't _that_ cruel and unusual punishment), and not even the opportunity to meet other people that Steve had and wasted.

  
  


And Loki did feel a pull of pity at that, or at least a twinge of sadness for him.

"Not that it is of much consolation for you, but... barring any extreme violence or... events outside of my control." He swallowed, mind wandering to Thanos, and the realization that he'd forgotten, for at least a moment, and now his words were at least partially a lie. "Well. If there were no other factors but your sleeping, I would be there when you woke."

Was it possible he might have decades? He supposed a Titan like Thanos might have a time scale closer to Loki's own, or perhaps as far removed from it as Loki's was removed from Rogers'.

"I can understand how such a threat hanging above you-- perceived or not, it does not lessen the mental blows it deals-- it makes sense that you would hesitate before forming attachments. And in your line of work, well. It would be secrets to those who do not share your world, and fear for those who do. That must be daunting for someone like you as well."

His bid to free the Captain had somehow ended in entangling him deeper, prying into the man's fears. Loki cursed himself that he was so naturally insidious, so incapable of existing without playing people, that even when he tried he could not interact on a level without finding weaknesses and filing them away or poking at them, for his own amusement.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-- I did not mean to dredge up your fears, nor to attempt to cajole you into speaking of them, if you don't wish. I merely do not want you discomforting yourself for my sake, whether with your time or words or even thoughts. That is all."

It sickened him, how dark he was, stood next to Rogers. How unlike Thor, whose shadow he'd stood in, it seemed that Loki was completely eclipsed by the Captain. And somehow, the anger was not directed at the other man. Only at himself, for not being what Rogers hoped he saw in him.

"I appreciate your being here, and I do not want you to grow to resent the duty of visitation. If you need time away from me, if you need space... only tell me so that I do not worry?" He made it sound like a request, more than a direction. "I know my company is...  it has never been much sought after, and it cannot be easy. And you are healing still. None would blame you, least of all me."

  
  
  


"Thanks," he said softly. It had actually occurred to him, on some level, that Loki's immortality exempted him from Steve's fears of losing everyone around him to the ravages of time. In seventy years, Loki would appear exactly the same. It was a surprisingly comforting thought, and when he looked up he gave Loki a lop-sided smile. "That actually helps to know. Though I hope by then you'll have some nicer digs than these." He drew consolation from the idea of Loki as a constant fixture through time, but had no intention of allowing his circumstances to stagnate.

As for the other part: "You're actually pretty good company," he argued. "You're incredibly smart, for starters. You've got stories about stuff I never even dreamed of; life experiences that are just... I mean, hearing you talk about Asgard? It's fascinating," he pointed out. "Not to mention you're pleasant, have good sense of humor..." He trailed off, realizing he might be singing Loki's praises a little too thoroughly; Loki might not believe him and tune him out, and anyone else might tune in a little too closely.

He changed tacks. "You have no idea how much of a relief it is to talk to someone else who's, well," _an outsider_ , he didn't say. But it did sum up what they both were. Steve from another time, Loki from another place; they both came from worlds that varied drastically from the one they now occupied. "You didn't grow up with a Captain America lunchbox," he cringed, "or seeing old history channel movies about the howling commandos. You don't fill every conversation with modern slang and pop culture references I don't get and then look at me with pity or like I'm an idiot when I don't have any idea what you're talking about, and you have never made a stupid 'old man' joke about my chronological age."

He let out a huff of breath. Alright, he needed to reign in the bitterness. He hadn't quite realized until he'd got going how much of it had built up; frustration with the way people saw him, the way people treated him. Venting it felt good.

It was funny and a bit strange, that Loki's prison had become Steve's sanctuary.

He looked up guiltily. "Sorry. My point is... I don't mind coming down here. At all." He _liked_ coming down here. _Enjoyed_ Loki's company. It was why he came as frequently as he did and stayed as long as he did, though the duration of his visits was occasionally limited by other duties--

Steve glanced at his watch and groaned. Like the duties he had to attend to today. "Hey, I've got a meeting with Security in about twenty minutes so I have to get moving," he said, face twisting apologetically. "I'll be back later today though to drop off your reader, though!" He collected his own trash, the StarkReader, and his pager, now clipped to his belt, and stood.

  
  


Loki ducked his head, ostensibly to acknowledge the Captain's need to leave, but also to hide the surprised pleasure that he hadn't been quick enough to stop from creeping onto his face. He was _pleasant?_ That would be a first.

"I will see you later, then, Captain." He said, though his mind caught on the other part.

_Nicer digs._

Did Rogers really suppose, at any rate, whether it be a week from now or several years, a decade, more, that SHIELD would be inclined towards letting him go? Giving him more than this?

His immediate reaction to the thought was how that would be foolish on their part, but he had to reconsider, because they did still have Rogers on their team.

He watched the man gather up his trash, and when he began on his way out, Loki did the same, though with the intent of keeping it around for a while. He hadn't finished the sandwich or the bacon and he was loathe to let them out of his sight, after all of the spices he'd been subjected to of late. Even knowing Rogers intended to return that day, he still felt the need to stockpile his supplies, so he tucked his waters under the cot and repackaged both sandwich and bacon and moved them there as well.

It was at least neat and organized, and if his cell began to smell of bacon, he would consider it a beautiful fate.

That done, he looked around his space, put the inedible and useless trash into the serving door, and lay down on his bed.

He considered doing his stretches, but elected to save them for when he was painfully starved for distraction. For now... it was early yet. He could doze.

Better than being awake, at least.

As he lay there, he wondered what the likelihood was that he could request from one of the other Agents who came in and out a Captain America lunchbox.

If Rogers liked his humor, he would perhaps find such a thing funny... especially in so sparse a cell as his.

And it had the bonus of being useful. And motivational, if it bore Rogers' face.

Yes, he would have to make the attempt.

 


	10. Ten

Security meetings proved dull, but Steve did his best to pay attention and keep his mind on task. By the end of that day's interviews, he had several guards marked for removal from Loki duty -- friends of Scofield, agents who had been on site during the invasion, and anyone who had lost family in Manhattan or other close connections in the attack. He also had a few others' files dogeared for assignment: Murray, the enthusiastic young guard who had let Steve in on his first visit, didn't seem to have a malicious bone in his body; Smith was amiable enough with a strong streak of professionalism; and Malik was rather cool, but had a record of following orders to the letter without allowing any of her personal feelings to cloud her judgement.

He took a late lunch, stepped outside to make a series of phonecalls, then headed to archives so he could set himself up at one of the open access terminals and see what books he could load Loki up with.

He found a few books on botanical remedies and herbal medicines, a broad history of medicine and pharmacology, and recalling the subject of one of the calls he'd just made, a book that focused specifically on the pathophysiology and treatment of cancer. As an afterthought, he added a digital copy of an introductory biology textbook, hoping it would provide Loki with enough background on the terms used to make sense of all the rest.

He also added _a Tale of Two Cities, To Kill a Mockingbird_ , and _Treasure Island_. Just to make sure Loki had some fresh items on his reading list.

After swinging by medical to check on how Kestravic was doing with her recovery, he got intercepted by an agent from the Quartermaster's division, who needed him to come down and get fitted for an upgrade of his uniform they'd made modifications to, which would replace the one he'd managed to trash in his recent mission. When he was finally released, he had his cell phone out in a flash, making a call to the nearest pizza joint and putting in an order for pick-up as he made his way out to the garage...

It was reaching mid-evening when he made his way back down to Loki's cell, two warm boxes in his hands and a pair of sodas and the StarkReader in his backpack. The agent on duty let him in with no fuss, barely giving him or his cargo a second look, which he took as a good sign. The suspicion and panic originally surrounding Loki's imprisonment had largely faded to a dull sense of routine.

"I've got a delivery for a Mr. Loki of Asgard," he announced jokingly as he entered, "hope you're hungry..."

  
  
  
  


Loki gracefully unfolded himself from his stretch and stood to greet Rogers, surprised a little that he had managed to return so soon.

Loki had, despite his assurances, not expected him back until the following day.

"I could certainly eat." Loki said, slightly puzzled, "But I think there is something I am missing in regards to your form of address. Is it a joke?"

He glanced back at the food under where he slept and hoped that it evaded Rogers' notice. He had never had a need to keep food on his person before, save on long trips. He did not want its presence to make the man feel any more guilt than he doubtless did, for his absence and the problems encountered then.

Loki felt a renewed surge of joy like a shot through his veins, the way it happened every time he remembered that Captain Rogers was alive, was back, enjoyed spending time with him. He was finding himself grateful of things, and how funny that all it took was being locked in a cell and the kindness of one man to achieve it.

This was no doubt what Odin had aimed for, but he had missed his mark.

Loki stepped forward, not yet sitting as he knew there would be something for him to retrieve from the food box soon enough.

"How was your meeting? Productive, I hope, and not too much of a trial?" He wasn't asking about the security... that would go against the rules that Rogers had laid out. Merely being polite and inquiring, in so many words, about the Captain's day, his mood.

The part of him that worried for Rogers' health was glad at least that today he got to see the man eat more than once.

With his poor skills at survival, Loki would not put it beyond him to forget to eat, or put it off and eat too little. Neither habit, of course, being good for a body still healing from the ravishes of Rogers' latest mission.

That in mind, he kept a critical eye on Rogers' movements, trying to gauge how he was healing, without having to continually ask. Not that there was much he could do while in here, but he had been giving some thought to the talk they had had about his healing skills, and he wondered what he might know that their Doctors wouldn't.

Without a way of making notes, all he could do is organize his thoughts as best as possible.

That would have to do for the time being. At least until he knew more... he wondered if the Captain had been able to do all he'd hoped with the reader yet, or if Loki would have to go without it for the night, as well.

Not the most daunting prospect, if he was honest, now that Rogers had returned. The majority of the day he'd spent slowly eating a little more of the food Rogers brought, until another agent had brought another meal, and then he consumed that in its entirety. After that, he'd spent some time putting his body through its paces, trying to break out of the lethargy he'd developed, and trying not to remember why that had come about.

That was over now, he was back, Loki was relieved, and glad, and already mending, much like Rogers' ribs. They were, he thought, going to be okay. Even existing as he did in this state of uncertainty, they were doing okay.

  
  
  
  


Steve almost kicked himself. Here he'd gone making the sort of cultural reference that always left him feeling out of place. Though he'd had the premise of takeout and delivery demonstrated to him recently enough that he ought to have known better. Still, he knew from experience that it was almost always better to get an explanation and an awkward pause and dismissal.

"Sort of, yeah. So, it turns out," he began, walking over to the bin, "there's a lot of restaurants -- eating establishments -- where you go and sit down to eat. But there's also a lot where you can call in and order food, and they box it up, and either you go there and pick it up to take it home with you, or, and only some places do this, they'll deliver it right to your doorstep. Pizza, in particular, you can almost always get delivered. So, saying I had a delivery was sort of a joke on the way the delivery guys do it. Though I didn't know what surname you prefer, so..."

He trailed off. With Thor, he would have said Mr. Odinson, but given Loki's family history, he wasn't sure if he still went by the name. Laufeyson seemed even less safe, so he'd simply gone with ‘Loki of Asgard' since that was the way he'd introduced himself initially on coming to earth, according to SHIELD's records.

He slipped one of the pizza boxes, with the words _Giovanni's Pizzeria Italiano_ printed across the top, into the bin, along with one of the sodas. "Also, be careful when you open that bottle. It's carbonated -- fizzy -- and it might overflow so undo the seal slowly and then if the foam starts to rise too fast, seal it shut again and give it a minute. They did ‘em in glass in my day so it took me a while to get used to the plastic ones."

Sitting down in his chair, he set his pizza box in his own lap. He'd picked up two small pies in lieu of the one large to save the trouble of dishing slices through the box, one at a time. He twisted in slight discomfort as he settled down; the fitting for his uniform had involved a lot of dressing and undressing and lifting his arms and holding them out, and the range of motion required of him had proved trying. He was feeling a bit sore now, but after seeing Kestravic in Medical who still couldn't so much as stand, he knew he had no right to complain. He was already well on the mend, and would probably see active duty again before she was even able to walk across a room.

"Meeting was long. Boring. But I'm happy with the progress we made," he reflected, opening his box and smiling down at the cheesy goodness that awaited him. The next item on the docket for tomorrow or whenever they managed to convene, would involve re-examining and hopefully revising the list of materials that were and weren't allowed around Loki with and without supervision. Relaxing some of the restrictions would hopefully give him some leeway for making Loki's imprisonment more productive and less dull. Speaking of which: "How, uh, was your day?"

  
  
  
  


"Hm." Loki didn't reply right off, busying his hands with withdrawing the food while considering-- he didn't know what surname he preferred, either. None, he supposed. Perhaps that was one of the things it was better not to give voice to, however. It would join, on the newly begun list, ‘being a monster'. He did not want to start any more arguments that may cost him time with Rogers.

He settled himself before the other man, considered requesting that next time he came, he bring a cushion, then changed his mind, got up, and retrieved the pillow instead, dropping it into place before lowering himself onto it.

"My day was... quiet. One of your agents brought me lunch and it was a sandwich with no spice, and it was wonderful." He opened the box, expecting to inhale just the scent of the cheese, but once the cardboard was lifted, his eyes widened and his smile grew wide.

"You brought me bacon pizza!"

Food was not often a source of excitement for him, but in the case of bacon, and pizza, and bacon on pizza, he would make an exception. Especially when it was delivered by someone as exciting as Rogers... this entire situation was almost perfectly ideal, actually. Save for the setting. But it was as close as he could imagine it getting at the moment.

He took a large bite of it into his mouth, exhaling the hot air as the cheese and oils burned his tongue and he couldn't truly care.

He closed his eyes and chewed for a bit, enjoying the flavors and the stark difference the care that Rogers showed brought to his life. Even in such small ways as filing away a thrown out idea, taking requests, providing him, so far, with everything he'd asked for...

Loki opened his eyes and swallowed.

"I will never tire of your foods. Ahem, what was I saying?" He paused, shuffling his thoughts, then picked back up, "Oh right. My day-- um, I also did some exercising. I'm afraid I let my movements lapse while you were away, and I couldn't really see to my physical health before then, before I touched the sceptre..." He didn't say the scepter's pull had made it impossible-- it was faking it which had, but he wasn't lying. The words were carefully chosen to be sure of that. "And really that was the majority of it. I slept a little." He shrugged, ripping another bite from his slice before setting it down and looking a little suspiciously at the bottle of dark liquid.

"What is the beverage?" He asked, hoping to draw Rogers' attentions to that, rather than pursuing any information on the sceptre and what had happened. He knew he still had unanswered questions, and Loki mentioning it had made him feel as though they were now hovering balefully over his head.

He'd said he would tell him everything. But he still had an overwhelming urge to protect him. Or perhaps the urge was new, it was the motive behind the secrecy that had changed, rather than the secrecy itself.

  
  
  
  


"Coke. It's sweet," Steve informed him, taking a bite of his own pizza with feta and olives. He grinned around the mouthful, still riding high on Loki's delighted expression from the bacon pizza. He was also glad to hear that Loki had eaten lunch, not knowing whether the whole incident with Scofield would turn him off his SHIELD-delivered meals altogether. The knowledge that he had been given and had eaten food without Steve present took a weight off him.

Knowing Loki did some exercises was good, though Steve felt a pang at the relative smallness of the cell. He supposed it was larger than most prison cells by a fair bit, but most inmates at least got to spend some time each day in the prison yard. Not that SHIELD had a prison yard, and not that Fury would let him take Loki out. Maybe if there was a way to let him bring Loki to at least some open area of corridor so he could properly run... Of course, he'd have to address one problem at a time. Getting Loki space to stretch his legs would just have to be added to the list.

Along with addressing the issue of the scepter. Steve looked Loki over, and while a night's sleep and a couple of good meals had done wonders for making him look less peaky, it was obvious that the ordeal with Scofield had taken a toll on him.

"How _is_ your physical health?" he asked, knowing Loki would know his own body best. "Is everything okay after the last time you touched the scepter?" He hoped that Loki wouldn't tell him he needed to touch the damn thing again soon. Seeing how much pain Loki had appeared to be in the last time had been deeply unsettling.

  
  
  
  


A dark bubbling sweet drink? The suspicion remained, but he twisted the bottle cap off, just the same, jumping a little as it hissed at him in the process.

He held the lidless contained up to the side of his face, the coolness seeping through the plastic and into his flesh, and the soft sounds of the bubbles creating an almost soothing bank of noise.

He was well aware he probably looked odd, and given that the drink and its fizzing properties were somewhat common here, he probably looked uneducated as well. But he gave that thought little enough attention. He pressed his lips to the neck of the bottle, tilted it up, and almost spilled, yanking his mouth back.

He had not counted on the fizzing to yield an almost sharp feeling on his tongue. And it was not only sweet, but an oddly heavy liquid. Syrupy and not... entirely unpleasant, but unexpected, certainly.

He took another small drink and sat the bottle down, leaving the lid off that the jumping embers of _coke_ might continue their dance.

He considered Rogers' question.

"I am... fine." He said slowly. "I am recovering from the minor discomfort of not having eaten and the distresses in my stomach from eating what little I did have all but died down. I have almost certainly gained weight and lost muscle tone since coming here, but given how drastically thin I had gotten, the former is at least acceptable. The latter is my own fault for neglecting to spend the time and energy to see to it that didn't happen. I'll be changing that, now." He waited, worried they would order him not to, and see his exercising as a way of honing his body into a weapon of escape or destruction.

He hesitated, then decided to be honest about his magic as well.

"My magic took a blow from the sceptre." He admitted. "I was not prepared for the strength, and it... imagine there is a... a container, such as this." The tapped the side of the bottle. "Normally you would remove the contents-- my seidhr-- from the neck. But now, there is a hole in the side of it." He could only imagine the liquid pouring out the side to puddle on the floor.

"My magic does not spill out, but the edges of the hole are yet raw and will take me some time to heal. Not, I suppose, unlike your side. It is still sore, isn't it?" He put sympathy into his voice, not pity, but something more relatable.

  
  
  
  


Steve's brows knit together. He wished he could offer Loki some hope for better conditions to exercise under, but he'd probably already exceeded his quota for hard-to-keep promises. Any small, simple exercise equipment like a set of hand-weights or resistance bands would be looked at as potential weapons. A punching bag, even if he managed to hang it, would probably just unsettle people by making Loki appear more violent than he was, and besides, he didn't look like the boxing type. Going out wasn't an option, and as for larger equipment... Accounts would be making enough of a fuss in Fury's ear about the cost of feeding, guarding, and containing Loki without Steve requesting a personal gym. He supposed he'd have to let it go for now and hope Loki was able to simply take care of his own regimen.

The frown deepened as Loki described the effects of the scepter. The idea of the damn thing punching a hole in him, metaphysically or magically or however, didn't sit well with him at all. "It's a bit sore, yeah, but back up a minute." He lowered the slice of pizza he'd been eating back into the box. "I thought the point of the scepter and you touching it was that it was meant to restore you. Help boost you back up, not rip you apart all over again!"

Was the scepter hurting Loki more than it was helping him? Had it just been a mistake of handling -- like overloading a circuit -- or was Loki being drawn to something that would only destroy him? The analogy of addiction came to mind and Steve felt his appetite shrink. You didn't treat addicts with more drugs. Not if you wanted them to get better and live.

  
  
  
  


Loki huffed slightly, unthrilled and unsurprised by the Captain's latching onto the information he had given him. He wondered how much he could give, how much it would take to satisfy him... and how close he could get while still skirting the truth.

He forced his words to come smoothly and evenly.

"The sceptre did as it was intended to. It was me-- I was unprepared, and in such a state..." He shrugged, thought fast, then told another truth, which would imply something it did not say. "It will be easier on me next time, if I am not kept from the sceptre for so long." That should, really, see to the concern... and keep his access as ready as possible.

"And do not apologize for the time it took, this time-- I know you did everything you could, and without you there would have been no peaceable negotiations. I would have had to do... things I would have regretted, to get to it. It is the sort of injury I experienced often enough as a young sorcerer, learning my way... something akin to overexertion on the field... like an injury Thor once suffered, a ripped muscle in the leg. One can recover. I will recover."

Seeing the concern on Rogers' face, he felt... oddly flattered. And guilty. Because he'd put it there. And there was no need for it, save that honesty did nothing but create problems.

"Healing it will come faster, too, now that I have someone caring properly for me, providing as I need..." He tried appealing more to the provider in Rogers than the defender, hoping that he would accept that the best way for him to help was with simple things like food, rather than him attempting to find out about the sceptre.

In a moment of panic, Loki wondered what would happen if Rogers himself handled it. Surely a being so strong and intelligent as Thanos would recognize the potential that held his tool in its grasp.

It was not difficult imagining Rogers engaging the mad titan, trying to fight him, to defend Loki, to defend Midgard, and it was easier still to imagine him sacrificing himself for the same.

Loki vowed to himself that it would not happen. He would not allow it.

  
  
  
  


"That's... that's good. Okay."

Steve's hackles lowered a bit with Loki's explanation. A torn muscle, he understood. Overexertion was less alarming than a hole punched through Loki's magical essence, and if he'd experienced it before without any long term harm, then there was less reason to worry. He let some of the tension in his frame bleed away, taking another bite of his pizza. Loki was fine. Loki would be okay.

And Steve was here to make sure he continued to be okay. He felt a bubble of warmth in his chest when Loki mentioned the benefit of being properly cared for. Steve had spent so much of his life needing to be cared for, by his mother and then by Bucky, that the reversal was a refreshing and rewarding novelty. Even when his mother had been ill, there hadn't been much he'd been able to do except follow her directions as she guided him through what she needed, and then keep his distance when she demanded it so he wouldn't catch her illness as well. He'd felt more useless and helpless than helpful in that time. Which wasn't to say he didn't occasionally feel useless where Loki was concerned, between Loki's own convictions Steve couldn't seem to overcome and all the red tape and regulations SHIELD tied his hands with. But still...

It was good to know Loki believed he was of some help. Though he honestly would have preferred for Loki not to have to risk his health by touching the scepter at all, if it had the potential to be so volatile. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but then clamped it shut.

He _wanted_ to ask if there was a way to break Loki's dependence. To free him from his need for the scepter. To wean him off of it so he wouldn't have to have anything to do with the damn thing.

But if he asked it, then Loki would answer. And if Loki knew of a way, then Steve would need to undertake it. And Fury would have his neck, because right now his main bargaining chip with SHIELD in regards to Loki was that he'd behave so long as he needed the scepter, which they controlled.

He could help Loki and lose him in the same blow. So he kept his mouth shut. For now.

But in trying to distract himself, he felt another question itching at the back of his mind, spawned from something Loki had just said. _Things I would have regretted._ Loki hadn't sounded remorseful about some of the things he'd done -- killing his birth father or trying to destroy his birth world. But if he felt we would have regretted harming agents on his way to the scepter...

"Can I ask you something?" Steve asked cautiously, setting his food aside for the moment, then swallowing. "Do you... do you regret it now?"

He didn't specify what ‘it' was but suspected Loki would know.

  
  
  
  


Loki felt his face scrunching, the way it had always done when Frigga asked him to turn his powers of observation inwards. His self awareness only went so far, and generally took its own time. Being asked about such things made him feel hurried.

Not that he was incapable of answering. But the face that came with thinking about it was one unique to these conditions.

"I... regret..." He spoke slowly, trying to decide what to say, how to say it. The truth could still be softened, shown in a good light. "To a point, I regret _everything_." He said. "Everything after I fell... if none of it had happened, everything would be... better now. Good, even." Regret painted his tone.

"It's not that I regret living, I suppose, merely that I regret the things that I did while doing so. But that isn't what you meant, and I owe you truths. Do I regret killing the people of Midgard? Yes and no. No, because I have killed before. Armies, men, women, warriors, sorcerers, my father, my world... this kind of destruction is not unheard of on Asgard, and, in the correct circumstances, smiled upon. Rewarded. And yes, because... Because against my better judgement, how you think of me has come to mean something to me. And I know that it must rankle, looking upon me as you have known me, and being unable to see in my person the agent of chaos and death you first knew me as. I regret choosing to seek revenge, knowing now that I would not-- did not-- haven't achieved it. All I have achieved is enslaving myself to--" He broke off, his words having gone too far, or just shy of it. He remembered that Rogers thought him enslaved to the sceptre's pulls.

"I regret my decisions. I regret that they make me... ugly, in your eyes." There were, after all, two ways in which he was a monster: it was both what he was and what he'd done, and it was, unfortunately impossible to change either. But that was on his list of subjects not to bring up, not to mention.

Loki toyed with his pizza, ripping some bacon from the cheese that held it, and popped it in his mouth.

"I regret, now, doing things which give you pause. I think, had we met at a different time, before Thor reached the age of majority..." Loki hesitated, trying to imagine what that would be like.

He and Rogers in Midgard, laughing and _feeling_ something in his chest, like he wasn't hollow there, like his chest wasn't frozen solid. Even learning the truth of his origins seemed like it could have been different, having Rogers as a friend then, to nip his hatred in the bud, to tell him that there was nothing monstrous about him before he'd done nothing but reinforce his monstrosity. Maybe then he would not have become so desperate for kindness to have found himself as enchanted with him as he was-- they could be just friends, without the dark cloud of Loki's unwanted, unreturned feelings hovering over them.

Or maybe Rogers could have been brought around, in such an alternate past. Made to see that the Asgardian way of thought regarding sexuality was not harmful or wrong, be coaxed into trying it...

Loki imagined getting to be the one to teach Rogers how to lay with a man, teach him the ways to please Loki, and all of the ways Loki could please him... and felt himself flushing. He'd allowed his thoughts to stray too far off course. He cleared his throat.

"Things could have been very different." Was all he said, before biting into his pizza, burying his shameful feelings within layers of cheese and sauce.

  
  
  
  


Steve listened, and tried not to judge, keeping his face neutral and his mind open to hearing Loki's words. It wasn't the perfect response, in terms of what Steve hoped -- there was that tiny and unrealistic part of him that wished Loki would renounce all the violence he had wreaked and offer to make all amends, but such a proclamation would have probably rung false.

This felt honest. And for that, he was grateful.

He supposed he understood the mix of regret. He regretted having to take lives in the war, but knew he'd pull the trigger again if he did it all over. Curiously enough, it was nearly the opposite of Loki's regrets.

But Loki _did_ regret. Loki saw what he had wrought, and if not for the greater human cost, then for the more personal consequences, regretted.

It also struck him, with a slight shiver, that Loki regretted _because of Steve_. And not for the first time he was reminded of what was at stake should he fail Loki. How he couldn't fail Loki. Not after coming this far.

And if he and Loki had met at a different time...

Steve's mind wandered. If Loki had come to earth, peaceably, before Steve had been frozen -- would he have befriended Steve then? Would they have been able to walk down the street in the open air, chatting amiably and catching a Dodgers' game? Would he have got along with Bucky?

Or would he have taken one look at Steve's scrawny frame, so opposite to the Asgardian ideal, and not bothered looking a second time?

It was an unkind thought, he knew, but he wouldn't have held it against Loki much if it had been true. It was common, after all, as a reaction. Though if Loki had met him after the serum but before the ice, if they could have been comrades in arms--

If they could have been more--

He blinked, shaking the thought away like a cobweb from his mind. He spent too much time as it was dwelling on the impossible could have and would have beens of his past and stolen future, and knew he'd only make himself all melancholy if he continued down that road. "They could have," he agreed, wistfully.

"Thank you. For answering me." He looked up at Loki, a tired smile of gratitude pulling at his lips.

He wasn't sure what more to add. What more to say. But at least now SHIELD had a record of Loki expressing a degree of remorse; enough to indicate he was no longer the threat he had been upon his first arrival.

And on the topic of things SHIELD needed to be shown--

"Oh," he reached abruptly for his backpack. "Before I forget--" he withdrew the StarkReader and placed it in the bin. "I put some more books on it and it's fully charged. There's a few books on plants and medicine and on a particular disease. Do you-- How long do you think you'd need to have some familiarity?" he asked, realizing he wasn't sure at what pace Loki read.

  
  
  
  


"With the disease?" He asked, choosing to give his attention to the question and the prospect of research, rather than focusing on Rogers' lack of response, the words he didn't have for Loki's admissions.

He knew he must have disappointed him. He had not even tried to find the good, there, other than that Loki _had_ answered. The twinge of guilt that he felt was, he, knew, mild, in comparison to the hurt that would come when Thanos did finally pull him back. But for the time being, it was worth it.

Loki lifted the reader from its holding.

"There is every chance I am already familiar with it. It is deciphering your peoples' descriptions and correctly matching it to my knowledge-- and being certain that the match is absolute, that will take the most time. Fortunately, at current I have no shortage of that. I cannot imagine it would take more than a day or two... though..." He paused, thinking back to his researches in the past, the way he would take notes to cross reference. "Perhaps it will take longer. With no way of comparing without flipping back and forth between references, no way of making notes..." He trailed off.

"I will do my best to speed the process. This illness, I take it that it progresses quickly? And that you have someone in mind for treating?" He still did not understand the secrecy surrounding this endeavor, but he supposed it may lie partially in that Rogers had not received permissions yet to give Loki more information. Regardless, he did trust the man, no matter how nervous the prospect of applying this knowledge made him.

"If you can give me specifics of the particular case... even if they are made vague as to the owner, if the symptoms and trials can be outlined to me, it could speed my understanding and diagnosis. I realize your doctors know what it is, but... I doubt that will be what I know it as."

  
  
  
  


Steve licked his lips, unsure of how much to tell... unsure of how much he could tell, both in terms of preserving privacy and in terms of his limited understanding. He also cringed again at Loki's mentioning of being unable to take notes; he really needed to get to work on getting some kind of writing implement available.

"There's an illness where the cells in the human body, er, mutate in harmful ways and multiply out of control," he began to explain, hoping he had the gist of it correct. "They form tumors, and those tumors can grow and spread and kill the person. Most of the time doctors will try to cut the tumor out as soon as they find it, before it spreads, but sometimes they catch it too late, or the tumor can't be reached... like one in the brain," he said.

"There's other treatments, but not really a cure. They sometimes use radiation or medicine called chemo... which isn't really medicine so much as poison, since it kills the cancer cells but also makes the rest of you pretty sick too," he explained, knowing that any medical professional would probably cringe at the assorted inaccuracies in his layman's summary.

"There's someone I want you to meet. She can be here tomorrow afternoon. She's been doing the other treatments for a tumor in her brain, but nothing's worked much," he finally admitted. "I know you're not a healer, but, well, our medicine has pretty much run out of things it can do. So if there's anything at all you _can_ do..."

He trailed off meaningfully. If there was anything Loki could do, it was better than nothing at all. "And even if you can't," he added softly. "That you'd be willing to look and try would mean a lot."

  
  
  
  


"I am of course willing." Loki said smoothly. "We don't... work in ‘cells', but perhaps I understand a little, and it does sound reminiscent of one of the krellr kvilla-- the sicknesses-- that I have seen treated in the past. I will spend some time reading your books," he lifted the Stark Reader to make the point. "And you may bring her tomorrow if you like. If she is willing. I will do what I can, and see if my ideas are correct. If it is what I think, it will be well within the bounds of my abilities to heal her."

He did not want to give undue hope, though, so he quickly added, "But there are many uncertainties. I cannot be sure that krellr healing magics even work on Midgardians, unless..." He looked consideringly at the door of his cell, the one that Rogers had so recently opened, expressly to touch him, to comfort and hold him.

Could he do that again?

It was a temptation that could be hidden behind good intentions, his skin nearly singing with the same sort of yearning the Captain thought he held for the sceptre. He decided to try, at least.

"Before you give her hope when so much rests on my ability _to_ treat Midgardians, perhaps you would allow me to test... you know I would not knowingly or unknowingly cause you harm, if I could help it, and your ribs are still hurt. If you will let me out, I will... I could try to apply the technique to help your healing progress even faster than it already does. And we could know whether or not this course of action is worth pursuing for your lady friend. If not, my meager store of herbs and stock of potions can only do so much. There is still a chance, but it would be greatly lessened if the keystone of our healing is unavailable to us. "  

He hesitated, wondering if such an action on Rogers' part would draw guards with guns again, or if it might result in he again able to curl into the heat, able to soak in Rogers' warmth.

Almost regretfully, he added, "I would not even truly have to touch you."

Because he knew he shouldn't. He should be displaying restraint, for both their sakes.

  
  
  
  


Steve nodded. That made a fair amount of sense. Hell, more than a fair amount -- and he'd obviously had no problems in the past with serving as a guinea pig, he thought wryly. Making sure that Loki could do what he meant to with this ‘krellr' now would potentially save heartache in the long run if it didn't work; and if it did work, it would put Steve back in action all the quicker.

"Sounds good to me," he replied, then hesitated. "I just have to invite the guard from outside in to supervise. Apparently security wasn't too keen on me letting you out the other evening." He grimaced. While he knew Loki wouldn't take advantage to cause him harm, he also didn't want to antagonize Loki's security detail more than he already had. Making a token effort to meet them halfway would hopefully benefit Loki in the long run, and earn him a bit more respect. "Just give me a moment."

Fortunately, the guard on duty turned out to be Murray, who stood by the door looking a bit nervous and wide-eyed, but kept his finger far from the trigger of his weapon. He appeared amenable to anything Steve asked of him, nodding and saying "yessir," as Steve explained what he and Loki intended to test, and what was expected of him (namely, not to interrupt or overreact under any circumstances).

Stepping over to the control panel, Steve opened Loki's cell and stepped in, the door sliding shut behind him. He crossed over to Loki's cot and sat down, looking up at him. "Just to make sure -- this isn't going to deplete you too much, is it? I know you said the scepter took a chunk out of your magic..."

  
  
  
  


"I will have between today and tomorrow to regain what little I will expend, and food and sleep is the best way for me to replenish. Besides, it is merely a hole in the... the space in me that holds my magic, not in my magic itself. The seidhr is like air, always around, always flowing. It is only one's ability to hold it that comes and goes. Muscles grow tired, no matter their jobs." Loki told him, casting a quick glance back towards the man at the door.

"He knows what is to happen-- not to shoot? You should not feel any pain, and there should be no sounds to... surprise him, but the visual. He will be able to see the magic I attempt to use."

Of course, he realized belatedly that allowing the guard to see him using magic on the Captain would not build confidence that Rogers was not under his spell.

"Actually, perhaps call him closer, if you think it would be safe. I want him to see what is being done, what is happening... Then not only will you have a witness, but I will have an unbiased report, since I will be... distracted by the workings."

He was already distracted, stupidly, because he had not been in a situation wherein he could look down on Rogers, and with Rogers sitting, it left his head only level with just above Loki's waist.

He licked his lips nervously and tried not to think about that, though.

"Your shirt will have to be removed. I can help you, if you like-- there is no need to push yourself. I can tell it is not comfortable." He felt guilty enough asking, not knowing for sure that this would make life easier for Rogers afterwards, and selfish for even suggesting it when he could as easily wait and see. But he knew the disappointment on Rogers' face if he failed today would be nothing next to the heartbreak he would have seen if he discovered tomorrow that the treatment wouldn't work-- doubled, because the woman had been given hope and then had it taken from her.

And of course, the thought of helping him to undress, of actively undressing him, did very little to banish that distraction. Loki's hands were all but itching to run up and over the glorious form that he knew hid beneath the clothes.

But, with the guard watching, he also could not do anything that would seem... overtly fey. This was to be a healing, and that was all.

"Once you are undressed, I will have you lay out on the bed, with your injured side towards me, and I will put my hands over... near you, but without touching, and I will attempt to redirect the flow of your krellr, temporarily. Does that sound alright?"

  
  
  
  


Steve nodded. "Sure thing." He understood Loki's concern with the guard. On the one hand, he'd already voiced his worries about potentially trigger-happy agents, but on the other, it would be good for someone to testify that Steve's eyes hadn't turned any bluer than usual, and Loki's magic had been directed toward Steve's side and not his mind. "Hey, Agent Murray?" he called, raising his voice, "Could I trouble you to come a bit closer?"

Murray shuffled forward, looking at Loki with apprehension, but no outright fear or hostility. Steve smiled at him, and repeated what Loki had said, explaining what would happen, and what he was likely to see. "We're just doing a test run now," he added. "So nothing fancy and nothing to worry about. Worse case scenario, not much happens at all. Best case scenario..." He lifted the side of the shirt, revealing the rainbow of bruising along his ribs. "You're in charge of telling me if this looks any better afterwards, alright?" He kept his tone light and his posture as relaxed as he could make it, hoping that it would help Murray be less tense.

"Yessir," Murray said, head bobbing up and down. "Um, test run for what, sir?"

Steve tilted his head. "Are you on duty tomorrow, soldier?"

"Yessir. Second shift, sir."

Steve smiled at him. "Perfect. You'll find out then, agent." That was a relief, at least. If all went well, Murray would be more relaxed and trusting the next day when the stakes would be higher.

Gripping the hem of his shirt with both hands, he lifted it and reached to pull it over his head, grunting slightly as the movement tugged at his sides. He knew he was fortunate that left to his own devices, the cracks in his ribs would be knit shut and the bruises faded within another week, but he was already fed up with the limits on his motion and looking forward to speeding up the process even further.

He got the shirt hiked up to halfway up his chest when his ribs twinged sharply in protest. He grit his teeth. "Sorry, if you could just--"

  
  
  
  


"Don't apologize," Loki told him, reaching instantly to help. It was not glamorous or inherently seductive, this baring, because it revealed the discolorations on Rogers' chest, solidified his role as the patient, the wounded party, and threw Loki into his training, placed him solely into the mindset of the Healer.

He guided Rogers into laying back, then spread his hands out over him.

"Murray was it?" He asked. "Thank you for your attentions on this. One further thing-- I do not think anything should go wrong, and I cannot think of any way my efforts should hurt Captain Rogers, but I trust you a good deal more than he when it comes to telling me if I am hurting him." He tossed a sharp but fond glance at Rogers. "My attentions will doubtless be diverted, but know that if anything seems wrong, if he so much as grimaces, it is unplanned. I would rather you not react violently, but a tap on my shoulder or a few words ought to be enough to bring my attention to you. If you would be so kind."

He felt better, having given directions for what to do if something did go wrong, something safer than relying on a soldier not to jump straight to violence, as was all too often apparently their wont.

He saw Murray look to Rogers, perhaps for confirmation or at least not rejection of the orders, before he said,

"Yes-- um, yes, Loki? Yes, sir." He could see the struggle to find the proper way of addressing him, and Loki already liked this guard a good deal more than any of the others.

Nodding at him and making eye contact with Rogers, he asked softly, "Ready?" The care was there, naked in that single word, but hopefully it would come off only as professional... as a healer's care.

He held his hands out over Rogers' body and closed his eyes to a squint, clenching his face up until the slight pain and bright flash came, his eyes opening almost to a different world of vision.

He exhaled with relief.

"Your krellr is strong and I can see it easily." He reported in a murmur, somewhat surprised.

In Asgard, not every healer had this Sight. It was often weak and used only as a preliminary device for diagnosis, often requiring the use of a Soulforge to further examine, and to see in better detail, but the light of the Captain's krellr was so bright... it truly made the room around him seem duller. And Loki had no idea why that should shock him, save that he would have expected the shorter lifespans of the Midgardians to render them paler than their Asgardian counterparts.

He gave an experimental swipe to the glowing particles swarming their way around Rogers' body, and though they were slower, harder to move, they did eventually cooperate. He was sure he looked odd from Rogers' point of view, a grown man kneeling over him, face screwed up in concentration while he batted repeatedly at the air.

It felt a little like building a sand castle with sand that held not enough water... trying to pile it higher while it ran down the edges. finally, he managed to convince the particles to rotate in a  slow circle above the hurt, then added more to it, then encouraged it to move faster, then faster still until the motion formed something of a whirlpool, which funneled down. He forced it faster still, until the glow made contact with Rogers' skin, and the touch of it broke the shape, causing it to spread out over the afflicted area. Once there, Loki watched the Krellr sinking in, and he began adding more, unsure how much would be required to do what the smallest touch of Krellr on Asgard would do.  He held off pushing the next batch in, though, looking at Rogers' face with no doubt unfocused eyes. The brightness there almost hurt to look at, like the sun rising before Loki's eyes.

"How does it feel, what does it... is it healing? Can you tell?"

  
  
  
  


With his shirt off, Steve allowed Loki to help guide him the rest of the way down, until he was laying on the cot. It reminded him a little of the bunk rolls they'd had in basic, but when he let his head lie on the cushion and took as deep a breath as his ribs would allow, the fabric smelled like Loki. The realization brought a faint smile to his lips. He nodded to Murray, reassuring him when the young agent looked to him for confirmation.

_"Ready?"_

"Whenever you are," Steve murmured in reply, struck by the open gentleness in Loki's face.

In that moment, even more than when Loki's hands had been gliding over his back and shoulders, Steve trusted him completely.

And then Loki began.

Steve wasn't sure what he'd expected. Bright lights, perhaps, or more of the shimmering he'd witnessed before. Instead, Loki narrowed his eyes, then widened them -- and nothing appeared to have happened. Murray looked at him with raised eyebrows and Steve just shrugged his good shoulder ever so slightly in response as Loki reported that he could see whatever it was the two non-magic users in the room were clearly missing out on. Loki's gestures toward the air, reminiscent almost of a cat swatting at a piece of string, would have almost been comical under other circumstances. But after a few moments, Steve began to feel a slight prickle -- like the sensation of hair standing on end in an electrified room, or the warmth of a hand hovering but not quite touching skin. Peering down, Steve thought he could almost see a distortion in the air, like a shimmer of heat--

Then, there was a brief golden green flash, and Steve felt something. He inhaled sharply, twitching, a sudden creeping feeling under his skin, warm like dripping butter, trickling through him. He bit down on his lip, trying not to buck and twist away.

"It _tickles_ ," he admitted, looking up at Loki who had him fixed with a stare that was intimate and distant all at once, like he could see to the center of Steve's mind and also to the end of the universe.

The green in his eyes all but glowed.

"It uh, it doesn't hurt," he added, trying to look down without moving too much.

"Bruising is a lot lighter," Murray reported, having leaned around Loki so he could peer over his shoulder. "Sir," he quickly added.

  
  
  
  


"But it is not gone." Loki said, listening without seeing them properly. He nodded, muttering to himself.

"So much brighter, but it takes more of it, the krellr is shorter lived and so is burning itself out faster. Not very efficient." He often spoke quietly to himself while he worked, and his attention was already turned towards redirecting the krellr again, sending it spiraling downward once more.

"Try not to shift too much, it will spill." He said, a little bit more direct, a little less divorced from the reality they were in, as he saw the fluttering of the particles over Rogers' ribs. It was hard to see the skin beneath, like trying to see what was behind the flame of a candle. He could focus his eyes on it if he tried, but he needed to keep his attentions on this layer.

He got it to spin downwards again, and saw the moment it made contact, registered the twitches in the muscles.

It should be enough. It was not a dire wound, and as Rogers had pointed out, he did not want to spend too much of his energy here, when the true test would be the following day. He let the krellr finish its downward motion, then began redirecting it, sending it moving back the way it had been when he had first opened his deeper eyes, matching its flow to the rest of Rogers' body.

He did not want to cause any further problems in the Captain's healing, and over time, poorly diverted krellr could build up and create new hardships.

Once he was satisfied, he let his hands drop to his sides and leaned back on his heels.

He closed his eyes fully this time, clenching them tightly until the bright spots behind the lids had faded down to nothing, and opened them back into the cell, the brightness seeming dull by comparison.

Looking into Rogers' face, it was no surprise that he held such a light. Loki was only vaguely shocked he didn't glow without the deeper sight, too.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, eyes swimming slightly as they adjusted. He had the good grace to turn to Murray as well, and ask, "I didn't hurt him, did I?"

  
  
  
  


The warm and drippy feeling returned, only this time it was less of a drip and more of a stream. Steve tensed, then held himself despite the strangeness of the sensation, recalling Loki's instruction not to shift. Whatever Loki was doing, whatever limited energy he was expending, Steve didn't want to be so ungrateful as to waste it. He briefly made eye contact with Murray, whose mouth was hanging slightly open as he stared at the diffuse glow over Steve's ribs, and nodded -- _Everything is okay_ , he tried to say with his eyes, keeping still in spite of the crawling sensation just beneath his flesh.

And then the warmth flooded through him, soft and silky as it spread and dissipated through his veins. Steve let out a breath and then inhaled, surprised to register half a second later that the motion hadn't hurt at all. He looked over to Loki, who was sat back on his heels, motionless, with firmly shut eyes.

Steve propped himself up on his elbows and waited.

When Loki's eyes fluttered open, Steve smiled. And when he asked Murray if he'd caused Steve any harm, he interceded on the agent's behalf: "Not at all. Look--"

He lifted his arm -- an action which would have made him flinch just minutes ago -- and revealed an expanse of unmarred skin from his hip to his chest, the bruising washed away like cheap paint. "Good as new," he announced, sitting up and glancing over to Murray, who did his head-bobbing nod in agreement, eyes wide as saucers.

"How about you?" Steve asked, reaching out with a steadying hand to Loki's upper arm. "That didn't take too much out of you, did it?" He didn't know how much more effort a tumor would take than a few ribs. The abnormality might be physically smaller, but would the severity outweigh the size?

  
  
  
  


He saw the results of his work and could not help but grin.

"It seems that I can absolutely use krellr magics on humans, and that though it is more work, it is not tiring or trying work, really... it merely requires patience and concentration to an extent. I would like to be certain you are present for tomorrow, if you were not already planning on remaining so, in the event that there is something I cannot see that I should know of. It is a common practice on Asgard to have a secondary healer to act as the first's eyes in this world while they labor in the bright one." He stood and brushed his knees off, taking in the look of shock on Murray's face.

He did not register it as being a source for potential danger, but he took a step back anyway, and was careful to keep his hands at his sides.

"Thank you, Agent Murray, for your aid in this matter. As you can see, you have helped to heal Captain America of his wounds from his latest assignment." He spoke gently, the way one did to a child who had stirred a pot, proclaiming them a great cook.

He knew those of this world were not oft exposed to true sorcery, and he did not want to have alienated a potential ally in showing his.

But hopefully, if he was open minded enough, if some of that surprise was covering awe, he could help influence the others into seeing Loki not only as a threat with it, but as something useful. A potential tool for them. Something worth keeping around.

And if not, and he spoke to his peers, perhaps those like Scofield would stay a little further away, give Loki a wider berth out of fear of retribution. Make Scofield himself quake in his boots, wondering what Loki might do, given the chance.

Loki felt his lips twitch, and gave the agent a conspiring look before glancing back at Rogers.

"I feel we have also learned something of vital importance for your SHIELD records today." Loki said, almost gravely, folding his arms behind his back and drawing himself up to look as intimidating as his full height would allow.

"It seems... the Captain is ticklish." He quirked a lopsided smirk at Rogers.

Dropping that brief play, he offered the Captain a hand up.

"I will see your lady friend tomorrow, and do my studying tonight. If she responds as well as you did and if the illness is as I think it is, it will be a longer, more involved treatment, but one that should be effective just the same."

  
  
  
  


Not too trying. That was good. Steve knew he'd feel terrible if he ended up causing Loki harm or overextending his abilities through his request, but it didn't seem as if that would be the case. Already he was grateful -- beyond just for the improvement in his side -- that Loki had proposed a trial run. "I'll be here," he promised. Glancing up, he saw that Murray had a rather bemused look on his face, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly in response to Loki's words.

"That was... pretty awesome," he said, gaze flitting between the two of them.

Steve chuckled, reaching for his shirt and pulling it back on with more ease than he'd managed in a week. He paused when Loki's tone turned grave, his arms folded --

\-- Then snorted. Murray giggled nervously, and Steve stood, pointing a firm finger directly at the younger agent. "That information is highly classified and doesn't leave this room, understood?"

Murray froze, eyes wide, until Steve took pity on him and winked. He relaxed and smiled. "Top secret, sir. Yes sir."

"I'll bring her by tomorrow during second shift," Steve told the both of them. "Loki, page me if you're not feeling up to it for any reason and we'll reschedule. Murray, thank you for your help today. Look forward to having you with us again tomorrow."

"Yessir!" Murray snapped off a salute, then made his way to the door.

Steve lingered, turning to Loki with a softer smile. "Thank you. That was... pretty incredible."

  
  
  
  


If seeing Rogers able to move, smiling and laughing and joking with the guard were not pay enough, the intimate thanks certainly was. Loki folded his hands behind his back again, this time not to keep from frightening, but to keep from reaching out. He felt good, almost unencumbered, the lift to his spirits just from being useful almost alarming for its severity.

"It was my pleasure." He told Rogers, calmly, his voice giving away nothing even as he resisted the urge to lean in closer.

"Thank you, too, for the pizza and continued care, and if there is anything I can do, in return..." He paused. "This is not a bribe, but rather my thanks." He said, not quite the words he'd uttered before, but close enough to remind them of the distance they had come.

He punctuated it with another rakish smile, though the clench in his heart of the remembered dismissal he'd gotten was grounding enough to remind him to keep his space.

Any attentions he wanted to give were both unwanted and unwelcome, beyond those of a friend. He needed to stop thinking the wild thoughts that would leave him pining, and he strengthened his resolve to do so, even as he knew that the moment Rogers left, he would bury his face in his pillow and scent for him, like the lovelorn fool he was.

"I will not hesitate to page you, should anything change, but I do not foresee that being troubling at all. Though, perhaps for the ease of tomorrow, a second cot, or a taller table, might be brought out into the larger antechamber? This room is a bit small, I think, to withstand the traffic. And I will page you with a list of items I may need, once I have decided how to go about treating the woman. If it is a true illness and not mere wounds as yours were, it will not be all..." He waved his hands.

"If that is agreeable?"

  
  
  
  


_Not a bribe, but rather my thanks..._

The echoes of a dream almost forgotten stirred and Steve's heart skipped a beat. For a moment he remembered hot mouths, warm wet skin, a pooling heat low in his belly--

He swallowed, smiled, and forced the memory away. "You're already doing it," he replied, as sincerely as he could.

Steve considered the issue of the cot or table that Loki would need and looked toward Murray, but before the request even made it out of his mouth, the young agent was saluting. "Cot set up in the exterior chamber tomorrow, second shift. You got it, Captain."

He nodded. "Thank you, Agent." He wanted to positively beam at Murray, relieved that _someone_ in Loki's guard rotation would have their backs. He knew the kid was likely mainly starstruck by Steve's patriotic reputation, but he seemed like he had his heart in the right place.

He returned his attention to Loki. "It all sounds good. I'll be in some meetings in the morning, then I have to go swing by the bus station, but I'll have my pager on me. If you can think of anything tonight, I'll pick it up first thing in the morning. I'm usually up early."

Following Murray out of the cell, he quickly collected his pizza box and bag on his way to the door. "Sleep well, Loki."

  
  
  
  


Loki waited until the doors were closed, his chamber once again emptied, and he stalled by collecting the remains of his dinner, adding it to the growing pile under his bed.

He pulled out the third to last piece of bacon and let it lay on his tongue while he lay back in the bed.

He held the Stark Reader out over him and turned on the screen, but he only stared absently, too busy taking in the mixture of smells-- Rogers, bacon, the sharp tang of magic... and he felt peaceful. Happy. Almost content.

Finally, he opened the newly added section of the reader's library, and browsed the titles, locating the files containing information on cancer.

He started with the one that appeared smallest, and got to work absorbing and learning as much as he could.

One after the next, he read through the night, realizing only later that the lights had gone out.

He knew now what this was, knew how to treat it and knew he could... though he had never seen the affliction in the mind before... generally only in the breasts of women or the arses of men, sometimes the throat or lungs.

Still. The practice remained the same. Just so long as the guards were more like Murray, he would be able to serve his role, do as the Captain asked of him.

He could not help but wonder who this woman was, though, why she was important enough that the Captain should ask this of him.

Not that she had to be important. He would be unsurprised it the Captain had asked him to do the same for a cleaning woman.

So quaint, and how overwhelming it must be, his need to save the world. Loki only hoped there were enough people out there to be saved that he would not hold it against him too much when it was revealed that Loki never would be.

At last, tired and not sure, but comfortable at least in his knowledge, he fell asleep, the reader falling onto his chest to be cradled there, while he breathed in the scent of the Captain's hair on his pillow, and dreamed of _pale hands on a broad golden chest, which lurched and pitched below him as his fingers skittered their way upwards, over ribs, the laughter turning to moans when he brought his blunt nails down in straight lines over the tallest part of his chest, narrowly missing the hardening buds there, and he leaned in, straddling him and dragging their groins together, his lips sliding over his, blue eyes boring into his own until--_

He woke, hard and cursing himself for it.

Today would be quite long enough without this. He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, and willed it away, nothing quite working until he reminded himself that Rogers had seen what not even Thor could stomach, that he had turned into a monster, that he knew him to be one. He imagined those same hands, blue instead of white, trailing down his chest, this time his nails sharp and ripping the muscles there to shreds, while the blackening flesh coiled outward like a spreading poison.

He shivered and lay flat on his back to wait for the false sun to dawn.

 

 


	11. Eleven

“So he’s good?”

Steve unzipped his uniform and hiked up the side of it with the shirt underneath to reveal his unmarked ribs.

She raised an eyebrow at him -- or, the part of her forehead where her eyebrows had grown once. “I don’t see anything.”

“ Exactly. Yesterday morning I still had four cracked ribs,” he replied.

“ Huh.” She turned back toward the elevator door. “Not bad.”

“ He doesn’t promise anything, of course...”

She chuckled. “Everyone knows better than to make promises at this point.” The sharp edges of her smile eased a bit when she spared him a sideways glance. “I appreciate the effort though, Captain.”

The elevator dinged when it hit the containment level. The doors slid open and Steve nodded. “After you.”

“ Says the man who has to flash his security clearance at every door from here on out,” she replied, her tone unimpressed but the corner of her mouth quirking upward. 

He made sure not to say anything if she stumbled slightly before righting herself and walking down the hall.

Murray was waiting for them, along with another agent -- Tanner -- outside the cell. “I’ve got the cot all set up in there, sir,” Murray informed him. “And Tanner’s got the mug.”

“ Perfect, thank you.” Steve nodded, accepting the mug and tucking it into the crook the arm he held the thermos with. “Murray, if you could accompany us; Agent Tanner, you’ll be on standby.”

“ With all due respect, sir--”

“ It’s a medical procedure, Agent. We want as few interruptions and distractions as possible. I’m sure you understand.”

Agent Tanner shifted uncomfortably, but nodded. “Yes sir. Call me if you need me, sir.”

“ Will do, Agent.” Steve placed his hand on the scanner and the door hissed open. He smiled at his companion, then lead the way in, with Murray bringing up the rear.

“ Loki,” Steve said, announcing their presence in case the door’s hiss hadn’t already made it known, “I’d like you to meet Agent Silvia Ferra.” He gestured to the petite woman beside him, her head wrapped in a colorful scarf and her clothes hanging loosely on her frame. 

  
  


Even had Loki not been told this woman was ailing, it was immediately apparent.

Loki tried not to stare, reverting to his diplomatic politeness, rather than offend. But he had never seen anyone whose illness had been allowed to advance so. Asgard was a state healthy by standard, the sick cared for as well as possible. No one would have allowed her to reach this state. And if she couldn’t be cured, she would have gone to sword long before allowing herself to reach this point. 

He was shaken by her, as a result. And the worst of it was that he could tell that beneath it all, she was not so very old, even by the measurements of their slight life spans. 

“ It is my pleasure to meet you, Agent Ferra. I trust Captain Rogers has described to you what we-- what I will be doing, in the hopes of helping you with your cancer.” He did not tip toe around the illness, instead treating it bluntly and with little regard, like the vermin that it was, rather than something to be feared. 

He was itching to start, all of his teachings urging him to administer care as soon as he could, before she could grow a single minute worse. 

Loki was not at all protective, by nature, but he wanted to go back to his cot, pull his blanket off of it and take out the pizza he had hidden beneath it to feed and warm her, for slight as she was she seemed like she could easily be blown over. 

Perhaps after he took away the thing causing her this distress, perhaps then he would be allowed to see to the other needs of his patient. 

He looked up to meet Rogers’ eyes and gave them both a reassuring smile. 

Even if he had told her, he was not sure how inclined this woman would be to believe in things she had not seen. 

“ I have a plant that I will need to make into a tea-- I see you have the supplies I requested.” He cleared his throat, nervous that Ferra would react poorly to the small display he intended. 

“I have the plant in a storage space, tucked into my magic. And I will have to reach into it and produce it. To you, it will likely seem to come from nowhere. I do not want you to be afraid or startled, which is why I tell you before doing so, but if at any point today I do something you are unsure of, you need only say, and I will stop and explain it to you. Is that agreeable?” 

He waited only a moment, not even long enough for a nod, before he pulled out his jar of dried Hvönn leaves, seeds, and root. 

He held it up for both of them to see, then gestured at the cot. 

“ Please feel free to sit while I work, if you like… and I will take those from you, Captain, if you would be so kind.”

  
  


“Huh. Nifty,” Ferra said, giving her head a curious tilt to the side before leaning over to speak to Steve in a loud stage whisper. “I thought he’d be more ‘kneel-puny-humans’-y. And not cute.” She looked up at him reproachfully. “You didn’t tell me he was polite and cute.”

Steve immediately felt all the blood drain from his face. “Um. Agent--”

“ What? I’m dying, I’m allowed to say what I want. It’s one of the perks, didn’t anyone tell you?” She smirked at him, then strode fearlessly forward, grabbing and shaking Loki’s free hand. “Hi. The Cap told me you’ve got magic hands, could maybe do something about the thing in my brain that’s killing me, and that it would probably tickle. All of which I’d appreciate, if you can do it. Well, minus the tickling part.” She glanced down at the container of leaves in Loki’s hands. “So far the magic hands part seems pretty legit, I gotta say. I didn’t miss anything there, did I?” she shot a look over her shoulder at Steve.

Steve looked at Loki, eyes wide and expression apologetic. “That’s... yes.” The coloring returned to his cheeks with a vengeance. Somewhere behind him, he thought he heard Murray stifling a snort with mixed success. 

He’d known Agent Ferra had more or less come to an acceptance of her fate (“What do I have to lose?” she’d remarked when he’d called her to propose the ‘treatment’ -- “Two more months of headaches and puking my guts out? Why the hell not...”). He just hadn’t quite prepared himself for her to be so cavalier about the whole thing. And he hadn’t prepared Loki either, and now he really, really hoped Loki didn’t take offense. It dawned on him that he hadn’t seen Loki interact with anyone beside himself and the few guards, and that he had no real idea how he’d react to this... development.

“ Here’s the water and mug you asked for,” he said, quickly stepping forward and making a small gesture toward Ferra to sit herself down. She gave him a wry look, but then stepped back and sank down on to the cot. “Water was piping hot when I put it in and the thermos should have kept it warm,” he continued, “but let me know if it needs re-heating at all. Er, the plant is safe for humans, yes?” Not that he thought Loki would intentionally poison his patient, but Steve in his unease had a tendency to run through contingencies and look for every potential crisis before it had a chance to happen.

  
  


“You can kneel if you’d prefer,” Loki told her, brow and lips quirking ever so slightly, “but I thought you might prefer some semblance of professionalism. Let me know if I was wrong, I have some really raunchy jokes that will make the Captain nearly match his uniform.” 

He winked at her, accepting the thermos and mug and pouring the hot water from one into the other. 

He had had dealings with so many types of people over his years, he could hardly imagine being put off guard by any, save one so refreshingly honest as Rogers. This, at least, he knew how to treat with. She reminded him a bit of one of his bedmates, one of the women who had been brassy in approaching him, and more than happy to show him what thin men were good for. 

This was not the same, seeming more like an act, her own version of the forced joviality that the severely wounded sometimes developed, but who could say? Perhaps she had always been so bold. He imagined the Widow would like her. 

“ The temperature should be fine,” he assured Rogers, handing the thermos back so that he could open and measure in a few scoops of the leaves. “And it is absolutely fine for humans. The original strain of these plants, I know for a fact to have been brought back from your ancestral Midgard. I was there for it. I believe your people have rendered it alcoholic for many years, and eaten it for many more.” 

He stirred the water, finger hovering above it, so that a small whirlpool, less violent than the one he had formed with Rogers’ krellr had been, sent the mixture spiraling to the bottom of the cup. 

“ I have discovered, through Rogers’ generous volunteering, that Midgardian krellr, the force that flows through your body, it is a bit slower to respond to my manipulations. This tea will help it to flow more easily for a few hours, which should be long enough to treat you this time.” 

He held his hand above the cup, pulling all of the non liquid objects up, and vanished them before they touched his palm. 

He handed the cup to Ferra and smiled. 

“ I will make no promises, of course, but I think it is very likely that your cancer and what my people call  _ brottdrengr  _ are one and the same. If so, it will take me one, perhaps two at most, sittings to remove the offending soldiers, and reverse the damages. This should take… I am sorry, I don’t know your time measurements here. At home I would say around four candlemarks. Here… until after lunch?” 

He cast a quick eye over her form.

“ Captain, perhaps before we begin, you might make arrangements for food to be provided. Even if you haven’t been of late,” he told the female agent, “After this, you will be  _ famished _ .” 

  
  


Ferra’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment, then she let out a harsh and wheezing laugh. “Oh. Oh I like that. Heads up: I may take him up on that, Rogers,” she said with a grin that all but split her skeletal face. 

Steve relaxed, the corner of his mouth twitching as he watched the small display of magic involved in Loki mixing the tea. Loki was okay. Ferra was probably the most agreeable he’d ever seen anyone in Loki’s company. The tea was of earthly origin. Murray was trying to cover a smirk, and didn’t seem overly on edge.

Everything was going alright so far. Better, really, than he could have reasonably hoped for. 

Ferra took the cup and eyed the brown contents a bit dubiously. “If this is going to take a while, then I am  _ definitely _ taking you up on hearing those dirty jokes,” she remarked. “And I’m guessing it’s probably a good thing right about now I’ve mostly lost my sense of taste.” She swirled the contents of the mug for a moment, then looked up at the men around her with a smile. “Bottoms up!” 

She tilted the cup back and took a long swig of the tea.

“ I guess that means you don’t care what I order for lunch?” Steve asked. 

Ferra waved a dismissive hand, the used it to wipe a trickle of spilled tea from the edge of her mouth. “If I can hold it down, I don’t even care what it is anymore. Go crazy.”

Steve gave Loki a quick nod, then opened the door. “Agent Tanner?”

Tanner stiffened, immediately at attention. “Yes sir?” He peered over Steve’s shoulder with narrowed eyes. 

Steve offered him a benign look. “Would you mind calling in a lunch order at noon for five people? It looks like we’ll all be here a while.”

Tanner hesitated. “Five, sir?”

“ Well, I’m assuming you and Agent Murray eat lunch too.”

“ Oh. Yes sir.” Tanner made a face, still clearly unsure of how he should feel about this development. “What should I request, sir?”

Steve shrugged. “Your call. Just nothing spicy!” 

He keyed the door back shut and turned, just as Ferra drained the dregs of her tea and swung her legs up on the cot, laying back and shifting to make herself comfortable. Her headscarf began to slip and she moved to push it back in place, then paused, looking sheepishly at Loki. “You’ll probably need me to take this off, huh?”

  
  


Loki nodded, giving the woman his attentions now that they had begun. 

The tea’s effects were quick to begin, at least on Asgard, and he wanted to start as soon as he could. 

“I will need it removed, yes. Often clothing can remain in place, but with something as delicate as applying krellr to your mind, I would rather not risk a mistake. Besides, these gentlemen will be keeping an eye out to be sure I do not harm you in any way. You wouldn’t want your safe guards befuddled by cloth.” The process for doing this with clothing in place would then involve pushing at all of the Krellr within her body to create a false tide. That, he knew from experience, was a disarming thing, as when the krellr rushed to the head, the feet ceased to work. They effectively went dead. That unpleasantry put the tea to shame.

“I f you cannot taste it, I will tell you that the tea is sharp, bitter, and not completely pleasant for it. Your people put it in reindeer milk to hide the near sour taste, and use it to flavor vermouth and absinthe.” Both of which he had tried and found… borderline disgusting, much like the tea. 

Readying himself for the work, he walked around to the top of her head and slid gracefully to his knees, keeping his hands on either side of her face so that she could see where he was. 

“ If you will permit?” He asked, laying his hands softly on the scarf until she nodded. 

He removed it and readied his eyes, until he could see the way her krellr flowed, pooling at her neck and trickling into her head, where all of it pooled and swirled and darkened in a single spot. 

“ I will start my work now,” he murmured. “Close your eyes if you wish. I will talk to you.” 

At the first pull of his hand upwards, he felt the krellr catch on something at the base of her skull. He tried again, frowning, and knew he would have to concentrate first on removing that block. 

“ My brother and his friends would sometimes allow me on trips with them. And once, Thor had to go to Alfheim, home of the Light Elves. Little is known of the race, them being a quiet folk, but we were to treat with them, and so stayed for several days. While we were there, two of the Elves took a liking to two of our number: Fandral, who always has a penchant for falling into bed, and Sif, a woman so strong, she often scared men out of hers.” He grinned at that, for this was the first time telling the story to an audience who didn’t laugh just at the descriptors. 

He ended up having to use both of his hands to pull the narrow opening wider, and then he could hold it with one and brush the old krellr, the unmoving life, from the spot, widening it to allow flow. 

“ After a night of much drinking, both Sif and Fandral agreed to go to bed with their admirers and off they went. The next morning, Sif returned first, looking greatly sated. Like any good friends might, and in interest of learning about our hosts, we inquired to the customs of bedding there.” 

Loki delighted in this part. He pitched his voice while easing the first stream of new Krellr upwards into her mind. 

In a perfect reproduction of Sif’s voice, he said, 

“It is the oddest thing: When I took him to bed, his member was unimpressive enough to disappoint. When I asked him how he intended to use it, small as it was, he told me to pull his ears. In doing so, it grew to a length to put a horse to shame! But sir, I cried, surely a noodle may be long but it will not fill! And so he bade me knock on his forehead. With each blow, it grew wider, until it was exciting to obscene. And altogether, it was a most glorious ride.” 

Dropping back into his own voice and sniggering a little at the thought of Sif ever speaking thus, or even sharing tales of her conquests in such a manner, he began a spiral in the lower part of Ferra’s brain, letting it slowly grow while he finished the joke. 

“ Some time later, Fandral returned, looking perplexed and a little red. We asked how it went on his side of things, and he responded,” here he dropped into an impression of Fandral, intentionally making him sound a little more oafish than his usual levels, to deliver the final blow, “It was the oddest thing. She was a tight enough lady, alright, but all through the night she kept pulling my ears and slapping me on the head.” 

  
  


As Loki knelt at Ferra’s head, Steve sank into a sitting position a foot or so from her side, perpendicular to Loki, where he could face Murray and the door. Positioned like this, he could offer comfort, keep a close eye on everything, and be at hand should anything go amiss, all while hopefully not being too much of a distraction. 

He didn’t miss the way Loki explained everything out loud, clearly telegraphing all his movements and describing his intentions in a calm, level voice. Just as he had while treating Steve’s ribs the night before. Just as  _ Steve  _ had while cutting Loki’s hair, when he’d been shackled to the chair and trembling.

It was hard to picture the Loki he saw now as being that full of terror, or anger, or any of the other harsh expressions he knew him to be capable of. The only aspect of him that appeared present at the moment was that of a healer -- gentle, comforting, and capable. Steve’s gaze found its way to the movements of those long, skilled fingers, tracking their fluid movements along Ferra’s exposed scalp and then moving through the air around her head, channeling invisible forces. 

Ferra let her eyes fall shut after a moment, and then everything was silent but for Loki’s voice.

The joke, as promised, was raunchy. As it progressed, Steve felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning red, though he had to press his lips together to hold back a smile. Across from him, Murray was having similar difficulty concealing his mirth. 

Eyes still shut, Ferra grinned unrepentantly as the tale unfolded.

They all jumped when Loki spoke with a woman’s voice; more than just an impression, but a perfect replication. Steve’s eyebrows raised, and Ferra chortled out loud. It had to be magic; which meant Loki wasn’t just multitasking mentally, but magically. Steve knew little enough about what he was doing and what it entailed, but he still felt impressed. Though he felt a twinge of pity for whatever undoubtedly real individuals were having their names and voices appropriated for the sake of the joke.

With the punchline, Steve had to clap a hand over his mouth, and Murray dissolved into giggles. Ferra cackled, then opened one eye to sneak a look at Steve. “You know, for an Army guy, Cap, I thought you’d turn less red at hearing a dirty joke” she teased.

“ I’ve heard plenty, ma’am. Just most of them weren’t told in the presence of a lady,” he admitted.

She smirked. “Ah, don’t worry, this one hasn’t either, yet.” She closed her eyes again and Steve thought he heard her mutter something that could have been ‘ _ lady, my bony ass...’ _

He looked up at Loki, but the god’s attentions remained on his patient. 

“ So how about you, Captain? Do you have any jokes with which to entertain the invalid?” Ferra pressed. 

Steve’s smile evaporated. “Uhhh....”

  
  


Loki’s focus wavered for a moment, ears straining to hear the reaction from the Captain… and he wondered if he would be able to work through that voice describing anything that so much as bordered on the obscene… though he supposed Ferra had not specified. 

But the Captain seemed not to have a ready answer. 

He glanced up, sneaking a look again at Rogers’ peculiar brightness. Neither Ferra nor Murray possessed the same sort of brilliance, and Loki wondered whether it was the serum, or some inborn trait of the man himself. Impossible to tell, for now and, he chided himself, completely irrelevant. He was meant to be healing this woman, not daydreaming about the spectacular man beside them. 

The distraction, it turned out, was good, though. It made him look with new eyes when he looked back, and he could see that the flow of the krellr had eroded some of the blockage from the uppermost layer of the problem, but that lower it was just as solid as ever. 

He pushed at it, the pressure strong but slow, probably barely able for her to feel it at all, but for him, it was like pushing against a boulder that was twice his size. 

And it wasn’t working.

“ I need to lift your head a bit. I’m going to slide my hand under to help keep your neck from strain.” He could hear a tiny bit of strain in his own voice, and quickly pushed it away. “The angle will help,” he explained, his voice clear as he could make it, in the interest of not agitating her. 

She lifted her head to help and he splayed his fingers out, cupping her skull gently but firmly. 

With his hand below, he drove a pool of krellr directly into the solid area, attempting to bore through it. Above, he gestured as if stroking a finger up the bridge of her nose repeatedly, an action often used to calm babies. Here, however, it was meant to do the opposite, to stir the krellr and send it rushing up and back… for if it looped around the top of her head and washed behind it, the solid form would be loosened from its moorings, and he could begin a spiral that would ultimately crush it. 

He made a note to himself to set up a temporary net block of magic in her neck, lest the solid forms be washed lower into the krellr of the rest of her body, and each one begin taking root. He did not want to cause more problems in the pursuit of healing.

It merely trickled though, instead of streaming upwards, and he realized he needed another hand. 

“ Captain, would you help me? If you could hold here, here…” He gestured at the hand under her head. The moving around would also allow the Captain a little time to come up with something to say… or find a perfectly charming, he was certain, way of demurring. Loki looked up at Murray with his unseeing eyes. 

“And you are again on monitoring duty. If aught goes awry, you are to alert us. Yes?” 

He was more concerned today than yesterday. Not only was the complaint of a far more serious nature, but if she could not eat, who knew what other effects the illness had had on her. It could be that she did not register pain in the same way. Best to have someone a little further from the work to keep an eye on things. He kept his voice carefully calm, though, making it sound as if all of this was but a series of casual requests. 

  
  


Steve silently made a note to thank Loki lately when his timely interruption served as a diversion. Once again, his eyes were drawn to the movements of Loki’s hands, and the strange stroking and swirling motions he made, like he was spooling unseen thread or shaping clay. It was almost hypnotic, and Steve didn’t realize how mesmerized he’d actually been until Loki’s request for his aid jarred him back to alertness.

“ Of course.” He shifted over so he was closer to the head of the cot, reaching over to cup Ferra’s skull in his hands.

“ Yessir,” Murray echoed, in answer to Loki’s request of him, taking another half-step forward. And how funny it was that the prisoner was now the one giving orders, Steve mused. Though Loki issued them more as polite instructions than anything else. He wondered, if Loki had spoken with that level of grace and quiet competence when he’d first arrived, if an invading army would even have been necessary.

“ I’m still waiting, Rogers,” Ferra murmured, eyes shut but clearly still awake. “And hm, you’re right... that does tickle,” she remarked as Loki’s hand resumed a sort of stirring motion.

Steve swallowed, digging through his memory. “I think most of the ones I know would sound pretty corny,” he admitted.

“ Such as?”

“ Well, what do you call a cow with no legs?”

After the obligatory pause, Murray stepped up with an “I don’t know, what?”

Steve smiled feebly. “Ground beef.”

Ferra opened her eyes, then snorted. “You’re right, that’s terrible.”

“ All right, hold on, I got a better one,” Steve interjected, memory jogged. “Right. So, a group of soldiers from the Bronx are stationed in England during the war, waiting to ship out the front, and on their day off they go on a guided tour of the countryside. So the guide takes them up to Kenilworth castle and he says to them, ‘in over a hundred years, nothing about this castle has been touched. The edifice is completely original -- no revonations, no modernizations, and no repairs.’” He paused for a moment for effect. Ferra’s eyes were narrowed to slits.

“ So one of the soldiers, he tilts his head to the side and he says ‘Say, I reckon we have the same landlords!’” he finished. 

  
  


Loki could not spare the concentration to really laugh, instead letting his lips slip into a smile. It was a small window into a life utterly divorced from his own, and he loved it. Even so, the patient came first. He ran his hands up over her forehead from the back, hooking his fingers into a veritable sheet of her power and dragging it up with him, then again, bunching it as far forward as he could before allowing it to break down into its liquid like particle form again. 

He repeated the process, careful not to let his fingers drift any lower than her brow bone, well aware of how it would look, his fingers crooked as they were and hovering over her eyes, just in case she had them open. 

“ Your pride in disrepair seems misplaced.” Was all he managed to murmur. Though he could feel the Captain’s closeness, he was careful not to look at him. He did not want to be blinded, even briefly. 

It was, therefore, a complete accident when his hand drifted too far back, and he washed the krellr from the captain’s hands up and over the front of her head. 

Loki let out a small gasp, unaware that could be done, unaware he could mix them, or unintentionally access more than one person’s at a time. He bit his lip to keep from releasing any more noise, and was unsure what to say. 

But as he watched, the Captain’s unwitting donation brought Ferra’s krellr to a strong front, and when Loki moved his hands downward and back again, it slid through the resistance like a knife through butter. 

He turned his eyes toward Rogers, sure they all must have heard his breath, certain they would be concerned. 

“ I…” He could not  _ ask _ to take the krellr from Rogers, any more than the doctors of SHIELD could ask to harvest his blood for study. He cleared his throat. “Your krellr is spilling over, and… while it is easing the way for us, I do not want to take any against your will.” It felt awkward, not a request, but not denying the curiosity, the near lust for the potent krellr. “If you move your hand further down, it will be out of my reach. I am sorry for the unintended mixing.” 

The thing was, had he been in Asgard, had Rogers been any other human, he would not have hesitated to take without permission. It was not as though any not trained for it would know, or see, and his body being in as good a form as it was, he would regenerate what little Loki could take within a day. But given that Rogers was protective of his serum and its secrets… 

Loki let his fingers drift forward, pushing the little that he had already appropriated into the fore, using it to better loosen the mass-- there-- from the back of where it clung to her skull. 

he put in his net, quickly making motions in the air like the string games children played, and sliding his hands down over either side of her neck. 

“ This is just to be sure none of the malignant mass escapes-- I’ve loosened it, now.” He murmured for Ferra’s sake. 

“Someone speak, though.” He requested softly. “The silence is all too distracting.”

  
  


The catch in Loki’s breath made Steve tense up. Did something go wrong with the procedure? Had Loki strained himself to injury again? He stared, unsure what to do, as Loki bit down on his lip. “Loki...” he ventured quietly, not wanting to jar Loki if he happened to be in the middle of something delicate.

He furrowed his brow in concentration as Loki explained, trying to make sure he followed. “So... like a donation?” He’d seen them take blood from one man and give it to another. He’d wanted to help by donating himself, but he was too underweight and unhealthy to qualify before the serum, and after there had been concerns about the serum mixing with untreated blood. But energy, surely, wouldn’t come with the same risks...? He was healthy enough and felt like he had energy to spare. “I mean, hey, if it’ll help her, go ahead and take some of mine!” he urged, before remembering himself.

“ I mean, if that’s okay with you,” he added, looking down.

“ Hmm?” Ferra’s eyes fluttered open. “If what’s okay?”

Steve swallowed, glancing from Loki to her. “If we let Loki take some of my kreller -- energy -- and stick it in with yours.”

“ Well usually I’d make you buy me dinner first...” Ferra smirked. “I don’t know how any of this weird new-agey or old-agey or whatever stuff works. Do whatever you gotta do.”

Steve looked back up at Loki, then adjusted his hand, sliding it half an inch higher up the back of Ferra’s head and spreading his fingers so his little finger brushed against Loki’s skin. “Go ahead,” he told him, confident that Loki wouldn’t drain him more than he could afford. 

And if there was something he could actually do to help, instead of sitting and watching, helpless...

Steve took a breath, feeling that strange, pickling, hair-on-end sensation again.

“ So, I had a friend back in the war named Dum Dum Dugan. Well, Timothy was his given name. But everyone called him Dum Dum. See,” he began, “back when he was in basic, Dugan had this bad habit of mouthing off to his superiors. He got two strikes, and his CO told him if he got a third, they’d be sending him right to the worst part of the front.”

“ So one night, Dugan’s got guard duty. And it’s a real miserable might. Foggy and cold and misting, and there’s a storm rumbling out on the horizon. But in spite of it all, out of the fog comes the general, of all people, walking his dog. Dugan makes sure to give his snappiest salute.

“General goes up to Dugan and says ‘Evening, Private. Nice night, isn’t it?’ 

“ And of course, it’s a terrible night. But Dugan, well, he’s got two strikes. So he figures he’s not gonna contradict the general. ‘Sir, yes sir,’ he replies, saluting again.

“ And the general, well, he says ‘You know, there’s something about a damp night like this I find real relaxing. Don’t you agree, Private?’ And Dugan, he thinks the guy’s nuts, but he just says ‘Sir, yes sir!’” Steve began to smile, remembering the way Dugan told the story himself, usually after several pints of the local brew.

“ The general then points to his dog, tells Dugan ‘This is a purebred spaniel. Pedigree goes back generations. One of the best dogs there is to train.’ And Dugan still just salutes and tells him ‘Sir, yes sir,’ though it’s really wearing on him.

“ General says ‘I got this dog for my wife.’

“ And Dugan nods to the general and says ‘Good trade, sir!’”

Steve grinned, settling back on his heels but keeping his hands in place. “And that’s how Timothy Dugan got sent to the front where I met him, on account of getting smart and saying something Dumb.”

  
  


The words registered, but they came as if through a kind of haze, the rumbling of Rogers’ voice as comforting as a physical presence. 

“Your friend had as little good sense as you do, though at least his was only in words, rather than in safety.” He spoke casually, forgetting that they were not alone, as deep in concentration as he was. 

Having more of that krellr in easy access, the unselfish way it was offered… it was heady, in the same way the first time he’d lifted the sceptre, he felt a sort of rush. Letting power like that work, making it do what he wanted, it was thrilling. Probably the closest he got to Thor’s fighting lust. He could fight, and hate, but there was nothing to that feeling that compared with this. It was not the addiction that he had passed it off as, true, but it was a feeling like orgasm, like coming undone and suddenly being complete, too. Tantalizing and Loki could only wonder how this had not been obvious the previous day. 

He’d never dealt with a transfer this way, though, never even heard of such a thing. This felt-- this felt like the first time he had discovered a path between worlds. Something powerful that was his and no one else’s. A secret. The good kind. 

The small touch of Rogers’ little finger against Loki’s hand was, in this state, nearly electrifying. Loki shivered, and with a gentle swipe, brought a tiny trickle from Rogers’ hand to begin the newest attack on the mass, breaking it up far faster than he would ever have expected possible, when he’d begun this project. 

From there, he began the spinning motions, Rogers’ krellr at the lead, the dark spots getting smaller as they bounce against themselves, as they bounce against the energy now flowing around it. 

“ We may be done much sooner than anticipated.” he reported, hoping the astonishment was not too exposed in his voice. “We’re… the small transfer has made the movement go from a  trickle to a roar, and…” Watching it work was like watching waves crash upon rocks, save that the rocks were being reduced to something smaller, something nearly small enough for him to remove what was left, and cleanse her mind of what had ailed her for who knew how long.

Loki held his hands both over her head, allowing the movements in the krellr to settle, letting the motion ease until the dark spots sat, unmoored and no more menacing looking than the soggy leaves in the tea he’d given her. And just like that, he pulled them upwards, out of the krellr with and towards his hands, and he caught them and banished them to a container in his holding, sealing it with a final sounding click in his mind. 

That cleared, he removed the safety net and carefully caught as much as he could of the Captain’s krellr, considering, for a moment, placing that into a vial of its own for him to study at a later time. But, no. That was not what he said he’d do with it, which meant that doing so would be dishonest. 

He flowed it back out of her and into Rogers. Then, as an experiment, tried moving some of her krellr into him, intending only to replace it just as quickly. But it would not leave her, flowing until it was as if it had encountered a wall. Confused, but satisfied that it was merely a mystery of the Captain and not an oddity of the species, he set the krellr moving as it should within her head, and then raised his hands up, watching with a critical eye. 

“ I think… it is done.” He closed and opened his eyes several times, then scooted back. 

“ How do you feel? He asked, aiming the question mainly at Ferra, but looking to Rogers as well, curious if he could even tell that the energy had been taken-- or returned. 

  
  


It was like breathing, only with something more than air. And with every exhale, something inside of him ebbed like a tide, washing through him and trickling, tingling. Steve let himself breathe in time with it, and when he softened his gaze and didn’t look directly at it, he could detect the shimmer in the air, and the very gentle glow. 

Steve relaxed as he spoke, and felt the trickle become a flow, warm in his hand where he and Ferra and Loki all touched. The glow brightened a little with each exhale, the tingle more prominent, singing through his nerves. On the table before them, Ferra was drawing deeper and deeper breaths, pulling more air into her lungs as the lines in her face smoothed. Murray hovered nearby, biting his lip in apprehension.

Steve inhaled and the flow reversed, and for the space of a heartbeat he felt like he was drowning in light.

Then it was past, and he was left blinking, feeling a strangely pleasant ache, as if he’d just completed an extra-strenuous morning run. He watched as Loki drew his hands away and announced the work done. They both moved back, giving Ferra space.

Her eyes fluttered back open, and for several moments, she laid still on the table, silent as a statue.

“ Oh,” she breathed. 

Slowly, but with more fluidity than before, she sat up. “I forgot,” she murmured, gaze distant. “I forgot what it felt like... not to hurt.” Carefully, she raised a hand to her head and ran it from her temple to the top of her spine, breathing deeply. “Damn,” she whispered.

Steve glanced sideways at Loki. He felt a lump forming in his throat and a tightening in his chest, but this time, not from anger or sorrow. For once, this was good.

Everything was good. 

“ Also,” Ferra added, a little louder, “you were right. I feel like I could eat a horse. Then run a mile. And then sleep for a year.”

  
  


Loki gave her an easy but tired grin. 

“You will have to rethink all this talk of invalidity and impending death,” he told her seriously, “And I would advise you give yourself at least a day to even out, and several weeks of good eating and sleeping habits before you take up running again. You grew a little brittle in your time being ill. That should go away, if you allow yourself heal. Your uh… hair, too, should come back soon.” He’d seen nothing to stop it growing any more, at any rate. 

He considered offering to do something for it, but the last time he had done so, the woman had reacted less than favorably. In fact, he still didn’t think Sif had forgiven him. 

Loki let his eyes slide from her face to Murray’s. 

“Everything alright there, Agent?” He asked politely, just to be sure he wasn’t shocked or disoriented again. 

“ Yessir!” He all but chirped, no hesitation as there had been before. 

“ And once he’s recovered, perhaps the Captain can check on the lunch arrangements? Or… if it is still early, perhaps you would rather celebrate by going somewhere instead?” He asked them, gracefully offering them the option of leaving, so they would not feel they had to stay here with him, now that his usefulness was done.

Perhaps this victory against an illness their doctors could not heal was one worthy of a victory meal, and he would rather they make the most of it, rather than be forced to sit on the floor to eat it here, for his sake. 

He still had bacon, and bacon pizza, if nothing else. For the first time since arriving here, though, he yearned for the freedom to go out, for the camaraderie such an outing might offer. 

He hesitated, uncomfortable with expressing his gratitude before witnesses in person, though he knew that there were always witnesses in the form of those watching via the cameras. 

Still, if Rogers did see fit to hurry his Agents out of Loki’s cell, he would not have another chance. So he took a deep breath and pasted a pleased smile on his face. The odd thing was, it belonged there, it did not feel so unnatural as he’d expected. 

“ I wanted to thank you, also, Captain, for having been so kind as to allow me to use your resources to aid in our work. It would have taken perhaps as much as another sitting after this to finish, and I think we can all agree that this is a far better option.” 

  
  


“I’ll check with Tanner and see where lunch is at,” Murray reported, and Steve noted with satisfaction that the agent was now at ease enough to trust the three of them without him for a moment.

Ferra still seemed to be in something of a state of shock. “Oh, yeah, my hair,” she mumbled, still skimming her fingers across the dome of her skull. “It fell out again in the last round of chemo... didn’t think I’d be around long enough for it to grow to more than peachfuzz again...” she trailed off, eyes wide. “I’ll be around.”

She turned, swinging her legs off the side of the cot. “I’ll be... it’s gone? It’s really gone?” her voice, composed and cavalier up until then, finally cracked, her large eyes overbright. “It’s gone and I-- I’m gonna...?” 

Without warning, she flung herself forward at Loki and wrapped her arms around his neck, her waifish form colliding with him at speed. Steve startled, but swiftly recognized the embrace for what it was, the knot in his chest tightening further.

“ Thank you,” Ferra gasped into Loki’s shoulder, trembling. “Magic goddamn hands. Thank you. Shit. Thank you.”

Steve caught Loki’s eye over the top of Ferra’s head and beamed at him with a smile so broad it cracked at the edges.  _ Thank you,  _ he mouthed, a silent echo of Ferra’s words. When he’d picked Agent Ferra up at the bus stop and had laid eyes on her, sickly and wasted, he’d been reminded painfully of how his mother had looked at the end. She’d had her hair still, of course, and she’d wheezed a great deal more, her lips flecked with blood, but there had still been that drawn and sunken look to her. That sense of impending finality. Steve remembered crouching at her bedside wishing he could just take some of the life and health from inside of him (as meager as it was, his weak little spark of vitality) and share it with her. Wished he could have done something,  _ anything  _ to save her. 

He remembered the crushing helplessness as her rattling breaths grew weaker, then stopped.

But not this time.

This time he had helped. It hadn’t been his mother -- Ferra was an agent whose name he’d only heard a month or so ago, a relative stranger. But he’d helped. He’d done something. He’d helped save  _ someone. _

Because of Loki. 

Steve turned away briefly to rub at something in his eye as the door hissed back open. 

“ Agent Tanner says the delivery guy called and someone from the front desk is having everything checked and brought down,” Murray announced. “Um. How does everyone feel about burgers?”

Ferra tore herself from Loki, finally, and flung her arms around a stunned Murray. “I fucking love burgers,” she said, voice muffled. 

  
  


He couldn’t do anything but return the embrace, feeling in it all of the desperation he felt, but backwards. This was a lifting of a sense of doom, this was gratefulness at being returned the life she thought was over. He held her back, glad for once that he had done something, glad that it was something important-- if only to a few people, but important just the same. 

And he was so starved for touch-- he had to be careful, couldn’t hold her too tight, fragile as her form was, but he poured his own desperation into the hug. And silently he wished her a good life, wished her nothing but happiness. And he wished it with such fervor that it surprised even him. But then, he reasoned, he had healed her. He’d been emotionally vulnerable, and he’d become attached. It was only natural. 

  
  


He would forget her soon enough. The Captain would stop being too moved to look at him… everything, for him, would stay the same. He was still in limbo, still enslaved, still incarcerated-- still waiting to die. She had had her world changed, though, and he tried to adjust his thinking for her, tried to make sense of how everything must look through her eyes. 

When Murray came back with his report, and she had launched herself at him, Loki felt the loss almost like a physical pain, and for a moment he worried he’d overextended himself. 

But no. Other than Rogers, she was the first person to have held him in so long… long enough that it reminded him, created an ache that he swallowed down, though he couldn’t help looking after her. 

Loki saw Rogers’ words, heard Ferra’s near-sobbed ones. he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been thanked, either. Not sincerely, not… without being taunted with the show of false civility. He swallowed, and tried to pull himself out of the gloom and contemplative mire. 

“ What’s a burger?” He asked, certain that they would have words for him, and glad that it was too late after all. 

He felt emotionally drained, suddenly, and unlike his usual preferences, he didn’t  _ want  _ to be left alone to see to himself and regain his energy in quiet and without interference. He  _ wanted  _ people around, wanted  _ these  _ people around. 

Her joy was infectious, was the only conclusion he could draw, and he was glad to fall in line with it, glad to let himself have some of her joy, even if it was only for a little while. There would be enough time to despair later.

  
  


“It’s a kind of sandwich with grilled ground beef,” Steve moved to explain. He’d hardly gotten the words out before he was next in Ferra’s sequence of tackling hugs, though her entire bodyweight slamming into him didn’t so much as rock him on his heels. “Woah, easy there,” he cautioned with a chuckle, steadying her and giving her a squeeze. “Slow down, you’ve got the rest of your life now.”

She looked up at him. “I do,” she said, voice hoarse. “I’ve got the whole rest... I’m gonna go to Greece! And Paris! And go to Carnivale, and learn how to dance, and eat blood pudding because I’ve never tried it and it sounds gross and-- and-- and I need to call my niece! And my sister! And I need--” She loosened her grip on him, wobbling on her feet. “I need to sit down.”

“ Oop!” Steve caught her around the shoulders and guided her back down on to the cot. “Don’t forget to breathe,” he reminded her. 

He wondered if it felt the way he had when he’d stepped out of Howard Stark’s technological sarcophagus to find his body was hale and healthy and likely to live more than twice as long as he’d ever hoped. That heady, giddy realization that doors he’d long resigned himself to never even reaching had suddenly been opened. If so, he hoped she would get to bask in it longer than he had. No violence, at least, seemed likely to threaten them this deep inside of SHIELD. 

“ You know,” she said, looking over at Loki, “I don’t care what anyone says. You’re all right.”

Steve loved her a bit for it. 

“ That’s probably the best reaction to a burger I’ve ever seen,” Murray mumbled, and Steve couldn’t help chuckle in response. 

“ Agent Murray, how about you sit here with Agent Ferra and wait for the food. I’ll help Loki drag the other cot out of his room so we have enough places to sit that no one’s stuck eating on the floor,” he said, making eye contact with Loki and nodding toward the cell.

As soon as they were a few paces away from the others, he reached out and clasped a hand to Loki’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “That was amazing,” he murmured. 

  
  


Following Rogers towards his sleeping quarters, his brief squeeze hit him with all the impact as if he had launched himself at Loki the same way Ferra had. 

If he had any remaining ideas about his feelings towards Rogers being the result of contact, they were dissipated by his reaction to him. And at his words, Loki felt a glow that at the same time made him uncomfortable. It had been a long time since he was touched. It had been longer still since he had had someone who was… what?  _ Proud?   _ Was the Captain  _ proud  _ of him? Damn the man, trying to foist all of the praise off of himself. 

“ It would not be done now without you.” He replied, just as lowly. “And it would never have happened without you. What I have done is nothing for me, it is… a simple procedure, on Asgard, but you-- you saved that woman’s life by bringing her here. How many--” He choked at the thought. “How many more people suffer from this, that your Doctors have not yet found cures?” He felt low grade anger boiling up at the thought of more like Ferra, more people waiting for the end of their lives the way Loki was, but without poor decisions and greed to blame for their plight. 

Loki took hold of the nearside of the bed, half to move it and half to steady himself at the notion that they could have been helping people the whole time he was here, that the time he had squandered in this cell could have been devoted to-- and then he remembered that he didn’t care. He was not a healer, only thinking like one. He had killed people like Ferra-- so many-- and there was nothing that set her apart, nothing that made her different, save that the Captain cared for her, save that he had brought her here, that Loki had talked to her. That he was vulnerable and allowed himself to sympathize. He gripped the cot tighter and waited for the Captain to get into place. 

He felt sick at his own detachment, his own inability to just allow himself to feel. That was the monster again, forcing him back, not allowing him to think and act and care as people did, as even these humans could.

His eyes darted downwards, first out of guilt and then fear, eyes widening at the realization that the stack of food below them had a smell to it, that when they moved the cot, it would be in open view. 

He had a sort of shame about its existence, a sense of guilt for the need he felt to keep it. Like a child who had stolen sweets and hidden them, and was now stuck waiting for their parents to find it. 

  
  


“Maybe,” Steve agreed, “but I couldn’t have done anything to actually help her on my own. You did something no one else on this world could have done and saved a life. All I did was make an opportunity.” It had been Loki who’d told him that he had some training as a healer when Steve asked about Asgardian medicine. It had been Loki who had jumped and offered to do what he was able when Steve had asked him if he could heal a human illness with krellr, and Loki who had thought to heal Steve’s ribs the night before. Loki had placed his hands on Ferra and obliterated the tumor that a year and a half of chemo and radiation hadn’t been able to conquer. All Steve had done was connect the dots and make a few phone calls. 

He’d given Loki the opportunity, and Loki had acted to save a stranger’s life. At any point he could have told Steve less, doubted his skills out loud, or simply refused; Steve wouldn’t have held it against him if Loki hadn’t succeeded where all of modern medicine had failed. 

“ There’s, well, there’s a lot,” he admitted quietly in response to Loki’s question. “Cancer is pretty common. They’re doing a lot of research into a cure. The odds of surviving a lot of types is better than it was even a couple decades ago, but...” he’d googled some statistics the night before and the numbers were grim. 

And Loki had cared enough to ask. 

Steve held back the urge to ask Loki if he wanted to try healing someone else, if he wanted Steve to find him another patient. They were all riding high and a little shaky from what they’d just achieved. He ought to let Loki rest and eat a little before he bombarded him with anything else. 

“ Alright, on three,” he said, gripping the cot’s frame, though he doubted between his enhanced strength and Loki’s godly abilities, they’d have any more trouble with it than a sheet of paper, “One, two, three--” on three they lifted, and as Steve took a step to the side so they could angle the piece toward the door, he caught sight of the leftover pizza box, bacon container, and sandwich wrapper from the day before, now exposed.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered why Loki hadn’t put his trash in the bin, but then the smell of slightly-spoiled food and familiarity drove the realization home. He bit down on the inside of his cheek at the sudden understanding, then busied himself with backing the bed toward the door. 

He wouldn’t bring it up yet. Not with people present.

  
  


Lunch was a more joyful affair than Loki would have guessed, the sandwiches built the way Asgardians favored and the meat thicker than the bread at least twice over. This, it seemed, was what he had been missing from every feast he’d ever attended, every ball that he had smiled and faked his way through… he wondered if this was how Thor felt, regularly, and he sincerely hoped so. 

It was the most charitable thought he’d spared for Thor in some time. 

Once they had all eaten their fill, and Loki had carefully folded the remaining half of his burger and tucked it under the pillow when he thought no one was watching, they sat and talked for a little longer, before Ferra stood up. 

“ Digesting is making me sleepy, and I have about nine million people to tell that I’m not dying. If you guys don’t mind, I think I’d like to excuse myself-- but thank you, Magic Hands. I promise, I’m not gonna forget this.” 

Loki gave her a tight smile that didn’t really reach his eyes, but that he thought might come close.

He wondered how SHIELD planned to handle the information, whom she would be allowed to tell and what of the story would have to be fabricated. 

He had a feeling the Captain would not want to speak of it in front of him. 

“ Captain, if you would like to escort her out, Agent Murray and I can clean up here.” He gestured at the cots, and raised an eyebrow, hoping to communicate that there was an underlying reason for the suggestion. 

He was subjected to another hug, this one no less tight, no less emotional, and no less welcome for it. 

Once they were gone however, Loki turned to Murray. 

“ Agent, I have a request, if it isn’t too much to ask. A joke, a trick to play on the Captain-- nothing harmful, and you may feel absolutely comfortable saying no if you wish. However, recently he mentioned to me that there are lunch boxes bearing his image… I would like one very much. I can give you some gold to compensate for it… if this realm still deals in such currency.” He offered a friendly smile, and hoped he was not stabbing a sword through his foot, leaping at the first opportunity he had with Murray, this way. But he did not know when the next time may come.

“ Oh, I… I don’t know if that’s allowed.” He could see he’d made the man uncomfortable with asking. He withdrew a bit, slapping a sympathetic look on his face. 

“ Do not endanger your position for the sake of this-- it was merely an idea I had. If you cannot, do not feel bad for it, I understand we are all within our own constraints, here.” 

Though, after the day they had just spent together, it was easy to forget that he was not merely a guest in this backwater realm. That he was a prisoner here, a murderer, that everyone he interacted with knew these things and was only polite for the sake of propriety, and to keep from allowing him to do it again. 

That in mind, and realizing what a threat he could potentially seem to the young agent, left alone with him out of his cell, which they all still assumed to be their only safeguard against his magic, he took several steps back. 

“ I think I am strong enough now to be able to move the cot myself, if you would not mind… closing the doors behind me.” He tried not to let his voice sound any more distant, lest he alarm him, and he tried not to move too fast, the memory of nameless agents with guns escorting him and pushing barrels toward his face. 

Still, Murray seemed taken aback. 

“ I can’t actually close them.” He admitted. “The Captain has the passcode, and I think he’s supposed to give me an order to do so. I’ll help you with the cot though. Even if it’s light, it’s easiest to move with two people.” 

Wordlessly, Loki took his place at the head of the bed, waiting until Murray was in position to lift it. 

It amazed him how this young man could treat him as if he were not a monster, as if he was not afraid of him or what he could do-- especially when he had been so awestruck by his powers scarcely a day prior. 

They had no sooner settled the cot in place, and Loki restacked his meal’s leavings, than the door sounded its entry warning. 

  
  


Tanner joined them for the meal, and the burgers proved delicious. Lunch went off without a hitch, Ferra made noises as she scarfed down meat and fries that bordered on obscene, and the overall air was... jovial. Celebratory. Everyone content and at ease, with Steve and Loki sitting on one bed, Tanner taking the share, and Murray and Ferra taking the other cot. 

It was probably the most pleasant and happy meal Steve had shared with a group of people in a long long time. 

When all that remained were crumbs, sticky fingers and full bellies, Steve wiped his hands off on his trousers, stood, and offered Ferra his hand. “That’d be great, thank you,” he told Loki with a smile, giving Murray a quick nod.

“ This is surreal,” Ferra murmured when they were in the elevator. “I feel like I’m going to wake up tomorrow and the headaches will be back and this will all have been a weird weird dream.”

“ Yeah,” Steve said, “it’ll take a while to get used to your new normal.” She shot him a skeptical look, and he held up his hands. “For weeks after they gave me the serum, I’d wake up and forget that I wasn’t in my old body. I know it’s not the same, but... you adjust. And it’s a good thing to adjust to.”

“ I guess you’re right.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets, then pulled out the scarf and began wrapping it around her head again. “God. I can’t wait to have hair again. I’ll text you a picture when it comes in so you know what I’m supposed to look like. Not... this.” 

“ I’ll give you my number so you can do that.”

She smirked. “Man, first I get magically cured of cancer, then Captain America gives me his number. This day just keeps getting better and better.” She settled back on her heels as the floors beeped past, and Steve couldn’t help but find himself agreeing -- it was a good day.

“ He’s really not what I expected.”

“ So you said,” he murmured.

“ No, but... He’s... I dunno. I know the files on him from New York -- not all the details, obviously, I was diagnosed a couple months before -- but I know his name is tied to the invasion. Figured he’d be a real dick. Instead...” she trailed off and shrugged.

Steve pursed his lips. “Yeah.”

“ Are they gonna keep him locked up in there forever?” She caught herself and winced. “Sorry, I know you probably can’t tell me--”

“ I don’t know.” He shrugged. 

“ Hm.” The doors dinged open. “Well, I hope not. Seems like Magic Hands would be a lot more useful outside than in. Plus,” she winked, stepping out, “like I said. He’s cute.”

Steve flushed, holding back a smile. “I’m seeing what I can do.”

He still had a trace of a smile tugging at his lips when he returned to the containment floors. Tanner stood at attention, snapping off a salute as he let him in. The spare cot had been moved aside, and Loki’s bed returned to his position, with Loki in the cell but the door open. 

“ Thank you for everything, Agent.” He reached forward to take Murray by the hand, giving it a solid shake. 

Murray beamed. “Any time, Captain.”

“ Would you mind giving us a minute?” Steve gestured toward Loki.

Murray hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. “Yeah, sure thing.” He let himself out, and finally, Loki and Steve had a moment of-- well, not privacy, but as near as they’d get.

“ I don’t think it’s fully sunk in for her yet, but I’m pretty sure you’ve made a friend for life,” Steve told him, hands in his pockets. “And it’s a much longer life now. Well, for a human. I know it’s probably a flash in the pan by Asgardian standards, but...” But for a human, it was a lot of time. And Steve knew the value of lost time better than most. Ferra had her whole life now to see the world, to watch her niece graduate, to settle down, maybe even fall in love and grow old with someone. 

  
  


Loki gave Steve a contemplative look, then shook his head with a smile. 

“ I imagine such things do take time. Relief is not a realization that settles in all at once. But it was… odd. For me, I mean, treating someone, helping her to have a longer life, while knowing that mine is short, and there is no cure for what I suffer.” His lips twitched. “It’s a fulfilling feeling, but not without its bittersweet repayment.” 

Not to mention the idea that the human that he’d seen that morning, barely more than skin and bones that had been clinging on to life with all her might, would very possibly live longer than he, at this rate. 

“ I wish your people had not made your realm so magicless in ages past. It would be easier, now, to find someone to pass my knowledge on to, to ensure that even once I am not here, there will be a cure, if you had a healthy stable of young sorcerers. In the meantime, however… I would like to do what I can, perhaps one of your doctors who does not fear me will be willing to speak with me. Perhaps your science can meet my seidhr half way, and I can do some reparations for past destruction, before…” he tapered off, remembering that Rogers did not like the subject, and realizing that he had already said too much. 

But Ferra’s acceptance of her death, her blunt way of approaching it, only made him want to embrace his. He’d come near to it enough before to know what it would feel like-- regardless of how much pain might come before. 

Still, better to veer away, better to get him looking elsewhere. 

“Young Murray is a good man, and a great deal more pleasant than any of the past guards I have seen here. I hope my approval of him will not see him relocated in his duties, but I also hope that you will recommend his services, if given the chance. He is a testament to what your people should be, in my opinion, and will grow into a great Agent, if he continues in the route he has begun.” 

  
  


Steve’s smile faded with the reminder of things Loki had said he’d tried to put out of his mind -- as if distancing himself from the words would make them untrue. Of course, he’d meant to talk with Loki about what had happened after the scepter and what he’d revealed before threatening to say no more back in the Medical bay. But then Steve had shipped out to Latveria the next day and with everything that followed, there hadn’t seemed like a good time to bring it up. And now--

Loathe as he was to spoil what had been so far a very good day, Steve knew he couldn’t put it off much longer.

“ Murray’s a good kid,” he agreed. “Tanner is warming up to you as well, I think. There’s a lot of good men and women here and-- and I hope you get a chance to meet more of them,” he began cautiously. “As for meeting with some doctors to pass on what you know, after what you just managed to do I can’t imagine anyone saying no. Heck, there’ll probably be a line.” He tried to smile but it came weak and forced to his face. It would be an incredible thing, for Loki to pass on his knowledge, to impart his understanding of the universe to save lives. The fact that Loki had taken the initiative to suggest it as a way to make reparations -- Steve wasn’t sure if it was a sign of how far Loki had come, or of how much of the man Loki had once been was now resurfacing.  _ A good man. _

A man Steve wasn’t going to let down.

“ Loki.” He placed a hand against the glass, leaning into it. “What you said a couple weeks ago, back in Medical... Please. Tell me what’s happening to you. You keep saying that you’re not-- that you’re going--” the words caught in Steve’s throat. He didn’t want to think of Loki dying. Of something slowly (or not so slowly) killing him.

(After all, Loki promised to be there when Steve woke up, if he were ever frozen again. Loki was a god. He had to be a constant. Right?)

  
  


For the first time Loki could remember in one of their conversations, he turned his back on Rogers, pacing a few feet deeper into his cell. 

The door was yet open, it wasn’t as though the Captain couldn’t reach him, couldn’t shake or beat the truth out, if Loki thought he were that sort of man… but the distance helped him think. 

The tone of his voice, the way he sounded, it was almost enough to make Loki think he  _ cared _ . But then, he cared for everyone, that was part of his appeal. 

_ You aren’t special _ . He reminded himself. 

“ It is an eventuality.” He said instead. “I do not know when it will happen, or how, what the conditions surrounding it will be… only that there will come a day, likely sooner than later, that I will… not be here.” He wasn’t entirely sure if he meant that literally, or if the next time he took hold of the sceptre, he would simply be killed on impact. Or if, like reaching for the gauntlet, Thanos would reach through him for the sceptre, turning him inside out in the process. He could not suppress a shudder at the thought. 

He whirled towards the Captain, his face set in a fierce line. 

“ At present, this is a danger only to me. My mistake, my burden. If you try to relieve it, if you try to come between me and my fate, I cannot guarantee your safety, or that of the rest of Midgard.” He let his face soften. “Please.” He spoke quieter now, unable to look Rogers in the eye. “Don’t make me responsible for taking more lives here. Let me leave behind a legacy of  _ healing-- _ of _ knowledge.  _ Not one of death. More death. Not again.” 

He was getting close now, so close to just out and telling the man, but he knew he mustn’t. Couldn’t. If he did… he knew Rogers, stubborn and selfless to a fault. If anything happened to him for his sake-- if Midgard lost Loki, there would be no great sorrow. If they lost Rogers… If they lost Rogers, they lost all hope. And he could not allow that. 

He could not allow Rogers to have the option to put himself in harm’s way. Because Loki knew without a doubt that he would take it, whether it would save Loki or not. He would leap at the very chance.

So he wouldn’t give him one.

  
  


Steve’s stomach dropped like a stone as Loki flatly announced that at some point soon he’d be  _ gone.  _ No explanation. No detail. Just the prospect of an absence that made Steve’s hands ball into fists. 

When Loki whirled around, it was hard to tell if his words were a threat, a bluff, or a plea. And Steve wanted to give him that legacy -- of life and redemption and healing -- but he couldn’t do that if Loki was dead. 

No more death.

They could agree on that at least.

“ I don’t need you to guarantee my safety,” he said. “I risk that every day for things I think are important. This isn’t any different.” He’d leapt in front of bullets with his shield only barely raised in time for the sake of strangers -- he wouldn’t so much as hesitate now for a friend. “What is-- are you sick?” the wheels of his mind turned, trying to figure out what it was that could have Loki so sure of his fate, as he called it. “What about your healing? Can you use it on yourself? What about-- could you do the thing with my krellr where you borrow some of it? Because if that would help...” 

He paused, remembering the way Loki had clung to him in the scepter chamber after his collapse. How he’d clutched at Steve and trembled in his arms. None of that had felt like the aftermath of a strained muscle; 

It felt like fear. And what could frighten a god? What would endanger Steve and all of Earth to speak of?

He licked his lips. “This has to do with the scepter, doesn’t it.” It wasn’t a question as much as a statement. He took a steadying breath, hoping the hunch he was about to play was right. And at the same time, hoping he was very very wrong.

“ Loki... who’s coming after you?”

  
  


All he could feel was a bolt of terror straight down his core. 

“ _ No _ .” The word was hissed, fury and fear combining to turn him into something altogether inhuman. Something closer to what he’d been in the last glass cage on Midgard than the person he had pretended to be for so long.

“ Abandon this, Rogers. This is not a cancer patient, a war, a fallen comrade. This is you taking risks with your life, with your very  _ world _ , for the sake of … for me. A murderer. A  _ monster _ .” His eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer. 

“ I have asked you for so little, I have not done harm, I have helped, I have healed, I have allowed your people to torment me… but I cannot allow this. You are not a negotiable loss. Your life is not an acceptable balm for what will come to pass anyway. And if you are wise, you will turn away, let this matter advance as it must, in the  _ only way it can _ , or you will be as much responsible for the death of Midgard as I am.” He stared Rogers down, his green eyes boring into blue, afraid and furious and everything in between. 

  
  


One violently sibilant word, and Steve knew he was right.

Dammit.

In a sudden surge of anger, he slammed his fist against the glass. “Stop,” he shouted. “You  _ are not a monster. _ Okay?” A part of him felt rattled by the volume of his own voice, so rarely raised in anger, but now that he’d started, he wasn’t sure he could stop. “You took an oath not to lie to me, but you’re lying every time you call yourself that because we both know damn well it’s not true!” 

He kept going before Loki even had a chance to interrupt. “A monster wouldn’t have healed Agent Ferra. A monster wouldn’t have had that look on his face when she hugged him and wouldn’t give a damn about passing on what he knew to help other people. A monster wouldn’t have fixed my ribs or cared that I came back hurt. Heck, a monster wouldn’t have bothered to learn Murray’s name or think twice about his prospects!” He was picking up momentum now, words pouring forth like an avalanche. “Monsters don’t help people when there’s nothing in it for themselves, but you have, Loki. You’ve helped Agent Ferra. You’ve helped me. Whether you admit it to yourself or not, you care about people, and the very fact you’re pushing me away like this because you think someone will get hurt and you’re not willing to risk it tells me  _ you are not a monster.” _

His heart raced, blood rushing in his ears now. He hadn’t moved from where he stood, but he felt the same adrenal response kicking in as when he stood on a battlefield. He paused just long enough to draw breath before continuing.

“ You told me the other day that you were relieved to find out what you were because it meant the bad stuff people thought of you was warranted. That it was easier because no one had any expectations of you.” He’d wanted to call Loki out on that statement before, but had shrunk away from the confrontation then. Not now. “Well I call bullshit on that, because you’re better than that. And people should expect better, and you should expect better, because you’re capable of it. Saying you don’t have any choice like it’s your nature is cheap. It’s not nature and it’s not fate, you’re just scared!” 

He breathed heavily and stepped back. “You’re scared. You’re scared that if you let anyone believe you’re good and expect it from you that you’ll let them down. And believe me, I know, because every single day I wake up and I put on the uniform and I’m  _ terrified.  _ It scares the hell out of me that people think I’m some kind of hero when sooner or later they’re going to realize I’m just some idiot from Brooklyn. It scares the hell out of me that I might screw up and let them down. That I’ll let you down.” Like he’d let Bucky down, and Peggy... 

“ You’re scared, and I get it. But that doesn’t make you a monster. The fact you’re actually a decent person might not be as safe or as comforting in that way, and trust me, I know how vulnerable caring about people makes you feel. Like you’re all raw inside. And then when you lose them it feels like you got gutted and hung up to dry and the hurt never goes away, just gets easier to live with. But,” he ran a hand back through his hair, his racing pulse slowing a bit. “But you can’t just give up like that.”

He looked up, meeting Loki’s gaze. “I’ve met monsters. Real ones. And not a damn single one of them cared about whether they were monsters or not. So don’t you  _ dare  _ give up. And don’t you dare use it as a reason to shut me out.”

  
  


Loki felt his eyes widening even as he shrank back from the Captain’s words. 

He’d known he had this sort of attack in him, of course; he’d seen it in Stuttgart, seen in in the air and in New York. But since he’d gotten to know him, he’d never seen it directed at himself. 

“ You can’t just wish me into being a better thing!” He told him angrily. “A monster can be trained, can’t it? Do you not have performing bears? Do your horses not carry loads? Animals can be taught tricks. Birds can sound like people. And I was taught a good deal many ticks growing up. I can even approximate being a person, an Asgardian-- but I’m  _ not.”  _

He let his guises drop, let his vision turn red and his skin go chill, glad that this time they stood on opposite sides of the wall. 

“ This is what you are trying to defend? Do you see? Soak it in, Captain, see me as I am. No matter who I save or who I kill, no matter what words come from my mouth or how I was raised,  _ nothing will change the fact that this is what I am, beneath the lies.  _ I am a monster Captain, and I am going to die, and you have to come to terms with both of those things!” 

He pulled his skin back onto himself with the air of someone putting on a robe, someone hiding the pants they just split. He was embarrassed, exhausted and hurt and scared and angry and so many emotions that he didn’t know what to do. 

“ If it hurts you too much to be around me, knowing that you will lose me, then go. Give up on me while you still can. I have faced death, and worse, and I tell you I am only scared to see you fall. You are--” he choked on the words. 

He wanted to scream his hatred, wanted to shriek his confusion. 

Instead he switched his focus. 

“ I  _ am  _ a monster. I have killed so many-- have attempted to kill many more. I am a murderer, I am patricidal, I bargained my very life to have the opportunity for revenge and I have lied, I have cheated and stolen and slept with men and laid plans to waste that would have done great good. And all of these are things you disapprove of, all of these are things you cannot stand. It is these that make me a monster. I can appease, I can seek to garner favor, but I will never be more than my skin, more than what I am when you peel back the layers of pretense. I am disgusting, Captain, inside and out, and it is something no soap or good deed can wash me clean of.”

It terrified him, realizing that the Captain was watching him that closely, though, weighing his expressions, his actions, against his crimes. He had judged him somehow worthy of defending, and wrong though he was, Loki was still flattered. 

All the more reason not to let him interfere. Loki forced himself to calm, forced the words that came next to pour forth in a flow of passionate but rational speech. 

“ If you try and interrupt the plans that are lain for me, you will be hurt. More likely, you will be killed before the hurt even registers-- if you are lucky. And I will feel the brunt of punishment for your attempt, I will be forced to mourn you while taking lashes for you. What will happen to me is bad enough on its own. Do not take from me the hope you afford-- do not force me to bear the burden of your death along with the trials and pain that await. I am not strong enough. Do not aid those who are my enemies. Not when-- Not when I wish to count you as a friend. The hurt is too profound.” He turned his face away, his words wavering as he concluded, hardly louder than a whisper, “I could not bear the guilt.”

 

“ I’m not trying to wish you into something better, I’m just trying to get you to see that you already are!” Steve snapped. 

This was infuriating and he was getting nowhere; it was like yelling at a wall for all the headway he was making. He’d thought that with Loki healing him the day prior and saving Ferra that morning, he’d have enough physical evidence against his own monstrosity to believe he was capable of more, but such was apparently not the case. He’d done good; how could he possibly not see it?

“ Yeah, you did awful things,” he agreed. “And you know what? Banner killed dozens of people, maybe hundreds in his rampages. Stark was a glorified arms dealer and a lot of people died from his weapons. I honestly don’t even want to know all the things Natasha has done. And they’re Avengers. They’re heroes. Because they turned it all around and saved lives, and you’ve got the chance to do the same -- hell, you’re already doing the same -- so why can’t you just--” Steve wanted to scream and pull at his hair in aggravation. “Why can’t you just give yourself a damn chance? And furthermore--”

He took a step closer, crossing toward the cell door to get a better angle toward Loki. “--Furthermore, what makes you think you’re protecting us by not saying anything?” It didn’t add up. Didn’t make sense. “Loki, if something out there is coming for you and it’s big and bad as you say, what makes you think it won’t take a swipe at earth anyway, just for kicks? If there’s something strong enough to scare a god, we need to know. Need to be prepared. And yeah, I need to be able to help you, because don’t you dare think for a second that I won’t, okay? You can’t-- can’t-- can’t  _ guilt trip me  _ or  _ threaten me  _ out of it.” He could feel the color high in his cheeks and his breath coming more heavily as it snagged in his chest with each inhalation. He took another step forward. “Because yeah, I am your friend! And I am sick and tired of losing absolutely everyone I lo-- everyone I care about,” he stuttered, just barely catching himself. 

“ So stop it. You’re not a monster -- not anymore -- and you’re not disgusting, and you’re sure as hell not going to die,” he said, jaw set grimly. 

Then, with an air of determination that didn’t run as deep as he wished it did, he took a step into the cell. Then another, until he stood right in front of Loki. “Okay?”

  
  


“I can cease acting like a monster.” Loki told him, crossing his arms over himself but refusing to back down. He would not take a step back and he would not let Rogers get any closer to the truth. He knew better, knew better in ways Rogers couldn’t comprehend. But he was close, so close that it was… intimidating was only half of it. Angry though he was, his body was aware of the closeness. He wasn’t wordless, couldn’t be, for Rogers’ own safety. But he felt very unbalanced, and tried hard not to show it. 

“ I can do nothing but good works for all that remains of my life, and all it will do is make people think better of me. It won’t change anything about what I  _ am _ . And what I am… your peoples’ lives are short and their memories shorter. You don’t remember when the Frost Giants enslaved your world, when they murdered all who moved in their path-- they meant to turn this planet to nothing but Ice, barren and cold and empty of any life but their own. If not for Odin-- the man I called  _ father _ , waging war and killing most of their number… if he hadn’t been brave enough to fight those creatures whose mere touch can burn and kill… if my  _ people, the monsters  _ had had their way, you never would have existed. You, or any of your friends, nor any of the people they have wronged. Your world could have been a waste land, and if you keep fighting me on this, it may still be! And I will not be the  _ monster  _ responsible for it, do you understand? I do not want to carry on the great legacy of destruction, not any more. I would have built, educated… but I will not let any, including you, turn me into a tool to destroy anything, anyone, including yourself. And in asking me to speak to you of what lies ahead for me, that is what you ask me to do.” 

He appreciated Rogers’ claims that not knowing what to defend against, they could not be prepared. And he should address that, he supposed. he felt so scattered, with how close he was. He wanted to back away, take the space and take a few deep, mind clearing breaths, but it felt too much like admitting defeat, physically if not in words. 

“ Your world has a far greater chance of being safe if you leave me be! Attracting attention to yourself can only end poorly-- you are not equipped, nor am I, nor are any, to fight this. Your people once thought mine-- no, thought the Aesir to be gods. This is beyond that, several times the scope of what you could comprehend, you can’t--  _ there isn’t anything you can do. _ ”  He felt exasperated now, and exhausted, and he felt himself trying to sway on his feet, but forced himself to stand upright, to hold firm and proud.

  
  


They were both tired. They were both frustrated. Steve knew this, and part of him knew he should walk away and let Loki rest and calm down. But he also knew he couldn’t let this go. Loki would evade and deflect and distract and keep the subject from coming up again, and it needed to be addressed. 

Some part of it anyway. 

He tried to listen. Tried to understand, but the logic in Loki’s reasoning was too flawed. Too convoluted. He’d said himself, he’d barely been born during the war where Asgard defeated the Frost Giants, so why would it matter what they’d done eons ago? And how could earth not attract notice when they were the ones who held Loki?

How could he believe he was damned no matter how much good he did?

Steve thrust his jaw forward, clenching his teeth and breathing deeply through his nose. He took a step. And another, compensating for the one Loki took back, crowding him until they were inches apart.

“ Shift back,” he commanded, his voice quiet but his tone firm. 

  
  


The words were like a physical blow. He felt the blood drain from his face and the air leave his lungs as if it had been punched out. 

“ What?”  
The word fell from his mouth before he made the conscious decision to say anything, and for that it sounded weak, unguarded and taken aback. 

Surely he didn’t mean--

He shuffled backwards, both to increase the space between them, pulling his hands up to keep Rogers away as much as needed, and in the hopes that that was all he was demanding. 

Did he just want to prove himself the physically superior of the two of them? Would he let it drop if Loki surrendered his ground? 

Because he couldn’t mean-- wouldn’t ask him to--

  
  


“Loki, I need you to shift back,” Steve repeated. He kept his voice pitched low, but it brooked no argument. He stayed where he was, not wanting Loki to feel physically threatened, but didn’t yield his ground either. “Your other skin, Loki.”

  
  


“No.” He said tersely. Then, “Please don’t--” He broke it off, his eyes trying to tear up. 

He stepped back even further, until his back hit the wall, and his hands were raised against Rogers’ approach. Cowering, he realized. Like the creature he was, the creature Rogers wanted to see. 

“ Why?” He asked, the word broken as he ceased to be able to control his breathing, his panic. 

Did he want his body blue when he killed him? Would it seem less like murder then? 

But, no-- this was Rogers, this was--

_ beautiful _ . 

The word echoed through his panic and he swallowed. 

“ My suffering is not for your entertainment.” he hissed, eyes squinting into narrow slits. 

  
  


“Loki.”

Steve held still, meeting Loki’s eyes and inclining his head slightly toward him. “I need you to trust me.”

Loki had expressed his trust in Steve before. Had placed more in him than anyone else, it seemed, but the way he’d shied away, shrinking back from Steve as if he expected violence even after all this time, was like a knife to the gut. It took all his discipline not to flinch, and remind himself what he was asking. Loki had said he’d be killed on sight in this form in Asgard, even by his own friends and family; of course he would feel fear.

He wanted to explain, to assuage Loki’s worries, but he couldn’t. Subterfuge had never been Steve’s strong suit, but what he intended hinged upon a certain element of surprise. 

He took a slow, careful step forward, his voice dropping to just over a whisper:

“ Shift. Back.”

  
  


Loki felt the tears, hot and thick in his eyes, as he shut them tight, forcing the water out and onto his cheeks. 

He dashed them off of his face impatiently, well aware he would do as Rogers asked, and well aware that tears would only freeze and become uncomfortable there.

He kept his eyes shut and let the glamours fall again, let the monster out, and tried not to shake with anxious nerves. He held as still as he could, not wanting to cause any harm, any damage. 

He didn’t want to see what was intended. He just flattened himself against the wall and waited for the blow to come. 

  
  


The sight of blue flooding Loki’s skin would never fail to send the tiniest shiver through down his spine. It was surreal and haunting and somehow, almost achingly familiar now in a way he couldn’t explain. He knew the exact locations of the lines that dipped in an inverted arch on Loki’s brow; the furrows that ran from his lip down to his throat; the ridges along his cheekbones. Could mix that shade of cerulean from memory. 

He let out a breath. And noted that while condensation had begun to form around the glass where Loki touched it, no whorls of frost or ice took form.

“ Loki,” he repeated, speaking gently now, the hard edge gone from his voice. “I need you to open your eyes now. Breathe deep. Then tell me what you see.”

  
  


His voice changed gentler now, and Loki swallowed, realizing Rogers must be afraid, afraid to speak to him as he had before, afraid of what Loki could do to him. 

He wrenched his eyes open, turning his loathesome face towards Rogers, heart aching at how beautiful the Captain was, knowing how grotesque he looked. 

“ I see you.” He said miserably. “I see you, and how bright you glow, how strong your krellr is and how--” He broke it off, words disappearing into a small hiccupped sob. “I see the cell I am trapped in. I see the entire reach of my world right now.” 

“ Can I go back now, can I be… can I be me again?” The words were small, and he felt like he was drowning in how much he hated this, hated  _ being  _ this. 

  
  


Steve found himself staring into the red of Loki’s eyes. The first time they had been disturbing, true, but now he knew what to expect when Loki’s lashes fluttered open. Knew the contrast of crimson against cobalt, and all but lost himself in the shimmering facets that formed Loki’s irises, with myriad shades of color, like rubies or embers. He still had that watercolor sketch tucked away in a box under his bed where it wouldn’t see the light of day, but the colors for the eyes were all wrong, he realized. He’d need paint -- acrylic maybe, or tempera -- something vivid enough to capture the way they caught and refracted light.

At the smallness of Loki’s voice, he almost broke. Almost told him yes, he could change back. Almost relented. 

He braced himself against the impulse.  _ Not yet. _

“ You said you can see my krellr,” he said, focusing on Loki’s words. “You had to focus to see it before, with me and with Ferra, didn’t you?” He tilted his head curiously to the side. “Loki, when you’re in this shape... do you see it differently?”

  
  


He felt the tears welling again. 

“ I see it naturally, without-- it’s just in my vision. Just under the surface, like…” He swallowed, throat scratchy and raw. “They must see it always, it’s probably how they… how they find things to kill. How they hunt.” He felt sick at the thought, using the very life of something as a means of finding it, imagined himself standing beside Thor-- he couldn’t see his own. Was there a great difference? Could the Frost Giants tell, from the moment he arrived, what he was?  _ Who  _ he was?

And all the people they had killed, betrayed by their own life forces. He wished he had a way to tell Asgard, to warn them, for their future dealings on Jotunheim. 

“ They--  _ We  _ use implements of healing to destroy.” He muttered, disgusted anew. “And you still somehow think this is not evil?”

  
  


“ I think you can  _ see life, _ ”  Steve murmured, amazed by the revelation. “That’s... That’s incredible.” 

He took another half step forward. “You said before the difference between us is that I see the light in everything, and you only see the darkness. But you can  _ literally _ see the light in people.” 

Would it be easier for Loki to heal in this form, he wondered? Loki’s mind went immediately to the applications for destruction, but what of those to preserve? Steve could only imagine what it was that Loki could see, but he desperately wanted to know. Wanted to know like when he’d asked Bucky to describe to him what a sunset looked like, and the idea of  _ orange _ when he’d been too colorblind to have any idea what the word meant. 

“ It must be beautiful,” he breathed. “What... Can you describe what it looks like?” 

  
  


Almost against his will, Loki felt himself being drawn into Rogers’ awe, drawn into the urge to educate, to teach-- 

“ Like a thousand tiny lights, golden and white at their centers, tapering off into red and oranges and darkness, until another comes. And it is not still… they swirl, they move, pulsing in time with your heart, your blood, your breath. You are a writhing mass of stars, Captain. And they are so bright it almost hurts to look at you for too long.” That last was a stretch-- it was not his eyes that hurt, but his chest, whatever Jotuns had that passed for a heart twinging at the brilliance and knowing that he could never live up to it, didn’t deserve to see it, let alone stand so close. Always in shadows. 

“ Please Captain, I don’t want--” He stopped himself from expressing his fear again, that like the eyesight, the brain would be converted, that he would lose himself in this form and become just as destructive and blood thirsty as he knew the monsters to be. “Let me go back, please.” He was begging now, unable to summon the shame he should feel for it.

  
  


He stepped forward as Loki talked, captivated by his words but not allowing himself to grow too enthralled. With Loki backed up against the glass, there were only inches between them now, and while Steve could feel a faint chill in the air, the cell wall remained unmarred. 

The description sounded beautiful. He ached a little at the thought of it. To be able to see that way -- to see the very essence of life and know its colors, and then capture it, replicate it, give life of his own design to show it to others -- what he wouldn’t give for that chance. 

“ Just breathe,” he murmured. “Just close your eyes and breathe, Loki.” 

Careful not to tense up and telegraph his intentions, he nonetheless steeled himself for what he was about to do, hoping he made the right call.

  
  


Loki did as he was bid, grateful to no longer be faced with the brightness. If he insisted on keeping him in this form--

What if he left. Walked away not, closed the door-- they thought they were sealing off Loki’s power when they did. What if he would be trapped like this, what if--

He felt the slightest pressure on his face, against his cheek, and then more, the warmth and the touch and-- “ _ No _ .” The word came out almost as a moan, his eyes slamming back open and his head jerking backwards hard enough to thud against the glass. 

He flinched, stumbling sideways, and slammed his Aesir skins on in place of his real skin, his real face. Then he turned back, intent on helping the man. 

“ I am not  _ cinnamon-- _ ”  He spat, angry and afraid and-- he stopped in his tracks and stared at Rogers’ outstretched hand.

  
  


Steve braced himself when he reached out and, realizing Loki’s hands were flat on the glass behind him, brushed his fingers against Loki’s face.

He’d prepared for cold, for ice -- but Loki’s skin didn’t burn. It was cold to the touch, yes, but more like the chill of a marble statue than anything deeply and dangerously frozen. His heart leapt into his throat, fluttering frantically as he traced the ridge on Loki’s cheek with his thumb.

The contact only lasted a moment, however, before Loki flung himself away from Steve’s touch, staggering and changing back, features contorting--

“ It’s okay!” Steve interrupted. “Look!” He held out his hand. Pink and unblemished. “Loki, I need you to look. You didn’t hurt me. See?”

  
  


“How?” He asked, taking hold of the hand and flipping it in his grasp. “How is that possible-- you-- you must be immune, your serum--?” He checked the other hand, just to be sure it wasn’t a trick. 

“You-- can  _ touch me _ .” He breathed, shocked and surprised and-- 

He pulled his hands away and slapped the Captain across the face. 

“ You didn’t know that!” He said, furious. “If I had hurt you-- if I had--” He gasped, air driven from him in anger now rather than in shock. 

“ Do  _ not  _ use me, do not throw yourself against me like I am some… some blade, and hope I am too dulled to harm you, I don’t--” He was shaking now, angry and unable to speak. 

  
  


Steve reeled as the slap caught him off guard, then swiftly snatched Loki by the wrist -- not hard enough to hurt or leave a mark, but firmly enough to ensure there would be no second slap. 

“ I had a hunch, and I told you to trust me,” he said, giving Loki the slightest shake. “And I trusted you. It’s called a leap of faith.”

Figuring that faith alone would probably not be enough to placate Loki now that he was clearly worked up, Steve explained: “It’s not practical for any species to freeze absolutely anything they touch to the point of shattering. The amount of energy it would take for that kind of endothermic reaction -- I read up on it --” he’d grown so sick of Banner and Stark’s physics talk a while back that he’d picked up some introductory level books and started listening to science podcasts to catch up his education, “-- it’d be stupid. Tools, weapons, materials... If Frost Giants were cold enough to break them all the time, like with your restraints, they couldn’t be advanced enough to pose the threat they did.” He looked at Loki to see if he was following. “Every time you’ve changed, it’s been traumatic for you. You’ve been scared. So what if it’s a stress reaction? A defense mechanism?”

_ Trust me,  _ he’d asked of Loki. And for all Loki’s fear, some part of him must have done just that, just enough not to burn him.

“ What if you can control it? Just like your magic. Just like any other inborn ability,” he suggested. “What if you’re wrong and Frost Giants don’t destroy everything they touch.”  _ What if you’re wrong about them in other ways? _

  
  


Loki stared at him, horrified. 

“ Stop.” He said softly, then again, “ _ Stop. _ ”  He pulled his hand out of Rogers’ grasp and shrank back again. 

“ That isn’t-- you are an idiot, Rogers, there is so much you don’t know, and you made this… this leap of faith, but you didn’t know how wide the chasm, how deep it may be-- no.” He brought his hands to his face, glad that he was not hiding his features behind a mask now. 

He looked up at his, hunched and distraught. 

“ We have ways of forging metal from sunlight, frost giants summon ice around their hands-- they turn their bodies into their weapons, their tools. I have seen men-- friends… friends of Thor’s,” he amended, “Run through by icy blades. I have seen the burns their touches cause, your guesses… they may be right.” He allowed. “But we are not going to find out. I will not let you  _ experiment  _ on me, the way I know your Doctors and your scientists want to. I will not help you find out if I  _ can  _ hurt you if I put my mind to it, I will not touch some… other Agent or human or… I won’t. I do not care if it is my control or your serum, or something else entirely. It doesn’t matter because I will not be spending time as a monster, and that, Captain is what they are, no matter how awe filled you may be about the prospect of lives other than your own existing. To me, we have known of Jotnar since before I was born, I grew up knowing them to be what they are-- beasts, who live on a dead world, too rudimentary to clothe themselves, too volatile for dealing with, and too fierce to turn your back on.”

He shook his head, angry still, but tired now, too. Tired to the bone. 

“ I trust you, Captain. I trust you to make the right decision. Even if, one day, that means killing me. I trust that you will do what is right. I do not, however, trust you with yourself. You launch yourself into danger with such abandon--” Loki looked him in the eye. “Do you  _ want  _ to die, do you want to be maimed? Want to test your healing abilities to their limits and just beyond?” he scowled. “Because I cannot let you do those things, and I hope you would not ask me to be the one forced to bear the weight of your blood, your suffering, upon my hands.”

  
  


Whatever reaction Steve had hoped for, this hadn’t been it.

He wanted Loki to understand he wasn’t a monster. He’d given Loki the chance to prove his monstrosity lay not in his actions by setting up the opportunity to save a life. When that had failed to convince him, and Loki had insisted the monstrosity came from his very nature and form, Steve had found a way to show his touch wasn’t deadly as he supposed. Now it seemed that plan had failed as well.

Disheartening was too light a word for it. He bit down on his lip, trying to see how he had erred. Where everything had derailed and instead of relief and revelation he’d gotten rage and reproach.

“ I wasn’t-- no one is going to experiment on you, Loki,” he insisted. “That’s not what this was.” This had been for Loki’s benefit; no one else’s. Steve certainly wouldn’t condone anything else. “And I’m not going to kill you,” he added, softer. “Don’t even think it, cause it’s not gonna happen.” Not by his or anyone else’s hand. 

“ I’m not reckless. I don’t do stupid things or put myself in harm’s way for kicks,” he said, biting down a bit harder. “I take risks, yes. More than some folks are comfortable with. But they’re calculated risks, and they’re always for damn good reasons.” He met Loki’s gaze. “You don’t want to have to deal with my blood on your hands. I don’t want yours on mine. So how about you talk to me so we can use whatever time we’ve got to figure out some plan that doesn’t involve dying? On either of our parts.”

  
  


Loki scrubbed at his forehead, then looked to the Captain before sighing. 

“ Are you not exhausted, Captain? We have cured cancer, we have argued in a circle-- again-- and I have changed into a form that you know I despise twice today-- once for my own pettiness, and once at your behest. Wouldn’t you rather go home and draw it, in all the alien beauty you seem convinced it possesses? Would you not rather regale me with tales of your world, so that I grow to see it through your eyes, grow more inclined each day to keep it safe? Wouldn’t you rather go pound Scofield to a pulp or run or… anything else, anything at all, than try and upset me further, try and convince me to let you take risks that I am more than uncomfortable with?”

Loki stepped back in again, closer to Rogers, this time, and took his shoulders into his hands. 

“ Neither of us need have blood on our hands, if you only stop trying to save me. I  _ have  _ a plan. It is a good one. Good will come of it--  _ life  _ will come of it. You are absolved of any fear of guilt you may have. Nothing that happens to me is your fault, at all. Not Scofield, not my imprisonment… and not what lies ahead. But I will not tell you, I will not let you make more leaps, and I will not give you bases to jump from. There will be no further discussion, Captain. Not on this topic. I am sorry, but I  _ can’t _ .” He raised his hand, intending to touch the Captain’s face, as he had touched Loki, in his Jotun form, but he thought better of it. 

Carefully, regretfully, he withdrew. 

  
  


Steve held his breath in anticipation as Loki’s hand reached toward his cheek, then felt oddly bereft when it failed to make contact. He swallowed the lump that began collecting in his throat and nodded stiffly. “Okay.”

He recognized the dismissal for what it was, and felt his will crumple. Loki was tired, and didn’t want him here. And truth be told, Steve  _ was  _ exhausted as well. He’d had high hopes and watched them tumble. He’d pushed and fought and pushed harder only to lose; to find himself walking away with nothing achieved. 

No, he reminded himself -- that wasn’t true. A woman was going to live a long and happy life because of what they’d done today, and that wasn’t nothing. Even if the battle against Loki’s demons hadn’t proved victorious, they’d accomplished that at least. 

It was some consolation. Not quite enough, but some. 

He backed away, then walked out of the cell and activated the mechanism to seal it. “I’m sorry,” he said, not facing Loki. “I’m sorry I pushed and... if I hurt you.” He’d had the best of intentions. Not that they counted for much. What was that saying about the road to hell? 

He turned and crossed to the main door and hesitated, still not quite able to turn back and look Loki in the eye. He wet his lips and drew one last deep breath. “I’m still not giving up on you though. Even if you have.”

  
  


Had he? Had he hurt him? Had Loki given up on himself? 

He felt his resolve wavering, but forced it to hold firm. He could see Rogers’ disappointment written on his face. If not for his promise of honesty, he would happily lie to him, make believe he saw himself in a better light. Pretend there was no threat. But he couldn’t. It felt like little, but he gave the only comfort he could.

“ Scared more than hurt, I think. I am not angry. Not… lastingly at least.” His brow furrowed, and he tried to think of a good way to ask-- to be sure he was returning the next day, but that, he realized, was assumed. Trust. Every night when he left and every day that he came back… they were small leaps. But leaps just the same. 

“ You’ve given me much to think on, Captain Rogers. I thank you for that. And for giving me a chance to make something more of myself and my time. I hope the rest of your night is… quieter.” He gave him a small, exhausted smile, and nodded. He seated himself on his cot, glad that after all of that, Rogers seemed to have forgotten or ignored his stores of food. Glad at least that there was no more humiliation for him to experience, at hands too kind to be trying to shame him. At least not for tonight. 

  
Steve paused. The anger was gone from Loki’s voice, and in its place he could only hear weariness. He finally stole a quick look back over his shoulder, and returned Loki’s nod. “Good night, Loki.”

 


	12. Twelve

He thought to go straight home, but when he emerged from the subterranean levels he was surprised to find there was still daylight left, despite how much had happened and how exhausted he felt. It was disorienting, and with a surge of guilt he thought of how strange and small Loki's world must be, buried deep beneath the earth and so far from sunlight and widespread contact.

He stopped to file a few request forms and left a note for Director Fury with his secretary, then changed out of his uniform in the locker room and back into his civilian clothes. Rifling through his locker, he came across an old granola bar he'd stashed, and remembered Loki's hoard of unrefrigerated food under his bed. Pressing his lips together, he tucked the bar back in, and made sure he had his wallet in his jacket pocket along with the keys to his bike.

It was getting dark out by the time he got home, arms full of grocery bags, but once he'd stashed everything in the fridge and cupboards he still managed to go out for a short run. The air turned cooler and sharper in the past few weeks, and it left a pleasant ache in his chest after the sixth or seventh mile. It reminded him of the odd, but not wholly unpleasant feeling of Loki borrowing his krellr to heal Agent Ferra, he realized, as he climbed the stairs back up to his apartment.

And hadn't that been something. Loki could manipulate life energy -- could actually _see_ life energy with his other eyes -- and used it to cure cancer. If he'd started with that as his opening act on earth, people probably would have worshipped him as a god or a savior or a hero, Steve reflected, peeling out of his sweaty running clothes and tossing them into the hamper. If he'd saved lived then instead of taking them, well, he and Steve probably would have met very differently.

But things had gone wrong for Loki before that point. He'd already been on a dark path. _I am a murderer_ \-- Loki's words echoed in his mind as he climbed into the shower, switching on the water and shivering as it came out cold. _I am patricidal. I have lied, I have cheated and stolen and slept with--_

The jet of water hit Steve's shoulder and he froze. Somehow his mind had glossed over those words in Loki's litany of crimes as he recounted them, only for it to rise to the top now. Had he imagined it?

 _No._ He swallowed, reaching for the shampoo and pouring some into his hand. No, Loki had definitely said he, that he had, was...

Steve's heart pounded. With-- hope? No. Not hope. Even if, even if Loki did have any interest, he couldn't -- Loki was his prisoner. His ward. It was ethically wrong and SHIELD would never tolerate it and he _couldn't._ Intent on getting his body to make the same realization as his mind, he switched the shower knob all the way back to cold and finished washing up as fast as he could, teeth chattering.

Later, though, after he climbed into bed, Steve dreamt of bodies made of stars. Red and glittering and shimmering like embers, coming together like colliding galaxies in a searing beautiful burst of supernovae...

 

\---

 

His phone went off first thing that morning, and Steve groaned out loud when he read the message.

**FURY**

_This morning. My office._

_We need to talk._

"Perfect," he grumbled, rolling out of bed and beginning his morning routine.

 

\---

  


When he arrived at Fury's office, the force of the glare he received was almost enough to send him stumbling back into the hallway.

"Are you out of your mind?" Fury demanded.

"Good morning to you too, sir," Steve replied, closing the door behind him. "What am I out of my mind about this time?"

Fury glowered. "Your little stunt yesterday with Agent Silvia Ferra."

Steve arched an eyebrow. "You mean the bit where Loki cured her brain cancer?"

"I mean the bit where you marched a retired operative into a top-clearance level area for medical treatment from a mass murderer!"

"Technically, she's not retired," Steve pointed out. "Agent Ferra was on extended medical leave due to her illness but remained on SHIELD's payroll. She still works here."

"And she's still not cleared to be face to face with _Loki,"_ Fury said, running his hand over the dome of his head in a way that made Steve think he'd be pulling out his hair if he had any. "Do you have any idea how many background checks everyone allowed within a hundred feet of him has gone through? What the security measures surrounding him are?"

"No, I dont," Steve replied, a bit sharply. "You never told me. And you never indicated that Loki's presence and incarceration were being kept secret."

"Because I didn't think I had to!" Fury shouted. "If word got out that he was back on Earth, we'd have mass panic at worst, and at best, people calling for blood. And now that you've got him performing miracles, people are talking." He put his hands down on his desk and leaned forward. "I don't like people talking, Rogers. But I've got a whole bunch of highly trained intelligence operatives who just got handed something so big even they're struggling to keep their mouths shut. Anyone in SHIELD who didn't know about Loki being here is going to know damn soon if they don't already." His shoulders sagged. "So you had better get ready for that and the fallout that's going to come with it."

Steve shuffled awkwardly. He hadn't... fully considered the far-reaching implications of his actions. "I understand, sir. I request, however, that Agent Ferra not be penalized in any way for her involvement."

Fury's glare intensified. "I'm not going to punish a woman with cancer, Rogers. Even if said cancer just got magicked away. _You_ , on the other hand, owe me a big favor."

"Sir?"

"The governor of New York called me the other day. A speaker for a major function bailed on him last minute. Asked if you'd be willing to fill in. I told him yes."

"Sir!?" Steve balked. "I don't --"

"We're writing you a speech. You have a train ride to New York City tomorrow morning to memorize it." Fury held his gaze sternly until Steve caved and nodded.

"Yes sir."

Appeased, Fury sat down, leaning back in his chair. "You know, preying on the desperation of a dying woman to make a point sounds more like something out of my playbook than yours, Rogers. I'm not sure whether to be disappointed or impressed."

Steve's jaw dropped. "I did _not--_ "

"Oh, I'm sure your intentions were _noble_. But let's be honest. You wouldn't have known Agent Ferra's name if you hadn't looked her up because you needed someone for your plan. Sure, she came out better for it. But you had a point to prove about Loki, didn't you?"

He swallowed hard, teeth clenched. He wasn't sure which irked him more -- the insinuation or the fact that Fury wasn't wholly wrong. "He's changing. He's not evil. And he has the capacity to help if we give him the opportunity."

"Hmm." Fury regarded him inscrutably for a long moment. "We have some doctors who are very interested in talking to him."

"And he's expressed interest in talking to them," Steve readily supplied.

Fury nodded. Then, "Your request for a notebook was approved. Agent Malik should have delivered it to Loki with his breakfast this morning."

Steve didn't smile, but felt some of the tension gripping at his insides ease. "Thank you, sir."

"Hill will brief you on your trip to New York. Dismissed."

Not entirely sure as to whether he'd been chastised, victorious, or both, Steve nodded and took his leave.

  
  


He'd never felt daunted by blank parchment before, always more than happy to begin his work, often scribbling disjointed thoughts and beginning thoughtlessly. But today, afforded the luxury of writing, he hesitated.

He knew what he should spend the time on, that he should attempt to explain his healing processes in layman's terms, should explain how to identify people who might be capable of manipulating forces that they would barely be able to see, at best. But that seemed difficult, because he had no idea how basic his explanations had to be. They did not understand or recognize krellr, what else might be beyond their grasp?

Instead, the first page of the notebook began: _Cancer is an invasion of one's own spirit that is where it should not be, and ceases to move._

Then, that was crossed out, and instead he wrote  
_beauty can be monstrous?_  
and then there were increasingly rough and frustrated sketches, of hands and back muscles and ribs bruised over... none of which were at all good or fit to be shown.

He ripped the page out and crumpled it up, tucking it into the bag with the breakfast sandwich, which had begun to smell terribly. He put both in the box for food, and left it closed that the smell might be held at bay, and it might be gotten rid of, next time someone came in.

He resolved to wait, to talk to either Rogers or one of the doctors brought before him, before he might truly make a start on writing instructions for their benefit. He needed to know what they knew.

He turned back to the medical texts, deciding to read up and see if there were any other ‘incurable' diseases he might address.

The next page he filled was nothing but lists of names, symptoms, and scribbles of what they seemed similar to, what the Asgardian equivalents may be.

The troubling thing, he realized, was that there were many things-- particularly in this Merck Manual, that he had never heard of, or seen, or seen referenced. How was it possible that such a backwood realm had become the breeding ground for so many different types of afflictions? It seemed unfair, too, for such fragile and uneducated lives as these to be cut so short, so routinely.

The despair that spread through him at such a thought was disconcerting, and so he switched his aims, instead making a list of the most common of Asgardian treatments, the plants most often used in their medicines. He took care to describe them plainly, in the hopes that, when garnished with a list, some of the herbologists of Midgard might be able to do similar work to Loki's with diseases, and identify what they could, find the shared uses.

He was determined to have _something_ to give Rogers when he returned, something to make up for the disappointment he'd proffered the previous night. Something, he hoped, to get him smiling again, instead of looking wounded.

Loki closed his fingers around his wrist, where the Captain had caught him after he'd lashed out, after he'd slapped him.

He'd never felt guilt as often or acutely as he had since coming here. It was a feeling he almost reveled in.

  
  


Leaving Fury's office, Steve made his way to the command center and logistics wing where he'd find Hill, or someone else who could provide him with his itinerary for New York. He wasn't presently scheduled for any active duty, despite being back in fighting condition ahead of schedule, but after Hill briefed him on his trip and handed him a list of talking points ("You'll be emailed the rest later. Just don't pull a Stark or anything, okay?), a few agents approached him and asked if he'd be willing to join them in the shooting gallery for practice. Devoid of a good excuse, he spent most of the rest of the morning emptying clips into paper targets, and then partaking in a bit of good old fashioned hand-to-hand sparring.

Not that he could really exert himself; Fury was angry at him enough without Steve breaking any of his agents, so he pulled all his hits and went easy on them, only enjoying a bit of a challenge when three tried to take him at once. Shaking hands when the bout was over, he found himself wondering if Loki would be a match for a sparring partner. He was definitely as strong as Steve, if not stronger, despite his deteriorated condition, and would probably be able to give him a real workout if they hit the mats together.

Of course, he realized grimly, making his way back to the locker room, if anyone saw him and Loki fighting, they'd probably assume Loki was trying to murder him and shoot on sight. The idea lost its appeal almost immediately, and he knew he'd never bring it to fruition. Opening his locker, he pulled out a spare shirt, changing despite having barely worked up a sweat, then checked his watch. He could run out to the little brewhouse and pub across the river to pick up a late lunch for himself and Loki if he left now. He eyed the plastic bag in his locker that he'd brought in that morning, and reminded himself to double back for it.

Pulling out his pager, he typed off a quick message:

> COMING BY WITH LUNCH SOON

 

Forty minutes later, he had a brown paper takeout bag in his arms and the plastic grocery bag hanging over his wrist as he got off the elevator on Loki's level, nodding to Agent Malik as he juggled his burden enough to free a hand up for the scanner.

"Afternoon," he said as he entered, making his way toward the chair and then putting down his things. The spare cot had been removed, but his seat remained, returned to its former position facing the glass. He glanced at the notebook Loki was currently scribbling in and smiled. "Been keeping busy?"

  
  


"Hello Captain." Loki greeted, warmth in his voice and smile as he set aside his lists. "Thank you for arranging this--" He gestured at the writing supplies. "I cannot tell you how useful it is to be able to organize my thoughts. I'm making some headway in figuring out what I need to ask of your doctors, and trying to find things they need to ask of me-- so many of the diseases your people suffer have easy fixes, in Asgard. It is only a matter of exchanging information."

He took his pillow and moved it forward, seating himself before the glass in their usual formation.

"And I have a list of plants that I am familiar with-- coupled with simple descriptions, to see if anyone here can find equivalents. I suspect a good few of the Asgardian ones have Midgardian roots, and who knows what else may be shared between our worlds. That, at least, you might take with you-- something to start with." He tried not to sound too eager to please, though he certainly felt it.

"How have you been, since I saw you last?" He paused delicately, before trying, "I hope the rest of your day was not ruined, after..." He shrugged, gesturing half heartedly up towards his face, more meaning his slap than his change, as his time considering the events had at least brought him to the conclusion that the revulsion he felt about his appearance was not shared by Rogers. Like he'd said, the man was too awe filled to hate. He hadn't learned better yet.

It made sense, though, to Rogers' thinking. He was so dead set on there being something good about the Jotnar, he couldn't bring himself to hate them. Just like Loki.

He was grateful, he supposed.

  
  


Loki's present cheer, so different from the grim weariness of the day before, took Steve pleasantly by surprise. He beamed as Loki expressed his gratitude for the notebook and explained his progress. It seemed he really had been serious about recording his knowledge for human doctors' use, and from the amount of paper he'd already filled, was making terrific headway. Steve wasn't sure when exactly Fury would allow SHIELD physicians access to Loki, given the apparently stringent security Steve himself had been permitted to bypass, but he hoped it was soon. The intellectual exercise could only be good for Loki, his cooperation only beneficial for everyone involved.

"That's fantastic," he said, making his way to the meal box. "Let me know if more books would help; I can always load your reader up with more information on biology and pathology if you're not finding what you need in the books that are on there," he offered, just as he opened the box and caught a whiff of something truly unpleasant. Taking a closer look, he spotted the wrapper from the breakfast sandwich he'd brought Loki a few days ago. Stomach twisting a bit, he resealed the box. "Hold that thought."

Ducking out of the cell, he returned less than a minute later with a trash bin from the antechamber. He quickly got rid of the offending wrapper, closed the trash, and then tucked it away in the corner, leaving the box open on his side to let it air out. "Sorry about that. Um. My day was fine," he replied, trying to recall what Loki had said last before he had been distracted by the smell. "I did some errands. Went for a run. Took a shower. Hit the hay pretty early, which is good because Fury was sending me angry texts at the crack of dawn." He sunk back into his chair for a moment, running his hand back through his hair. "Not your fault, by the way. Although, I should warn you, I won't be able to come by tomorrow. They've got me out of town for the day -- nothing dangerous -- but I'll have my pager on me if anything comes up."

He looked up to see how Loki took the information; if he was distressed in the aftermath of his ordeal with Scofield, or if he seemed at ease...

  
  


Loki intentionally blanked his face when the Captain retreated, hoping that he wasn't so disgusted by this new habit of Loki's-- hoping he would come back, that he wouldn't comment... it all seemed like too much to hope for.

But, when he did return, the relief was short lived.

He was going away again. Not dangerous, he said, but still...

"Yes, I got your message today." Loki told him, keeping his voice fixedly normal, and glad that as far as he could tell, both the bacon and pizza were holding up... okay, all things considered. Just in case. Though having Murray at least occasionally on duty would help, he supposed. The boy seemed to find him at least somewhat worthwhile, and he doubted he would be inclined to such unkindnesses as Loki had suffered at Scofield's hands. "It is a useful device. I'll be sure to use it only if necessary." He promised.

"Where-- uh, can you tell me-- ah. Never mind." He wanted to ask for details, but realized too late they would have been furnished if they were forthcoming.

"I am sorry that you've brought Fury's ire upon yourself. Was it for yesterday?" Not his fault, true, but if Fury had taken exception to the good he thought he was doing, it would not bode well for him being allowed to help more that way-- and he was loathe to waste the time and effort if the knowledge he was seeking to share would only be discarded out of hand.

Better to know. And speaking of knowing,

"Is Agent Ferra feeling well today? Have you heard from her?"

  
  


"Haven't heard anything yet, but it's only been a day," Steve replied. "I'm sure she'll be in touch soon. I'll let you know as soon as I hear from her," he added with a smile. _He's changing,_ he'd told Fury that morning. Surely the Loki of a few months ago wouldn't have bothered asking about Ferra's health. There was change -- progress. Right?

"And don't worry about Fury. I... violated some protocols. He's in a bit of a mood, but I'm not in all that hot water." He'd go to New York, speak at the governor's.... whatever.... and then hopefully by the time he got back in two days' time, Fury would have something fresh to be angry about not pertaining to Steve. "He said there are some doctors who are very interested in talking to you, so you may get that chance to explain your healing work in person. Um. Once they get the appropriate security clearances, that is." He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, slightly shame-faced. He hadn't thought the security angle through, and he could see that now, but hopefully it wouldn't yield any actual trouble.

"Anyway, I'll be back the day after tomorrow, and if anything comes up, I'll page you as soon as I know. I checked the roster, and Murray has one of the daytime shifts, so you can ask him for anything you need. Smith has the morning shift, and Tanner and Malik -- she's the one who brought you the notebook this morning -- will be on in the evening, and they're all good agents." Steve had made sure that no one he felt uncomfortable with would be scheduled in his absence.

His stomach rumbled faintly, and he remembered the food he'd brought. "Sorry, here, I brought lunch..." He stood with the bags and crossed over to the no longer malodorous bin, unfolding the brown paper bag and withdrawing two squat cylindrical containers and a pair of plastic spoons, then two rolls of thick and hearty bread and accompanying bottles of water. "I remember you mentioned you liked breads and stews a lot on Asgard; you'll have to let me know if these measure up."

He also tucked the plastic bag -- full of trail mix, dehydrated fruit, apples, granola, protein bars and jerky he'd picked up on his grocery run the night prior -- into the bin without comment. If Loki was going to squirrel away food, at least Steve could make sure he had a stash that wasn't going to go bad and poison him.

Taking his own soup and bread, he sank back into his seat and pried off the lid, breathing in the savory aroma.

  
  


Loki accepted the soup calmly, and looked into the other bag, his eyebrows raising at the journey provisions, before he realized what they were for-- and why. He felt himself flushing in shame, impractical and nonsensical as it might be, and he quietly left the bag there.

Either the Captain would realize he'd left his supplies for the days he would be absent, or Loki would place them beneath his bed, just in case. For the time being, though, he would not address it. It felt... safer, that way.

He settled with the lunch, his fingers soaking in the warmth of the liquid through the container, even before he pulled the lid off and let the comforting scent of familiar fare billow upwards on warm air.

"Thank you for your willingness to keep me updated. She should be fine, I am certain all of the problem was removed, however... if there are any complications, I would like to request that she come to me first. I do not need your physicians disrupting her balances and causing me more work." He smiled back, softening his words with his expression, hoping the Captain would see the care behind the apparent self importance.

He didn't want those watching to think he was growing soft, weak... growing too human.

He took in a spoonful of the broth and closed his eyes gently while he took it in. He hummed his approval, and began soaking the bread in the juice while he spoke again.

"These doctors-- they will wait to visit until you are back, yes? I do not wish to be left alone with them until I know they will not seek merely to learn about my... unique biology. I think what I offer is of more importance than Jotun quirks and potential dangers, and I would be certain they agree, before being handed over." He pulled at the sopping bread carefully with his teeth.

He wanted to ask if Rogers was being sent away as punishment, and if so, for whom-- Loki? Rogers himself? Did Fury feel a mounting concern for the time they spent together?

Was it because Loki had attacked him, the day prior? Or because Rogers had forced him to change, and taken his 'leap of faith', ill-informed and dangerous as it had been? Or did Fury know of his feelings toward the Captain, did he suspect that Loki was tarnishing the man's brilliance with his own darkness?

Every facet of these thoughts was worrisome, and he did not know whether he could trust the control he held over his face enough to pursue them in the Captain's presence. He pushed the doubts down.

"This is very good, very like the basic fare of Asgard, the food you might find in the taverns or inns, if you were lucky enough to come while it was fresh." He told Rogers. "And impressive for the fact that the vegetables are still identifiable in their broth, rather than just a different texture of glop." He grinned at the visual, unappetizing as it sounded, it was _delicious_. Especially after a day out of the castle.

  
  


"Well, we can't have anyone making more work for you with your already busy schedule," he replied teasingly, grinning to make it clear he was joking. "But I'll drop her a line and let her know." It wasn't as if SHIELD would bar her from returning now that Steve had already compromised security. Fury wasn't that cold.

And as for the doctors -- "I doubt they'd clear anyone to be down here until a couple days from now, but I'll make sure before I leave that nobody I haven't personally authorized comes in." At this point, Loki's medical knowledge had to outweigh his value as a specimen, but if Loki still worried, then Steve had every intention of being present. He brought a spoonful of stew to his mouth and made a sound of appreciation.

"You know, there's a lot of food I grew up with that I can't stand now, because we ate terribly and mostly just boiled the hell out of everything just to make it soft enough to chew," he admitted, "But there's a few things I still love. Stew's one of 'em." He smiled as well. He remembered coming home to a steaming pot on the stove of half-dissolved carrots and potatoes and scraps of beef in a thick brown morass he could almost eat with a fork after it had simmered down all day long. And after he'd scarfed a bowlful down, he always wiped up the last bits clinging to the bowl with a crust of bread, not wasting a single drop.

The stew from the brewery was better seasoned, and the meat more tender and less stringy, but it was every bit as comforting. And hearty.

"You must have a lot of stories. From Asgard, I mean..." Steve trailed off with a hopeful look; a clear invitation.

  
  


Loki's lips twisted at the barb about his time, though he took it lightly enough. No harm there.

"I would appreciate that." He told him, on both accounts.

"Doctors on your world, specifically, have always been overly interested in my people... or, Asgardians at least. I am sure you have encountered similar problems, being of such superior specimenhood, yourself." Loki shrugged. "I cannot see good coming of it."

He imagined another of the green beasts, only built with bits of Rogers built in, perhaps shining in all of the colors of his overly tight costume.

"Stews have ever been, for me, one of the more comforting of meals. It really does not matter how overly cooked it has been, the moment you have some in your mouth, you know what it is. And it is very difficult to make a stew that does not taste of stew. I have eaten it in many realms. And they are very much the same."

Loki helped himself to more of the meal, punctuating his praise with a hearty helping of the bread.

"What stories would you like to know, Captain? What interests you the most? I realize your people have had limited enough dealings with other worlds, but surely your imagination can provide-- what, if we were on Asgard, would be the first thing you would like to see?"

Loki thought first of art, but wondered if that might not be too obvious. He thought, given the chance, he might take Rogers out on one of the skifs, show him the view of Asgard that so few were willing to get. Perhaps after the tour through the golden halls of his home, he would take him to the roof, and show him the view from above. Where it was quiet save the sound of the wind, and the hum of the magic.

He wondered if Rogers would hear it.

  
  


"Anything. Everything." Being on a different world -- Steve wouldn't even know where to start. Waking up in the twenty-first century had been a bit like waking in a different world, but one that bore enough haunting resemblances to his old one that it felt more like a nightmare than a dream. But Asgard and the other realms Loki spoke of would hold no such reminders of what he'd lost. Everything would be fresh and new and foreign and he'd be the first human to lay eyes on it in all likelihood.

"The cities, the countryside, the landscapes, the wildlife, the people, the culture..." What _wouldn't_ he want to see if he had such an opportunity? Would the sky look different? Would the towns have the same thrum of life as cities on earth, or would the energy and pace be different for a people who lived forever? What would their architecture look like? Their horizons?

"And the stables," he quickly added, on remembering the placed Loki had mentioned once, as being what he missed. "And the library. And the hot springs! Definitely the hot springs." The memory of his frigid shower the night before made the idea of sinking into a hot pool of water even more appealing. He grinned broadly, recalling the wistful affection with which Loki had described these locales. Would it be possible, he wondered, to ever go there? With Thor's visits to Earth, relations between the two planets could exist, surely...

His smile waned when he remembered that the bridge between worlds was broken. And even if Steve had the opportunity (unlikely) to go there, Loki would probably not be able to accompany him, given his crimes.

No, Steve Rogers would never go to Asgard. But Loki, at least, had a lifetime of experiences there. "What's something that interested you? Or something you did or enjoyed?"

  
  


Loki laughed, the sound surprised out of him, and surprising in its own right-- he didn't think he'd heard himself laugh in a while.

"You are greedy for things not of your world, aren't you?" He asked, teasing. "I wish I could take you there." He meant that, honestly. For both of their sakes.

"The cities, they gleam, golden and proud, our towers do not only tower, but they soar, in a very literal sense. They've magics that make them repellant from the ground, so that there need be no load bearing walls. This allows structures the likes of which I am certain you have never seen. We were fond too of our statues, our columns, but most of all idols of our ancestors. Our architects also prefer rounds-- circular rooms, circular bastillions, arches and curved roofs. Or at least very noticeable geometric shapes-- layered and stacked, like childrens' playthings. We build in mainly stone, marble and polished black rock, gleaming and engraved, and gold. Knotwork is a sign of station, the more intricate the better, and so in the palace, most every room you will find it-- engraved into door frames, tiled into floors. Clothing, too, armor, even leatherwork for horses-- it is a recurring motif. I personally have always found it busy looking, too many lines to confuse the eye. But my views are not shared by the main of Asgard." He sipped more of the soup.

"I used to enjoy sitting atop one of the palace's balcony railings, watching the sun rise over the city, watching it glance off the sea first, the sparkles from the water jumping up like the fish, then the light as it streaked over the bifrost, casting rainbows over the city walls. Then the gold tones, warm and beautiful-- that was Asgard as I loved it, in the hours of quiet and light and beauty." He was silent for a moment, sad at the thought of never again seeing that. Never again experiencing such things.

"The countryside... is like anything else, I suppose, green and rocky and empty. Animals range, some fierce and fearsome, some small and charming. In the winter the snow falls deep and cold, and our cloaks would drag behind us in the snow, becoming weighted and crisp from the wet, and the ice that formed at the bottoms. And they hid your tracks, somewhat, so that if you turned around and looked behind you, it was as if you had never been. There is a perfect isolation in the snow of our countryside's winters, a muffled effect where even the sounds of our birds and game are far away, as the falling flakes absorb all sound. You could be walking with companions and still find yourself alone in such weather." He'd always felt divided about that. He liked the solitude and the quiet, but he had not been fond of the loneliness that followed. Contrary, he knew, and so he did not speak of it, for fear of sounding foolish. He finished the solids from the stew, and set to soaking the bread in the juices while he spoke.

"The people... hmm." He wasn't sure where to start. "Being long lived, they are proud, and often quarrelsome for it. If you will live hundreds of year, it's seen that life without feuds is one dull beyond desire. But children are special, near sacred. For all of our-- their-- years, the Aesir do not reproduce often. And so each child is treasured, is raised with care and love and in the protection of all. They often run in groups, for playing and keeping easier track-- a group of mothers or fathers working together often would share the duties of child care, while sharing washing or cooking duties as well, very communal, very much a village to raise a child. Thor and I, similarly, were raised by our mother and the handmaidens, the healers and the maids, the cooks and the stable lads, the master armorer, and each of our instructors. We were never unobserved, save for the time we could carve for ourselves, and when those in charge of us knew us to be in our rooms--" Here he gave a lopsided smile. "Or believed us to be so. We often would run off to have our own adventures." He was flattered that Rogers had remembered his favorite places, had thought to ask about them.

"The stables were always warmer in the winters, cooler in the summers. Our horses were nearly so well seen to as the children of Asgard. But that also meant that there was always work to be done-- mucking and feeding, combing and oiling of the tack. I spent many happy hours, speaking lowly to the horses while I worked my hands, or singing softly through nights where I did not wish to be alone, but did not wish myself upon other people. It became a retreat of sorts, and the animals themselves... well. No one listens near so well as a horse. Save you, I suppose." He gave Rogers a tiny grin in recognition.

"The library... wise, I think I called it. It was, that, but also dusty, kept at the same temperature all year long, just this side of too warm, to help preserve the older parchments, some dating back to the days of Bor's youth-- Odin's father-- and some so old, I would not begin to know how to tell when they were written. Some texts made of and created by magic. Those were my favorites. I could always tell which they were by the way they hummed in my hands, the way they spoke to me, the pages near whispering the secrets they held, just slightly too softly for my ears to hear, but the words loud enough for me to know they were there. The chairs ranged throughout the areas from simple stools to full overly stuffed things-- the chair you are in now is a replication of my favorite of them, found in the area of the library that held the histories of treaties and descriptions of the customs of and with other realms. I have fallen asleep in it many times, and sat absorbed for hours many more." He admitted that quietly, almost shyly. Many had mocked him through the years for his sleeping difficulties and habits.

"And the pools-- what is to be said? Closer to the city, they were developed into baths, public places where many went to relax, or to talk, to socialize... further out, they were hidden in caves, covered by trees... accessible by game trails and secrets hidden for only those who searched. I knew of a few, each small enough only for two, perhaps three. The odor of the earth and sulfur and heat was wonderful, and the opalescent walls of stone that the water pooled into... depending on the time, the sun would sometimes turn it milky white. Or if I had journeyed out on my own in the late hours, the moon would glow it blue and shadowed with secrets... or my siedhrlights could call the rainbows from their depths." He paused again, then sighed.

"Living anywhere else... staying here... it is an adjustment to be made, I suppose. But I will miss it, miss the world I knew so well, so thoroughly." He looked up at the Captain, suddenly self conscious and realizing that he had rambled.  

"Have I missed anything? Was there more you wanted to know? Or have I already spoken too much?" The last came out apologetic, and he was afraid that he might have bored his host.

  
  


Steve softened his gaze and let his vision unfocus, his mind's eye taking over to construct the worlds that Loki described. If Steve's mind was a canvas, then Loki's words were paint and brush, and he was a skilled artist to boot. He could imagine it all -- the sun coming up over the horizon and catching the caps of the waves with the first rays of dawn before the expanding light spread out to catch the gleaming surfaces of soaring, floating arches and towers, painting reflective obsidian facets with the colors of fire and setting golden spires aglow. Caught up in the vividness of the scene, he could almost hear the distant crash of waves; feel the fresh sunlight on his face chasing away the early morning chill as the world woke around him...

The scene changed and Steve reorganized the pictures in his mind to keep up, enthralled by the detail of Loki's descriptions. He might never get to Asgard, but _hearing_ about it... It reminded him of nights spent curled up in front of the woodstove with a blanket over his shoulders as he and Bucky listened to the radio in the dim light of the tenement, voices transporting them to far off lands and adventures past the limits of their Brooklyn block. Back when Steve daydreamed about someday seeing the world as a tourist, and not as a soldier; meeting people instead of shooting at them.

It was strange, he thought as he shifted into the comfort of the chair (a small taste of Asgard, which Loki had recreated here, for him) -- the place had damaged Loki so badly in his past, and yet the world he spun into existence for Steve sounded like a utopia. Where children were treasured and ran in packs for play and not because of neglect; where instead of being raised by a struggling single parent, there would have been a whole village looking out for him. Where everything was beautiful and magical and unravaged by time; where seventy years was a blink of an eye.

Blinking away images of swirling pools with coils of steam (and drops of water clinging to Loki's skin, like tiny diamonds in the starlight) -- Steve focused on Loki's expression as he spoke. The lines in his face smoothed, and he had a distant look in his eyes. There was a warmth and affection Steve once wouldn't have believed possible, though he'd seen enough of it of late to now know better, but with it a kind of soft, aching sadness.

He wished Loki _could_ take him to Asgard, he reflected, if only because that meant he could return there himself, to a place he obviously still loved. Only Loki couldn't go home.

Neither of them could.

"It sounds incredible," he said. "I can... you described it so well, I feel like I could almost draw it." Perhaps he would. Perhaps he'd sketch out stables and towers and a bridge spanning the sea toward the stars. Would Loki like that, he wondered? Or would it only bring him pain?

"Thank you. For telling me." He filled the words with his sincerity. "Maybe..." he paused, knowing he shouldn't make any promises, but then, with such a small world between these four walls, Loki needed some hope. "Maybe some day I can show you the places where I grew up. They're different now, obviously. But there's a lot of places on earth I think you'd like."

  
  


"I would like to see that, I think... see what wonders you might construct on the foundation of my words alone." Better than drawing monsters, and perhaps an exciting chance to see an original construction, rather than a memory or a landscape. Something rooted wholly in the Captain's imagination.

That would be a treat.

But Loki scoffed at the idea of Rogers touring him around his Brooklyn.

"Even if you are not afraid that I might destroy it, (and I would not blame you if you were), Fury would never allow me above ground, let alone amongst your people... and more than that, I fear that, even at your side, the people themselves would see me as a threat and react accordingly. Do not forget that you and I cannot be seen together without it being assumed that I am controlling you." The way he said this, matter of fact and accepting of that, was meant to appeal to his logic and not make him think Loki regretted being here.

"I am under no illusions, Captain. I believe that this is the only world I will know for the remainder of..." He trailed off, recalling their fight and his unwillingness to begin it again. "My visit." he finished quietly, turning his face away from Rogers. It felt like a lie.

"But," he said, "You have shown me the places you grew up. After all, did you not bring me your art books? You can describe a world better with your pencils and inks than I can by words alone." Loki wished there were some way he could return the favor.

  
  


Steve grit his teeth, annoyed in part at Loki for his fatalism, but mostly at himself for bringing up the future and returning to the topic that had caused them so much contention before.

"You aren't really recognizable," he pointed out, unwilling to let go of the hypothetical scenario. "With your hair shorter and without the helmet and armor -- if we put you in street clothes and came up with a pseudonym for you, no one would know." In all the chaos, the press hadn't gotten anything more than a few blurry images of Loki, and SHIELD had shut down most of the details about the New York invasion so few people really knew who and what had been involved beyond the participation of the Avengers against an alien threat.

He wanted to keep going, to keep arguing that just because Fury was tough on security now didn't mean that in a few years, maybe even months if Loki proved enough of an asset, he might be granted more liberties and a chance to see daylight. It would be a leash, still -- Steve wasn't naive enough to think anyone would grant Loki total amnesty -- but a longer leash.

But if he brought it up, Loki would likely protest that he'd be dead before such a thing could come to past, and they'd end up fighting again. And Steve didn't want to ruin another day. Not when things were going pleasantly.

"I dunno, you're probably better with words than I am with a pencil," he said instead, addressing the safer topic. "It's kinda like poetry the way you talk about it."

  
  


"Hm." Loki tried to imagine himself at the Captain's side, walking through his cities, trying to see them as he did. Tried to imagine them passing, unnoticed and unremarked upon, through the same crowds that had fled from him in terror, the crowds that came to Rogers for comfort and in worship.

"And do you suppose that you are also so unrecognizable, that the two of us together would not be identified? I have seen the way your people idolize you, you have yourself spoken of the discomfort it brings. Do they love so blindly as not to see you, when you are not clad in the colors of your uniform?"

He needed to change the subject, because he could imagine, all too clearly, exploring this world at Rogers' side, but his mind turned it into something it would never be, something intimate and close, something with entwined fingers and shoulders that bumped gently while soft words explained what they saw and how they perceived. He felt his lips trying to twitch upwards into a sad smile, and quickly halted their progress.

"Words come easily to me, they always have. And I have had a good deal of time to perfect my delivery. But there are always spaces between words, the edges of an image get softened, there are specifics that are lost-- your art does not do that. True the drawings are still and lack the movement, but you can suggest even those details. Your art is worth more than my words, and even speaking of it does not do your skill justice. Not to mention that you have lived so short a time, comparatively, and already achieved heights of ability that men I know at eight times your age would envy. I truly wish for your sake that you had been born of Asgardian blood. Had you, you would be one of the most celebrated artists of our world." Loki let his lips slide upwards then, and refused to wonder if he would ever have met him, if that were the case. If he would have been drawn to someone such as he-- thin and weak and possessed of a power that the warriors did not have.

He refused to wonder how growing up Aesir would have changed this man, how it might have ruined him. How, certainly, he would not be speaking to him now, if he were, knowing what Loki was.

  
  


"You'd be surprised," Steve told him. "People think of Captain America, they think of the stars and stripes and the shield -- not the face of the man holding them." Which wasn't to say he didn't get recognized. He gave a lot of speeches, had been on the TV after New York, and his face was in books and museum exhibits on the second world war. But that was all as Captain America. He often wore the uniform at those times, and existed separately from Steven Rogers, who could walk around in jeans and a t-shirt and not draw too many second glances.

Captain America was an icon. A symbol.

Steve was just a guy.

"They love the idea that Captain America represents," he tried to explain. "It's... It's freedom and it's strength to stand up against the bad guys and it's hope. The whole thing -- the costume, the name -- it all started as propaganda manufactured by the higher-ups, back in the war. Something to raise people's spirits and motivate the war effort." He shrugged. "Part of why they gave me a mask in the first place was because who I was didn't matter. It was the idea that mattered." And at the time he'd felt like a dancing monkey, dressed up in gaudy colors and a fake name, but now, years later, waking up to see how much those colors and that name had endured over the decades when no one would have remembered a mere soldier, no matter his strength... It put some things in perspective.

"Anyway, I get recognized here at SHIELD. And there's people I run into on a regular basis and folks who know their history and can recognize my face, but out of the uniform, I don't typically draw that much attention. Which is good, really." He wasn't sure how Stark lived with the constant presence of the paparazzi; his face had been plastered everywhere even before he'd put an iron mask over it. For Steve, the anonymity and obscurity were freedom.

He looked down, blushing at Loki's praise of his work. "Okay, now you're just flattering me," he chided. "I'm really not that good. Never even made it through art school. Someday I'll have to take--" He paused, because Loki would not accept the idea that he'd be free enough for Steve to take him to an art museum. "Sometime I'll have to bring you some books with illustrations of paintings and drawings by really talented artists. The old masters and everything."

  
  


Loki heard the slip in the Captain's words and felt his lips curving into a tiny smile. He counted it as a win, the Captain facing the reality of the situation, as he must.

"I would like that." He said, "But only if you are willing to talk me through what I am seeing. If you were to leave it with me, I am afraid I would have no frame of reference for either location or time... your history is not one I am as intimately familiar with as other realms', as we didn't have close dealings with Midgard as we did with, say, Vanaheim." He shrugged. "But even if there are those you think to be better than you, it does not lower your relative skill level. I am hundreds of years your senior, and I cannot do a fraction of what you can. Do not sell yourself short, either as an artist or a hero... in both cases, lack of recognition does not lower the standard of quality."

He let his eyes dance over the man's face, and wished he could make Rogers blush more often. The color high on his cheeks was becoming, and the angle of his shoulders when flustered, the way he shifted and tilted his head, the way his lashes brushed over his cheek-- if Loki had any skills as an artist, that was what he would seek to capture. Moments like this one.

Pictures like this were what he would take with him to his doom, the small comforts he would have with him. And they were worth far more than any slew of words he might construct.

"I don't know that you would like the art of Asgard." He said, realizing that perhaps the Captain's aesthetic standard was too far divorced from those of the Aesir, if he could truly believe his art to be something like mediocre. "It may be too unpolished for you, too... amateur. It has certainly not developed in such a way as to support your style. Our art-- their art, is in illustrated manuscripts and engravings. Once the look was very much the same, many many years ago, when last Thor and I visited, before all of this. But where it seems your world has grown, ours has become stuck in its ways."

  
  


"My art history background isn't all that strong -- I read some books and went to a few lectures, but I'm hardly an expert, just to warn you," he told him. But that being said, he'd probably brush up over the next few days to make sure he had something to explain when he brought Loki some art to look at. Another item for his to-do list, though not one he dreaded in the least.

He shrugged at Loki's disparagement of Asgard's artistic style "I dunno, if it's what influenced a lot of the knotwork and style of early Northern European art, it must be pretty intricate and beautiful," Steve replied. He knew that to a degree, his imagining as Asgard was based on books of Norse myth and Scandinavian art and history -- though he had little idea how much of those cultures had borrowed from Asgardian influence and how much had evolved independently. But Loki had mentioned knotwork before, hadn't he? "And I'm an amateur. Nothing wrong with amateur -- by your own words," he added, pointing at Loki with a grin. "Really, I'd love to see it. Whatever style it might use."

 _I truly wish you had been born of Asgardian blood,_ Loki had said. Which, considering Asgard's apparent general sense of superiority, Steve figured was a compliment. There had been several things Loki had brought up in his descriptions of his homeworld that sparked a longing in Steve -- a desire to experience Asgard, or be Asgardian. To have grown up treasured in spite of his sickness instead of derided. To blend in and be average. To experience the knowledge and the beauty that Loki's words depicted firsthand. And to have friends and family so long-lived, he'd have millenia with them instead of a few short years.

Of course, there was the question of whether he would he be able to appreciate any of that had he been born with it as the norm. And how would he be different now, had he failed to experience all the adversity that helped shape him? Would there have been someone like Bucky on Asgard? Like Erskine? While on the surface, the idea of an eternal, unchanging world had its appeal for Steve, having seen the world he knew transformed beyond recognition in less than a century, he recognized how important some of those changes were. He'd teared up reading the debriefings on the civil rights movement that had taken place while he'd been frozen; would Asgard be capable of a similar overhaul of its prejudices and beliefs (and Steve had no doubts, hearing Loki speak of the frost giants, that Asgard had significant prejudices), or would they remain stuck in their thinking for thousands upon thousands of years without progress?

Would Steve have been unable to get past those same prejudices if he'd been born in that world?

Sighing, he stood and stretched, tossing his empty soup container into the trash bin in the corner. "I should get going," he told Loki regretfully. "I leave really early in the morning and I need to prep. If you fill your notebook, just let a guard know and they should swap it out for a fresh one. Same with pens. And don't forget you can page me."

  
  


"I wish you a speedy trip, then, Captain. I will work as much as I can on the healing notes while you are gone, and I should imagine there will not be need to page you. You've left me with food to last if things were to get dire, and at the very least a few guards to help see to it the situation does not reach that level. And with something to do finally, I expect the time will pass quickly, at least for me." He gave the Captain a reassuring smile, feeling he might need it, after what he had returned to the last time.

He added, just to be sure, "I will be fine. Try not to worry about me while you are otherwise engaged."

He let his eyes wander again, soaking in the thin stretch of skin that was revealed beneath the bottom of his shirt and the waistband of the pants, when Rogers lifted his arms in the air, astounded all over again at the firm lines of muscles and the relative petiteness of his waist. Small but strong, compact and powerful... the Captain would go and be loved by everyone who saw him, first for his outer beauty and then, as he spoke and did his best for those people, they would find themselves gravitating to him, pulled by the warmth behind his smiles.

Loki's heart clenched possessively at the thought that letting the Captain go now might mean letting him walk into the crowd wherein he might find someone to replace Loki with-- someone who would appeal to him the way Loki did, conversationally, but across all the facets of the spectrum of interest.

He was not going into battle, and Loki was glad of the lack of threat of harm, but he would almost have preferred that to the possibility of affection. One he could cure.

Still, he held no claim on the man, had no relation to him other than that of captor and prisoner, companions brought together by mutual loneliness and a thirst for information.

He just wished things were different.

 

\---

 

Steve got up before dawn to reach Union Station in time to catch the 6:30 train to New York. SHIELD, he noticed a bit crossly, had booked him on the regional train in economy. Not that he minded terribly -- he'd traveled in far worse conditions, packed into military transports. But he sensed someone was making a point, or being slightly petty, when the organization had jets at its disposal that could have had him there in no time at all.

Still, the train ride gave him time to go over the notes Hill had prepared for him for his speaking engagement at the governor's ball. And apparently he was supposed to meet with the NYPD as well in the afternoon, to speak to some of the officers who had served during the invasion.

He sighed, sifting through the notes and trying to commit them to memory. Liberty, sacrifice, patriotism... all things that mattered to him and meant something, but read like empty platitudes when they were given to him to recite on flashcards. Eventually, frustrated, he put them away and pulled out a sketchbook, instead spending the train ride sketching fantastical landscapes with floating islands and shining towers...

 

"Next stop, Penn station!"

Steve jerked upright, jolted from his reverie. It was late morning now, and the sun was well up in the sky, illuminating a cityscape both familiar and foreign. He was back in New York.

Which, as it turned out, was a little surreal. Walking through Midtown with his bag slung over his shoulder, he could still see the scars from the invasion where scaffolding and rebuilding had yet to overcome all the damage. It made his stomach twist. But the crowds around him were moving with the purpose of their daily lives, and not panicked terror. Everything was back to normal.

Or, he thought with a sinking feeling as he passed a makeshift memorial erected in front of Madison Square Garden, as close to normal as they were likely to get.

It was halfway through shaking hands at the police department's reception, wearing his dark blue commander's uniform not so dissimilar in hue from the police blues, that he recognized the secondary purpose Fury had in sending him here.

He'd been sent to Latveria because the director thought a little distance from Loki would offer him perspective. He suspected New York was intended to provide a different angle of perspective; one where all the damage Loki had wrought was still visible.

It pissed him off.

But it also wasn't wholly ineffective, he had to admit. His stomach clenched at the sight of the damage, and a few times walking through the city he felt his heart beginning to race for no reason, half expecting to see an armed Chitauri charging from around the corner, energy weapon raised--

He wished he had more time. If not for the afternoon with the NYPD, he would have gone to Brooklyn for the day instead. At least then the painful memories would be a little older, and wouldn't make him feel quite so conflicted. He could have walked past places that had once been his and Bucky's old haunts, now turned into parks or laundromats or whatever else since they'd been torn down decades ago while staring wistfully at the rows of brownstones.

Instead, after leaving the police precinct he changed back into civilian clothes and spent some time walking through central park before arriving early to the hotel venue of the evening's shindig, where an attendant promptly ushered him into a private room for his use to change and prepare. He got his notes back out and stared at them numbly.

In spite of being faced with the aftermath of Loki's crimes, he still found himself wishing he had the chance to head down and talk to him.

Which, he realized belatedly, he still could. Pulling out his pager, he check it for messages (nothing since their first test), then typed in:

> EVERYTHING GOING OKAY?

  
  


The small alert noise went off just as Loki closed the door of the box, grinning wildly at Murray, and for a moment, he thought perhaps the surprise, the joke, had been spoiled.

Could the Captain access the video footage from afar? Was he watching Loki, even when he was not present?

The thought was, oddly enough, a comforting one, and Loki found himself staring up at the cameras before lifting the pager.

"He just send me a missive." Loki told Murray, laughing. "Perhaps he can sense the mischief we intend."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Murray deadpanned around the mouthful of trail mix that Loki had imposed upon him.

He had not thought again of his request since Murray had expressed his uncertainty about being able to deliver the lunchbox, until today when, along with the food on his tray, there had been a rectangle of brightly colored tin, emblazoned with a very rough likeness of the Captain's persona.

He had been _delighted_ , and swiftly moved the provisions that the Captain had given him into the box, storing it beside his bed, proudly facing outward.

He cradled the plastic for a moment, then replied as he'd been shown to.

>SWIMMINGLY. MURRAY AND I WERE JUST SHARING A LAUGH.

He thought it might relieve him to know Murray was on duty, that Loki was willing to speak to others beside him. Perhaps it would make him feel better about his distance. But then, Loki realized he had been rude in not replying in kind.

>AND FOR YOU? IS ALL WELL?

He looked up at Murray.

"Are you reprimanded for the time you spend in here?" He asked carefully, prying into his fear that the Captain's assignments were to punish him for all that he had done for Loki.

Murray wrinkled his brow and shook his head.

"No-- I mean. I'm not supposed to tell you anything about how SHIELD works, but... no, we're just assigned to guard you. I don't know if it matters whether that's from inside or outside of the holding room. Plus I think they want information from you, so if we learn anything we're supposed to file reports. Think that makes them want us to talk to you, at least some."

Loki nodded thoughtfully.

"You might report to them..." Loki said slowly, trying to think what information he could give that Murray might be lauded for receiving, something to see him treated well by his superiors, as a thanks for his kindness to Loki and his role in Loki's trick for the Captain. "You might tell them that though other realms, aside from your own, employ range weapons and explosives, Asgard considers such things dishonorable. If you cannot claim the kill it is not worth killing. So it is unlikely any good Asgardian will attack you with any weapon other than a bow or magic. Guns do not exist, in Asgardian armories."

>

He might have told the Captain similarly, but he could not remember if he had made it so plain as all that. And he would not give them information that could be used against he himself. What else could he say?

"And tell them also that though the Bifrost is damaged, there are ways between realms that Asgard does not know of-- not just between there and here, but to other worlds as well. Information that, if garnished, Midgard might trade to Asgard, provided communication is developed."

That, he thought, would do well by the young Agent.

Murray seemed to agree. He thanked him enthusiastically, and Loki watched him leave, turning his attentions back to his notes.

He supposed he should write down what he knew of those passages, as well. But not just yet. He would have to see what was in it for him, first.

  
  


A few moments passed after he hit 'send'. Steve was just beginning to feel the not-entirely-irrational stirrings of worry when the pager buzzed on the desk and he snatched it up.

He smiled at the message; he could almost hear the words in Loki's voice. Not to mention he felt some relief in the knowledge that Loki was being kept company and not in total isolation with Steve absent. Murray was a good kid.

Though now his imagination was running rampant with whatever the two of them were sharing such amusement over.

He typed:

> I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD BE CONCERNED

He had just hit send when the pager buzzed with Loki's second message. Steve looked at it, not wholly sure what to reply with. He wasn't having a laugh with anyone and things weren't exactly ‘going swimmingly' though they were well enough considering he hadn't been shot or fallen out of a plane. He chewed his lip before answering.

> IM FINE

> GLAD YOURE OKAY. SAY HI TO MURRAY FOR ME.

He lowered the pager. He felt reassured, but still somewhat troubled. Loki was fine.

Steve just wasn't entirely sure that _he_ was.

It had been hard, seeing the city again. Standing face to face with men and women who had cleaned up the mess after the battle, officers who had been shot at and lost friends or family in the attack. Of course, he walked around at SHIELD day in and day out with people Loki had affected as well, but there was a difference. Loki's army hadn't just hit New Yorkers where they worked, but where they called home. Where Steve had called home.

Steve still believed that Loki was changing -- had already changed -- and that given everything he deserved a second chance. Steve was willing to forgive him. But he also couldn't blame others who weren't willing, and probably never would be. Not when he'd shaken hands with a young police lieutenant who was missing his left arm after a Chitauri sentry sliced it off. Not when he'd walked past faded and stained photos of lost loved ones on memorials still decorated with fresh flowers each day.

He flipped through the notes again, and then, when he felt enough time had passed that he could start getting ready, unzipped his bag and pulled out his second uniform of the day.

The governor had wanted him to show up in full Captain America costume, and Steve had flat out told Hill no. He'd spent enough time as a performing monkey, and while there were people he'd wear the stars and stripes for, they were the people who needed it -- soldiers and common people and civilians in a crisis zone who needed to see that symbol. He wouldn't wear them for the entertainment of the city's rich and powerful. She'd acceded, and now he donned a replica of his old military dress uniform, much the same as what he'd worn in 1944, save for the tie pin shaped and colored like his shield -- a subtle announcement of who he was.

Combing his hair neatly in the bathroom mirror and adjusting his tie for the umpteenth time, he checked the clock and then tucked the note cards into his breast pocket and clipped the pager to his hip.

It was time to make an appearance.

 

\---

 

It was miserable.

Steve spent a good hour being rushed around by assorted secretaries and assistants with clipboards and earpieces, tucked into this waiting area and that curtained corner until it was time for him to be announced. Someone had thought to bring him some water and offer him some of the finger food, but he didn't have any appetite for it, and thanked them politely. He thought of the first time he'd performed for a crowd; how he'd been so nervous reading his speech from the back of his shield. It had grown easier after that, but he still felt a pang of anxiety stepping out on to the stage.

This was no different, though the lights were blinding enough that he could barely even make out the crowd, which he supposed was a plus. His introduction was accompanied by a fair amount of applause, and what parts of his speech he couldn't remember he improvised well enough, without being wholly sure once he was done what he'd even said. Whatever it was -- something about rebuilding and overcoming and the indomitable spirit of America and New York, most of which he'd recycled from the far more genuine conversations he'd had with the policemen earlier -- was well received, and not long after he was thrust out on to the floor to shake hands and mingle.

So Steve smiled and shook hands and said polite words to assorted politicians whose names he didn't remember, despite the fact he desperately wanted to bolt out of there on to the next train home.

He couldn't even get drunk off the free champagne.  And this damn thing was set to go on for several more hours.

Finally stepping into an alcove by a window to escape the constant stream of handshaking, he pulled out his pager.

> I WAS WRONG. THERE IS DANGER

> HIGH RISK OF ACTUALLY GETTING BORED TO DEATH

  
  


Loki found himself frowning down at the message.

Was he though? Was he fine? He seemed terse, and though it was difficult not to be, in this mode of communication, he had claimed to be fine. Like Loki had, while he clung, trembling, to the Captain's clothing after Thanos had gotten through with him.

He did not know how to respond, how to voice his concerns, how to respond to the Captain's own, especially when he had no real voice, when his teasing would be so easily misconstrued. And likely it was merely his imagining. He knew how wont he was to jump to the worst conclusions available.

He typed in  
>I MISS YOU  
but erased it almost as soon as he had finished. Better, he thought, not to send anything, not to exacerbate whatever worry he had caused with his simple message of good cheer. He could address it when Rogers returned, bring it up when he could face him and see his meanings in his face, hear it in his voice...

But his self control was not so strong as all that, and eventually he found himself lifting the communication device again.

As he was on the brink of sending a message,  
"NO NEED FOR CONCERN," the device went off in his hand. Canceling what he was writing, the words  
"I WAS WRONG. THERE IS DANGER" appeared before him, and he found himself standing-- though a moment later when the rest of the message came through, he thought himself foolish. What could he have done, anyway?

>BOREDOM IS ANOTHER OF THE DISEASES THAT I AM FAMILIAR WITH.  
He hesitated again, then thought _to Hel with it_ and continued  
>I WILL CURE YOU OF IT WHEN YOU RETURN  
>IF YOU WILL ALLOW ME

Of course it summoned the thought of him curing the Captain's disease by laying his hands on him, stroking and rubbing, and... perhaps it was the safety of the distance, but Loki had a hard time of keeping his thoughts from spiraling deeper, from darting to places he mightn't otherwise dare allow them to go.

He sat on the bed, legs pulled up and the writing pad in his lap, effectively hiding any reaction he might have from view, and he let those images play out behind his eyelids, hand wrapped firmly around him and drawing upwards, rotating his wrist and flicking deft fingers over the head of him.

Let the Captain try to be bored, with Loki's full attention focused on--

On writing. Where it was meant to be.

Loki could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, and he made a show of hunching down, leaning towards the paper.

No one would know, no one could, and most especially not the Captain. For all that Loki had spoken of things that should disgust him, reasons he should be hesitant to be in his company, he did not actually want to drive the Captain away.

He breathed deeply and tried to focus on the page before him.

The Captain would be back soon enough. And when he was, Loki would have to pretend not to be looking, not to be wanting.

It was getting increasingly difficult, though. Increasingly hard.

Especially the longer he went without having the privacy needed to...; help himself to stave off the desire.

He glanced at the pager again, and wondered what sort of reaction the Captain might have to almost blatantly flirtatious messages such as those. Or, did he not register them as such? perhaps he would take it as dry humor. If Loki was lucky.

  
  


_> BOREDOM IS ANOTHER OF THE DISEASES THAT I AM FAMILIAR WITH._

Steve could have kicked himself. Idiot. Here he was complaining about his boredom to a man who had barely left a single unadorned room in weeks, with almost nothing to do. Might as well complain about his sore wrist to the officer with one arm.

He usually knew better. What was wrong with him?

> IM SORRY he had begun typing when the next two messages came in.

It seemed, at least, that Loki didn't hold his insensitivity against him.

> IM SORRY, I HAVE NO RIGHT TO COMPLAIN he finished typing. Then smiled, looking forward to whatever interesting stories Loki would have in store for him on his return.

> I WILL HOLD YOU TO THAT.

> WILL TRY TO GET ON NIGHT TRAIN TONIGHT TO BE HOME TOMORROW MORNING.

The party was set to run until midnight, but with luck he'd be able to scoot out an hour early without anyone noticing. With the way the booze was flowing, he doubted his absence would be noted by that time.

Though his absence had apparently been noted now. He was about to start typing something else when a hand settled on his shoulder, making him jump and whirl around--

"Woah, easy there soldier," a familiar voice said. A familiar voice attached to a goateed grin. "Fancy seeing you here, Cap."

Steve tensed, then relaxed slightly. "Stark." He quickly tucked the pager away, out of view before it could draw notice. "I must have missed your name on the guest list."

"Oh, I'm not on it," Stark answered, grin widening. "Why else do you think I'd show up to one of these things?"

Steve shrugged. "Free booze?"

Stark laughed and slapped him on the back. "Good guess, but I have way better stuff in my stash at home. Which you're welcome to come over and try. Where are you staying, anyway?"

"I'm not," Steve quickly answered. "This is just a day trip. I'm catching the late train back to DC."

"In one day?" Stark looked appalled. "Don't be ridiculous. Here, Pep and I are staying at the tower, there's plenty of guest space. I've been renovating. You should come stay, lemme know what you think of the new digs."

Steve grimaced. "I promised someone I'd be home in the morning--"

"--We'll charter you a private plane back in the morning, get you there in no time. Your girlfriend won't even know you were gone, I promise."

Steve blinked. What did Stark--? "I- I don't have a girlfriend..."

"Even better! Cap, have you met-- Linda? Leslie? Sorry, what was your name again?" Stark grabbed him by the arm and dragged him toward a buxom redhead.

Steve's heart sank. This would be a long night.

  
  


Loki felt his heart begin a dance against his ribs at the reply, and though he knew it wouldn't-- couldn't be in response to his mild coquetry, the idea that he would be back sooner than Loki had counted on, in response to something he'd said, was... not quite as heady as the feeling of having power over someone, but exciting just the same.

He couldn't help but prefer the Captain's company, couldn't help but notice when he didn't come, when he missed a day or was gone. And that made sense; it was something he had come to rely on, in the time he was here.

He drew a squiggle at the top of the page he was working on, and realized he had no idea how long it had been. He would have to remember to ask, now that he at least had ways of keeping track of the days that went by.

Still, it seemed he had done some sort of unkindness, reminding the Captain of his solitary state, making him feel the need to apologize.

>YOU HAVE EVERY RIGHT

he sent back.

>AND SPEAKING WITH YOU, EVEN SO BRIEFLY AS THIS, IS A WELCOME BREAK FROM MY OWN.

Then. lest the Captain think he was overly sentimental, or not at least attempting to make something of himself, he hurriedly added,

>MADE GOOD HEADWAY IN MY INSTRUCTIONS FOR DRS.

He hoped he had used the abbreviation correctly. It had occurred several times in his various readings, and seemed to be acceptable for common use, though he hoped the rule held true for others not properly in the field of medical sciences.

He wondered what it was they had the Captain doing that would be so dull as all that, though. Rogers, who could sit through him droning on about book smells and small bodies of water, Rogers who had enough attention and focus to sit for likely hours, getting every detail right in his renderings.

Whatever it was, it must be incredibly unengaging, that the Captain was using his emergency means of communication as a crutch to see him through it. That he was using _Loki_ to see him through it.

He was, perhaps, more than a little flattered at the thought.

  
  


Steve felt his pager go off and resisted the urge to pull it out while Stark was present. He didn't know if Tony had been made privy to SHIELD's apprehension of Loki, but considering he had yet to bring it up, it seemed unlikely, and given Fury's current feelings about Steve's security breaches, he didn't want to aggravate the situation further by giving Stark any reason to ask who was paging him.

When he did finally pull away some twenty minutes later by claiming he had to use the restroom, he checked the messages Loki had sent and felt a small spike of joy amidst his general state of discomfort.

Loki might have done terrible things, things Steve was reminded of today -- but he was readily working on making amends to help people. To save people.  He typed a quick reply:

> THATS TERRIFIC

He debated letting Loki know he might be staying the night -- he doubted Stark would let him catch his train at this point, but if he was going to be back in the morning at the same time anyway, it hardly made sense to worry Loki now.

Resolving to message Loki back in the morning when he had a better idea of his ETA, he tucked his pager away, right after sending:

> WILL TALK TOMORROW. HAVE A GOOD NIGHT.

He straightened his tie in the bathroom mirror, ran a hand through his bangs, and then returned to brave the rest of the party. And Stark's company.

 

\---

 

He ended up spending the night at Stark Tower, which had indeed undergone considerable renovation since the destruction it had sustained in the battle.

He noticed, however, as Stark's chauffeur brought them through midtown toward the structure, that only the A in Stark remained present and illuminated.

"I'm going for a minimalist look," was all Tony said by way of explanation.

The guest rooms were sumptuous and far nicer than anyplace Steve was pretty sure he'd stayed before. Stark invited him for a nightcap on the balcony, but Steve thanked him and turned down the offer, opting to make an early night of it since he'd got the opportunity to sleep in a feather bed instead of a train seat, and he wasn't about to squander it. But first he extracted a promise from Tony of travel arrangements to get him home as soon as possible the next morning.

"Yeah, yeah, I've got Happy taking care of all of it," Tony said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Does Fury have a rule against you ever having fun or something? Say, you should come up here more often. Bruce is swinging by in a couple days to do science stuff; three of us could make it a party."

"I doubt I'd keep up," Steve said with a smile, somewhat touched by the offer, but also a little unsettled by the ease with which Stark went from outright antagonistic as he'd been when they'd first met, to acting like Steve's close friend. Not that he couldn't use a few more friends.

Especially if he could get them to see eye to eye with him on the Loki situation. It sounded like he had Bruce's sympathy. Could the two of them work on getting Tony's support for Loki's rehabilitation?

Could he get both or either of their support if it came to Loki's rescue?

He was probably getting ahead of himself, but it was worth considering, he decided as he crawled into bed that night, sinking into a mattress so soft it felt like he was in danger of drowning in it.

He'd think about it more in the morning.

 

 

 

The day dawned fluorescently and he felt himself anticipating, more than usual, the passage of time.

The Captain had only been gone for a day. What kind of ridiculous mooning maiden was he turning into?

Still, to hurry the time, he immersed himself in the words he was scrawling, his eagerness to please only dampered by his belated worry that his joke would be ill received-- though it was a small gesture, a small joke, and he could not imagine it backfiring too terribly.

Loki was busily listing out the symptoms of aldrsottarfar, an age sickeness where the mind began slipping, which could be treated with the essence of the maidenhair tree, when the door opened.

He looked up almost lazily, then had to do a double take as he realized who had just come in.

Inwardly, he quailed. If any had a reason to loathe him, it was not Scofield. It was this man. He stalked forward, movements powerful and angry and controlled and his face darkening with murderous thunder.

“Barton.” He greeted, voice proud and clear and remarkably unafraid. “What a pleasant surprise. And how have you been of late?” Part of him felt as if he was being stalked, the prey being approached by a predator that he had not realized existed fully until now.

He’d been in the man’s mind, but he had only known his abilities, not his passion, his fury, and certainly never directed at him. This was unnerving, because he knew enough to fear, and he feared enough to be wary, but he also was not so unsettled to think he might need to break the appearance of his magical inability in the cage. He was, as far as he knew, safe as long as that door stayed shut.

So he reacted as the wise prey ought, and did not show fear. He lifted his chin and looked down his nose, challenging.

“I don’t believe it.” Barton said. “I heard about it, but I couldn’t believe it was true without seeing for myself. Why are you here?” The words went from angrily wondering and bitter to sharp, and it was all Loki could do not to wince.

“Your dear Captain has captured me, and your Director has ordered me held. Why, whatever is wrong, Barton-- did they not tell you? Did they not inform you that your puppet master was finally in custody?” In truth he was surprised. He would have expected that everyone would know, that Fury would have called upon his favorites, if only to gloat. The silence on their part seemed out of character, odd, and seemed to suggest that he was to be made to disappear, to be killed off quietly and not missed.

Loki pursed his lips. He would simply have to offer alternative reasons for Barton’s being left in the dark, starting with the things he was most afraid of, as Loki knew all too well.

“I wonder if it is that they do not trust you, or if they simply feel you would be useless to them.” He leaned forward, a teasing smile pushing his lips upwards. “At least I saw the potential in you. I counted you as the best of my advisers. Perhaps I should have given you reference-- though I don’t suppose it would have helped. Or do you think they might worry that your coming here would see you fall back under my control? What do you say, Barton? Do you feel enthralled?”

He saw fists clench, saw the way Barton’s left hand closed around a bow that was not there.

Intriguing that he had come in unarmed, that despite his well deserved hatred, he did not intend to kill Loki, or if he did, he meant to do it with just his bare hands. Charming.

“That’s not gonna happen.” Barton bit out, as if the words physically pained him to say. Loki smiled wider.

“Then let me ask you what you have asked me: Why are you here?”

Barton scowled and took a few steps closer to his cage, until his breath left the faintest trace of fog over the glass.

“I came here to see what was left of you. The answer is way more than I’d hoped. I came here to figure out what I’m gonna do about that.” It was a threat, and Loki made no mistake of that, but he was not so dull as to be afraid.

“If you did not know I was here, what makes you think you will have the chance?” He asked, certain that even the news of his good deed in healing, and the potential knowledge he represented for their realm, would not sway Barton’s view of him. He wished he were not so busy playing the part of a captive, bound and powerless. He’d have liked to do something, to leave Barton with some gift, some reminder of Loki’s sway over him.

He’d forgotten how good it felt to hold power over some lesser being. He’d forgotten how much he liked it.

And he delighted in the expressions crashing over Barton’s features, until a tiny voice within him reminded him that he was what Rogers hated, right now. If he doubted that Loki was a monster, all he would have to do is see the tapes of this meeting, and he would see his proof.

He felt a sinking feeling at the truth of that.

Barton seemed to have lost his tenuous grip on his temper; he lifted his fist and slammed it against the glass, obviously hoping to gain entry by breaking through the barrier. Around them, the sirens began to wail.

  


  


Stark’s private jet had all the same levels of luxury as his tower, Steve discovered in the morning. He was treated to coffee and an in-flight breakfast by the stewardess, and flown directly to Reagan Airport, where he caught the metro line the rest of the way home.

He stopped off at his apartment first to drop off his uniforms and change (Stark’s AI had offered to procure him a fresh set of clothes, but Steve had found the whole thing too disquieting and politely declined). Back in jeans and a fresh button-up, he grabbed the keys to his bike, and scanned mentally through possible places to get food. He’d be in time for lunch, which was a little later than expected, but probably not late enough to warrant paging Loki. Maybe chinese takeout? Or would that be too messy and too strongly flavored?

He wound up grabbing sandwiches again -- barbeque chicken wrap for himself, and a turkey club wrap with extra bacon for Loki -- hoping the bacon would compensate for the redundancy. He made sure to pick up extra water as well, not wanting to deplete the stash Loki would want to retain for his own peace of mind.

It was late morning, nearly noon, when he arrived at SHIELD. He waved to a few agents he recognized, including the ones he’d sparred with the other day. He was halfway across the lobby, about to report in to Hill and let her know he’d stayed with Stark so sorry about the unused ticket, when the sound of his name being called caught his attention:

“Captain Rogers!”

“Murray?” He turned and frowned at the young agent hurrying toward him. “I didn’t see you on the roster for today, is everything okay?” His pager hadn’t gone off. Had something happened to Loki since the night before? He felt a spike of anxiety.

Murray came to a halt. “I’m not. On duty, I mean, I-- I was in to file some reports based on-- what I mean is--” he paused to catch his breath. “Agent Barton is back from the field and I just saw him and Agent Scofield talking,” he explained, eyes wide. “Last I saw he was heading to the elevators down to Containment.”

Steve didn’t even take the time to reply. He was off at a dead sprint to the elevators.

  
Barton.

 


	13. Thirteen

Barton was the last person who needed to find out about Loki being back on Earth. Out of everyone who wanted Loki dead, Barton probably had the most reason to come in on the top of the list.

He was also deadly enough to be the most likely to make it happen.

"Come on, come on," Steve hissed at the elevator buttons as he hit them repeatedly.

Fury's words echoed in his mind. _Anyone in SHIELD who didn't know about Loki being here is going to know damn soon if they don't already. So you had better get ready for that and the fallout that's going to come with it._ He'd been careless. He'd been stupid.

Now who only knew what was going down in containment...

He pictured Barton, eyes blue and blown wide again, taking out Murray and Tanner. Pictured Loki, dead and lifeless on the floor with an arrow through his throat. Pictured any number of catastrophic scenarios, each worse than the one prior as they raced through his mind.

The elevator doors opened and almost immediately, alarms began to go off. Steve swore and ran the rest of the way, slamming his hand into the scanner so hard a crack formed in the pad.

"Barton!" he shouted, seeing Clint up against the glass with a fist raised, both him and Loki still thankfully appearing alive and unharmed. "Stand down!"

  
  
  


Loki's eyes grew wide when Rogers entered the room running, and he saw the expression on Barton's face switch from pure anger to something almost worse, the sort of smile that Loki reserved for someone about to discover that their trespasses against him had been repaid tenfold.

"Oh it's you-- I am so _glad_ to see the rumors are true."

Loki could only see the back of his head, but he had seen the way he turned, the indolent malice in his posture.

"Why are you protecting him? Huh, Rogers? Scofield told me about your little outburst, told me how much time you spend down here. He got you on the same kind of leash he had on me? No one seems to think so." He saw Barton step forward, and he could read the threat in the way he held himself, arms slightly bowed outwards, like an animal trying to make itself larger.

The image would have been hilarious, the Hawk so small next to the Captain, if not for the fact that Loki highly doubted Rogers would lift a hand against him. Which, of course, left him at a distinct disadvantage.

"Oh no, Barton, I'm afraid you're behind the times." Loki drawled, willing the brunt of Barton's rage back at himself, safe as he was behind the glass. "Another of the announcements you missed out on: I'm turning over a new page, starting afresh. I'm a healer now, aiding in medical research for your realm. There's no leashes, these days." He pushed at his voice, weaving the words and making them sound as threatening, despite the message, as he could.

Loki wasn't looking at Barton, though instead looking over his head at Rogers, trying to watch him for a sign, any advice about what he ought to be doing. Loki could only hope that he had a plan.

  
  
  
  


The look on Barton's face when he turned around was chilling; a smile that had teeth and didn't reach his eyes, which glittered with barely restrained rage. Barton was furious; Steve couldn't wholly blame him, but neither could he allow this situation to escalate. He held his ground as Barton stepped forward, grateful to see that he didn't have his bow and quiver. If he hadn't been planning for violence when he came down here, then he could hopefully be convinced to avoid it.

He winced at Barton's mention of Scofield, wondering how much the man had told him. How much he'd actually figured out and what Barton believed. Before he could reply, however, Loki cut in, his tone deliberately indolent and inimical. Why the hell was he antagonizing Barton further? He cast a lost and perturbed look in Loki's direction and gave his head the faintest shake, hoping he'd get the message.

"There's no mind control, Barton," he explained, fighting to keep his voice as calm and level as possible despite the frantic tattoo his heart was beating against his ribcage. "Scofield's got a bone to pick with me and that's his business," he said and swallowed, hoping Barton wouldn't push with anything else Scofield happened to say. "Fury's been keeping things close to the chest and need-to-know. If he didn't think you needed to know, then you should have that conversation with him. I've been down here on his orders working with Loki to expand our intel. He's also collaborating with Medical."

It wasn't perhaps the most accurate representation of events, but it wasn't untrue. He took a half step forward, hands palm up at his sides in a non-threatening gesture. "He's been helping SHIELD, Barton. He isn't a threat to you. I'm protecting him, yes. Because we should be better than the guys who beat up on a man when he's down and in their custody." He looked Barton in the eyes, hoping he was getting through. Hoping reason would outweigh Barton's anger.

  
  
  
  


"Need to know." Barton drawled, clearly not mollified in the least by the Captain's words.

Loki had seen the headshake, and he took it only to mean that Rogers was no more prepared for this than he.

"You saying you weren't worried about him? Worried about what me being around him, not knowing, might do to me? What if it was a proximity thing? What if you showed up today, and I was sitting here waiting to take you out? Because you didn't think I needed to know. And don't give me the Fury card, we both know that you are exactly as good at taking orders as I am. Better, I've heard, since you get sent away for getting too close to the prisoner, and when you come back you're stripping down and oiling one another up."

The cold anger in his voice was enough to make Loki's palms prickle, his hands ache to reach for his magic and put an end to this, before the barely restrained violence coiled in Barton's chest ripped its way through his ribs and destroyed everything in its path. Including Rogers. Most importantly Rogers.

"You've nothing to fear, really." Loki said, speaking slowly and idly, as if he had no more stake in what was being said than if they had been discussing the weather. "I've been here-- how long now Captain?-- and I've not employed any magic on anyone without their express permission."

"Yeah, well, I bet we'd be hearing a different story if you had your toy with you. I bet the Captain here would have bluer eyes than usual, and you'd be off somewhere getting exactly what you really want from him. Wouldn't you?" The words were pointed, and Loki frowned.

"You're wrong." He told him slowly and evenly, picking his words carefully so as not to lie to the Captain. "I have held the sceptre. The Captain remains as he is, and I am here before you now."

It seems it was the wrong thing to say, though, as it caused the explosion that Loki had hoped to keep from happening.

" _Both_ of them? You have both him and the sceptre, here, and you still thought I didn't need to know? I know how much say you have on this particular assignment, Rogers-- and you didn't have to tell me jack shit. If you had said, Hey Clint, long time no hear, how's it going, by the way-- you might want to keep the fuck out of Dodge-- I'd have listened. You didn't think you owed me at least that much?"

  
  
  
  


All the blood drained from Steve's face when Barton brought up the massage. He wanted to protest -- that it wasn't _like that_ \-- only his body had reacted as if it had been _exactly like that_ and the lie caught in his throat. The sheer strength of Clint's anger, fixed on him in that moment, was paralytic. Did he hate him for not telling him? Or for his closeness to _Loki_? Or... or for his _closeness_ to Loki? (Even if he hadn't-- he wouldn't--)

Loki spoke before he could find his voice. _Over a month_ , he thought, and winced. Loki had been captive more than five weeks now, and Barton hadn't known. And now he and Loki were going at each other's throats and Loki was using the same archly insolent tone he had before everything, before he'd let his walls down and it made something in Steve ache to see those brittle barriers rising.

Then Barton was whirling back at him, red-faced and practically spitting mad.

Steve's voice finally made its way past the block in his throat.

"You were already out of Dodge, Barton," he snapped. "You were on assignment, and forgive me if I was a little busy and assumed that when you got back, you'd act like a rational human being!" He hated himself a little as he said the words, knowing they were harsher than they ought to be. Barton wasn't acting rationally, but he was acting like a human -- coming down here was probably the most predictable response he could have made.

And yet-- "If I had any idea you were on your way back, I'd have found a way to warn you. Fury had me in New York and I got in this morning. If you'd just _found me and talked to me_ instead of running off half-cocked, we could have had this conversation a lot more pleasantly, Clint, but you didn't. Hell, if there had been a danger from proximity, you'd have been the one who walked right into it!" The bubble of anger spent as quickly as it formed, his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, okay? But please. Just... take a deep breath. Loki's been with the scepter. Loki's been out of containment and given access to his magic, and you know what?" A bit of steel returned to his eyes. "He hasn't hurt a damn soul. He saved a woman's life the other day, did Scofield tell you that?"

  
  
  
  


A tiny thrill ran through Loki at the way the Captain jumped in to defend him, and it was amazing to hear... because having it summarized so succinctly, having it spelled out for him... he had been changing, hadn't he? In a hundred small ways, there had been differences. All of them the Captain's fault. All of them because he asked it of Loki, wanted to believe the best of him, and because Loki wanted to live up to that. He still did.

But it was that exact want that made him vulnerable now, and for reasons that both Scofield and Barton had been quick to understand.

He cursed himself for his transparency.

He'd behaved like a fool, and he deserved the derision he got for it, but the Captain was not to blame. It was not his doing-- he was nothing but the unwilling recipient of Loki's stunted affections.

"Scofield didn't need to. Everyone's talking about it, Steve. Can you imagine-- imagine coming home, coming back to the safe place, after being out for weeks, and every day your life is in danger-- you remember what it feels like. And then you get to come home, only when you get there, everyone's singing praises of the monster that you have spent all this time going out on assignments to run away from."

Loki could see the way Barton's bow hand shook, and he wondered if that tremor was always there, now, since him. He wondered if he had been the one to put it there. The monster who had taken Barton's livelihood, along with everything else from him.

He was glad the Hawk was faced away. He didn't know what his own face was doing.

"And you know the worst part? The thing that smarts most? It's not the part where everyone is excited about what's going on, it's not how they expect you to be excited too-- it's how fast they forgave him. You know how hard I had to work to get them to change their mind about Nat? How hard I had to prove myself? He shouldn't have had that option. He should be dead now. Instead he's sitting there, and he's smug, and he's-- you're--" Barton spat the word like an epithet " _friends?_ " he asked. "Only, Scofield says something else. Says you've been down here so much, he reckons you're getting something else out of it. Something more. There's tapes, Steve, you know that? There's tapes, and office talk, and... it makes me physically sick. Alright. Whatever you have going on down here--" He shook his head. "Fury's right to be worried, Scofield's right to be angry, but me?" He paused, like he didn't know how he wanted to finish that.

"I want him gone. I want him dead. And I want you far away from him as you can get. But, you know..." He laughed, a huffy, nearly manic little sound. "We don't every time get what we want, do we?"

Loki saw the way his shoulders hiked upwards, heard the hitch in his voice. He thought Barton might be near to tears, and he felt like he wasn't far off himself.

This was worse than anything else he'd suffered in this cage. This was every bit as deserved as Scofield's punishing spice and Fury's enforced guarding.

And for once, Loki had nothing to say. He didn't think he could swallow, let alone speak.

He hadn't ever meant to get to hear this, to get to know anything about those who had survived him. He knew about the dead, and he felt the burden of that guilt, but at least they weren't actively suffering. And this was the sort he couldn't heal, couldn't help abate.

No matter how many patients he cured, nothing would make up for this. And how many more Bartons had he left out there?

  
  
  
  


Steve felt like he was going to be sick. Barton looked like he might cry. Loki had gone deathly pale and didn't even seem to be breathing.

He wanted to be anywhere but there in that moment. He'd take being back in a foxhole with german tanks headed his way over this. Over the accusing, anguished look on Barton's face and the devastated expression on Loki's. Over the nausea that _Barton knew, everyone knew, Loki now knew if he didn't already_ , and the knowledge that the ground had been ripped out from under him. Over the guilt that came with realizing that he cared about himself when Barton'd had the ground ripped out from under him a long time ago and had been hanging by a thread since.

"No," he whispered. "We don't."

And suddenly, he was angry again. Steve knew all too well what it was not to get what he wanted. He'd lost everything. Everyone. Every dream and aspiration and plan he'd had as a young man had been torn away along with seventy years of his life and hell if he'd even complained when they woke him up and tossed him right into a fresh war with barely time to grieve. And now he'd found something that helped to push back the suffocating loneliness of a world he didn't belong in, something that gave him purpose and someone he might just this once actually _save_ \-- and Barton was giving him hell for it. Making him feel sick with guilt and disgust at himself, as if he didn't know there was something wrong with him, as if he didn't already say he was _sorry_...

"Why?" he demanded, abruptly. "Why doesn't he get that option?" His voice was low but had an edge. "You brought Natasha in from the cold. You got sent to kill her and you didn't. I've read her file, she and I have talked -- I know just the surface of what she did and it's enough. I know you forgave her and made a different call and she became a lot more than what she was. A lot more to you." He glared at Clint challengingly. "There are people who claimed she should have been dead. And look at her now, Clint. So what makes you so much more worthy as a judge of character than me? Why doesn't he get a second chance? Because you have a personal grudge?"

He took a step forward until he was right up in Barton's face. "I'm sorry you're hurting, Clint. I really am. But I'm not damning someone just 'cause you're hurt. If you can't deal with that, the door is right over there."

  
  
  
  


Loki slapped a hand over his mouth to try and hold back the keening noise that fought to break free of his lips.

He was not Romanoff, he was not the same cut of cloth as all of his friends, but Rogers insisted-- persisted-- always had treated him as if he deserved that chance. He believed that he did. And maybe he was the only one. It seemed that way.

"I didn't-- I can't make reparations for this." The words came out on a moan, and he felt his stomach pitching, felt like he should fall to his knees, curl into a ball, perhaps empty himself of the bile crawling up his throat.

"I can't fix any of this. I can't excuse it. And I wouldn't try-- it wouldn't do you justice. You should be angry, you should be hurt. You should want to hurt me the way I-- The way I did hurt you, the way my being here still does."

He was shaking with the stress of opening himself in front of this man, as sensible an action as divesting himself of all of his garments on a battlefield.

And yet, perhaps that was exactly what this situation called for.

"Barton, I am sorry. I cannot say it enough-- what I did, what I had to do-- what I thought I had to do, you were... you were a tool to me. You were a tool when I thought none of your people could ever grow to be more than that. When I thought-- It doesn't matter. I was wrong. You know that, and so do I. I cannot fix it, or undo what's been done. I can only, one day at a time, seek to change, to get better. Your Captain.... he is good, has a way of making you want to be better." Loki looked up, past Barton's slack jawed face, straight into Rogers' eyes.

"I am trying. And I am not asking that you give me a second chance, or asking you to forget what has been done to you. I am asking, only, that you do not take what is good about the Captain, and blame him for my misdeeds through it. Blame me, because you must. Hate me, because it is within your right, and because if you did not, you could only hate yourself. But know that I am not... what I once was. And you-- especially you-- have nothing to fear from me. Not now, not ever again. I'm so sorry." His words tapered off and he was unsure, unsure if he had done any good, if he had helped anything, in the silence that shrouded the room.

Clint shook himself visibly, and Loki wove, uncertainly, on his feet.

Barton looked back at Rogers.

"You want to know why he doesn't get another chance?" He asked, voice low and still angry, and Loki could feel his stomach sinking at the words.

"Because you know you can't believe a goddamn word of it. You know what he did, you've seen Stark's footage of him and thor fighting. He weaponizes tears, he stabbed his own brother in the ribs for buying that shit. Nat, she's got a heart. She had sympathy, she tries to save people. Him?" He jerked his head back at Loki, and Loki began withdrawing, slinking further back into his cell.

"He tries to impress you. That's all. There's bets you know. How long before he betrays you. How long before he flips his shit. How many of us are going to get killed in the backlash. They think Fury's crazy, risking you around him. And they're right. Only... only I think we already lost you a little bit. Because the Steve I knew? The Steve I thought I was friends with? He went out of his way trying to keep everybody safe from the bad guys. From guys like him. And you? All you do is keep bringing more and more people closer. He's a bomb Cap, and when he goes off?" He looked back and forth between the, then stood straighter, seemingly pulling himself together.

"I'm not gonna be anywhere near it. And I wouldn't want to be your conscience when it happens."

That said, he marched straight up to Rogers, gave him a hard glare, and kept going.

  
  
  
  


The muffled noise that Loki made drew Steve's attention, and when he interjected -- it was the most peculiar mix of pride, victory, and horror that rose in Steve's gorge. Loki, who had been wholly unrepentant at first -- and then limitedly contrite when asked later -- was apologizing. The pain in his voice, the remorse with which he spoke, and the way he looked at Steve all set his eyes burning and filled him with an ache and a desire to charge into the cell and wrap his arms around him. To comfort him and thank him and make sure he saw and realized the ways in which he had changed...

Ways that Barton refused to see. Would never see.

Part of him wanted to let Clint walk. To get him the hell out of there and have this awful encounter end. Wanted to get Clint as far away as possible, from him, from Loki, from all of it.

But then the guilt came creeping in. Steve had been given command of the Avengers, and Clint was an Avenger. That made Clint one of Steve's men.

And Steve didn't leave a man behind.

"Wait," he called out, whirling around and grabbing Clint by the shoulder. He swallowed, blinking back the traitorous tears that had welled in his eyes. "Wait," he repeated, coughing to clear the lump in his throat. "Barton..."

Barton was an Avenger and an Agent of SHIELD and Steve owed him. Owed him safety. And even if Loki was not a threat, Clint felt threatened. He wouldn't sacrifice Loki for Barton, but he would be remiss if he didn't try to find some way of helping them both. At least enough that Barton could sleep at night without one eye open.

(Steve already doubted his own ability to sleep ever again.)

"You've seen Loki's security. You know he isn't hurting anyone," he said quietly. "I don't think there's anything more I can say or do right now to put your mind at ease there. But if you're nervous about the scepter..." he swallowed again. "Look, I can... I can show you the security there. Fury's got it locked down tight. Would that-- would that help?"

  
  
  
  


He'd accomplished nothing-- he saw that, as the Captain stared at him, saw the look in his eyes and written across his face, like he'd been slapped. Like Loki had slapped him again.

And then he called out after Barton, after Barton had denied that Loki could so much as feel.

_Because you're a monster and he's finally seen it._

He saw the Captain catch Barton, saw them speaking in voices too soft to carry back to him. He saw Barton glance back towards his cell and saw him turn his back to Loki, with the sort of finality that made Loki clench his teeth shut, made his jaw ache.

He caught Barton's nodding along-- agreeing with whatever it was Rogers had said, whatever truth he'd finally seen, and Loki couldn't look any more. He lowered his gaze to the floor and let the hot tears under his lids fill his vision, making the drab grey dance, making everything seem blurry and more welcoming. He felt too hot, too cold, like he was feverish, like he was sick. Like he'd never be well again. He crossed his arms over himself, holding on just below the shoulders and squeezing tight, like maybe if he held hard enough, he could pull himself inwards, implode like the bomb he was, only he wouldn't take anyone out with him.

None of them deserved that. He didn't want to do that.

He let himself fall down, pulled himself into a ball, knees to his eyes and his arms around them, gripping until he felt his bones grind.

Barton had finally managed to get through where he couldn't, convinced Rogers that he was a monster, that he deserved to die, and through the self pity, he felt a tiny bit relieved.

At least if he believed that, it meant he wouldn't keep pursuing what he shouldn't. He would never know about Thanos, would never rain wrath upon Midgard.

He might not ever know that Loki's last decision was one that he would have been-- once, he would have been so proud of it, Loki thought. For once, someone would have been proud of him.

He didn't know if they were still there, didn't know if they were watching him, if they were laughing, if Barton had gone-- maybe they both had. Maybe he was alone. Maybe they would decide soon how he should be gotten rid of. He couldn't blame them.

He narrowed his world into the space he took up, and pushed his head down on his knees until the pressure made his eyes swim and his temples ache. It matched the ache he felt everywhere else, just then.

  
  
  
  


Steve wanted to say something to Loki before he and Barton left, but when he glanced back over his shoulder to offer a weak smile -- paltry reassurance that everything would be alright -- Loki had already looked away. Barton's gruff agreement to go with him to see the scepter was tenuous enough that he couldn't afford to linger, and so, biting his lip, he opened the door and followed Barton out, silently promising to come back as soon as possible. He even left his bag with the sandwiches in the antechamber. Perhaps... perhaps once they'd all calmed down his stomach would unclench enough for food.

He still felt sick enough now that the thought of it made his insides rebel.

"Fury oversaw the construction," he heard himself saying, though he felt oddly detached from his own voice as some separate part of him recited off the parameters of the scepter chamber and the protocols in place. Clint followed him, a half-pace behind and face set in stone. Steve wasn't sure if he was similarly shut down, or if the grave facade was concealing a cauldron of bubbling rage still.

He wasn't sure what would feel worse.

The trip to the scepter chamber felt like it took forever and no time at all. After this, after this he would go see Loki and tell him how proud he was. How Clint was wrong. They'd have sandwiches. And then...

And then he didn't know. Would Fury have him banned from Loki's cell? Would the rumors already spreading like wildfire cost him his job?

His gut sank. If word got out, if he was stripped of his rank as Captain America... there was a very real possibility he might never see Loki again. And if after everything--

They were at the door. He gulped down a few breaths, as quietly as he could, attempting to stave off the rising sense of panic. Priorities. One thing at a time. He could only handle one thing at a time.

"What is it?" Barton eyed him warily.

"Nothing." Steve clenched his jaw, and put his hand on the scanner, leaning forward to allow his retinal patterns to be recognized.

The first set of doors opened. He repeated the process, with an additional passcode and ID scan at the next set, which hissed open with a pressurized release.

"Here it is."

The room was as Steve remembered it, only empty now. The scepter glimmered dully from its position in the heavily-reinforced box, reachable only through the chamber Loki stood in with several armed guards.

"They have the whole placed locked down tight," he added.

Clint grunted. He didn't appear convinced.

"Here," Steve said, stepping forward and gesturing for Clint to follow him. He received a look like he'd possibly lost his mind, but then Barton warily followed, up the steps to the clear chamber of hulk-proof glass and ice-resistant polymers as Steve powered up the console and typed in his credentials and verified security so the door would open.

"He can't take the scepter out," he explained. "Just touch it. It's secured and you can only reach through like this--"

Walking into the chamber, he demonstrated, sticking one hand through the gap and holding it over the scepter's handle.

And as he did so, his fingers only just barely brushed the metal...

Just for a moment...

It was a peculiar sensation, like honey and electricity and poison, singing and searing up his nerves. He gasped, the world contracting to a pinpoint.

And he felt like he was falling...

  
  
  
  


Loki _felt_ it, not in a physical way, not as a pull on his magic or like a call, it was a sharp jolt, like the air had been squeezed out of him from the bottom upwards.

He bolted to his feet, panic setting in.

"ROGERS!" He screamed, as if it would do anything, as if he was of any use at all. As if he could protect him from _this._

Stifling a sob, Loki hit the glass with his fists, and then again, this time with his magic behind it. He felt the wall shift, and he snarled, angry that it wasn't enough, angry that they were trying to keep him from Steve. He had no rational thoughts in his head, and he felt like-- like a beast.

Closing his eyes, he pushed himself to the cold, and beyond, and with the combination of seidhr and physical power and the cold that rolled off his Jotun form, He pushed through the ice and went stumbling into the hall, through the door.

Tanner came toward him, eyes wide and scared, gun pointed at him. Loki snarled and froze his feet to the floor, formed a stalagmite of ice from his hobble to the barrel, ensuring he couldn't lift it to shoot.  

Were he less wild with panic, he might have apologized. Right then, he didn't care.

He'd only been there once, only knew the way in the vaguest of senses, but each Agent he passed who tried to touch him pulled their hands away as if burned. Each one who raised a gun found their barrels blocked solid with ice, their actions unable to slide.

And none stopped him.

When he reached the doors, he tried to use his cold to turn the metal brittle, to force it to give in, but he couldn't. It did nothing. It had served him so well for a moment, but not long enough.

He screamed, rage and pain and panic pulling out of his throat, until the blue bled from him, and so did the heat that coated his mind, robbing him of his thoughts.

He could hear Barton inside, yelling for Rogers. He wanted to yell for him, too.

Instead, he remembered the hand pressed against the glass of his cell. He lifted his own and firmed the illusion, making it hold. Willing himself to be strong enough for this, just this once.

Behind him, he erected one of his bulletproof shields, and then he slid his hand onto the scanner. He thought of the eyes that he had seen so close, when Rogers had helped him from this room the last time, remembered every flake of color, every streak of hue. He turned his eyes to match and leaned in, holding his breath until the door slid open, and beyond it, a second one.

Once through, he froze, his own fear rendering him paralyzed as he saw Rogers in the chamber he had stood in, saw his hand on the sceptre-- not even closed around it. He was just touching it, so gently, his beautiful hand outstretched and all of him tensed, as if in pain. Blood dripped from his nose and spread out over his lips and chin, blood dripped onto his chest and Loki couldn't stop the sound of distress that was wrenched from him.

Barton looked at him in surprise and seemed to shake himself from the shocked and terrified stupor.

"You!" He yelled. "You're doing this!"

"No Barton." Loki snarled, and with his seidhr, he trapped him in a small bubble of light, his shield, only all around the man. "Stay there, you'll be safe for now."

He hoped that was true. His own paralysis gone, he ran towards the containment cell, not sure what he would do. Only hoping he wasn't already too late.

  
  
  
  


For a second (an eternity) Steve felt like he was falling.

And then, he was being _pulled_ \-- something latched on to the inside of his skull like a set of claws, tugging him from the backs of his eyes in a horrible, lurching sensation--

Abruptly he hit the ground, trembling and gasping as he looked up at the surreally dark landscape he'd landed in. The floating ruins and scattered stones and archways were a grim and perverted echo of the sketches Steve had made in fantasizing about Asgard, rising up nauseatingly around him on this lifeless rock.

No, not lifeless. Movement skittered around the edges of his vision and fear crept up his spine. Steve tried to get to his feet, but gravity seemed to work differently, unwilling to oblige him.

"You have something of mine," a voice like a rockslide announced. Steve looked up and swallowed as one of the structures rotated, revealing a throne with a being of impossible size seated upon it. A giant with purple skin and golden armor, hovering and massive.

Steve opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"Bring it," the entity stated, and it took Steve a moment to realize it was not him being addressed; in that moment strong hands had gripped his arms and he was being dragged forward, deposited before the throne as it sunk to the ground.

He caught a brief glimpse of the beings that had carted him forward as they now backed away -- aliens, they had to be, shaped like women, but impossibly strong, one of them green and the other blue and patchwork, like an ill-made doll -- but then that gravelly, resonating voice boomed through his hearing, projecting into the depths of his mind once again.

"You have something of mine," it repeated, then, with a horrible chuckle that made the hair on the back of Steve's neck stand on end. "Or perhaps more than one something. It seems Laufeyson has failed once again..." He trailed off and hummed contemplatively. "Disappointing. But not unexpected. He will still have a use, at the end of things, if naught else."

"Who are you?" Steve managed to croak. "Where is--"

"Silence, worm!" One of the women, the blue one, moved forward with the impossible speed of a striking snake, catching him hard across the jaw.

"At ease, my daughter," the being in the throne said. Steve struggled to right himself, face aching. "I am a bringer of ends, mortal. A master of the eternal. And you..." He stroked the grooves in his chin thoughtfully. "Such a strong mind. So much will. Curious."

Steve opened his mouth, but before he could make another sound, the blue woman took a warned step forward and he snapped his jaw shut.

"I am curious to know of how my plans progress on your world." The being leaned forward, scrutinizing Steve. "So much _will_. I wonder if you would prove useful, little mortal. I could use an agent in the wake of Laufeyson's failure to find out what I need to know... A native inhabitant would have much insight."

"I'm not telling you anything," Steve said firmly, not sure who this man-- giant-- thing was, but reasonably sure that he was more dangerous than anything else he'd encountered. Some primal part of his brain cringed in terror; the part that had allowed Steve's mammalian ancestors to recognize an apex predator and hide.

The being laughed, then his mouth twisted in a cruel sneer. "Oh, not willingly, I'm sure," he rumbled. "But even the strongest wills can be broken. And minds are such fragile things..." He leaned back in his throne. "Read him."

Before Steve could react, his arms were gripped once more, and then a cloaked and hooded figure shaped like a man stepped forward. As it approached Steve caught sight of a mangled face held together with a metal mask, revealing bared and bloody teeth. He tried to thrash and pull away, not knowing what was about to happen but certain it would be nothing good, but despite his strength he was held firmly in place. Despite his strength--

He looked down and yelped in surprise and horror. His body was skinny and feeble, his chest sunken and bones pronounced once more, all but drowning like a child in his baggy clothes. Pale flesh bloomed with bruises, weak and useless and unable to get away, unable to move or resist as a withered hand with too many fingers reached out toward his face.

It touched, and Steve bit down hard as pain exploded through his mind like a railroad spike.

_Don't scream._

That had been the mantra of his childhood. Growing up, as a small child he'd cried and wailed as doctors approached him with needles and other instruments until his mother had sat him down and looked him square in the eye and told him to be brave and not make a sound, and she'd buy him a sucker when they were done.

_Don't scream._

Later, when he got beat up after school, a boy named James who introduced himself as Bucky told him he'd do better not to cry out if anyone hit him. They'd keep hitting him if he cried. If he had to shout, then he should shout for Bucky, because he'd come running and help, at least.

_Don't scream._

He'd held back any sound of pain more than a grunt. More than a gasp. Every beating and every fight, every illness that ravaged him and left him terrified that if he went to sleep he wouldn't wake up. He hadn't made a sound.

_Don't scream._

Not after Bucky died. Not when he hit the water in the arctic. Not when he woke to found everything gone.

_Don't...._

The pain tore through him. It invaded every corner of his brain, barbed tendrils sinking into his thoughts and memories, reaping what they would. He gasped and twisted, trying to pull away, trying to fight, trying to get them out, get out get out out get out--

_Don't--_

Steve opened his eyes and felt blinded by the light. His throat felt hoarse, as if he'd been shouting, and the sudden absence of agony was a pain in and of itself. His knees gave out and he was falling again, the smell of copper in his sinuses and heavy on his tongue.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter, but we promise we won't leave you hanging for long! Update should happen most likely on Tuesday.


	14. Fourteen

He reached his side and grabbed for him, unsure whether he would be helping or hurting or dooming them both, but knowing he couldn't sit by and do nothing.

He pulled, fighting back against the hold that the weapon had on Rogers, on his hand, on his mind-- Loki knew he was tugging against the force of Thanos, and only hoped that Rogers would not be torn asunder between them.

He was just a human, for all that he was an extraordinary one, he had to be cared for, had to be protected, had to be _saved_.

He gave a mighty heave and broke the connection, sending him toppling backwards into the clear wall, his head impacting with a sickening sound, but his body cushioning the other man's fall.

He tugged at him in his lap, his weight resting heavily on his legs and his hands manipulating his face until he was looking up, up at Loki. He couldn't tell if he was breathing, couldn't tell if he could see anything through his eyes, couldn't--

"Steve, Steve, stay with me." He was babbling but already springing to work, pulling his eyes farther out, looking down at the krellr that swarmed over his body.

Only where it had been so bright before, too bright, burning madly, it was dull, and where it had rushed and flowed, it was sluggish.

Loki bit down on a despairing sob.

There was a vast inky darkness down the middle of Rogers, cleaving him from head to stomach, and so much was missing, so much was gone, like he'd bled out.

"No, Steve, no, why--" He bit off the question. He knew why. To kill him. They'd been fetching the weapon to kill him with it. A just punishment, if he had just warned him, if he had explained--

But he couldn't deal with that now, needed to focus on the matter at hand.

He spread his hands out and began to try pulling at the krellr, trying to convince it to patch itself up, to fill out the areas some, but there was just not enough of it.

And no one could donate krellr _but_ Steve.

Unless Loki could manufacture artificially... if he could build krellr from seidhr... he didn't know what such a transfusion might do, if it would work-- all he knew was he was losing him, Steve was dying and he couldn't, he couldn't let that happen, he wasn't going to allow that.

He pulled his reserves completely, dropping both the shield outside the doors and the one holding Barton in place, and erecting a much smaller one over the door of the tiny room they were in.

"I'm going to save you, I'm going to help you, hang on Steve, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, this was never supposed to happen. Not to you. It was supposed to be me, I'm sorry..." He didn't know if he could hear him, didn't know if the tears streaming down his cheeks were making it as far as Rogers' face, but that wasn't important.

What was important was the seidhr creating a net, the fixed points of his magic filling out the darkness, far more regularly spaced than krellr ever was, far too still, but it was working, it was bringing light back and he could feel, under his fingers, Steve's chest shuddering as he breathed, as his heart rate leapt and then evened.

"Steve," Loki was begging now, unable to see his face beyond the mask of it he was creating out of individually placed stars, the map of the man he loved glowing eerily in the rushing silence that filled his ears.

And then it was done, there was no more that he could do, and he let his eyes drop closed, let the eyelids squeeze the tears out as he leaned forward and gasped for air against Steve's flushed skin.

"Please, _Steve_..." he sounded as broken as he felt, and he didn't care how many armed men were surrounding them now. All he cared about was that this man should live, that Captain America was going to open his eyes, that Steve Rogers was going to draw another breath.

  
  
  
  


He was fading. Everything was fading. The lights and the sound of someone shouting a name and the sensation of hitting the ground, or something on the ground... all of it faded and dwindled under the encroaching gray that filled his senses. All he could still make out was the hollow ache in his mind and bones, and the feeble, slowing beat of his heart.

Oh.

This was dying. Again. Probably.

He should probably fight, he thought sluggishly. Fight. Live. He had-- he had things to do, people to, to take care of, though he couldn't... couldn't remember exactly...

He was just so tired...

The gray washed over him, dimming everything.

And then, a prickling sensation, like hot oil beneath his skin and sparks landing within him. Steve twitched, and there was pain and light and the world returning as something flowed within him. It called to him. Or someone did.

Steve inhaled. The trickle became a flow became a tide that strengthened him, pulling him back, the current overpowering the gray and forcing it to ebb, and finally vanish. He gasped, convulsing with a deep, shuddering breath and cough. He _ached_ everywhere.

Blinking the bleariness from his eyes, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Tried to remember, but his mind had been ransacked and everything was out of order, memories scattered and out of sync. He remembered fighting the Chitauri and fighting bullies in an alleyway and Bucky falling and waking up in 2012 and combatting Red Skull and seeing his own creepy replica in the depths of SHIELD and crashing into the ice and touching the scepter and Loki--

 _Loki_.

He blinked again and looked up at a familiar and beautiful face, hovering so close.

Loki. He tried-- tried remembering-- _Loki_. Loki leading the invasion; Loki returning to Asgard; Loki the infiltrator wearing Steve's face; Loki the prisoner; Loki, his prisoner; sandwiches and showers and haircuts and books and pagers and sketches and blue blue blue and his--

Loki couldn't be here. Loki was in a cell, buried deep enough for it to be a living tomb. This wasn't real, he thought with a sinking feeling. This was more of whatever tore through his mind, a shattered memory, his confused mind fabricating comfort as he died. Only...

Only, Loki had said he would be here when Steve woke up. He had _said_.

Mustering his strength, he lifted a trembling hand and brought it clumsily to Loki's face, trailing his fingers down his temple and over his cheek. To his surprise, the flesh there was cool and solid. Real. Loki was here. Impossibly, he was here, holding him, pulling him back from the edge. "Loki," Steve breathed, and felt tears slip from the corners of his eyes down his temples.

His body shuddered, spasming with the aftershocks of what had been done to him. What had been-- he choked, then looked up at Loki in panic. "Loki," he whispered hoarsely. "I... I saw... I saw Him. I saw Him and He saw, He saw _into_ me, He-- I--" his breathing hitched, too fast, too uneven. "What-- who was-- how--?" He stared helplessly up at Loki, begging for some of it to make sense, or failing that to all go away, his broken words crumbling away and a small muffled noise dangerously close to a whimper slipping from his lips instead.

He leaned into Loki. Loki was here. Loki was real. Loki had been here when he woke. And right now Steve needed all the grounding he could get.

  
  
  
  


He caught the Captain's hand and pressed it against his face with a laugh that sounded more like a sob than anything. The joy he felt ebbed, though, as Steve spoke.

His heart sunk and he shook his head.

"Shh, shh. He can't get to you now, you're safe for now. His name is Thanos, and we will speak more of him later. Now I need you to breathe, concentrate on making your breathing even. Here." He moved Rogers's hand from his face to his chest.

"Breathe with me." He said, certain he could feel Loki's own too-fast heartbeat, but Loki inhaled deeply, held it, and let the air out. And again. He could feel his heart rate slowing that way, and he reached down with his free hand to brush the tears off of his face, then he mopped some of the blood from Steve's lips with the sleeve of his shirt.

Relief had never come to Loki as coupled with dread as this was.

Steve wanted to talk about Thanos, Loki needed to, because he needed to know what Thanos has said, what he thought, what he had done... but now wasn't the time. Now was time to get Rogers stabilized fully, and to make sure that the missing krellr within him would return.

Without switching his eyes, Loki stopped cleaning and swept his hand down Steve's torso, touching his krellr and sending it south, then rolling it upwards in time to the rhythm of breaths that he was establishing.

The sounds of chaos around them rose, and Loki snuck a glimpse out of their little room.

Fury had arrived on the scene and Barton looked... stricken.

There were so many men, armored against the cold, armored against him, and they didn't carry all guns, any more. Wicked black swords, as utilitarian as the rest of their weaponry, were unsheathed and held at the ready.

Loki closed his eyes and breathed for Steve.

He could keep the world out for a little longer. He had to. For Steve.

"You're going to be okay now. You're going to be fine. Keep breathing, Steve, I have you, it's okay." He crooned as comfortingly as he could through his own panic, pushing that away in favor of keeping the rhythm right.

There was going to be Hel to pay, and Loki could only hope that none of the Agents who had touched him on his way here were too badly ice burned.

Damn.

  
  
  
  


Steve tried to calm himself and breathe as Loki instructed, though the residual tremors made it difficult. Still, the warmth of Loki's touch, the solidity of his presence and the feeling of his heart beating under Steve's hand where Loki had placed it served as a reminder that he was here, and he was alive as well, and this was _safe_.

He breathed, in and out, and slowly felt some of the tension bleed from his body. In its wake lay nothing but exhaustion. He lay still, breathing and little else, as Loki wiped the tears from his temples and hairline and something sticky from the lower half of his face. Steve leaned ever so slightly into the touch, eyelids fluttering.

"Thank you," he murmured.

He wanted so much to believe Loki's words of reassurance; that it was okay. That everything was going to be okay. Loki had him now and nothing else and it would all be--

Steve's eyes opened. He'd been listening to Loki's voice, but it wasn't the only sound in the chamber. Looking around for the first time, his blood went cold at the sight of agents in tactical gear surrounding them, armed with sharp weapons as they circled him and Loki both.

"No!" he moaned weakly in protest, trying to sit up, to get his body to obey. "Leave him ‘lone," he slurred, spots appearing at the edges of his vision as he tried to right himself, the hand on Loki's chest balling into a fist around his tunic. "Nick," he said, pleading, as he scanned the throng of agents for Fury.

"Nick, ‘s all my fault. I touched it, my fault. Sir. Please..."

If they blamed Loki, if they took him away, if they didn't let Steve see him anymore, he wasn't sure he could take it.

" _Please_ ," he repeated.  

He expected Fury to be angry, but instead the look in his eye was pitying; sad. His jaw worked for a moment, and Steve hoped...

"Agents. Restrain Captain Rogers and take him to Medical."

His heart plummeted. "No!"

  
  
  
  


With a cold sort of silent anger, and a strength he had not thought possible of himself now, Loki stood, shifting his grip until he held Steve in an almost bridal carry.

"Don't fear for your Captain." Loki spoke clearly, projecting his voice magically so that the entire chamber echoed with it.

With that, he gathered Rogers as close to his chest as he could, pulled the shield from the door, wrapped it around them in a bubble, and let them sink into light and emptiness and silence and safety.

He did not like traveling this way, handy though it could be, because the strain on his seidhr was heavy. But he had to see that Steve was safe, and cared for the way he needed to be. He needed to be the one to care for him, and to be there when he woke.

He settled him on a bed, plain and somewhat dingy until the moment Rogers' back touched it, at which point it shone and turned plush, soft and huge and lavish, covered in pillows and blankets.

"I'm sorry to have taken you from your people." Loki said stiffly, uncertain how he should progress, unsure what moves would and wouldn't make the Captain fear him, now that-- now that he probably did hate him.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He hurried to assure him. "You... you've been hurt and I have to see you whole. I promise when we're done here I will take you back, I'll turn myself in to your people again. I just have to see you safe first. Okay?"  

He brushed at the hair on the Captain's forehead, short as it was, and summoned a cloth filled with water from the bathroom.

He did not even want to leave his side for that long.

He mopped at the blood, already drying brown and crisp against the flesh of the Captain's face.

"You should rest, if you can." Loki told him. "You must need it after your ordeal. Unless there is something you need first, something you need more...?"

  
  
  
  


The next few moments were utter confusion. Steve felt himself being lifted, heard Loki's voice near his ear, and then there was a strange tugging sensation again. For an instant, he panicked, terrified that he was being pulled back -- back to that place, but then the feeling was over and the voices around him were gone and Loki was still there, lowering him on to something soft.

Soft? Steve blinked. The lights were dimmer and the air felt warmer. He looked around and the soldiers, the containment chamber, Fury -- all were gone. They'd been pulled somewhere else.

They. Loki was still with him, and far away from the armed agents. Loki was safe, and Steve was with him.

He knew everything else ought to matter, but his head hurt and his mind felt like it had been crushed into so many pieces. Loki was safe and he was with Loki and Loki said everything would be okay.

Loki didn't lie to Steve.

"Mmm," Steve hummed as Loki gently mopped at his face, fingers running through his hair. Rest sounded good; he could use rest. He reached out and took hold of Loki's hand. "Be here when I wake up?" he asked, seeking green eyes.

  
  
  
  


Loki felt the words pulling at his heart, and he couldn't help himself, wrapping his other hand around Steve's, cloth and all.

"I swear to you, I will be." He told him, already thinking towards the Agents that would be looking for him, the trouble he had brought crashing down upon his head. The sceptre--He would know if anyone else touched it, but he wouldn't care. It wasn't Steve. It didn't matter.

He resumed cleaning him up, getting all of the tears and sweat and blood off of his face, wishing he could just as readily take his troubles.

He sat next to him, a chair like the one deep below SHIELD handily manifesting himself under him, and he let Rogers keep his hand.

He tried to think of the things his mother would say to him, when he was sick. The sort of comforting words that a Healer would offer, but none of it seemed enough. Not enough for the circumstances, and not enough for him.

Instead, he tossed the washcloth carelessly aside and began stroking his forehead with the pads of his fingers, gently running them down his nose the way you did with small children, when sending them off to their naps.

Under his breath, he began humming, and then from there it turned to him softly crooning, in the old tongues of Midgard, sweet songs about sleep and sorrow.

It wasn't until he was halfway through the song that the words registered, their meanings chilling and his heart fluttered as he let them fade from his lips.

_I rock my friend to sleep, but outside there is a face in the window._

He refused to let anyone hurt Steve, it was something he could not begin to know how he was going to stop, but he had to find a way. He'd been more than willing to accept that he should die by the mad Titan's hand, but he would not let Steve share his fate, and he would do anything and everything he could to stop it.

Where before he'd been willing to go quietly to his doom, now he would have to ready himself to fight. It would have been easier if Steve and Barton had simply shot him. At least he wouldn't have to go into battle, fighting to save someone who... didn't Steve hate him now? He could hardly blame him.

But Steve had asked him to be here, to stay with him.

Perhaps because he was hurt, because he wanted comfort. Because there was no one else around. Because he was afraid, as he had said, of sleeping only to wake and discover that time had gone past, that he was alone again in a new world of strangers.

He could at least give him that, he could stay. He was exhausted, too-- between the soreness in his muscles from his flight to the sceptre room, and the emptiness he felt where his magic ought to be, he shuddered.

He should stay awake, should keep his guards up against threats, mortal and otherwise. But for now... for now he had enough left in him to create another shield sphere around the two of them.

He leaned forward and propped his elbow on the bed, staring at their joined hands and mumbling out a song that was coming slower as he felt himself nodding off...

  
  
  
  


Safe.

There was no gunfire, no bombs going off, no soldiers shouting and no rumbling voice resonating in his bones. Steve was safe, and he let himself drift, comforted by Loki's presence and his soothing voice as it lilted in a haunting melody with words Steve didn't understand.

Perhaps this was all in his head. Maybe he'd wake up and find it was a nightmare. Or, partly a nightmare. The part right now...

Steve let himself drift, eyes closed and breathing evening. If he was already dreaming, then he'd be fine if he didn't wake.

His hand tightened around Loki's once more, then went slack with sleep.

  
  


\---

  
  


He woke slowly, grogginess weighing down his eyelids and rendering his thoughts leaden. The light was dim and amber where it filtered through the curtains, and he couldn't be sure what time it was. Or, where he was, he realized; his bedroom windows were on the opposite wall, and he had blinds...

He frowned, turning his head to puzzle out where he was--

\-- And saw Loki, head and arms on the bed beside him, dark hair fanning out around him and obscuring his face. A sleepy smile tugged at Steve's lips as he found himself struck with a curious sense of deja vu. Unthinking, mind still sluggish with sleep, he gave Loki's hand a gentle squeeze where it still lay in his own, running the pad of his thumb over the back of Loki's knuckles.

  
  
  


The movement and touch woke him and he bolted upright, alert and startled and ready to kill anything that so much as breathed in the Captain's direction.

Instead he was met with a faceful of his own hair, and beyond it the Captain himself, eyes open, his hand stroking Loki's own.

He looked peaceful, almost happy, and Loki knew he must not have been awake for long.

He wished Steve could stay like this, happy and serene, forever. But Loki knew too that wasn't possible.

"How do you feel? You ah-- you gave me a bit of a scare." He said carefully, treading lightly, lest the Captain remember why he had gone after the sceptre in the first place, and decide to finish the job now.

How sad, that he should be more concerned that the man might hurt himself, in trying to kill him.

The understatement, too, sat uneasily in his mouth. Loki wanted to reach out, to pull the Captain to him, to coil protectively around him like a dragon guarding its hoard.

He didn't know at what point this man had become so precious to him, but he had, and Loki was near sick with it.

"I-- sorry. About bringing you here. Your Agents would have taken me away, and I had to be sure the magic took, had to be sure that you would heal. We nearly-- you almost." He choked on the words.

"I thought you were dead." He whispered, reminded of the last time he'd said that. He wished he could enfold Steve in his arms now as he had then, but it felt... wrong. Unacceptable, and selfish, given that it was the Captain who was injured, the Captain who was disgusted by the thought of the sort of love Loki held for him.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, grounding breath, then turned steady eyes on Rogers' face.

"Are you going to be okay?" He asked.

  
  
  


"I'm... I'm okay," Steve said, taking a moment to take inventory of himself to ensure the words were true. His head hurt, and if he'd been capable of being drunk since the serum he might have mistaken the feeling for a mild hangover. "Tired and a bit sore, but, that's all." He bit his lip, feeling horribly guilty for the way Loki's voice broke and waned to a whisper when he described Steve's near miss. He hadn't meant to cause him fear or pain, and thought he knew he ought to let go of Loki's hand and quit clinging, he found he couldn't; instead he squeezed his fingers tighter. "I'm sorry. I'm okay now. Or I will be real soon," he promised.

"Just -- where is here?" he looked around. He was in a bed, which seemed far too plush and well-cushioned for the rest of the drab and generic room. There was a desk with a phone, a lamp, a set of drawers, and a small stand with an old television on it and what might have been a mini-fridge beneath it, though Steve wasn't sure from his current angle. A motel room? How had he and Loki gotten to a motel room?

How had Loki gotten out of his cell?

He tried to remember the events just prior. He recalled Loki singing and stroking his face, and before that yelling and pleading, and pain...

Everything was a jumble. Trying to think on it, to sift through the shards made the pain in his head intensify to the point that he inhaled sharply. His pulse quickened. Dread coiled in his stomach though he wasn't sure why, and he looked to Loki imploringly. "Loki, I can't-- I don't--" he licked his lips and swallowed, still unwilling to relinquish his grip on Loki's hand. It was the only familiar thing in this room, the only lifeline to reality he had. "What happened?"

  
  
  


Loki held Steve's hand tighter, reaching out to press his fingers to the fluttering pulse point in his neck.

"Try and relax." he murmured. "You are probably weak yet."

He decided to answer the easiest question first.

"We are in a small room of a small inn, on the other side of a large river from where we were." He spoke evenly. "That is all I know of it. I'm afraid we had to leave in a hurry." He frowned.

"As for what happened..." An ache settled in his chest.

"Barton returned and managed to convince you that I was everything I had claimed to be, that I am... you left, and I suppose you went to the sceptre's holding cell. I think you meant to use it in my execution, but, when you touched it..." He trailed off, watching Steve for a reaction.

"I do not know what you saw, but I can make a guess. I lied to you, once, about being addicted to the magic the sceptre holds. It was never that. It was that-- Thanos, the man you saw... I am indebted to him. The Chitauri were his gift to me, and I... you were never meant to know." His voice devolved into a whine, and he couldn't look at the Captain's face any more. "It was never meant to be you, to hurt you... You weren't suppose to find out, because you can't fight him, and now he knows about you, he knows and I don't know how to keep you safe and you probably think I am an idiot because I want to and you were going to kill me but I just want to know that when I'm gone you'll be safe, and your Brooklyn will be safe, and the people you care about, the people you love--" He broke off, clapping a hand over his mouth before he said too much, before he gave too much away, and he lowered it and his head, trying to get control of himself.

Steve needed him to be strong right now. Steve deserved someone better than this. Someone who could do more than just bring trouble down on him, and patch him up. Someone better for him.

"When you-- when you got back. When I pulled you away from it... Your krellr was missing. So much of it was gone. I thought I-- we were going to lose you, I thought. I don't know if there will be effects, but I had to make a decision. You can't transfer krellr, no one can but you. I just. I had to brighten the dark spots. I filled you with my seidhr. It... it seems to have been enough. As you rest, your krellr should rebuild, but I need-- I need to keep an eye on it. I'm sorry, I know you probably don't want-- I didn't mean. I had to choose whether to pour myself into you or let you die and I couldn't do one and I know you probably wouldn't want the other but I was so afraid and--" He couldn't make the words stop coming, and he was scared now, scared he would say something, scared that he'd made a wrong choice. Scared that Steve's krellr had been left with Thanos, that he would seek to weaponize it, that he might succeed.

Scared that he might say that he loved him. Loves him. Scared that it might be true.

  
  
  


Motel, opposite the Potomac. That part, Steve was pretty sure he could deal with, propping himself up on his elbows. That part made sense. Everything that followed, by contrast, had his head spinning.

Barton. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them, as if the physical movement would somehow succeed in jarring memories loose. Did he remember--? Yes, he remembered Murray and alarms, and Barton with his fist against the glass. He swallowed as details of that conversation rose like flotsam to the top of his mind, in morbid clarity. Barton knew. Barton knew (or suspected enough), and everyone else would know soon, and it would just be a matter of time. And Loki had thought--

No.  Steve shook his head faintly as Loki spoke. That hadn't been -- he would never. _Never_. He and Barton had gone to the scepter; he remembered that part now. Because, because he had needed to calm Barton, to reassure him, and maybe, maybe if he didn't feel in danger he would let them be, or give them more time...

Time they didn't have now, because of the scepter. He swallowed the bile that threatened to climb up his gorge.  Loki lied. Loki wouldn't lie, hadn't lied to him, not to him, right? Only he admitted to it just now, that he lied, and the scepter at been at the center of it all. _Who's coming for you?_ Steve had asked him once.

Now he knew. _Thanos_. The alien beings on a barren moon with the ability to tear holes in Loki's magic, in Steve's mind, with just a touch. A shiver ran through him as the memory returned, overly sharp and clear; the memory of unimaginable pain, of falling, of dying. Something tightened painfully in his chest. He'd been dying. And Loki had saved him, pulling him from that hell and pushing life back into him and then whisking him away here... _Safe_...

Loki.

Loki, who had lied to him.

Loki, who had thought Steve meant to kill him in cold blood.

Loki, who still thought himself a monster, despite his actions, despite his remorse.

Loki, who had saved Steve's life in spite of it all.

Loki, whose eyes brimmed with tears as he babbled, terrified, uncaring of his own fate because-- because--

The tightness in his chest reached the breaking point and snapped. He couldn't take it any longer. He wanted Loki to shut up and he wanted Loki to _know_ and he wanted _the people he loved to be safe._

Sitting up, he grabbed Loki with one hand on each side of his face and pulled him forward into a kiss, their mouths colliding as Steve's lips desperately sought out his.

  
  
  


He gasped into the motion, eyes widening in a way that would be comical if this wasn't-- really happening, truly--

He responded instantly, knowing that if he didn't, he mightn't get another chance. He didn't understand and he didn't care, it didn't _matter_.

He pushed back with an equal amount of fervor, grabbing Rogers's shirt to pull him closer, hands fisting in the fabric,  lips moving hungrily, desperately against Steve's, and he couldn't close his eyes, for fear that if he did this would disappear.

He wasn't breathing. He wasn't blinking. But they were kissing.

He and Steve. _Were kissing_.

He held back his mind, his whirling, disconcerting, confused thoughts, for as long as he could. But it couldn't last. As much as he wished this was it, the world, the start of it and the end, he knew it could not last.

Regretfully, he broke the kiss. He pulled back, hands still gripping at the Captain like a dying man. He closed his eyes, opened them again, then opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"I don't. I don't understand." He said, frank and puzzled, trying to keep the bright ember of hope in his chest from fully bursting into flame and devouring him. No doubt it would be doused briefly, no doubt there was some explanation, other than the obvious, other than the one he wanted to hear.

"I thought you were going to kill me, I thought I-- men and men... I thought you found the idea repulsive, I thought... you didn't know, or hadn't noticed how I-- I thought you didn't want me." His hands tightened, and he realized how threatening that seemed. He let go of Steve's shirt and sat back into the chair, looking him in the face.

"I wasn't wrong, was I? You don't... this isn't what. What is this?" He asked. "Why?"

His lips felt warm, tingling and bruised from the force behind the kiss, and he had to reach up and lay his fingers on them to be sure it was really real. The pads felt cool and his mouth felt sore, and Steve's lips were so unbelievably pink, so bright and he looked so beautiful, Loki wanted to curse himself for the idiot he was, wanted to stop talking and just return to kissing him, and damn the details, the feelings, damn understanding.

But with everything else that had happened...

He needed to know. He thought they both did.

  
  
  


Loki's lips were dry and warm and papery, his mouth hot and wet and, most importantly, kissing him back.

For a space of several seconds, everything was perfect. Steve's heart thudded wildly, blood rushing through his body, heating his skin, which he longed to touch against more of Loki, letting himself be pulled closer and deepening the intensity of the kiss.

But then Loki pulled away, and Steve was left panting for breath, wondering, worrying why they had stopped, his hands slipping away from Loki's face.

He blinked at him.

"I didn't want to kill you," he said, firmly as he could while placing one hand on each of Loki's shoulders, holding him. "I never will. Ever. Alright?" He looked Loki in the eye, hoping he'd believe. "I took-- I took Barton to see the scepter to make him feel better about security. That's all. I never-- I didn't think-- I was going to come back right after and we'd have lunch. I even..." he faltered, then chuckled faintly. "I left the sandwiches behind."

And as for the other part... Steve looked down, shame creeping up his spine. "Loki, I..." he swallowed. "In the time where I came from, people, well, they didn't really look kindly on that sort of thing. Men being with men, and women with women. It was seen as a sin-- unnatural. If, if people found out, you could lose your job, get turned out by your friends and family, and hell, if someone bashed your head in, they didn't even look too hard for the killer." Every time it happened, and he caught wind of it on the street or in the papers, it was another reminder to be discreet, and to be careful. Not to let anyone know. Not to be an aberration. "They even," he paused, tongue sliding nervously out over kiss-swollen lips. "They'd even kick you out of the army."

It was a policy repealed less than a year before he'd been unfrozen. He knew better than to think people had changed that much when such a shift had taken so long. "It's a bit better now. A lot of people are more open, more okay with it. But there's, ah, there's still a lot of... Well, there's a lot of Scofields."

He looked off and away. "You asked me... You asked me when you saw a picture of Bucky if he was my lover. I told you he loved me like a brother. And that was true. But..." he swallowed, then let out a chuff of nervous laughter. "I may have left out that I didn't feel exactly the same."

He spared a quick glance up at Loki. "I've wanted... Some part of me has wanted to do that since the week we started talking. But I didn't think you'd-- and then, I didn't want anyone-- and even if I had, you were a prisoner, it wouldn't-- it wouldn't have been right--" he stumbled over his words, flustered, panicked, hoping Loki wouldn't hate him for his hypocrisy. His cowardice.

He drew a shuddering breath. Then let it out, closing his eyes. "I've lost everyone I've loved. Either because I was too useless and weak, or too slow, or too late. And I..." he opened his eyes, heart pounding so hard he was sure Loki could hear it. "I'm not gonna lose you just because I'm too scared."

  
  
  
  


Loki sat bolt upright, his mouth slack, his eyes staring. Hearing, but not daring to believe. The hope, the tightening feeling in his chest, the fear that his hope would be crushed, it had disappeared and he felt like every inch inside of him had been converted into liquid warmth.

"You-- you want me." Loki said softly. "You're afraid of losing-- is that why you fought so hard, why we argued about...? I thought. I thought you were just kind, just angry at me for giving up, disgusted that I was a coward, I didn't. I didn't know. I didn't mean to hurt you, gods, I am so sorry." He shook his head. "Steve, I-- I'm so sorry." Tears came to his eyes as he repeated himself, the weight of his guilt falling on his head.

"I had lied to you about the sceptre before I made that promise, and I just. I never repeated it, I just pointed at it. It wasn't a direct lie, but it was still... I didn't want you to know because I didn't want this to happen. I didn't think you would survive, and worse I thought-- I thought if you thought he could be beaten, you would try to champion me. I can't bear the thought of losing you any more than you can the thought of losing me." He paused, trying to sort it all out, trying to make sense of everything they had said, everything they had done, knowing that Steve had wanted him for so much of it.

"It won't be easy for you if you go back." He said softly. "When the sceptre took you, I... I broke the cage. I destroyed it. I froze the guard's feet to his gun, and the ground I-- all of the Agents they sent after me, I was Jotun, and I... they tried to touch me, I hurt so many people." He grimaced, heart pounding, but he needed to tell him, needed him to know, so that if he was going to lose him, it was done quickly. He said he wouldn't, though, wouldn't give up on Loki or want to kill him. He wondered if.

He shook his head.

"I'm so sorry, I just. I had to get to you. I'm sure Barton is furious, I'm sure Fury is... " Loki shook his head again.

"You can't go back until you're well." he said softly. "But you don't have to go back. Come with me, come away. I will take us between worlds, we can go to Alfheim, to Vanaheim... we can go live as far from all that we have known as possible. I can show you places..." Loki swallowed, already knowing that he wouldn't agree. That he couldn't. That Steve, unlike Loki, had a home, had loyalty, had people to protect.

And SHIELD still had the sceptre. The next person who touched it might not be so lucky, or so strong. And Thanos had seen Steve, he knew about him. It made him uneasy, gave him an urge to protect, and urge to take Steve into his arms, to cover him against the dangers, all of the evils that lurked beyond the edges of his world.

But he had to say something, too, had to trade an honesty for an honesty.

"Captain Rogers, I have wanted you nearly as long as you have me, and more desperately than you can know. I realize I... I have lied to you, but you must believe me now, you have to know. When I thought you had died, I... it broke me, it broke my heart. I haven't felt that for anyone, not one person I have ever...Steve, can I... Can I kiss you again?" The words tumbled out and then it was he blushing like a child, like he had before his first kiss, centuries previously.

  
  
  
  


Steve leaned forward wordlessly, gently taking Loki by the chin, with his thumb beneath his lower lip and index finger just under his jaw, tilting his head in for a second, more tender kiss. Their lips brushed lightly against one another several times before meeting in something a bit more solid, more languid than before.

When he broke away, he rested his forehead against Loki's for a few seconds. "You'd better," he whispered. It was subtly different, he noted, kissing a man compared to kissing a woman. Not that he had much in the way of experience in the latter either. The angle was different with Loki's height, and there was a roughness and a strength that was intoxicating and exhilarating all at once.

He wanted to keep kissing Loki and ignore all the rest; to stay in this bed in this dingy motel room, kissing and holding and never leaving for the rest of his life. But he couldn't.

"I forgive you," he breathed, pulling away slightly. "I'm... I'm not happy you lied. But I get it. I get why you did, and why you didn't want to tell me things. But I need you to be honest with me 100% from here on out, okay?" He pressed his lips together, wishing they were still pressed against Loki's instead. "We're in this together. That-- Thanos -- He, he had one of his--" Steve swallowed. "There was a cloaked _thing_ , and I think it got inside my head." He shivered. He could almost still feel the invasion; the violation of his thoughts and memories.

"I can't leave. Not Earth, anyway. Not when I don't know what they do or don't know. What they might do." He looked searchingly at Loki. "If there's danger... I can't just run away from that. Not if I helped bring it here, and not if there's even a chance I can help fight it." The words felt hollow when he knew he hadn't been able to fight Thanos at all; true, he might have attempted to champion Loki against him, but he'd been brought to his knees and broken without Thanos lifting a finger. Turning down Loki's offer to travel the realms all but physically hurt, though. _Later_ , he told himself. Later, when this was... when everything was sorted out and Earth was safe. Then, perhaps, they could travel. Loki could show him the eight other realms and he could show him this one with all its wonders.

Maybe. If they survived. And if SHIELD didn't stop them.

He shifted nervously. "Loki, when you-- when you escaped, did you-- you didn't kill anyone, did you? You just immobilized them and the rest just got hurt because they touched you, not the other way around, right?"

  
  
  
  


Loki gave him a reproachful look.

"I have spent enough time with you, enough time trying to learn, trying to grow, to be something-- someone-- that you would... that you could enjoy being around. I was panicked, but I was still me. And I can say with certainty that no one is _dead_. And do not try to take control of the guilt-- even if someone had been hurt by me, it would not be your fault. But even so."

Loki stood and gently pressed Steve down against the pillow of the bed.

"You're supposed to be resting." He said lightly, his breath intentionally whispering over the sheen of wetness on Steve's lips.

"Worry about saving everyone and everything later."

He braced his arm on the pillow and dipped his head down to kiss him again, tongue darting out to taste Steve's lips, to chase the wetness there back into his mouth. He traced the shape of his teeth with his tongue, briefly, briefly and so carefully, afraid he would be told to stop.

It was all so new, and so precious, and yet there was so much he wanted still, he wondered how far he had thought this through, wanted to know everything that Rogers wanted of him. Everything he liked, Loki was determined to find.

Those thoughts in mind, he broke the kiss to leverage himself onto the bed, slinging a leg over the prone form of the Captain and taking his own weight, not willing to hurt him while he was so freshly returned from the brink of death.

"Have you thought of this, Captain?" He asked, teasing with his voice, his eyes nearly locked on the other's mouth. "Have you devoted time to imagining how I would taste?" He bent to press his lips to Steve's again. "Because I have thought of you. You want me to be honest with you? Every time you spoke, I imagined these lips moving over me, and each time you moved them, I thought of your hands, thought how beautiful they were, how strong... Your touches lingered on my skin for hours, and it was never long enough."

He sat up and took one of Steve's hands in his own, intertwining their fingers and bringing it up to his face to kiss the back of his palm.

"What if we were to work at replacing every thought, every hurt in your mind, with thoughts only of what I am doing to you, of how my mouth feels on each part of you... What do you think, Captain, would you find that... restful?" He kissed him again, this time intentionally missing his lips almost entirely, to be able to press against the corner of his mouth, right where his smiles began.

  
  
  
  


Steve couldn't help but smile, even under Loki's glare. Loki hadn't killed anyone; further proof (though Steve hadn't truly doubted it) that he'd changed. He might claim that it was all just for Steve's benefit, but when Steve had been dying and Loki had been terrified and acting on instinct, his impulse had been to spare the lives of those attacking him.

"I'm so proud of you," he murmured, allowing Loki to push him back into the cushions. For not taking any lives; for the remorse he had expressed; for his selflessness.

Clint was wrong. Loki deserved this. Loki was earning this, and had it in him to be a good man. A hero, even. Steve would preserve that whatever the cost.

He shivered -- not with fear, but something else -- as Loki's breath ghosted over his lips, then as he dipped down for another kiss. He stiffened in surprise as he felt a warm and wet intrusion; Loki's tongue, he realized, perplexed but not unappreciative. It felt strange, but he didn't pull away. And after a moment, he relaxed into it, parting his lips a little further.

When Loki broke the kiss, it was Steve who made a small sound of protest, leaning upward briefly to follow, only to gasp as Loki climbed on to the bed and straddled him. Steve's mind went blank for several seconds, blood rushing southward as Loki leaned in for another kiss. And when he pulled away to speak again, Steve moaned, both at the loss and at the images contained by those words. Loki's voice was thick with desire; desire Steve's body readily responded to, blood roaring in his ears as his breathing grew heavier.

"Nnnguh," he groaned, turning his head to try to catch Loki's lips in a kiss. He felt equal parts need and terror: but he didn't want to stop. "That doesn't," he panted, "sound particularly restful," he caught Loki's lips in a kiss, one hand snaking around to the back of his head to run through thick black hair. "But I... am definitely listening."

There would be no going back after this. No calling if off if they went further, no blaming it all on adrenaline and exhaustion and poor judgement. This was happening. This would be them. There would be a them. It scared him and it thrilled him and a little defiant part of him hissed _good_. He wouldn't run away anymore. Wouldn't lie anymore.

  
  
  
  


Loki pouted, arching his back to bring his head lower, so that he could nuzzle playfully at Steve's neck. He pressed a kiss at the juncture of neck and jaw, then spoke directly into his ear, softly. Gentle tones, meant to seduce, not to punish.

"Listening Captain? Only listening? Why don't you tell me? Tell me what you want, the things you've imagined. You've wanted this as long as I have, surely you must have some ideas."

He sat up, pulling his face away, and smirked.

"Or if you prefer, I could let you rest, let you think on it, until you have a better grasp--" He shifted himself to brush lightly over the Captain's thighs, sliding the burgeoning hardness in his pants against Steve's own. "Of you desires."

He realized he had no idea... if Rogers had been afraid in his own time, would he have just been secretive? Or had he abstained altogether? That seemed impossible, and surely, since coming here-- things were better now, he'd said. Despite the Scofields.

No man as good, as kind and wonderful and beautiful as he-- it would have been impossible for him to go unwanted. Even Loki had found willing partners. Surely he must know by now what he preferred, or at least have some ideas. Loki could always expand on them as they went, if they were given time to do so.

"Until you're well," he went on, "I want nothing more or less than to see to your needs. All of them. Only tell me what they are. I am happy to provide _anything_." He stressed the last word. "I realize your realm is reserved, I do not wish to do anything you do not want, would not enjoy... nothing that makes you uneasy. And I assure you, I have lived long enough, there is little that makes me... uneasy." He grinned, and it was not dangerous the way most of his smiles were. Predatory perhaps, but warmly so.

  
  
  
  


Steve made a low whining sound as Loki pulled away, that cut off abruptly as Loki's hips shifted bringing them in contact and making their mutual state of... attention, clear. His pulse raced and he wondered how far this would go. How far he wanted it to go. He wanted... he wanted to touch and to kiss and he wanted Loki, gasping and moaning his name, but... did he want it _now_? Everything below his belt aggressively indicated that yes, yes he did, but his churning thoughts weren't so sure. He had never before, and he had no idea what he was doing, and after all this time, having waited so long, he wanted it to be perfect. But he also wanted Loki.

And Loki...

Loki, beautiful and warm and pressed against him, spots of rosy color on the tops of his pale cheeks, promised to do anything Steve wished-- or to abstain from anything he didn't. Steve almost wanted to weep at the perfection of it.

"I want..." he hesitated. Did he even know what he wanted?

 _Yes_.

"I want to kiss you," he said, breathless. "And... and hold you..." He swallowed. "I want you to be happy. And, and here with me." Slowly, he pushed himself up until he was sitting, partially propped up on pillows with Loki now straddling his lap. He wrapped his arms around him, pulling their bodies flush against each other, and placed his lips on Loki's throat just over his pulse point, kissing and softly sucking, then trailing gentle kisses down to the collar of Loki's tunic, and back up to his ear.

"I just want you."

  
  
  
  


Loki looked him in the eyes, his own having to dance fully across his face to do so, sitting as close as he was to him.

"I want all of that." He murmured, happy to let Steve set the pace, happy to let him move as he wanted. He brought his hand up to the back of Steve's head and rolled his head to the side, giving him more room to lave his attentions where they were focused.

"I'm here, I want you, I never want to let you go." He pressed his forehead to Steve's, using his grip on his hair to gently pull them back into position.

"You can have me." Loki promised, and brought their lips back together, this time softly, slowly, carefully, curious to see what Rogers would do.

There was so much to learn about him, about his preferences, and if he wanted to move slowly, take their time... Loki did not know how much time he-- they-- had, but he was more than happy to spend all of it on and with Rogers.

Curious, he squeezed his eyes shut, opening them again to check the flow of his krellr. When he did, he nearly gasped.

"Oh..." He breathed. Because he had replenished quickly, likely a side effect of his healing, but there were eddies, swirls of color he had never seen before, until he realized they were created by the krellr dipping and dancing around the spots of seidhr that were being absorbed into the spirit of him.

He was truly, for the moment, the product of them both.

Loki dipped a finger down and stroked one of his seidhr points, setting it vibrating like a water droplet on a spider's web.

He closed his eyes again and opened them onto Rogers' face.

"You're doing well, you're recovering beautifully, and..." The hesitation was habit now, but an unnecessary one. "You're beautiful." He said.

"I wish you could see yourself this way. If I had your gifts, I would never draw anything else." Loki pressed their lips together again, another brief, chaste, soft thing, and he smiled into it, inwardly delighted.

He'd never taken the time to revel in such small gestures. That hadn't been what his partners were for, or interested in. This was new for him, a quiet sort of intimate delight.

  
  
  
  


Steve relished in the slow softness of the kiss. He loved the wild, desperate kisses where their mouths crushed together, but he loved this too -- this careful, loving meeting of lips. He paused and pulled back slightly when Loki gasped, fearful that he had done something wrong, but the expression on Loki's face was enraptured. It took him a moment, but then he recognized the faraway look in Loki's eyes, coupled with the gestures of his fingers and realized Loki was looking at his krellr.

"I have a particularly good healer," he said when Loki told him of his recovery, smiling and planting a kiss on Loki's cheek, nuzzling at the spot after. And it was true; he felt worlds better than he had back at SHIELD on his waking, and Loki's presence, his proximity, seemed to kindle even more life within him.

He blushed, and thought of the sketches he'd torn out and hidden away. The sketches of the lines of Loki's back as he showered, and the soft, sad smile he wore sometimes when he didn't seem to think Steve was looking. The sketches that were part observation and part imagination which he'd crumpled up and thrown away before he knew better. "You're gorgeous," he breathed, leaning in to kiss him again. "You're... stunning. You're graceful and you're, you're so long and lean and perfect and god, your eyes..." he pulled back so he could look at them. "You have the most incredible eyes." Green and bright and rimmed with long, dark lashes.

He leaned back down on to the cushions and pulled Loki with him, one hand cupping the back of his head and guiding him into a kiss. Steve opened his mouth further to deepen the kiss, and, after taking a second to work up the nerve, let his tongue dart briefly out over the inside of Loki's bottom lip in invitation. Meanwhile his other hand -- the one not tangled in Loki's hair -- traced its way down Loki's back until it reached the exposed strip of flesh between his trousers and the hem of his tunic where it had ridden up. Loki's skin was warm and smooth and Steve yearned to touch more of it; he slid his fingertips under the edge of Loki's shirt, then cautiously brought them up, his hand exploring the hard lines of muscle on Loki's lower back.

  
  
  
  


Loki mouthed at Steve's tongue, trying to taunt it further into him, trying to urge him to explore his mouth, but he was a little afraid that was something they no longer did here, something that had gone out of style hundreds of years prior.

It was so difficult to know what he could and couldn't do, what would be seen as an insult-- such as suggesting that Steve might enjoy this in the first place.

The compliments fell on Loki's ears like sun after a storm, and he squirmed in Steve's grasp, delighted by his action, enjoying the feel of skin against skin, even if it was just a hand on his back-- it was more than he'd had in some time, and much gentler than he was used to, at this stage of intimacy.

And the way he described him, the things he found beautiful-- all innate things, things that stayed much the same unless he went out of his way to change them. But other than his eyes and shape, it was not his appearance that the Captain found appealing. Which he was used to, really. Unsurprising. And perhaps that was why he hesitated, the reason they were not both stripped nude and reeking of sweat and sex yet.

"You know that I can change, though--" Loki told him, pulling their lips apart enough to speak. "If there's something, someone you'd prefer... If your tastes run towards blondes," He demonstrated briefly, the change taking the focus of an instant. "Or if you're more comfortable with the idea of me as a woman..." That was a more complete transformation, requiring the solidity of form that would let her press her breasts against the Captain's chest, in a way that a mere illusion would never support.

"Anything you want." She breathed. "Whatever you like best."

It was nice, she reflected-- this form with its smaller ribcage and waist, which made Steve's hand all the larger on her back.

She squirmed, trying to get him to resume his stroking, and leaned in to push her lips against his, plusher now, redder naturally, and designed to allure.

"Do you like it, Captain?" she asked, mouth moving against his.

  
  
  
  


At the word ‘change' Steve's eyes widened. Did Loki mean-- surely he didn't mean his Jotun form, when he'd expressed so much hatred of it and reluctance to shift save for in cases of emergency (as he had to break out and come to Steve's rescue). He pulled back in surprise--

\-- Only to make a startled and inarticulate sound when Loki abruptly became a blond, his wavy dark hair lightening into a halo of pale golden ringlets. He barely had the time to process that before he got a bigger shock as the body under his hands changed shape, shrinking in most places and blossoming in others. He stared down at Loki -- and all he could say at first was: "Um."

She was a bombshell. Like something right out of the pinups. Slender but curvy with full, pouty lips, raven black hair, and legs that went on forever. But while he knew, logically, that it was Loki, the same Loki he'd fallen head over heels for in all the ways that mattered, the body pressed against his now felt like a stranger's.

"Um," he repeated, stalling, trying to find a diplomatic answer. "You're, you're very beautiful. Er, do... do _you_ prefer this?" Loki's tunic hung too large over slender shoulders and the neckline now plunged far deeper, exposing more alabaster skin than it had before. "Because if you do-- whatever you feel comfortable with is fine!" He swallowed. "But, um. I... I really like _you_." He cringed, hoping Loki wouldn't be offended by Steve's refusal, or take it as a rejection like when Steve had shied from his magic after the shower incident. "And you in any shape is okay, really, because it's still you, but..." he trailed off, and a thought occurred to him.

His voice was pitched slightly lower when he spoke again, leaning forward to brush Loki's hair away from his-- her-- ear. "I love the way your back muscles dance beneath your skin when you move," he murmured. "I love how your hair curls, especially since you let me cut it, and I love the line of your neck, the dip of your collarbones. I love how your lips are so pale and thin but turn so red when I kiss them. I love your smile, and I want to make you smile more often. I love the way the skin crinkles at the corners of your eyes when you laugh, and I love your cheekbones and jawline. I could draw the planes of your face all day. I love the sound of your voice, it's like, like, velvet," he continued, waiting to feel the body beneath him change...

  
  
  
  


Loki's eyes widened in surprise. That wasn't... what he was used to hearing. As the Captain's words began washing over him, he took up the body he was used to inhabiting, the body given to him by his rescuer, the body Steve had first seen him in.

"You're good at this, Rogers." Loki told him frankly, dropping his voice to match tone for tone, the calculated drop that often came with teasing and obscene observations in Loki's past.

He didn't know yet how Steve would react to that, though, beyond flushing and stammering.

"You know they say flattery can get you anywhere."

He didn't know what he was supposed to be doing, what he was failing to do. And Rogers had just said he wanted him here, wanted him happy, wanted to touch and kiss him. Perhaps if he reminded him that this was not all new, perhaps if he started with the familiar...

Loki put some space between them, careful not to dislodge the Captain's hand in the process, and he rubbed his own palm up the contoured muscles of his chest.

"What if I were to give you another massage? Would you like that? I'm sure you must be sore. I know I was, after... after my own ordeal." He wasn't ready to discuss Thanos yet. Not when this was still new enough, not when Steve was here and he was free and they were alone, truly alone and not being watched for the first time.

That he knew of.

Practicality did impose, though, and Loki sat up in his lap again.

"This is perhaps a bit belated, but... they don't have a means of tracking your whereabouts, do they? Not to offend, it's just, while I think you are glorious and consider it a shame that your society is so keen on covering you up, I don't think I want an audience when I finally coax you out of those trappings." He let his eyes rake up and down what he could see of the Captain's body.

"And as healed as you may be, you deserve a break from their orders and their guns. You can blame me for it later, but I really do want you to relax and regain what you can or your reserves. I know how... how that sort of contact can take it out of you."

He was hard, still, and that was fine, controllable and easy enough to ignore, but he was running out of magical energy, having expended so much that day, and he needed to find out if he had to move them again, or if they were safe, here.

He wasn't ready to be locked behind glass again. Not now that he finally had permission to touch, to kiss, to hold and stroke and... and _love_ , though that was... not spoken of yet. He could show it, say it without words in any number of ways. And he had a few in mind contending for the first, but he needed to take care of a few things before then. Such as eating, feeding Rogers, and being sure that there would be no armed interruptions while they enjoyed one another.

Unless--

he had a sinking feeling in his chest.

Unless all of this had been play, a distraction so that SHIELD could come and retrieve their lost Captain, unless this had just been a way to keep Loki busy.

He couldn't imagine that, though, couldn't imagine Captain America sinking so low just to kill some time, if that were the case. Sinking to not only kissing a man, but kissing him, Loki the monster, the murderer... why would he do that, if he didn't truly have feelings for him?

Why would he, even if he did?

Loki tried to keep the doubt off of his face, hoped that any that did show would be taken only for worry.

"I-- won't hold you here against your will, either." He said. "I hope you know that-- if you want to leave, I'll take you back, if you want to walk out... there's nothing to stop you. And I promise not to harm you, not to harm anyone I don't have to. I promise when you're ready to return, I will go willingly, give myself up to your director-- take responsibility for all of it."

  
  
  
  


When Loki praised him, Steve smiled back impishly. "Yeah, well, I spend a lot of time with this fella who's real good with words. He might be rubbing off on me."

Loki's hands over his chest felt good and he found himself nodding at the thought of another massage. That at least, was familiar territory. Really, really pleasant familiar territory. Perhaps this time, he could even reciprocate, run his hands over Loki's shoulders and back, tracing the muscles there, pressing kisses down his spine--

Loki sat up before Steve could voice his assent. At his question, Steve's heart skipped a beat, mind flooding with sudden panic. Could they? He reached down for his phone, then remembered that it was in his bag still, back at the Triskelion.

"No, we should be good," he answered, breathing deeply to slow his racing heart. "I don't have my phone, the pagers are too old school to track, and while the boots of my uniform have a tracking chip in the heel, I wore civilian dress today. Besides, how long did we sleep for?" He had no watch and the clock on the wall looked broken, but it had to have been hours. "If they knew where we were, this close to the river, they'd have hauled us in by now," he pointed out. "So long as we stay in here, lie low, and avoid any security cameras they might catch us on, they won't have a clue where we are." He hoped.  Though that could prove a problem as soon as they found they needed water and food and other basic supplies.

He had hoped the answer would be enough; that Loki would be comforted and would feel safe enough to return to kissing for a bit, and maybe rubbing backs and sleeping some more in one another's arms before they had to address the food issue (which, considering he hadn't eaten since an early breakfast on Stark's jet, would have to be tackled sooner rather than later).  But instead, Loki's brows knit together and his expression crumpled.

"Hey, hey," Steve sat up, frowning. "Where is this coming from?" He reaching out and cupped Loki's face with his hand, thumb on his cheekbone. "I know you won't. I know, Loki." He leaned forward and planted a small kiss on Loki's lips. "I trust you, remember? And you're right. I need -- we need time." Time with each other away from constant surveillance. Time before they were both healed and at full strength. Time to figure out... this.

"When, when we go back -- I'll talk to Fury, okay? I'll see..." See if he would be reasonable about the whole thing. His experience with the director had him believing the man was paranoid, but also practical, and not cruel without reason. Maybe, he would be willing to overlook Loki's breakout considering the circumstances, and reinstate Loki's rehabilitation.

 _Or maybe they'll give you the sack and lock him so far underground he'll never see the light of day again._ He swallowed; if that was the case, and he wasn't so naive as to think it wasn't a possibility, then they needed a contingency plan.

"If they don't see reason, if they, if they try to separate us or punish you more or--" he breathed in and out, shakily. "How much time would you need to build your magic back up to the point you could teleport us out again like you did?"

  
  
  
  


"A day." He answered promptly, gratified to find that Steve had asked about ‘us' rather than just him, rather than thinking that he should just tell Loki to get himself out of trouble, the way he had half-expected.

He hoped that meant he knew Loki wasn't going to leave him behind, leave him in harm's way. No matter the source of that harm.

"A day, complete with sleep and sustenance. Which I will have to go out to obtain at some point." He decided lightly.

"I'm sorry," he said next. "I don't mean to-- a lot has changed in a short time. I don't mean to doubt-- I just. It's very easy for me. To question everything. Including myself." He offered him a weak smile, then leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around Steve's neck in the process. "Sometimes, especially myself."

He pressed a tiny kiss to his lips.

"I know it must be difficult for you, being so patient. Assuaging all of my fears, my turmoil. I appreciate it." Scourge of four realms, and here he was holed up in an inn on Midgard, curled around one of the men who had beaten him, kissing his captor and talking about his feelings.

The sheer ridiculousness of his situation struck him as hilarious.

He pushed his face into Steve's neck and let the chuckles come.

"When I woke this morning, my greatest worry-- well, Thanos, but my greatest worry for the day, was that you might disapprove that Murray gave me a Captain America lunchbox." He told him, rolling his head so that he could speak into the space between Steve's shoulders and jaw.

"Then a man I used as a tool came, and proved to me-- as if you hadn't-- but he made me feel-- for all I had done. It was not so inconsequential to anyone as I wanted to think. Not even me. And then I thought you wanted to kill me, but it turns out you would much rather kiss me-- which is good, as I'd rather be kissing you-- and then you discovered my real problem, and you were hurt, and then I broke free of all of the restraints I didn't break free of for a _month_ \-- you realize, don't you, I could have-- I should have, when I thought you were dead or you had abandoned me, when Scofield was punishing me-- I didn't break out then, and I could have. What an idiot. And I broke free, and I got to you, and you were dying, and I saved you, and brought you here, and now--" He shook his head and pressed his lips to Steve's neck.

"All I expected was sandwiches." He laughed, and it had the edge of hysteria to it.

He tipped himself sideways and rolled into the empty space next to Rogers, but arranged himself so that he was facing him.

"This has been... quite the adventure, you must admit. More excitement than I've gotten in a while, at the very least."

He put out his hand and stroked it over Rogers' chest.

"I'm glad you-- I'm glad _we're_ okay, though."

  
  
  
  


A day. A day was good. A day would give Steve time enough to think of a contingency plan, should things with SHIELD go south. He still had his wallet on him, he recalled, and while the cards would be useless, he didn't use them much anyway and as such had enough cash to feed them for a few days, if they budgeted well.

"You're worth it," he replied to Loki's thanks for his patience. He returned the kiss, quick as it was -- barely a peck -- and ran his fingers through Loki's hair when he buried his face into his neck.

It had been, Steve reflected, one hell of a day. He'd woken up in New York, nearly had a heart attack when he'd found out Barton was in Loki's cell, may or may not have been outed, accidentally transported his consciousness into the hands of sadistic aliens and nearly died, only to be rescued and whisked away in a mad affair with a man branded public enemy number one.

He rolled on to his side so he could face Loki when he rolled off him to the space on the bed beside him. "When I woke up this morning, it was in New York. In Stark Tower," he admitted. "It was kinda surreal. Being in the place where... where the Avengers defeated you, before. But, it made me think." He smiled. "About how different you are. About how... how much you've grown. And about how much I've learned about you. And how important you've become to me in the time I've been able to know you." He didn't want to sound patronizing, or condescending. But he truly did feel proud of Loki for all the ways he'd shown himself capable of change. For all the ways he'd shed the mantle of a villain and a monster and proven himself something so much better. Someone so good.

"I never would have thought by the end of today, I'd have... well, the almost dying part I'd probably believe, that happens often enough, I guess. The alien mind-invading bit was a surprise. But," he glanced down, then back up at Loki, smiling timidly as he glanced up through his lashes. "I don't know if I'd ever have had the courage to... to kiss you, if today hadn't happened the way it did. So, there's that silver lining." He leaned in and kissed Loki lightly before pulling back. "Because it turns out I like doing that a lot. But tomorrow. I promise--"

He reached down, pulled his wallet from his pocket, and held it up. "--Sandwiches are on me." He tossed it aside, out of the way, then threw an arm over Loki, pulling him closer so they could rest their foreheads against one another.

It had been a hell of a day. But they survived it. And there were hellish days to come, but Steve was already forming plans in the back of his mind, figuring out resources, allies, places they could go and people they could trust.

Then, his eyes snapped open and he abruptly drew back. "Hold up."

He stared down at Loki, expression of utter betrayal on his face. "Murray gave you a Captain America lunchbox?"

  
  
  
  


"Do you not think it funny?" Loki asked. "I put the rations that you gave me in it, the nonperishables you left me with. I thought it would be amusing for you to come back to discover that I had so missed your face, I had to have a likeness brought in." Loki refused to quail over the expression on Rogers' face.

If he could still hold him close after learning that he had frozen his coworkers in their tracks in a very literal sense, if he could live with the knowledge of Loki's past, he could surely get over a lunch box.

"It was just a joke." He murmured instead. " _I_ thought it was funny. And poor Murray was so nervous about it that he took several days to pluck up the courage to bring it in, so you really mustn't blame him. It's entirely my doing. But you really can't be angry. You didn't even see it." He pointed out fairly.

Then he yawned.

"Before I fetch food, you will have to show me your currency and explain its values. We work with gold on Asgard, but you do not make near enough noise when you walk for that to be the case here."

Loki frowned, then.

"Also if you could perhaps at least make an attempt that nearly dying is not so common place as to be blasé, I would greatly appreciate it. And if perhaps we might keep aliens out of your mind-- save for your thoughts of me, that would also be preferable. Speaking of--" He reached up and traced the outline of Steve's lips.

"You've yet to tell me those thoughts. Don't think I have forgotten-- You pined as long as I did. We will have to trade the things we saw behind closed eyes at some point. I'm really looking forward to it, I must admit." He let his fingers wander upwards to brush across Steve's cheekbone.

"You turn the most charming of pinks at times, Captain."

  
  
  
  


"It would have been funny," Steve grudgingly agreed. "I'm sorry I didn't get to see it." He'd been preoccupied with Barton at the time, and trying to defuse that crisis. But if Barton had never showed up and he and Loki'd had sandwiches as usual, he would have seen it and groaned, then had a good chuckle. And probably hassled Murray a bit the next time he say him, though not enough to actually terrorize the young agent. It was a sweet thing to do for Loki, after all.

Of course, if Barton had never showed up, Steve would never have touched the scepter, would have gone home after an uneventful day, and would probably be reading in his own bed, alone, trying not to think of Loki.

And Loki was currently demanding an awful lot of thought.

"First of all," he said, " _I'll_ be the one going out for supplies in the morning--" he held up a hand before Loki could protest. "I know how the money works, I know how to budget it and where to go to get what we need. My clothes and speech won't attract attention. And like you said, I'm already healing really well. It'll be lower risk." Even if Loki could alter his appearance with ease, the accent was memorable, and his lack of familiarity with basic human customs and products would draw attention they didn't need. Not yet. "I'll be back before you know it," he promised.

And sure enough, he felt himself blushing under Loki's touch as he brought up his illicit fantasies. His breath hitched, and he gnawed on his lip for a moment.

"Take your shirt off," he said softly. "Then roll over on to your stomach."

  
  
  
  


Loki narrowed his eyes, but obeyed, reaching over his head to grasp the back of the shirt's neck and tugging it over his head and off of his arms with a neat flourish. He lay down, then, waiting to speak until his arms were folded under his chin.

He wasn't entirely sure what Rogers had in mind, but he was certain he wouldn't hurt him. Not now.

"If you insist on going out, I am going with you. First, I will not let my _patient_ tax himself without supervision, and second..." He hesitated, not wanting to feel as if he was manipulating the man. "I am tired of being by myself in small, sparsely furnished rooms." The words came quieter than his first point had, but no less truthful for it, and no less even.

"If I change our faces, it will not matter that we move about together, will it?" He asked. He grinned, then, imagining it. "We could be any combination of people. Imagine moving through the world, I as a buxom blonde and you, my elderly mother. Or perhaps we should be young men, with the pants that drape so low our movements are hindered and chains so large that no doubt they would leave marks on our chests where they fell." Both mental images were hilarious, for Loki knew better than most the way that movements could betray an illusion, and the disconcerting effect of a person ill suited to it wearing the wrong skin.

"Besides, it will give you a chance to show me some of your world. I regret that it is not your Brooklyn, or some place you are more familiar with, but... just the same. I would love to see your world through your eyes." He snuggled into the pillows.

"In any event, why did you want me this way?" he asked. "You aren't planning on staying there and staring are you? Because as much as I appreciate your artistry, I think I appreciate your hands more, particularly as they lie in relation to my body."

Loki tilted his head to be able to see the Captain properly.

  
  
  
  


Steve cringed when Loki brought up his isolation, but intended to hold firm. He didn't want to leave Loki for long either -- the thought of SHIELD waiting until they were separated to swoop in had occurred to him, however unlikely. "None of that is going to be particularly good at drawing _less_ attention," he pointed out. Disguising themselves as delinquents would earn them the scrutiny of shopkeepers, and Loki as a buxom blonde would turn heads, he had no doubt.

"Besides, you need to be conserving your magic, remember?" Whatever they could accomplish without further depleting Loki's seidhr would leave them with that much more juice if they needed to make a run for it. Though hopefully it wouldn't have to come to that. He began unbuttoning his own shirt, which was now hopelessly wrinkled, peeling out of it and leaving him in his undershirt. As an afterthought, he took off his socks and belt as well, letting them fall to the floor.

He almost caved when Loki brought up the chance for him to see the world. He bit down on his lip before answering: "McDonald's is not the part of the world I want to show you." If the grimy quality of the motel was any indicator of the neighborhood, there wouldn't be much for Loki to enjoy. "I'll only be a few minutes, Loki, I promise. You won't be missing anything." The guilt wore down on him though. If SHIELD did allow them back but had Loki returned to a cell, this might prove the last chance in a long time for Loki to have any fresh air. Steve sighed. "Look. If you're going really stir-crazy, then maybe we can go out for a walk in the evening -- I'll scout around to see if there are any places no one is likely to see us, okay?"

He got on his knees on the bed and crawled over to Loki, straddling the backs of his thighs, then reaching up to place his hands on his shoulders. "Let me know... let me know if this is okay," he said, beginning to knead the muscles around Loki's neck in much the same way as he remembered Loki doing for him.

  
  
  
  


Loki shivered at the touch, but he sighed happily, all but melting under the contact.

"You could go harder." He said. "I'm neither breakable nor so delicate as I allowed you to believe. That was for the good of the lie-- the one we needn't operate under any longer. The same is true of my magic." He shifted, trying to direct Steve's attentions somewhat more towards the areas that he knew were troublesome.

"I taxed my abilities today, it's true, but to reach this point, I blasted my way through several supposedly impenetrable masses, stripped away my skin and froze I don't know how many people and things, plus erected maybe half a dozen shields, healed you-- which involved directly pushing magic into you by the way, most uses deplete it slower than that-- and _then_ I transported us. Illusions are no great strain on my abilities. Besides--"

He made a slight noise of pleased pain as the Captain's beautiful, talented hands found a sore spot in the juncture between neck and shoulder, "I have not seen the sun in over a month. Any sun. I am not staying here alone." He spoke firmly, unwilling to waver on this point. "And I'll remind you that you may ask, nicely, but there is very little you can do to stop me when I say no."

Loki closed his eyes and let the Captain's hands work him over.

"And I can do small modifications--beards, moustaches, false noses. You'd look good with dark hair, I think." He smiled at his own joke, there, then followed it up with,

"Ooh, Captain. Your hands are trying to drive me to distraction. And they are nearly succeeding."

  
  
  
  


Steve considered it and sighed. If Loki really did have that much power to throw around (which was simultaneously comforting and disconcerting), then perhaps a little bit of illusion wouldn't hurt. And where Steve had to pick his battles, he wasn't sure this was one he wanted to fight; after all, Loki did deserve some time out in the sun.

"Okay," he relented, working around a knot of muscles to the right of Loki's spine, under his scapula. He didn't know a lick about anatomy, or what he was doing, but he had a good memory thanks to the serum and recalled much of what Loki had done that felt good, and simply focused on recreating that. From the happy noises Loki made, it seemed to be working. "Ground rules, though. I do the talking. Follow my lead, don't talk to anyone, and if I say we have to go, we go. No magic beyond what's necessary to give us a cover, except in the case of an absolute emergency. Please," he added, realizing belatedly that he was giving orders as if Loki were his soldier and not his-- friend? Lover? Boyfriend?

"It might, um. It might go better if you change into a woman. SHIELD will be looking for two men," he added tentatively, moving his hands back up to the sides of Loki's neck, rubbing small circles down from behind his ears all the way to his trapezius muscles. Not to mention, it would allow them to hold hands and... well, be a couple, without drawing other kinds of unwanted attention. "That's just a suggestion, though," he clarified.

Carefully, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the vertebra at the base of Loki's neck, a surge of affection rising in him.

"Now you know how I felt," he murmured, trailing a few more kisses down between Loki's shoulder blades.

  
  
  
  


Loki hummed in response.

"Yes, but we both have a good deal less to hide now than when I was giving you yours. Remind me when my bones have regrown-- I'll have to return the favor, now that I've the privacy and courage to give you the massage I wanted to. I'll warn you now, though-- it involves using more than just my hands to pull the tension out of you."

He shivered just imagining it, imagining the noises that Steve might make-- not dissimilar from the tiny moans being coaxed out of Loki even now.

"And I would be more than happy to follow your lead amongst your people, Captain." He arched his back a little and listened to the sounds of his spine crackling as the muscles pulling it out of whack were slowly loosened by Steve's attentions.

"I will be perfectly quiet and demure, and you can parade me around on your arm-- just so long as I am allowed to accompany you, I promise to be on my very best behavior." He spoke perhaps a bit more childishly than necessary, but he felt a bit like a child, being told to not embarrass his parents before some minor delegates.

"I can manage walking among your people for a short time, Steve. I promise not to go into a berserker rage just because I'm allowed around others."

The vote of no confidence seemed out of place coming from him, but Loki knew that must mean he was truly concerned. He didn't think he was so terribly out of place here as all that; even Thor had managed to pass as mortal for a time. Surely if his blundersome brother-- if the Odinson could manage, so too could Loki.

Likely even better than he had done.

Loki wished he could roll to face Steve, and still have his hands do their work. This was so much more intimate-- he had had his hair trimmed, and had rubbed his aches away, had healed him twice now, and yet in these few hours, he had had more care, more intimacy wash over him than he had in perhaps centuries of his life combined.

"Never in my life have I felt so cared for." He admitted quietly, words muffled by the bed itself. "I hope you know that I feel the same about you, I hope you know... how much I care." He would not call it love, not yet. Not, perhaps, until he could be certain that his love would not see Rogers punished, and that if the love was returned, it would not endanger them both.

Not to anyone but his own thoughts. But for now, that would have to be enough.

  
  
  
  


"That's not what I meant," Steve protested, working his knuckles up either side of Loki's spine. "I-- I don't think you'd hurt anyone or cause trouble. I just..." he sighed. "Look, I know what it's like to get tossed into a world where you're unfamiliar with how things work. And I know how easy it is to mess up in a way that makes people notice. You wouldn't believe the looks I got for weeks after I came out of the ice." He'd almost had a heart attack when he found out the price of a hotdog these days, forgetting to take currency inflation into account. And he'd had trouble with automated kiosks and so many other things everyone else seemed to understand instinctively.

"I don't want us to accidentally raise anyone's red flags. Not when SHIELD is probably tearing up the flooring looking for the two of us. I know I'm being a little paranoid--" a common side effect of prolonged exposure to SHIELD, it seemed, "--But I don't want them finding us before we're ready and we have a plan. Or," he leaned in and laid a kiss on Loki's lower back, "before we... before I can spend some time with you." Without anyone watching or judging or condemning them.

He'd told Loki over and over that he wouldn't give up on him. Well, he wasn't about to give him up either. Not now that finally, he something he thought would only ever be the stuff of shameful fantasies. Not now that he finally had _this_.

He slid off of Loki, dropping on to the mattress beside him and then tugging at Loki's far shoulder to pull him on to his side. Steve squirmed closer, his arm wrapping around Loki's chest to drag him the rest of the way in until his bare back was flush against Steve's chest, and he could bury his face in Loki's hair, breathing in the smell of him. Sweat and musk and leather, as well as something sharper -- like ozone and the smell of the air in winter.

"I keep feeling like any minute I'm going to wake up," he admitted. "That this is all just a crazy, good dream. That it's too insane to be real." He tightened his hold on Loki unthinkingly, as if he could hold him here and never wake up were that the case.

  
  
  
  


Loki might have argued further, might have kept talking or said something barbed back, but then Steve pulled them together, back to front, and Loki was exposed, was shirtless and on display and Steve wasn't disgusted.

This, being held like this, was what he had taken more than one of his partners to bed for. The hope that when they'd finished, when the room smelled of their efforts and they had both gone gasping their way to completion, that maybe he could hold them, they could hold him, and he could close his eyes. And imagine, just for a time, that he truly was wanted, cared for--

It seemed there was no need to pretend, any longer, and he was delirious at the thought that the person to feel this way, the person holding him, the one caring for him, was Steve.

And they hadn't had to exert themselves, exhaust their passions in order to get here. He hadn't had to trade orgasms for closeness. It just came naturally. And though he was hard, he was... amazed. Impressed by how Rogers was handling this, handling him.

The way he had turned it into exactly the sort of good dream he thought it was. Loki knew it was a dream; they did have to wake up, eventually. Return to the world. And how ill would people think of their Captain America, knowing he had willingly chosen this?

Loki shook himself from those thoughts.

Those people would have bearing on their lives soon enough. But for now, he refused to give them the chance.

"Will you--" he swallowed, unsure if he had any right, if he would ruin things by asking for more. "Will you take your shirt off as well? Or allow me to? I... would like to feel you against me." The words came too halting from his lips, and he drew a breath, deciding the rectify the request.

"I want to feel the warmth of your skin and the strength of your chest. I want to lay before you and know that, if we were the same, you could crush me, overpower me, as easily as you breathe. I want your arms around me, holding me in place, holding me to you, solid and unmoving, like a chain or a leash to mark me as yours." He let his voice drop again to the sultry levels and played on the thoughts, the interests of the men he had taken to bed before.

He couldn't grasp, just yet, the motives of Steve's attraction to him, but once he discovered them... and who was to say that wasn't it? Steve liked him graceful and lithe, that sort of man usually liked him small, without the illusion of strength over his form.

If Steve Rogers wanted a sapling, to bend and arch under him, Loki could be that for him. Would be that. Would be whatever it was he wanted, if he would only say.

  
  
  
  


"Oh, sure," Steve responded when Loki asked him to take his undershirt off, pulling away and sitting up slightly so he could pull it up and off. It was only fair, really, where he'd asked Loki to strip to the waist. And it wasn't as if Loki hadn't seen him shirtless before; he'd taken it off easily enough when Loki had healed his ribs and massaged his back. Though, in those cases, there had been less chance of other articles of clothing coming off as well.

He had it half-off when Loki's request took a slightly darker turn. Steve felt his cock twitch in his trousers at the sound of his voice, but at the same time the words prompted him to hold his breath, vaguely alarmed. Slowly pulling the shirt off the rest of the way and dropping it to the side, he looked at Loki, puzzled.

"Is that... you really want that?" he asked. He lowered himself back down beside him, but kept a few inches of distance between them this time, propped up on one elbow. "I'm not sure-- I mean, I know you're real strong and all, but I don't want to hurt you," he ventured, voice tentative.

Of course, if that was what Loki really wanted -- what Steve was supposed to do -- he could try. It wasn't like he had any idea what he was doing, he noted, a bit bitterly. He needed all the direction he could get. But the idea of crushing Loki, of _leashing_ him like an animal or a convict when Steve wanted him to be anything but, sat ill with him. "You're not... you're not my prisoner, Loki. I don't want you to be that."

  
  
  
  


Loki sighed and rolled so that he could face him, recognizing in the tone of his voice that he had taken a wrong step. That he had alarmed him somehow.

"I want what you wish to give me, Captain, I only wish you would tell me what that is. I do not want anything you do not. But all you have asked of me is to touch, to kiss... surely you want more? Your hardness tells me you do. I don't understand why you continue to abstain. You said you just want _me_. Have me, take me-- direct me that I may take you if that is what you desire, I don't care. Unless there is something wrong, unless I've misstepped somehow. Only tell me." There was a fear building in Loki, a fear that he was already losing this, this dream was slipping through his fingers, when it had only just come close enough to grasp.

"Those who have loved me in the past, however briefly, have wanted only power or physicality from me, wanted me for politics or sex, and those who wanted me for the latter only wanted me for whatever interested them that is too unsavory for the people they truly care for. I can do that, I understand. It's fine. Only don't... you kept your distance before. Don't create a distance now. Tell me what you want, show me if you prefer, I promise not to laugh, not to be disgusted, not to object if that's what you want, or to object soundly if you'd rather that. Anything, whatever you want. I just. I have only just gained you, do not let me lose you for not knowing." He could feel his face crumpling a little, and reached out, half expecting to be pushed away.

He used to be so good at this, at telling, looking at a man or a woman and knowing instantly what they wanted of him. It helped that his partners were often vocal about their desires. No one hesitated to tell their secrets to a liar. One of the benefits was that he could tell everyone, and none would believe him.

"Why have you not fucked me yet?" He asked, plaintive and needy sounding, and hating the weakness he displayed.

  
  
  
  


Steve flinched. He hadn't meant to, but the way Loki phrased it-- was that, was that all this was? Of course, he remembered Loki telling him about his past encounters. His descriptions had been casual; detached. What had he called them? _‘Periodic fixtures, for the express interest of relieving sexual tension.'_

But no, Loki hadn't acted in any way to indicate such shallow intentions. Except... Loki wanted, needed something Steve couldn't give him. And what happened when he realized that? What happened when he figured out that compared to centuries of experience, Steve had none, had no competence at all -- what happened if he turned out to be a horrible lover, or--

He dropped down from his elbow and rolled on to his back, facing the ceiling because he wasn't sure he could handle the hurt and desperate look in Loki's eyes. He took a deep breath. Then another. "I..." he swallowed.   "I want to hold you and kiss you, and I'm pretty sure, pretty sure I want the other thing too, but... I can't tell you what to do because I don't know what I'm doing," he admitted. "I've never..." he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut briefly in embarrassment. Because there was no way of getting around it. Loki would realize soon enough when they, if they, well.

"I got raised being told you were supposed to wait until marriage. That, that it was something special. Something important," he began to explain, hoping Loki wasn't already regretting all of this. "And I know it's a bit stupid and old fashioned, and I'm not saying I believe the marriage part, but," he swallowed. "But it's still... I mean, I know it doesn't matter as much to you, and you've had lots of people, and probably know what you're doing and you're probably amazing and I--" he trailed off, not even sure what he was trying to say anymore. "Shit," he cursed softly under his breath, voice cracking. "I want to. I do. And I want to with you, just," he braced himself and looked back over at Loki searchingly. "Not yet?"

  
  
  
  


Loki sat up while the Captain spoke, understanding dawning and making him feel terrible.

"No, no-- I hadn't. I didn't realize." Memories of how jealousy had flared, ugly and sharp within him, at the thought of Steve with others, suddenly faded from importance. Because there hadn't been others for him to be jealous of. Not before him, not while he'd known him-- it was a horrible thing to be smug about.

"I had supposed that you would have had... hundreds by now, that you would know... but of course, our lives have differed, our worlds differ, and there is nothing wrong with. I thought--" Loki didn't have words for what he thought. It was all too confusing.

He wasn't sure why he felt so relieved about this. He'd thought there was something wrong with him that he hadn't discovered yet, for Steve not to want him, after having wanted him for so long.

"You don't know yet, what you do and don't like, and in time, at your leisure, I will help you to find out. I'm sorry. You must think me so..." Pushy, needy, uncouth? He wasn't sure. "I didn't mean to urge you into sex before you... it's so easy to forget how young you are. And in my experience..." He shrugged. "In my experience, I have hardly spoken to those who I bedded, before falling into it. The idea of being with someone who... means as much to me as you, and being so unappealing as to be untouchable. I thought you hesitated because of misgivings, thought I was losing you already. This is not that at all, this is very different. And I understand. I was already nearing adulthood before the first time I..."

He trailed off, realizing that he wanted Steve's first time to be nothing like his own. Then, he'd still thought he could be loved while being whatever was asked of him. And he'd been hurt for it.

"When you are ready, I will be happy-- honored-- to...if you're ready. I won't hurry you. I want you to forget about. About all the petulant things I said, all the misinformed... I'm an ass." He said firmly.

  
  
  
  


Steve rolled back over so he could face Loki. "You're not an ass," he replied, a smile tugging at his lips. He felt flooded with warmth and relief. Loki hadn't recoiled or been turned off by the revelation. If anything, he was now overly apologetic, and Steve realized he ought to have known better.

"It's not an unreasonable assumption. Most humans do manage to do it at least once by the time they turn ninety-five," he added, mostly-joking. Even without the time in the ice, he was 28, give or take a few months, which was definitely older than the statistical average as he understood. But where he'd learned to keep most information about his sex life and his inclinations private, everyone quite easily assumed he must have already at some point, as Loki had. After all, Captain America was supposed to be the embodiment of red-blooded all-American masculinity, right? The thought put a sour taste in his mouth and he pushed it away, opting instead to focus on Loki.

"And... I'd like that," he told him, reaching out and wrapping his hand around Loki's where it lay on the bedspread, intertwining their fingers. "But you're going to have to call some of the shots and tell me what to do," he reminded. "I want it to be good for you. I know it probably won't be great since, well," he winced. "But you mean a lot to me."

  
  
  
  


Loki made a slightly strangled noise in his throat, something between an indignant snort and a laugh.

He squeezed Steve's hand. " _You're_ good for me." He said softly. "It was a ridiculous assumption, and if you see me making them from now on, I want you to tell me, please. I should have realized, after the times I asked about your lady, the one who didn't exist. I'm sorry. And... I should have realized I was making you uncomfortable, too. It seems my time on my own has made my social abilities fall to misuse. Tell me, if you can, when I'm wrong. I won't be angry about it. You mean a lot to me, too."

He scooted himself inwards and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to Steve's lips.

"I want you to feel safe with me." he told him seriously. "Not just in that I won't harm you, but that I'd protect you from anything that threatened, be it externally or in-. As far as I am able. I don't want you to think that I want you in the way that the others in my past... none of them valued me, and I did not value them. That is not how it is with you." He laughed softly. "If you never choose to have sex with me, it will not matter, I will not care any less for you for it. So long as you will tell me when-- if you stop caring for me."

That part would hurt, he knew. But this was a very different situation than others he'd been in, and much as he did not wish to hurt Steve, he did not really expect to live long enough to reach the moment when his caring for Loki would end. Not unless mortal attention spans were directly proportional to their life expectancies. He was sure now that if the years didn't snatch Steve from him, Thanos would take Loki first. Because he would not give him another opportunity to touch Steve. Never again.

  
  
  
  


"I don't think that will ever be a problem," Steve murmured, leaning forward to kiss Loki again. He barely had to lift his voice over a whisper as they lay with their heads together, breath intermingling. "And I do. Feel safe. And I want you to feel the same, ‘cause I'll go to the mat for you." Now more than ever, he knew that if anyone wanted to hurt Loki, they'd have to go through him first.

He pressed his lips to Loki's again, scooting closer so he could wrap an arm around his waist. "And I gotta say it: your past partners were idiots if they didn't see how incredible you are."

Loki was goddamn beautiful, sure. But he was smart and insightful and funny and even if it got wrapped in something sharp and brittle and dark somewhere along the line, it was clear he had heart. And a truly fierce protective instinct and sense of loyalty to boot. Steve hadn't had anyone caring about him that strongly or looking out for him and yelling at him for stupid risks since-- well, since Bucky died. "When I said I want you..." he licked his kiss-moistened lips, and while the gesture came from nervous habit he realized belatedly it must look borderline obscene. "When I said... I meant all of you. Your mind, your sense of humor, the way you describe things and explain them and... and all the stuff that's _you_."

He closed his eyes briefly, pressed close to Loki, breathing him in, the lingering taste of him tingling on Steve's lips, and took a moment just to _be_.

  
  
  
  


As close as their faces were, he could nearly feel the movement of Steve's lips, and the motion of his tongue was distracting, but, he knew, also not intended to be.

"You have made me feel safer than I have since I went running to Frigga's arms from bad dreams as a child." He told him, his own voice softened to a whisper. He liked this, the quiet intimacy of not using his voice. There was no artifice in a whisper, no carefully monitored tones, no calculated teases. And enfolded as he was in Steve's arms, he really did feel safe enough to speak as honestly as he had been practicing to be.

He was close and warm and did not want-- was not ready to progress beyond this for now.

So Loki only raised a hand and used it to trace the line of Rogers' jaw, then down his neck and along his collarbone. He felt tears welling and knew they were completely out of place here, in this bed, shrouded in care and warmth and hope and love and safety. He had no reason to cry. He was tired of crying.

He pulled his hand back and with it, dashed the tears from his face.

"Most who like me do so because they do not know me well, and it stops quickly enough when they do. You are just the opposite. I think you know me better than most any other. And you waited until you did to speak to me of care. I think you are the first person in years to be _proud_ of me, and in far longer than that to say as much. When I began wanting you, I told myself it was out of misplaced gratitude, a simple reaction to your goodness, your kindness, your patience and how gentle you had been. But you are also beautiful and quick witted, a wonderful listener and an inspiring speaker, a good friend. And a better person. I thought I just wanted some of your light to pierce the dark spots in me. But I think now I just want you-- all of you, and to be close to you." _For as long as you'll let me_ , he didn't add.

He realized he was terrified to an extent of the day that Steve decided he was ready to go beyond petting and kissing. For the day that he would have to take them further, and only hope that he could piece together enough positive from his experiences to make it good, while still being as caring as this.

He almost wished it was the other way around. Steve would be precisely the person he would choose, given the chance, to have his first time with. In the mean time, he would just have to learn to be as much like Steve as possible, to make it as close to perfect as he could.

Learning kindness couldn't be so hard, could it? Unlearning the more harmful of his tendencies in bed. He could do that.

He sealed that promise to himself with another kiss, this one lingering and soft, his eyes slipping shut while he let his lips slide across the moist fullness of Steve's.

  
  
  
  


"Mmm. I want you close to me too," Steve said sleepily, grinning as their lips parted. He reached up to brush his thumb over Loki's cheek again, rubbing away the moisture that had trailed from his watering eyes.

How much hurt and heartache might have been averted if someone else had tried to know Loki as well as Steve did now? If someone had tried to break down the walls enough to see that capacity for kindness and care. Steve felt a spark of affection with an undertone of pride for being one of the lucky few to truly _know_ Loki, but it was quickly extinguished by sadness for how many years of loneliness he must have endured. How many centuries of feeling unwanted and used had warped him into the man who commanded others to kneel before him?

Protective instinct now rising, Steve squirmed in the bed, shifting upward so he could pull Loki close and tuck his head in against the juncture of Steve's neck and shoulder, planting a kiss against his hair. The duvet had been kicked down by their rolling and moving and squirming and now bunched up under their knees, so he pulled his legs up just enough to yank it free from under them and pull it back up, covering them up to their waists.  

"When we go back," he whispered, "when we go back to SHIELD, if they try to separate us for good, then we run. There's other groups out there looking out for the world. Other heroes. People we can go to and warn, and work with to protect against Thanos." Just saying the name out loud made part of him want to shrivel in fear, but he knew he'd have to face Him again sooner or later, so he'd better start conquering that fear now. "But I'm not giving you up."

  
  
  
  


Loki's eyes widened where Steve couldn't see, pressed against his neck as he was, held close and safe and treasured.

And loved.

Captain America would not run from those who commanded him for anything less. Would not so thoroughly disobey Fury and his orders, unless he truly meant what he said. Not that Loki had really doubted it; the Captain had never, to his knowledge, told him anything untrue.

But as the blanket settled over Loki's legs, a blanket of surety settled over him as well.

"If we need to." He agreed. "But it will be together."

It felt a bit like a formal alliance, a pledge of arms in a battle or an agreement to trade... but even here, even on the tables of their hearts, agreements held no less strength. More, perhaps, because opening himself, opening _themselves_ to this sort of partnership, required a good deal more trust than Loki had exercised in centuries. Perhaps ever in his life.

"We'll make plans tomorrow," He murmured, snuggling in closer to the heat, feeling Steve's chest against his own, his arms chill where they touched the air, in comparison to the warmth of Rogers' body under them.

It was good, though, comfortable. He liked this.

It would be far too easy to become accustomed to this, to the comfort of the soft bed and the comfort of a body against his own. Even the mild discomfort of an ignored erection, fading as it was, was easily dismissed in favor of the joy he felt, burrowing his face into the musk of Steve's neck.

As he felt himself drifting off, he was glad that Steve was open to running. He just hoped that would happen. He didn't want to sleep alone on a cot anymore.

Not now that he knew he could have this instead.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that only took 200k... 
> 
>  
> 
> [Click here to listen to creepy Icelandic lullabies.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TSKNIGwp7Jk)


	15. Fifteen

It was like waking into an entirely different world than the one he’d fallen asleep in. Not literally, of course. The world was yet Midgard, the problems he faced were vastly unchanged… it was only he who had.

Thanks to the man whose arm was warm and heavy across his body. Loki lay still, listening to the even and deep breaths that whispered over the side of his face. He opened his eyes and saw only skin, from where he was held tight and close to him. He smiled.

He felt the way a favorite toy must, comfortable in the knowledge that they were irreplaceable in the eyes and arms of the one holding them.

He huffed out an amused sigh, but did not try to move away.

He had to use the bathroom, was excited at the prospect of a shower that did not require an armed guard. But that could wait a while longer. He was loathe to remove himself from this cocoon of bliss.

But he also knew the longer he lay here, the more likely one of two things was to happen: either he would begin thinking of the troubles that awaited them, or he would start thinking of the body pressed against his, and new troubles would arise. Possibly both, knowing him.

But he put it all off just as long as he could.

This was better than anything else he had experienced so far in this realm.

This was better, even, than bacon.

  


A faint brush of air against the sensitive skin of his neck coaxed Steve from sleep to wakefulness. His back felt cool, but something warm lay snug against his chest, tucked against him. He breathed in deeply, and the smell was faintly musky with something sharp underlying it. It was a comforting smell -- a familiar smell, he realized --and he smiled into the head of hair his face laid against.

“Good morning,” he rumbled, opening his eyes and blinking away the bleariness of slumber. Keeping his arms around Loki, he pulled back just enough that he could look down at the face of the first person he’d woken up beside in an achingly long time.

Loki’s face looked more youthful, relaxed and serene like this, softly illuminated by the light filtering in through the curtains. Despite their positions not having changed during the night, his hair was wild and tangled, with soft curls tumbling over the pillow, inviting Steve’s fingers to gently comb through them.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve murmured unthinkingly, and then, on impulse, brushed his lips against Loki’s forehead. “I could really get used to waking up like this.”

 

“As could I.” Loki told him softly. “And clearly you haven’t been around enough mirrors. You should see the way you look, the way you feel. Beautiful does not begin to describe it.” He let his lips turn up in a soft smile that reached his eyes and left them crinkled and bright.

“It can’t last, though.” He spoke seriously enough that it might be mistaken for remorse, but he hurriedly explained. “I need to use the restroom. And at some point today--” His stomach growled and Loki grimaced. “Yes. That.” He sighed wistfully, though, and stretched his neck upwards, lifting his mouth to be even with Steves, so that he could kiss him a proper hello.

“It would be nice to stay here, like this forever.” He said. “Never see another gun point at either of us. Never spend another day locked away underground.” He tugged Steve closer, though his bladder objected to his continued procrastination.

“How did you sleep?” He asked. “Was the bed okay?”

It was like a dream for him, like Steve had said the night before. Like a dream he was afraid to wake up from. Like a dream that he was clinging to with every fiber of his body, just to keep it from ending. They both knew there was a clock ticking down over their heads, but until it hit zero, he was happy to be here. They both were, he thought.

  


Steve sighed into Loki’s mouth as they kissed. Before last night, he could have counted the grand total of kisses he’d experienced on one hand. Now, he’d more than lost count. And had come to the conclusion that he enjoyed the activity immensely.

“It would,” he agreed, though he knew as well as Loki did it wouldn’t be possible. They had limited time before SHIELD caught up with them. And even if he left SHIELD, he still had responsibilities. He’d do everything in his power to keep Loki safe, but there were others whose safety he was responsible for as well, and there were fights he _couldn’t_ run away from.

“The bed’s fine. I think... I think this is the latest I’ve slept in months, actually,” he mused, staring at the strips of light that fell from the gaps in the curtains on to the bedspread. Normally he was up before dawn, when the sky was still a cold and murky blue-gray, beginning to pale at the horizon. Any later and he woke in a panic, petrified by the thought that he’d come to in another fake room to find his life had slipped away again.

But here, with Loki’s warm body pressed against him, anchoring him in time and promising he wouldn’t wake bereft again, he’d slept better than he had since 1944.

Someone’s stomach -- it could be either of theirs at this point -- growled again.

“Go,” he said with a chuckle, giving Loki one more quick peck and then a playful shove. “You get first dibs on the bathroom and shower. Let me know if you need any help with this one.”

  


Loki sat up, his brows raising and a smirk spreading across his face like it belonged there.

“Well if you’re offering, you’re more than welcome to join me. You’ve a couple of minutes to make up your mind.” He informed the Captain, teasing tone in place but wholly serious about the offer.

He turned and sauntered away, his walk as much a show as he could fit into the ten paces between the bed and the door to the restroom.

Once he’d relieved himself, he stripped out of his pants and left them folded on the back of the toilet tank, before turning his attention to the shower.

Which was uncomfortably small for one grown man to fit in, let alone two of them, if the Captain followed as he hoped he might.

And that wouldn’t do.

He moved the walls backwards, pushing the dimensions of the bathroom out and into a pocket space that he had created when he was first learning about displacement, about moving masses around, be it himself or other things. He’d learned how to create a bubble that was nowhere, and how to make it big enough to hold whole people… or parts of rooms.

The physical impossibility thus seen to, he created a room like the hotsprings back home-- the shower was still there, though it fell like a waterfall, and once you had stepped through it, the pool awaited, the opals shining just as he remembered, just as he’d described.

He would have to put everything back as it was before they left, but for now… this was theirs, this retreat. And he would make it as much of one as possible.

Turning back towards the door, he decided not to do things part way, and transformed the rest of the tiny room into a replica of his back in the palace.

He could not take Steve to Asgard. But he could bring a taste of it here, for him.

  


Steve watched Loki cross the small room to the bathroom, observing that catlike grace and fluid swagger with unconcealed appreciation. He blew out a long breath once the bathroom door closed, rolling on to his back to try to get his pulse (among other things) under control. Before yesterday, he’d have been horrified at himself, full of reproach and shame for admiring that display. Part of him still wanted to chide himself, to look away and hide his interest, but what was the point? Loki had just spent the night in his arms, after all, and it had been... it had been good. Beautiful. Incredible. Nothing that made him feel so whole could really be all that wrong. Right?

He lay there for a little longer, stretching as he heard the toilet flush and the shower start. He felt a little weak still and a little shaky, but the pounding in his head at least was gone at last. And the weakness, he noted, was probably from the fact he hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours. With a metabolism that burned five times as fast as average, he felt about ready to eat his own shoe.

Which set him to wondering where exactly said shoe had even _gone..._

Hauling himself out of the bed, he quickly pulled the blankets and pillows back into place, tidying up out of mindless habit. He tracked down his shoes, socks, wallet, shirt and belt, as well as Loki’s abandoned shirt, frowning as he realized Loki must’ve been barefoot throughout the whole ordeal the day before. Hopefully he’d be able to magic up some footwear before they left the motel room to walk around and find something to eat. Steve frowned, and reminded himself to ask Loki how they had checked in anyhow. It wasn’t as if Loki had money or an ID.

Loki was still in the shower, but the water sounded different now. Steve paused outside the door. Had something gone wrong with the plumbing? He rapped his knuckles against the door. “Loki? Everything okay in there?”

When a second passed without response, he lightly pressed on the door, which swung readily open...

Steve’s jaw dropped. “Oh.”

  


Loki stood beneath the fall, washing the surface grime from his skin and out of his hair, unwilling to sit in it if he didn’t have to. And he didn’t. Which was wonderful.

The changes to construction that he had done allowed him to see Steve’s reaction, to take pride in the surprise in his face.

“Do you like it?” He asked again. “I thought, since you are going to show me a small part of your world, I might show you a bit of mine.” A reward, perhaps, for finally agreeing to let him leave the room. He stepped forward, out of the spray, and held his arms out, palms down, to grab for Steve’s hands if he would just come closer.

“You wanted to see our hotsprings. And this is a bit of the palace-- not an actual bit, most of it is illusion. But the springs aren’t. Join me, rinse off the day, we can soak in the water and rub some of your stiffness out.” Loki’s lips twitched as he realized what he’d said, moments too late.

“Of course, you’ll have to take your pants off for that.” He told him seriously. He lowered his eyes demurely. “Unless, of course, you aren’t interested. What do you say Captain? Have you anything better to do just now?”

  


Steve’s first reaction was awe.

Immediately followed by alarm. Loki was meant to be building back up his magic; a little illusion, he’d agreed to but this -- how much had this weakened him by? Did it affect the rooms around them, expanding the space like this? (Steve knew better than to imagine a crap motel had a bathroom this big) Would it cause problems with the plumbing and draw attention? Would--

He snapped his jaw shut, and breathed through his nose. No. Loki wasn’t an idiot, he would have thought of all of that. And as he pointed out the night before, he better understood the limits of his own power than Steve did.

Stamping down on his panic, he looked around, and allowed himself to soak in the beauty of the space, transformed by Loki’s ability. The grotto was lovely, the pearly surfaces shimmering with tiny rainbows as the light danced over them, coils of steam inviting him toward the water. And from there, he found his gaze drawn upward toward Loki; fully naked and beautiful as the spray sluiced down his limber body.

Out of habit, Steve averted his eyes. Then kicked himself, because of course, Loki would think that meant Steve didn’t want to see him, when he really, really did. Fighting against years of ingrained purposeless modesty, he let himself look back up and drink it in.

“I suppose I could use a wash,” he said hesitantly, heart beating a bit too fast again. Loki had done this for him. Made this all for him. And it wouldn’t hurt anyone; how would anything be wrong with it if it hurt no one and made Loki happy? Hell, made Steve happy too?

With clumsy fingers, he struggled a few seconds too long with the buttons of his trousers before finally getting them undone and shucking them. A moment later, his briefs followed, and he quickly folded them and left them by the door before stepping in and lowering himself into the water.

“Oh wow.” The pool was just on the right side of scalding. It felt good as he sank into it, the currents flowing like gentle caresses against his skin.

  


Loki watched Steve’s face, hoping for instant acceptance, perhaps more joy, but that faded after only a moment. He saw the hesitation, the way his eyes darted away from Loki’s body, and Loki might have said something if they didn’t return nearly instantly to drag up his form.

Hungrily, almost.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want him, he reminded himself, but that he was not accustomed to being allowed to want, men in general and him in particular. It would take time. He reminded himself that Steve had been patient with him, with his lies and his thoughts and his inability to trust.

Besides, he had not looked away out of disgust, but embarrassment, which was natural for someone inexperienced.

Loki followed him, giving Steve a little space to climb in first, his own eyes dancing appreciatively across his back, down his waist, lingering on his ass and flanks. The man was truly a shining example of ideal manhood, whether from Midgard or not. Any realm would be glad to claim him, Loki thought.

He let himself sink in after Steve, a sigh escaping him as the hot water swallowed up every ache that lingered.

“This is far better than any shower I have experienced. Wouldn’t you say?” He asked, toying with one of the opals that lined the pool.

He’d made it big enough for several people, large enough to allow Steve some space if he was not comfortable with being too close to Loki, while they were both unclothed. And though he was curious, Loki allowed Rogers the modesty of neither leering nor attempting to peer through the ripples on the water to see what lay beneath.

He would find out in due time.

“Let me know when you are ready, and I would be happy to return the favor of the massage you gave me last night. I also want to check on your krellr and the flow of it, once you’re relaxed.” He paused though, unwilling to chase Steve down, if the situation was going to discomfort him. “If you want.”

  


Steve closed his eyes and let himself submerge completely into the water, spending several seconds suspended in the serene warmth before surfacing for air, running a hand back through his wet bangs to push them out of his eyes. He could feel his anxieties, like the sweat and dirt and flakes of blood, washing away with the eddies.

“Forget showers. Tony Stark is gonna be pissed,” he announced with a grin. “This beats the hell even out of his hot tub.” And it did. Though a fair part of his bias may have come from the fact that this pool contained a naked Loki. He felt the blood climb to his cheeks, and hoped that the flush would be passed off as a product of the heat and steam. “Massage also sounds really nice, just, one thing first.”

Looking around, the spotted the small bar of motel soap perched on the edge of the pool; an oddly modern touch to the timeless scene Loki had formed around them. Steve had to swim over to it with the size of the bath, but once he had it in hand, he began to work up a lather, soaping up his hair, face, and underarms. Once he was covered in suds, he dunked himself under the surface again, running his hands through his hair to dislodge all the soap before coming back up, blinking water out of his eyes and breathing deeply of the steam-filled air. His time in the military had instilled Steve with the ability to clean himself quickly and efficiently. With that now out of the way:

“Er, where do you want me?” he asked, not sure where under the swirling surface of the water lay the best place to perch.

  


He cleaned himself quickly, efficiently, and, Loki couldn’t help but hope, perhaps a touch eagerly?

He was certainly eager to get his hands on him, now that he wasn’t forced to hide or pretend or deny himself the small affectionate gestures he’d so yearned to bestow, the last time.

“There is a smooth rock shelf here.” Loki gestured beside where he currently was, then shrugged, “However if you don’t want to sit sideways, I can put one most anywhere.” He grinned a little wryly. “Before getting to stretch myself yesterday, I had nearly forgotten how good it felt to actually _use_ my seidhr, rather than letting it simply flow in and out each day.” He swirled his hand, twitching his wrist and lifting a little ball of water to suspend in the air, before floating it across the pool towards Steve.

He placed it over his head, then caused it to lose its shape, washing the warm water down over his face.

“You missed some soap in your hair.” He remarked airily, not bothering to hide the mirth on his face.

He stood and sloshed forward through the pool.

“If it’s too warm, I can make a place beside the pool for you-- or if you kneel on the shelf, you can drape yourself out of it from the waist up, and I can work on you that way.”

He reached inwards and drew out his ointment tub, the one for soothing aches.

“Up to you, Captain.” He let his voice caress the name the way that he looked forward to caressing his back, his shoulders, his neck… He had to work not to rake his eyes down Steve’s chest, unwilling to scare him off by being overly predatory.

“Your call.” He said finally.

He’d let Steve set their pace. Patience, he reminded himself.

  


Steve deliberated for a few moments. Draping himself out of the pool would allow Loki more access to his back, but the position would leave him more exposed that he was entirely comfortable with. Not that he didn’t trust Loki, but he didn’t want his own awkwardness to detract from the joy of the situation.

Before he could make a decision, however, Loki distracted him with a floating ball of water, swirling with its own ripples and eddies while still maintaining a perfect sphere. Steve looked up, watching it in wonder--

\-- And squawked in surprise as it splashed all over his face. He sputtered, glared at Loki from between wet lashes, and put on a mock scowl. “For the record, I’m going to get you back for that,” he warned, before dropped the scowl into a smirk and swimming over. A few stroked through the water had him bobbing up next to Loki, and sure enough, there was the shelf. Not looking down, he turned and seated himself on it with his back angled to Loki, the water coming to a few inches above their respective waists -- enough to provide some illusion of modesty, though he was hard-pressed to forget the fact they were both very close and very naked.

“Thank you, by the way,” he said. “For all this. It’s incredible.” He wished he had a better understanding of the kind of principles that might translate magic into science, that he could better appreciate what exactly went into this kind of work. But he knew if he asked questions, they would probably be frustratingly simplistic and leave him more perplexed about how Loki did what he did than when he started.

  


“Of course.” Loki responded, both to the threat of retaliation and the thanks. Both concerned him about equally, though he was flattered. It wasn’t often his magic was well met, though it wasn’t often he used it for things such as building, and not just for dropping water over heads. Perhaps that was why?

He positioned himself better to reach the man and sat the ointment beside him, on the edge of the pool.

“Do me a favor and do not let that fall in. I cannot know when I will be able to replace it.” There was enough left for several months of his normal use, a little here and there every few weeks, but he had the feeling that being this close to Rogers, he would put more stress on his supply. It would be a pity to see it all wasted into the water.

He spread it over his hands, and then placed some high up on Steve’s neck, letting the water that lingered there and the sweat which rose to the surface wash it downwards slowly.

He pushed his thumbs lightly into the toned, raised muscles high up on his back, just below his neck, and he pushed inwards, remembering the way all of Steve had been tensed the day prior, pulled taught while his blood washed over his face.

It made Loki scared all over again, even though he had slept curled into him, held him and touched him almost constantly since then. He spread his hands over his back, reassuring himself that he was real, that he was here and whole.

“You’re so tense.” he murmured, that his voice rose just above the sounds of the water moving. “Remember if I make you uncomfortable, you only need say so.” He tapped at the muscles to test them, trying to find if there was anywhere that would not benefit from his attentions.

Apparently not.

He kept the lower half of his body carefully angled away from Steve, but began pressing the length of his forearms against him, causing the water to shift around them, and causing the skin beneath his arms to slide, while the bound muscles moved below.

“And if I hurt you, tell me that, too. I do not wish to do either.”

  


“Hmmm,” Steve hummed as the oil touched his skin, warm and smooth. “I know you don’t.”

And he did. The last time he and Loki had been alone in a washroom together, he’d stood perpendicularly, unwilling to turn his back on Loki. Now, he readily let himself be nude and vulnerable without fear. Some unease, yes, but not from any apprehension that he’d come to harm. He believed -- he _knew_ Loki wouldn’t purposefully hurt him. And where Steve wasn’t exactly a wilting flower, he wasn’t too concerned about any accidental injury either. Already, Loki’s hands and arms felt warm and pleasant against him, chasing away aches he hadn’t recognized as present until he felt them easing. The water lapped at his waist in small waves as Loki moved, adding an extra layer of sensation. He let his eyes fall closed.

The night before, Loki had said he’d felt cared for in a way he hadn’t in a long time. Now, slowly relaxing under Loki’s ministrations, Steve realized he felt the same. It had been a long time since anyone had doted on him like this. A long time since he’d _let_ anyone dote on him like this. As a child, there had been his mother, of course; even with her hectic schedule and burgeoning illness, Sarah Rogers had always taken the time to care for him and love him and brush his sweaty hair from his face when he was sick, humming lullabies from the old country. When she was gone, there had been Bucky, always sneaking Steve food and patching him up after a fight. Even after the serum, Bucky had looked out for him, making sure he had extra rations since his system now burned through anything he ate faster than it should. Since Bucky died...

Obviously there were still people since then who cared about him and looked out for his wellbeing. But it wasn’t... That was different. SHIELD kept him healthy and looked out for his safety because he was an asset. People cared about Captain America because he was important for what he represented. But he was supposed to be strong and capable and indestructible (not even 70 years in a block of ice had killed him), so no one felt the need to guard and comfort him like this. He’d adapted to such self-sufficiency, hiding his hurts and masking his weakness so as not to burden others, that it was strange to relinquish it all and allow himself to be coddled and tended to.

Strange, but nice.

“Mmmph. Keep-- keep doing that,” Steve groaned when Loki found a particularly troublesome spot he must have pulled as he fell the day before, or maybe in his mad dash down to the cells. “Please,” he quickly added, for politeness’ sake. Eyes fluttering open again, his gaze came to rest on the small jar of oil that Loki had once again magically procured from... somewhere.

He looked at it consideringly. “How does it work?” he asked. “Magic, I mean? And it’s okay if you can’t really explain it to me, I know it’s probably pretty complicated. But -- how do you just pull that out of thin air?”

  


He let his hands move on their own, muscle memory and the sheer sensation of touch enough to guide him, while he focused on thinking of the best way to explain things.

“You are familiar with the word seidhr, but not the concept of it. It means magic, but more importantly, it _is_ magic. It does not belong to any single person-- it is not my seidhr. It is a common enough figure of speech, because in Asgard, you are taught to have pride in and take responsibility for your kills, and since the Aesir can think of little reason to use magic aside from killing… I digress. Seidhr is a bit like flowing water. It moves between the worlds, loops around… think of it as an ocean that you cannot see. And each sorcerer is something like a tide pool. Each day the seidhr comes in and takes away that which went unused, and refills the pool with more.” The description felt apt, and he was being forced to remember way back, to when Frigga had first explained it to him.

His hands swept downwards, fingertips dipping into the water and then back up again, just enough to moisten the oils more, make them run in beautiful streaks of shimmering translucence over Steve’s perfect skin, down his beautiful back.

Loki was enjoying himself.

“Learning to control and manipulate the siedhr is necessary-- not only for safety, but to grow in strength. As I told you, it is like a muscle. The more often you work it, the stronger you become, and the deeper your pool becomes, giving you more seidhr to draw from. Exhausting your supply is not like running out of water… you can get more seidhr by begging it out of your surroundings but it is… ill advised. Have you ever run until your legs gave out, or lifted until your arms trembled?” He asked, honestly unsure whether Steve had such limitations.

“The seidhr inside of you is only exactly what you can hold. No more or less. Exhausting it and pressing on… it is damaging. Likewise, if you have fully exhausted the muscles which control the seidhr, they will be sore for several days.”

He rubbed the sore muscles under his hands, almost to illustrate.

“How I pull things from thin air is actually more akin to pulling things from a pocket. I have created, within me, an empty space. This exists between dimensions, between the planes on which rest the realms. I have filled this pocket with necessities, a satchel of gold, some healing herbs and poultices, my knives, things of that ilk. Things that it would not due to be caught without. And so when I took hold of the sceptre, it was this pocket which had a hole ripped into it, because Thanos wanted something that was inside.” Loki frowned, the unpleasant sensation of something inside of him being shredded surfacing. His hands stilled for a moment, using Rogers’ shoulders to steady himself, before he began working again. “It is anchored to any plane I am on by being anchored to me, a bit like a… a limb, I suppose.” He shrugged, hoping the motion would translate, since Steve was not facing him.

  


Steve mulled over Loki’s explanation, trying to pay attention to the words and not the ways his body wanted to respond to Loki’s voice, Loki’s touch. He focused on the gentle lapping and splashing of the water around them, considering the hot spring as a pool of magic, ebbing with use and filling with time. Or did seidhr work in cycles, like a tide?

The muscle portion made sense, and held some consistency with what Loki had told him before, though he suspected not all of that conversation had been honest. And he definitely knew the trembling, ache that set in from overstraining, though now it typically happened after running forty miles instead of a couple blocks. Loki’s strong and deft hands now eased the fatigue from his muscles, and he only wished he knew of some way to soothe the strains of Loki’s seidhr.

“Ok, a few questions,” he spoke up. “Firstly; who can learn to use ma-- seidhr?” he quickly corrected himself with the more accurate term, though he doubted his pronunciation was correct. “Is-- does everyone have the muscle and most people never learn how to use it, or are some people not born close enough to the beach to have a tidepool?” It was a flawed mix of metaphors, but he hoped it conveyed the essence of his question.

“And second, when you store things, how much does that drain you, and how much can you take with you?” When Loki described an empty space or pocket inside of himself, Steve had to banish the rather ridiculous mental image of Loki with a kangaroo pouch where he stashed things, knowing that was _not_ what he meant, though he wasn’t quite sure what he did mean. “Is it like having a bag where the more you put in, the more it weighs you down, or is it more like a storage locker where the only limit is the space you have available?”

He hesitated, mulling over his third question. “Lastly...” he turned to look over his shoulder at Loki. “What... What was it that he took?”

  


Loki smiled, utterly enchanted at the line of questioning.

Most who were strong enough to fight honorably disregarded magic, would never even consider it worth their attention. This almost sounded like…

“Would you like to learn Captain?” He asked, only partially teasing. He wondered if he could.

“There are those born more inclined to it, but everyone on Asgard has at least some small capacity. After all, immortality, the long lives of the Aesir, are built on apples from the tree of Idunn, a tree which subsists almost solely on seidhr. I was under the impression that there was a time wherein those who showed aptitude for the art on your realm were hunted, killed, and their learning was lost.” If Steve could see him, he would have found a reproachful look plastered over Loki’s face. “I would imagine the aptitude has been genetically bred to the absolute minimum by now. But if it is something you think you may be interested in, I will help you discover if it is possible for you.”

He stroked over Steve’s back, opposite the place where he would feel his heartbeat best, on his chest, considering. It would be… something, Loki thought, to share that with him. To be able to trade seidhr back and forth… to have an entire water fight with floating orbs. To not be alone in his seidhr use, either, to not be the only one who could-- but that would also make him less useful to Steve. Less necessary. He bit his lips, but didn’t say anything.

If he wanted to learn, Loki would count himself lucky.

“My storage is… it is nothing, it takes no more effort than keeping my face from being blue. It is a bit like remembering to have good posture. Keeping it open at first is a challenge to remember, but then it becomes part of your nature. And it can hold… I have never tested its capacity. I just look at something and know it will fit. Why, what did you have in mind? I think… a man would not fit into it, but a small child might. If that helps.” He shrugged. “And the biggest use of seidhr is in manipulating the items between planes. And that is no more effort than… perhaps, throwing your shield? I wish I was better at explaining for you.” He shook his head and pressed in a little harder, digging his thumbs into the resistance atop Steve’s shoulders.

“Thanos wanted his payment for the Chitauri. He traded me their force for a gauntlet from Asgard’s treasury-- the one I stole before coming here. And he decided he had waited long enough. I did not know it was possible to reach through your mind to your physical plane, and through that to my secret pocket plane, but he looked into me and saw it, and did. And that is how the damage was done.”

Traumatic as it was, it sounded so simple, and he had to admit himself curious if the process was replicable, with less damage involved.

  


Steve thought about it and bit his lip. “I seriously doubt I’d have any natural ability,” he conceded, “but it would be really neat to know more about it. To understand.” So he could have a better idea of Loki’s abilities, his limitations, and what would be reasonable to ask of him in a situation where they needed his power. And also because it was fantastical and brilliant and unheard of except for in children’s stories and this was _real._ “You must have spent a lot of time on it, practicing, to be able to do all the things you can do. So it must matter to you a lot-- little lower there -- and if it matters to you, then I want to be able to know enough to really appreciate what goes into it.” Studying art had completely changed the way he looked at the paintings in the museum. Knowing more about magic would probably make Loki’s spells all the more awe-inspiring, since he’d get what went into them.

That being said: “But if I could learn a little, anything at all, that would be--” he reached up, brushing some of the sweat and condensation from his face and tucking back some of his hair which had fallen free. “If I could help heal like you can, at all. I’d... I’d love to do that.” What he would give to help save lives, not just in action, but also in those times where previously he’d sat helpless, watching someone he loved waste away or bleed out while he could do nothing.

“For your storage -- if we do need to run, it’d be useful to grab some stuff to take with us. We wouldn’t have much time, but knowing we could bring some things with us without getting weighed down would help a lot.” He’d begun to formulate a list of what they could risk taking and what they’d have to leave. Knowing their carrying capacity would be useful. “And you’re explaining fine so far. I’m sorry I’m so clueless about all of this.”

He bit down on a groan as Loki’s fingers burrowed deeper. It was almost enough to make his mind go blank, but mention of Thanos and the Chitauri brought him back, a small quiver traveling down the length of his spine where it was above water. “So, he got what he wanted...” Steve frowned, letting his head fall forward to stretch the muscles in the back of his neck. “If he got this gauntlet, then shouldn’t he-- why do you think he’s going to kill you?”

  


Loki was flattered by his attention, by his interest-- not even for Steve himself, just to understand _him_ , to better be able to appreciate his abilities. It was… more interest than even Frigga had shown in him and his efforts.

“I have had a lot of time to devote to it, yes. And I am proud because I am good at what I do, one of the best on Asgard. But it was a slow process over the course of years. Many, many years.” He looked at Steve, what small sliver he could see of the side of his face. He wondered what he thought, how he felt about the difference in their ages, in their life spans. Wondered if he had given any thought to it.

But then the talk turned more serious, turned to Thanos, and Loki knew he ought to stop touching him, stop distracting him with his hands.

He did, moving to come before Steve, lifting his hands up out of the water, so that he could hold them while he spoke.

“Thanos will want me dead to make a point. You do not fail him, you do not let him down and live to do it again, or to tell the tale. I was meant to conquer your world and trade it for the gauntlet, proving his might, solidifying myself as a worthy ally, that I might then move elsewhere, and rule by reputation alone, and await his word. He will need the sceptre back, as well, and I thought-- I was certain the next time I spoke to it, he would turn me inside out pulling it through me. And then it was you instead. And I thought you were dead of it. But you survived, and so... “ Loki shook his head. “And so he will not be satisfied until he has what is his, and likely until I am dead.”

He was grave, but accepting.

“And you have seen his power. You have felt it. I do not want you seeking to stop him. Your death would be pointless and he would kill me just the same. Let him do as he wishes, go on… and live in my stead.” He looked into Steve’s eyes, pleading.

  


Steve tightened his grip on Loki’s hands, pulled him close, and kissed him. Then, he pulled away and fixed him with a stern look.

“You’re an idiot,” he informed him.

“I’ve already seen everyone I’ve cared about die or grow old. I’ve done the living on thing enough to know it’s not what it’s cracked up to be.” He had enough graves to visit; everyone he’d cared about. Hell, everyone he’d known. And now: “Now that I, I finally have this, have you, I’m _not_ letting go without a fight.” Loki had become the balm that filled the gaping holes in his life those seventy lost years had caused. If he had that torn away now that he’d finally had a taste of something he thought he’d never have... He wasn’t sure he’d _want_ to survive it, even if he did.

“I’m tired, Loki,” he mumbled, head hanging down. “I’m tired of outliving everyone. I don’t want to watch you die, and I won’t. Even if I can’t-- Even if I can’t fight him, and I know I probably can’t, I have to try. And I’ll do everything I can to protect everyone. Especially you.”

  


“And it’s me who’s the idiot?” He murmured lightly, his heart aching. “You have so few years, even broken up as they are, even suspended as they were, you have a finite amount of life. And you would toss that aside for mere sorrow, for loneliness? I have had centuries of both, and I tell you, even now-- perhaps especially now, life is better. Living is better. Life is better, because without it… there would be no moments like this.” He gestured widely with his hand, the water dripping off and landing in the pool in a small arc.

“What if your life beyond me leads to finding more like me? What if I am merely the doorway to someone who will make you happier, someone more deserving? Someone who does not have several hundred years on you, someone who has not killed hundreds? Someone as good as you, without having to work and pretend, and change? What if you were meant to do this, meant to care for me, just until I…” He trailed off, sure that he was speaking in the wrong direction.

“I know that you are brave. Braver than me by far. I know that heart hurt aches in ways that the physical pain can never touch. But there is time yet, I plan to put it off as long as possible. If you accept it now, grow accustomed to it… perhaps knowing ahead of time will make it hurt less.”

  


“I seem to remember someone pointing out the first time we met that there are no men like you,” Steve replied. He’d aimed for teasing but his voice wavered and threatened to crack. He didn’t want this to be temporary or for Loki to be a stepping stone to someone else. Someone else wouldn’t speak to him the way Loki did or understand what it was to not quite fit and to have home out of reach forever. He just wanted Loki, living forever and always there and alive and safe when Steve woke up, telling him about incredible places and cultures beyond the stars, arguing about books, and letting Steve draw him.

A lump threatened to rise in his throat again and his facial muscles twitched as he fought to get his emotions under control. “I can’t accept it. I’m sorry. And trust me, I’ve watched people die long and slow and it doesn’t hurt less at all.”

He pulled away a few inches. “When I was, er, holding the scepter. I was in that other place and... Thanos... said I might be useful and he had this, this thing with red teeth and a mask and cloak grab my head and he said to, to read me or something, and that’s when it felt like someone was shredding my brain.” He shuddered at the memory. At the phantom pain behind his eyes even now. “I don’t-- If they were after something, if they got something out of me that might put Earth in danger, then that’s on me. And I can’t sit this out. Not if I screwed up and put people in danger and all of this is bigger than just you and me.”

  


Loki felt a frown developing as Steve spoke, worry building.

"I should have asked. I'm sorry, it's been selfish of me. Did he say how or... Useful for what? Not that you aren't useful or worthwhile. I only mean... I do not know his plans. If I did, we would have some hope of thwarting him, for as you and I both know, any plan can backfire. And any plan large enough to garner his interest would certainly destroy him in the back blast, if it crumbled beneath him."

For the first time he felt some swelling up hope for his future-- their future, for the first time he felt that his doom was not so assured as he had thought. If a playing piece so insignificant as a mortal, even this one, was useful, then perhaps the plan was not so developed as he expected. Loki was used to thinking on the scale that Thanos did. He knew that if he was still amassing allies, or… workers, or soldiers… then he was not so far along, his plans were not so near to fruition as Loki had thought.

“Did he say anything else to you, do anything else? I want to check your mind, as best as I can, when we are out of the pool, as well. I should have asked, I should have paid more attention, checked you over more. All I saw was the krellr spill, and I thought-- Steve, I have been so remiss in caring for you. You see, this is what I meant-- you deserve someone so much better.” He was more than a little horrified at himself, at his actions. At his lack thereof.

He thought he cared about this man, thought that he was able to care _for_ him… and he could not even tend his injuries without putting himself first.

“I am such a failure, as a friend, and as a… as your healer.” He realized he did not know what Steve thought him to be. A friend yes, a… lover… what had he said about his Peggy? He thought she would have been?

Was he now in that same classification? A would-be lover to Captain America? He was not opposed to it.

But he would be better than this, better than his half-hearted care.

“When I have finished easing your muscles, when we get out, you must eat. And when we return, I want to lay you out and check over every inch of you, find every ache and pain and injury, even the ones you do not know of, and I will ease them.” He spoke earnestly, without a modicum of seduction in his intent or tone. “If you will allow me.” He qualified. “If you can forgive me for having failed to, thus far.”

  


“Hey, knock that off,” Steve scolded as Loki began to work himself up, rambling on in self-recrimination. He reached out and took Loki by the wrist. “There’s nothing to forgive. You’ve been fantastic, alright? Who could I have around who’d be better? You _used magic to save my life,”_ he pointed out, each word clearly enunciated and deliberate. “I was dying. It felt like--”

It felt like those moments when icy water had crept up his chest and frozen his muscles, paralyzing him and filling his lungs as his world faded into nothing but heavy dark and cold. He twitched, shaking his head faintly. “You made sure I was alive. And however I got hurt, it’s not in a way that anyone on earth would have figured out or been able to fix. I’d probably-- make that _definitely_ be dead if not for you. So I’m pretty sure that makes you anything but a failure as a healer.”

He shifted his fingers up to Loki’s hand and gave it a squeeze, then leaned in and pressed his lips to Loki’s knuckles. “Come on. We both need food, and fresh air. We can get up, dry off, and then talk about it.” The steam was beginning to get to him, making him feel lightheaded and giddy. Though a fair amount of that was hunger too. “When we get back, you can look me over, but I’m fine now. Really.”

He didn’t want to tell Loki just yet how little Thanos had said, because he’d seen the small spark of hope in his eyes before he’d started panicking. If he could hold off and fan that spark, keep it alive, then maybe he could convince Loki not to resign himself to his own doom. And in the meantime, he’d have a chance to sort out his jumbled thoughts and memories until he could remember what had happened without feeling like he couldn’t breathe. Maybe he’d recall some detail, some fragment that had slipped away that could be useful.

Getting his feet under him, he stood slowly so the blood wouldn’t rush from his head and leave him seeing spots. Only when he was standing and exposed did he realize that the magical bathroom renovation Loki had performed left them with a few small logistical issues. “Um. Where are the towels?” he asked, resisting the urge to sink back into the water for modesty.

  


“You would not have been on the brink of magic induced death, if not for me.” Loki pointed out, fairly, “But I appreciate your not holding it against me. Here--” He let lapse the illusion over the part of the wall on which the towels hung, waiting to get out that he might appreciate the glimpse he was getting now of Steve’s perfect and perfectly toned backside, before remembering how uncomfortable he got. The glance, then, no matter how appreciative it was, was then nearly a violation.

He stood, averting his eyes in the process.

“As a matter of interest to you, perhaps, while it is not the same pocket as the one attached to me, the extension of the bathroom--” He let it fall behind him as he spoke, walking forward until he was nearly touching Steve, as the real size of the room required. “Is in a similar pocket dimension. It is halfway into another world. Regretfully, as far as I can take you-- as far as you will allow me to take you-- away from your own. For now.” He teased.

Behind him, the tiles had reformed, the waterfall returned to a shower head, whose pressure was laughable, in comparison. He reached over and turned the water off.

“And as far as anyone will know, the shower we just had ran for about twenty minutes. The water was duplicated and heated by my seidhr. Everything is as untraceable as possible. Especially given how little your people know of my magic and its workings.” He smiled encouragingly.

“At least, until you tell them otherwise. I know you are not an idiot, and probably needn’t be reminded, but if our secondary plan involves my ensorcelling our way out of their possession, it would be better that they not know how to stop me from doing so.” He spoke a little wryly.

He reached past to take the towel off of the wall, and draped it over Steve’s shoulders so that he did not feel exposed any longer than necessary. And even though it was a simple gesture, it felt like care, to him. Maybe that was some of his problem. He needed to do more.

“I have to say, though, I _am_ looking forward to food.”

Looking forward to seeing Steve fed, to seeing him that much closer to being healthy. And then getting him back and taking care of all the rest.

  


“So... we’re having a shower in a different dimension?” Steve struggled to get his head around the concept. It felt no different than walking into another room. Had he really been, in a limited way, sitting in the bath in another world? He stared as the bathroom -- small and shabby -- reformed around them and the steaming pools and opals shrunk away out of existence. “That’s... wow.” Not his most articulate response, but it summed up his feelings more or less succinctly. Another thing Loki said sank in, and he felt himself smile. “Also, I like the sound of that ‘for now.’” Loki speculating about the future meant he held hope that there would be a future. A future where they were both alive and Thanos was no longer a threat and they could visit other worlds and fight the good fight side by side.

He appreciated Loki’s attention to detail in maintaining discretion. Loki was clearly taking Steve’s anxiety about keeping a low profile to heart, and he was being damn smart about it too. He couldn’t help but think that Colonel Phillips would have given his left arm to have someone like Loki in the SSR during the war. Peggy, he thought, would also have appreciated him. It was a bittersweet notion, considering the might-have-beens of the two separate spheres of his life hypothetically overlapping.

“They’ve probably figured out by now you’re capable of teleporting,” Steve pointed out. He rapidly towelled off his shoulders, face, arms and hair, then wrapped the towel around his hips. “But I’m not about to divulge the details. I don’t even particularly understand the details to be honest, so we’re safe there.” He didn’t plan on giving up any intel that would hinder their escape. Not unless he had a damn good reason, which he didn’t see as likely to come up.

Already he had the meager beginnings of a plan coming together. It would be best to write a few things down and come up with a concrete timeline, but they had a whole day to iron out the details. And food would have to come first.

Stepping back out of the bathroom into the much cooler air of the bedroom, he recovered his clothes and quickly dressed. His trousers were a bit rumpled for having been slept in, and his shirt and undergarments weren’t exactly fresh, but they’d have to do for now. He’d worn the same uniforms for weeks without seeing a proper wash when the commandos had been on the move; he’d live. And the rest of him was good and clean, at the very least.

Walking up to the window, he pulled aside the curtain and peered out at the part of town they were in. It was a slightly industrialized, drab neighborhood, with a tire shop and gas station across the street, though not so run-down as to constitute a slum. They probably wouldn’t find anything fancy, but if they walked a bit they’d at least be able to find food of some variety, and probably a convenience store for some basic essentials. “So, what were you thinking for disguises?” he asked, glancing back over his shoulder toward where he heard Loki moving around.

  


“Only half-way into it.” Loki assured him. “And I would hope at least that they do not know the range of my transport abilities. Better they think I am able to take us anywhere-- it widens their searches. But of course, whatever you do not understand, I would be happy to attempt to explain. As I said, I trust you.”

He let his eyes trail down over Rogers’ clothing, as well as his own.

“I do have fresh clothing in my… ‘pocket’.” He’d never truly needed a term for it before, not being something that he had spoken of. “It can be modified to fit you, if you’d prefer. Very simple things, shirt and pants. More fitted than what you are wearing now, but it should not seem overly out of place… and I can bespell it to look exactly like what you are wearing, or something very similar, if you like.”

He dressed himself to demonstrate, his cloth pants black and his shirt long and asymmetrical, but plainly made. He also wore his boots, comfortable flat things that came almost to his knees, but stopped just short, for maximum range of motion.

“As for guises, you’d said I might be a woman?” He let his features melt and shift, then adjusted the cut of her shirt, to cling where it ought and show the tops of her breasts.

“I want to point out that this is _not_ illusion--” she said, running his hand over her face. Even her voice was changed, though only subtly. She still sounded like herself, but higher, a little throatier. “This is a form shift. It will stay, and it is real. There is no extra mass hidden by light, with a full shift, and as a woman, I am anatomically correct and fully functional.” She winked at Steve. “For future reference.”

“Now. What would you like to look like? Your hair, at least, we should change, perhaps make it longer… and curly? And your jaw, very square, very chiseled. If I round it out that will do a good deal to disguise you… Glasses, do you think? And a little more weight to your hips and thighs… to change your proportions.” She hummed a little. “Or I could simply change your race, darken your skin color.” She quirked her lips. “What do you think?”

  


“Um.”

Despite having seen Loki as a woman the night before, in the dim light with their bodies pressed together and running on fumes, the experience still didn’t prepare him for seeing him-- her?-- in female form in the light of day. The mental disconnect was jarring, and he felt guilty for how immediately he felt his gaze had sunk to Loki’s cleavage. Why, he wasn’t entirely sure. A little while ago he’d felt guilty for ogling Loki as a man, and it was still Loki now, so, surely that was alright?

“That’s, really impressive,” he offered. “You’re very pretty. Do you-- do you shift shape like this often?” Of course, he knew that Loki’s regular shape was a shift away from his Jotun form, but this seemed like something different. Or was it? If Loki was in Asgardian shape, did that make him Asgardian, or a Frost Giant in Asgardian skin? And if Loki was normally a man, was he know a man with the body of a woman, or was he now she and would Steve have to adjust his thinking?

Not sure how to broach the subject without the risk of causing offense, he decided to table it for the moment. “I’m okay for clothes. Keep your spares in case you need them, these don’t smell too rank just yet.” He could probably wash them by hand in the sink later and hang them to dry overnight. “Maybe just make my hair dark and, I dunno, a beard?” Steve had been clean-shaven all his life; at first he’d simply been unable to grow any facial hair, and once the serum changed his body so he could, he was so unused to the feeling of whiskers that he’d gone and taught himself how to shave (earning himself a good few nasty nicks in the process).

“If we have to change my proportions, maybe just make my shoulders narrower.” He didn’t like the idea of changing his body all over again, but at least narrow was something he’d been used to once upon a time. He remembered right after he’d been transformed, when in chasing the HYDRA spy through the streets he’d failed to bank properly around a turn, unused to his long legs, added speed and greater bulk, he’d sent himself flying through a shop window. “How do you adapt to your whole body changing like that? Doesn’t it feel weird to move differently?” He’d walked into doorjambs and misjudged distances for weeks after nearly doubling in size.

  


Loki looked down at herself, surprised and not entirely sure she understood.

“This is my body. It works as it always does. The mind changes with it, but… it is as it is.” She shrugged, unthinking, allowing her breasts to bounce in reaction. “I do not change forms all that often-- you have known me as I am most comfortable, but I have spent some time in the past as a woman, when it benefited me most to be so.”

She frowned as she realized the confusion he might be encountering, regarding his own disguise.

“Anything I do to you will be but illusion. You will not truly grow hair, nor feel it. Your shoulders will not truly grow slimmer, merely look it. You will not be physically altered in any way. Much like my face when the mask was up, when you touched it and saw the ripples? That is how your small changes will work. It is…. unkind, bordering to immoral to force another body to transform using magic, whether consenting or not. If it is not a form you are accustomed to, it can hurt.” She grimaced, remembering the first time she had become a woman, just for fun.

Her back had ached and her stomach felt pulled taut as new pieces formed that she hadn’t thought of, hadn’t known about. Even trying to transform into a larger version of her usual Asgardian form was difficult, as it stretched his muscles in a way he hadn’t trained for, hadn’t worked to allow them to do. It hurt, and she could live with it, become used to it… but it was better to remain closer in shape to where her body truly lie.

“It is better to be illusorily larger than to be smaller, for people will not attempt to exist in space that they perceive as filled, as making you bigger would do, but if they see empty space, and walk into, say, your shoulders, they will become suspicious very quickly.”

She waved at him, darkening his hair and creating for him a semblance of a mustache and beard, trimmed and shaped and neat, so that it would appear to alter the shape of his jaw.

“Take a look, tell me what more you want, if anything. But I would advise against making you smaller, just the same.”

She let her eyes drop over him, appraising him as she had seen him do her. He thought this form was pretty, but that her usual one, and her Jotun one, were both beautiful. Peculiar. She would have to pay attention, as they walked, see where his eyes lingered on others, that she might construct an idea of his preferences, his aesthetic tastes.

It may yet be some time before he learned it, but there were definite advantages to bedding a shape shifter.

  


“Oh,” Steve said, as Loki explained the ease of changing her body. He wanted to ask what she meant by the mind changing with it, but decided that wasn’t a priority, or something that was likely to make any more sense if he didn’t grasp it already. “Yeah, I know it wasn’t magic, but when they changed my body with the serum, it hurt like hell.” It was one of the only times since his childhood that Steve had broken his own self-imposed rule and had screamed in pain. It had felt like every fiber of his body was ripping apart, his bones splintering and splitting and knitting back together longer and larger, muscles tearing and healing a thousand times over in the course of a second. He wondered if magic would be like that, and how Loki did it so effortlessly if it was.

The explanation for wanting to appear larger rather than smaller made sense, at least, and he readily admitted such. “Then maybe let’s just not worry about my size.” The less illusion to be rippled and disrupted, probably the better.

It took a second after Loki waved her hand for Steve to realize she’d cast the spell. Quickly, he moved over to the mirror, eager to check it out. “That... is uncanny,” he mused, angling his head this way and that. His hair was mussed and unkempt, a dark brown that made his skin look paler by contrast. He had facial hair too, which he reached up to touch, only to notice the faintest ripple around his fingers as they disturbed the illusion and met with smooth flesh underneath. Right. He’d have to remember not to touch it in public.

Overall, while his body and general bone structure were the same, he doubted he’d be recognized on the street by anyone who wasn’t looking extremely closely and already knew his face by heart. “I think that oughta do the trick. No, wait. Can we make my eyes brown?” He looked over to Loki with a smile. She really was a hell of a looker in this shape, even if he was more familiar with and therefor somewhat biased toward her male form.

“So, I probably can’t call you Loki in public if there’s a chance anyone can overhear us.” He moved toward the door, opening it slightly and peering out to see if the coast was clear. “Is there anything you prefer?” There was no one outside the motel or in the lot. He opened the door and bit further and breathed in. The air was crisp and a bit chilly and smelled vaguely of exhaust, but was still refreshing. “All set?” He patted his pocket one last time to make sure he had his wallet on him.  

  


The eye color change came with the twitch of her fingers, hardly more effort for her magic than for her muscles.

“I’ve had quite a few names over the years. Unfortunately, I would guess that they all sound equally out of place in your world of today. Have you any recommendations? If there is a woman’s name that starts with a ‘Lo’ sound, it will have a better chance of grabbing my attention.” She shrugged again and stepped up close behind him, tugging his arms to get a good look at his face and hair.

“Hm.” she tweaked the shape of the hair on his face just a little, to make his chin look a little narrower under it, then nodded.

“I think I prefer you as you are, but you are not unattractive when darker.” Loki didn’t resist the urge to run her fingers through the darker hair, smiling a little as the ripples shuddered out, and the blonde became hazily visible beneath it. “It’s a fascinating change.”

The rippling reminded her, though, and she pushed her hand against the door, just enough to hide Steve behind it for a moment.

“I will not be able to do this outside, with the illusions in place, and it’s such a temptation, I had best get my fill-- or as close to it as possible-- now.” She told him softly, and reached up to touch the side of his face, amused at her need to stretch upwards a little now, to kiss him. Which she did, slowly and with considerable care, sucking gently at his lower lip before releasing it and resting their lips together for a moment.

 

Loki’s lips were softer and fuller like this, and now that it wasn’t catching him by surprise, Steve allowed himself to lean in and enjoy the kiss, wrapping one hand around the back of her dainty waist. When they finally parted, he smiled down at her. “I think I prefer you as you are, but you’re remarkably attractive no matter what,” he replied, then leaned down for another quick kiss, before placing a teasing peck on the tip of her nose. It was a little funny, really, to have a Loki this delicate-seeming, though he was sure she still packed the full force of an Asgardian in her now petite frame. (He almost pitied anyone dumb enough to catcall her).

“Ladies first,” he said, stepping back finally and opening the door. It was, after all, Loki’s first time outside in a long time. He quickly followed and locked the door with the key he’d found on the side table, pocketing it and then looking for the stairs that would lead from the upper level of the outdoor motel level to the ground floor. Heading in its direction, he paused, then put an arm around Loki’s shoulders. With her as a woman, he could do such in public now without anyone looking askance. For all onlookers knew, they were just an ordinary couple, out for a walk.

“What do you think of Laura?” he ventured after a few paces. One of the gals at his favorite coffee place was named Laura. Or was it Lauren? “Lois? Lola?” He looked down at Loki to gauge her reaction.

  


The outside was dull, not as grey as the inside of the SHIELD facility had been, but not the glistening golds and beautiful blues of Asgard and its sky. It was all a bit drab, and not overly interesting to look at. Certainly less so than the man she was with.

“Laura?” She rolled the name across her tongue, testing it out. “That will do, I think. Laura.” As she’d said, she had had many names… but it always took a little acclimating to a new one.

“I don’t suppose you’re familiar with the area?” She asked hopefully, realizing it was the first time either of them actually saw the outside. “I would advise against asking the innkeep. Our room’s registry has an illusion to it to claim it as ours, but surely he would remember so handsome a couple as you and I.” She looked up teasingly, and latched onto his arm.

“I think it’s good you chose not to change more. Not touching you now that I am able would prove difficult to resist.” She pressed as close to him as she could while still being able to safely navigate down the stairs.

She took in a breath, frowning a little at the smell of the street. It was good there was any smell, though she would have hoped for something a little more pleasant, had she thought to have any hopes.

Still, who could complain? At least it was not another day in a room that was five paces wide, seven across, and lit with light as sterile and colorless as the floors of their halls.

“Do you know where we are, even?” She asked. She imagined returning to SHIELD would take very little effort on their parts, merely standing in the open and declaring that they were there. Still, navigation was easier when they knew their starting point-- and it would be easier to return to the room she had procured for them, if they had landmarks to navigate by.

All of this seemed to blend together to her eyes, though, so she hoped the artist in him was able to pick out something more useful.

  


“Laura,” he repeated. She looked a bit like a Laura, perhaps, though Loki fit better. Laura sounded a bit too soft and gentle around the edges. For all of Loki’s tenderness, there were spikes and sharp edges of wit there too. But for now, the name would do. “You’re probably fine calling me Steve still. It’s a common name.”

He shared her sentiment of being able to touch still. It was nice, to walk out in the daylight and be able to put their arms around one another or hold hands, and not have an inch of glass between them. In response, he gave her shoulders another quick squeeze, planting a quick kiss against her hair. The lot was empty, so there was no one to notice if his beard shimmered oddly.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think you dropped us in Northeast DC,” he answered, looking around. “Maybe Ivy City?” Everything, from the sky to the concrete was gray and overcast, and he felt a pang of regret that he couldn’t have Loki out near the park on a sunny day instead.

He’d have to find a way to have it happen, though. Someday soon. One way or another.

“Gas station across the street should be able to tell us. We can also probably pick up some snacks, maybe a map.” A map, he realized, might be useful for pinpointing their escape route should things go sour with SHIELD. “Out of curiosity,” he asked, checking both ways before leading them across the street. “How far can you teleport? And--” less relevant, but he couldn’t help himself, “-- is it different from what you do when you travel through realms?”

  


She made a small noise at the top of her throat, which, had she been a man, likely would have been a grunt, though Loki was of course too well raised to do so.

“Distance depends on what I have with me. Carrying you, I could have gone perhaps half again as far as we came… however far that is. But it is not an easy trip, not a mere step from here to there, rather it is a blending of several castings at once. Invisibility and permeability, as well as the distance itself. It is not teleportation as you would imagine it… think of it as perhaps a little closer to seven league boots. Not nearly so exact a measurement, but as I duplicated the water from the shower this morning, I duplicate the distance I am traveling when I move. The reason it is difficult is that it is both a physical strain-- as if I were actually running the distance, but hitting me all at once, and a mental one, as the invisibility and permeability must be upheld, lest people see us as an elongated streak, or we end up embedded partway through a wall. None of these are fun options.”

She shrugged, then tilted her head.

“Stepping between realms is a little like walking through a fog. It is a clear spot in one realm, and a clear spot in another, with a veil between them of void. And if you are comfortable in your abilities, you merely step sideways between them. The only trick there is knowing where to step, without fully being able to see the terrain.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“The little building there contains both maps and food?” She asked, her stomach lurching at the thought of food, but her mind rebelling. “Do you not pay your mapmakers handsomely for their skills?” It looked like a terrible hut, considering that Asgardian map makers were often retired heroes, who turned to mapping as a reason to continue their travels, or a way to recount their adventures, without having to continue taking up the sword.

“And are your mapmakers all also chefs?” It seemed too broad a generalization.

  


Steve did the math in his head. Loki had moved them about five, five and a half miles to get from the Triskelion on Theodore Roosevelt Island to Ivy City, if that was where they were. So that meant they had about an eight mile radius in which to operate. Probably less if they wanted to conserve Loki’s energy for potential multiple jumps. That limited their range of options, but left them with a fair amount of room to work with. And fortunately, Steve’s apartment was within that range, both from the Triskelion and their current location.

His planning derailed at Loki’s question. “What? Oh, no, the cartographers aren’t... the maps are mass-produced. It’s not really an artisan thing here.” He ran through the possible ways of explaining this in terms Loki would be familiar with.

“A gas stations is a refueling station for our vehicles. I guess on Asgard you’d have places to stop and water your horses, right? So they tend to put them next to convenience stores with things people who are traveling may need. Snacks, drinks, maps, that sort of thing. We can grab some food here to bring back to the motel with us, like the trail mix and jerky I brought you before--” now sitting uneaten in a Captain America lunchbox, “--but hopefully we can ask for directions to somewhere that has real food where we can sit down and eat.” Steve was pretty sure the appetite he’d worked up wouldn’t be sated by just dried meat and candy bars.

“After you,” he said, holding the door open for Loki out of habit, the bell dinging faintly as they walked in. “Feel free to look around and let me know if there’s anything you want. I’m gonna go talk to the cashier,” he murmured in her ear, before making his way toward the register, pausing only to scan a rack of paper maps and guidebooks, grabbing one of DC and one of the greater Mid-Atlantic area, bringing them to the front with him.

  


She stalked down the aisles, half of her attention on Steve and his interaction with the man behind the counter, the other half on the rows of brightly colored and shiny packaging, none of which looked edible in the slightest.

Everything was in screaming primary colors, large bold letters declaring each package’s contents.

She would have summarily dismissed them, save that one bag of ‘potato chips’ seemed to be flavored like bacon and mac and cheese…. Bacon, of course, being the attractor, and another bag further down the aisle, was pizza flavored.

She liked both of these things in their non-bagged form and was curious what the difference was, but did not know of a way of asking that would not result in her seeming as out of place as she was.

She moved towards the cases of liquids, expecting that she would at least recognize the contents of that, but beyond the brown colas and water bottles that Steve had brought, there were pastel pink beverages, putrid looking greens and a few truly horrific shades of blue that, as far as Loki knew, did not occur in nature.

She had so many questions that could not be answered, so instead she made her way to the front of the store and draped her arm casually through Steve’s, seeking to listen in to the conversation without interrupting.

  


The aging man at the counter rang him up and answered Steve’s questions, confirming their present location, as well as the location of a few more shops in the area. He was rattling off a few places where they could “grab some grub” when Loki came up and casually stood against Steve, hooking arms as he finished counting out the cash and change for his purchase.

“You and your ladyfriend there have yourselves a good day now,” the man told them with a nod and a faint smile as Steve thanked him. He noticed that Loki had nothing on her and assumed she was all set. As it was, they could always stop here on their way back, as it was right next to their motel.

“So, there’s a CVS around the block,” he explained as they left, walking back outside. “It’s another store that will have a better selection. We can grab a few things there -- toothbrushes, toothpaste, basics like that. And then beyond there, if we keep walking down the street, there’s some spots to eat. Sound good?”

He let his hand drop and wound his fingers between hers, relishing, as he talked, the feeling of holdings hands and walking down the street with someone he-- cared about deeply.

  


“I trust your guidance… though if it is more like the food in that last store, I must admit myself more ignorant than I had even considered I might be. I have so many questions- what are potato chips and how do they change the bacon and the pizza they come with? Or did what you brought also come from such storage, before it was prepared? What mountain secretes so toxic looking a dew, and why would you bottle and drink it? Does it have healing properties? How does milk become strawberry? Is there a specialized breed of bovine? What plants or… where do those colors of drinks come from, the intensely blue ones? Are they also used in your artwork? The ones of…” She stopped, unsure about bringing up the pictures of his Jotun form. “When you color them.” She said instead, sidestepping the reminder of that argument. Things were good now. She’d rather they stay that way.

“And all of the plastic, where does it come from? What manner of material is it? A cloth that is woven? Or… I don’t know. Even the small store has so much that is confusing. I am glad you were firm about not allowing me out alone. I would have had to pull randomly from the shelves and hope the combination was not suspicious.”

She could not imagine what sort of supper that might have brought, but it did alert her to how incapable she was of caring for Steve, as things stood now, should anything happen to him that she could not heal.

She resolved to learn, so that she could. She would not let him down.

  


Steve couldn’t help but chuckle a little at Loki’s bewilderment; not at her expense, truly, but because the perplexed look on her face was just too endearing. He suspected his questions and bafflement around magic sounded about the same, and to be frank, he’d had a lot of the same sentiments after being unthawed and seeing more plastic and chemically-altered crap within the first week than the rest of his life combined.

“So, plastic is made out of petroleum,” he began to explain, suddenly grateful for all the stupid dossiers on the minutiae of the twentieth century that SHIELD had given him to study. At the time he’d thought them full of absolutely useless knowledge, but now he was able to translate what he’d read into something that would hopefully make sense to Loki (“It’s a tuber that they slice very thin and then fry in grease, and they add salt other chemicals to make it taste like stuff. I think.”)

He continued to explain as they made their way around the corner and to the CVS. Basket on his arm, he pointed things out to Loki _sotto voce_ as they shopped; he grabbed cookies, mixed nuts, a bag of goldfish, some dehydrated apple slices, and a pair of bottled waters, as well as two toothbrushes, a small tube of toothpaste, a comb, a small notepad and a pack of pens that was only 50 cents. Again, he paid in cash, carrying their purchases out with them in a plastic bag.

Walking down the street, they walked by a few run-down buildings, an empty storefront, and a pizza joint that smelled delightful, but that Steve dragged them past without stopping. He’d gotten one recommendation from the gas station clerk that stuck out in his mind, and he had turned it into a mission. Though he almost walked past the little hole in the wall when the came to it, doing a double-take at the faded sign for Ataya’s Lebanese Cuisine.

“Here,” he said, squeezing Loki’s hand and leading her inside. It was small and dimly lit and smelled richly of foreign but aromatic food. There were only a few booths up against the wall, opposite the counter with the menu board where a woman with her hands on her hips eyed them. Steve nodded toward the tables: “How about you grab us a seat, and I’ll put an order in for us?” he suggested, giving her a smile.

  


The sign for pizza had looked altogether more promising than the entire rest of the area combined, so she was a little confused when he pulled her past it.

His explanations of his world made her feel a little better, as she realized that those who lived in it were not necessarily better educated than she, and that the word artificial was bandied about enough to make her question what counted as real, here.

Apparently, though, he found one place acceptable at last, for he opened the door and led her in.

She worried, for a moment, about not knowing what or how to order, but he took control, saving her there, too.

So she selected a small two seat table, with easy view of both exits, near enough to the back of the small shop to afford them some pretense at privacy.

She leaned her face on one hand, the other wrapped consolingly around her grumbling stomach.

The smell of the place was unlike any food she had ever had, the air itself pungent and spicy in a way that reminded her of cinnamon, but not like the food that she’d been tortured with.

It was a curiosity she was sure she would get him to explain when he came back, but in the meantime, she felt her energy feeling low, probably from a combination of lack of food and this being her first outing in some time.

Midgard seemed so much larger now that she was walking on its streets rather than soaring above them. And yet, somehow even less impressive for it. Nothing here held the beauty like Steve’s drawings had found in the world, and Loki couldn’t help but wonder if he could see beauty here, or if he found it just as unimpressive as she did.

Maybe he was simply of a disposition that was better suited to positive thinking.

Or maybe she was just hungry.

  


Steve conferred for a few minutes with the woman at the counter, discussing the least spicy options and then placing an order with a few modifications to accommodate Loki’s sensitive palate. Once his order was in and he’d paid (thankful that he’d stopped at an ATM while in New York or they’d be low on cash funds), he returned to the table, two cups of water from the soda fountain in his hands. He slid into the booth, putting a cup and straw in front of Loki and sliding the plastic bag of good from the pharmacy off of his wrist on to the bench beside him.

“Food’ll be right up,” he explained. Then, noting Loki’s somewhat drooping posture, he reached out across the table, putting a hand over hers. It was something that still gave him a little tingle up his spine each time he did it -- that he could do this, out in the open. “Hey. Look, I’m sorry this isn’t... I wish we were someplace nicer. And sunnier.” He sighed. “East DC wouldn’t have been my first choice for where to take you--” on a first date, he didn’t say, “-- Your first time out of the holding cells. There’s some really lovely parts of the city, actually, in the other neighborhoods.” It was a bit of a shame they hadn’t wound up in Georgetown or Dupont Circle. Though they probably would have drawn a little more attention if they had, which wouldn’t have been ideal. Their current locale was a good place to lie low, if not necessarily a good place to sightsee.

“Anyway, I wanted to go over something with you and get your thinking on it,” he said, reaching into the plastic bag and pulling out one of the pens and the map of DC, unfolding it on the table. “So we... are.... here....” he drew a small black dot on the map at the location of their motel. “Or right around the block from it. SHIELD is here--” A star scribbled over Theodore Roosevelt Island, “--and my apartment is here,” another dot appeared forming a shallow triangle between the other two marks. “We’re about five and a half miles from the Triskelion now. Less than that from each location to my place. They’re gonna have eyes on my apartment, if they don’t have someone sitting on it, so there’s no way we can get there now without setting someone off. But, once we call in to Fury and they verify our location, SHIELD will pull all details off my place to consolidate their agents.”

“If we have to run, there’s some stuff in my apartment that will help us. Cash, papers, my shield. If I drew you a floormap of the building and the facade as well as the address, do you think you could tele-- you could carry us there exactly? And then out again? We wouldn’t have to go far on the way out, maybe half a mile. Just enough to shake a tail--”

He was cut off as the woman from the counter approached with two plates, quickly folding the map up and setting it aside.

“Two chicken shawarma, not spicy,” she announced, putting the plates down in front of them, along with a stack of napkins. “You need anything else?”

Steve gave her a quick smile. “I think we’re good, thanks.” She took her leave, and he looked over at Loki, smile spreading across his lips.

  


Her head jerked up when the waitress announced the plates, then she looked at him, her lips twitched up into a shy smile.

“You got us shawarma.” She said wonderingly. And suddenly it did feel a bit like a victory, being out, saving him… loving him. Having him here with her.

“I can… Erm.” She was speaking, and then she was eating, and not quite able to speak around the food in her mouth. Or, it seemed, able to stop shoveling more in, once she’d started. Two bites later, she swallowed and closed her eyes, incredibly pleased.

“This is good.” She told him, excited. It was not a let down in the least.

“I can get us there, provided I have time to memorize your drawings. It will not take me long, but… if we are in a hurry and there is pressure… There is the possibility I will make a mistake. I am not infallible, and the first time I do something or go somewhere new… I can get us very close, but you may have to be prepared to find yourself next door, and us having to phase through a wall or some such minor thing.” She lifted one shoulder, keeping the other hand still to facilitate her taking another bite of the shawarma.

“Show me more when we get back, and I will commit it to memory.” She told him, her words carefully formed around the bulging of her cheeks-- impolite, but then, the Aesir were not a people known for their table manners. And she felt like she could eat for days.

She swallowed, remembering what he had been saying before that, before food had come.

“The location is entirely my fault. It seemed the sort of place I would never go, and so I thought it would be the sort of place they would never seek me out. Besides, that was the first inn I saw clearly marked as such, in the direction that I dashed randomly in. Perhaps had I had time and chosen better, we would find ourselves in better lodgings for your healing process, so it is I who should apologize to you. And I will make it up to you… just as soon as we return to the room.” She gave him a dazzlingly large smile, one that she knew tended to look more honest on this face than the ones her mouth shape was capable of as a man.

And then she filled her mouth again, moaning in a way that bordered on obscene. It was good, she was less hungry, Steve was here, they were together and not in SHIELD, and it was all very good. She didn’t think Steve would blame her.

  


Steve inhaled a few bites of his wrap without even tasting it. Loki, it seemed, was similarly hungry. Long moments passed with nothing but the sound of frantic chewing. Seconds, Steve decided, would most likely be in order.

It was funny, that Loki had called shawarma a victor’s food. When Steve had last had it in New York, he’d technically just won an interplanetary war, but everyone had been beaten and exhausted, the atmosphere weary and grim. Now, he was hiding out from his employer and possibly in danger of becoming a fugitive, but he felt more whole and happy than he had in a long time.

Victory indeed.

“Hey, not your fault,” he told her, swallowing his food and washing it down with a long gulp of water before he spoke. “This is actually a very good place to hide out. Not very residential, so no nosy neighbors to worry about.” Not to mention it would be harder to convince Loki to lie low if there were beautiful sights to see. With little on the outside save for food to distract them, the motel was seeming more appealing by the minute. Especially when Loki smiled like that...

The smile, it turned out, was catching. Soon Steve was grinning back, despite his nerves about what Loki might intend when they got back to her room. Because when she smiled, her green eyes lit up and the skin crinkled up around the edges exactly the same as her male form, and it made him all the more comfortable and certain that regardless of shape or coloring, this was the same Loki he’d known for the past several weeks.

“If we’re out in the hall or not right in the door, that’s probably fine. However close you can get us is great,” he said after another bite of his food, returning to the earlier topic. “I grabbed paper, so I can make some sketches once we’re back in the motel. Also, I’m going to make a list of everything I want to grab and where I remember putting it, so I should be able to round it up fast. Even if a SHIELD squad isn’t sitting on the place, we’re probably going to trigger some sort of surveillance, so we have about ten minutes at most before we’ll need to scramble.” He took another bite and chewed, waiting until his mouth was no longer full to add, “would it be okay if we used your pocket to store some supplies?” It would be far easier and less conspicuous.

“And this is all hypothetical, of course. I mean, hopefully Fury will listen. You’re obviously--” not evil anymore, he almost said, though now he wondered how actually evil Loki had been. How much had been perspective, and not knowing on his part. “You’re obviously working hard to make things right,” he finished. “And they oughta give you a shot. Let you out on parole.”

  


Loki’s smile turned sad, her eyes averting to her plate. She was well aware that if his first thought was to perfect their escape plans, he did not have much hope for their peaceable talks working to their favor. And when the man made of hope had little… well, she would not hold her breath.

“Would that we had met differently,” she said instead. “If we did not need to run, or fight, or fear… it seems life would be far simpler for the both of us.” And perhaps they could have become closer, sooner, under less trying circumstances. And all of them, she reflected, were her own fault.

She listened just the same, though, committing his plans to mind,

“Whatever we need do, Steve,” She said, careful not to call him Captain, and the shape of his first name still foreign to her tongue, “I will do everything I can to make it easy as possible. I should perhaps see the list of items you intend to place in my pocket, and should perhaps do inventory of what already lies within as well.”

The food on her plate had gotten low, but she didn’t mind. Her stomach felt full, and her heart fuller. Even with an impending incident hanging over their heads, even with fear and doubt… she was less afraid than she had been, because she knew she was not alone.

She saw his plate laying nearly emptied.

“You should have another.” She decided for him. “Healing will make many demands on your body. And if we have the future it seems we may, you will need your strength. Besides,” She said, smiling and teasing, “The more you eat now, the less your stomach will rumble tonight, when we’re sleeping twined together.” She let her smile creep wider on her lips. “You make a very good bedmate.” She told him frankly. “I will almost be sad if Fury does give into the demands you make, as I imagine he will require some distance reinstated between us. And I will so miss these nights. Perhaps most of all.”

She pursed her lips.

“Have you given any thought to what you wish to bargain for, the wording you plan to use when you speak with him?” Of course she trusted the Captain, his methods and his knowledge of his superiors. She only wanted to know, because it concerned her, as well.

  


“It won’t be a lot. I swear, we’d be in and out in minutes.” He didn’t intend to get bogged down to anything more than was necessary. After all, so long as he had his shield and he had Loki, he could make do without most of the rest. He’d just rebuilt his life from nearly nothing only a year and a half ago. It would be easier to start fresh the second time around.

He flushed again at Loki’s insinuation. Not that he objected; even the relatively chaste way they’d wound up spending the night before, curled around one another still partly clothed, had been wonderful. He’d missed having a warm body next to him at night -- something he hadn’t had since curling up back to back with Bucky when they’d bivouacked in trenches or foxholes in the war. Looking down, he stared at his empty plate (how had he demolished the food _that fast?_ ) and nodded at Loki’s suggestion. “I’ll be right back.”

He placed an order for a second wrap, refilled his water, and sat back down, the few minutes’ time enough for him to think of a semi-coherent answer. “I’m going to demand SHIELD not charge you or blame you for the breakout. You did everything you could not to actually hurt anyone, and you did it to save my life. So they can’t hold that against you in any fairness,” he began with. If anyone wanted to complain about frostbite, they’d have to do it to Steve’s face. Everyone else could learn to live with a little ice.

“I’m going to try to make a case for amnesty with parole.” Had Loki committed crimes against the Earth? Well, yes. But a good lawyer probably could have gotten him off with an insanity plea given his state of mind at the time, if he’d actually been given a fair shake and a trial. Which he hadn’t, and that ground at Steve. “With myself as... well, as your handler, I suppose. They’ll probably want someone else as a parole officer to keep an eye on the both of us, but from a PR angle, having an Avenger surpervising things will look better if word gets out.” Steve didn’t like playing politics, didn’t like using those angles -- but he lived in Washington. He knew how the world worked, and while he didn’t exactly like it, that didn’t mean he was stupid enough to forgo using it to his advantage for a good cause. And in this case, the good cause was getting Loki out of a cell and into the world where he could do the most good. And experience the most good in turn.

He nodded his thanks to the lady from the counter as she placed a second plate of food in front of him, and waited for her to retreat before speaking again.

“I’m definitely not settling for a deal unless they agree not to put you back in that cell. They may still insist on keeping on-base in SHIELD housing, but if things look like they’re going well, I may try to push for you to stay with me at my place. They probably have it bugged anyway. I mean,” he hesitated. “If that’s... okay with you.” He’d assumed, but belatedly realized he hadn’t actually _asked_ what Loki wanted. “What do you want to ask for?”

  


Loki was amazed and flattered at being consulted. Everything he had described so far sounded wonderful, if he could make it work.

“I had expected to start smaller.” She said honestly. “Arranging outings from my cell, with a guarantee to return to it. Perhaps days to stretch my legs or see the sun. Being allowed to see more people-- to heal more people, to work with your doctors.” She shrugged.

“If you can get them to agree to an arrangement with more freedom, I will not object. Particularly if it involves my being allowed to stay near you. I can’t say I am familiar with the process of parole, though… and I am a little curious how you plan to prove to them that I have no twisted your mind, either with or without magic. You know that when we return, all will doubt that we came to this conclusion naturally. And I imagine some, like Scofield and Barton, will not be pleased. I will not see you punished for it, Steve. If need be, I would rip a hole in your SHIELD building, rather than see them hurt you for being dear to me.” Her eyes narrowed, and her fingers ran in lazy circles around the rim of her water glass, but her voice remained calm. A threat that sounded casual, but was even more deadly for it.

She hesitated, then made the offer that made her heart constrict in her chest.

“Would it be easier for you, would it be more likely for things to work out in our favor, if we went back to as it was? If we hid our--” She gestured between them, the word relationship not quite right for the situation. “If no one knew?” She finished.

She had been the guiltily hidden lover before, the dirty secret of visiting nobles and Aesir warriors alike. No reason why she couldn’t be for him, as well. She liked him a good deal better than the rest.

“I know it is not appealing to you, the idea of lying, but you need not tell untruths. Just tell half truths, and omit things… and we can steal moments, as we have done, as we know can be done. If we’re to be watched by their bugs no matter where we are, I do not see how your home should be different than my cage, save that I would imagine your furniture is better, and there would be the, admittedly joyous, lack of a glass wall between us.” She shrugged.

“I do not mean to dissuade you. Only to ensure you do not ask for things that are unrealistic, considering our circumstances. Realize that to them, they only see that they have caught a mass murderer who wields power beyond their understanding, and one of their top weapons against him has suddenly become attached to him. Then we disappeared, and when we come back, we plan to seem all but inseparable. It would be suspicious under any circumstances. Doubly so because it is you and I.”

She did not know why she was taking the side of her enemies, why she should seek to encourage him to think of his people, when she was so hoping that his people would deny them, that she might have him to herself for longer.

Perhaps because she wanted it to happen naturally, wanted them to be unreasonable, and not she and he. That way he could not regret it later, and she could not blame herself for the way his life was being thrown upside down for her sake.

  


Steve chewed as Loki spoke, though after a few mouthfuls he found his appetite beginning to wane rapidly. Smaller. Smaller would be smarter. Smaller would be easier and more probable, but dammit, Steve didn’t want to settle for smaller. Didn’t want to have to go back to days of only seeing Loki for a little while from the opposite side of a glass wall, with only a few chances to walk and touch, all under judgemental eyes. He didn’t want to have finally found this only to have it torn away. And it was selfish, he knew, and self-centered, and not becoming of Captain America to put all his duties and obligations on the line for one person simply because he cared about them, but he couldn’t just stop being Steve Rogers either. He’d gone AWOL in a stolen plane for Bucky, after all.

But while smaller was more likely to happen, he didn’t know how little he could live with. And neither did he know the answers to the other questions Loki brought up. “They’re not...” he lowered the remaining third of his shawarma to the plate and wiped his fingers off on a paper napkin. “They’re not going to hurt me. They might clock me in the head again if they think I’m mind controlled, but I can shake that off. Worst case, they throw me in a sanitarium for a while until someone figures out I’m not crazy.” It wasn’t an appealing notion at all, but it would hopefully comfort Loki in letting him know that Steve wouldn’t be injured at all if things went poorly. Loki, on the other hand... Steve refused to think of the worst case scenarios for how SHIELD might react. If it came to it, they’d run. He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt Loki.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, the words wrenching. “I don’t know how to convince them that this is all real and not magic or the scepter or anything. That’s the last thing they saw us with so that’s what they’re going to think of immediately.” He reached up to run a hand back through his hair, catching himself and remembering the illusion at the last second. “I don’t know how to make them believe, and I don’t-- I don’t know with the other thing either.” One instinct was to own up to it; to be honest, because he didn’t want to do Loki the disservice of being his dirty little secret. He deserved better than that. But the rivaling instinct, far more deeply entrenched, was to hide it all and never speak of it. He’d done it for years. No sense in stopping now when it would only hurt them more.

Of course, there was a chance that the choice was out of his hands already. Scofield had but it together. Barton probably had. Hell, Fury probably just _knew._ Steve wouldn’t put it past him. And if word was already out, was there a chance they were both damned? Would it be better just to run now and not go back at all?

No, he couldn’t do that. He closed his eyes briefly. He owed it to SHIELD and the good men and women there to try to make this work. To cooperate and collaborate and help everyone benefit. He owed Fury a chance to make the call Steve needed him to.

But all the rest...

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, dropping his head into his hands. “Damn it. I don’t know what to do.”

  


She hated him feeling this way. He seemed so sure of so often, and she hated knowing that it was her who brought this upon him. Still, she had to ask, to push once more and a little further, before she retreated. Before she let him decide, and chose only to support his choice to the best of her abilities.

“Steve, can I ask-- how do _you_ know that it isn’t? What makes you so certain that I did not just want this, that I did not project it onto you?” She felt her mouth twisting in response to the way her stomach did.

If he could think that, perhaps she could yet save him. She could save him the scorn and punishment-- up to being locked away, as he said-- she could save him from Thanos. For surely if she could convince him that she had created these feelings, she could convince him that everything he saw, all that the sceptre showed, was false.

She had promised not to lie to him, though. And this would be exactly that, to a large scale. But she was not an honorable person, nor, indeed, always a person. She could justify this, given the time. Could overcome the heartache by knowing that he was safe. Even if he hated her for it. She could do that.

“Your trusting in me is not enough of an answer.” She reminded. “If they would not accept it, you mustn’t allow yourself to, either. If you were afraid I had compromised your mind, how would you prove otherwise to yourself?” She shook her head, enjoying the feel of her hair brushing low on her shoulder blades.

“If you cannot prove your belief to yourself, you will likely never prove it to your superiors. And without that basis, is it not better to act otherwise?” She paused for a bit. “I want your choice to be unfettered with bias, and I do not want your false hopes to be our downfall. But whatever decision you make, whatever you think is best-- you know I will follow it.” She reached forward and rested her hand over his own, marveling a bit at the size difference between them, this way.  
“I will hold your back no matter the odds. But I want you to be certain before we make our move. Th-- My brother,” She said, allowing the relation this once, if only to avoid saying the name in public. “Is brash. He does not take the time to think through his problems, and I want to be sure that you do. I would not see you similarly punished as he has been, in the past, for his love of me.” She paused again, then added, after a moment’s thought, “I would also not see you live to regret the decisions you have made. Steve-- I want you to be happy. However that must be done. And if working with SHIELD is the best way to see that your world is safe, then that is what we should do. Because regardless of consequences to us personally, if one life is lost for a decision of yours, I know you will hold yourself accountable, above and beyond the way the others will.”

She squeezed his hand tightly.

“I would rather be your secret than your bad judgment call.”

  


“I’ve made enough bad judgment calls to know you’re not one of them.” He looked up and forced a strained smile.

He _knew_ this wasn’t fabricated. He hadn’t even considered it before, but now that Loki brought it up, the whole idea seemed preposterous. “Well, I was already queer, I think, before I met you. I mean-- I had feelings about men, back before. Well. _A_ man.” It had only really been Bucky, but it was enough for him to recognize there was _that_ part of him long before Loki had come into his life. And he’d kept that secret tight to his chest.

“Also, I started feeling like this before you got anywhere near the scepter. I, er, had a dream. Where you kissed me,” he added, voice dropping to an embarrassed mumble, “before Fury even had the damn thing flown in from where they were keeping it.” He didn’t want to get into the details of the dream, though, so he moved on quickly.

“And if you had a mind-whammy on me, we definitely oughta argue less. You wouldn’t have let me go near the scepter with Barton the other day if you had any control over me. And you’d have kept me from pushing all those times when... when I asked hard things of you.” Commanding him to turn Jotun to the point he’d been nearly hysterical. Pressing him about what it was that hurt him when they’d been in the medical bay. He could count any number of times when his aims had directly countered Loki’s wishes. And yet here they were. “I’m not an idiot. I can’t read people the way Natasha can and I know I tend to trust people a bit too easily, but I’m not stupid. You were surprised when I kissed you. You were actually scared when I got hurt. And if I needed any more proof--”

He reached across the table and took Loki’s hand in his. “--There’s everything you said just now.” Forcing him to think about how he knew he wasn’t being controlled would not be the move of someone controlling him. And it made him all the more confident that this was genuine. Loki’s selflessness made him all the more confident it was genuine, because Loki had _changed,_ and turned into the kind of person Steve was able to fall for, head over heels.

“SHIELD helps keep the world safe, so yeah, I want to be able to work with them. But they’re not the only option out there. And if they’re not willing to realize how much good they can do by working with you, then they might not be the best option. I wanna make it work, but I won’t be happy unless-- unless you’re part of the package too. And if they can’t accept that or won’t believe that you’re on the up and up, then we find a better way.”

  


Loki’s heart leapt at the explanations that Steve gave, glad that she would not be blamed, at least not by him, for bewitching him, whether with or without her magic. It was good to have that sense of comfort, of a solid base. Anything could be built from a solid base.

“You should tell me more about that dream later.” She responded softly, not quite mimicking his mumbling, but definitely in a sultrier tone that was reminiscent of it.

“Whatever you decide, I will follow you. I have no other bonds to this world, save you and those I have to the sceptre. Which follows that, should we have to run… you do know I will need to steal it.” She did not ask, merely stated a fact. She drank from her glass of water, and shook her hair out behind her again.

“I have gloves in my pocket that should stop it from making true contact with my skin, but we would have to be careful not to let it touch you whilst we move. And I cannot put it in my pocket, for that has proven not so impregnable as I once believed it to be.” Loki pondered.

“Obviously, the room itself will present some problems-- as it was no doubt designed to. I do not doubt that it will be harder to break into it than it was to break out of my cell.” She said wryly.

“I have to admit to you, in order to reach you, I replicated your hand and eye. No doubt that will be a charge leveled against you later, too. But if it is bothersome to them, have them bring me before Fury, and I will do the same of him, that he does not accuse me of only taking advantage of your closeness.” Loki had the good grace to look a little ashamed of it.

“Your fingerprints were visible through the glass, those times that you touched it, and your eyes have been close enough to me that I could memorize them to the approval of your technology. If they remove your access, though, I will be in a difficult predicament, and if I can avoid touching you while I am a Jotun and in a stressful situation-- in the event your theory is correct-- that would be for the best. But We cannot leave the sceptre behind. Imagine if Murray had been the one to lay hand on it-- or Fury.”

She shuddered to think what Thanos would have done to either. What would have been left of them, if he had.

  


“What? No! No, we’re not taking that thing with us!” Steve already had a plan, and at no point did the timing and Loki’s limited teleportation (or intangible, invisible speed-running, or whatever he ought to call it) figure in retrieving the scepter from where it was no doubt already on lockdown.

“I thought you weren’t dependent on it. That you made that part up. Lo-- Laura, if Thanos can get to you through the scepter, we need to keep as far as possible from it.” Steve felt his skin crawl at the mere thought of it. Having the scepter out in the open with them if they ran would be a huge liability. And simply imaging having it so close made his stomach turn. “You don’t need it. We don’t need it. We’ll tell SHIELD to lock it down tight, not to let anyone touch it, not even us, and to bury the damn thing.” He shook his head adamantly.

“Besides, SHIELD has had about twenty-four hours now to increase security. If you used my prints and retinas to get it, the system will have flagged that I entered the room twice. They’ll make that connection, and they’ve probably already purged my access. And that’s if they haven’t already moved the scepter to a secure location.” He had to admit, the fingerprint trick was impressive, if just a touch unsettling, but there was little chance of it working twice.

  


“I am not dependent on it.” She told him, firmly but a touch annoyed. She tapped her nails on the table top, strumming quickly with her irritation.

“But if you and I have any hope of stopping whatever it is Thanos plans to do, we will no doubt need to contact him at some point. Not to mention the dangers inherent in leaving it behind. Could you not talk our way into possessing it? Or… perhaps if I took a hostage. Who would Fury trade for it? Or would someone trade it _for_ Fury?”

She had no qualms about doing whatever it took to get her hands on the thing, whether Steve approved or not.

“Besides, if we are to amass an army for use against him, do you not think the sceptre would come in handy in helping those who are hesitant to see our way of things? With the proper application, we could make it so that even SHIELD would not tell us no. Scofield himself could be made to come to heel-- any aid we need could be counted on explicitly. No fear of double crossers, no worry that we will be let down at the last moment…” She trailed off, remembering who she spoke to.

She let out a sigh.

“You won’t like it if I use the sceptre on anyone, will you?” She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying to remind herself that she had to behave, had to perform as if she were truly as good as Rogers wanted to think she was.

Damn.

“We can’t leave it behind, regardless.” She told him, not willing to budge on this point. “If we do, we’ll only have to go back for it later.”

  


Wanting to contact Thanos, Steve could maybe understand, even if he thought it was a terrible idea. Wanting to keep inexperienced hands from getting on the scepter made sense, he would concede that. But when Loki brought up taking hostages, Steve felt his heart sink and his jaw drop.

And then it only got worse.

His jaw snapped shut and clenched as Loki kept talking. Suggesting that they _use_ the scepter. Not just to fight Thanos, but for petty vengeance against Scofield; recruiting unwilling soldiers in a war. The shawarma in his stomach turned to lead, and for a moment, Steve could see Loki has he’d first met him-- towering and terrible, scepter in hand, commanding others to kneel.

And it terrified him. Not trusting himself to speak, he stared at Loki until she trailed off and realized what she was saying. And while that epiphany counted for something, it troubled him how far she’d gotten before she cut herself off.

Apparently, she hadn’t come quite as far as he’d hoped, and they had a ways to go still in her rehabilitation.

“Then we go back for it later,” he declared after several seconds, once he calmed enough to unlock his jaw and trust his voice to stay even. “We’ll have enough to deal with if we have to move without adding that on top of it all. If we need to get it, we wait until we have intel, resources, and a solid plan. They could have moved it anywhere by now, and I’m not risking us going in blind.” He also wasn’t risking Loki having the temptation of the scepter just now, when he was no longer certain she’d be able to resist it.

“And no, I don’t want you using it on anyone. Ever.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “How could you even suggest that? You saw Barton the other day. What--” He cut himself off, gritting his teeth, closing his eyes, and breathing through his nose. He didn’t want to raise his voice or chastise Loki too harshly. She was still making progress, even if... even if she said something like that. Rome wasn’t built in a day. “The scepter doesn’t get used.”

  


She shut her mouth and let her lips firm into a line.

He disapproved, and she could see that disapproval, that disappointment, practically dripping from his body language.

Things like this were why she loved him, but at the same time, it was a terrible thing, having to be aware of how her plans for using the resources at hand might offend his sensibilities.

“I didn’t mean--” She started, then stopped. She didn’t mean using it on Barton, on people he knew. She didn’t mean using it on people. Just humans, the sort without names who were barely worth the air they used.

She knew voicing that, though, wouldn’t help matters. He mattered because he was better than that. He mattered because he was hers. Barton mattered because he mattered to him… but beyond that, it wasn’t as if she was now friends with all of the human race. Even among the Aesir, she would kill as many as necessary for the good of them all. It was a harsh truth she had had to learn young, when being raised to lead. The ends justified the means. Personal sacrifices had to be made to see the survival of the whole.

“Sorry.” She muttered, looking away, voice and jaw tight as she fought not to be offended.

This was because he was good and she was not and she was supposed to be trying to become more like him.

But it still felt like a denial.

_I could have done it Father._

She shook it off.

“We don’t use the sceptre, then, we don’t go after it. We just go in, make our demands, and if they refuse, we leave. And we do not kill anyone or harm them unduly or any such thing.” She summarized, attempting to keep her voice light even though she could feel the tears building behind her lashes.

 _Stupid_. That had been stupid. Twice, in as many days, she had let her mouth run away with her, and darkness had come out. Darkness that Steve didn’t want to see, that he didn’t want to believe existed within her.

She took a deep breath, hoping that it would steady her and keep the tears from falling. She felt like such a fool. But that would go away, would diminish, and he might even be lulled into forgetting about it, in time. But that darkness would still be there, lurking, just under whatever surface she wore for him.

  


Steve sighed. He felt some relief that Loki had conceded about the scepter: Both not to use it and to leave it behind if they ran. Though the warm glow and sense of ease he’d felt minutes ago had vanished. “That’s about the long and short of it,” he agreed, tersely. Then he looked down and away. It wasn’t that he was angry, necessarily -- all right, maybe a little angry -- for the most part he felt worried and irked and troubled and a little disappointed. And it looked like now he could add guilt to the list, what with Loki looking like she was about to cry.

Dammit.

He took a few deep breaths, and the silence between them lingered. When he spoke again, his tone was less curt. “If things go south and we need to leave, then we focus on getting out first. Then we regroup and figure out the next step with Thanos. One thing at a time,” he pointed out. “We can’t afford to let anyone get hurt. Trust is going to earn us a lot more allies than force. And we aren’t going to kill anyone or use the scepter, because.... Because it’s a violation,” he explained, hoping that Loki understood, that she’d see what the thing was and why Steve was so violently opposed to it. “Because it takes people apart and steals their free will. It makes them slaves. It’s immoral and it’s cruel to do to _anyone_ , and we’re better than that.”

He reached over and gently tucked his fingers under her chin to tilt her face up so she’d look at him. “ _You’re_ better than that, now.” He brushed his thumb lightly over the corner of her mouth, where a little bit of flour from the pita had smudged.

  


She glared at him, angry and humiliated and not entirely sure why. She pulled her face away from his gentle fingers, nearly snarled at his gentle words.

“ _I’m not, though_.” She hissed at him under her breath. “You just hope I am-- want to think I am.” She spun her way out of the booth, finding her feet quickly. “If anything-- you say I’m not a monster? There’s your proof. I always have been. And I always will be.”

She stood and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very exposed, very weak, in this form.

“I think we should go back now. I wouldn’t want to _attract attention_.” She bit the last words out, but still quietly. All the people who worked there should know is that they were having a spat.

She should feel ashamed for letting him down, feel guilty, because it was her who had done something wrong, not him. But that didn’t seem to matter.

“I need to calm down.” She said after a minute. “I can’t-- I want to take care of you, but I want to be me, too. And I am not always--” She gestured at herself. “Not always as kind and good as you want me to be. So let’s just. Let’s go back. Let me fix you up. We’ll make plans. And we won’t talk any more about the sceptre.”

 

Steve wanted to argue. Wanted to say that yes, she was better, and point out all the ways she’d changed, even if there had been one error in judgement just now. But where she was wrong about that, she was right about this not being the forum for it. He sighed, grabbing his bag of convenience store goods as he stood up and left a cash tip on the table, having paid up front for their food already. “Okay. We can go back, take some time, talk about this more when we’re feeling up to it,” he said, conciliatory. He’d pushed Loki enough times to know this wasn’t a good time or place to keep pushing.

“I want to make one quick stop first, if it’s okay. Just to grab a menu from the pizza place we passed so we can order dinner later if we want.” His appetite was mostly gone, the last couple of bites of his second shawarma uneaten (he considered wrapping it up in napkins and pocketing it, but he’d never get the smell of the spices out of his clothes), but it would return with a vengeance later, and he wasn’t sure they’d want to go out again. Especially if this spat endured.

He held the door open for Loki as they left, and, as promised, ducked into the pizza place for less than a minute to grab one of their menus and make sure they delivered. The rest of the walk went by in silence on their way back to the hotel.

There was no hand holding.

He didn’t speak again until they were back in the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

“You made a bad call. A bad call in the planning stage, which you then recognized was bad, and threw out instead of acting on,” he began carefully, dropping the bag on to the room’s desk and kicking off his shoes. He’d planned his words with a bit more preparation during the time it took to walk back, since his words spoken with little thought in the restaurant had backfired so magnificently. “That doesn’t make you a monster. Good people make bad choices. And you’re changing, yes, but it’s a work in progress. No one expects it to happen all at once. _I_ don’t expect it to happen all at once.”

He turned to look at Loki, biting on his lip. “You’re not a monster. You... made a mistake. A mistake that didn’t even have the chance to hurt anyone this time around. It doesn’t define you and it sure as hell doesn’t have to hold you back.” He took a step forward. “And I’m sorry if-- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin lunch.”

  


She’d brooded her way back to the room, every second of silence that ticked between them feeling more and more oppressive, making her feel more panicked.

She was horrible, and he was realizing. And soon she would lose him for it.

Once they were inside and Steve had said his piece, she couldn’t help but freeze where she was, one boot off and the other foot raised, the process halted with one hand wrapped around the heel and the other across the toe.

Loki looked at him like he was some kind of creature she’d never seen before. She shook her head, letting herself change back into himself, then took the few steps forward that kept them apart and used his restored weight to press Steve back against the door.

“You didn’t ruin anything.” He told him softly, speaking into his breath at their now even heights. “It was my fault. And we don’t really need to talk about it, do we? I know it was wrong. I’ll be better.” He promised, hearing the desperation in his own voice, then pressed his lips to Steve’s, hoping that the conversation would at least be derailed, if not fully ended by the contact.

He let his fingers drift around, placed his hand between Steve’s head and the door, and used his fingers in his hair to direct the angle of his head, choreographing the deepest, dirtiest, most perfect kiss he could imagine. His other hand crept up, fingertips lapping against Steve’s collar bone, teasingly drifting higher before retreating.

He wanted him, and he needed him, but he wouldn’t let it consume him. Wouldn’t hurt Steve with it.

He lightened the touches, letting the desperation peter out, and sighed into Steve’s mouth.

Then he turned his head to the side and pressed his forehead against the side of Steve’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. No tears came, which he was grateful for, but it did not make his voice sound any less melancholic for its dryness. “I’ll try harder.”

  


The transformation as Loki changed back into his male form -- hair shortening, features sharpening, and his frame erupting in height -- was fascinating and strange. And yet, Steve reflected, something he could probably become accustomed to in time. His voice, too, returned to its baritone range, and the words it said eased Steve’s apprehension. The walk back, he’d been worried about what Loki was thinking, feeling. If she-- he-- had been mad at Steve, or reconsidering their relationship and alliance alike.

It turned out he had nothing to worry about after all, as Loki reassured him while pushing him up against the door and kissing him.

For a few blissful seconds, Steve’s mind emptied of all thoughts. Kissing. They were kissing. Nothing could be that bad if they were kissing like this, surely?

He let Loki tilt his head and opened his mouth further, letting their tongues brush against each other as the kiss deepened almost obscenely. All the muscles in Steve’s pelvis tightened as he fought the impulse to let his hips buck forward, his blood rushing in time with the desperate pounding of his heart.

He was dizzy for air when their lips parted and he sunk back against the door, Loki’s face against his, body close.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I know. And that’s... that’s all I can ask.” Loki _was_ trying. Steve knew that. And it meant the world to him. He wrapped his arms around Loki and pulled him in until their bodies were flush against each other. “You’ve already come so far, I forget how hard it must be sometimes. And I’m sorry,” he said, chin on Loki’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  


There was an ache in his chest, but he put a smile on his face.

“I’m fine.” He told him. It was only somewhat a lie, but surely Steve wouldn’t begrudge him some small amount of privacy, in his thoughts-- his emotions?

It felt a little like the people he’d gone to bed with in the past, the ones who liked him best when he built his body to be something other than what it was. But this was different, somehow more invasive. Steve didn’t care-- he seemed to like Loki’s body whether it was male, female, or monster. No, what he wanted changed was Loki’s very nature.

He should have known better than to think he would ever be enough-- good enough or good looking enough, it didn’t matter-- for anyone. Especially someone like Steve, who could obviously have his pick of people.

He let the smile fall away, hoping he had done so before Steve realized it hadn’t quite reached his eyes.

He kissed him again, this time a soft peck to his lips.

He wasn’t lying when he kissed him, but it was a form of manipulation, and he felt horrible for using it, but at the same time… would Steve stay with him if he didn’t?

“I’d like to check you over now, though, if that’s okay? Make sure that you’re fine, too-- that there wasn’t anything I missed.” He was earnest enough, and hopefully anything in his voice that wasn’t perfectly even would be mistaken for concern.

He didn’t want to lose Steve. But he was also terrified of what would become of both of them, if he didn’t.

  


Fine. They were fine. Steve nodded, wanting desperately to believe it; that he hadn’t set them back. It was just a small slip-up on Loki’s part because he hadn’t thought it through. He didn’t think Loki would really use the scepter on him, or Murray, or Ferra or Barton or anyone else. Not when he’d gone out of his way not to really harm anyone in his escape before.

Right?

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, making his way over to the bed and sitting down at the edge of it, beginning to unbutton his shirt. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with him -- with a full stomach now and a good night’s sleep, he was feeling infinitely better -- but if letting Loki check him over would help the latter feel more at ease, then Steve wouldn’t fight it. He peeled off his overshirt, folding it and setting it aside, then paused.

“Do you need me to take my undershirt off?” He’d begun undressing more or less without thinking about it, but realized that Loki probably meant to check the flow of krellr in his head after what he’d said about Thanos. He didn’t want to cause unnecessary distraction by disrobing more than needed. “And do I need to lie down, or--?”

  


“I will need you as close to unclothed as you are comfortable being. I only attended to the gaping void in your chest before… I want to be sure it is absorbed properly, and that the flow is working as it should… and that he did not leave anything behind in your mind or body, hidden amongst the glow of your own krellr,”

Just thinking of taking in the brightness of Steve’s potent krellr, unfiltered, and having to focus on all of it rather than just on one area, made his eyes ache in anticipation.

He considered for a moment switching to his Jotun form, but then gave himself a mental slap.

That wasn’t a toy, or a form like being a woman, to pull out at will. He’d used it to break Steve out, and he’d just done so much harm with it…. he wondered if Steve would still believe he was so much better than he had been, when they returned and he saw what Loki had done, saw the damages he’d inflicted. Wondered if he would still think Loki wasn’t a monster.

Perhaps, though, he could just use the eyes… he’d done partial transformations before, animal heads on Aesir bodies, Steve’s hands and eyes over his own… over the _Jotun_ body, he realized. If Steve wasn’t disgusted by that trick now, he would be once he saw the footage.

Still. For the moment…

“I am going to use my Jotun eyes for this, since if nothing else, they are better for seeing your krellr. I just did not want you to be alarmed when they go bloody and red.” He tried to keep the disdain for them out of his voice.

That was another thing Steve didn’t like.

  


The idea of something being left in him, like a magical killswitch or trigger of some sort, made Steve shudder. Was that even a thing? Did Thanos have that ability, or had Loki seen it before? Was it something humanity could even detect?

“Okay,” Steve said, wondering whether ‘as close to unclothed’ meant no pants. Then he bit the inside of his cheek in self-flagellation for his pointless modesty. He and Loki had been naked together in the bath just that morning, after all. _Stupid._

Quickly, he stripped down to his briefs, neatly folding his clothes and setting them aside on the chair before dropping back down on to the bed with his hands folded in his lap as he waited for Loki to be ready. He contemplated whether he ought to lean back and lie down or remain seated, and decided to wait for Loki’s direction.

“Not a problem,” he told Loki with a quick smile when Loki announced that he would change. He watched, captivated by the blooming crimson in Loki’s eyes as they flooded with red, though this time without a trace of the accompanying blue. The combination of Loki’s usual skin with glowing red eyes was vaguely unsettling for the first few seconds, but Steve managed to hold back any reaction, keeping a small smile in place. “Ready whenever you are.”

 

The moment his eyes were in place, he could see Steve as he hadn’t before, see the rush and flow of that bright power inside of him.

It seemed brighter, though, different somehow, and Loki knit his brow and peered closer, his hand going out to rest on Steve’s shoulder.

“I need you to lie back.” He murmured, putting a little pressure on the hand at his shoulder to help guide him there. “There’s… something…” He trailed off, trying to understand what he saw.

It was bits of his seidhr, there was no question of that, but they hadn’t been absorbed as he expected, hadn’t taken on the red-orange glow of Steve’s krellr. They had however taken up the motions of the latter, behaving for all the world as if they belonged there, rushing around through him. And Loki couldn’t round them all up, gather them and pull them out, because unlike anyone else, Steve’s krellr would attempt to come with it.

“My seidhr hasn’t been absorbed.” He reported.

He found it eddying in the Captain’s pulse points most of all, alarming little pools of power. They didn’t seem to be doing any harm but they weren’t going away either, and didn’t really belong there.

“I’ve never seen a seidhr transplant for krellr before, I’m not sure what I should do with it.” He said softly, worry taking over all of his other emotions.

Seidhr was replaced daily-- and if it was somewhere it oughtn’t be, it should either be absorbed as energy, or caught up by the waves of outgoing seidhr, and not replaced. He knew they existed here, because his own seidhr was restored. But how could it have missed Steve, unless it was now restoring the amounts in him, as well? Unless it now counted him as a bearer of Seidhr?

He worried that he had done something terribly wrong, creating a power where there hadn’t been before. He’d never heard of it done, though, and wondered if the Captain’s own modified body was the reason it had happened.

He followed the flow of it up to Steve’s temples and stroked softly at the bundle of seidhr. But rather than scattering, as the krellr around it did, it merely quivered.

Loki tried picking it up, tried pulling it back to himself, but it wouldn’t budge. Almost like he had no control over it. But he knew that wasn’t true; he’d spent his life learning how to manipulate seidhr.

“Out of curiosity, will you humor me and close your eyes, and imagine yourself pushing, with your mind, something down your arms and into the palm of your hand?” It was a basic aptitude test. If the power pooled, it meant the child-- for usually it was a child, being tested, would then be taught.

 

Steve allowed himself to be gently tilted back until he was supine on the bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to relax as Loki looked him over.

Relaxing became a bit harder when Loki spoke, and Steve looked over at him, worry etched clearly on the other’s face. “Is that... bad?” he asked. It didn’t feel bad. He felt more normal now than he had since the incident, and it was hard to fathom what invisible, intangible particles he couldn’t even perceive and his whole species’ scientific and medical process failed to account for, might now be doing to him if they were in the wrong place.

Of course, a foreign substance in his body or energy or whatever it was didn’t have to be a terrible thing. He’d known plenty of guys who had bits of shrapnel or bullet fragments lodged in them back in the war, which the doctors had decided to leave in since it was safer than attempting extraction. Dernier’d had half a German bullet in his hip, but it hadn’t given him much trouble beyond a barely perceptible limp. “If it’s not hurting me, would it be better to leave it in?” Of course, Fury would just _love_ that if he found out: Loki’s magic permanently grafted to Steve’s soul.

He’d probably leave that part out when giving a recap of events. Steve was honest, but he wasn’t an idiot.

At Loki’s request, he closed his eyes and concentrated. What was he supposed to be pushing? Blood? Something solid or liquid or--? Was he meant to be picturing it rolling over the surface of his skin, or coursing through his veins? Unsure of what he was supposed to do, he did his best to form a mental picture of a small ball of light, like how Loki described, sitting inside the ball socket joint of his shoulder. He then imagined it rolling down the inside of his arm, gaining momentum, like a pinball in an arcade machine, until it bounced to a halt in the palm of his hand. Feeling very stupid, he opened his eyes and looked up at Loki sheepishly. “Did that do anything?”

  


Loki breathed out, not sure whether to be relieved or more concerned.

“No.” He said, though that wasn’t quite accurate. The small pools of seidhr had… for lack of better term, bounced. Like a single vibration had affected them all, they had jumped and then settled slowly.

Like they rested on a common strand which had been plucked.

“I do not see it doing harm, but I seem incapable of taking it out at any rate. We will have to monitor it. But if anything, it seems the seidhr has made itself at home in your body. Perhaps it will help further your healing, if it comes to that, or perhaps it will find its own outlet, in due time. But you are not a magic user, you seem not to have aptitude for sorcery.” He gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Alright, that aside, I’m just going to make sure there are no tears I didn’t see, and that there are no other extras hiding in you. Just hold still for a moment.”

He raked his eyes over Steve’s body, examining every inch of it the way a seamstress might check silk for runs. His fingers twitched slightly, rearranging the few minor disturbances that he came across, as he worked his way down. He climbed up to straddle him, murmuring a soft, “Easier to keep my balance,” as he did so, ignoring the heat between his thighs.

He lingered over Steve’s chest, his face moving in close to see to it that there were no thin spots of krellr, no lack of protection and no further damage.

Everything seemed okay, and he sighed, glad of that.

Steve’s head and chest seemed fine, and there was really no reason to continue, save that he wanted to be utterly certain.

He checked over Steve’s arms, fingers dipping in and out of the stream of his soul, unable to resist touching the perfect rivers of it.

As a test, he let his own seidhr pool in his palm, then touched it to Steve’s, curious to see if like would call to like, and if he could gather the errant bits that way. It seemed not, though; they flashed warningly, but otherwise did not move.

“Only testing,” he said, speaking both to Steve himself and the seidhr inside of him.

He moved downwards, letting his hands skim across the muscles that he could not see under the blanketing bed of stars.

He moved until his hands rested on either side of the front of his hips, and he paused, realizing where he was, what sort of position he’d put himself in.

He licked his lips a little, then looked up at Steve’s face, willing his green eyes open and his red eyes gone.

“You seem healthy,” he said. Then he looked down at the underwear under his palms, and what laid between them, his cock an obvious bulge.

Loki didn’t want to push, didn’t want to make Steve uncomfortable. But maybe he could make up for his own slip up at the restaurant. He could be kind, could give pleasure. Could let Steve experience that.

“May I taste you?” He asked, looking up at Steve, voice and eyes both heavy. “I can make it so good for you-- relieve so much tension. What do you say?”

  


Steve felt a touch of relief and of disappointment in equal measure. A childish part of him reveled in the idea of being able to do magic, like Merlin or other characters of fantasy from his youth. A practical part wished he might have been able to learn some healing like Loki could do. And the soldier in him was relieved not to have one more damn thing to worry about mastering and keeping under control when he had enough on his plate already.

Perhaps it was all for the best, he reflected, humming his assent.

Steve dutifully held still as Loki completed his examination, scrutinizing every last part of him in a way that reminded Steve a little bit of how the SSR doctors had gone over him after Erskine’s death in an attempt to reverse-engineer the serum. Only that had been completely cold and detached, and while Loki was still looking him over in a medical capacity, there was a strange sort of intimacy in the process. Doctors, after all, had never needed to straddle Steve.

“Huh,” he huffed quietly when he felt a strange prickling in his palm while Loki held his hand over it. Nothing seemed to happen and Loki didn’t seem to take note of it much; whatever he’d been expecting hadn’t come to pass. Loki continued and Steve let his gaze soften and his mind wander. It was good that he was healthy, though he felt strange that he didn’t even fully comprehend the severity of his injury. He knew it was bad; he’d felt it, known it then, that he was hurting bad. But he’d seen nothing from the outside and didn’t have any visible wounds or scars from the incident. Just a description of something he didn’t understand. Would he be able to recognize it if someone else were wounded in the same way? Would he be able to do anything? Would--

Steve blinked, his thoughts crashing to a halt as he realized where Loki was, and what he was saying. Asking. Suggesting.

“Uh.” Steve blinked more, licking his lips despite the sudden dryness in his mouth. He felt warmth pooling in his groin, and his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively. “I, uh--”

Oh God. He wanted. He really really wanted. But at the same time, he didn’t want it here and like this and with the spectre of the fight they just had hanging over them. Only, would it help Loki? Would he take Steve’s refusal as rejection and be hurt by it? Or was he only offering because of their spat? And if he said yes, was it only because he knew they might not have another chance anytime soon? What if they _didn’t_ get another chance?

Steve’s breathing shuddered. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them. “I... no. Here.” He sat up enough to reach down and grip Loki by the upper arm, pulling him toward the bed so he and Steve would be able to lie face to face. “You already make everything good,” he assured, leaning in and kissing him gently, hoping it would be enough. Hoping Loki wouldn’t feel spurned or disappointed or irritated with him.

  


Loki took a shuddering breath and leaned into Steve’s touch, unable to help but feel that he didn’t deserve this, hadn’t worked for it or proven himself worthy of it.

He didn’t want to argue, though, so he lay where Steve directed him, his lip caught between his teeth so that he didn’t say anything else stupid. Nothing about the sceptre, nothing about Steve’s body, nothing about his own future, or lack thereof. Loki was building rules for himself, and it was beginning to feel like another sort of cage.

Loki found his eyes traveling downwards, though, gauging Steve’s interest, though he refused to remark on it.

He probably wasn’t ready, and didn’t want to give that part of himself to Loki, especially not after he had just proven himself so unreliable. He sighed softly.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? All of this… I am horrible at this sort of thing.” He started, then ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. “I want to say I’m sorry in a way that feels real to you, something beyond words, which are cheap, especially from someone like me. But how can-- what can I do?” He remembered, in the past, offering Steve his choice of wishes, his choice of rewards, and all he’d ever wanted was for Loki to be better.

It shouldn’t be this hard, though.

“I want to be able to do anything for you.” He mumbled, closing his eyes, as it seemed the only way to avoid the Captain’s bright blue ones, “But it turns out that there is so much I can’t do, so much that I am poorly suited for, and that’s always what you ask of me. Like being a good person.”

He huffed out a sigh.

“We have been together for all of a day, and already I am groveling for forgiveness.” He spoke wryly, but there was a real concern beneath it. How often would he be in this position, trying to live up to expectations that were as unrealistic as the demands Steve planned to make of his superiors, at SHIELD?

  


Steve frowned, eyebrows tugging together in concerned distress. “You don’t have to make anything up to me. Especially not like-- like that,” he replied, suddenly glad he’d refused Loki’s overture. He didn’t want the first time to be prompted by feelings of guilt. Didn’t want Loki to do what he’d offered to do just because he thought he had to make something up to him. He sighed.

“Saying you’re sorry and meaning it is enough. It’s not cheap coming from you, ‘cause you’ve been mostly pretty honest with me. You lied about the-- about the one thing, yeah, but not about the rest. I believe you,” he insisted. “You can just talk to me; I’ll listen. I’ve always listened.” Hadn’t he?

He reaching up and carded his fingers through Loki’s hair, running them through the black tresses and combing them back toward his neck. “I ask hard things of you,” he agreed, apologetic. “But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you were a good person, and capable of being good. You didn’t hurt anyone bad when you broke out, after all. And I don’t think you’d use the scepter on me. Or on Murray, or Ferra, or Barton again. And I think if you really thought about it, what it’d do and who you might be using it on, you’d realize you wouldn’t want to use it after all.” He had to hold on to that hope; that Loki had been thoughtless and speaking out of habit. That the compassion he’d been showing of late was rooted more deeply that that.

“You don’t have to ask for forgiveness. I already forgive you. I forgave you a while ago,” he remarked, tucking a loose curl behind Loki’s ear and tracing the shell of it. “I just need you to keep trying, and keep listening, and not give up just because you make a mistake. You don’t have to do this by yourself.” He waited for Loki to open his eyes again -- once more brilliantly green -- and smiled softly at him when he did. “I’m here and I’ll help you and if you start wandering off into the dark, I’ll be right here to pull you back. I know it’s gonna take time and work from the two of us, but I’m here for the long haul,” he leaned in and lightly brushed his lips to Loki’s cheek,  “if you’ll have me.”

  


He squeezed his eyes shut again, his mind whirling as it always did when his feelings were involved, turning the words against him, poisoning what Steve said.

He could not help himself, the question slipping out before he’d made the conscious choice to allow it.

“And your care, your acceptance of me-- these are contingent on my changing to be this better person, are they not?” He flicked his eyes up to look Steve in the face, then looked down again. “I do not want to be scared of losing you each time my true self surfaces, whether it be monstrous in form or in thought-- but I feel that is to be the way of it. I am to be made to change how I think, how I perceive the world, and the consequences of my failure will be losing you. But where is the balance-- where does that which makes me me end, and the evil that you seek to exorcise begin? Will I ever be done becoming good? Who will judge me, and based on what criteria? It’s all such a burden, and it feels so… heavy, so unnecessary, when laid atop the worry of Thanos, the fear of what he intends to do.” He breathed heavily out of his nose, fighting off the frustration that threatened, at being caged as he was now, his will and his mind caged by his heart.

“Can we not set aside this talk of good and evil for a time, can I not just use my power and my mind-- my two greatest weapons-- at their full potential, without the handicap of _goodness_ , just until we destroy him or die trying? For I feel like I am going into battle with my hands tied, and if the options are losing you or dying, I think we both know full well the choice I would make.”

Oddly enough, he realized he didn’t. He had no idea. Which, of course, only made him more of a fool and a coward than he’d thought. Neither option was particularly palatable. Steve was right to be too disgusted to want him touching him. He was disgusted with himself.

  


Steve chewed on his lip, taking a deep breath to ease back the sense of frustration he felt. It was like going in circles. Not that he didn’t know that, coming into this. Rehabilitating Loki was always going to be an uphill battle and he knew it. He just didn’t know how much it would _hurt._

“If we give up on being the good guys just to win, then why bother fighting?” he asked, words spilling out before he could censor them. “If we’re just as bad -- or worse -- why would we even deserve to win? What would make us any different from the enemy?” He looked at Loki, expression earnest. “Morals aren’t a handicap. They’re a purpose.”

He didn’t want to think too hard on what Loki had said of his options. But that left him with the discussion of his affections being conditional. He rolled on to his back to stare up at the ceiling. “I told you before, I’m not giving up on you,” he reiterated, for what felt like the hundredth time. “And you’ll never be done. No one ever is. No one is ever completely and totally good-- that’s not how it works!” He sucked in a breath, trying to formulate words. “Everyone screws up. Everyone tries and messes up, and does things that are bad. Or gray. Or questionable. And sometimes you do good things for bad reasons and bad things for good reasons. It happens. I went AWOL in a stolen plane against orders to rescue one guy because he was my friend. Which wound up working out really well, but wasn’t a great idea, and I oughta have been court-martialed. I mean, I’m really a terrible soldier when you look at my record,” he blurted. “The point isn’t-- The point is that you keep trying. That you make an effort to be good, to stick to a code, and have an idea of what good is and what your principles are and that you actually _care_.”

That was the crux of it. The whole reason Steve didn’t believe Loki was a monster. Because the idea of his own monstrosity bothered him so much; because he gave a damn, and cared about Steve and other people once he met them and knew them. And that the idea of trying to be good caused him this much trouble, this much angst, when a monster wouldn’t have bothered. Wouldn’t have seen it as worth the effort.

“I’m not gonna stand by and accept you hurting people and innocents and doing truly evil things,” he said, “but I’m not gonna leave you high and dry just because you slip up, or we disagree on something. Fury and I often don’t see eye to eye on ethics. Hell, Natasha is one of the few friends I’ve got and she and I often have differences on moral judgement calls. But I still trust her to have my back.” He rolled his head to the side to look at Loki. “And I know you’re scary smart, which is smart enough to work out the general differences between evil and not.”

He exhaled, looking back up at the ceiling. A long crack, stained from old water damage, wound across it like a meandering snake. “For what it’s worth,” he said in a low voice, “if my options ever were losing you or dying, I know my pick too.”

  


And that was the crucial flaw in this, wasn’t it?

“What difference would there be?” Loki had never felt more like a son of Odin in that moment, a thought that would once have made him proud and now only made him nauseous. “The difference is we might win. How can you choose to trade one person for the good of many?” The thought alone made him angry, fueled this defiant heat in his stomach.

“That is the choice you make, again and again. Risk the many for one-- whether that be me, or the one man you stole a plane for-- why? There is no sense to it, no logic… no moral high ground to be taken for the loss of life. You choose to make the blisteringly stupid, charming but flawed call of saving those you care for. And I don’t see how that is so much different from my decision to sacrifice those I don’t know-- if there are more people who stand to live because of it.”

He shook his head.

“I do not ask because I wish to anger you, or to drive you away. I ask not for reassurance that you have faith in me-- I _know_ that. What I do not know is if it is me that you are infatuated with, or the image of the ideal me. _Your_ ideal me. A version of myself that makes the right calls, that regrets everything he has done, contrite and demure and apologetic and _good_. These are all things that I can be in part, but as a whole… As a whole I am Loki, and wholly unlike these things. And if it is that you are looking to, if you are hoping that one day you will wake up and find that I have become myself, but in your image… it is wrong, Captain. That is not how people work-- is not how I work. I will always be jealous, I will always have hate simmering inside of me, and I will at times have the urge to let it out, to destroy something. You might seek to direct that rage, but you cannot stymie it. You cannot cure it with your care, for it is as much a part of me as my experiences-- the result of them. I need you to accept that, before anything else.”

He went quiet for a few long seconds, then reached out to touch Steve’s face gently before quickly pulling back.

“You ask hard things of me-- let me ask this of you. Do not seek to destroy all the ills within me, Captain, because I fear I would lose myself along with them.” He looked away. “You are right, that I can distinguish right and wrong. And more aptly, I can distinguish between _your_ right and wrong. But you choose to judge my actions on your own moral scale, when what is right for me is a broader range. True, Barton has every reason to hate me, and I allow that. But he came to no harm, under my rule. He does not remember what he did, what I made him do. He was vital in accomplishing what I needed to, and when I was done he was welcome to return to his life. I see nothing inherently evil about that-- it is a far better treatment than most soldiers can claim, and the only difference is one walks into the fight willing and comes out blinded by what he saw, and the other goes in without a say, and comes out blind to his deeds. Anything I do can be justified by my morals. But if you ask me to live by yours…” He shrugged. “Your morals, when applied to everything I have done thus far, cast me further into the role of the monster. And perhaps that is for the best, going forward, but if I look back, how am I to ever look at myself again? How is it you can look me in the eyes? And again, when you do, are you seeing what truly lies there, or what you hope will, someday? Do you see me, or only the reflection of yourself, tinted green and set within my face?

He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the answer.

  


Steve felt like some wretched and miserable thing was twisting through in innards and clawing at the prison of his ribcage. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He didn’t want to be arguing like this. But at the same time he couldn’t let it all just go, and he couldn’t lie to Loki. He felt sick with uncertainty and frustration and self-doubt. “I put myself at risk, sure, but I never dragged anyone with me against their will,” he mumbled in a voice so low it was almost a growl. He’d made stupid calls in the past, but he would always risk himself before anyone else. He didn’t have the _right_ to actively sacrifice anyone. Not the way Loki was talking about.

But when Loki spoke of justifying what he had done to Barton, and not even being able to see the evil in it, not seeing the violation -- Steve abruptly felt cold and aware of how naked he was. Sitting up, he scooted down to the end of the bed and grabbed his pants and undershirt, pulling them both on and wishing they were enough to banish the chill settling in his bones. “You know,” he snapped, “for saying you don’t want to drive me away, you seem to put an awful lot of effort into trying to do just that.” The snarling mess of emotion inside of him was too tangled and tumultuous for him to even make sense of it. He needed to think; he needed to calm down; he needed Loki to stop and his brain to shut up and he needed to not feel like he was going to punch something or throw up the only food he’d eaten in the last twenty-four hours into a motel waste-paper basket. He needed--

“I need a minute,” he muttered, standing up and walking into the bathroom, consciously making an effort to not slam the door behind him when he closed it.

He put his hands on the sides of the sink, squeezing down on the cool ceramic surface as he breathed in and out, counting during each breath the way he had growing up to try to get his gasping under control during an asthma attack. After several long seconds, he turned on the tap, letting it run cold, and splashed the water on his face. He repeated the motion twice more before turning the faucet back off and grabbing a hand towel from the rack. Looking up into the mirror at his dripping face, he paused.

Was Loki right? Was Steve trying to turn him into something he wasn’t? To rewrite him and reshape him into his own image? Was he smitten with the man Loki could be more than the man he was? Was he going about this all wrong and causing Loki more harm than good? Was he deluding himself about all of this?

He dropped the towel and stepped backward until his back met with the smooth tile of the bathroom wall. Leaning against it, he allowed himself to slide downward until he was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest. Everything had happened so fast. From simply talking and occasional healing touches to... to this. Had he screwed up? Perhaps he was just an idiot so desperate for someone to connect to that he’d developed a crush on a man who didn’t really exist...

And was ‘no murder’ and ‘no enslaving minds or killing innocents’ really so unreasonable an expectation?

He dropped his head to between his knees, squeezing his eyes shut and going over Loki’s words in his mind. _Are you seeing what truly lies there, or what you hope will, someday?_

Many parts of Loki were perfect to him. He was clever, well-spoken, insightful, compassionate (at times -- the mileage on that varied and didn’t include utter strangers or those Loki deemed to be of no consequence, it seemed). There were things he did and ways he spoke that did trouble him, true, but many of them he was willing to compromise on or forgive. There were cultural differences, and Steve also knew that it was unreasonable to hold everyone to the same standards he held himself. He could let a lot go, and still see Loki as a flawed and brilliant being. But there were other things he couldn’t abide by. And he needed to know Loki was willing to meet him halfway. To make an effort to function by the laws and morals of Steve’s world enough that he could be redeemed, could be seen as something other than a villain. So they could actually be together, perhaps, openly some day. Or at least with the knowledge of those other people Steve cared about, and without the interference of SHIELD.

Maybe it was too much to hope for. But Steve had seen Loki change so much already, he wondered how much of the sneering, cruel and hateful creature he’d met at first had been a veneer, scraped away by time and patience to reveal a kinder, more vulnerable man beneath. And he wanted to help uncover that man, and allow others beyond just him to meet him.

Was he ignoring the man Loki truly was, or was he the only one who actually saw him underneath the rage and pain?

He counted his breathing again: _in-two-three... out-two-three...._

He needed to go back out. Needed to tell Loki that... That he saw _him_ , he did, and he knew he wasn’t perfect. He knew and he cared anyway, but he just needed to know there were lines he wouldn’t cross. Even if it was just for Steve’s benefit, he needed that from him.

He needed to get off the floor first, though. And that was proving difficult to muster the will to do. He let out a tight chuff of breath: the great hero, Captain America, hiding in the bathroom over a lovers’ quarrel. Pretty pathetic.

  


Loki had never made a great deal of sense to any person, often least of all himself. Perhaps Frigga had known him best, seeing him for what he meant when his words stumbled, when his actions spoke the opposite of his heart.

But he could not go to Frigga now, could not lay his head against her skirts and ask her for advice.

So he sat, facing the wall, his back to the door and the rest of the room. The Captain had asked for his space, and Loki had pushed him far enough-- too far-- already. Pushed him away.

He was conflicted. Should he push him away? Should he hold him close? Did it truly depend, as the part of him that tried to justify his every action with selfish motives suggested, upon what had happened with Thanos?

Did he want to be saved?

From death, certainly, if he could be. But Loki had no plans, no goals. In making all of his efforts go towards not dying, he had not made an active decision to live. To establish himself, to create a world in which he might have a future. And if he had, would he really have chosen this world? This man?

Well. Steve, at least, he thought he would have chosen in any event. He was the antithesis of everything Loki was, he was the opposite of everything Loki hated about himself. So why should he care if Steve wanted to create in him an echo of himself? He should embrace it, shouldn’t he?

But then, despite how greatly he loathed himself, Loki had a great love of himself as well.

It made no sense. And perhaps he should attempt to make it do so.

He considered taking a walk, going out in a guise and letting Steve have the room to think. But he realized Steve wouldn’t like that any better than he had liked Loki pushing him. Steve wanted Loki to stay here, to keep a low profile.

Loki saw little for it but to make himself look small, sitting as he was on the edge of the bed, and to let his self hatred overtake the voice that had objected.

He knew he wasn’t good enough for even average men. Why should Steve Rogers, being a better man, expect _less?_ That made even less sense than he did. And no, Loki wasn’t worthy of him. Not as he was, not as he had become-- perhaps not even as he could be, if he ever reached that mythical benchmark of success.

He would have to make reparations, but doing so felt like lying, which he had promised not to do. Pretending to care for those he had no care for, pretending to see the Captain’s way of thought… It didn’t seem honest.

He let his head slump forward and wrapped his fingers around the strands of hair that fell forward to lay in front of his eyes.

He didn’t know what to offer to him, to make him feel better, either. Thor he could offer to spar with, and let him win. He would beat him a bit, and feel better. Past lovers could be coaxed into bed for a rough tumble, and then any spat would be summarily dismissed or forgotten.

How could he make up to a man who would not let him touch him, who did not care to strike him? Could he give him a gift? Could he… no, he had to keep it low key, didn’t want to draw attention to himself or to their whereabouts.

He wondered what was running through Steve’s mind-- if he was giving any thought to what Loki had said, or if he was simply thinking of the right way to break things off.

Loki had meant what he’d said; If Steve wanted to go, he wouldn’t stop him. They could part ways from here, Loki would go back, steal the sceptre, and take it to Thanos, as the plan had always been.

And then, if he lived, if he was allowed to live, he would worry about what came next.

But if Steve came out with the intention of making it work, of making Loki worth working for…

He didn’t know. Down that road lay too many options, all of which were unexplored. Terrifying.

Were they worth it?

They had to be, didn’t they? Steve surely was, and whatever would come of having him near, being cared for by him, loving him… surely if he was worth it, anything he asked was as well, wasn’t it?

He had to let him be, had to let him come to his own conclusions on his own time. Whatever Steve chose, it would be his right to choose. Loki would adjust accordingly. He was usually so good at that.

  


Steve wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he finally pulled himself together and stood up. Once on his feet, he didn’t give himself any time to second-guess, and instead reached forward and opened the bathroom door.

Loki had stayed in the room. Steve had been relatively certain such was the case -- he hadn’t heard the door open or any other disturbances -- but it was still something of a relief to see him sitting on the bed, waiting, patient. Though his posture was pulled in on itself in such a way as to make him seem so much smaller than he was.

Steve took a step forward, hesitated, then moved to the edge of the bed and dropped to a seated position on the ground, back against the mattress, so he was sitting beside Loki but below him. He took a few more seconds to organize his thoughts, then spoke.

“I don’t want to make you into a different person,” he started out with. “I like _you._ And I know... I know that you and I aren’t always going to agree on things, or see eye to eye, and it’s unfair to hold you or anyone else to the standards I apply to myself. There’s a lot I think I can accept or compromise on.” He looked down at his hands in his lap, picking at the skin around his thumbnail. “I _would_ like to see you be the best version of yourself. The best version of Loki. And I think-- I think you’ve already come a long way and I’ve had the chance to see glimpses of that part of you and it’s been fantastic.”

He chewed on his lip, continuing to pick at his thumb. “I... I want _this_ . Whatever this is. Whatever this can become. But I also need to keep the promises I’ve made to defend people and protect. I can’t run off to another world with you and keep that promise.” He bit down a tad too hard and tasted copper. “I want... I want for other people to see the good in you. To believe you’re rehabilitated. To be able to trust in you enough to accept you. And maybe, maybe someday accept _us_.” Steve didn’t intend to shout the intimate details of his life from the rooftops, but to have his friends and allies accept him and Loki (even if they didn’t wholly approve), and to have SHIELD live and let live -- that would at least give them a foundation on which to build a life.

“I want to keep helping people, and what I’d really like, someday, is to do that with you backing me up.” He swallowed hard. It was probably a stupid pipe dream, but it was one he’d found himself entertaining all the same. Loki as a hero. Loki as his friend and lover and comrade in arms, Loki saving lives like he had saved Steve’s and Ferra’s and having empirical living proof of his goodness. “Though, I understand... I can accept if that’s not something you want to do. That’s okay,” he added. “I just want... I need...”

He paused, breathing deeply. “I need to know that there’s a line you won’t cross. That you won’t do anything so terrible that I’ll have to stop you. That I’ll have to choose between protecting innocent people and you.”

If it came to Steve or Loki, Steve could sacrifice his own life easily. He’d made that call readily before for others. He wouldn’t have to think twice. But he couldn’t trade the lives of innocents if Loki sought to hurt or enslave them. He would have to put a stop to it, by whatever means he had to. And if he did...

“I don’t know if that’s a choice I’d be able to live with, one way or the other,” he murmured, voice thick.

  


Loki looked down on Steve, able to see only the top of his head and the way he worried his hands. Loki had brought him to this, Loki was the cause. And it felt awful. It felt disgusting.

He reached out, hesitant, and stroked a hand over Steve’s hair, the way he’d wanted to ever since he’d seen that ridiculous swoop at the front of it.

“Okay.” He said simply, letting his hand’s motions soothe them both, or at least trying.

“I can-- I _will_ \-- try to be what you need me to be.” He didn’t lay voice to his doubts of ability, or worthiness, or strength. He didn’t try to explain any further about his core lack of goodness. He just agreed.

On the list of things that would cause fights, any form of self doubt was highly placed-- which was unfair, because they were all put there by outside influences, up to and including Steve himself. But if Loki had no one to speak to about them, it would hardly be an uncommon occurrence in his life. The highest place on that list was a lack of empathy for others. It seemed to terrify Steve in ways that made sense, from an outside perspective. Steve cared for everyone. How could he be together with someone who cared for so few?

“I know that you need me to care for people, people I do not know, people I have not met. People who are not like me… it is a dangerous business, caring for strangers, Steve Rogers. That is how all of the myths, all of the stories of my people begin. And it is the one who cares who is always hurt by it. Unlearning what centuries has taught me… it will not happen quickly or easily. But for you, in order to be… to be worthy of you. I will learn. I am sorry that how I am now can upset you so. I want… one day, I hope to be someone whom you can be proud to be with, proud to be seen with.”

He let his words come in a rhythm, timed almost with the stroking of Steve’s hair. It could have been hypnotic if he wanted, perhaps, but he wouldn’t do that to him. He just wished he could suck all of the pain he had inflicted out through his touch.

“I’m sorry I said those things.” He said finally. “I do not want to push you away. Not you. Not ever.”

  


Steve leaned into the touch, allowing more of the tension and worry to bleed from him with every stroke of Loki’s fingers. _Okay,_ Loki had said. Okay.

“You... you needed to say them. I needed to think about them,” Steve said, sighing. “We’re gonna have to talk about this sort of stuff so it doesn’t just bottle up.” He had a feeling that allowing emotions and conflicts to fester and go undiscussed had contributed greatly to Loki going as crazy as he had, before. “I’m sorry I didn’t handle it well. You-- you made some good points, and I had to really think about it to make sure I answered you honestly.” And that he was honest with himself. He suspected there would be a lot more of these uncomfortable, difficult talks in their future. He’d just have to learn to deal with them better, and not run off and hide in a dingy bathroom.

“Thank you,” he added. “For trying. That’s all I can ask. And it means a lot that you’re willing to give it a go. I get that it’s not gonna be a walk in the park...” If a lack of empathy had been conditioned into Loki culturally from a young age, that meant they had centuries of conditioning to undo. But if it was a product of how he had been raised and the society he’d been a part of, then it didn’t mean he was intrinsically incapable of it. It _could_ be learned. “But I’m here for you; if you’re struggling, or unsure, or need to talk about it, I’ll be right here with you to help you out.” He reached over and put a hand on Loki’s knee, squeezing it, and looked up at him.

“I might need a minute now and then to catch my breath and get my head on straight, but I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you really want me to.”

  


“I appreciate your honesty. I have been given it-- and given it in return, too little in my life. And take the time you need, I will try and give it to you… and the space as well. I do not wish to argue, and push and fight. It is like breathing, for me. Like… like letting go. Words come naturally, whether I mean them to praise or bring pain. And I have never been accused of maintaining my temper.”  He sighed.

“I do not mean to be so troublesome. You have enough worries without the petty indolences of a villain dragging his feet to reform. I do worry though, for you and for what lies ahead of us. The seidhr in me should be returned tomorrow. We have not yet spoken at depth about what happened between you and Thanos-- again, I wish to give you the time. Do not take that as a need to hurry your process of accepting what happened to you. It was inexcusable. And I am sorry I did not better protect you from it. But I am a plan maker. It grates on me not having a plan, especially when the alternative is my own assumed to perhaps assured demise. It is a bit like having an ax hovering over my head, just waiting to fall.” He shrugged, seeking to belittle his words.

“These are not excuses. I have behaved terribly, and I am sorry. But do not sit on the floor. Come back to bed. I will not seek to touch you any more than this, if you do not want. And if you do…” He swallowed. “You need only ask.”

He pulled his hand away, leaving room for Steve to move, if he was so inclined.

He could only hope that this would be behind them soon.

  


Steve let out a breath in gratitude. It appeared their fight was over, as quickly as it had come on. For now, at any rate. They’d seemingly come to some resolution, hopefully to both their benefit.

He winced at the reminder of his brief time with Thanos. He ought to tell Loki all about it, now, and get it over with. There was little enough to be remembered, after all. He’d been there only minutes.

Something in his stomach sank as he looked up at Loki, wondering...

He climbed up slowly on the bed, lying down on his side and reaching out to Loki’s hand to give it a tug, indicating he wanted him close. He worried his lip again, though. “Loki, what-- what did Thanos do to _you_?”

He looked up questioningly, brows knit together. “What happened after you-- after you let go of the bridge?” It was the dark place in Loki’s timeline of events, blacked out by his own redaction, of which they’d never really spoken. The dark place where Thanos came into the story.

Swallowing, he realized he might have propelled them right back into the dangerous waters they’d just narrowly avoided drowning in. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” he hurriedly added. “I get it if it’s not-- if now isn’t a good time. I just thought, right now, we have privacy...” he trailed off meaningfully. If they went back to SHIELD, this might be the last truly private talk they had in a long time. And if there were painful things to be discussed, things Loki might not want others to know, now was the apt time.

  


Loki pulled his hand away, refusing to lay down with him, refusing to get close in case his words sent Steve running again. He wouldn’t break his promise so quickly or so easily.

“When they found me, I thought I was dead. His daughters, his assassins… I thought I was seeing the world beyond, for I had never seen women who looked like that, in all of my travels. They were curious, not immediately vicious. Cold, guarded… they assured me that I was not dead. Only exiled to the ruined realm of Titan. All that was left of Thanos’ triumph over the people who had raised him. Who had hated him.” Loki shook his head, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“Hearing this I was… inspired. I wanted retribution. Looking around at the dust and the destruction… I wanted to see glorious Asgard in a similar state. Reduced to rubble, as Jotunheim had been by Odin, centuries prior. I wanted the gratification. I insisted they bring me to him.”  
Loki let out a dark little chuckle.

“I went willingly before Thanos, and I wove my web of flattery. But his Other, the thing which… the one who saw into your mind. Thanos showed him to me as if he were a party trick. Thanos looked into my mind, and saw… all of it. All of my pain and anger, every memory. Every wish. And he promised me a way of making it come true. I just had to go to Midgard. He gave me his sceptre, he gave me the army, and all he asked in return was my loyalty and the gauntlet. I promised him both, while in possession of neither, and he did not seem to mind. From there… he trained me. Put me through a series of lessons, meant to harden me. To make me worthy to lead a force as great as the Chitauri. To make me feared. I cannot speak to how well the lessons took, but I will say that they made me rebellious, gave me the courage and bluster to stand up to Thanos, even when… even when I knew I had no chance. Even knowing that compared to his power, I am hardly a fly. But I suppose the idea of a twice-royal, potentially thrice-royal ally, was too great to pass up. I assume that is the only reason I am not already dead.”

Loki drew himself inwards, then darted a glance over at The Captain, fully expecting a similar reaction to the one he’d had before, when he walked away.

“You know the rest. I am sorry it is not the story you wanted.”

  


Steve wasn’t sure what he’d expected; what he’d dreaded or hoped. That Loki had been tortured, perhaps? Stripped of his will and forced into acts against the earth? Broken down repeatedly until he was put back together into something twisted and in pain...

But Loki had been broken before that point. He’d been broken when he’d killed his own father and then let go in an attempt to end his own life. What followed made sense, he supposed, between that point and the invasion. And fit with Loki’s own generally unrepentant attitude for so long in the aftermath. He also couldn’t even find surprise at the fact that Loki had rebelled against his own ally, even if in little ways.

Reaching out toward the hand Loki had withdrawn, he wrapped it in his fingers, giving it a small squeeze. “I’m glad it wasn’t worse.”

For weeks after Steve had broken Bucky out of the HYDRA base, he’d woken each night to Bucky’s muffled cries as he relived whatever had been done to him, until Steve moved over to his bedroll and gently shook him awake, reminding him where he was, who he was with. Part of him had braced for that same aftermath; in the end, he found his relief that Loki hadn’t been tortured and ruined exceeded whatever disappointment he might have felt that Loki’s actions were still his own. He’d accepted it earlier after all, before the idea of Thanos and Loki’s will being compromised had ever entered his mind as a ghost of a possibility.

He didn’t wish Loki any further pain, past or present.

  


Loki’s mouth firmed, his jaw setting, before he took a deep breath and released it.

 _Define worse_. He thought viciously, but this was not a vote against him. Not the way that Steve held his hand.

But still-- worse for whom? That Loki had done something worse? What more could he have done? Or that something worse had been done to him-- the more likely option, he supposed.

“I can only hope, then, that you are willing to help me betray the person I made a promise to.” He said slowly. “I know it is against your code of honorable conduct, but… I must do so, now, to continue living. To keep others the same. Whatever he does with the sceptre and the other items he is gathering, it cannot bode well for smaller worlds.” Such as this one, he did not add.

“If you are… able, if it does not make you panic or recall hurts, too soon after they have been committed, will you tell me what he said to you? What he may have let slip of his plans? We have… so very few options of how to thwart him. Anything you know will help me build a bigger picture and begin to formulate a plan.”

He let his hand come away from his legs, from the way he had coiled up around himself, this time it was he who reached out, he who offered the comfort.

He lay himself out, the movements slow, in case Steve had changed his mind, in case he meant to order him away, but his head touched the pillows without any violent outbursts.

He reached out and ran his fingers through his hair, silky and golden, hoping to soothe again and still lost in his admiration of the texture.

“But I do not want you to hurt yourself to help me. That is true always.”

  


“I think it’s okay to break a promise if you cause more harm by keeping it than breaking it,” Steve said, then shuddered as he remembered the colossal, horrible being that Loki had made his promise to. “And some people don’t deserve your loyalty anyway,” he added, a touch bitterly, before sighing. “I’ll help you however you need.”

He was glad Loki had laid out beside him and edged closer until his head rested against Loki’s shoulder, the warmth of him solid and anchoring and real. If he was going to dwell on what had happened, he would need this lifeline to the present. Licking his lips, he took a breath and closed his eyes.

“It was like a broken planet. Everything sharp and jagged and dark. There were chunks of rock floating around, but gravity almost felt heavier. Though I don’t know if that was magic or not so I couldn’t move. The-- Thanos, was sitting on this huge hovering throne. He said...” Steve frowned, remembering that voice like an avalanche. “He said I had something of his. Then he had those women drag me forward and he said it again, but then he said I had two things of his...” he paused, opening his eyes and glancing over at Loki. “I think... I think he meant you.” And if Thanos thought to lay claim to Loki as ‘his’, then Steve would damn well fight him over that claim. Not that he had any more right to claim him -- Loki was his own person above all else -- but he would protect him from those horrible purple clutches at all costs.

“He, uh, he called you Laufeyson,” he continued, wincing slightly. “He said you’d failed, and it wasn’t unexpected, but--” and here he paused again, sinking into the memory and making a face as he tried to remember the exact words. The serum improved his memory retention and recall, but everything had been so scrambled in his head that it was harder than usual. “He said you’d failed, but that you would still be useful, ‘at the end of things, if naught else.’”

He took another moment to see how Loki was holding up and to make sure he was still with him. “Then, ah, I tried talking and got smacked around a bit. He called himself the bringer of ends or something. Master of the eternal or infinite or the like. And then...” Steve shifted uncomfortably. “Then he got interested in my mind. Said I had a strong will. And that he wanted to know how his plans were progressing on my world -- on earth. That, um. He could use an ‘agent’ in the wake of the whole invasion business to find out what he needed to know, and seemed to think I’d know something since I was a local.”

His throat had tightened as he spoke, voice growing strained. “I, um. I told him I wouldn’t tell him anything. He said, he said even the strongest wills could be broken. Minds were, were fragile. And then he had that-- that thing come over and he told him to ‘read’ me and...” He trailed off, mouth dry and a tremor running through him as he remembered the unimaginable pain of having his thoughts, his memories, his _soul_ ripped through.

“It’s mostly just pain after that. I don’t know if anyone said anything...” He let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, that’s all I remember. Is-- is that enough?”

  


“It is better than what we have had.” Loki told him firmly, quietly aghast. The Other was capable of reading without pain, but that was clearly not the intent. If they wanted to use Steve as an agent, the only reason to knowingly torture him was, as he said, to break him.

Loki held him a little harder at that thought.

“It tells us that his focus is on Midgard. That even had my stupid plan of self sacrifice been successful, you would not have been safe. I am sorry that I came so near to leaving you to that fate. To _leading_ you to it.” Loki pursed his lips, refusing to let his guilt distract him from learning as much as he could from Steve’s recounting.

“And it tells me that he plans to keep me around, at least until his plans come near enough to fruition.” He shuddered to think why that might be.

“I wonder if he intends that I be the scapegoat for his actions. In which case, it may be better to shout from the mountaintops my rehabilitation, ahead of the symptoms, that your forces may not have his deceit to confound their resistance. As you well know, we will need all of the help we may get.” _And then some,_ he thought, but did not add.

“Even if I am not fully ready, as we have learned. I will have to try harder. The success of our fight against Thanos may require it. If.. you think that is wise. I cannot imagine what else he may intend to use me for, what he thinks I will do for him. He knows that I fear him, but surely he is not so much an idiot to expect that fear will be enough to inspire loyalty. If he is… perhaps we can use that against him. But I will not hold out hope of it.”

He rolled himself so that he held Steve now, so that this time it was Steve with his face pressed to Loki’s collar.

He gently rubbed his hands down his back, taking pleasure in the small touch, the intimacy and trust of the position.

“I will not let him break you. You know that, yes? Any power I have at my disposal… he will not lay hand on any part of you again. Not if I can help it.” He didn’t know how much faith he truly put in his magic against Thanos’. But there was no lie in the comfort.

  


Steve let Loki hold him, and nuzzled in closer, comfortably pressed against the warmth and life of the other man. He wasn’t on a cold and shattered rock in space; he was in a motel room on a bed with Loki, whose first interest above all else, was to keep Steve safe.

“I know,” he murmured, breathing into Loki’s collarbone. “I’m... I’m glad you didn’t sacrifice yourself. That you don’t have to.” The idea of Loki dying was horrible enough. The idea of Loki dying in vain... Steve didn’t want to think about it.

But, if his grabbing the scepter had given them something to work with, then that was good, correct? It meant Loki wouldn’t go back to touch it and be likely further hurt by Thanos. It meant Loki would have purpose, beyond just Steve’s pleading, to see his rehabilitation through and prove himself reformed. It gave him a surge of hope. Perhaps it would even prove worth it. Except...

Steve’s breathing caught. “Loki,” he began, “What-- do you know what they were looking for? And is there any way of telling what they got? From my mind, I mean.” He had a high SHIELD clearance level. He knew a lot of valuable intel. Granted, he able knew a lot of obsolete intel from the better part of a century ago, and if SHIELD thought him compromised, they’d likely have protocols in place to contain him as a breach. But if there was no other way of being certain, they’d have to assume that Thanos knew everything about Earth that Steve did.

  


Loki bit down on his lower lip, mind ticking through the tricks he knew.

“I… do not think so. And after what they did to find out… I only worry that any means I might have of doing the same would be even more invasive. And you cannot ask me to hurt you that way. Not even for this. I will not.” He said it firmly.

“Your thoughts could not have been clear because you were in a great deal of pain. No doubt any intelligence they may have gleaned would be obscured by something less useful. I doubt they had enough time, given the brief contact you had with the sceptre, to learn anything truly of use. If they had, they would likely have made a move already, don’t you think?” Loki applied his logic to it, but that too was mainly for comfort. He had no real understanding of how Thanos thought, of the shapes his understanding took. Especially with so little knowledge of what his intents were.

“I would guess that their violation of your mind was primarily to do as he said-- to inflict pain; to break you. After that, you would willingly give them whatever they asked. No need to hunt now for a single image or thought. Particularly if it may not even be there, or may be buried beneath any number of experiences. Minds are messy places.” Loki spoke from experience, there, at least.

“I would guess that you have betrayed no one, at this juncture. You can rest easier in that, at least.” Loki continued his hand’s slow circling, sorry to have asked Steve to reopen wounds that had barely had time to heal.

“You are so strong, you know that? I hope you realize… there are few who could have fought as you did, who would have been brave enough. I am in awe of what lies inside of you, as well as of your outer form. I cannot imagine someone better than you, ever, Captain.” He murmured into his hair.

  


Steve relaxed into Loki, allowing the circling touch on his back to soothe him. Part of him protested -- that if there was any way to find out how much he had compromised, then he owed it to humanity to discover what he’d unwittingly told their enemy, pain or no. But the thought of having anything in his mind again, any of that pain, let alone asking Loki to rifle through his mind when he had so recently berated him for suggesting use of the scepter--

In light of all that, he was willing to sink into Loki and let it go. “Okay,” he murmured, electing to believe the reassurances and hope that the logic was sound enough; that his mind had been too much of a mess and that Loki was right, about this at least.

As for the other thing:

Steve snorted. “I’m an idiot,” he mumbled. “I should have asked you about the risks of handling the scepter. I didn’t and I was stupid and I would have died, or,” he swallowed a sour taste in his mouth at the thought of being broken and reshaped with his will warped to Thanos’, a perversion of everything he was, just as Barton had been under the scepter. “Or worse,” he finished, “if you hadn’t come along.”

He lifted his head slightly, moving to prop his chin up on Loki’s chest so he could look into those deep and beautiful green eyes. “So, thank you for saving my life.”

  


He could feel Steve relaxing and did not want to ruin that with his words.

“You have saved me more times than you know. Who knows what may have happened, had it not been you who found me that first day, and every day since. My life would not be saved without yours. And it would be less worth living without you in it.”  Loki let his voice rumble lowly, letting it shake through him, trying to replicate the vibrations he had felt coming from Steve’s chest, when their positions had been reversed. It had been a nice experience, when he had felt it. Soothing. He only hoped it affected Steve the same way.

“And if not for my lies, you might have known the risks. Not that I would have guessed that Thanos would call you to him-- not every time I have touched the sceptre has that happened. For all I knew, if you touched it it would remain inert. But you must ensure no one else is at risk of following in your footsteps. I don’t believe any one else would be as able to withstand Thanos’s probing as you were, and the last thing we want is him learning what he wishes to. Or harming someone else the way he did you,” Loki added in as an after thought. “Pouring seidhr into your body was a risk, and one that, again, I am unsure could be withstood by any one else.” Not that he was at all sure he would be willing to try.

“Still. You needn’t thank me. I think you will find we are on even ground, when it comes to saving one another,” He said softly, “As it should be. I do not want you to feel indebted to me. I’d have you as my partner, if you’ll allow, or if you would prefer some other word, that is acceptable, but the sentiment remains: I intend to pay court to you, Steve Rogers. My suit relinquishes claims to any debts owed.”

Loki was not overly concerned with the verbiage behind their connection, as long as Steve knew that he was sincere in his wish to be joined to him in this way, even if it was only them to know. And he would work for it as much as needed.

  


Steve allowed himself to lie there for a while, head on Loki’s chest, tucked against him where all was warm and safe and he could ignore their impending troubles for a little bit longer. This here and now was perfect. And perhaps, one day, they’d have this enduringly. Thanos would be defeated and Loki would be pardoned and the two of them would have each other...

“Partner,” Steve murmured, repeating the word Loki had used. It sounded good and felt right on his tongue. ‘Lover’ was both antiquated and a bit florid, especially where all they’d done was kiss. ‘Boyfriend’ had a juvenile undertone and Steve could hardly imagine calling Loki such. And he didn’t think anyone in this day and age still referred to someone as their fella. ‘Partner’ was, as Loki said, a term of even ground. They were in cooperation; a team of two, dedicated to having one another’s backs.

“I like it,” he announced. He propped himself up on an elbow, lifting his head so he could lean forward and kiss Loki, long and soft, sucking lightly on his bottom lip as he pulled away. “My partner,” he said, smiling.

He would have liked to have laid there for another few hours, just holding and kissing. But their time was limited, and the day was more than half gone already. With a groan he sat up, moving to recover the notebook, pens, and maps from the convenience store bag and pulling them all up on to the bed, spreading them out as he flopping back on to his stomach, pulling a pillow over to lie on so he could draw the necessary pictures and floor plans Loki would need to get them to Steve’s apartment. He’d sketched out a rough approximation of his building’s facade when he paused and looked over at Loki.

“Can I ask you a question?” He tilted his head, pen hovering over the page. “On that first day when you came after the scepter... why me? Why _my_ face?”

  


“Mm?” Loki hummed. He’d been studying a map languidly, tracing streets with his eyes from where he lay.

He was glad to be able to help, at long last, able to take up the slack, able to prove himself as a good candidate for Steve’s equal. As a worthy partner. But time in the cell and the casual steady stream of kisses left him feeling lazy.

“I suppose…” He trailed off, trying to think if he’d had any real reasoning. “I thought you would have the access and be the most likely to spend time on the ground amongst the lower ranking agents. Stark wouldn’t, I thought it likely Banner would have an entourage of guards, the Widow would attract too much attention. The male gaze tends to linger there. I suppose I could have taken Barton’s form… but I knew so little of his speech patterns and real mannerisms, it would be an unconvincing duplicate at best. You on the other hand, always bore the same air of honesty and earnestness and stubbornness. It seemed a perfect combination to push past any guards I may encounter without dropping out of character, or expending precious seidhr in the process.”

He pursed his lips.

“Besides, even then I would have been forced to admit it is a _very_ attractive face, and I am nothing if not vain.” He spoke teasingly, but the words were honest.

“Why? Has it bothered you all this time?” It was a silly question, of course. Why else would he ask? But it did make Loki realize that it was likely that he could cast duplicates of him. Perhaps at some point, Loki would give the good Captain a show, starring himself and Loki. Or use them to teach him how to take care of himself.

Loki thought he would really rather enjoy either option, though now was not really the time for either.

  


Steve chuckled, pen returning to the page to rough in the windows and the small maple tree planted out front. “Not bothered, exactly. I mean, it bothered me at the time, a lot, before I even knew who you were. I didn’t like the idea of someone running around wearing my face and doing who-knows-what.” He fudged the perspective on the front steps of the building, though he made sure to include all five steps, and the locations of the railings.

“But I don’t think Hill would have pointed out the alarm to me specifically if it hadn’t been a doppelganger of me. I wouldn’t have gone down myself that fast with no backup if I hadn’t been upset. And if I hadn’t done that...” he shrugged. Much of his initial sense of responsibility for Loki had come of being the one present when he was apprehended. Of being the one to dispel his illusions and reveal his weakness.

“In retrospect, if you hadn’t, I might have never gotten to know you. So no, it doesn’t bother me.” He looked up from the notebook and shot Loki a lop-sided smile. “I’m actually glad now that you did. And flattered, I suppose.” He tore the drawing out and handed it over to Loki. “Here. Front of my building, view from the street. The stairs are just inside the front door to the right and I’m on the third floor. I’ll work on a floor plan for you so you know where you’re going...” he returned his attention to the notebook, outlining the proportions of the building from an aerial view. “Though if you have to pull that in the future, you may wanna pick someone a bit less high profile.” His gaze darted back up, teasingly. “The outfit tends to stick out a little bit.”

  


“Hm, yes.” Loki agreed. “I have had the good fortune to be exposed to Agent Murray, but I would be loathe to threaten his promising career. I may merely replicate his uniform and put on the face of someone else. Imagine my female form masquerading as a SHIELD agent.” The thought amused as he took the drawing.

He could easily imagine herself sauntering down the halls of SHIELD, leaving chaos in her wake as she flirted and teased and got her way without the guards ever alerting one another of the danger. But that was a wholly different sort of magic, and one he had learned from only the best of teachers. A magic that he would never apply to Steve. And, if he was any judge of such things, one he would never feel a need for.

“I must admit, I had not expected your artistry to have such a utilitarian purpose, but I am very glad of it. If things go poorly at SHIELD, I am certain that we will be able to find ourselves here.” He tapped the stoop, then traced the railing with his finger.

“Is it your hurry, your focus, or do you simply not love this place the way you do your New York?” He asked, certain this small amount of derailment was acceptable, as he tried to understand. “The technical prowess is constant, but there is a certain magic lacking here. I cannot place my finger on it.”

He hoped it was intentional, or the product of Steve’s frame of mind, and not a side effect of the mental violation he had suffered at the hands of Thanos.  

  


“Considering how much of a looker your female form is, I doubt you’d draw any less attention than Romanoff,” he pointed out with a wry smile.

Steve looked over the drawing in Loki’s hand, and the crude architectural rendering he was currently working on, mulling over Loki’s words. “I trained as an illustrator. For a while, drawing just for me was an indulgence. I had to do useful stuff to help pay for food and rent, and since I couldn’t take a factory or dockyard job...” he shrugged. Occasional cartoons, drawings for newspaper ads or flyers for businesses; he’d been paid pennies, but it had supplemented Bucky’s salary enough to keep them afloat. “And this is just for a practical purpose. I’m cranking these out pretty fast so there’s not a lot of care going into them,” he admitted.

They weren’t sloppy, but he didn’t go into any loving detail, rendering the shadows of dappled sunlight against the walls, or the white and black cat that often sat on his downstairs neighbor’s windowsill. They were for reference only. And besides: “Doesn’t seem much point in putting a lot of attention and nostalgia into a place we may just be leaving behind anyway.” If the drawings were going to be of use, it would be so Loki could take him there for what would probably be the last time. And for all that he liked his apartment well enough and had made it comfortable, he wasn’t overwhelmed with sadness at the thought.

“It never really became home,” he reflected, putting down a few quick labels to the current sketch, indicating doors and rooms and separating walls, as well as the rough dimensions. “It’s just a place to live is all.” He shrugged and pulled out the drawing of the floorplan, handing that over as well and then pausing as he flipped to a blank page, tapping his pen against his lower lip.

“Try.. Try not to move too much,” he said, eyes darting back and forth from Loki to the page as he began to put down fresh lines.

  


“That is fair. I cannot believe that your people would rank common grunt work above that of artists, still, though.” Loki told him frankly, accepting the newest sketch.

It was probably best that Steve had not become attached to this place. Not only because they were likely to be leaving it, but also because from the looks of it, Loki would have been inclined to make improvements anyway, such as the one on the bed they currently occupied.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, distracted with the memorizing he was doing.

He assumed he’d been moving the bed, upsetting Steve’s lines, until he looked up for a moment and saw Steve’s eyes darting back and forth between himself and the page.

A tiny flutter of panic appeared in him at that, but then again, Steve did always draw the people he cared for, did he not?

Loki held stock still, his eyes on the floor plan but his concentration wavering.

He waited a few seconds, then timed it until Steve was looking downwards, and began slowly changing the shape of his nose, turning it fuller and hooked, growing his brows long and bushy. The change was slow, but the reaction, he thought, would be amusing when Steve caught on.

  


“Well, it depends on the art -- some lucky bastards get museum famous and get to go to swanky gallery openings and all that, or have a patron that funds them,” he remarked, checking the angle of Loki’s eyes and making sure he had the tilt of his head down right. “But for the most part, it’s pretty thankless. We actually have a phrase, ‘starving artist’ due to how little a lot of guys manage to rake in. You can guess what category I fit into.” His smile was grim. “Not that Buck made all that much at unskilled labor jobs, but at least it was more consistent. People always needed ships unloaded, and with the depression, art and illustration was a disposable luxury.”

Once he had the proportions and angles down, Steve set into carving out the contours, almost from memory. He’d stared at Loki enough times through the glass, drawing him from recall before. He knew the narrow angle of his jaw, the high peak of his forehead, the long straight line of his nose over the narrow bow of his lips.

He went several moments without glancing up for reference, and when he did so to make sure he hadn’t made Loki’s chin too narrow--

“Ngyahh!” he yelped, dropping his pen in surprise as he started. Loki’s face had transformed into something distorted and aquiline, like a curmudgeonly bird of prey.

“What the hell?” he squawked, although the exclamation petered off into a laugh, his amusement outweighing his indignation as the initial shock wore off.

  


Loki’s lips tilted upwards.

“As you requested, I have not moved.” He responded, giving a pretense of withdrawn concentration, which he could keep for only a moment before his eyes slid sideways and he broke and laughed.

He let the illusion drop away and gave a near-childish giggle.

“It did take you long enough to realize, though. You must have been concentrating very hard.”

The look of exasperated amusement on Steve’s face was certainly worth it.

“Besides, I love it when you laugh. You should more often, I think. Can I move now?” He asked, yearning to reach over and kiss Steve, but not willing to truly ruin his artwork.

“And I want you to know, if ever this work of heroism becomes too much, or you wish to leave it, I will find a way to become your patron that you might have your art properly known and appreciated across the worlds.” He knew that speaking of a far flung future was perhaps a bit daft. They did not know much, but Loki did know that he was needed at the end of Thanos’s plans, and that the Titan did not move quickly. So his life span may yet be longer than he expected, or had any reason to hope.

In which case there was no reason he should not be able to spread Steve’s artwork among the stars. He imagined taking Steve to Niflheim to meet the Niflungar, who collected art the way dragons did gold. He would have to go along to keep them from collecting the artist as well, but at the very least he would feel utterly appreciated. As he should. Always.

  


Steve couldn’t hold back his smile. It was nice to see Loki this relaxed; this playful. There had always been something brittle and guarded about him when he’d been in the cell, even at his most open. Having him like this -- teasing and silly and joyful -- made Steve feel warm and accomplished in some way. As much as Loki loved it when he Steve laughed, Steve suspected he enjoyed Loki’s genuine laughter just as much, if not more.

“Jerk,” he announced, still grinning, tearing a piece of paper from the very back of the notebook, crumpling it up into a ball and throwing it at him. “That’s two now that I owe you for,” he reminded him, leveling a finger at him in a mock threat. Between the ball of water in the bath this morning and now this, Steve had some catching up to do.

He squirmed a bit at Loki’s praise. “I-- I swear, I’m really not that good, I’m going to need to take you to some real museums. But thank you. That’s... I’d love to see those places with you.” It didn’t escape him that Loki had gone from referring to his imminent doom to actually planning out a future together. A future where they would travel and Steve might retire some day and hang up the shield... It had never been something he’d thought of much before the last month or so, but now he felt giddy with the range of possibilities.

“You can move. It’s not done, but if you want to see...” He shrugged, a bit embarrassed, and angled the page toward Loki. It was rough and clearly incomplete, only gesturally shaded with Loki’s hair still largely undefined, save for the loosest contours of the back of his skull and the loose bits that fell in waves around his face and curled behind his ear. But he’d managed to get a decent enough likeness down, and was rather proud of the way he’d got the look of Loki’s brows, pulled together in thoughtful concentration.

  


“The most studious portrait of myself I’ve ever seen.” Loki told him, moving as he’d been invited, that he might lean in and take the kiss he’d intended to.

“Watching you create is wonderful. I look forward to whatever ‘payback’ you devise.” Loki let his disbelief tint his voice. “But you should know that before I was… all this.” He gestured at himself, mainly meaning as Steve had known him, “I was little more than a fool in Odin’s court. The trickery of his younger son was well known and, if not well loved, at least amusing, from time to time. One of our family portraits, I did much the same to the elven painter that we hired as I did to you, but over the course of several days I did small changes to the cast of each aspect of my body, that when it was done, I appeared to be a mismatched monster.” He chuckled, though it was a little bitter.

“Had I but known…” He shook his head.

“This is beautiful, though. Like the others you did… the ones of your friends. This feels very… cared for. I like it.” He offered him a smile. “And it holds respect as well, I think. No one would draw a fool with such a serious face.” Loki reached out, tracing his finger over Steve’s cheekbones and down his nose, before tapping lightly at the tip.

“In the theme of serious faces, though, I hope you are not afraid. Come whatever tomorrow brings, against the two of us united, there is little on this realm to stop us, once we’ve set our minds to a thing.”

He trailed his finger lower, brushing his thumb over Steve’s lips.

“Your people love you, Steve. No matter what they think of me, they trust you. They look up to you. And in time, they will come to see the truth of it. Until then, we will simply have to bear with it, like rocks on the tideline. We will remain unmoving, together.” He reached then for his hand, and pressed his own fingers over it.

  


“I want to draw you over and over,” Steve murmured. “Every angle. Every part of you.” He leaned into Loki’s touch with a smile. “And I care for you. The next one will be on better paper, I swear.”

He gently kissed Loki back. “I’m not afraid,” he replied. Then, recalling his own words about the necessity of honesty, amended the statement with, “mostly.” He was a bit nervous, true. But in the end, things would have to work out.

They’d be okay. They had to.  
“Together,” he echoed, and squeezed Loki’s hand in return.

 


	16. Sixteen

“ _I_ _had him on the ropes,” Bucky grumbled._

_Steve breathed heavily, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know you did.”_

_The brief whine of a charging weapon was the only warning he got. He turned to see one of HYDRA’s suited warriors leveling its barrels at them. “Get down!” he shouted, moving in front of Bucky and lifting his shield._

_The blast threw him back and tore a hole right through the side of the carriage. Between the roaring of the wind and the ringing in his ears, Steve couldn’t hear a thing as he struggled to stand._

_His shield had skittered out of his grip, and now Bucky had it, lifting it in one hand and his sidearm in the other as he fired at the enemy._

_He got two shots off. Then the second blast caught the shield and threw him as it had done Steve, only this time toward the gaping hole where the train carriage wall had been._

_Frantic, Steve ran forward and snatched up the shield, throwing it as hard as he could before the HYDRA agent could get off a third shot._

“ _Bucky!” he called, holding to the rails and climbing out of the gap. Bucky was still there, clinging to one of the bars on the torn metal siding, hanging above the plunging ravine, but still alive. Steve only had to reach him. “Hang on!” he bellowed above the rumble of the train’s engines and the rushing of snow and wind. He got a foothold on the lip of the rent wall, and began inching his way out, sliding toward Bucky as fast as he dared. He just had to get him, just had to grab his hand and pull him back and they’d have a beer and laugh about this close call--_

_The metal groaned beneath them. Steve saw Bucky’s eyes widen. He reached out:_

“ _Grab my hand!”_

_Bucky made eye contact, then let go his grip with his right hand and reached for Steve, their fingertips just barely brushing. They were inches apart. Almost..._

_Something snapped. Creaked. And then the metal bar holding Bucky’s weight tore away with a shriek and Bucky screamed as he fell, plummeting into the swirling snow and the abyss._

“BUCKY!”

Steve sat bolt upright, arm outstretched and fingers reaching for a hand that would never grab hold in return. He panted heavily, sweat running in rivulets down his chest beneath his undershirt. The noise of the train and wind were gone, and in their place was silence and the muted hum of distant traffic. Slowly, reality reasserted itself over the vividness of the dream. Memory. Whatever.

Bucky was dead.

Bucky had been dead for nearly seventy years.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and tried to calm the beating of his heart.

  


Loki sat up as well, frightened at first and then, when he realized what had happened, he draped himself along Steve’s back, clammy from his sweat, but solid and warm.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Loki was partially still asleep, and words had not yet come to him. His cheek was pressed to Steve’s shoulder blade, and he could feel the trembling and his panting. He wished he could envelop him, wrap his arms around and keep him safe always, from the dangers of the world as well as those in his mind.

He reached down instead and peeled at the bottom of Steve’s soaked through shirt, pulling it up over his head. He used it to pat him dry, across the back of his shoulders, down his neck, over his chest and across his forehead.

“It’ll be okay, here, you’re here with me now. Breathe deep.” Loki instructed, his hand running in gentle circles over Steve’s back, trying to be grounding and unobtrusive at the same time, and completely sure that he was neither.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m happy to listen.” He offered. “If you don’t, I won’t pry. Only tell me what I can do, how I can help.” He did not know what caused this night ghast, but he knew that Steve had more than enough in his life to inspire it. He just hoped he hadn’t been the cause, or worse, the fright within it.

“If you need some space, I can go… have a bath or something.” He offered quickly, just in case.

He wondered how long it would be before he was the cause of Steve’s nightmares every night, and shook himself from the thought. That wouldn’t happen-- he was working against it.

  


At the touch, Steve flinched, brain still disoriented with sleep but veins pumping with adrenaline. It took him several confused seconds of his heart thrumming in his throat and someone wiping him down with his own shirt for him to recognize where he was. Who he was with.

He could just make out Loki’s features in the pearly gray pre-dawn light that slipped in between the curtains of the motel room. He was ethereally beautiful; like a ghost that might vanish if Steve touched him in turn. The last forty-eight hours returned to him, but a part of him still felt firmly lodged in the winter of ‘44, dangling from the train and watching as Bucky--

He reached out and grabbed Loki’s hand, holding it firmly, squeezing hard enough and desperately enough that he’d be in danger of hurting anyone else.

He reached out and _took his hand._

“Don’t go,” he pleaded, “I need--” he paused, taking a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. It had only been a dream, this time. And so many of the other times too. He ought to be used to it by now. He breathed deeply, as Loki had instructed, and swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I, um. It was Bucky. Again.”

He knew he ought to release the death grip he had on Loki’s hand, but he couldn’t manage to get his fingers to unfurl.

  


“Again...” Loki repeated softly, saddened by that.

“There is nothing for you to be sorry about, and nothing you could have done-- nothing you can do now.” He did not complain, though the grip on his hand verged on the side of uncomfortable. He could not deny Steve what he needed, now most of all.

With his free hand he stroked at Steve’s face, feeling for tears he was afraid may be falling, in light too dim for him to make them out if they were.

He curled in closer, pressing all of his body against Steve’s side, reassuring him of his presence physically as well as with words.

“I won’t go anywhere, not if you don’t want me to. It’s all going to be fine. I’m right here. I told you I would be here when you woke, didn’t I? If I have any say in it, I always will. Whether you wake drenched in sweat and despair or whether you wake with slow smiles and soft sunlight. Though of course I would prefer the latter.” He gave a wan smile, pinched with worry and likely unseen.

He took his own deep breath, quietly, not to guide Steve’s breathing, but rather to search for strength he could pass on to him.

“Sweet Captain, your friend would not ask you to wake screaming from your sleep for him. It is a trick of your mind. Miss him, remember him, but do not punish yourself for his loss.” It hurt him to see Steve aching so, to see him so lost looking, so scared. “Bucky should be celebrated, and I believe you do, with each day that you live. He would be so proud of you, of all that you do and all you have become.”

A moment passed, a heartbeat at most, and Loki held Steve tightly.

“What do you usually do after… after the dreams of Bucky? Can you return to sleep? Can I help you, somehow?”

  


Steve leaned in to Loki, letting their bodies press together. Loki was warmth and life and constancy. Loki had been here when he woke up, again and again, keeping his promise. It took what little self-control Steve had not to wrap his arms and legs around him and cling to him like an octopus.

“I can’t even save him when it’s just my own mind,” he chuffed humorlessly, face buried in Loki’s shoulder. Even his subconscious failed Bucky, and made him watch over and over the defining moment of loss and failure and guilt in his life; the moment that stood in for every time Steve had screwed up, ever life he’d failed to save, every loved one or friend that he’d lost.

Bucky had been everything to him. He’d owed Bucky his life over and over, and Bucky had always had his back. The one time Steve ought to have had his--

He exhaled, wishing he could burrow into Loki. For once, he almost missed his smaller physique. A greater percentage of his body would have been pressed up against him if he were his smaller self. And he felt about as weak and helpless and pathetic right now as he’d been then anyway.

“I usually go for a run,” he answered, able to sort his thoughts out now that he’d been posed a question with a simple enough answer. “I don’t usually get back to sleep.” It was less than an hour from dawn from sunrise by the look of it. He often rose at this time anyway. “I can, ah, go run some of this off. Let you get back to sleep for a while longer,” he offered, though he made no move to untangle himself from Loki yet.

He’d never woken from those dreams with someone holding him.

  


“If running will help you, then do so. I will not stop you. If you want me to join you, I will. If you want to stay here, I am not adverse to missing sleep for you. It would not be the first time, nor, I am certain, will it be the last. And it is unlikely I would be able to find my way back to sleep if you leave, regardless.”

He pressed his mouth to Steve’s shoulder and twitched the blankets down so that he could turn his body and more fully face and embrace him, wriggling his leg along side him and around his back, holding him as fully as he could.

“You decide, Steve. I will do anything you like, whatever it will take to bring you comfort and bring you up from the dark places you have wandered. Your mind will not let you save him, no, but that does not mean that you should not save yourself. Or let me save you, if you cannot.”

The sun outside was rising as they spoke, and Loki got an idea.

“What would you say to us going outside, wrapping ourselves in blankets, and watching the sun rise? There is, in my experience, no better way to shrug off the darkness than to let the light pierce through it for you. And I will be right beside you, right here, for as long as you want.” He reached up to push Steve’s hair back, to brush it off of his forehead.

“You do not deserve such dark thoughts, Captain.” Loki murmured, close to his ear and low, voice slightly hoarse from his disrupted sleep. “I wish I could take it from you and give you only the happiness that you have gifted me. For what it is worth, I believe that you have saved me, already, and that you continue to do so, each day that I know you.”

He only wished he knew how to make this better.

  


Steve felt torn between the inward sense of crushing guilt and the external outpouring of love and affection. One the one hand, Bucky was lost to him forever because Steve had led him into battle and let him down, and this self-flagellation was his penance for that (Loki was wrong, he _did_ deserve it). On the other, Loki was alive and well and good and _here,_ touching and murmuring breathlessly into Steve’s ear.

They needed one another. Steve needed Loki to pull him out of the mire and give him purpose, and Loki would need Steve to get it together and be strong. He drew a deeper, shakier breath and turned, bending his knees and scooting his hips until he faced Loki, sitting on his knees. Loki had pulled him from the dark with instant comfort and kindness. This time, he would have Loki’s back. He’d save him; over and over if he had to.

With the added height of his seated position compared to Loki’s, he had to lean down as he took Loki’s face in his hands, and once more kissed him with the same deep desperation as he had the very first time. He sought Loki’s mouth out with near-bruising force, desperate to touch, to taste, to have his senses filled with nothing but Loki until he could think of nothing else. He slid his tongue forward into Loki’s mouth, searchingly, and moaned into the kiss, one of his hands sliding back to grip Loki by the hair.

And for a blissful second, there was nothing in the world but Loki.

He only broke away when he became dizzy for air, resting his forehead against Loki’s.

“I--” he breathed, and the words he wanted to say wouldn’t come. He closed his eyes and opened them, his hand in Loki’s hair dropping to cup the back of his neck. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then, with a shaky smile: “sunrise sounds... really nice.”

The fresh morning air and the slow spread of sunshine over the world in those eerie predawn hours as reality solidified under the light of day were the best part of his morning runs. And if he could substitute the running part of that equation for being with Loki, well, he certainly wouldn’t argue. “I’ll grab the key and the spare blanket from the closet,” he said, wondering if he ought to pull on his pants as well. Not that there would be anyone else likely to be awake to see them.

  


The passion with which Steve kissed him nearly made Loki want to fall backwards, tug him down with him. But he’d promised not to push. So he contented himself with returning the kiss, closing his lips around Steve’s tongue and suckling suggestively for a spare moment, swallowing Steve’s moan and arching his back so that his hair tugged ever so slightly in Steve’s grip.

When Steve broke away, Loki’s lips felt swollen and his mind was fogged with a daze wholly unlike the sleepy one that had preceded the kiss.

“I thought we might take to the roof. Just to be sure we aren’t bothered.” He said, hoping his voice didn’t sound too thick.

“I can take us there and back, if you like. And no harm if SHIELD sees. We’re planning to face them today, aren’t we?”

He didn’t know if Steve would still want to, or if he would be too thrown off by this unpromising start, by yesterday’s quarrels.

“Not, of course, that I would object to more time with you to myself.” He clarified.

He was willing to do what Steve wanted, but first things first, he needed to take care of him.

“Or if you want a lower profile, I doubt there will be anyone in the pool area this early, but I believe there are chairs there. We might share one, and the gates would provide ample warning of any approach… and ample time to put disguises in place.”

He looked up into Steve’s face, green eyes searching blue for anything he might not be saying, for the hidden pain that Steve seemed always to tuck away beneath his small smiles.

He reached up and thumbed over Steve’s cheekbone.

“It’s me who should be thanking you.” He whispered. “Every moment, with every breath.” He tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of Steve’s head. “My Captain.” He whispered, trying it on out loud. “My partner, my Steve.” He smiled. “I am so glad of you.”

  


“I’m glad of _you_ ,” Steve replied, smiling. With Loki here, he felt safe. Solid. Closer to whole than he had in a long, long time.

He thought it over quickly, analyzing the pros, cons, and security risks. He didn’t want SHIELD to find them before they were ready; he wanted to stay in control on that encounter from the get-go if at all possible. Calling Fury, initiating the meeting, starting everything with stating his terms -- it promised a better outcome than being burst in on like fugitives. But at the same time, he doubted that SHIELD would be watching every rooftop looking for them, especially when they had no idea of Loki’s range of teleportation. For all they knew, Steve could be on Elfheim or something at that very moment. The odds of being spotted and identified in this part of the city at this hour of the morning were slim to none.

And the pool probably wouldn’t have as good of a view.

“Roof,” he told Loki, placing a kiss against his temple.

Pulling away, he managed to untangle himself from the snarl of blankets enough to get his feet on the ground. A moment later he had his trousers on and belted, his sweat-soaked shirt tossed over the back of the chair to dry out. He pulled the spare blanket out of the linen closet, then wasted no time in moving back to Loki’s side.

Grabbing up the duvet, balling it up with the other blanket and squishing them all in a ball between them, Steve took hold of Loki. “Ready?”

  


Loki’s smile was contented when he leaned in, laying a hand to the blankets and pressing his lips to Steve’s, his other arm hooking over his shoulder.

Then he pulled them upwards, in the space of a breath, through the single floor above theirs and up to the roof.

The very edges of the sky were just going the dirty orange brown that this world heralded its new days with. Though, he saw, when he pulled their lips apart, there was some pink lurking on the edges, promising them a show was to come, something worth watching.

He pulled at the duvet in his partner’s hands, spelling his pants on as he did so. It was too damned chill for his liking in this skin, and though he could create upon himself his warmer wear, it was far more fun to wrap the thicker blanket ‘round his shoulders and nod at the other man. At his man.

“Let’s sit on that one. I can feel the grit underfoot, and I’ve no need to experience it elsewhere.” He stood almost imperiously, waiting for Steve to spread it out for them.

  


Steve chuckled and shook out the blanket as he and Loki parted, folding it in half to give them a little extra padding between their bodies and the gravel of the rooftop while still affording them room to sit, and laying it down evenly. It almost felt like setting up a picnic blanket. And wouldn’t that be something, he thought with a smile, imagining taking Loki for a picnic in Prospect Park in Brooklyn. It would make for a much better date than lunch in East DC, that was for sure.

He’d add it to the list of things he planned to do with Loki once they worked out a way to get SHIELD to cut them some slack: art museums and picnics and seeing some nice parts of Earth, and getting real New York pizza.

He dropped down on to the blanket and pulled on Loki’s hand to tug him down with him. Once on the ground side by side, they wrapped the second blanket around their shoulders, nestling in together against the crisp morning air. Steve could nearly see his breath, and the chill felt good in his lungs, expanding them with every breath. The remaining sweat on his skin quickly turned cold however, and he shifted closer to Loki, pulling the blanket snug around them.

The fresh cool air and the warmth of the body beside him worked amply well to banish the remnants of his nightmares to the past where they belonged.

Slowly, the grimy pallor of the horizon began to develop streaks of color. Violet appeared first, edging some of the clouds in lavender, which quickly turned to pink, with the beginning traces of orange promising a blazing sunrise. Tearing his eyes from the scene, he glanced over at Loki, and the soft glow of color reflected on his face. Steve had almost always worked in monochrome, pencil and ink being his medium of choice, but in that moment he wished he was a painted with an aptitude for capturing the ghostly colored light of the sunrise on Loki’s face.

All too soon, they’d have to go back to the room, collect their things, and then call SHIELD to give themselves up. And from there, Steve had no idea what the outcome would be. But this moment was lovely and perfect, and he was pretty sure that if he had to give Loki up -- if they never let him hold him like this again or touch him or take him outside to see another sunrise -- Steve wouldn’t be able to stand for it.

“This was a good idea,” he declared.

  


Loki turned to face him, his eyes scanning the Captain’s face to be sure it wasn’t just a platitude. But it seemed genuine-- the way most everything with Steve was. A tiny smile began to hover around the edges of his mouth.

“My ideas often are.” He said, his own default reaction to the times people had said the same.

Though, given that yesterday’s argument was about one of his ideas… Perhaps poorly timed. He twisted his lips and he turned his head away.

“As I said, nothing drives away the shadows from your mind quite like being reminded that, no matter where you are, the sun will rise again the next day, that there will always be a new day. And a return of light.”

Loki snuggled in closer, an unspoken apology for his flippant remark. He let the morning stretch out before them, taking in the lines at the edges of the clouds, they way they hinted at colors that, in Asgard, would explode over the entire span of the sky. He didn’t speak of that though. Wouldn’t, until he was certain he could truly take Steve there with him to see it.

So much depended on how that day went, and what came of their dealings with SHIELD.

He felt his stomach twisting into a knot, and hated that he could not be more assured of the outcome. If he could not kill, which he could not, he was very much fighting with his hands tied. He was accurate enough with his knives to hit wherever he wanted, that wasn’t the issue-- but he had to be certain that his fighting back would not accidentally cause a death. And it was difficult to be certain of anything like that, with as fragile as humans are.

“I’m sorry about your nightmares.” He offered, vowing to try not to be one. “If I could bottle you a sunrise for such occasions, you know I would.”

Instead, all he could do was hold him tightly and just hope that his superiors would not overpower them, would not separate them, or do anything that would keep Loki from being able to get the two of them out, if things went south.

This would not be their last sunrise, nor the last time they sat this close together, wrapped in blankets and one another’s warmth. This was its own sunrise, its own beginning. A new chapter, and, he hoped, a long one at that.

“Do you want to do anything else, before… before we return to your work?” He asked, mindful not to speak too freely, unsure how the agency’s surveillance operated.

  


“Hmmm.” Steve hummed and smiled, leaning his head against Loki’s, his face against his partner’s hair (he said the word over and over in his mind, relishing in how it sounded: _partner_ ). The hand he’d wrapped around Loki’s shoulder moved up to lightly comb through his hair on the other side of his head, sweeping loose dark strands back behind his ear. “You know, given all I’ve seen you do, I’m half surprised that you can’t,” he mused, a tad teasingly. “Though as long as you’re around when I wake up, I think I’ll be fine, sunrise or no.”

The nightmares he’d grudgingly accepted as part of life. They were such a fixture in his troubled sleeping habits that he considered them a part of him. But waking to something that pulled his mind away from the darker thoughts that would otherwise haunt him made for a nice change, and one he hoped to hold on to.

Color slowly spilled across the sky, setting fire to the edges of the clouds and warming the horizon until the sun began to peak over the city skyline, a shimmer of liquid gold. It was beautiful, but it happened all too quickly, the world illuminated now around them and the sounds of morning traffic kicking into gear.

Sooner or later, they’d have to leave this rooftop and face whatever awaited them now.

He swallowed. “I don’t think so.” They’d finished their planning the night before, covering all the contingencies they could think of. He had scraps of paper with his demands from Fury, and his list of things to grab from his apartment in the event that those demands couldn’t be met. Loki had studied the sketches and layouts and maps until he could assure Steve that he’d be able to get them to his apartment with no difficulty. And apart from their clothes, they’d stashed everything else they needed -- maps, food, etc. -- into Loki’s pocket.

In truth, a part of Steve wanted to do everything, and never actually return, but he knew it wouldn’t actually benefit them to put it off any longer. Loki’s reserves were replenished and Steve was healed. It was time to go and make the phone call.

He looked over. “Are you ready?”

  


Loki stuck out his lower lip, petulant.

“If I say I would rather not, will you think it childish of me?” He asked. Then he shook his head and sighed.

“Let me restore the bed to its proper size, and get dressed. Then… yes. I suppose as ready as I may be.”

He did not relish the idea of this return, this negotiation. It felt all too much like offering himself up to be held again. Offering Steve up to the Scofields of the world. He didn’t like it, and he could not bring himself to share any of the optimism Steve had for things working out well.

Loki let his weight sag against Steve’s strong, still form, just for a moment, before he pulled his spine straight.

“If you are ready, Captain.” He said, his words carefully a little distant, putting an arm’s length between them physically and verbally in preparation.

He took hold of Steve’s arm and took them and their blankets back into the room, which already felt less like the little home it had become in their short time here.

When he returned the bed to its original form, dingy sheets and the duvet returning to its near threadbare state, he glanced sideways at Steve.

“When we leave, the proprietor will find an Asgardian gold coin that, if he trades well, will pay for as much as a month in this room, I would wager. So you cannot bear any guilt for our time here.”

Loki closed his eyes and checked for any remnants of magic, vanishing a pillow that had fallen to the floor and calling his boots to him.

He hesitated, then dressed himself in his light armor, a compromise between his need to feel formal and secure, and his need to look less imposing than he had when he rode into their city at the head of his army of destructive monsters.

“I suppose it is time that you make your call, Captain Rogers.” He told him solemnly, his voice tinged with regret.

  


It was stupid to feel this sad about leaving a shabby motel, but Steve felt a pang of longing anyhow. It wasn’t the accommodations themselves, he reminded himself, so much as what they’d given him and Loki in terms of privacy, time together, and the chance to realize their feelings were mutual. Knowing they’d be losing some of that soon was a miserable thing, and he found himself dragging his heels as he went about dressing in his now very rumpled and somewhat ripe clothing.

But soon there was nothing left to do, and no more excuses to put things off with. He briefly entertained the thought of recommending they go out for breakfast first, but even if they could find a place that served an edible breakfast nearby, he had no appetite. So instead he kissed Loki gently, smiling at him, and thanked him for leaving the coin. “I appreciate it. And I’m sure the owners will too.”

They’d left everything in as good condition as they’d found it in, doing no one any harm. And that was good.

And now...

Steve braced himself, then sat at the chair, pulled up the room phone, and dialed out.

Two rings later, he was redirected to the automated SHIELD response line. He punched in an access code from memory, followed by pound, and got shunted to an operator.

“I need to speak to Director Fury,” he said immediately. “Extension Six One Six Niner, clearance code Charlie Alpha One Seven Seven Six, Personnel Code Sierra Romeo Seven Four One Eight,” he rattled off, then added for good measure, “Priority Level Ten.”

He could hear the rattle of computer keys on the other end of the line. “ _Confirming Personnel Code... Transferring your call.”_

The line buzzed a moment later, then he got another dial tone.

“ _Director Fury.”_

Steve breathed in, squeezing the receiver. “Director. This is Captain Rogers.”

A pause. “ _Rogers, where the_ hell _are you?”_

“Not far. And safe. Loki is with me,” he answered. “We-- Look, before anyone does anything, I want to get a few things straight, on the record.”

Fury didn’t answer for a moment. When he did, his voice sounded vaguely strained. “ _I’m listening."_

Steve glanced over at Loki, then focused on the surface of the desk and the scrap of paper from his pocket. “Before anything else, I need to know -- has _anyone_ directly touched the scepter since we left?”

“ _No. Not directly,”_ Fury answered.

“Good.” Steve ran a hand back through his hair. “You need to lock it down, hard. Bury it if you have to. No experimenting, no messing with it, no science teams poking at the thing to see what it does. Maximum security, with _no one_ touching it,” he insisted. “This is really important, sir.”

“ _I thought you said Loki was with you, Captain. Why the panic?”_

“Because Loki’s not the threat,” Steve said, repeating the motion to push his bangs away. “Look, that thing is not only dangerous on a personal level, but it’s a huge intel and security breach waiting to happen. Just promise me you’ll lock it down.”

“ _...All right. But I expect you to give me some explanations here, Rogers. Beginning with what the hell is going on and what Loki is doing.”_

Steve exhaled. “He’s sitting and watching me make this call. Look, Loki didn’t kidnap me. Not intentionally. I touched the scepter by accident while I was trying to show Barton the security protocols in place to make him feel safer about the whole thing, and... well, it backfired. I can tell you more later, but I wound up hurt really bad, and Loki only busted his way out of his cell to save me. He took us to a safe place so he could make sure I healed okay. We’re willing to come back in, but we have a few conditions.”

A long silence on the other end of the line. Steve thought he heard a murmur of other voices in the background, just before Fury spoke. “ _And what might those be?”_

Steve stole another look over at Loki. “Full amnesty for the break out. Loki didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and tried to only incapacitate agents who attempted to stop him. He saved my life. There’s no reason to punish him further.”

“ _Anything else?”_

“Yes, actually...” Steve began to rattle off terms. No more cage; Loki could be quartered on base under SHIELD supervision, but he wouldn’t be put back in a cell. After all, it was clear that they couldn’t actually hold him if they wanted to, and his choice to remain in their custody was ongoingly voluntary. He’d be allowed slightly more privacy, as well as supervised outings for fresh air and exercise, pending a more clearly defined program for eventual parole. Steve would be allowed access to him at all times. Loki in turn would be allowed access to unlimited reading and writing materials, and would meet and cooperate with SHIELD’s medical and scientific divisions to share his knowledge for the benefit of humanity.

“ _Sounds like you’ve had time to think this through.”_

“Yes sir.” Steve swallowed. “Are those conditions going to be a problem, sir?”

Another pause with murmuring voices, indistinct over the line. Steve braced himself for the worst, for Fury to tell him he was insane. But then: “ _Well, we still haven’t finished reassembling Loki’s cage, so he’s gonna need new housing anyhow. We may need to haggle on the details, but I think we can come to an arrangement that will be mutually agreeable.”_

Steve’s jaw nearly dropped. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy. “Yes sir. I think that can be done.”

“ _We can send a team to pick you up and bring you in. What’s your location?”_

Giddy with relief, Steve gave the address of the empty lot next door to the motel. “We’ll be there waiting, sir.”

“ _I’ll have our guys out to get you in fifteen minutes. And next time you get abducted by your alien best friend, Rogers, would it kill you to call?”_

“Fifteen minutes, sir,” Steve confirmed with a grin, hanging up the phone. He looked back up at Loki. “He seems... pretty okay about it all. We may have been worried for nothing.” He’d probably catch hell later once Fury was sure he was home safe and sound, but for now, things were going better than he imagined.

  


Loki took a deep breath and shook his head disbelievingly.

“He agreed to all of that?” He asked, more than surprised. “I would not have, if I was him. Not even with the levels of trust I put in you… not with that many unknowns.” Loki frowned, then shrugged. “Perhaps I am mistrusting. Congratulations on your successful negotiations, Captain.”  
Fifteen minutes, he had said. Loki had spent some time in the room watching the electronic clock. He had a grasp now on how little time that was.

“Did he say whom he was sending to collect us? People you trust, I hope?” He was antsy. It seemed too easy-- not that he was ungrateful. He was just surprised. Taken off guard, really.  

He stared hard at Steve, at how his posture had changed when he spoke to Fury, and how he brushed at his hair out of nerves. Loki all but threw himself at him, and set to kissing him, giving a proper congratulation… though he also pushed his own tense nerves into the kiss, feeling desperate.

Easy was good, was the best they could have hoped for, wasn’t it? He supposed it was just the adrenaline let down. He’d expected arguing, yelling, maybe agents bursting through the windows. A real fight.

He let the kiss run its course, until he felt steadier. More capable of rational thought.

“So you gave him the lot next door, correct? I think we should wait as long as possible. I don’t want to have to shield us from alarming your public, and then startle your agents by appearing suddenly.”

  


“Yeah, I guess he’s probably just relieved right now that we showed up,” Steve replied with a shrug. “That or he hasn’t had his coffee yet and isn’t awake enough to give us a hard time, in which case things might be a little bumpy later on. But I think this is a good sign.” He and Fury often disagreed, but the man was nothing if not practical and a realist. Allowing Loki to participate with the medical teams would benefit them greatly, and affording him slightly more pleasant lodgings wouldn’t break the bank. In fact, loosening his security would probably save SHIELD a fair amount. “He just said he’d have a team out. I can’t imagine they’d send a full tactical unit when we’re not even outside of the city.” Fury hadn’t specified, he realized now, but he’d been too relieved at the success of the call to press for details. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. He knows better than to send Scofield or Barton--”

He cut off when his mouth became otherwise occupied with kissing Loki. It started out frantic and rough, like the desperate kiss Steve had pressed to Loki’s mouth that morning. He wrapped his arms around Loki and allowed himself to be kissed until Loki calmed, muscles loosening under Steve’s hands. He kissed back, gentler, more tender, until they parted at last with their lips softly brushing.

“I’m gonna miss doing that all the time,” he murmured. Even if Loki wasn’t under constant guard and surveillance, there would be eyes on the both of them back at SHIELD. It would be a while before they could afford this level of intimacy once again.

“Yeah, it’s just past the chain-link fence,” he confirmed. “We probably ought to walk over. That way we’ll be there when they show up, and we’ll see them coming. They’ll see us. No surprises, no making anyone feel jumpy. And besides, there’s not much public around to worry about here.”

  


Loki only hummed in response to that, willing to go along with what Steve thought best.

But that wasn’t most pressing, to him.

Not kissing Steve, not touching him, now that he knew that it would be allowed, welcomed, encouraged and even enjoyed… it was good that he wasn’t to go back into the cage, because the glass between them on top of it would have been insufferable. It had been hard enough restraining himself when he’d been afraid of losing their friendship by doing so. It would be considerably harder now.

“All the time.” He repeated, musing. It implied that they would still be able to sometimes. But when, he wondered, and where? As long as he was held by SHIELD, he would clearly not be allowed real privacy. Videos would likely still be being made of his every moment.

Which of course also left him with the not-pressing, but still troublesome realization that even now when he’d had the opportunity, he’d not managed to pull himself off once, and with the additional material likely to keep him up nights… He nearly groaned.

This had been so poorly thought out, this… this partnership.

Not that he regretted a moment of it, thus far. Only that he hated the way it would cause tension, the way it might cause danger to them, or give others reason to doubt Steve, like Barton, or to hate them both, like Scofield.

“Shall we then?” He asked, derailing his own thoughts and opening the door, letting the sunlight in.

He felt rested, his seidhr strong and he was almost happy, with the comfort of having this tie to Steve, this bond with him, even if it was to be a secret. It was the correct kind of secret, the sort he liked.

He almost felt ready to fight still. Less ready to simply accept their separation. But it was what Steve wanted, the way he thought best to see about taking care of Thanos and the sceptre.

And Loki trusted him.

He sent their room key back to the desk along with the gold coin that he’d promised Steve he would leave. It was nearly the size of his palm, and though he did not know the exchange rates for this realm, he was certain it was more than fair. Generous, even.  
Then, without a backward glance at the room where they had made choices and given promises, where they had kissed… and kissed… and held one another until it felt more right than standing alone, he let Steve lead the way out of their hidden nest, and into their uncertain future.

 

  
The time spent waiting in the lot was both too long and too brief. The sun was up, but it hadn’t fully banished the chill from the air. Somewhere not too far away, a train whistle blew, and Steve kicked at a loose chunk of asphalt with his hands in his pockets. He wanted to hold Loki’s hand, to wrap an arm around him for warmth, but just because he didn’t see anyone near the empty lot didn’t mean no one could see them. And besides, it would be smart to get back in the habit of being discreet.

Thirteen minutes after he’d hung up the phone, a large black SUV peeled up, and out climbed a man in a suit, and two in basic SHIELD tactical gear. No one he knew. Steve held his hands up and out in a clear gesture of peace. “Hey, fellas,” he said. “I’m guessing you’re our ride back to base?”

“Captain Rogers?” The suited man stepped forward, taking his sunglasses off. “Kindly confirm your personnel code.”

Steve sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Bureaucracy. “Sierra Romeo Seven Four One Eight,” he said.

The agent touched his earpiece and then nodded. “Confirmed. Will the two of you please step into the back of the vehicle.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, but didn’t argue. The amount of procedure felt excessive, but if it provided the agents comfort...

“After you,” he told Loki, gesturing with a small smile. A moment later they were both seated, Steve squished into the middle between Loki and the second armed guard with the other two agents in the front.

He desperately wished someone would turn on the radio as they pulled out into traffic in awkward silence.

“Will Director Fury be meeting us when we arrive at the Triskelion, or are we going to be joining him in his office?” He asked after several long minutes when they were stopped at a red light.

“We’re not at liberty to discuss that information,” the agent seated next to him remarked, a bit snippishly.

Steve’s eyebrows lifted yet again. “Okay, but I was just on the phone with the director about twenty minutes ago and he’s aware we have a lot to discuss.” Much of it relevant to SHIELD’s security. Steve wasn’t taking _any_ chances with the scepter, or with Thanos.

“Once you’ve been cleared by medical and the prisoner has been secured, you’ll be allowed to speak with the Director, Captain,” the suited man in the passenger’s seat told him in what was meant to be a soothing voice.

Steve’s brows dropped into a scowl. “Negative. He stays with me. It’s already been discussed,” he informed him, an edge creeping into his voice. Of course, for these guys to have gotten to the lot so quickly, they probably hadn’t been fully briefed.

The man in the front made a conciliatory gesture, but said nothing.

They crept through the morning traffic, crossing the river and approaching the Triskelion slowly. Steve shifted his weight and let his knees fall open in a show of getting comfortable, just enough that he could rest his knee against Loki’s leg. Soon, they’d meet with Fury and get everything sorted out.

  


The contact was appreciated, but Loki did his best not to look at Steve.

He didn’t know what was happening, didn’t fully understand, but he did know that it did not sound like the men with the guns had been informed of Fury’s agreements.

He knew their location had been given after the agreements made, so he did not know fully why these men had not been prepared for Captain America’s resistance to their default plans, if that was what they were. But something felt off, just the same.

If they saw Loki as a prisoner, why was he not being transported as such? Why had they not insisted on shackles at the very least, and an armored vehicle and armed security trained on him, which felt more like it would be expected.

Loki kept his head up, chin parallel to the floor, his shoulders held back and spine straight and proud, every bit of him exuding dignity. And though he was not at current under fire, he was glad he had opted for some armor. It made him wider, made him take up more room. And with Steve to his side and a large guard beyond him, Loki appreciated that. It kept him from his natural reaction, which at this point would have been to shrink as small as possible and slide himself as far from the others as he could.

But he had to keep himself in control now, maintain his poise. He would have apologies to make, and he wondered if any of those in the car with him had been in the hallway when he’d made his mad dash to Steve’s side. They all wore protective clothing, so it was difficult to say, for he could not see marks on their skin. But the clothing itself spoke of a wariness-- like they had learned from his outburst, and chosen to take no chances.

He found himself approving, thinking _good_. But, he chastised himself internally, the proper reaction was likely remorse. The Captain would want him to be sorry. He would be sorry.

The car covered the ground he had at a much slower rate, and even still it did not take them long to arrive back at the surface of the Triskelion, the great hulking building above and its layers and levels of secrets below.

As they passed out of the sunlight and into the shade of the concrete underground, Loki had to suppress a shudder and remind himself that there would be sunrises, that there would be sun. That Steve had told him so, and Fury had agreed. And they were both men of their words, weren’t they?

The car, at long last and after several checks from yet more armed men, came to a final stop. Loki waited for direction, not willing to risk being shot for attempting to get out of the vehicle too quickly.

  


Steve chewed on the inside of his lip as the SUV descended down a ramp into the underlevels of the Triskelion. Of course, they wouldn’t be using the public entrance. That was probably for the best. Even if word of Loki’s presence on earth had spread through much of SHIELD, there was no reason to make a production of it.

There was no reason to be nervous. Fury had agreed to everything, and no one had shot them or shackled them. They were almost home free.

When the vehicle finally came to a halt and the agent driving put it in park, the agent beside Steve opened the door and scooted out, holding it open for Steve and Loki to slide out and follow.

They were in one of the subterranean hangars beneath the Potomac, not quite as deep as the level where Loki’s old cell had been, but still well underground. The air was still cool here, but had a slight dampness to it that Steve had to suppress a shiver against.

He couldn’t help but notice there were several other agents standing around and waiting. All of them were carrying.

“Where’s Director Fury?” he asked.

The agent next to him turned and looked at him with an empty stare. “I told you--”

“Captain Rogers,” a familiar voice called out, echoing in the hangar. Steve’s heart leapt in relief as he turned to see Nick Fury striding down a walkway, dark coat billowing dramatically behind him and flanked by two more uniformed agents. “The next time you go missing, I swear to God I am having you microchipped.”

Steve smirked. “Ah, come on. I always come back eventually.”

Fury eyed him with a scrutinizing look and made a noncommittal noise. “You had us worried there, soldier.” He still looked worried, in all honesty, which was odd since Loki was present and accounted for and Steve was clearly fine.

Steve shifted his weight, inching slightly closer to Loki. “Sir, how about we all go up to your office and discuss those terms from our phone call?”

Fury shook his head. “You’ve been through an ordeal, Captain. How about you head on up to Medical with these agents here, and once you’ve been looked over, we can talk.”

Steve frowned. “Okay...” He turned to Loki with a shrug. “I guess we’re heading up to Medical.”

“Just you, Captain Rogers,” an agent next to Fury said.

Steve froze. “No.” He looked sideways at Fury. “He comes with me.”

Fury’s expression hardened. “Rogers, we can talk about everything shortly. But it would behoove you both to cooperate at the moment.”

“I’ll cooperate. And he’ll cooperate, right there with me.” Steve wasn’t eager to let Loki out of his sight. Not until he knew where they’d be putting him. If there was ever a tactically-optimal time to separate them, now would be it, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Steve,” Fury began, and the sound of Steve’s first name on his tongue was a strange thing.

“I called _you_ , sir,” Steve pointed out, frowning, taking a step toward Fury and ignoring the sudden shift in posture of the agents around him. “We came in, no fuss, no struggle, with nothing but goodwill. You promised amnesty for the breakout, and a parole plan. I don’t need to go to Medical, but I do need to work out those details before anyone takes Loki anywhere, and we need to talk about the scepter’s security.”

“What you _need_ , Captain,” Fury said, “is to get your head on straight. Report to Medical. That’s an order.”

“Not without--” Steve turned toward Loki and that’s when he saw it:

A tiny little red dot of light, bobbing and dancing over the armor covering Loki’s chest.

His heart stopped.  
“ _Loki, get down!”_ he shouted, lunging forward in the hopes that he might be able to knock him out of the way before--

 


	17. Seventeen

Loki saw the lunge and it took him less than a heartbeat to make sense of what must be going on. His first reaction was to throw up a shield around them while he made a lunge of his own, and the second he made contact with Steve, he got them out of there.

The directions were exactly as they had practiced, the way almost familiar to him, despite never having tread them before, and when he sat them down, he actually managed to do so just inside the door of Steve's flat.

He was slightly out of breath and worried that he'd been too late.

"Are you hurt?" He asked immediately, gasping on the words, but already searching his partner for any sign of injury.

Seeing none he flicked his eyes to his face anyway, just to be sure.

"I'm sorry. I just-- they were going to separate us, and take you to have doctors poke at, and me--" It caught up with him a moment later. "Steve-- were they going to _kill me_?" He almost couldn't believe that. Almost. But--

"They think it's me." He said slowly. "They think-- you got the sceptre, and they think I'm inside of your head. They're going to think you're my weapon now. You aren't safe." He swallowed. "And they might try and keep the sceptre under guard, but only to be sure I don't gain control of anyone else."

He felt his eyes sliding away, then back to Steve's face, and he truly did feel guilty.

"I'm sorry. You trusted them, and because of me... now you can't."

  
  
  
  


Steve thought he heard a gunshot, but before he could be certain, they were gone and away and out of the hangar, dropping to the ground in Steve's front hall.

Safe.

Loki was alive and safe and worrying about _Steve_ , as always. And they'd only been a hair's breadth away from--

Steve lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Loki in a ferocious hug, holding to him as tightly as he could. Just now, someone had almost shot him. Almost killed him and taken him away from Steve, just like everyone else.

Apprehension and confusion had turned to terror in that moment, and now that terror heated into rage. "I can't trust them because they chose not to trust me," he snapped. "They were going to take a shot at you with no hard evidence at all, just out of fear. So forget them." He fumed, heart racing in his chest. Fury had lied. Fury had _tricked him._ Promised him all his demands so he'd come in quietly, like a docile sheep, with Loki alongside him being led to the slaughter.

SHIELD had let him down. They'd almost murdered Loki in cold blood, and now Steve didn't feel like he owe them a goddamn thing, save for maybe a piece of his mind.

He pulled away so he could look Loki in the eyes. "Let them keep the scepter under guard. If they can do that much, then at least they're good for that. You can I can do better. Will do better."  He swallowed, then pulled them both to their feet, his legs wobbly from the surge of adrenaline. "I'll grab the things we need, and then we'll go. We'll find a car, get out of the city, and work out a plan, just the two of us. But we have to move fast now."

  
  
  
  


Loki squeezed his eyes shut and held onto Steve, too, for as long as he allowed, a different sort of desperation overtaking them.

"Gather what you need. I will take us as far as I can, as far as you need me to." He assured him. "I've enough left in me for another distance--half that one, perhaps."

He took a deep breath, reminding himself that this was why they had made the plans, this was why they had practiced. The trust was never fully there, and he hadn't ruined everything himself. Steve wasn't angry at him.

"You know they wouldn't have killed me if I had been shot, though, don't you? During the invasion, I spent a lot of time being shot at. For the most part, your peoples' bullets are greatly pointless, when used on me. But... if they had missed-- Steve, please do not try and get between myself and any more projectiles. I am protected in ways you are not." He hesitated, afraid that he was starting an argument at the worst possible time.

"As afraid as you were at the thought of losing me, imagine my fear of losing you. We can discuss this later, of course, I know there are more pressing matters now. But. If we encounter trouble on the way out... Do not take my bullets. They will not harm me, unless they harm you."

He stopped himself there, though, and instead turned his attention towards Steve's space, drinking it in with his eyes as he realized this would likely be the only chance he got.

It was not what he would consider "comfortable". Utilitarian, at best, he supposed, but that seemed to make sense with Steve's personality. He was amused to note that the decor was as far removed from the world of SHIELD's underground levels as possible, the windows letting in light and the majority of the surfaces and furniture wooden, rather than some unidentified dark smooth surface.

Loki could appreciate the disparity. It made him more certain that Captain Rogers and SHIELD did not belong together, that they simply did not mesh.

Still, he did feel bad for having now managed to ruin Steve's life. Or at least, for having caused him to have to separate from it.

But feeling bad, he knew, would get them nowhere. He would bask in his self loathing the next chance he got to take the luxury. For now, he needed to be here-- for Steve. For the both of them.

  
  
  
  


Steve glanced down sheepishly, though he felt somewhat less distraught knowing Loki would have likely survived. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking; I just saw the laser sight and instinct kinda took over." He hadn't even been thinking about taking the bullet himself, though he'd been shot before and pulled through all right. He just wanted to push Loki down, to get him out of the way. Maybe even obstruct a second shot since a sniper would be less willing to shoot at Loki through Steve, though that might be assigning too much credit to his state of mind, which had simplified everything to simply ' _save Loki._ '

"And besides, we don't know for sure that SHIELD hasn't engineered some kind of projectile since then that would be more effective against your armor," he pointed out, running a nervous tongue over his lips as he led the way through the apartment. "Though I understand what you're saying. I'll... I can't make any promises, but I'll try not to do it again. Hopefully, no one will shoot at us again in the near future and it will be a moot point," he added, though he knew it was likely a slim hope.

He ducked into the bedroom and opened his closet, snatching and shrugging on his brown leather jacket, then hauling out his shield and Captain America uniform. He handed them over to Loki. "Can you stash these in your pocket? I'd carry them, but they're a little conspicuous." He wanted them close at hand, but not so close that they drew unwanted attention when they were trying to keep a low profile. He pulled out the red boots that went with the uniform, then remembered Loki's concerns a day or two ago about being tracked and made quick work of the false rubber part of the left heel, prying out the tracking chip there and throwing it into the back of the closet before sliding the heel back into place and handing those to Loki as well.

Next, he dropped to his stomach and fished around under the bed, pulling out a drab olive metal lockbox. Spinning the dials to the right combination, he opened it to reveal stacks and stacks of cash.

Steve had been eleven years old when the Black Tuesday crash hit. He remembered the panic, the banks closing, the people losing their life's savings. He knew, logically, that things were better now and more regulated. But the fact was, Steve never really put much trust in banks. So instead, he'd taken half of his SHIELD paycheck each week in cash, stowing it under the bed like they had in the 30's.

Thank God for that small streak of paranoia, he reflected, stuffing two stacks of bills into the inside pockets of his jacket and then latching the box shut and passing that to Loki as well. "I'll carry the rest, if you have room to stow that. Also, if you don't mind -- In the kitchen, in the center island, top drawer, there's a brown leather address book. We're gonna need that." Steve's cell phone was at SHIELD still, and even if he had it on him, it would be trackable. The address book would have hard copies of contact information for any potential allies.

He grabbed his backpack -- the one he'd brought Loki meals and other supplies in on many of his visits -- and set about collecting other basics, now that they had the most critical items taken care of. He rifled through his drawers, grabbing articles of clothing without much looking -- briefs, socks, shirts, a pair of pants -- stuffing the already rolled-up items into his backpack. From the bathroom went his toothbrush and shaving kit. From his desk: his pencil box, pocket knife, compass, and two of his most prized sketchbooks, sliding into the back of the pack. He hesitated, then grabbed one framed photo from the corner table; a grainy black and white shot of Bucky and the commandos.

The whole process took less than five minutes. The essential items of Steve's life took no time to pack up at all.

"Okay," he breathed, regrouping with Loki in the kitchen, slinging the backpack over his shoulders. "I think that's it. Don't worry about taking us too far-- a block or two should do it, and we can walk and then boost a car from there. I'd rather we had some of your magic left in reserve in case we need an illusion at some point."

  
  
  
  


He did as he was asked, stashing what was needed and fetching what he could. There was some juggling to be done, so that metal shields and large boxes did not crush the delicate dried herbs already stored within, but he managed.

His pocket was just barely large enough for the shield, and with everything on top of it... it wasn't a feeling like being full, or bogged down, but maybe one closer to having something in your clothing that is stiff and brushing against you, a bit like the lacing of pants over an erection.

He shifted his shoulders, though he knew the pressure was not a physical one, and tried to grow accustomed to it.

"I can do you one better," Loki told Steve. "I can set us down near enough an unobtrusive car that we won't need to spend time exposed on the streets... providing there is one close by that will suit our needs. Are you hoping more for small and fast or something with more bulk to it?" Loki did not know much about cars. He knew that SHIELD seemed to favor large black ones with dark windows, completely enclosed, save when he had come across their work vehicles, when they'd first landed, with built on platforms for hauling large items. He had seen, since then, cars clearly meant to be status symbols, and vehicles armored to keep someone (him, usually) in, and the rest of the world at bay.

He kept connected to his physical body but sent his consciousness as a whole up in a practice closely related to scrying. The best of the mapmakers had found this magic, older woman who had ceased to travel as well as they once did would look up and over their worlds before rendering it.

Loki, on the other hand listened as he looked, searching for something that would best fit the description that Steve was feeding him.

He snapped back to himself and cleared his throat, nodding.

"I think I've found something that will work, it's a few streets over." He held out his hand, ready to take them there as soon as the Captain was ready.

"Last looks, Captain. Can you think of anything else you might need?"

  
  
  
  


Steve thought about it quickly. Part of him missed his bike, but it was back at SHIELD presently and would hardly do for two passengers and a backpack full of gear on a long trip. He didn't like the idea of stealing a car, but it was a lesser evil than letting SHIELD get their hands on Loki right now, and where the trains and buses would require ID and Union Station would be crawling with surveillance, leaving by the highway was their best bet. Stealing a car wouldn't kill anyone; they could always ditch it and leave the registration out on the dashboard so it could be returned to its proper owner in a couple of days.

He pictured the ideal getaway car -- something no one would notice them in or look twice at. "Nothing fancy or flashy. I'd say a simple, small, four-door sedan. A little older is better; not falling apart, but old enough that the security won't be on a hair trigger. And preferably with nothing in the back -- I don't wanna run off with anyone's stuff." He felt guilty enough without worrying that someone's valuables were in the trunk.

He watched as Loki's eyes unfocused, and though he was dying to ask what he was doing, he bit his tongue and waited until Loki gave a small shudder, gaze going from a thousand-yard stare to something more immediate.

Steve smiled and reached out, taking Loki's hand. "Got everything I need right here," he announced. Taking one last look around the apartment where he'd lived for the last year, he inhaled--

\-- And exhaled outdoors, standing in front of a silver mid-90's Corolla parked just off the street, a handwritten sign with the words 'For Sale by Owner' taped to the inside of the windshield.

"Perfect," he told Loki, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go and crossing over to the driver's side. "Can you pop the lock easily? If not I can probably jimmy it open, but you may be faster... Also, don't know if this would be simple or not, but we might wanna magic the license plates into a different combination in case someone reports it," he rambled, thinking out loud. He was pretty sure he knew what street they were on, and already had part of his brain calculating the quickest route out of the city.

  
  
  
  


Loki and locks were familiar foes. He'd spent a good deal of time as a youngster wondering what lay behind locked doors, in locked chests... secrets, generally, and the sort which either could be powerful bargaining tools, or educational, or trouble, which he thought at the time he might have liked best of all.

Now, though, it meant freedom more often than not, and that had, of late, become his favorite thing.

He sent the tumblers tilting, and spun the chamber of the lock to the side, so that the little tan/grey plastic stick rose up out of the door.

He stepped back, making a tiny bow for Steve to offer him access.

Then he turned his attention to the license plates.

"Could I not simply trade out these for those?" He asked, gesturing at another car's plates, a few feet further up the street. As an outside observer, there was no glaring difference between the plates on the cars. He could even switch them out several times, mixing the plates all up and down the street, if need be, but...

He was, admittedly, running down on his seidhr for the day, and though it would return the following day, not having some on reserve was bound to make him feel vulnerable and unprepared.

Not having an illusion to maintain would ease the burden on him at least a bit, and give him a tiny more to hold onto in the process.

He crossed to the opposite side of the car, certain that once Steve was inside, he would be able to allow Loki in, without him having to open a second lock.

He'd switched into conservation mode, now, and it felt good, again, to have reached this point in his magic use. He'd forgotten how good it could be, in the time he'd been in one cell after another.

  
  
  
  


Steve threw Loki a mock salute once the door lock popped open. "Much obliged," he said, opening the door and grateful when the alarm didn't go off. Checking the street, he dropped into a crouch and quickly got to work, retrieving his pocket knife from his backpack before throwing it into the back seat. Pulling out the blade, used the tip to unwind the screws that held the casing on the steering column. It had been seventy years, give or take, since he'd hotwired a car, but he hoped the principle would remain the same. There were a _lot_ more wires, he realized with a sinking feeling once he got the casing off, but by following the bundles he was able to eliminate most of them, locating the starter bundle without too much trouble.

Red wire was probably the battery, right?

"Whatever will work best," he called out in answer to Loki's question. "If it's easier, then go for it." He didn't like that they were robbing multiple people, but where he was already committing grand theft auto, the additional guilt would be a drop in the bucket. He'd be able to live with it.

He stripped the battery wires and twisted them together, then took the ignition wire (at least, that's what he was pretty sure the brown one was) and connected it.

The car's electrical systems came on, the dash lighting up and the radio hissing with static. Steve grinned; so far so good. Reaching over to the door, he hit the locking controls so Loki, who had approached the passenger side, could open his door and climb in. "Almost done," he said, using his knife to strip the end of the yellow starter wire. "Just gotta-- Ow!" Sparks showered from the starter wire and he brought his singer thumb to his mouth. "Sorry, hang on--"

A few more sparks, and then the engine thrummed to life, and Steve grinned in triumph. He reached into the steering column and with a twist, broke the steering lock, then slid the casing back into place. "All right." He climbed into his seat and buckled up, shutting the door and revving the engine for good measure to make sure everything was running.

He pulled out into traffic, and then they were off and cruising down the street

"You know," he announced after a few seconds, taking a left toward I-270. "I'm kinda amazed that worked."

  
  
  
  


Their escape vehicle secured, Loki slid into the seat, switching the two sets of plates as he'd said he would.

He'd never been in one of these vehicles that was so low, so close to the road itself, and he was surprised to find that it allowed him a much closer view of exactly the speeds they were traveling at, as the grains and textures of the asphalt beneath them went smooth in a blur.

The concentration and fascination with it led to him being surprised when Steve spoke.

"Which part?" He asked in return, breaking down their escape- the steps away from SHIELD, the transportation, not being shot, getting to the flat, getting what they needed, finding the car, getting into the car, starting the car... honestly, it had all been surprisingly easy.

He got the feeling in his stomach again, the nervy one that he'd gotten as they rode with the Agents back to SHIELD's headquarters.

"Is it... it's not another trap is it? It _is_ actually meant to be this easy, this time, isn't it?" Not that it shouldn't have been easy, not that there wasn't the possibility of it being easy, last time as well, but he hoped Steve understood anyway.

The last thing they needed was another set of complications, especially as Loki felt the end of his pool of seidhr within reach.

  
  
  
  


"I meant the hotwiring," Steve quickly reassured him, killing the static-y radio for the time being. "I haven't done that since 1945. Cars have changed a bit and I wasn't totally sure it'd be the same. We got lucky, though." He breathed, settling back and reaching down to adjust the seat so his legs were a bit less cramped.

"And the rest... They'll be coming after us, but we did good by planning things out. It was good that we had a contingency in place, and they probably weren't counting on that." Between the time Loki had magicked them out of SHIELD and the time they'd hit the road, it couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen minutes. SHIELD had no immediate way of tracking them as far as he knew, and they were gone from his apartment without a trace before anyone could catch up with them there.

So long as they avoided security cameras, only paid in cash, and didn't get recognized, they'd be in the wind.

Of course, Steve realized now as he made for an arbitrarily-selected highway; this had been the extent of the plan. From here on out, they'd be making it up as they went.

"Your magic was also a huge asset," he pointed out, steering the conversation away from the notion of what was next. "No one at SHIELD knows enough about it to counter it that well or predict how far we could have gone already. Not to mention all the other stuff you've been able to do," he added with a grin. "Must've been real handy on quests or hunts back on Asgard."

  
  
  
  


Loki twisted his lips, but chose not to comment on his usefulness on Asgard. It didn't bear being said, particularly not when they had managed well thus far. And he did not need the pity that would spring of it.

"Have you any idea where we should go, whom we should speak to?" Loki asked. He tried to imagine any of Steve's allies being less worried of his controlling the man than Fury had been, and floundered. It wasn't likely, he thought. They would all be certain he'd taken him over, or tricked him, bespelled him or threatened him, or...

"Is there anything I can say, or do, to put your allies at ease? I would rather they not shoot at you or I, and I would really like if they did not attempt to separate us for your good, when we meet them."

He looked down at himself-- obviously not being in armor would help, perhaps bending so far as to being in clothing more like what Steve wore, though at this point Loki's layers were as much for his comfort as for the look of them. He would have to find some balance, for that at least.

The idea of interacting with Steve's equals, people he might consider friends, though... made Loki as nervous as his first time being presented at a foreign court. And really it wasn't all that different, save that the stakes were much less political, more personal, and a little in fear of violence. Not that he couldn't take the violence. Obviously he was not so breakable as all that, but... it was still an uncomfortable experience.

  
  
  
  


Steve breathed in and out, pressing his lips together, and then hitting his turn signal so he could pass a white Taurus looking to slide into a street-side parking spot. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I hoped... I thought SHIELD would take us back and be reasonable. I knew there was a chance things would go sideways, but this is about as far as I planned," he confessed. He was beginning to feel strange and a little bit numb; it was just starting to set in that he and Loki were _fugitives_ from SHIELD, and that he'd just thrown away everything in his life save for the contents of Loki's pocket and the backseat to run away with a man who'd once tried to kill him and everyone he knew.

And it was only 8:30 in the morning.

_Breathe._

"I figure we just start off with heading out of the city, go somewhere rural. There's traffic cams, satellites, security cameras, all of that here in the city," he pointed out, trying to keep himself from overthinking the big picture too much. For now, he just needed to plan a few steps ahead, enough that they stayed moving and didn't get caught. "Getting as far away from that as possible will give us a chance to lose any trail SHIELD might put together to follow us. I'm gonna take us west for a while, get out into Appalachia. From there, we can find a place to lay low and go over our options." Somewhere hopefully a bit more scenic than the motel they'd spent the last two nights at. That was a good plan, right? Or at the very least, _a_ plan, which was more than he had a minute ago.

"You might, ah, want to lose the armor, at some point," he remarked, glancing sideways at Loki. "It'll make people we know more comfortable, and people we don't know less likely to stare. I have extra clothes in my pack, if you want. They'll probably fit you." He suspected Loki would opt for a glamour or shapeshift or magical option instead, but it seemed polite to offer, considering all the demands he'd made of Loki's magic so far today.

He frowned, realizing that he hadn't yet asked Loki how he was holding up. Everything had just happened so fast, At the next traffic light, he reached over and put his hand on Loki's knee. "Hey. You doing okay?"

  
  
  
  


Loki did as he'd been thinking and as Steve suggested, stripping his armor away to be left in the same clothes he had used while at the inn, from the past few days.

He considered the question, covering Steve's hand with his own, and feeling the heat of his palm through his pants.

"Emotionally I am fine, and perhaps a little relieved. It is good to have this sense of freedom, even if being a little lost-feeling comes with that. Magically I am perhaps a little more drained than I am necessarily comfortable with, this early in the day, but that is of very little consequence, provided we do not encounter any more conflict. I do not think I would be able to take us away again." And that left only his knives, and violence, and the sort of behavior that Steve did not forgive easily.

Loki did not say this.

"But I left my home-- what I thought of as home-- behind long ago, and I had no bonds here, save those to you. How are you feeling?" He asked, concerned because he remembered the aimlessness and conflict he'd felt then. True though there had been other external influences and internal problems, but... that did not mean Steve did not have his own. Like his sudden inability to know who he could and could not trust.

There must be loss there, fear... Loki wasn't sure how he felt about Steve's choice, about his willingness to leave all of that behind on behalf of his _prisoner_ , once his enemy. Flattered, he supposed. And terrified that when he realized the ramifications of the choice, he would also realize that Loki had not been worth it.

"If you need-- if there is anything you need, please tell me. I'll do my best to make it-- I'll do my best to help." He didn't want to say that he would fix it, to make it better, those sounded like promising things he had no control over. And he wouldn't lie.

  
  
  
  


Steve didn't want to think about how he was.

"I'm fine," he said, forcing a smile. And he was. So long as he didn't think too much about what had just happened and what he was doing. If he ignored it long enough, the other shoe might not drop.

"I'm-- I was ready to do this before, and we did it, and it's done, and there's no sense in second-guessing anything now." He couldn't undo it if he wanted to. And he didn't think he did want to. He was still hurt and angry and betrayed more than regretful. He could hold on to that and keep it together. "Besides, they took a shot at you. It's not like they gave me much choice."

Before the light could change back to green, he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Loki's cheek. "You've done a ton, and you've been amazing. I'll take care of everything else today, so don't worry about it. Or me." He pulled back and then pressed down on the gas, taking them westward toward the highway. "Also, let me know when you get hungry, we can pull over and grab something before we end up too far into the sticks."

  
  
  
  


Loki stared at Steve's profile while he drove, trying to read it, trying to understand what he was meant to say, what he could do to right things. He didn't seem to have done anything wrong, which was a nice change for when he normally felt this way, but that also meant that he couldn't fix it by apologizing and hating himself and promising to be better.

"I think." He said slowly, "That any time we use the word fine, we don't really mean it. Either of us. What was it you told me? After the sceptre, when you were holding me and we were on the floor. _Like hell you are?_ Well. Like hell you are. You do know it's... you don't have to be fine. I wouldn't ask it of you."

He pursed his lips and thought of himself, of how he acted when he was 'fine'.

"I think trying to be fine leads to complications later. And... And you help me when I'm less than fine. I owe you as much, when you're ready for it. If you want me to." He tried to shrug but the safety belt bit into his neck when he did so, and he pulled impatiently at it, annoyed more at his inability to be of use _still_ , no matter where he went or how miraculous some of his powers seemed. He still couldn't reach the people he loved when they needed him. No matter how good he was at words. It was like a chafe that you had to keep rubbing.

"I do worry about you, Steve. And part of being partners is not leaving the weight of anything completely to one or the other. I don't know how to operate one of these," He said, gesturing at the car, "But what I can do, I will. And if all I can do is worry about you, while you try not to worry about yourself, so be it. I don't mind." He smiled a little, and it felt odd, given the circumstances, but also right. "It's nice to care enough about someone to worry about them. I don't often have the opportunity."

  
  
  
  


A muscle in Steve's jaw jumped and twitched as he clenched his teeth and swallowed. Part of him wanted to snap at Loki to just _stop_ for a minute and let something go for once. To let Steve be _fine_ , even if it was a lie.

But he knew he'd regret it if he did, so he bit the comment back and breathed through his nose, adjusting his grip on the wheel, counting to five in his mind before he let himself speak.

"I'm okay for now," he finally said. "I don't know how I'll be when I actually stop and think about this, which is why I need to not stop and think about it just yet. Because like you pointed out, I'm the only one who can drive, and we can't afford to stop now." Pulling over while they were still in the urban sprawl would make them too easy to track. They needed more distance. _He_ needed more distance. "I need some time. Just, to not think about it, and focus on the road."

He sighed, frustration collapsing into guilt. Loki was, after all, just worrying about him the way he worried about Loki. And how many times had he pushed past where Loki was comfortable? "I promise, we'll talk about it, and I'll let you know everything I'm thinking and feeling later. Once _I_ know what it is I'm thinking and feeling. I need to be fine right now, but when we find a good place to hunker down..." he trailed off, concentrating on the road, hoping Loki understood and didn't take it personally.

He reached forward and began fiddling with the knob on the radio, trying to find a station that didn't sound like nothing but noise.

  
  
  
  


It was...difficult, he supposed, not to feel like he was being turned off, the way the sound was turned on. Told not to speak, without Steve using words. It meant that his words were unhelpful and even worse than he'd feared, perhaps even actively hurtful when he didn't intend them to be, which was worse yet-- the loss of control over something he was so often a master of.

But he'd said whatever Steve needed. If he needed this, needed silence from Loki, needed to be okay, needed to listen to... whatever this was, so be it.

He could see the anger on his face, in the lines of his face. He'd become angry at Loki the same way that he'd become angry at Scofield, with his jumping spot just above his jaw and his clenched teeth.

Loki nodded, not trusting his voice, or his words, or even that Steve would want to hear him.

He looked out the window.

The city fell past below them as they traveled on a bridge above the other streets. He found himself looking into the windows at the other drivers and their passengers, as their car overtook Steve and Loki's, or the other way around.

It was an odd thought, wondering about these peoples' lives. He didn't know the intricacies of this world to wonder what they did with their days. But there was such variation. Dark hair seemed as common as light, and there was nearly as many shades of skin as there were differences in face. There were unnatural occurrences, as well, colors of hair that Loki was certain did not grow that way on this realm, unless it had been infiltrated and settled by off-realm inhabitants since he had come here with Thor when they were but children.

Cars were different, too, in colors and shapes and sizes so varied he wondered how it was possible this one had not been easily located. Though it was a neutral enough shade, and there were others similarly neutral on the road with them.

Letting his mind dance over observations was calming, though did not entirely help him to forget that he'd misstepped.

It seemed so unfair, the way they normally communicated being shunted aside, but he could understand at least the necessity. Steve was right. Escape still came first. Talk was a secondary thing, and care for any wounds received in the escape, be they internal or external, could be dressed and addressed, later.

He pressed his lips together, thinning them out and reminding himself not to ask questions about the girl with the blue hair in the bright red tiny car. That also didn't matter. Not now.

  
  
  
  


Steve fiddled with the dial. Static. Country. Static. Talk radio. Commercial. More talk radio. Shrill guitar noise. Static. He scowled at the radio, until finally, his hit a somewhat distorted frequency of something that could pass for music.

Leaving the dial alone for the time being, he made sure to keep both hands on the wheel, though he wouldn't have to do much turning now they they were on the highway. They'd made it onto I-270, heading northwest. They'd take that as far as Frederick, where they'd merge on to I-70 west, and they'd follow that as long as it took.

Steve let his mind go blank, slipping into the rote hypnosis of driving. Edith Piaf crooned _je ne regrette rien_ over the airwaves. Knowing just enough French to understand the gist of the lyrics, Steve hoped that when all was said and done, he'd be able to say the same.

But that would require thinking about it. Which he wasn't ready to do.

Fortunately, most of the morning commuters were heading into the city, and while the southbound highway was locked bumper to bumper, their side of the interstate was moving freely. Steve kept checking the rearview mirror and occasionally glancing upward, but so far there was no sign of black government SUVs following them, or SHIELD helicopters overhead.

They were in the wind. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. Free and clear. In the wind.

On the run.

 _Nope_. Not thinking about it. He merged into the left-hand lane, passing a big-rig that had been moving slowly before sliding back into the middle lane. The car rattled and the engine grumbled in protest when he gunned it over 75 mph, but it was running alright and they still had about a third of a tank of gas if the meter was to be trusted.

A rumble in Steve's stomach, however, reminded him that they hadn't eaten since dinner the night before, and unlike the car, they were both probably running on fumes. He sighed, reaching up and running a hand anxiously through his hair. He didn't want to get off the highway just to hunt for a drive-through, not when they'd probably make a real stop in an hour or two. But hunger wasn't going to make things any better.

"Hey," he said, finally breaking the weighted silence. "I don't suppose you still have any of the snacks from the convenience store leftover?" It was possible Loki had emptied out the spare bits in his pocket to make room for all the other things Steve had demanded of him. But if they still had anything edible in their possession...

  
  
  
  


Loki had thought the music very loud, until Steve spoke over it, and he realized he'd just allowed it to fill his senses. Steve's voice was at a normal level. He didn't sound angry. And he was hungry.

Loki realized he was, too, a bit.

"There are the cheesy fish and some apples yet. I finished the cookies." He had the good grace to look guilty about that at least, but he could hardly help that his sweet tooth was so engaged by this realm.

He produced both options and opened the bags for easy offering, before holding them out for Steve to take what he wanted from them.

"It's not much. I'm sorry." Loki found himself apologizing and while he knew it wasn't entirely his fault, he cringed just the same.

He was afraid that having the wrong answer so soon after he'd already upset him would launch Steve back into the anger that Loki hadn't really realized he'd slipped out of.

And Loki wished he were better able to provide anything-- but he didn't have money from this realm (though he supposed Steve had plenty, considering the weight of the box Loki carried for him).

Tentatively, he spoke up.

"Maybe... not now, obviously, not where there are people around, but maybe if you want-- if you can, I should. Will you teach me to drive a car, so that in an emergency..." He trailed off. It was a dumb question, putting more weight of responsibility on Steve's shoulders before he could even hope to be useful.

He felt so pointless, so ill fitted for life on Midgard. There was too much he didn't understand and he imagined that traveling with him while trying to stay out of the focus of the larger crowd could only be stressful to start with.

But he didn't know how to go about easing the burden that he presented.

He shrugged and returned his gaze to out the windows.

"Forget it, that's probably... dumb."

  
  
  
  


Steve stole a quick side glance at Loki, and the rueful, small look on his face as he offered the food made Steve feel like he'd kicked someone's dog. He bit down on his lip. _Great_. He'd defected from SHIELD, stolen a car, broken a prisoner out of SHIELD custody, probably gotten himself branded insane at best and a traitor at worst, and on top of it all, he'd made _Loki_ feel guilty.

He was really batting a thousand today.

"That's perfect," he said with a strained smiled, reaching over for the bag of dried apples. He wanted the goldfish, but the salt would make him thirsty and they had no water, so the apples would do for now. "Just need something to take the edge off until we stop," he added, hoping that Loki would stop looking like he half-expected to get thrown out of a moving car.

"And actually," Steve said slowly, chewing on a piece of apple while mulling over the proposal; looking over at Loki while still keeping his attention largely on the road, "that's not a bad idea." Depending on where they went and what they ended up planning, there could be a few more hours of driving in their future, or a few more days. And if at any point Steve wasn't in good shape to drive, having Loki capable of taking the wheel would be a wise backup plan. Not to mention a useful life skill if he was going to be sticking around the Earth for a while. Considering how smart Loki was and how quickly he picked things up, Steve suspected his learning time would be shorter than average as well.

"We'd have to find an empty parking lot or a really empty stretch of road to start off with, but we're heading into a less populated area, so it shouldn't be too hard," he mused. "Maybe this afternoon or tomorrow we can take an hour. See how we're feeling." Teaching Loki the basics of driving would probably be a welcome distraction from discussing their situation.

There was a sign up ahead for the ramp to merge on to I-70. He nodded toward it. "We'll probably be another hour or two in the car, see if we can get over the state border into Pennsylvania. Then we'll stop for food and gas and see if there's a hotel or something where we can stay."

  
  
  
  


Loki snuck a look back over at Steve, surprised to see his face looked open again, not closed off, or angry... and he felt bad. Because of course Steve wasn't going to... to hurt him, or punish him for making a mistake. It was Steve. His Steve.

His Steve, whose reaction to Loki's cruelest accusations was to lock himself in a bathroom and work himself into a frenzy of upset, and then come out to _apologize_. Steve who refused to see the monster in Loki's heart, and instead wanted to see only the good.

And Loki expected to find something terrible around every corner. Including inside of Steve.

He'd never pushed him in such a way as to actively ruin his life before, though, so that was probably not helping matters, and there was no where to go for privacy and space.

But if he could turn the talk instead to something unrelated, something that didn't feel like it went with the guns and SHIELD and fleeing and fighting and thieving they had done-- which he was sure was bothering the Captain still-- maybe it would be best for both of them.

Loki was good at distraction.

"What is in Pennsylvania? I don't know much of your world, yet... tell me about it. Is there a different ruling party there, or how is that divided up?"He forced his voice into normalcy, keeping all signs of strain or discomfort out of it. Because it wouldn't help anyone now.

"And what are we listening to?" He felt like maybe the girl in the red car with the blue hair would have been a safe subject, after all.

  
  
  
  


"Well, the country we're in is called the United States of America, and there's forty-ei-- sorry, _fifty_ states in the Union," Steve began explaining, chewing on another tough piece of dehydrated apple. Explaining, he could do. Regurgitating facts he'd learned back in school growing up on from the endless SHIELD briefing packets on the 20th century was simple enough, and familiar territory when it came to his conversations with Loki. The role was familiar enough, despite the dramatic difference in venue, and inch by inch, the knot in between his shoulder blades began to loosen.

He gave a brief summary of the general infrastructure of the United States; about how Washington DC, which they'd just left, was the Capital, and how the states were all represented through congress on a federal level, and had their own governments and laws which were regulated on a more local level. "Right now, we're driving through the state of Maryland. We just pulled on to Interstate Highway 70, which we'll follow across the state line into Pennsylvania," he finished up. "As for what's there, well. Lots of things, though nothing especially relevant to us. In fact, there's really no good reason at all to go to Pennsylvania," he remarked with a shrug. "Which means no one is going to look for us there. Although, there's a mountain chain -- well, more like really big hills than mountains, to be honest -- that runs up the east coast, and we're heading into that area. It can make for pretty nice scenery."

He hoped that they would be able to find some nice rural highways once they got off the interstate that would afford Loki a view of the countryside. And while he'd settle for a motel, when they stopped for gas, he planned to ask if there were any inns or B&Bs they could check out. He'd promised to show Loki some of the beauty of Midgard, and so far he'd done a crap job of holding that promise.

"As for what we're listening to..." he frowned at the radio, which had switched to some experimental piano playing that didn't seem to have anything approaching a melody. "I have no idea. Feel free to change the station until you hear something you like."

  
  
  
  


There were a lot of words in his explanation that made little sense to Loki, but it didn't much matter. Some of it had been covered in the histories he'd read back in the cell. The rest, he chose not to care about.

The sound of Steve's voice was wonderful, comforting and calming, and he could see him relaxing as he spoke. More than that, Loki could feel himself relaxing. As if into a warm bath. That was what listening to Steve felt like.

"Well I hope you won't be offended, but the best view Midgard has to offer seems to be seated next to me, so. While I would love some mountains to break through the grays of--" He gestured at the world around them, "I'd be satisfied regardless." He flashed a dashing smile the likes of which he learned by mocking Fandral incessantly as a younger man.

It served as a point of humor, but also to hide that the sentiment was not entirely true. There was an ever growing part of him that wanted to see Steve's hair reflecting the gold of an Asgardian sunrise, while the teals and pinks lit his face, and his eyes went wide in wonder.

He didn't know he would ever get the chance, but that would be the most satisfying view he could think of.

Well.

The most satisfying view outside of a bedroom.

The most satisfying view that involved actual scenery.

Loki sought to turn his attention from that line of thought by leaning in to poke at the dials and knobs at the noise maker in the dash of the car.

But the only thing that happened was the noise got louder-- he twisted that back to help, and that was fine, until he went sailing through the stations and was only able to find either screaming or a thrumming jittery sort of sound with rhythmic almost barking over it.

He was very confused.

Eventually he found something that seemed better paced, not necessarily softer, but... crisper, maybe? It sounded like what had been playing in the museum before he flipped a man over a stone table and gouged his eye, as per Barton's commands, when he controlled him. Right before he met Steve, for the very first time.

His eyes slid sideways to see if Steve drew the connection.

But the music was pleasant enough. Light and airy and wholly unlike the screaming and barking. There were no voices at all in fact, and while Loki had nothing against singing, proper singing, at least, given the options, he favored this.

The violin was nearly a voice anyway, its story built in tone, if not in words.

"Is that alright? I don't know about music here... it sounds very little like anything I have heard elsewhere, save this."

  
  
  
  


Steve rolled his eyes and smirked at Loki's flirtatious comment, trying hard not to blush. "Flatterer."

He cringed as Loki flipped through a number of horrible stations, but his expression relaxed as he finally settled on a classical music frequency. Steve didn't know much about music -- and he knew even less now than he did growing up -- but he liked classical music well enough, even if he couldn't tell Beethoven from Brahms to save his life. "That's perfect," he told Loki. "And don't worry; most of the music here and now I'm pretty unfamiliar with too. A lot of folks around me have been trying to remedy that, but apparently my tastes tend to run a little old fashioned."

For his birthday shortly after the invasion, the other Avengers had collaborated on a gift and had bought Steve an mp3 player, loaded with their mix of selections. He'd appreciated the gesture, but the wildly varying contents had been... interesting. Natasha seemed to have a decent grip on his tastes, and made sure there were some old recordings from the 30's and 40's on there for him, as well as hits from the years right after he went in the ice. She'd also given him some contemporary folk music he liked well enough. Tony, by contrast, had given him a selection of 'classic rock' that sounded like a lot of noise and high-pitched shrieking, though Steve had known better than to say anything to that effect. Bruce had given him some classical music and some international selections that he enjoyed; they were all mellow and relaxing, though the yoga chants were somewhat dull. Barton's picks were very hit and miss, and Steve wasn't sure if half of them weren't put on as a joke. Though he decided he did like Elvis and Johnny Cash.

He felt a small pang, realizing he'd left the mp3 player behind in his apartment. Not that it would do any good here in the car, with no way to plug it in. But it had been a thoughtful gift, and he'd forgotten all about it. Though it was far from the only thing he left behind.

He stared forward at the road. He wouldn't think about what was behind him. He had Loki beside him, safe and alive and good and _his,_ and that was all that mattered right now.

Around them, buildings and billboards gave way to trees and fields, the landscape reasserting itself over civilization. On the horizon, Steve could now see rolling blue hills ahead of them. The sun rose higher in the sky, and they kept listening to the classical station until it broke up into static, at which point he asked Loki to fiddle with the radio until they found another station with inoffensive acoustic guitar. When they reached a junction with I-81, Steve pulled on to the ramp to take them on 81-North, on a whim more than anything else.

It was nearing 11am when they passed a large blue and green sign on the right, with the words _”Pennsylvania Welcomes You.”_

 


	18. Eighteen

Loki had expected some sort of physical difference to happen, even with the understanding that Pennsylvania operated under the same rule as the rest of the places they had been so far, he’d somewhat expected a wall of some kind, or a bridge, that a lake would mark the separation. But it seemed that was not to be the case. 

They simply continued moving forward, and only signs alerted him to the fact that anything had changed. It seemed… anticlimactic and disappointingly quiet, given the amount of regional pride he’d experienced from Midgard’s inhabitants while he was here last. 

Around them, the towns and developments began to fall away, replaced by fields, neatly kept and growing all matters of things. Nothing Loki recognized, of course, though that was likely partially because of their speeds. 

“Might we stop off for food soon?” He asked.

He’d abstained from the snacks, well aware that what they had was limited and it was Steve who most needed his energy up. 

But he’d not eaten in some hours now, and though he had learned to go longer, Steve and his meals from SHIELD had settled him into a sort of schedule, and his stomach had come to expect feeding. 

He felt like his request was highly impractical, given how surrounded by nothing they were. He wanted to be sure that he didn’t sound unreasonable. 

“Or… as soon as food is feasible, at any rate. I know there isn’t much around at the moment. Unless you think we should get further from our potential pursuit.” 

  
  


  
  


Steve nodded. The road had become pretty sparse, but they’d put enough distance between them and DC that they could afford to stop and unwind. He could definitely do with a square meal soon, and the needle on the gas gauge had been ticking slowly downward. 

“I’ll pull over on the next exit,” he agreed. “We can stop at a gas station. I’ll have to go in to pay cash anyway; I can ask whoever’s working if there’s any place decent nearby to eat.” He smiled at Loki, and then, realizing that Loki hadn’t been partaking of the snacks that Steve had been steadily nibbling at, reached over and dropped the bag of dried apples into his lap. “Car snacks are for you too, you know. If you want something to take the edge off.” He didn’t blame Loki for wanting to wait for something more substantial, but Steve didn’t know the area well enough to be sure of how long that would take. 

The next exit, as it happened, didn’t come up for another good six miles, and it was a junction on to a smaller state highway, but Steve took it off the interstate all the same. After another two miles he saw a Shell station and pulled in, lowering the window to look back and check which side of the car the gas tank was on before pulling up to a pump and disconnecting the wires beneath the steering column to kill the engine. 

“I’ll be right back. Stay here and keep an eye on the car?” He reached over and gave Loki’s hand a squeeze before climbing out and heading into the mini-mart and checkout. 

Ten minutes later he returned with a map in hand, popped the gas cap and began pumping the $30 of gasoline he’d just paid for. 

“So, there’s a shop up the road a bit that sells lottery tickets and subs,” he explained as he filled the tank. “Which will only be another ten minutes, but sounds a little iffy. However, if we head north and then east, there’s apparently a really nice little town about thirty minutes from here. Should have a lot more options, maybe a place we can spend the night.” The pump shut off and he replaced the nozzle, screwing the cap back on to the tank. “Think you can hold out that long?” 

Loki opened the door of the car and got out, stretching his legs a little before leaning his hip against the car to watch Steve in his work. 

“I can wait for something less questionable, yes.” He told him lightly. “I didn’t think before you went in-- were you recognized?” When they went into town, he would have to remember to put Steve’s beard and hair and eyes back as they had been for their outing from the room. He didn’t think it would hurt to reuse the illusion, rather than crafting a new one. 

He wondered if he oughtn’t change too, either into a woman or some other thing, or, with as low as his seidhr had gotten, perhaps just his coloration as well. 

His upper lip curled a little at the scent of the stuff Steve was pumping into the car. 

“What _is_ that?” He asked, unable to stop his curiosity from breaking out. “The smell is…” He trailed off, because though harsh there was something oddly pleasing about it. Something simultaneously repulsive and appealing. 

“Is that the car’s propellant?” He was trying to put things together, after all, trying to make sense of them. Trying to learn so that he could operate on this realm as one of them. But there was so much that had no equivalent in Asgard, and it left him feeling lost. 

He edged closer to try and see the liquid that produced the smell, accidentally crunching the apples he’d put in his pocket along the way. 

He pulled out the bag and held them up, remembering another question he had had. 

“Also, out of purest curiosity, what else do you do with these? Not, these specifically, but the apples themselves. Do you have any apples with special uses?” 

  
  


  
  


“Special... uses?” Steve blinked, perplexed. “Well, most folks eat them plain as a snack, but we also make them into apple juice or apple cider, and people cook and bake with them. There’s desserts like apple pie and apple crisp, but those tend to have cinnamon in them so probably not the best thing for you to try.” 

He opened the back door of the car and tugged his backpack over, unzipping the top and rifling through it. “And yeah, that’s gasoline,” he answered. “It’s highly flammable, and it powers the engine in the car. Gets pretty expensive these days, though the government subsidizes it. We’re probably getting about thirty-some-odd miles to the gallon, so with a full tank we’ll be able to get pretty far in whatever direction we decide to head in.” He pulled a few bundles of fabric from the bottom of the bag, then looked over at Loki with a grin. “First rule of learning to drive: don’t run out of gas. You wind up stranded and feeling like an idiot, so you have to keep an eye on the gauge and not let it run empty. Here--” 

He tossed the rolled up clothes to Loki to catch with a gentle, underhand throw. “I didn’t get recognized, but it’ll help us both keep a low profile if we’re dressed to blend in. There’s a bathroom inside, to the right and in the back. I’d recommend you get changed in there real quick.” 

Loki looked little enough like his old self now, with his hair shorter and out of his armor, the manic gleam gone from his eyes. But while the clothes he wore were simple enough not to draw too much attention in the city where you got all kinds of odd cultural blends, out in the country his Asgardian attire, however mundane, would raise some eyebrows. Their dimensions were similar enough that Steve trusted he’d fit into his spare jeans, which he’d handed over along with a pale green t-shirt and charcoal hoodie. Normal clothes would go a long way toward making him invisible, even without magic. 

Steve himself wasn’t too worried; no one expected to see Captain America out here, so no one would bother to look at him thinking they might know him. With no shield and no outfit, he was ordinary enough. Though, as an afterthought, he pulled another spare shirt from his bag, undoing the buttons on the wrinkled blue shirt he’d been wearing for the last three days. His appearance wouldn’t draw undue attention, but if he didn’t freshen up, his smell might. 

  
  


  
  


Loki raised a brow at him. 

“We have magic apples on Asgard, that’s all. The only reason I asked. However… after the things Scofield fed me, I think that perhaps the cinnamon would not be half so bad. I might try it again… some time. In small portions.” 

He looked skeptically at the clothing he was handed, but obediently made his way through the oddly cluttered little shop and to the back, where he did eventually locate the bathroom. 

There was, notably, no bath. There was a toilet that Loki was not certain he would trust and there was a sink and mirror, and the tiles on the floor had gone beige with age and were littered with cracks, as if, at some point, Thor and Volstagg might have wrestled on it. 

Loki, on the other hand, stripped himself of his clothing as if he had no magic, then redressed himself in Steve’s. 

The pants fit surprisingly well, but then, Steve’s waist was rather narrow on his frame. The shirt, however, hung from Loki. His chest was nowhere near so broad, his arms did not fill the sleeves… and something about that made him feel both slovenly and small, the way he had as a child, when Thor and his friends had begun to fill out with muscle, and Loki had remained whip thin. 

He turned away from the mirror, feeling exposed without his layers. Grateful that Steve had handed him another article of clothing for atop the shirt. Without another layer, there would be nothing to hide the fact that poking from this veritable tent of a shirt, he looked to be made of kindling. 

It was a simple coat, and though it was not unduly cold out, he could pull it on. Not only did it darken the view of himself that he got out of his peripheral vision, it also helped to fill him out, or at least made him appear bigger. This was better, closer to what he was accustomed, even while being utterly unfamiliar with this form of garb. 

He took a deep breath and gathered up his clothes, keeping his head down on his way out, hoping not to attract the attention of the shop keep. 

Returning to the car, he put his clothing into the back seat, waiting until after he had to straighten up and meet Steve’s eyes. 

He smiled, though it felt tight at the edges. 

“I had no idea your pants would fit so well. I’m not so muscular in the thighs and ass, but they fit.” He reported. 

He kept his commentary to that though, fighting to overcome the frailty he felt. It was likely partially hunger and stress, anyway… and it didn’t matter. Especially not when Steve had yet to take his time to be not-fine. 

And when his expressing his discomfort with any variation of his body only made Steve angry or sad. He had enough of both right now without Loki adding to it. 

“Shall we go find the elusive non-iffy food, then?” He asked, a little bit brighter. 

  
  


  
  


Magic apples? 

Steve frowned, trying to figure out how exactly that worked and if Loki was messing with him, but before he could formulate a reply, Loki was heading inside the gas station. Putting that thought on hold for the moment, Steve stripped out of his jacket and outer shirt, then his sweat-stained undershirt, quickly tugging on a navy blue v-neck and then tugging his jacket back on against the cool autumn air. He made a quick inventory of everything in his bag, sorting it out a bit from the jumble in which he’d tossed everything in so it would be easier to access the things he’d be more likely to need. It only took a few minutes before he heard footsteps behind him again and he turned... 

... And blinked. In a baggy tee and unzipped sweatshirt, Loki looked -- well, too old to be a college kid, but he could definitely pass for a graduate student and seem at home on any campus in America. He looked normal; human. Steve was torn between balking at the strangeness of it against his mental image of Loki, and being mesmerized by how naturally he pulled it off, complete with slightly awkward slouch. Dressed like that, he could almost imagine Loki as an ordinary citizen that he could share an ordinary, boring, normal life with, coming home at the end of the day to curl up on the couch and watch TV together and do all the other things that average couples were supposed to do. 

He smiled at the thought. It was fantasy, of course, but it was a nice, happy fantasy. He stepped forward and, glancing around quickly to make sure there was no one in the area (there wasn’t) and the gas station clerk wasn’t looking their way (he was nowhere to be seen), he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Loki’s lips. “We’ve both got skinny hips,” he murmured. “You look good.” 

Pulling back, he walked around to the driver’s side and slid in, picking up the wires and sparking the ignition with significantly less trouble this time around. “Food it is. You’ll have to let me know what you’re in the mood for,” he said, buckling in. And if Loki was a fan of apples and willing to give cinnamon another go, he mused, they might even find a place that served apple pie. The apples were in season, after all. 

Speaking of: “What’s this about magic apples?” 

  
  


  
  


The kiss did help to make Loki feel less unattractive in these clothes, and the realization that the smell on them was Steve’s helped as well. Especially now that he was free of the bathroom enough _to_ smell them. 

It also helped that once they had returned to the car, some small sense of normalcy seemed to settle in. 

“I am always in the mood for bacon.” Loki said, tossing Steve a sly smile. “Though it is not a prerequisite for the meal. I would like something cool to drink, perhaps somewhere with a juice of some sort?” Loki shrugged. “Really at this rate though, most anything sounds wonderful.” 

He fished the dried apples out of his other outfit’s pocket, placing it between them again and helping himself to one of the small chunks he’d broken off by accident. 

“On Asgard, we have a tree, tended by the beautiful goddess Idunn, which produces the magic apples that preserve youth. The long years of the Aesir are said to have been brought on by these apples, and honestly at this point I couldn’t tell you whether that were true or not. I do not know anyone who does not make sure to eat from her tree, just in case. And not only for the magic of the apples, but also because the apples are delicious.” He shrugged, then laughed as he realized-- 

“I guess I will find out. Well. If it will influence the lives of the Jotunn, at any rate.” 

He turned to look at Steve, amused and teasing. “Wouldn’t it be funny if it turned out that my years had shrunk down to yours, by spending my time here without access to the apple seidhr? Almost an ideal situation, really.” The idea of growing old with Steve was something that… while it would normally alarm Loki, not living beyond him, not having to watch him deteriorate while frozen in time… the idea of being partners that were truly equally matched, always… it could grow to appeal. 

  
  


  
  


Pulling back on to the road and accelerating, Steve quickly reviewed the directions the gas store clerk had given him in his mind. If he forgot or got lost, they had a map now sitting in the center console to consult, but he was pretty sure he could get them there in good time for lunch. Bacon, Steve figured they might be able to swing, though he wasn’t positive enough to make a promise. Juice would be easy enough, at the very least. He couldn’t imagine a restaurant _not_ having some kind of juice option. “We can definitely get you some juice,” he replied with a smile. 

A smile that faded at Loki’s teasing speculation. 

Loki seemed amused by the idea, but Steve wasn’t sure how that was possible. Loki and Thor were each, what, roughly a thousand? And they were young. If Asgardian lifespans proportioned anything like human ones, he ought to have millenia left. Steve had decades, if he didn’t get himself killed. The serum would probably keep him going a bit longer than average, but even then, a mortal lifespan was nothing to an Asgardian. 

He felt sudden guilt for his brief fantasy of him and Loki being normal. If Loki were human, ordinary and mortal, he’d have thousands of years of life stripped from him, and all the magic and incredible abilities he’d honed. It would be like taking the serum from Steve and reducing him to what he’d been before Erskine had found him. 

“I don’t think that’d be ideal at all,” he blurted, brow furrowed. “That would be awful. Do you really think that’s going to happen?” he asked, now deeply apprehensive. 

Loki couldn’t grow old and die. Everyone else Steve knew grew old and died, and Loki had promised to be there when he woke. 

  
  


  
  


Loki sensed he had upset Steve, but he was meant not to lie. 

“It’s difficult to say-- like I said, no Aesir I know goes without them, for fear that it is true and they will age otherwise. But I do not know if the superstition is true, and I am not really one of the Aesir. It is more likely, I think, that I will see signs of aging and have time in which to decide whether I should fight for access to the apples, or likelier still that the Jotnar are a breed with different rules to aging overall. I have not spent much time in my Jotun form. I could not tell the signs of an elderly Jotun if I wanted to. I have no better clue as to my relative age than you do. It is of no great concern, though-- I doubt I am about to keel over where I sit.” That at least was certain; short of his shallow discomfort from hunger, he felt quite hale. 

“But why do you so despise the idea of my growing old with you? Do you not think that, some day, you will want that? Want someone to understand your troubles, to identify with them? Someone who can share your twilight years with you, and have them be meaningful, not only for fear of losing you, but because their years draw to a close as well? Is there not romance to the thought of sharing the experience? I thought it was one of the things your people looked forward to-- love, a ceremony, and then growing old. Is that not how things are meant to progress? I know your unique makeup likely has altered your aging as well as the rest of you but… don’t you think you would feel cheated, if you were to grow old, and I merely… Waited to lose you?” 

Steve’s mortality, while a factor he was aware of, was not one he had spent a good deal of time contemplating in relation to his own supposed immortality. But there he’d gone, managing to upset Steve, even while making an attempt of speaking of simple things. 

“I am not going anywhere for a good long time, yet, as far as I know.” Loki tried for a smile, something to comfort him. But he felt that it fell flat. 

  
  


  
  


Steve looked at Loki, then looked away, not sure whether he felt guilty for wanting Loki to live forever or guilty for wanting him not to. What Loki described... sounded nice. Real nice. And part of Steve thrilled at the notion that _Loki wanted to grow old with him._ That Loki, who before considered himself doomed with an imminent expiration date, now imagined a future where they spent the rest of their lives together, romantically growing old like a married couple. 

But what would he be giving up? 

“I don’t despise the idea,” he said carefully. “I... I think it’s real nice. Sweet, even. And part of me wants it an awful lot. Except, you’re what, a thousand years old? And you’re young looking still. I don’t know how old Asgardians get to be but if you’re aging at this rate, you ought to have at least three, four thousand years more ahead of you?” He shook his head. “Trading that all in, cutting it down to just a few decades... that’d have to be like Agent Ferra finding out she only had months to live.” Of course, Loki had thought he truly had mere months to live when he’d believed Thanos meant to kill him, so perhaps that was why he didn’t seem troubled by the idea, but still. “I wouldn’t want you to throw away millennia of life on my behalf.” Not if there was an option to prolong it and survive. 

He licked his lips, noting as they passed the run-down store on the left side of the road and feeling grateful that Loki had elected to bypass that option. “You said yesterday in the bath that life is better. That living is better. You’re gonna outlive me and have a lot of time to find other people that will make you happy. Lifetimes’ worth of being happy.” He frowned, recalling something _else_ Loki had said, much earlier. “And wasn’t your biological father alive until-- until recently?” He stole a sideways look, hoping that the mention of Loki’s blood relations didn’t cause him too much distress. “Doesn’t sound like Asgard shared its apples with the Frost Giants, but if they have comparable lifespans anyway, you’ve probably got a long life ahead of you, apples or no.” 

Fantasies about growing old like a normal couple aside, he didn’t want Loki to wither and die when life had promised him so much more. “Besides,” he added, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel so he could control it with one hand, his right reaching over to find Loki’s and give it a squeeze. “If I do something dumb and end up taking another seventy-year ice nap, I need you to be there when they thaw me out to yell at me for how stupid I am,” he joked. 

  
  


  
  


Loki could only stare and shake his head, a bemused, incredulous smile tugging at his lips. 

That Steve had been so distraught at the thought of being forced to let Loki die, that he was so stalwartly against even considering Loki's mortality-- for long lived as he may be, he could be killed, it was confusing to him. Steve was mortal and surrounded by them. He had lost more than most, and Loki would have thought him to be more accustomed to it, rather than more afraid. Loki could be killed. Maybe not so easily as some of Steve's friends, but even so. 

"Laufey was not yet decrepit when I killed him, that I could tell, so perhaps you are right. But I have no real expectation of time. I have been ready to die often enough, and there are more than enough who want to see me dead. I do not know what the future will hold any more than you. But no wishing or what if of ours will change whatever the inevitable is. I will be glad of the time I have, particularly as it has been time spent well. With you. And if I do outlive you, it is true, I will grieve, but I will not end my life for it. I would only hope the same is true should you outlive me.” 

He did as Steve had and reached across the central divide between them. 

He let his hand rest lightly on his thigh, afraid to disrupt his driving if he touched his hand or arm. 

"And if you went to the ice, what makes you think I would let you wait seventy years? I would scour every known realm and then some to be certain you did not wake alone, and that you woke as soon as possible." 

  
  


  
  


Steve looked over and tenuously smiled back. If Loki was all right with his lifespan, whatever it might turn out to be, and had no intentions of dying and leaving Steve any time soon... well, he could live with that. It was Loki’s life, after all. Steve just wanted to be able to share it as long as possible. 

“Deal,” he told him, placing a hand over Loki’s and running his thumb over Loki’s knuckles. 

The road twisted and wound through the countryside, through open fields and through areas of thick forest, yellowing leaves forming a bower overhead, the road lit by dappled sunlight where it filtered through the branches. It was a nice change from DC, and while Steve would always be a city boy at heart, he could certainly appreciate the simple beauty of the landscape. Maybe he and Loki could go for a walk later in the day. A whole morning in the car was making his legs itch to be stretched, and there had to be some nice trails or something nearby. 

He fiddled with the radio knob until he found some music again, humming softly along as they drove. Soon enough, the empty roadside gave way to houses and small developments, and then the speed limit dropped and the road spilled into a small, picturesque little town. 

Steve pulled into the first unmetered parking lot he saw, sliding behind a historic-looking brick building and putting the car in park before killing the ignition wire and looking over to Loki with a grin. “Ready to walk around until we find a place to eat?” 

  
  


  
  


“I can hardly decide whether I would like to walk or eat more, at this point. I am not used to your modes of travel yet. They all require a good deal more stillness than, say, ships and horses.” Well, horses were different, they at least required interaction on the part of the rider. He could only imagine poor Steve, who had had to keep his arms in roughly the same place the entire time, as well as his legs. 

Loki’s quietly moaning stomach, though, made a liar of him. 

“I am ready, at least, yes. Should I-- I have enough left in me to give us very basic illusions. Hair color changes, or something similar?” Smirking a tad, Loki gave himself lighter hair, more red tinged than Steve’s, and a tiny matching goatee. “Not that I am particularly recognizable, but.” He dropped the sentence there. “Like before? Darker for you?” He held up his hand, poised and ready to make the change, if Steve wanted. 

Loki was not entirely sure why, but being around people again, after today, made him feel anxious, afraid that more than just Fury would be inclined to try and take Steve from him. 

He looked out the windows of the car, hesitating before stepping out. 

He still felt small in these clothes, vulnerable and a little exposed, though the coat did help. His magic being as low as it was, again, was fine as long as they encountered no trouble. But the buildings had changed, less gray and more inclined to be red, brickwork capped by white stone molding. And there was an agedness to it that Loki liked. 

He was only afraid he would seem too much like he did not belong there. 

At least Steve was with him. He figured he would simply be as quiet as possible, and try to refrain from looking at anyone or anything too hard. It shouldn’t be difficult, with Steve around. 

  
  


Steve shook his head. “I’ll get too distracted trying not to touch it, and if I did it’d probably draw more attention anyway,” he admitted sheepishly. “Don’t waste your seidhr or wear yourself out. Honestly...” Steve looked around at the little town. _Quaint._ Quaint was a good word for it, he decided. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind staying here for a day or two. And if we do that, in a town this small, we’ll probably want to stay consistent. I’m less worried about being recognized than about slipping up with anything weird or anomalous that might make people suspicious.” 

That being said, he thought, Loki didn’t look half bad with auburn hair. Though the goatee reminded him a bit of Tony. “SHIELD probably won’t put out an announcement to the public with our faces on it, since that’d start a panic. I think we’re safe enough looking the way we are, so don’t stress about it too much.” He clapped a reassuring hand to Loki’s shoulder, then dropped it to his side just as they rounded the corner on to the main street. 

“One time, a couple commandos and I had to go under cover behind German lines. We stole Nazi uniforms to infiltrate a base and steal a cipher so the Allies could decode enemy messages. Peggy briefed us beforehand, and the most important thing, she said, and I agree, was to pretend like we were exactly where we were supposed to be.” That of course, had been rather challenging for Steve, who had the world’s most terrible poker face. But Monty and Dugan had taken to it well enough and bluffed their way right into a command center by acting like they were bored out of their minds by the whole affair. “We’re just grabbing lunch downtown on a beautiful day,” he concluded with a smile, hoping Loki would appear a bit less nervous. 

And it was a beautiful day. The only clouds in the sky were the fluffy ones that resembled the cotton candy from the venders on Coney Island, and there was a historic antiquity to the little downtown area that made Steve feel like it could almost be 1945 still. Of course, everyone was dressed wrong, and the cars parked streetside were more modern, but there was something about it that still felt comforting. 

Up ahead was a wooden sign with golden bevelled lettering for an establishment called _Finnegan’s Publick House and Tavern, Est. 1927_. As they approached, Steve peered in the window and saw a number of diners enjoying lunch in what looked like a cozy enough spot. “Wanna try this place out?” he asked, reaching for the door. 

  
  


  
  


“Yeah, alright.” Loki said, agreeing not only to the restaurant, but also to the idea of simply acting as if he fit in. 

He wouldn’t fidget with his clothing or stare or ask questions, or talk to anyone he didn’t need to, until he’d had a better chance to observe interactions. 

The Shawarma place they had stopped into had been nigh on empty, and the people working there were servants. He had no idea how citizens interacted, really. 

He had seen how Murray spoke to Steve, but that was within an army, and not too very different from interactions within the Einherjar. He knew how Steve and Ferra had spoken to one another, but there was a form of desperation in that bantering that he was certain was an irregularity. 

He’d never been on equal terms with anyone outside of his family. Even his lovers had been carefully aware of his position in relation to theirs, both politically and in bed, and they’d reached a justification between the two. But they hadn’t been equals. 

His unease, then, was not entirely unfounded. Because though they may think themselves better, there was nothing behind their standings to validate the claims, if they made them. No one here was better than anyone else. 

Save he and Steve. But they weren’t allowed to know that, and so he had to be like one of them. 

Walking inside, he cast a quick glance around, gathering as many details as he could in a moment’s look. 

He kept his posture relaxed, though not standing straight felt odd, and almost uncomfortable. Like the clothing, it made him feel small and slovenly, though he supposed that was rather the point. 

He turned to Steve as a thought came to him, and he developed a new worry. 

“How-- do we sit? How do we order?” Did he have to talk to a servant, or could Steve do it for them, like at the Shawarma restaurant? 

He felt under prepared. 

  
  


  
  


“We wait for someone to seat us,” Steve murmured under his breath. “They’ll give us menus, and then a server will come over and ask us what we’d like. Just smile, be polite but not too formal, and follow my lead-- Hi, yes, two for lunch, please.” The last was said in a louder voice to the hostess that had bobbed over to them, nametag reading ‘Traci.’ She plucked two menus from the podium by the door and flashed them a smile. 

“Do you any seating preferences between the bar, a table, or a booth?” 

“Booth, please,” Steve replied. As much privacy as possible would be ideal. 

Traci led them to a booth with imitation leather upholstery and a dark wooden table at the back of the restaurant. Soft amber light emanated from the green-shaded lamps hanging in rows from the wooden beams of the ceiling, bathing the corner in a dim but warm glow. “Your server today will be Jenny, and she’ll be right with you!” she cheerfully informed them, setting down the menus and place settings before all but skipping back to her position by the door. 

Steve slid into one side of the booth, picking up the menu. It looked like a lot of pretty standard pub fare; sandwiches, soups, burgers, and a few heavier entrees. His stomach rumbled in anticipation. “So, in a minute or two, our waitress will come over and ask what we want to drink to start off with. We can ask if they have juice,” he said, looking over the options, then glancing up at Loki. “I’ll go first, if you prefer.” He was fine with ordering for Loki if Loki was more comfortable, but he hesitated to suggest it in case he offended him or made him feel helpless in any way. And besides, this would be good practice. 

He’d barely finished talking before a woman wearing a black server’s apron and button up shirt with _Finnegan’s_ embroidered on the upper left just above her nametag came up to their table with a small notepad in hand. “Hiya, folks, my name is Jenny, welcome to Finnegan’s, I’ll be your server today. Can I start you gentlemen off with anything to drink? We have over 30 brews on tap.” 

Steve lowered his menu and gave her a quick smile. “I’ll just have a water, please. Um. Do you guys have any juice?” 

She blinked, but her smile didn’t waver. “Sure! We have orange juice, apple juice, and cranberry, I think.” 

Steve glanced over to Loki, eyebrows raised. 

  
  


  
  


“I’ll have the apple juice, please.” Loki told her, darting a small grin in Steve’s direction, then looking back up at her from where she stood, taller than their sitting heights. 

It was strange pleading with a servant-- server-- and stranger still to be seated below them. Her. 

“Alright, I’ll get those for you and be right back out to get your orders, once you’re ready.” She told them. 

He was certain that if Steve could hear his thoughts now, he would be getting a disapproving look, but as he couldn’t, Loki just smiled blandly until Jenny turned away. 

Then he followed Steve’s example and looked at the menu. 

It was surprisingly helpful the way the dish names had descriptions below them, explanations as to what was in them. It all seemed reasonably appetizing, and Loki found himself surprised at the number of options. 

“Is this-- they have all of this? Right now?” He looked around. The place itself did not seem overly sumptuous, the interior and exterior not speaking of overwhelming wealth. But perhaps they put all of their money into preparing… his eyes darted down the list, and then to the back of the menu, with a few more options yet there. 

“Who eats all of this? There cannot be enough people to justify this massive an amount of food.” 

He was used to the inns of Asgard, where the common folk dined, having a soup or stew at all times, and if it was a good day for it, perhaps an animal that had been hunted and cooked for a little additional charge, or on slower days, perhaps fowl. 

Even the kitchens of the palace, stocked at all times as they were, had but a few options on any given day, lunch was decided on and brought to you by cooks and servants, dinner a grand affair, but still only a handful of meats, a few sides… it was nothing like this, each meal option its own thematic choice, nearly. There were lists of what sides went with what, and a list of sides to be substituted, and by Loki’s count that meant that the cooks had had to have prepared over a dozen sides alone in huge quantities. Not to mention the main meals themselves… 

“I don’t know what to get.” He felt overwhelmed by the options. “What are you getting?” 

  
  


  
  


Steve chuckled. “It’s not as much as it looks,” he assured him. “A lot of the dishes use a bunch of the same ingredients with just a few variations, like with the sauce. And not all of it’s made from scratch. They keep a lot in stock and a lot frozen, already prepped, so they just have to cook it if someone orders it. The line cooks work real fast, too.” 

He’d been proud of how normal Loki had behaved in ordering his juice. He’d mimicked Steve perfectly, done nothing princely or odd, and it gave him hope for Loki’s ability to assimilate. 

“There is a lot of food, though. And I think humanity likes variety in what we eat more than Asgard does. Especially 21st century Americans.” When he’d asked Loki about his preferred foods, back when he’d been bringing him daily meals in his cell, what he’d described had sounded hearty and delicious, but not terribly diverse. The greater range of flavors and spices available on Earth might have something to do with it, he speculated, as well as the greater cultural mixing (especially just from Steve’s day and age). “Just wait until we take you to a grocery store,” he added with a grin. If just the menu was surprising to him, then that would probably boggle Loki’s mind. 

He glanced back over the menu. “Not sure. Probably something with meat in it. Maybe a side salad...” The pulled pork sandwich sounded good, as did the mushroom and whiskey burger. “You’d probably like the beef stew under the soup options,” he mused. “Or... Looks like they have a bacon burger,” he pointed out, putting the menu down on the table and pointing to the option he’d mentioned. “Just as a note, if you order red meat, she’ll ask you how well you want it cooked. If you like it still very pink in the middle, say medium-rare; if you want it just a little pink, say medium, and if you want it cooked brown all the way through, say well-done.” Used to having all his meat boiled to an unidentifiable gray, Steve had spent several months ordering everything well done until Natasha had threatened to knife him under the table one time at lunch if he ruined a perfectly good steak by cooking it to death. Since then, he’d learned to appreciate his meat a bit more rare. 

  
  


  
  


Loki nodded, finding the soup options to look through. Stew did sound good. Something familiar and comforting in amongst all of the unfamiliar. Salad, too, sounded… good. Lighter. Loki was hungry, he wanted something to sit in his stomach like it meant to stay there, but salad was an appealing option, too, with as nervous as he had been. 

The stew, it said, came with bread. That seemed like it would be the best option, something without as many bells and whistles as many of the other dishes seemed to, none of the “any two items from…” nonsense. 

When Jenny returned with the drinks they had asked for, Loki accepted his graciously, thanking her even before Steve could, because he knew it would be coming. 

“You boys know what you’d like?” She asked, and Loki smiled again, amused at how much of her sentence could be dropped and the meaning still understood. 

He looked quickly at Steve, then back down at his menu. 

“I think I’d like a side salad please, and a beef stew, with the meat well-done.” He looked up at her, then across at Steve again, trying to be sure he had got it right. 

“I think the meat in the stew only comes well done, yeah.” She told him, putting it onto her pad. “And what kind of dressing for your salad?” 

Loki didn’t actually know the answer to that and looked to Steve, panicked. 

“What was the dressing on that last salad you brought me back at work?” He asked, trying to cover for his own lack of knowledge. The words came easily, he just hoped it wouldn’t seem too suspicious. 

  
  


  
  


The gaff about the stew being well done made Steve wince ever so slightly, but that was all on him. After what he’d just told Loki, he ought to have expected as much. 

Fortunately, the waitress seemed to take it in stride, and Loki’s order went perfectly beyond that until the topic of salad dressing came up. Steve blinked, thrown a bit by the question. At work--? Oh! Right, the salad he’d brought Loki that one time. What had he used...? 

“It was a cranberry vinaigrette,” he quickly supplied. 

Jenny frowned. “I don’t think we have cranberry... Is balsamic okay?” 

Steve nodded to Loki, indicating it would be fine. With Loki’s order squared away, Steve ordered the burger, medium, with fries and a side salad with ranch. Jenny dutifully scribbled down their orders on her notepad, then cheerfully informed them that their food would be up shortly. 

Once she’d departed, Steve exhaled, then beamed at Loki. “You did great. And nice cover about the dressing.” The order hadn’t been seamless, but it certainly wasn’t the sort of thing that would arouse undue suspicion. Steve had seen far more obnoxious diners make absurd demands of wait staff without the excuse of not being from earth. 

He had to resist the urge to reach across the table and squeeze Loki’s hand. 

  
  


  
  


“I did something wrong for both things. I had no idea it took a special vocabulary to get the food you ask for.” He hissed, trying to keep his voice down. He shook his head. 

“Is every aspect of mundane life so trying? I had thought we were supposed to have the worst of it, learning how to lead people like these.” He gestured shortly at the rest of the people in the building. 

He took a deep breath, trying not to feel too negatively about the encounter. Steve was smiling at him as if he hadn’t floundered and failed, and he knew part of that had to be pity-- he knew that Loki knew he’d done poorly. 

It was frustrating. But he didn’t want to ruin _another_ meal. Not if Steve was willing to be kind about it. Not if he was still willing to take Loki out with him-- Loki thought of the other room, how Steve had wanted to leave him there and bring food to him, even when it was Steve who was meant to be healing. How Steve had had to brief him on how to behave before he could leave with him. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life confined to solitude because he did not know how to speak to Midgardians. 

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly, and perhaps more pleadingly than was necessary. “I’ll learn.” 

He reached over and lifted the juice she’d brought, taking a long pull to help give him time to calm himself, to push away his anxieties-- and help him quiet the fears trying to take him over. Steve liked him well enough. He wasn’t going to do anything to make him uncomfortable, not intentionally. And if they were alone, he could argue with him, in case he did try to leave Loki behind. But now-- now he needed to keep quiet and try to emulate those dining around them. 

And learn. 

How hard could it be? 

  
  


  
  


“You _will_ learn,” Steve agreed. “And it gets a lot easier. I messed stuff up all the time when I first got thawed out. Sometimes pretty embarrassingly,” he added with a wince. “But if you smile and you’re polite, people will be willing to overlook a lot of stuff and not think you’re too weird. Also, you have an advantage.” He paused to take a sip of water, suddenly realizing how thirsty he was and downing half the glass before he continued. “You have an accent. It makes you sound like the people from a country from across the ocean called England. So little things that might be off, most people will chalk up to you being a foreigner.” It might also attract unwanted questions about his origins, but they could deal with that when it came up. 

“Honestly, for your first time ordering in a restaurant, that was fine. The bit about the meat being cooked is all my fault, and she’ll have probably forgotten about it by the end of her shift. As for the salad dressing -- you handled that perfectly, asking me in a way that seemed normal. The rest was spot on, so don’t worry about it.” 

He felt less paranoid now out here than he had when they’d been right in SHIELD’s back yard in the city. He wasn’t sure if they were genuinely at less risk or if he’d just adjusted more to the idea of being in hiding, but the tiny aberrant behaviors didn’t seem like something that would have the government breathing down their necks. “You have a huge culture shock to deal with. Earth is very different than Asgard, and this is your first opportunity to be immersed in the day-to-day society. It’ll take some time to adjust, but you’re doing really admirably so far.” Loki had that pinched, unhappy look on his face Steve recognized as a symptom of him overthinking something or beating himself up; he couldn’t reach over in public to smooth it away, so he hoped his words would do. 

Loki had hardly had a normal, day-to-day experience his first time on Earth, when he’d been trying to take it over. And his second visit had taken place almost entirely in isolation up until now. Thor’d had three whole days on Earth in New Mexico a year before the invasion, and he’d sounded far less natural when ordering shawarma after the battle than Loki had just now. He wondered if it would be alright to say as much, or if bringing Thor up would just irk Loki further. 

He gave Steve a tiny grin. 

“I am sorry; I think I’m overly… everything, really, today. Because of today. I’m sure you feel similarly a bit, yourself. I feel… too sensitive of everything.” He shrugged. He reached up to rub under his chin, then remembered his beard that wasn’t, and turned the gesture into rubbing across his forehead instead.

“Food will, I hope, help somewhat, and once the distance sinks in…” He reached forward across the table, then realized that Steve _hadn’t_ , and remembered there were people, and that Midgardians didn’t-- that it was frowned upon. He grabbed for the center piece between them, and lifted a small squat rectangular tub from the wire of the basket. 

“What is-- what use is jam in so small a container?” He asked instead once he read the cover. “Even on trips, we take small pots the size of fists… what can you do with--?” He went to gesture with it but it was so light that it all but flew from his hand, hitting Steve with it rather than showing him as he’d intended. 

Loki stared, eyes wide and panicked, and then he snorted, and finally couldn’t help himself, and laughed-- quietly, as to not disturb the other patrons, but, just the same-- a full, throaty giggle. 

“Sorry.” He managed, without sounding sorry at all. “It slipped, and--” he laughed again, certain that the incident was not so funny as all of this, but relieved to be not feeling some shade of miserable, just then. 

Steve blinked as a single serving packet of strawberry jam bounced off his face.

Then, he smiled.

Then, he started laughing, and Loki was laughing, and within moments he had his hand over his mouth to stifle the near hysterical giggles spilling forth. Because it was absurd that they were fugitives and had just turned their whole lives upside down, and for a brief moment their most pressing concern had been the size and aerodynamic properties of a packet of jam. 

“I don’t have any idea why they package it that small,” he replied once he’d recovered breath enough to speak. “You’re right. It’s stupid. I--” He dissolved into laughter again, only managing to pull himself together as Jenny approached with a tray of food. 

“Okay, I’ve got two side salads, one with balsamic vinaigrette and one with ranch,” she announced, balancing the tray as she moved the plates and set them down. “And I’ve got the beef stew--” she set a steaming bowl down in front of Loki, on a plate with a side of bread, “-- And the mushroom whiskey burger. Anything else I can get you two? More water?” 

“Yes, please,” Steve replied, unrolling the napkin on his silverware and shaking it out to place in his lap. The burger smelled heavenly, and his mouth had already begin to water. He picked it up as soon as she left, then took a big, delicious bite. 

“Mmmmmm,” he moaned, eyes closed as he chewed and then swallowed. “That... is good.” He lowered the burger and reached for the ketchup at the end of the table. “How’s your stew?” 

  
  


  
  


Loki had never been what could be described as a slovenly eater. His peers ate, often, with their hands, gesturing with legs of large fowl, and speaking with bits of meat flying out of their gobs. 

But after the emotional storm they’d weathered, stew was exactly what Loki wanted. He’d gotten three spoonfuls in his mouth before Steve managed to ask, and though he felt rude for the speed at which he was eating, he refused to speak through it. 

So he nodded while he finished chewing and swallowing. 

“Hunger makes anything taste good, but I think this would be lovely without, as well.” A thought struck, and he filled a spoonful, offering it across the table. 

“Would you like to try a bite? There are flavors I am not familiar with, and I wonder if you might know them.” Sharing food was not necessarily a romantic or sexual thing, but it did imply a certain closeness, and whether Jenny the server was being polite or just doing her job, she did tend to stand closer to Steve, did tend to look at him first and last when she attended their table. 

If Loki was a god, he was a jealous one. 

He wished Midgard were different, wished that the idea of him sitting close and curling into Steve’s side while they ate wouldn’t cause alarm. Again, he was sure that if Steve knew that was where his mind wandered, he would be disappointed. 

Loki just did not understand why their lives could be one way together alone, and had to be another while in public. Even were they not on the run… Loki wished he had had the energy to turn into a woman. Then he could act as he wished towards Steve, and no one would question it. Perhaps the next town they stopped in, he would remember. 

But Steve had said they might stay here for multiple days. If that was the case, he was stuck pretending not to care for him in that way. He wondered if he ought to make eyes at the servant for cover purposes, but he wondered-- worried-- that Steve would misunderstand, and grow jealous, too. 

His arm wavered in the air, and he found his foot jangling under the table, the movements burning off all of his nerves. 

His eyes slid past the spoon of stew, to settle on Rogers’ face, and he lifted one brow in a challenge.

He would concern himself with the rest of it later. 

  
  


  
  


Steve froze as Loki held the spoon out. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he glanced around: no one seemed to be paying them any particular attention at the moment, but feeding one another bites from their meals using their own silverware was something couples did. And while Steve and Loki _were_ a couple, they were supposed to be avoiding attention. If someone saw, if someone started mumbling--

He was probably being paranoid. Surely no one was paying them that close attention. Hopefully no one cared if they did. But Steve didn’t know how this town’s sentiments toward that sort of thing ran, and was it worth risking in such a public place? 

Loki had raised one eyebrow expectantly, and Steve’s stomach twisted around the lone bite of hamburger it contained. He didn’t want to reject Loki or hurt him, but he also couldn’t be _out_ here. Hating himself a bit, he reached out and gently pushed Loki’s arm and the proffered spoon of soup back, before picking his own spoon up from the silverware he’d pushed aside, scooping up a spoonful of Loki’s stew on his own and taking a taste. 

“It’s good,” he said. “Not sure what they flavored it with to be honest... Bay leaves, maybe?” 

Under the table, he slid his foot forward against Loki’s restlessly bouncing one, rubbing the edge of his shoe against the side of Loki’s foot in an apologetic gesture. He’d make it up to him, once they were somewhere with fewer people. 

Jenny returned at that moment with another glass of water, asking them how everything was. Steve dutifully replied that it was all delicious, thank you, and they were all set. She had just turned away when another thought occurred to him.

“Hang on,” he called before she could walk away. She turned back with an expectant smile. “Sorry, we’re on a bit of an impromptu road trip that we didn’t plan all that well. I know this isn’t a food related question, but I was hoping you might know: are there any hotels nearby?”

Jenny nodded. “Sure! There’s a chain hotel on the edge of town but the place I’d recommend is the Thompson Creek Inn. Here, let me write down the address for you--” She plucked her notepad from her apron and turned to a fresh piece of paper, scribbling down and address and directions for the establishment. 

Once she’d finished and Steve thanked her again, he looked to Loki with raised eyebrows. 

  
  


  
  


Loki echoed his thanks, certain that was why Steve was staring expectantly at him. She looked between them with a smile, like she might stay to ask more friendly questions about the ‘impromptu road trip’, but Loki looked up at her with as dismissive a nod as he could muster. 

It made her rethink her words, and she smiled again, a little less sure now. 

“Alright, well, if you need anything else…” She hesitated a second then moved on, and Loki let out a breath. 

He turned his eyes and attention back to his stew, ignoring the way his foot was now bouncing against Steve’s. If the gesture was meant to be conciliatory, Loki honestly didn’t understand. 

That Steve was certain enough that he would not be recognized, but not comfortable enough to have even casual small contact with Loki was obvious-- but then how was he comfortable with Loki elsewhere? 

Were they meant to spend the rest of their lives together here, on this realm, looking around before sneaking a kiss under the stars? Would Steve ever feel relaxed, comfortable enough with them not to worry about what this meant to others? 

Loki swallowed his latest spoonful. 

“I wish you’d let me take you somewhere.” Loki said. “Somewhere with different rules.” It sounded casual enough, he hoped, and he hoped, vague as he had been, his meaning came through. Just to be certain, he stopped his foot shaking for the barest moment and slid it against Steve’s shoe instead, staring intensely at him. 

Then he severed the moment, looking back down into his stew, pulling his foot away and starting it jangling again. 

He didn’t know why he pushed on things like this, but he knew for certain that Steve had to be grateful he did so quietly. At least this time. Next time, he would be a woman. He had a feeling, if he wanted to spend any sort of time with Steve as his partner in public, he was going to have to become accustomed to being female for it. 

He wasn’t entirely certain why that left such a disappointed feeling in him, though. 

“Bay leaves.” He muttered, changing the topic back to food. “Delicious.” 

  
  


  
  


Not sure what to say, Steve took a large bite of his burger, hiding his lack of answer behind the need to chew. 

He suspected, from the continued nervous bouncing of Loki’s foot and the slight tension around his mouth, that he was still upset. But Steve didn’t know how to make it better. Didn’t know how to keep what they had safe without also keeping it a secret. 

Here, in hiding, without knowing the local attitudes well enough to predict a response, he couldn’t afford to be openly affectionate with Loki without risking unwanted attention, or worse, open hostility. Loki had been great so far about not hurting or endangering anyone when he could avoid it, but if some local got belligerent, Steve couldn’t be certain that things wouldn’t get ugly.

And when they weren’t in hiding, if they returned to the company of people who knew Steve, he’d be at the risk of outing himself; of outing Captain America. If that got out, people’s prejudices would get in the way of his ability to do his job -- to _help._ Not to mention that if SHIELD had assumed Loki was mind-controlling him just because he and Loki were _friends,_ there was no telling what folks might think -- or resort to -- if they found out he and Loki were together.

He wasn’t ready for that; not when so much of his life had already been turned upside down in one day. 

Of course, plenty of people kept their relationships discreet. A lot of workplace romances, for instance, depended on secrecy. To this day, he still wasn’t one hundred percent sure if Clint and Natasha were sleeping together or not. There was no reason they couldn’t make it work until... until things changed enough for the better that they could be more open. 

Not making eye contact, he devoured his burger. It didn’t taste quite as good now as that first bite had. 

“The rules are changing,” he finally replied in a low voice only Loki would hear, fiddling with a french fry. “I... They’re a lot better now than when I was growing up. It’s not actually illegal in most of the country now. And in the last few years, it’s actually become legal for men and men or women and women to get married in a lot of states.” That had been a happy surprise when he’d found out, though he had only commented on it neutrally. But still... “Things are getting better. They’re just not great yet. It’s still risky to be out and open in public with that sort of thing. And when we figure out our next step and work on convincing people that you’re one of the good guys now, well,” he pursed his lips. “People are gonna have a hard enough time adjusting to that without... without the other thing. Without me being queer. Or us being together. We’ll probably do better to only hit them with one thing at a time. I swear, we’re not gonna have to keep it a secret forever, but...” he sighed and shrugged. “We’re going to have to for a while.” 

  
  


  
  


Loki shrugged, looking out across the restaurant. 

“As I said, I’ve been a secret often enough. It’s fine.” Being a secret felt a lot like being ashamed, though… and as far as he could tell, Steve ought to be the first thing in his life he wasn’t ashamed about in some way. Though, he supposed, for Steve, the opposite was true. Steve felt ashamed for his inclinations, but really the only thing he had to be ashamed of was Loki. That was why Loki had to prove himself first. He had to be worthy of Steve.

Still, he’d agreed to this, he’d known what he was getting into. He couldn’t complain really-- even if they could only be affectionate in private, it was the most affection he had ever gotten. He was just turning greedy about it. That was all. 

He felt his lips tug up on one side of his mouth, a tiny little half smile, as the rest of Steve’s words sank in.

He’d said he would try. He’d said he would make the attempt to be what Steve needed him to. So that meant putting Steve’s needs first, and Captain America’s requirements in regards to their relationship even before that. 

Because he saw more and more that the Captain was only a facet of Steve, but it was a definitive one. Who he was as The Captain was everything Steve, as a small weak child, would have wanted to be. 

If Loki had had the opportunity and become what Steve Rogers was now, he doubted he would leap at anything that would jeopardize his position. 

And yet that was what Loki did. He jeopardized it. He jeopardized everything. And then he pushed, on top of it. Steve made his own choices, and then Loki pestered him. It was unfair. Unkind. And he wanted to do nothing but be kind to Steve. 

“I’m sorry for pressing the issue.” He said. “I’d rather be a secret than not have you at all.” 

  
  


  
  


“I’m sorry that it _is_ an issue,” Steve answered, stabbing at his salad with a fork. The ranch dressing had been applied a bit too liberally for his tastes, but he knew he ought to eat some greens. 

“In a perfect world, no one would care and we could--” he small a small noise of frustration, sending a cherry tomato rolling off his salad plate. “Sorry.” He lowered his fork and ran a hand back through his hair. “I wish people didn’t care.” And in some parts of the country, if Steve were anyone else -- someone lower profile -- no one _would_ care. Loki wouldn’t have to go ignored in public or treated like a dirty little secret. 

If Steve weren’t Captain America and were a bit braver, he could give Loki the kind of honest and open relationship he needed. 

“I’m sorry I’m not a better partner. And you’re not-- I’m not ashamed of you or anything, you know that, right? I mean,” he paused and licked his lips. “I have some hangups, but they’re nothing to do with you. That’s on me. And the rest is -- I don’t want to have to keep you secret, but I want to keep you safe, and right now this is the best way to do that that I know.”

He took another bite of salad and washed it down with more water, looking down sheepishly. 

  
  


  
  


If Loki could have touched him, could have put a hand on his or run his fingertips over his face, he would have. Instead all he could do was comfort him with words.

“You are the best partner I have ever had.” He told him earnestly. “It’s not an issue-- I will make it a not be an issue. It’s, I’ll… don’t worry about it. It just takes getting used to, is all. There’s… a lot of that, for me.” He spoke quickly, tripping over his words in his haste. Because he’d made Steve feel badly, for something that he already felt uneasy about, something that already upset him. 

“Just one more thing to learn, like driving and clothing and food, and…” Loki cut himself off. He didn’t need to work himself up reassuring Steve, because it would only make Steve feel the need to reassure him in turn. 

“It’s fine.” He said instead, well aware that it was their shared lie. Fine. 

He turned back to his stew, only remembering that he had a salad as well when Steve began poking at his. 

Loki was so glad they had stopped, was gladder still that they were getting a room soon. But he hesitated. 

“The inn… will they. Will they object to us sharing a bed?” He asked. He was stricken with the awful image of them forced into separate rooms, of SHIELD finding them and being able to take Steve away from him without him knowing, or take them both at once. 

He took a drink of his juice to hide the way his throat stuck.

“If there is another town close by, we could go there instead. I can-- I can illusion myself to be a woman, and then turn fully tomorrow, when I’ve my seidhr back for it.” He spoke lowly, so that only Steve might hear. 

  
  


  
  


Steve pulled the map out of his jacket pocket. “I think this might be our best bet nearby. We’re about an hour or so from Harrisburg if I’m reading this map right. It’s a bigger city, though, so more chance of being caught on camera...”

He trailed off, mulling over Loki’s concerns about the hotel. He hadn’t even thought of that. What if they didn’t have double bed rooms? What if they asked him for an ID? He wouldn’t pay with a card, obviously, but if they needed his license, someone might figure out who he was, and then they’d be in hot water. He’d have to lie if it came to that; the thought made him cringe as he _knew_ he couldn’t lie worth a damn, but if he came up with something and rehearsed it ahead of time, it might pass muster. 

“Most hotels offer rooms with two beds, I think.” He hadn’t stayed in many hotels, but he was sure he’d seen that on the TV or in one of the many movies he’d watched to catch up on popular culture. “We’ll just ask for a room with two, and then no one will be the wiser if one isn’t slept in.” If there was a problem, well, as much as Steve wanted to stop and get his head in order so he could keep his promise to Loki that he’d talk about everything bothering him, he’d just have to put it off. They’d keep driving until they found another option. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have plenty of daylight left, after all. 

He had his plate clean in what felt like no time at all, and flagged Jenny down for the check. The sooner they worked out this next hurdle, the better. 

  
  


  
  


Loki hurried to finish his salad, aware that now Steve was worried about this instead. And it was a necessary worry, something that it was better to be prepared for, but he still felt bad for being the one to bring it up, particularly as it was he who needed Steve to do everything. 

He who was the helpless, useless burden. 

He should learn to just keep his mouth closed, he thought, and not voice his every worry as it occurred to him. Steve had managed to keep his contained since they left. Loki was spoiled by having Steve here to act as his crutch, and he was putting weight on him that he shouldn’t have to shoulder. Not today. Not after all he had done-- all he was actively doing for Loki. 

Loki pushed his dishes towards the middle of the table.

“We will do whatever we need to. If there is a room, we will make it work, even if I have to sneak in.” He shrugged it off, despite his continued uncertainty. 

“I will be of more help tomorrow.” He reminded them both. “When I can simply take keys and leave money and bespell the register.” It wasn’t perfect, he knew, but Steve could hardly object, given that they were technically still paying for services rendered. 

And it meant that he was useful in a way, which would help both of them. He would not feel like so much dead weight, and Steve would have to carry less of it. 

Better still if the dead weight could quit moaning. 

“It will work out.” He assured him. “There will be hot showers and quiet and privacy, and we can talk and work things out.” They would be able to make plans, which Loki thought would also help. 

The server came back with a paper tally of their spending, and Steve unrolled some of his paper money to settle with her. She came back shortly with smaller denominations of the bills, and Loki looked quizzically at the bills left when Steve put some of it away. 

“Why did you not take the rest?” He asked. 

  
  


  
  


Hot showers and quiet and privacy all sounded good. Time alone with Loki sounded good. Planning would definitely be good, and put Steve more at ease. He wasn’t looking forward to sitting down and thinking about the ramifications of everything that had happened that morning with SHIELD, but it would need doing. And he could hope that it would be like ripping off a bandage; painful at first, but yielding relief once done. 

It took him a moment to realize what Loki meant by his question. “It’s a tip,” Steve explained as he slid out of the booth. “Our bill pays for the cost of the food and the prep, but the tip is payment to our waitress for the service she provided. It’s how she makes her salary by working here.” 

Out of habit, he held the door open for Loki on their way out, oblivious to the smiles and giggles shared by the hostess and one of the waitresses behind them. 

“A lot of industries actually involve tipping, which can be a little complicated,” he continued on the way out back to the car. “Restaurants, if your server brings you your food at your table, always tip them. Usually fifteen to eighteen percent of the total bill. You also tip delivery guys, cab drivers, barbers... and it’s one of those things where if you’re not sure, it’s okay to ask, since the rules vary a lot. Some countries just include the cost of service in the bill...” he rambled on as they got in the car (he had the trick of starting the engine down pat now), and pulled out, the scrap of paper with the directions Jenny provided now sitting on the dashboard. 

The inn turned out to be just up the hill from downtown, in a very lovely old tudor-style building with cedar trees out front. Steve pulled into the parking lot marked for guest use, parked, and then reached into the back seat for his backpack. “Looks nice. Let’s give it a try,” he said, smiling at Loki. 

  
  


  
  


Loki noticed the tittering and shot them a black look over his shoulder as he left, straightening his spine on his way out the door and drawing up to his full height. He wouldn’t tell Steve. He didn’t need to doubt and fear any more than he already did. But if he was so concerned about maintaining his appearances when he was Captain America-- well, it continued to seem that it would be easier if Loki were a woman. 

Which he could be. Provided Steve didn’t mind. 

He made a mental note to ask, later. 

Back in the car, Loki considered letting his illusion lapse, but the directions made it seem that the inn was quite close, and so he left it as it was. 

“It seems strange that it is not simply included in the listed prices-- service should be part of the overall cost so that when you charge the recipient, you do not simply have to rely on the patron’s good will and questionable skills in numbers to provide pay.” 

Loki did not speak disdainfully, only commented on it, because his mind was already turning elsewhere. 

It was not his concern to fix the shortfalls of Midgardian payment systems. 

Instead, he was looking over the building they intended to spend the night in. It was beautiful, to be sure, but the uncertainty of what lay inside brought his nerves back. 

“Should I accompany you in, or is it better if I wait with the car?” He asked, trying to ease the way. “If they do not see me, they may simply assume the other with you is your lady, and we will not have the difficulty of questions.” 

  
  


  
  


Loki made a good point. Two good points, actually -- the tipping system was weird and made it easy to screw over service workers who didn’t deserve that kind of crap -- but also about waiting in the car. It would be easier to hide the details of their relationship if Steve went in alone.

But, unlike the motel, there was only one entrance leading to all the rooms, so Loki would have to walk in eventually. And also, after the incident in the restaurant, Steve felt terrible telling Loki that yes, he ought to sit out here in the car.

So he leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek instead. “Come in with me. We’ll walk to our room together and then we can talk.”

The steps up to the inn’s door were made of brick, with a nice open porch overlooking the garden. The whole thing was very pretty. Steve wondered briefly about the price, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t have money. And considering the caliber of their first date, if one could call it that, he could treat Loki to something a little nicer now.

The older woman with short gray hair at the front desk beamed at them as they entered. “Well hello there! Welcome to the Thompson Creek Inn. I’m Gail; what can I do you for?” 

“Hello. We were wondering if you had any vacancies for tonight? One room with two beds?” Steve asked, Loki trailing a half step behind. 

“Well let me see...” Gail put on a pair of glasses that had been hanging by a beaded chain around her neck, peering at a computer monitor. “We have some open rooms-- Oh dear.” She frowned. “Looks like all the doubles are full or under renovation -- we had some trouble with the roofing after the big summer storm that came through -- but I can set you up with two separate rooms at a discount!”

Steve hesitated. It would be odd to refuse, but he didn’t want to be in a different room from Loki. For tactical reasons and personal ones alike. He crossed his fingers and took the risk: “Actually, you know what; just one room with a large bed is fine.” 

She blinked, then smiled. “All right, let me see here... we have King sized bed vacancies in the Rose room and the Emerald room... oh, looks like the TV is out of order in the Emerald room--”

“That’s fine, we don’t watch TV much,” Steve interjected. 

“Okay, I can put you down for a small discount on that if you don’t mind it.” She tapped at the computer for a few painstaking moments, then looked up with a smile. “All right. If I could just have a credit card and valid ID--”

Steve pulled a pained face. “I actually lost my wallet the other day and I’m still waiting for my credit card company to send replacements. I had a check from my bank on me, though; is it all right if I pay up front in cash? I’m happy to leave an additional deposit for any incidentals.” He’d practiced the lie in his head as they’d walked in from the parking lot, and considering how little time he’d had to come up with it, he thought he delivered it reasonably well. 

Gail frowned, tapping her finger against her chin in thought. “It’s a bit unusual, but... oh, what the hell.” She said the last with a small, conspiratorial grin. “Works for me! Can I just get a name?”

Steve’s mind abruptly went terrifyingly blank. 

  
  


  
  


Loki was surprised at the lie, and somehow gratified by it. Steve lying was… unexpectedly attractive. But Loki sensed him floundering and thought quickly. None of his usual names would help at all, each no doubt sounding alien in the most literal sense. And he did not know many names of those from Midgard. 

If he sounded foreign, perhaps he could play on that. He spoke the way Odin did, when addressing the court, his speech clear and stilted. It had often sounded to Loki as if he were chewing his words… which seemed to him to be a good way to affect unfamiliarity. 

“Erik? If there is no TV, can we go out later, maybe? I am not here long. I do not want to waste the opportunity to see…” and he had forgotten the name of the town. That was not helpful in the least. So instead he gestured back outside. 

Hopefully having a first name would give Steve a good starting point. Loki could not think of an easy way to subtly feed him a last name. 

Erik Selvig had seemed a conveniently mundane man, and Loki had to trust that his name was similarly commonplace. At the very least it originated on this realm, which was more than he could say for the rest of his aliases. 

And no doubt Steve would have a greater bank of options at hand, knowing as many Midgardians as he must. Then again, it might be a case of Loki and the menu. Too many options. 

Loki looked over at the woman, clearly older. He had not spent very much time near the elderly of this world. That she was permanently at this age, and so close to the close of her years as to have gone gray at the temples, and yet still remained working, seemed odd. Sad, almost. 

She looked kind enough, and almost amused by Steve’s request, and Loki wondered if it was a common problem, or if there were simply a lot of people who preferred to travel namelessly.

It was not unheard of in Asgard. Those journeyers just tended to be asked to pay more, as it was assumed they were important somehow. Or being pursued.

As they were. 

But Gail seemed very alone in the office. Loki wondered if she was the owner, if she operated the house on her own. 

He found himself peering curiously at her, and she saw him looking. So he averted his eyes quickly and looked to Steve instead.

  
  


  
  


“Yeah, sure,” Steve said, startled by Loki’s interruption but grateful a half-second later when he realized what he’d done. Not only had he saved Steve from looking like a liar or idiot who couldn’t remember his own name; he’d handed him one on a plate. Or half of one, anyway. Steve turned back to Gail, mentally reaching for the first surname not his own that came to mind. “Eric Barnes.”

“Eric... Barnes....” She repeated, punching in the keyboard keys with the deliberation of someone more used to a typewriter. “Alright, Mr. Barnes, you’re all set. And if you and your, ah, friend here want to visit the town, I have a few brochures right here--” She reached under the desk and pulled out a stack of glossy printed flyers. “We’ve got some lovely trails, and the historic society has a great walking tour of the town and the Civil War battlefield. The town museum is also open until six.”

Steve made a show of gratefully accepting the brochures, though he suspected he’d want to get Loki a little more used to the basic day to day functioning of modern America before he tried even mentioning the Civil War or any other history beyond what Steve had personally lived through.

“And here are your keys,” Gail continued, pulling out a pair of old-fashioned metal keys on green keychains, handing them over with a smile. “Just take the stairs over there up to the third floor. It’ll be the first door on your right. Dial zero on the room phone if you need anything; Walter and I are usually around, although Jeffrey is on duty after eight. Also, continental breakfast is included in the dining area until 9:30 every morning.”

“Thank you.” Steve took the keys and immediately handed one to Loki. A few moments later they managed to disengage from Gail, heading up the stairs to the specified room. There was only one door on the third floor, which Steve promptly unlocked and opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few worthwhile notes:  
> First of all, thanks for reading, for sticking with us, and for all the kudoses and comments. We get such a kick out of writing this and hearing from you!  
> Second, we're catching up now in our posting to where we are in our writing, so updates are going to slow down a bit. For the time being, new chapter day will be once a week, and we're going to aim for Thursdays to start with and see how that works with our schedules.  
> Third, this is officially the last M rated chapter. Rating goes up next week, which means exactly what you think it does. :}  
> So thanks again, and we look forward to writing more!


	19. Nineteen

The floor was old dark hardwood, the walls coated in cream-colored wainscotting from the floor to waist-height, and angling inward with the slant of the roof in dark green paint on up to the ceiling. A four-poster bed dominated the loft room, covered in a sage green quilt and a mountain of pillows. Paintings of forest scenes decked the unangled walls, and gabled windows looked out on to the grounds. 

Steve dropped his pack on the bed. “Wow.” It was a definite step up from the motel. 

  
  


  
  


Loki looked at the inside of the room approvingly. 

“You have a much better taste in rooms than I did.” He complimented, closing the door and turning the lock behind them. 

Loki moved in, a cursory glance more than enough to satisfy him as to the suitability of the room. He stripped off both the sweatshirt and undershirt, glad to be rid of the over abundance of loose clothing. His bare chest felt better, to him. And though he felt small, it felt better to be small than to be pretending, in front of Steve. 

Fed and now ensconced in privacy, what he really wanted now was to wrap himself around Steve and hold him tight to his chest. So he did, coming up behind him and sliding his hands around his waist, pressing his forehead against the back of his shoulder for a heartbeat or two. 

He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. 

“It is so difficult not to touch when you are so close.” Loki told him, a flirtatious little smile on his lips. He did not add that the lies Steve had told had only made Loki feel a faint twist of arousal. He was sure the sentiment would not be well received. “So Mister Eric Barnes, this is ours for the night.” He told him. “What would you like first?” 

Loki had not yet seen the bathroom, and though he knew it would not hold a hot spring, he felt comfortable at least that it would be large enough to take care of any aches Steve might wish to soak out… as well as giving him time away from Loki while he did, if he needed it. 

If he wanted to talk though, if he wanted to plan, or rest, or just… just sit quietly and hold one another. Loki didn’t care. It felt like they had left the world out there behind them. 

  
  


Steve stripped off his jacket and crossed over to the south-facing window, which overlooked the street and had a lovely view of the town. He’d just pulled back the gauzy cream-colored curtain when Loki pressed his body up to Steve’s back, the warmth of his skin permeating the fabric of Steve’s tee-shirt and sending a thrill up Steve’s spine. He wrapped his arms around Loki’s where they encircled his waist and let his head fall back against Loki’s collarbone with a smile. 

“Oh God, don’t call me that,” he half-groaned and half-chuckled. “I can’t believe I blanked on a _name._ Thanks for the save, there, by the way. That was about to be really embarass...” 

Something dark caught the corner of his eye and he trailed off. Out of the window, a large, black SUV with tinted windows rolled slowly down the road. Steve stared at it, straightening up, his grip on Loki’s arms loosening. 

His pulse climbed as the SUV came to a halt directly across the street from the inn, heart pounding like a jackhammer in his throat. 

SHIELD. They’d found them. He didn’t know how, but they must have tracked them. Steve must have screwed up, must have overlooked something. He’d messed up, he’d been sloppy and stupid and not _thinking_ like he should have been, and now SHIELD had found them and they’d tear them apart and charge Steve with treason and oh God, what if they locked Loki up where he’d never see him again? What if they tried to finish what they’d attempted in the hangar? What if they killed Loki, and it was all Steve’s fault, and-- 

The back door of the SUV popped open and three school aged boys clambered out, wearing sports jerseys and shorts. The first circled around to the trunk and opened the back hatch, hauling out a few bags of sporting equipment and lacrosse sticks, the three of them then waving to the SUV that had dropped them off as it pulled away. 

Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, suddenly dizzy. “Damn,” he whispered, letting his head fall forward against the window with a thunk and shivering. 

  
  


  
  


Loki’s concern knew no bounds, as it seemed his partner was reacting to something that he couldn’t see. 

He didn’t know whether to let go or hold him tighter, and he could feel Steve’s muscles bunching up under his grasp. 

“...Steve?” He asked in a whisper, as if they might not hear them if he was quiet. But Steve’s sagging forward felt like he was giving up. Felt like him being ready to drop. 

“Steve, are you alright? Can I… is there anything I can do?”Loki let go and stepped away, but he didn’t separate completely from him, seeking out his arm and clinging to it while he tried to look out the window around where Steve was standing. 

Loki did not see anything out of the norm, but just the same, he looked at Steve again, then caught sight of himself in the window’s reflection. 

He backed away, behind the curtain and out of sight, and tugged Steve to get him to follow. 

“Is it alright? What’s out there?” He asked, letting the illusion lapse as he did, which felt like taking off another article of clothing, really. 

Plus if they were caught, he meant to face them as himself, proudly, with his hand clasped around Steve’s for as long as possible. 

Fearing the worst, he looked to his partner. 

“Do we run? Or do we fight?”He was afraid the answer would be neither, that Steve didn’t want to see anyone hurt. He was terrified he would be asked to hand himself over. 

To let them take Steve from him. But he had promised Steve that he would be what he needed him to. And part of that was his not harming people. Any people. 

Steve seemed to have the right of it. Damn. 

  
  


  
  


It took Steve a few moments to find his voice. “It’s nothing,” he managed to finally say, voice strained. “I thought I saw-- I was wrong. We’re okay. It was nothing.” He swallowed. “It was nothing,” he repeated, as if saying the words enough would convince his heart to climb back down from his throat into his chest where it belonged. 

He felt like he might be sick. 

This would be his life now. Panicking and looking over his shoulder, jumping at shadows, living in fear that he’d been followed or that someone would take away the one thing he had left. 

The one thing. Because everything else in his life he’d left that morning in a stolen car. 

Oh _hell..._

He let Loki pull him away from the window and turn him around to face him. He looked up at Loki and blinked; the auburn hair and beard were gone, and all that was left was Loki as Steve had come to know him. The version of Loki he saw as _his_. He stepped forward and threw his arms around him, holding to him tightly and burying his face in Loki’s neck, feeling the warmth of his skin and breathing in the smell of him. “Everything’s fine,” he said, the lie sour on his tongue. “ _I’m fine_.” 

  
  


  
  


Loki held him to him, frowning but choosing not to comment on the lie, their shared lie. Not again. Not after Steve had asked him not to. He would let him come to him, in his own time, rather than push him. 

So he did the only thing he felt good for, at the moment, and held him, brushing at his hair and pressing his lips to his forehead, trying to hide the desperation and the fear that he felt, because Steve needed him to be the strong one, just then. 

Because he knew that it wasn’t true. Fine between them never was, and it was the only lie that Loki would tell Steve, and the only lie Steve had ever told him, so far as he knew. It was a lie born of kindness, and consideration… and it had none of the good feelings associated with it that Loki got from listening to Steve weave his own simple web over the woman downstairs. 

Loki got his hands on either side of Steve’s head and pulled his face up gently to look him in the eyes. 

“If there is anything we can do, short term, even, to make you…. more fine.” Loki gave him a sad, shaky smile at that, before pressing onward, “Please tell me. I don’t like seeing you upset.” He pressed a slow, chaste kiss to Steve’s mouth, but pulled away after a moment. 

“It’s been a difficult day. Avoiding that won’t help anything. However you can relax from it best, I am happy to help with that. If you want a bath, if you’d like me to give you a massage, if you want to rest, or hold me, if you want me to spend hours running my hands through your hair-- whatever I can do, whatever I can give you…. I want you to have.” Loki finished, feeling lame, and as useless now as he had all day. 

Personally, he thought that if Steve would give him free reign, let him have his way with his body, Steve would relax in ways he had never dreamed possible. But this was absolutely not the time to broach the subject. Not while Loki held him and could feel his muscles shuddering from the stress and fear and anxiety of whatever thoughts were tormenting Steve’s mind. 

  
  


  
  


Steve wanted to keep running and hiding from everything that had happened, the way he had when they were on the road. He wanted to burrow into Loki’s arms and take him up on every offer -- the bath, the massage, the cuddling -- all of it. He didn’t want to even think the name SHIELD -- all he wanted was the bliss of that suspended moment first thing in the morning, what felt like a lifetime ago though it had only been hours (how was it only hours?) when he’d been kissing Loki and everything else had fallen away. 

Only everything else wouldn’t fall away. Not really. He’d have to leave this room eventually and have to face the fact he had no plan. He’d also have to face the fact of what he’d done. 

He let out a long and shaky breath, counting to ten. When he spoke, his voice was steadier, though his throat still felt scratchy. “Thank you,” he said, pulling back slightly. “You’re right. Avoiding it won’t help anything.” Not any longer. “I think... I’m going to get a glass of water. And then I’m going to keep the promise I made to you this morning.” 

He’d told Loki he could talk it out. What he’d been thinking, what he’d been feeling. Everything that made him definitely _not_ fine. It was time to get it over with. If he went to pieces, well -- this was the place to do it. They were alone, in private, and Loki could put him back together as necessary. 

Forcing himself to let go of Loki was hard, but once he did, he walked directly to the bathroom, taking one of the simple glass tumblers from the counter and filling it with tap water. He downed the glass, making a face at the slightly mineral after-taste; it at least helped soothe his throat a bit. He drank another half glass, looked at himself in the mirror, then crossed back into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for Loki to join him. 

  
  


  
  


Loki could not call himself glad, because he knew Steve would soon be more upset still. And judging by the way he’d reacted on the drive, it could turn… he wouldn’t say violent, nor ugly, but… uncomfortable. 

He squared his shoulders and took his own look out the window while Steve readied himself for the talk, mentally preparing himself to take the brunt of Steve’s pain, however that might manifest. 

He expected he would feel guilty. He expected there would be things he hadn’t considered. He hoped he wouldn’t feel so afraid as he had in the past, but he didn’t know. So all that he could do was steel himself and take his place beside Steve when he chose to sit at the edge of the bed. 

Hesitantly, Loki reached out, wanting to touch him, needing to let him know he was there, that he was _here_ , that he wasn’t going anywhere. But he didn’t want to distract him, or crowd him, or make him feel uncomfortable. 

There was a long moment of silence. Loki did not hasten to end it, because he felt that Steve should. It was Steve’s silence to fill, as he saw fit. This was not about Loki, despite his usual certainty that everything was. 

He just sat, and touched his hand, and waited to support his partner as best as he could. He didn’t know what else to do. Not yet. 

  
  


  
  


Steve stared at the corner of the room. 

“SHIELD was founded by people I knew,” he began. “My friends. Peggy and Howard and Dum Dum, they took the bones of the SSR after the war and turned it into something new. Howard apparently looked for me in the ice for a long time after-- Anyway, SHIELD was their legacy. When I woke up, they told me the war was over, but I never really came back from it. SHIELD was the closest thing to the SSR I had. The closest thing to Peggy and Howard and the rest, and they gave me a chance to keep being Captain America. Keep being a soldier.” 

He twisted his hands together awkwardly in his lap, working his jaw. “They were the ones who found me and were there when I came to. They gave me a home and a job and a purpose. I know it’s -- I don’t trust some of them half as far as I can throw them, although, I could probably throw them pretty far, probably. I don’t agree with a lot of what SHIELD does. But it at least _does_ something when the world’s in trouble.” He chewed his lower lip, rolling it between his teeth. “I woke up with nothing, but SHIELD was a home, of sorts. It was a way of, of holding on to my old life. To an echo of what I worked for and who I used to be. My friends’ legacy. Heck, there’s even an office legend that they made the acronym spell out SHIELD because of-- because of Captain America’s shield.” He tried for a chuckle, but it just managed to come out like a choking sound. 

“If I had to go back to this morning, I wouldn’t do a thing differently--” he stopped. “No, that’s not true. I would have run sooner. Or, or talked to Fury or figured something else out-- I’d have been less stupid and naïve and I would have found a way to convince them that you--” he broke off again, forcing himself to take a deep breath. “What I mean is...” 

What did he mean? Steve’s head was spinning with thoughts, from memories of that awful moment he looked around Times Square and saw a landscape he didn’t recognize, to the horror of a red dot on Loki’s chest. How had he not seen it coming? How had he been so stupid? 

He dropped his head into his hands, elbows on his knees, breathing, then pulling his face up so his jaw ended up propped in his fingers. “I don’t regret running. But now that it’s over.. It’s really over. All of it.” 

The last tenuous thread connecting him to his old life, his old friends, had been severed. As well as the threads to the few new friends he’d managed to make. He hadn’t just closed a chapter in his life; it felt like he’d shut the whole book. 

  
  


  
  


Loki gripped Steve’s hand while he listened, aware of the pain building in him as the words tumbled out, as speaking them made them more real. 

He let him move as he needed to, let him speak, and then, only when he was fully done, did Loki look for a way to put to words what he thought of it. 

“First, you assume that because it has ended now, your partnership with them, that it can never start again. But each time I express doubt, you seem certain that at some point we will prove to everyone that I am here with you from now on. That I am… good, now.” It was hard to force the words out, but he did. “Surely once that is proven, you can rejoin those you knew. It is not forever, here. You can reclaim your life, and with your history, I cannot think of a single soul who would deny you that opportunity if you but asked, once you and I can prove definitively that you are yourself. Thinking… for yourself.” Which was the optimistic way of saying that Loki saw himself as the only barrier between Steve and the life he had built for himself. 

But it would only make Steve more upset to hear him say as much. 

“Second, what SHIELD has been to you is an aid, yes, they helped to you become accustomed to your new time. They gave you a sense of belonging… but they did so by holding you to them with the memories of the people you cared for. This is not a betrayal on the part of Peggy and Dum Dum and all the rest-- the betrayal was done to you by a man whom, from what you have said, you often butted heads with. And in fairness… was it a betrayal? You would have behaved more honorably, but not everyone can be you. I don’t imagine I would have done differently, had mine and Fury’s roles been exchanged. You are a powerful and good asset. Losing you to me is dangerous, not only if you were ensorcelled, but more… if you are not, from what you have said…” Loki petered off. 

“No matter what comes of you, what comes of peoples’ belief in you, you are and always have been a good man. But there are times in any life that you need to let go of things that are old to grow anew. And SHIELD seems to have been an… an anchor. You needed it, when being launched unsteadily into the world you are in now. But you are looking at a possible future. And, admittedly I am biased as it is a future, I hope, involving me, but just the same-- a future. And that same anchor is holding you back, restraining you in a way very much like a child too afraid to move into adulthood, with a parent too fixed on maintaining control.” 

Loki slowed, letting his steam drain out a little. 

“Listen. I have been… near where you are now. With the world you have known stripped away, and only darkness seeming to stretch out before you. What you fear is the unknown, the instability. But look at yourself-- look at me. What is there to stand between us? What can’t we do? You are not alone in this. You will have me until you choose not to, and I am sure, when you have the distance in your mind as well as physically, you will find that you have friends. There are none I know of from SHIELD who did not like you. Even Scofield, in his hatred, meant to defend you from me. You are loved, and respected, and all you have lost is your leash. You no longer will have to operate as a mouthpiece, a mascot. You can tell your own message now. And whether you like it or not, that message has to be a warning against Thanos. SHIELD cannot work against you in your defense of their world. It is impractical, and if you are right, it makes of them worse than fools. It makes them the people who would risk all of existence to scorn you. You hold the power here, not they. And that is terrifying in its own right. But you can handle it. And if you can’t…” Loki hesitated. “If you can’t, I will be right here to help you.” 

  
  


  
  


At first, Steve kept staring at his hands, twisting and fidgeting aimlessly in his lap. But as Loki spoke and Steve listened, his hands stilled, and he felt compelled to look up. 

Steve knew Loki had skill with words when he chose; knew he had a reputation for obscuring the truth. But somehow, now, Loki was able to take the painful, raw truth and shape it into something that worked and made sense. All just by speaking. And Steve couldn’t refute a word of it -- not that he wanted to. The tension and despair in his chest began to crumble, and his eyes grew hot and began to sting. 

When Loki was done, Steve reached up and awkwardly wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. “Thanks.” 

He wasn’t sure what else to say. Loki’s words were perfect and reassuring and Steve’s were all used up. “You’re right.” He took a breath, then tried to smile. “When did you get so wise?” he asked, pushing his hair out of his eyes where it had flopped forward. He really needed to cut it soon. 

He leaned against Loki, their shoulders pressed against each other, and his head leaning into the side of Loki’s neck. “I don’t know what I’d do now without you,” he admitted, coughing to clear his throat again. And dammit, he was crying. He cursed softly and wiped at his eyes again. “Sorry. God, I’m a mess...” 

  
  


  
  


“You are the least messy part of all of this. Don’t apologize; you’ve been doing wonders for so long now, I am surprised that you _aren’t_ a mess.” Loki reached up to capture Steve’s chin, angling his face more towards Loki and leaning in. 

“I am so proud of you, Steven Rogers.” He stared him in the eye for a beat, just to be certain it sank in, then he reached up further and brushed at the tears that Steve had been trying to paw off his face, gentler because he could be. Because where Steve was not gentle with himself, he needed Loki to be. 

“And if I am wise, it is the company that I keep finally beginning to rub off on me.” He pressed his brow gently to Steve’s. 

“Emotions are exhausting, and you look wrung dry. I am certain more will bother you in the days to come. It would be odd if there wasn’t something else that you discover at each turn. And it may all feel insurmountable, if you try to contain it, if you try to dam it up. Acknowledge your fears, and if I can, I will help you through them. If not, we will face them together. That is what we are now, isn’t it? Partners. And we will face the future as such.” He spoke firmly, the same sort of gentle command that he had found so comforting in the past. 

“Now. I would like to help you with something a little more immediate.” He spoke almost seductively, before dropping his tone into sudden frankness. “You smell. All of this worrying and running… Take a shower, or better, luxuriate in a bath. And once you’re done, I will make a point to work every stress out of each of your muscles. You’ve done so much for me today alone. You would not make me feel useless by denying me the opportunity to return the favor, would you?” He turned the last sentence into a tease to hide how true it rang and to take the sting out of the words. 

“We will worry about planning for the future later. Maintenance is our top priority at the moment. Soldier.” He tacked on, testing it out. He watched Steve’s face carefully, trying to see if he’d crossed any lines. 

Feeling vulnerable, he always felt more comfortable when others made decisions, when others took control. He wasn’t sure if Steve was the same or not. He didn’t want his domineering attitude to chafe. 

  
  


  
  


Steve had to press his lips into a line to keep his composure as Loki wiped away his tears and held his face and told him how proud he was. He felt like a pathetic weeping child, but at the same time, he wanted to surrender to the closeness and the sweetness of it and wrap himself up in it, if only for a little while. 

He smiled weakly when Loki commented on his smell, and then chuckled when he called him Soldier. It was funny, but at the same time, there was something oddly comforting about letting Loki take command. Steve had been the one calling the shots and taking the wheel this whole time. Having a clear cut order to follow and the burden of decision-making lifted from his shoulders, even for an hour or two, felt like a gift. Especially because he trusted Loki. 

“Yessir,” he murmured. Then, softer, “partner.” He let his forehead fall against Loki’s and closed his eyes for a moment, then briefly pressed in for a quick kiss before getting up. 

A bath sounded nice, he thought, recalling the soak they’d taken in the hot spring the other day. But at the same time, he didn’t want to spend too long out of sight of Loki. He was pretty sure that having him there was the one thing tethering him to sanity; SHIELD might no longer serve as his anchor, but he was starting to think Loki might be his new one. In the best possible way. 

He peeled his shirt off on his way to the bathroom, getting the buckle on his belt undone before he entered the bathroom, shutting the door just before he shucked his pants altogether and crossed over to turn the water on. 

The shower, to Loki’s credit, felt damn good. Steve fiddled with the assorted little bottles of organic soap and shampoo and worked up a good lather, scrubbing himself down and then allowing himself to stand under the scalding spray until he began to feel lightheaded. When he finally turned the water off, he climbed out and wrapped himself in one of the softest, fluffiest towels he’d ever experienced in his life. 

He also made a decision. 

SHIELD might not be a completely closed book to him, but like Loki said, the leash was cut. He wasn’t sure what he was doing with his life now, beyond the obvious imperative to fight Thanos and protect his world. But he knew he wanted to do it with Loki. Loki, who wanted to grow old with him and didn’t blink an eye at the thought of losing his immortality if he could spend his life with Steve. Who worried after him and comforted him and... and understood things Steve hadn’t dared talk about with anyone. Ever. 

He wanted to be with Loki. For as long as he could. And in every way he could. 

Towel wrapped around his hips, hair mussed in damp spikes, he stepped out of the bathroom into the bedroom. “Hey,” he said softly. 

  
  


  
  


Loki looked up, his face guilty at being caught fiddling with the broken television. 

He’d seen how they were supposed to work, from the one in the other room, but he hadn’t had much opportunity to see how they _did_. And if it was broken he couldn’t very well break it further, save through excessive force or violence. 

Besides, he’d ordered Steve off to shower, without ever having considered how he might spend the time. He hadn’t the Stark Reader that Steve had loaded for him; that was still in the cell back at SHIELD. He really didn’t have much in the way of personal means of amusement. 

But at least Steve would be a little clearer headed, after their talk and a shower. He hoped. 

At least he should be able to breathe a little easier now, and perhaps even sleep that night. It was all he could hope for at this point. 

“Hey.” Loki mimicked, standing as casually as he could from where he was crouched in front of the device. 

Loki felt his eyes drift down Steve’s form, still wet, nearly to the point of dripping. 

“Everything alright?” He asked, then quickly followed, “And this time don’t say _fine_.” He raised one finger mock threateningly. 

He kept his eyes firmly fixed on Steve’s face while he spoke, though, stamping down on any urges that would be other than calming, tender, and helpful at the moment. He needed to be able to emotionally support Steve, without being lost in how ridiculously attractive he was. 

  
  


  
  


Steve looked at Loki. 

He breathed in. Held it. Breathed out. 

God, he was beautiful. And kind and good and smart, and, and-- 

And _Steve’s._

He was here and he was alive, despite SHIELD’s attempt that morning. He’d been nothing but gentle and selfless and supportive and Steve needed to stop thinking right that moment and _move._

He wordlessly crossed the distance between them, took Loki by the shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. He then leaned back for a moment, just enough to breathe, then kissed him again -- this time deeper, longer, sucking Loki’s tongue into his mouth and pressing his fingers into Loki’s back as their bodies came together. Loki’s torso was still bare, and the feel of skin on skin was electric. Steve pushed up against Loki as much as he could -- mouths, chest, hips... He kissed him until he had to come up for air, though this time, he didn’t move away an inch. 

“I want-- I need--” he panted in a breathless whisper, breaking off and looking into Loki’s green eyes pleadingly. 

Steve was giving permission. But he needed Loki to take command. 

  
  


  
  


Loki reacted. How could he not? He responded in kind, at first taking this to be another desperate kiss, another teasing taste of what would some day be. And then Steve spoke. 

This was everything he had thought about, as often as he could and some times when he shouldn’t. Steve’s hands, his lips and his body, even his words were an invitation. And Loki wanted nothing more than to lean into it, to guide him back and into bed, to show him just how good the twin lines of hardness pressed between them could be made to feel, how good all of him could feel. He wanted to give Steve what he asked for, what he needed. 

What he thought he needed. 

Cursing himself, it was Loki who pulled away, not completely, but he took a full step back. 

“I want to give you that. Right now. The way I do always, the way I have for… ugh, _so long_. But do you remember-- I wanted to taste you, and you wouldn’t let me because I was… not on solid footing? Steve, this is horribly unfair, I am not so good a man as you. And I _want_ but… I have to be certain that you are sure. I do not want this to be a regret for you.” 

His erection was throbbing at him in a way that felt angry, and though he’d laughed at the past about such descriptions in writing, there was an unexpected truth to it now. 

“You are scared. You feel lost and vulnerable. And throwing yourself from one unknown into another is not the way to solve anything. If you want this, if you are sure… I will give it to you. Slowly, carefully, with all of the love and gentleness you deserve. I will have you and have you have me as thoroughly as possible, until we’re both exhausted, and then sleep and wake to repeat it again. I do not have any qualms about that. Save that you aren’t--” Loki huffed out a breath and laughed at himself, taking another step back and watching Steve’s face carefully, for any sign that what he was saying might be hurting him. 

“I am not saying you cannot make choices. The ones you have made have kept us alive. What I am saying is that I want you to be very certain. I-- I don’t want to hurt you in any way. I think…” He paused, trying to think and having a hard time of it. His heart was pounding and he was excited beyond comfort, and the jeans that Steve had loaned him, which had been comfortable before, were now too tight and all but biting into his sensitized flesh. 

“Who puts metal in pants _there_?” He hissed, grasping at the button to pull them outwards as much as he was able. 

He groaned and closed his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose. 

“Please don’t be hurt. I want you. I can’t make it clearer that I do, but I want all of you. And no matter what we decide-- and we _will_ decide, I’m not going to just… to just ravish you and call it right-- no matter what we decide, I am going to want to have showered first. So you think… you be certain and if you change your mind, it will be fine-- no, not fine, it will be… it will be perfect. Yes? Give me-- Give me just a few minutes, and then we’ll--” He felt like he was running away, the same way Steve had run away from him. To hide in the bathroom. But he was not angry, save with himself, he thought. 

But he might be wrong. 

Once the door closed behind him he stared into the still foggy mirror, conflicted. 

Sex for Loki had always been casual at best… and at worst he had feelings for them that were not returned, as he discovered again and again that he was an exotic curiosity, a pawn in some political game… or sometimes, merely what was available and willing. Sex for Loki often hurt, in one way or the other. 

That wasn’t what he wanted with Steve. Kind, gentle Steve. Caring, sweet, perfect Steve, who had no idea what to expect. And the Loki of just a few months ago would have positively leapt on the offer, on the opportunity. 

But the Loki of a few months ago didn’t love this man. And staring into his face, he had some pride in that. 

He still hated himself for it, too, though, which still made no sense. But then, with Loki, little did. 

He stripped and started the shower, intending to pull himself off as quickly and silently as possible. He was virile, he could become hard again soon after. But it would give him the clear mind to care for Steve as he ought to, if they did decide to go forward… and at least some small measure of relief from the roiling arousal in his stomach, if they didn’t. 

That made sense. 

  
  


  
  


Steve frowned in confusion, trying to process what had just happened. He had wanted sex. Loki had wanted sex. Steve had finally been ready and had told him and been prepared to take the plunge... 

... And Loki had run off into the bathroom. 

He groaned and sank down on to the bed, erection uncomfortable now where it tented the towel. He felt a mixture of confusion, frustration, and arousal, with the latter making it hard to think clearly through the causes of the first two. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, trying to focus on things that weren’t Loki (tight against his jeans, pulling his clothes off, climbing naked into the shower--), and instead concentrating on topics that would diminish his desire (like Fury’s one-eyed, disapproving look) until the blood had migrated back north to his brain. 

Loki wasn’t currently naked on top of Steve because... because Loki had been afraid that he was too emotional. That he wasn’t thinking clearly and that he’d regret his actions. He hadn’t wanted to take advantage. 

Steve fell back on the bed with a noise of frustration. Dammit, he’d rehabilitated him _too well_. He appreciated Loki’s concern. It irked him to no end, but he appreciated it all the same. It was very considerate and very sweet and very misplaced. 

Wasn’t it? 

Yes, Steve was emotionally compromised from everything that happened, but he wasn’t beyond reason. If he was going to have regrets, he’d rather it be for something they actually did, rather than another missed opportunity. He’d been cheated out of so much time; he didn’t want to waste it this time around. Besides, he knew Loki wouldn’t hurt him or cause him pain, physical or otherwise. 

The reverse though, he realized, might not be the case. He shivered, the water droplets from the shower cooling on his skin. When he hadn’t been ready, Loki hadn’t pushed him to do anything he felt ill at ease about. Now that Steve was comfortable with the prospect, Loki clearly still had reservations. What sort of partner would he be if he ignored those and pushed Loki anyway? Would _Loki_ have regrets? 

The chill feeling growing more pronounced, Steve unwrapped the towel from his waist and set about drying himself off the rest of the way. He picked his shirt up off the floor, but realized his pants were still in the bathroom where Loki had retreated, and Loki had his spare jeans. He might have a pair of sweats in his pack, he reckoned, but he didn’t want to dirty any more clothes than he had to. Perhaps he would ask Gail later if there was a laundromat nearby. 

Naked and covered in goosebumps, Steve decided to slip under the green comforter on the bed, wriggling down between insanely soft sheets. When Loki came out, they’d talk. He’d explain that he didn’t have any reason to fear this or regret this, that he truly did want it, and Loki, and they could start small and easy, just touching, or they could wait if Loki didn’t wish to. 

Once Loki was done showering. 

Steve burrowed into the blankets, closing his eyes for just a moment. 

  
  


  
  


Turning off the water, he came out. He gave himself a cursory pat down by the towel, then wrapped it around his hips, leaving both of their respective clothings where they were, not prepared to handle that as well. 

He was clean, and ready, and his heart was thudding under his ribs. 

“Okay.” He told himself. It was hardly a stirring speech, and looking at himself would not help to restore his flagged erection. He turned away and took a deep breath, tasting the moisture in the air in the way it felt heavy in his chest. 

He could have handled that better. He could have stayed and spoken with him. He’d have wanted to shower regardless, though. And the space to think wasn’t-- it did give him the clarity he wanted. 

He was nervous, and all he could think was that it was due to it being _Steve_. Anyone else, he would not be afraid. And that made no sense, or next to none, given Steve’s healing advantage. Not that he intended to hurt him in any way that might require it. Not that he’d ever-- damn. He ran some cold water from the sink and splashed it on his face, and started in thinking of what he did want to do for Steve, the ways he wanted to show him that sex should be. 

Planning did help, after all. Even if you didn’t end up sticking to the plans in the end. 

When he came out of the bathroom, Steve had slid beneath the blankets and Loki felt a pang of worry that he’d still somehow managed to make him feel inadequate. His eyes were closed, though, and it had been a long, tiring day. He would not be disappointed if Steve had fallen asleep, he told himself firmly. Inwardly though, he groaned. 

Trying to be good was such a pain. 

He crossed to stand at the foot of the bed, leaning against the post at Steve’s feet. 

“Hey.” He said softly, the way that Steve had done, not sure how else to start this. If it was to be started at all. 

  
  


  
  


Steve didn’t realize he’d dozed off until the sound of Loki’s voice woke him. He blinked sleepily, coming back to the world... and the stunning sight of Loki standing at the end of the bed, damp and naked and beautiful. 

He swallowed, licking dry lips, and taking a moment to drink in the sight. Carefully, he smiled. “Hey. You okay?” He didn’t want to have pushed Loki too hard or made him uncomfortable. And he didn’t want to frighten him off now. He must have come on too strong, too forceful, too desperate before. He’d be... They’d talk about it first, now. And if Loki had reservations, well. Perhaps he would just allow Steve to hold and kiss him as before. 

He’d like that too. 

Shifting to make room on the bed, Steve lifted the blankets in invitation. “C’mere?” 

  
  


  
  


Loki went to him gladly, uncertain how to slide beneath the blankets when only tentatively wrapped around with the towel. 

“I am more than okay. I’m with you.” Loki took a deep breath and turned worried eyes to Steve’s face. The fact that he wasn’t trying to avoid him helped, and he had half expected that he would be gone, or pretend to be asleep, rather than face him, if he thought he might disappoint Loki. 

“Are _you_ okay? I didn’t mean to-- you took me a bit by surprise.” He sat himself on the bed beside Steve, unable to swing his legs up fully without risking losing his towel. He looked sheepish, he was sure, his hair curling with moisture and his grin self deprecating. 

“How are you… feeling?” He asked, tripping over his words and cursing himself internally for it. 

Steve was the one who had been vulnerable, who had opened himself up for Loki and made himself vulnerable. So he didn’t know why _he_ felt like he was on the spot, save that he was being more careful than he was used to being in situations such as this. 

  
  


  
  


Steve sat up, pulling the blankets up to his waist to match Loki’s current state of modesty with his towel. He felt slightly disappointed that Loki hadn’t joined him in the bed, as he’d liked to have held him if nothing else, but if they needed to clear the air first, then they would clear the air first. “Yeah, I got that from how you panicked and ran away,” he gently teased. 

“I’m fine,” he answered; then immediately winced. “For real this time. In the important ways, anyhow.” He reached forward and let his hand rest gently over Loki’s where it sat on the bedspread, contemplating his words. 

“...I applied to the military five times before I got in. Every time I got marked 4-F, unfit for service. Everyone said I was lucky I wouldn’t get the draft, but it didn’t feel lucky. I knew it was crazy and I’d probably get shot as soon as I got over there, but, it felt like something I had to do. Something I _knew_ I had to do in my bones, you know?” He glanced up at Loki. “When Erskine marked my papers 1-A and let me join up -- I left everything in my life behind. Put my stuff in storage, ended my lease, and shipped off to boot camp. To go to Europe and get shot at. It happened so fast, and it was completely terrifying, but...” he looked back down at the bedspread and pressed his lips together. “But at the same time, it felt _right._ More than anything else.” 

“I guess... I guess I feel a little like that now.” The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “I’m a little freaked out, sure, but... this? With you? Feels right.” 

He shifted a little closer and closed his fingers more firmly around Loki’s. “I’ve got a lot of stuff I regret. But more than anything I’ve done... I regret the stuff I didn’t do. The things I failed at, or thought I’d have more time for. I’ve wasted my time before and-- and I don’t want to make that mistake again. I want this, and I don’t want to pass it up or miss a second of it. You could have died this morning, and we’d only just...” he trailed off, adam’s apple bobbing. “I want to be with you. And I want to be _with_ you. And if you’re not comfortable, then sure, we don’t have to do anything. But if you do, then, I do too. And I’m sure.” 

  
  


  
  


Loki wanted to laugh. He was certain he would hurt his feelings if he did, though. 

“There is nothing I am uncomfortable about other than the idea of potentially taking advantage of you. You’d been so hesitant before, and after the day we’ve had-- if you’re certain, and it sounds like you are, I would love to give you positively everything you want. Show you and help you feel those experiences.” His lips quirked upwards, smirking. “You don’t have to convince or coddle me. I’ve wanted this for so long-- my panic didn’t come from you asking, it came from my reacting too strongly and having no head for anything but how _much_ I wanted you. Want you. Even now, I’m--” He looked down, drawing their attention to where he was beginning to tent the towel again. 

“But I can’t-- I’ve had a lot of less than ideal sexual relationships in the past. And it stemmed from not speaking up or out, or not being able to. You have to promise me that you will. Tell me what you like, what you don’t. Your body can only do so much talking for you.” He brought his other hand up to rub along Steve’s arm, up from where his hand covered Loki’s own. 

“This feels right, but I want it to feel good, as well. Okay?” He looked Steve directly in the face, letting his own lust roll up through him, until it colored his voice and made his eyes feel heavier. He shifted, and his seated position was suddenly more inviting, his towel just a twitch away from being pulled out of-- all he needed to do was move himself further onto the bed. 

That, and he needed to be sure Steve understood, and would tell him. Loki had no idea what Steve wanted yet, and he knew Steve would have a hard time putting it to words, if he even knew either. 

He remembered, though, the way that Steve had reacted to the gentle pressure of his care, the mock orders he’d given. If he could take charge similarly here, he would be fine. They would be fine. Steve would trust him, and as long as Loki did not allow himself to be carried away with that knowledge… 

  
  


  
  


“Okay.” Steve’s smile widened. He leaned in and gently kissed Loki’s lips, and murmured softly into his ear: “I promise.” 

He’d need Loki to guide him and let him know what he ought to expect or do, but Loki was aware of his lack of experience, and he trusted him to take good care of him. In turn, he’d make sure Loki could trust him to communicate. He had no doubt, with all his care and worry, that Loki would listen and react instantly. 

He could feel his pulse climbing again, this time not from panic, but from excitement. Heat flushed his skin and collected deep in his belly, and when he looked at Loki, his pupils were blown wide with arousal, reducing the irises of his eyes to the thinnest ring of green. As he shifted position to kiss Loki again, the movement simultaneously dislodged Loki’s towel and tugged at the blanket over Steve’s lap, revealing the dark golden curls at the root of him. 

He swallowed at the sight of Loki’s cock, full and long between his legs. He’d seen his own, obviously, and had seen naked men before, many times in his life, though never this close or in this context. He moved his hand to Loki’s leg, calloused fingertips running lightly over the pale skin of his thigh, inching inward. “Tell me what to do,” he breathed. 

  
  


  
  


Loki closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself one final time. 

“What do you want to do?” He challenged. “Touch me. Wrap your hand around me if you like. But first--” Loki turned, freeing himself of the towel and letting it fall to the floor. He had no room now to be hesitant about his body, focused as he was on Steve’s. He took hold of the bedspread and flung it back, exposing his partner to his gaze. 

He breathed out softly, reverently. 

“You are so beautiful.” He told him in a whisper, eyes darting up to his face and back down his chest and to his cock before dancing upwards again. He twisted his body, leaning up to kiss him and using Steve’s shoulder to help him to situate himself. He pushed Steve backwards, positioning him so that Loki could straddle either side of his legs. 

He knelt there, able to feel Steve’s body heat coming up off of him, but not yet touching him anywhere but the shoulder. He looked down on him, so trusting. It made a shiver run down his spine, but only the good kind. 

“Is this okay? Would you rather be on top? My intent is not to make you feel trapped.” He said carefully, words enunciated as if he were fighting through inebriation, rather than just lust haze. 

He was close enough to kiss now, close enough that he could drop himself down and take the both of them in hand. But he waited in such a way that, if Steve was uncomfortable, Loki could move away very quickly, give him space or give him the higher ground. Whatever he needed. 

  
  


  
  


The thrill than ran through Steve’s body as Loki straddled him and gently pushed him back into the bed ranked up with the feeling right before he leapt from a plane without a chute. His cock, full and aching, flopped against his belly with the change of position, and he shifted out of instinct in search of friction. 

Loki, however, held himself above Steve, close but not touching -- damp hair curled in a dark halo around his head and the perfect planes of his body were taut and pale, except for twin spots of color burning high in his cheeks, and a matching rosy color where his own cock jutted forth. 

He was gorgeous. 

“This is great,” Steve murmured, so full of want he could hardly think of anything else. It was dizzying. There was a time he never could have dreamed that anyone as beautiful as Loki would have even given him the time of day, and here he was, inches away from something he’d all but resigned himself to never having. 

Loki had said he could touch him, wrap his hand around him... 

Reaching down, Steve gently took Loki in his hand, wrapping him in a loose grip. The flesh was solid and warm in his fingers as he carefully dragged his grip up the length of it, running an experimental swipe of his thumb over the tip. At the same time he lifted himself up, craning his head forward to catch Loki’s mouth in a kiss, sucking on his lower lip as he pulled him back down. 

Loki settled onto Steve, glad that he was responding, not laying stiff and confused. Not the way he had done, at first. 

Loki slid upwards, bucking into Steve’s grip and bringing them closer together, while still tilting his head into the kiss. 

There was nothing chaste about any of this, not any more. It was as if all of that had fled the room, taking the chill air with it. 

Loki was so warm, and so was Steve, and outside of the two of them, he couldn’t feel or care about anything. 

Within them, though-- 

“Wait, hang on--” Steve’s hand was dry and though Loki’s dick was not, it was also not slick enough to be sliding over that way. 

Loki dropped a reassuring kiss onto Steve’s lips before sitting up again and closing his eyes. He moved his hands, summoning from the pocket the same pot of oil that he had used to help the massage, to make his hands slide over Steve’s skin. 

“I’m sure you have already discovered with yourself, but something like this eases all things.” He told him lightly, twisting off the lid and setting both parts of the jar on the bed beside them. 

He swiped up a generous amount onto his fingertips and applied some of it to Steve’s cock, before gently taking hold of Steve’s hand and wiping the rest onto his fingers, for Loki’s. 

“You have the right of it, though.” He said, wrapping his own hand around Steve to demonstrate. he spread the oil carefully, making sure to cover it, making sure Steve saw the motions as well as felt it. 

He kept his eyes darting back and forth between Steve’s face and his prick, making sure that the reactions were favorable. Then, with two fingers on one side and his thumb on the other, he stroked downwards. 

“They’ve cut away your skin,” he said softly, “But mine must be pulled back gently, to behind the head. You’ve made a good start of it--” He tilted his hips forward as he spoke, letting the feeling of Steve’s hand on him sink in, before being struck almost surprisingly with the fact that it was _Steve’s_ hand, hands that did art, hands that created and helped and held… and now he was moving over Loki’s length, taking to it naturally. 

Of course it wasn’t all that different to what Steve must have done for himself, only from a different angle. Even so. 

Loki nudged at the area behind Steve’s cock head, darting his thumb into the dip, there. 

“Does this feel good?” He asked, trying to nudge Steve towards being more vocal… if not for safety’s sake, for Loki’s own benefit. The idea of Steve _saying_ what he wanted, how his voice might break down as they went on… it gave Loki something to strive for. 

  
  


  
  


Part of Steve wanted to object to using Loki’s magical oil for this purpose, since as he’d mentioned in the bath the other day, he had a limited supply. He wanted to argue that they ought to save it for when one of them was injured, or strained and in true need of it. There must be hand lotion or something in the bathroom-- 

The protest never made it past his lips. Instead, warm, slick fingers encircled him, dragging smoothly across sensitive skin, the oil silky and almost tingly. His hips canted upward into Loki’s grip, the muscles in his lower abdomen tightening and flexing. 

“Oh,” he breathed, mouth falling open. For a second, everything but the sensation of Loki’s hand went mute. Caught up in the pleasure of it, he only dimly noticed that Loki had oiled up his hand as well... 

His hand. Steve blinked, remembering that he had a task to see to, as his was not the only pleasure being pursued. He wrapped his now slippery fingers around Loki’s length, gently rubbing the oil in from root to tip, coating it thoroughly and then carefully, at Loki’s instruction, working back the foreskin to expose the glans. Clear liquid beaded at the very tip, and he ran his finger through it, tracing the slit and mixing oil and pre-come in his grip as he ran his hand back down to the base of Loki’s cock. 

He could feel Loki’s pulse as his fingertips, quick but rhythmic; he began to set a slower but steady rhythm of his own, his touch gliding up and down. 

Then Loki pressed down on a spot beneath Steve’s tip, and his head fell back with a sharp inhalation. “Yes,” he answered, voice strained, the rhythm of his hand stuttering. “That... yes.” Swallowing, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he traced his fingers around the head of Loki’s cock, over the rolled back skin until he found the same spot, running the pad of his index finger against it. “Is... like that?” 

Loki exhaled slowly, barely stopping his eyelids from falling shut. He didn’t want to miss this, though, did not want to miss the expression on Steve’s face while he felt, curiosity and pleasure warring on his features, flickering back and forth. 

It made Loki feel a little wicked, a little more like himself, knowing he was causing this small chaos. 

“Exactly like that.” He breathed. 

He gave Steve another few moments to explore, while he began to establish a rhythm, much like the one Steve had created, though he added a certain flourish to the motion, twisting his wrist upwards at the tip, resulting in further contact with the delightfully moistened head. 

“And then, if you feel dextrous,” He told him, ceasing his motions and guiding his hand away from his member, Loki scooted himself in and pressed them together, hard shaft beside hard shaft, sliding over one another with hardly enough friction to do anything but frustrate. “If you feel dextrous, you can take both of us in hand--” Loki Spread his fingers out, wrapping them over and around them both, clumsily sliding back and forth that way, his hips moving to aid him in it. 

“Or if you aren’t--” He said, letting go and bringing his hands up to Steve’s shoulders, “We can try this.” He shifted forward so that he was on his knees and nearly overlapping Steve, then he dipped his pelvis and dragged himself over his partner’s groin, applying weight and pressure in the best ways he knew. 

But the new position had two additional advantages, the first being that it freed Steve’s hands to roam and touch, and the second being that it placed Loki’s mouth right next to Steve’s ear. 

“And when you tire of this,” He said lowly and with a voice so throaty it may as well have been a purr, “I am finally going to get that taste of you I asked for.” He pulled his face far enough back that Steve could see his smirk, then kissed him in time with a particularly well placed thrust over Steve’s lap. 

  
  


  
  


Steve felt good. And Loki felt so, so good. Everything was sensation and bliss and God did he want more... 

His eyelids fluttered when Loki added the twist to his strokes, sending sparks through a fresh bundle of nerves. A moan slipped from him, unchecked, and it would have been embarrassing if there was any blood left in his brain to make him care. It would have been even worse, moments later, when Loki pulled his hand away and Steve made a small noise of protest that bordered on a whine. 

But a moment later, Loki’s flesh pressed against his again, and Steve’s breathing hitched. First at the feel of Loki taking them both in hand, shafts sliding against one another clumsily -- then as Loki lowered himself and ground against him. 

“Gyuh,” Steve gasped inarticulately before Loki’s mouth closed on his, deep and dirty, tongues seeking each other out, unconsciously mimicking the rhythm of the rest of their bodies. He moaned again into the kiss, hands moving to Loki’s hips to pull him closer, seeking more pressure, more friction. “Loki,” he managed to say when the kiss finally broke, looking up into Loki’s eyes and breathing heavily. It felt _so damn good_. “That.. do that, please, again...” 

His hips bucked up to meet Loki’s, hands kneading into the hard muscles of his lower back, pulling him closer. Their cocks, pinned between their bodies, rubbed together again, surrounded by friction and sensation on all sides. Heat pooled thickly in Steve’s groin and his breaths came hard and fast. “ _Loki....”_

Loki gasped in, tasting the air against Steve’s skin before he pulled back not to punish or break away, only to see him, to get a good look at him, at the way his long lashes fluttered against his cheeks and the color rose and traveled down his face to splash prettily across his chest. 

Loki dragged his hands downwards, trailing over the muscle there, thumbs brushing softly across his nipples. 

“You won’t last long, Captain.” He told him lowly. “I can feel it in you, the way you tense… the way you breathe.” His voice had fallen into the range he reserved for seduction, but there was no jest about it this time, and no conscious decision behind it. 

He leaned in again, dragging himself upwards in a way that was achingly slow. 

“How do you want me to bring you to the edge? How would you have me finish you? With my hands? Like this, with my cock on yours?” Loki let the words drip from him, keeping up the tauntingly slow movements, heavy, strong thrusts that would be so satisfying if he increased the speed. But he was teasing them both, now, holding back. He wanted Steve to tell him. To ask him for it. He didn’t think it likely to happen, tonight, but voicing it felt wonderful, he knew from experience, especially when he spoke to someone as receptive to his words as Steve was. So he pushed on. 

“In my mouth, Steve? Inside of me?” 

He thrust again, quicker, the way he knew they both wanted it. 

He bit at the inside of his cheek, holding back the moan he felt imminent when his gaze lingered on Steve’s lips, fallen open in his panting, bright and kiss bruised and tempting. He wanted them, wanted to see them wrapped around him, to see them skating down his chest… Not tonight, again, but now… now it was a possibility. Some day had become some day soon, and the thought was so thrilling. 

He was not as close as Steve, but he would reach that point soon enough. He was only glad he had thought to prepare himself. How embarrassing would it have been to have spilled already, to have come before he could finish his partner. This inexperienced man who was so receptive, so alluring… he did moan as he sped, this time, interspersing quick satisfying thrusts in amongst the taunting ones. 

He let his hands drift back upwards, not stopping at his shoulders, but gripping either side of his face, the thumb of his right hand dipping down to drag over Steve’s lower lip. 

“ _My Steve_.” He whispered. 

  
  


  
  


Steve made an aborted noise as Loki’s thumbs skimmed over his nipples; all of him felt more sensitive, more attuned to the slightest touch. It was like the tactile equivalent of when he’d emerged from Howard Stark’s machine and opened his eyes to a full spectrum of color he had never been able to see before. 

And when Loki spoke, the low pitch of his voice resonated with something in Steve’s gut that made him shiver. It was a deep and velvety rumble, with just enough threat (or promise?) to send what felt like a jolt of electricity running down Steve’s spine to his groin. 

“Loki,” he whispered, pleading, eyes beginning to water as Loki slowed to a pace just shy of anguish. The thrusts were slow and tantalizing, just enough pressure to keep him going but not enough-- never quite enough-- 

Steve’s fingers dug into the taut cheeks of Loki’s ass, trying to pull him in closer, harder. His hands roved, gripping, touching, seeking, desperate for something that would make Loki go faster. 

And his voice, a husky murmur in Steve’s ear, spoke with an eloquence at odds with the licentious images it conjured. He _wanted_. He wanted all of it, he wanted Loki, every way he could, wanted to be his, always, and he wanted _more friction, dammit._ Moisture tracked down from the corners of Steve’s eyes over his temples and into his hairline as his hips jerked against Loki’s, his body coiled like a spring. “All of-- yes, yes, please,” he stammered, voice threatening to crack. 

A harder, quicker thrust tore a short and breathless sound from him. His head fell back, eyes wide. The heat in his belly was tight and thick, his muscles beginning to tremble. Loki was right; he wouldn’t last long. He was so close... 

Then Loki was gripping his face, tracing over his lip, dark eyes boring into his, and there was nothing to Steve’s world but _Loki._

“ _My Steve_.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth digging into his lower lip where Loki had touched it, and his whole body went rigid. Then he opened his eyes and let his mouth part in a silent cry as he shuddered and came, spilling across his stomach. “Loki,” he gasped, voice cracking. His body quaked with the aftershocks as the last pulses of his orgasm faded, leaving him breathless and boneless, vision glazed and distant with euphoria. 

Loki stilled slowly, continuing his thrusts, though without the pressure, without the weight, just until he had seen the end of Steve’s cumming, and then he slid back a bit, giving room for Steve to come down, so that he didn’t overwhelm, so that he didn’t cause distress. 

More distress, he realized, as the drops tangled in his lashes caught the light, and Loki saw the trails that fell backwards down his face. 

He’d made him cry. He’d made him cum and he’d made him cry, and at what point had those breathy whispers of _Loki_ and _yes_ given way to tears? 

He wouldn’t panic. But gently, so carefully, he brushed at the wetness beside Steve’s eyes. Regretfully, he asked with a voice as steady as he could make it, “Steve? Are you alright?” He didn’t want to stop touching him, didn’t want to let go of his face, pull his hands away from where his fingertips wrapped behind his head and danced in his hair. 

This wasn’t the first time that there had been tears in his bed when he had sex. This was the first time it wasn’t him, though, and he hated that he could have made Steve feel small that way. Hated the thought of Steve ashamed in the way Loki had felt, at times. 

And part of him wanted to run and hide again, to pull away and cover himself up. The rest of him, the majority of him, wanted to be here, when he opened his eyes, when the looseness of his face turned sharp again, and he made whatever realizations he needed to, about Loki. About what Loki had done to him. About whatever had caused him to cry. 

And Loki didn’t know what to begin apologizing for until he did. His erection was flagging with his concern, the ache in his balls nothing compared to the cold that had settled at the base of his throat. He didn’t know how he had ruined things, only that he had. 

  
  


  
  


Steve felt like he was floating, his head weightless and his limbs made of jelly. Tiny spasms and twitches still rolled through his body, but he otherwise felt more relaxed than he could ever remember. 

_Bliss_. This was what the word had to mean. Everything felt so good and beautiful and he thought if he closed his eyes it was possible he might simply melt into the cushions. 

Until he heard Loki’s voice, calling him. 

“Hmmm?” A dazed dazed smile tugged at Steve’s mouth as he blinked up at his partner. His _lover._ “M’good,” he murmured, tilting his head to nuzzle into Loki’s touch where he stroked his temples. “Mmm. S’perfect.” 

Only Loki didn’t look as happy as Steve felt; his brow was furrowed, and he looked worried. Steve blinked more in puzzlement, idly reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “You okay?” 

His brain-functioning slowly returning, Steve looked at Loki, then looked down at his still half-hard cock. The semen splattered over Steve’s belly was not enough to account for the both of them, which meant-- 

He blushed. Not _quite_ perfect, then. He’d been selfish. “Here, lemme...” He reached down to take Loki in hand, using his other arm to prop himself up a bit on his elbow so he could reach Loki for a kiss. 

  
  


He wasn’t sure if it was relief, or only him being hedonistic, but he did not pull away. He leaned into the touch, letting himself feel. 

Steve was not upset with him, he… seemed to have enjoyed himself… Loki cut his thoughts off, pressing into the kiss with his own desperation. He pressed his worry into Steve’s mouth and let him think it was only arousal, thrusting into Steve’s hand that was again slightly too dry, the oils fled from the friction between them, but Loki did not care, and perhaps preferred it. 

“Will you-- tighter? Faster?” He asked, the huskiness of his voice hiding his emotion in it. It felt good, and he wanted more, craved some small roughness. He knew better than to ask for that though. Steve would find it distasteful, as he had in the other hotel, and more, he barely had experienced things for the first time. There was no need to sully him, while Loki enjoyed himself with his preference towards the things some called unsavory. Or… if not preference, his familiarity. He’d grown used to it, and he thought he liked it. He thought he-- He thought he didn’t want to think. 

His Steve was the one doing this, was bringing him closer to the edge, and even after his guilt had risen, Loki could feel how close to the surface of his body the arousal had coiled. He yearned for it to come crashing down on him. 

“So beautiful Steve, gonna make me come,” he told him, letting his control on himself slip, letting it fall by the wayside in favor of bucking into Steve’s touch. He wasn’t half so loquacious now, could barely keep his eyes open and he felt himself beginning to sway, not in time to Steve’s strokes, but in time with his heartbeat as the blood that was not otherwise engaged in his cock pumped hurriedly through his body. 

“So good, Steve.” He muttered, fingers tightening where they had fallen, sliding down to Steve’s shoulders again to keep himself upright. 

Loki bowed his back while his hips began to twist and thrust, and he moaned. 

“Yes, _Steve_.” The words were rough, barely more than a grunt. And he was so close, again, now. 

  
  


  
  


The position was slightly, awkward, but Steve didn’t care. All that mattered now was making Loki feel good, like Loki had made him feel good. He leaned into the kiss, sucking Loki’s tongue into his mouth and circling it with his own, hoping that was right, hoping that was something Loki would enjoy. 

His grip was growing rough again, he realized, the oil now mostly spread across their bodies and not his callused hand. He tried swiping up the precome that leaked from Loki’s slit, but it wasn’t quite enough to make his palm glide the way it had before. Loki liked a bit less friction, he now knew, but he didn’t think he could reach the jar of oil without dislodging Loki and risking knocking it over. 

Though he did have something else slick, closer at hand. 

Hoping Loki wouldn’t be disgusted and that it would be okay, he let go just long enough to swipe two fingers through the oil and cum on his stomach before wrapping his hand back around Loki’s cock, his grip smoother and tighter now. He even began to imitate the twist Loki had performed earlier, picking up his pace. 

And Loki was coming slowly undone, he realized, heart skipping with equal parts pride and alarm. His steadiness and articulation were dissipating, revealing the same raw want that Steve had surrendered to minutes before. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, pressing his lips to Loki’s neck, nuzzling into it. “You’re smart, you’re strong, you’re so good,” he continued, trailing kissed up to Loki’s jaw. “You’re so good, Loki, you’re amazing, you’re wonderful...” he felt like he was babbling, but all of it was true. He couldn’t say it enough. He slowed his strokes purposefully when he heard Loki’s breath catch, pulling long and hard and pressing his thumb right against the base of Loki’s tip. “I’m all yours,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Loki’s pulse point and sucking on it. 

  
  


  
  


He felt like he was choking on his air when Steve used his own slick to ease the slide of his hand over him, and he actually did choke when Steve began talking to him. 

It made no sense and it didn’t have to, a positive litany of all of Loki’s virtues, while his hand did exactly what Loki needed it to and Steve incorporated the flicks of his wrist to the motion. It wasn’t rubbing him raw the way he’d half hoped it would, but the hold was firm and the speed was fast enough that he couldn’t keep his eyes open. 

When Steve declared himself Loki’s, he cried out, the sound wordless and guttural, feeling like it had been torn from him in the same way that his release was, spilling out all over Steve’s hand, and Loki let himself tilt, slumping almost sideways as he experienced his second orgasm in the day, the second in _months_. 

He felt wrung out, physically and emotionally, and oddly at peace for it. 

Once he’d finished, he pulled himself off of Steve and rolled into the spot next to him on the bed, laying himself out flat and reaching for Steve blindly while he breathed. His hands found the oil first, and he spared the tiniest bit of the seidhr that remained in him to get the lid on it and twisted closed. But that was also the dregs of his presence of mind. 

“You.” He pronounced the word carefully while he lifted his head to try and make eye contact. “Are a very quick study.” 

He let his head fall backwards into the pillows that had been slightly upset by their movements. 

He could feel his heart pounding in his neck, feel as the blood rushed through his body and his breathing evened. He was coming back to it now, the moment of peace and emptiness passing. 

He let out a harsh breath and rolled onto his side to face Steve, not yet ready to rise. 

His lids still felt heavy, but he looked at him just the same, through lashes that drooped and threatened to close. 

Steve, spread out and flushed and covered in cum, debauched and glorious beside him. His. 

“I didn’t hurt you?” He asked finally, putting voice to his greatest worry at the moment. 

  
  


  
  


Steve turned his head toward Loki. “I,” he announced, leaning in to peck a small kiss to Loki’s forehead, “have a good teacher.” Assuming he could retain any recollection of the technique Loki used once the happy fog lifted from his mind. 

Hair mussed, cheeks flushed and glistening with sweat, Loki looked like a baroque painting come to life, beautiful and perfect and _Steve’s_. He couldn’t help but smile, pressing another kiss to Loki’s lips, nuzzling into his cheek. Steve’s heartrate had slowed and while he was breathing a bit harshly from the exertion of pulling Loki off, he wasn’t panting for air like before. Loki, by contrast, was still just barely coming down, his pale chest heaving. 

“You didn’t hurt me,” Steve assured him. “I promised I’d tell you if you did, remember?” He reached out with the hand not currently sticky with cum, and brushed a loose lock of hair back behind Loki’s ear. “That was... that was incredible. Everything I hoped it would be.” He smiled, and the swell of affection that rose in his chest was almost painful in its intensity. “Thank you.” He leaned in for one more kiss; this one slow and gentle, his lips lingering on Loki’s, just savoring the touch. 

He felt sleepy and sated, and would happily stay in this bed forever, gently kissing Loki until they fell asleep, only to wake and do it all over again. 

Or, he would, if he weren’t currently covered in a mess that would soon dry into an even stickier, crusty, harder-to-clean mess. With a sigh, he sat up, wobbling only slightly as he swung his legs off the side of the bed. “I’m gonna get us a washcloth or something,” he said, easing himself to his feet and then making his way toward the bathroom. 

He grabbed one washcloth from the rack, soaked it in the sink and with a little soap, set to cleaning the streams of come from his stomach and chest, wiping down his cock and also giving his hands a good scrub after he availed himself of a quick leak. Grabbing the glass tumbler he used before for water, he refilled it and downed it, not even minding the taste this time. Rinsing out the wash cloth and ringing it out until he was sure it was clean again, he returned to the bed with the glass of water in one hand and the cloth in the other, setting the glass down on the bedside table next to Loki and then sliding back on to the bed so he could tenderly wipe Loki clean. 

“We are definitely doing that again. As often as possible,” he remarked with a grin as he trailed the washcloth down Loki’s abdomen. 

  
  


  
  


Loki grinned, allowing himself to lay there for a moment, waiting for Steve to return. He could have risen to follow him. Could have gone and collected his clothing from the bathroom, or put away the jar of oil or… really he couldn’t be arsed. It had been a long, trying day, and it felt like enough just to allow Steve to clean him up. 

“There are variants on what we did that you are going to enjoy even more.” He assured him. “Don’t get me wrong, that was… I have been waiting to do that to you for about as long as I have known you. And it did not disappoint.” He felt almost rakish as he lay here, the pressure of performing off, and the pressure in his loins died down, and Steve was pleased and relaxed and caring for him. This was how their life should be, not tense from fighting about things that were irrelevant at the moment, not worried about running… Just this, just them, sated and happy and… perfect. 

“But I did not jest about my intent to taste you some day soon.” Even the thought made the tiniest stirrings of interest reappear in his lower stomach, or maybe that was Steve’s touch with the damp towel. Either way, he was very excited at the prospect. And once he’d taught Steve to enjoy it, he would see if he was interested in enjoying the other side of things. From there… 

“I am going to memorize each part of you so thoroughly…” He told him, closing his eyes and humming dreamily, before cracking his eyelid on the side closest to Steve to see his reaction. 

  
  


  
  


Steve traced the lines of Loki’s ribs and stomach muscles with the cloth, moving slowly and meticulously downward. Seeing Loki like this -- bare and on display, with no shame or shyness between them -- filled him with a joyful satisfaction. Right now, he didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought was right or wrong between the two of them. What they had just done had felt fantastic, and here they were, both happy and comfortable in one another’s company. Damn all the rest. 

He didn’t know if he could blush anymore, or if the redness in his cheeks had already receded, but he looked down in slight bashfulness when Loki reiterated his desire to take Steve in his mouth. Steve’s cock might have twitched slightly at the idea. He remembered Loki’s breath, hot on the fly of his pants, back in the motel room before, and how his blood had pounded at the suggestion even then. “That sounds.... ah...” he looked up and smiled. “Yeah. Okay. Um. You have to tell me what I can do for you, too.” He wondered how Loki would taste... if Steve could take him in his mouth without choking. 

Gently taking Loki’s softened cock in hand in the washcloth, he made sure to clean out all the creases before tossing the cloth aside and dropping on to the mattress on his side. 

“I mean it. Thank you.” He wrapped an arm around Loki, pulling him closer. “You were... you _are_ wonderful.” It might have been brief, Steve’s super-soldier stamina apparently not counting for much in this particular instance, but apart from that, everything had been ideal. He’d been with someone he cared for very dearly, in a beautiful place, and he’d felt safe and cared for and-- 

“No regrets,” he murmured with a drowsy grin. 

  
  


  
  


“What you can do for me? Captain, I will tell you… in no uncertain terms…” Loki’s promise was punctured by his yawning. “Not right now, though. Now is for sleep.” Tomorrow they would have to make plans, and worry about the future. They would have to decide who they could and couldn’t trust, and Loki would need to empty and rearrange the contents of his pocket, as it felt too much like being jabbed when the articles inside tried to come out. 

He tried to organize his thoughts, as he curled into Steve’s side and fumbled with shut eyes for the bedspread he’d thrown away. But it was no use. He could already feel himself beginning to lose his thoughts, the dim dark fuzz sliding over his mind. He let it take him, safe and sated, wrapped in Steve’s warmth and free of regrets. 

He didn’t dream often, or not in a memorable way, but this night, he did… 

_He was laid out on the bed, stretched wide open and vulnerable, and tied in place. But he wasn’t afraid. He trusted Steve, wanted this from him. He knew what was going to happen, that Steve would climb between his legs, that he would take him in his mouth and suck him almost to completion, and then he would slick himself up, slide inside… it would be perfect. So perfect._

_It began as it should, Steve’s long lashes fluttering against the swell of his cheekbones while his lips stretched obscenely around Loki’s cock… and then Loki began getting close, his hips bucked wildly and Steve had to hold him down with his super soldier strength. And then he pulled away._

“ _Shift back.” He instructed, and his words were mocking, cruel and cold. It was wrong. This wasn’t him. Loki began struggling in his bonds._

“ _I want all of you, Loki.” He taunted. “Give me your other skin. Shift back. Trust me.” He was cajoling, his eyes still hard and cold, and Loki felt terrible._

_Of course he trusted Steve._

“ _Shift. Back.”_

_Tears streamed down Loki’s face and he did as he was bid, closing his eyes._

“ _Look at me,” Steve demanded again, and Loki opened them and gasped. His seidhr had taken over his body, Steve’s krellr was gone and he was nothing but Loki’s magic now, filled with everything that had been wrong with Loki. All of his cruelty, his hatred. Everything he had ever been hated for, everything he had ever hated in himself. Loki cried out and Steve laughed._

“ _What do you see when you look at me?” He drawled. “Do you love me, Loki, or do you just see yourself inside of me? Is this what you wanted? You took my life from me. I’m just like you now.” Steve began to change, his face distorting and turning blue, his head changing to become lumpy and disgusting, horrific. A Jotun. He stepped in close and reached out, stroking his hand over Loki's chest, his touchy was icy like a dead thing, and--_

  
  


Loki woke, muscles taut and breathing shallow but quiet in the dark. He closed his eyes and swallowed air harshly. 

It was stupid, he reasoned. He did not want to turn Steve into a monster like him. He did not have the power to do so. And he would certainly not-- he wasn’t going to have _sex_ as a Frost Giant. He shuddered. 

He realized, laying there, trying to fall back asleep, that he was still nude. Still shaped like himself, all gross lines and sharp angles, the runt of the Aesir. And that was how he had looked when he slept with Steve for the first time. 

He could have at least had the decency to alter his physique some. He’d had the opportunity. 

He deserved the nightmares. 

He huffed at himself, annoyed but not willing to wake Steve up, as he feared too much moving around would do. He closed his eyes and began to count, hoping that at some point he would be able to doze back off.  
Maybe he would be allowed to sleep without his mind choosing to hate him, this time. He could only hope so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, _that_ finally happened! Thanks again to everyone who has been sticking with us and commenting!


	20. Twenty

Though it was early yet in the afternoon, given the painfully early start of their day and the level of physical and emotional exhaustion they’d both been through, Steve figured they were due for some sleep and didn’t argue. He reached down for the comforter that Loki couldn’t quite reach, pulling it up over them both. He wrapped himself around Loki, face pressed into his hair, and let himself slip into sleep.

It didn’t last for long, though.

Maybe two hours had passed when Steve woke again, bladder uncomfortably full. Daylight still filtered between the pale and gauzy curtains, but Loki slept soundly. Carefully, Steve extricated himself from his partner’s hold, sliding out of bed and padding silently to the bathroom. He relieved himself, then picked up and folded the two pairs of pants abandoned on the bathroom floor. From there, he spent several minutes tidying up, picking up and folding their discarded clothing and the towels scattered across the room, returning them to the bathroom. 

Loki slept on. Steve was loathe to wake him. He laid carefully back down on the bed, and for a while, curled up against Loki and watched him sleep. 

He was wide awake, though, refreshed from the post-coital nap and unable to drift off again with the sun still up. They’d done a number on their respective sleep schedules, he suspected; he’d woken early the morning he left Stark’s in New York, then had slept much of the day away after Loki had saved him from the scepter. He’d slept in again that night and following morning, only to sleep a few mere hours the following night. And Loki had been living away from natural light for weeks and weeks, his schedule dictated by boredom and SHIELD’s whims. 

As peaceful as it was watching Loki sleep, restlessness soon began to gnaw at Steve. Finding a notepad in the small, antique-looking writing desk in the room’s corner, he located a pen and scribbled out a quick note, just in case Loki woke. Getting dressed, he slipped out of the room, locking it as quietly behind him as he could.

From there, he attended to a few small errands. He found an older man at the front desk who introduced himself as Walter, who gave him multiple recommendations for places to visit in town, including directions to a used book store nearby, an empty lot where they might practice driving, a nice spot up the creek for picnicking, the number of the town’s best pizza joint, and the name and address of the only 24-hour diner in town (Steve wasn’t sure how late Loki would sleep, but suspected he might be hungry when he woke). He also inquired about laundry, and Walter assured him that for a small extra fee, he could leave any dirty linens or clothes outside their door, and they’d have them washed in the inn’s in-house washer and delivered back to him.

Part of Steve yearned to stretch his legs more and walk around the town or local trails, but he didn’t want to leave Loki alone in case he woke and panicked to find Steve absent. He plucked out a couple of used books from the shelf in the inn’s sitting area, mostly cheap paperbacks left behind by other guests, then made his way back up the stairs to the room. 

Loki hadn’t moved an inch.

Lying down on the bed beside him, Steve spent some time reading a rather insipid mystery novel until the daylight began to fade, then simply laid back and thought through their options. He pulled his address book from his backpack, peering at the entries in the dimming light. The first few pages were all SHIELD contacts and personnel; a few he counted as friends, most simply colleagues or resources. Natasha and Barton’s numbers were listed, but both were out of the question. After that there were a couple contacts from New York, Banner’s number, and then, of course, Stark. 

Steve closed the address book and laid back on the pillows, mulling over possibilities as dusk fell over the room. He wondered if Thor’s friends would be willing to help Loki, or if they’d immediately try to contact Asgard to come retrieve him. Weren’t they out in the desert somewhere? And who would be helpful in combating Thanos?

They were only, he reflected, four hours or so by car from New York.

Carried away in thought as the darkness of evening deepened, Steve was on the verge of drifting back to sleep when he noticed a change in Loki’s breathing. The slow and steady cadence had quickened, and Loki shifted minutely. His breathing sped up, and Steve wasn’t sure whether or wake him or leave him be when Loki stilled, his breathing silent, silhouette stiffening in the dark. 

Steve frowned, then moved his weight, the rustling of the sheets impossibly loud in the quiet of the room. “Loki?” he murmured softly, reaching out to place a hand on Loki’s bared shoulder. “Are you awake?”

  
  


  
  


“ I am.” He spoke softly, voice hoarse as if he really had been screaming, tensing at the sound of Steve speaking and then relaxing again, because this wasn’t the dream. “I’m sorry, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

He kicked himself for his transparency and tried to force himself to calm. Of course Steve would not do that to him. Even ignoring the impossibilities of the dream, he understood how Loki felt about… about that side of himself.

But then, he’d known that when he’d made Loki turn back so that he could touch him, too.

Loki sat up, restless suddenly. 

“ Excuse me. I need a drink.” He all but fled to the bathroom, though he kept his walk slow, casual and dignified. 

He splashed water over his face and patted it dry. He took a piss, found the pants he’d been wearing and donned them, then filled the glass from the tap and came back into the room proper. 

He did not turn the lights on, out of respect for Steve’s eyes, which were no doubt accustomed to the early evening’s lack of light. Loki had lost track of time, in the way one could when the room had darkening curtains. 

He brought the glass back to bed with him, sipping from it before offering the rest to Steve wordlessly, just in case he was thirsty too.

  
  


  
  


Steve sat up while Loki retreated to the bathroom, twisting and stretching and rolling his neck while he waited for him to return. Sex had loosened him up considerably, but lying still in one place for too long never did him any favors.

When Loki returned, he handed him a glass of water. Steve took the glass and sipped it, offering Loki a smile. He reached over to the bedside table and turned on the lamp there, blinking against the sudden light, dim as it was. He wanted to see Loki’s face; to make sure he was in fact, alright, and because Loki had a very nice face to look at.

“ It’s okay,” he told him. “I’ve actually been awake for a while, so you didn’t wake me. You slept a good five hours there.”

Loki, he noted, had pulled on pants on his way back from the bathroom, so they were both mostly dressed now. Steve hadn’t disrobed after returning to the room, not sure if Loki would want to go out again when he woke. “It’s almost eight, so we may have to postpone that driving lesson, but if you’re hungry we can grab something to eat. If you’re not feeling up to a restaurant, we can get takeout and bring it back here,” he suggested, not sure if Loki would want to handle the stress of dining out twice in one day.

Looking up at his face, Steve recognized the faint traces of tension around Loki’s eyes and mouth that appeared when something was troubling him. He sighed. What could have happened in the moments since Loki had woken that could possibly be upsetting. “Hey. Everything okay?” he asked, reaching up to lightly touch the side of Loki’s face. 

  
  


  
  


Loki had been staring at nothing while Steve spoke, his eyes unfocused and sleep ridden.

“ It is a lingering dream, Captain. That’s all.” He let his eyes flick over to the face of the man beside him, and softened his gaze, smiling ever so slightly. 

“ I suppose I could eat. Though perhaps you should simply tell me my order, this time? At least until I have a better grasp on your ordering practices.” He grimaced a bit. “Or takeout sounds fine as well, unless you are feeling trapped by the room, in which case I am happy to go out.” Loki shrugged, aware that the dream had left some lingering discomfort but fighting through it to seem normal as quickly as possible. 

Loki peered at Steve in the dim light, smiling at the way the gold of the lightbulb cast a glow on his features and hair. He’d dressed at some point, so he hadn’t lied about being awake for a time. Not that Loki really expected that he would have, but perhaps out of politeness… 

“ I am sorry, in that case, to have abandoned you so thoroughly to sleep. Did you get any?” He felt a bit like a lout, having rolled over and nodded off so soon after sex, and he hadn’t even been the one to clean them up. He swore internally. “And how are you feeling, after… after everything?” He asked.

Steve had assured him that there were no regrets, and that was good. Better than he had any reason to hope for. Loki regretted not being better, but he had nothing to regret insofar as Steve was concerned. 

The entire day had been surreal, the entire… week, the last few months. Loki felt like laughing at the turns his life had taken. No one would believe it, not that he had anyone to tell. 

He turned his gaze on Steve again, and the warmth had finally fully returned to it. 

His Steve. 

They were fine, in the way that was not a lie at all.

  
  


  
  


Steve’s smile broadened when he saw some of the tension ease from Loki’s features, the smile turning more honest. “I’m doing good. And you obviously needed the rest; I was the one who got you up at the crack of dawn, so I’m not complaining,” he reminded him. 

“ Anyway, I passed out around the same time you did and stayed asleep for a few hours. Then I checked out some stuff at the front desk and explored the hotel a little -- oh, and I found some books,” he explained, nodding to the paperbacks. “I was thinking, if you want, tomorrow we can check out a bookstore that’s in town. You can pick out something to read, maybe a couple CDs for the car so we aren’t stuck at the mercy of the radio.” He didn’t know for sure that the CD player in the car even worked, but it was something they could try. And if they were going to be in close proximity to one another for the foreseeable future (they’d barely been out of each others’ sight for the last fifty or so hours), it would help to have a few distractions they could retreat into so they didn’t drive one another nuts. 

Regarding food -- Steve was definitely feeling peckish again (it had been quite a while since lunch), and he could also do with a bit of fresh air. He doubted that the town was all that dangerous after dark, and even if it was, he and Loki were more than capable of taking care of themselves. A stroll would do them good. 

“Here,” he said, tossing a shirt to Loki, “how about you get dressed, and we’ll walk down the hill into town and see what our options are. We can get something to take away, and bring it back here.” There was no table or chairs beyond the small one at the writing desk, but eating on the floor was something of a ritual for the two of them at that point. “Air will help clear your head,” he added helpfully, recovering his shoes from where they’d ended up under the bed and beginning to pull them on and lace them up. 

  
  


  
  


Loki grinned, realizing that Steve was using his own advice on him, in regards to dreams and getting out of the room.

“ You’re right.” He said agreeably, well aware that he was complimenting his own wisdom in the process. 

Loki stood and pulled the shirt on, uncomfortable again as he remembered the way he looked wearing only the shirt, in the mirror of the bathroom of the gas station. 

He thought it might seem odd to insist on reclaiming the sweatshirt, though, and he’d left that in the bathroom as well. His shoes, at least, were here though, and he pulled them on, matching Steve in the process of getting ready to go out. 

He thought that perhaps if he didn’t look in any mirrors, he could forget the way his arms were exposed below the sleeves that made them look even thinner than they were. 

Strange, how he felt more at ease completely naked than he did in clothes like these. He still had no idea what Steve saw in him- not that he was complaining. 

He concentrated, having to work a little harder now to put his beard and hair color back in place, restoring the look he’d created for himself when they arrived. Perhaps poorly advised, at that, but. 

“We should aim to be back no more than two hours hence… I’ve only got a little seidhr left today, and though the glamour doesn’t take much, I will run out eventually.” 

The idea of a walk, though, was wonderful. Especially after the orgasms and nap, the idea of getting out and stretching his legs… it was entirely worth it. And the more he woke up, the hungrier he was getting.

“ I would like that, the shopping tomorrow, I think.” Loki said, excited not only because of the prospect of gaining books and music, but also because as he well knew, the shops of any realm were telling of its society. And if they could do such odd things to their food, he could not imagine the things they might do with their writing, their music, and whatever else might fill the shelves of such a place. 

“ Ready?” He asked Steve, gesturing towards the door. 

He was more eager to get out now than he’d expected to be.

  
  


  
  


“ Two hours,” Steve reiterated, checking the time. They’d almost certainly have found their way back by then, but he’d be careful, just in case. “You got it. And there’s probably lots of shops we can wander through and look at tomorrow, so if you think of anything you need or might want, let me know and we can keep an eye out for it.” 

Steve was already beginning to formulate thoughts of what they may need that they hadn’t recovered from his apartment or otherwise acquired. Being able to do laundry was a boon, but while Loki fit in Steve’s clothes well enough, it might be worthwhile getting him a few items of his own. They had plenty of room in the car, and clothes were replaceable. He’d also been toying with the idea of acquiring a cheap, pre-paid phone somewhere. He was loathe to attach himself to any cellular technology, but Natasha had explained to him how SHIELD and the CIA tracked SIM-cards, and he was reasonably sure he understood the concept well enough to stay untraceable. Besides, if he needed to contact any of his allies (few though they were), he couldn’t count on there being a payphone nearby.

The part of him that had grown up poor and treasured frugality cringed at the idea of spending so much money in such short time. But then, that was what money was for, and it wouldn’t do him any good just sitting in his lockbox. He’d saved up for a rainy day, and when they took off from SHIELD, well -- the literal skies were clear, but metaphorically, it had been pouring.

He held the door open for Loki checking to make sure he had his key in his jacket pocket and locking the door behind them. Already Loki seemed happier and more alert than he had minutes ago, the cloud of whatever dream had haunted him now lifting. It was a feeling Steve had all too much familiarity with, and he was tempted to just ignore it and let the dream dissipate and be forgotten. But his conscience niggled at him, and he put a careful hand on Loki’s elbow as they descended the empty staircase. “Do you... do you want to talk about it at all?”

  
  


  
  


Loki’s mind was churning through wondering if he might find softer pants, something without poorly placed metal fastenings, when Steve lay his hand on Loki’s elbow, causing him to stop in his descent. 

It took him a moment to realize what Steve asked, and Loki frowned, trying to decide if he did. 

“ It was a dream of being… no,” he stopped himself. “No, I think… not yet, at any rate. Maybe in a bit, when I’ve had time to think my way through it. If that’s alright?” 

He hadn’t yet had time to find good words for what all had transpired behind his eyelids, and he knew if he spoke of it without first finding them, he would only upset Steve. Or feel guilty. Or both. 

“Let’s-- perhaps on the walk?” He suggested, cautiously resuming his progress down the stairs. 

He swallowed, grateful that Steve had asked-- it was kind-- but worried, too, because how could he tell him without making him feel guilty? But he did feel he should bring it up. Because Steve did say he found Loki’s Jotun form beautiful. And he had backed Loki into a literal corner about transforming before. He needed to be sure it wouldn’t happen again. 

They got to the front desk, and then outwards into the cool air of the night, and Loki rolled the words in his head. 

He took a deep breath. 

“ Will you try not to be… hurt, or upset or angry? I would not speak of it, but that it is truly something that worries me.” He asked, hedging around the subject, wishing there was an easier way to ask. 

But if he felt small, vulnerable and ugly in this body, he certainly would not feel better in the other. And he needed to be sure it wasn’t something Steve would ask him for. He was willing to let Steve have his own limits, as well-- he thought he would be safe in asking for this.

  
  


  
  


Steve regarded Loki with concern as they reached the bottom of the stairs, making their way toward the front door and outside into the fresh night air. “Sure, take however much time you need,” he told him, surprised, in all honesty, that Loki had agreed to that much. He’d more than half expected to be told that everything was ‘fine’ and have the subject dropped. He would have felt good about that much progress and communication, but then Loki’s next words nearly made him trip down the porch steps.

“ I’ll try,” he answered carefully. “If I am upset, I promise that it won’t be with you, and it won’t be your fault.” After all, Loki couldn’t control the contents of his dreams, and if something was worrying him this deeply, consciously and subconsciously, it was Steve’s job to be there for him and help in any way he could. 

Out in the dark, he took a chance and slipped his hand briefly into Loki’s giving it a squeeze. “If it worries you, then we ought to talk about it. When you’re ready,” he told him, leading the way down the hill along the sidewalk toward the center of town, where street lights lit up the brick facades of the old buildings. As they approached an area with other pedestrians, Steve let his hand fall back to his side, though he walked close to Loki. Nearly all the shops were closed for the night, but there were a few establishments, restaurants mostly, that had their doors open and lights on still, and a small crowd congregated outside of a bar, where live music drifted out on to the street. 

It was a pleasant night -- cool, but not cold, and outside of the streetlamps’ glow, the light pollution was little enough that the stars were visible. Living in the city, Steve realized he hardly ever saw the stars. He wondered what they would look like on Asgard...

“Do you have any particular cravings for dinner?” he asked. The variety wouldn’t be as good here as in the city, but he wanted to check and see if Loki had anything in mind before resorting to pizza yet again. It was a safe fall-back plan, if nothing else. 

  
  


  
  


Loki shrugged, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket to keep himself from reaching for Steve, after he released his hand. It also felt like he was preserving the heat that Steve left with him.

The world was different, dark, and Loki thought he liked it better this way. The bricks cast their own shadows, and what had seemed old, rustic-- in the dimness and the yellow tinted glow of the artificial lights, they were beautiful. Cleaner looking, somehow. 

It also made him feel safer, like there was someplace he could hide, if he needed to. His hair was no longer long enough to swing into his face, to cut off the view of his emotions from onlookers, but the darkness could do the same thing. It was a silly thought, but a comforting one. 

“ I… have no real preference.” He told Steve, voice placid. “Something without spice, and preferably not bread based-- I’ve nothing against sandwiches, but not tonight, I think. If we can manage. If not, that is fine as well.” 

He was agonizing over his dream still, wondering if he shouldn’t just give up, let it fall by the wayside, and not worry about it. Steve wouldn’t really ask him for that, would he? But if he did… Loki did not sigh, but it was a close thing. Maybe on the walk back to the hotel. There were people here, and the discussion was one that should be had in private, or as private as he could manage. 

He let his attention wander instead to the crowd of people, the sounds from within, noisy and harsh against the relative calm of everything else. It was a tiny island of loudness and action, and Loki was glad to find himself on the outside of it.

He took note of the womens’ apparel, though, in the event that he needed to emulate it. He was surprised at the smallness of it, considering the relative chill in the air. 

“Something smells good,” he pointed out, garlic lingering strongly in the air around them.

  
  


  
  


Not sandwiches. That left an awful lot of options. Steve considered what they were likely to find that would be easy to bring back to the room and fit Loki’s criteria. No spices, no bread, no sandwiches. It couldn’t be that hard. But like when Gail asked him his name, in the face of a million options, his brain turned up blank. 

He startled a bit as Loki spoke up, his mind having wandered. “It does smell good,” he agreed, though his eyes fell not on the Italian bistro they were walking past, but the sign across the street for the Twin Dragon Buffet. It occurred to him that he’d yet to introduce Loki to Chinese food (one of his favorite guilty pleasures of the 21st century), and what the hell, if they were going to do takeout...

“ Here, this way,” he said, looking both ways and then jogging across the street. He ducked into the restaurant, the aroma heavy in the air, and grabbed one of the takeout menus, moving back toward the doorway so he and Loki could look at it under the streetlight. 

“Do you want to pick something out, or do you want me to put in an order and surprise you?” he asked. 

  
  


  
  


Loki shook his head, the words on the menu legible, but meaning nothing to him. 

“ I don’t know any of this. If you want to choose, please,” He shook his head, “I trust your tastes. You haven’t steered me wrong yet.” 

The inside of the restaurant smelled wonderfully, not like what he’d smelled outside, but there was something else to it-- something that made his stomach rumble audibly. 

Loki had a good feeling that whatever they got from here would be different… but not in a way that made him nervous or fearsome. He was almost excited. 

“ Can-- is it okay if I come inside with you when you order? I won’t say anything,” He hastened to assure him. “I just want to look-- there’s so much gold inside.” He felt like a small child, begging admittance to the adult rooms of the palace all over again. He’d promise to be on his best behavior. He was just curious. 

There were interesting decorations that he could see from here, paintings that promised to be exquisitely detailed and small statuettes, the subject of which he was uncertain of at a distance. 

“ Do most eating establishments boast such artistic treasures?” He asked. 

He did not recall seeing any on the walls where they had stopped for lunch earlier, nor inside of the place they had gotten shawarma, so he assumed this was an anomaly.

“Or is it that this is also a gallery?” 

  
  


  
  


“Sure, come on in,” he said, holding the door open for Loki to enter. He remembered Loki’s descriptions of Asgard, gilded and golden and intricate in its architecture, and he wondered what Loki would make of the kitschy decor. Steve stifled a smile as he went through the menu, mentally picking out the items he wanted. “No it’s not a gallery. And the gold is pretty much all just paint over wood,” he felt the need to point out. He suspected most of the buddha figurines and waving cat statues were made of plastic. He doubted that they’d be dining on gourmet Chinese cuisine tonight, but even cheap orange chicken remained orange chicken, and was therefor pretty delicious in Steve’s book.

  
  


“ The style of food they serve here is adapted from food in eastern Asia, which is more or less on the opposite side of the planet for where we are,” he elaborated quietly, guiding Loki over toward the tank of decorative fish. “A lot of places like this one incorporate some of the decoration and architecture that’s supposed to be typical of that region. Plays up on the foreign angle, I guess. Although the food itself has been heavily Americanized from what I’ve been given to understand.” He smiled, watching the look of wonder on Loki’s face as he took it in, then retreated to the front counter and the young man waiting there to take his order.

“ Hi, I’d like to place an order for takeout,” he began, then listed off a series of numbers, specifying which modifications and options he wanted. Barton, he recalled, was the one who’d introduced him to his favorite Chinese food place in DC, shortly after New York, walking him through how to order, and making a valiant effort to teach Steve how to use chopsticks (to Steve’s chagrin and Clint’s eternal amusement). 

The thought was a little bittersweet, since Barton probably hated him now, but Steve was distracted by the clerk giving him his total before his thoughts could turn maudlin. He paid up, and nodded when they were told their order would be ready in twenty minutes. Steve checked the clock on the wall; that still gave them plenty of time to walk around, pick up their food, and walk back to the hotel before Loki’s two hours were up.

“We’ve got some time before it’s ready. Want to loop around the block?”

  
  


  
  


“Sure.” Loki responded, tearing his eyes away from a fan, spread out and pinned to the wall. 

He held his tongue until they were out the door, then couldn’t help but laugh. 

“ It was like a play shop in there! Each of those things-- their art was like the traveling actor’s equivalent of what it appeared to be.” 

The thought was both amusing and a little intimidating, in regards to their food. Who would decorate with props, if they were so obviously not real, and what did that mean for the safety of the meal they offered? 

“ Will the food be safe, do you think, given the… shabbiness of the furnishings?” 

It was Steve who had pointed out the falsehoods, even before they had entered, though, so his knowledge seemed to imply it was expected. Possibly even the norm. 

How many of Midgard’s riches were in fact pale imposters? How poor  _ was  _ the planet he had chosen for his own, supposedly? 

He wondered if other realms knew, if others thought him even more of a joke after his attempt at conquering here had been so thwarted. 

That hardly mattered now, but the thought amused him just the same. 

Back out in the cool air, his stomach was even less pleased at being ripped away from the fragrance of the kitchens. 

He wondered if he oughtn’t speak up now about his dream, putting more time and distance between his words and their appetites, that they might mend any hurt feelings, before they ate. 

Or maybe he should wait… No. If he continued putting it off, he would drag his feet and not say anything, and with what little he had already said, he had already worried Steve enough. 

“About my dream…” He started, testing to see if Steve would mind listening now.

  
  


  
  


“ I mean, most decoration isn’t real,” Steve pointed out, though Loki’s amusement felt contagious. “A lot of the paintings on the walls everywhere you see aren’t hand-painted, for instance, but printed reproductions. And yeah, it’s kinda tacky and fake, but it’s part of the experience. The food will be fine, trust me.” The furnishings were cheap, but the place looked clean and smelled heavenly, so he imagined it was perfectly safe. And if it wasn’t and they got food poisoning, then they could take turns holding each others’ hair back while they were ill. Though considering some of the hole-in-the-wall establishments Steve had been dragged to which turned out to be hidden gems of culinary perfection, he knew better than to judge on first impressions alone.

Well, except for that joint on the side of the highway. That, he was glad to have given a pass on.

The air was turning cooler outside, temperature falling rapidly with the sun down. Steve found it quite refreshing. Given how long he and Loki had both slept and how badly they’d managed to mangle their circadian rhythms over the past day, he’d be surprised if between the walk and the food, they didn’t wind up awake for half the night. 

Of course, they’d recently discovered an activity -- a whole  _ slew  _ of activities -- that would help them while away the time until dawn, and possibly wear down some of their recovered energy. Steve pinked and beamed at the idea, wondering if Loki would be in the mood for a repeat later. They meandered down the street, around a traffic circle with a fountain, and took a left along what appeared to be a small park, dark and abandoned for the night

He sobered from his brief flight of fancy when Loki brought his dream back up. He guided them toward a bench on the edge of the park, close enough to the street that they could double back easily, but tucked away enough that they had privacy from anyone who might pass by. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  
  


  
  


He put his hand on Steve’s knee, eyes darting around to be sure they weren’t observed. 

“ I dreamed… it was about you. Not you as you are, but a nightmare version of you.” Loki spoke haltingly, glad of the darkness again, especially now that they were mostly cloaked in it. 

“ In it… we were going to have sex.” He skipped over the kinkier particulars, not certain they were relevant, or that Steve needed to hear them just then. 

“ And just… just as things were getting serious, you asked-- you said a lot of things, a lot of horrible things to get me to-- do you remember, when we fought in my cell, and you.” He swallowed. “You bullied me into turning into a-- you made me change?” It was difficult to say, and he also didn’t want to speak too explicitly, in case someone might be listening in. He didn’t want to look at Steve while he asked, and he didn’t want to let go of him.

He lowered his voice even further, both because he was ashamed to be asking, and because he didn’t want to be heard by anyone. 

“ You… won’t make me do that again, will you? Not… not during… You don’t want to fuck me as a frost giant, do you?”

The thought alone made his stomach churn, and he knew the fear of the answer was written on his face. Steve had wanted to touch him as a Jotun from the moment he’d learned it existed. Steve thought his monstrous form was beautiful. Steve was so eager to prove to Loki that he wasn’t a monster. And sex with Steve had been so beautiful. What if he did try-- beautiful Steve tried to have beautiful sex with his horrific self, trying to convince him he was wrong. 

He didn’t want that. He was  _ terrified  _ of that. 

“I can be anyone, anything you want. But I don’t-- You don’t want that, right?”

  
  


  
  


Steve’s heart sank as Loki talked. Because he  _ did _ want that. He wanted to touch those ridges and feel the cool press of Loki’s skin against his, wanted to trace the lines all the way down his body and map them out with his fingers, his lips, his tongue -- 

But he didn’t want Loki to have nightmares about him. And the fact that he  _ had  _ made Steve feel a little nauseous.  _ Bullied,  _ Loki had said. He hadn’t-- Was that what he’d done? He’d been trying to make a point, to help, to get Loki to  _ see _ that he wasn’t a monster who would destroy everything he’d touch. Words had been getting him nowhere and he’d hoped that physical proof would succeed instead. 

But clearly that hadn’t been the case.

“ I...” he swallowed. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about at least kissing you,” he confessed. “But--” he held up a hand, hurrying to add, “ _ Only _ if you were okay with it. I swear.” Guilt burned in his cheeks. “I care way more about you feeling comfortable and, and safe than I do about... that.” 

He placed his hand over Loki’s where it rested on his knee, though gently, so Loki could pull away easily if he wanted. “I like the idea of you being okay with it someday, because I want for you to be able to be comfortable in your skin. Both skins. I hope someday you’re able--” he licked his lips, aware that he was sounding sappy but not sure how else to describe what he needed to say. “I hope you’re able to see yourself the way I see you. Which is beautiful no matter what. But I give you my word, I will  _ never _ make you do anything in bed you don’t want to do, okay? And if it’s something that never happens, then it never happens, and that’s okay too.” He looked over at Loki, slightly desperate, hoping he understood and believed him.

“ I know that sometimes I push you and I challenge you. But I realize I crossed a line there when I made you change, and I’m really sorry.” He looked back down, chewing on the inside of his lip. “If I push you and it’s, it’s too much -- I never want to hurt you, or scare you, or make you feel threatened by me. So tell me, and I’ll stop. Tell me...” An idea struck him. “Say ‘Cinnamon,’ and no matter what we’re doing or talking about, I’ll back off. I promise.”

He had no desire to hurt Loki. Any more, he suspected, than Loki wanted to hurt him. 

  
  


  
  


The words did not hurt the way Loki had expected they would, if it was true. Steve was not demanding, not criticizing him for being afraid of it, for not wanting it. He was kind. Sweet. Guilty. And though Loki hadn’t intended to make him feel that last, he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge that it helped. 

“ Maybe… maybe some day.” Loki found himself saying, as if in consolation. He widened his eyes, already wishing he could take it back, but then he stopped and thought. It was always so hard to  _ think _ when his being a Jotun came up, there was so much associated fear and hatred. 

“ I have already taken that form... More with and for you than I did in all of my life before it.” He looked away but squeezed Steve’s knee. He felt a little shaky, but the words were true. 

“ Some time, maybe not right away… and we’d have to figure out the logistics of it. Neither of us would want to lay on a frozen bed…” He couldn’t believe that he was actually thinking about this. “But.” He hastened to add, “But let me-- if that’s truly something you. Something you want, for whatever reason.” He bit down on his tongue, aware that probably made Steve feel guilty again. “Sorry. What I mean is. Cinnamon or no, please don’t push me for that. I’ll… I’ll think about it. I’ll tell you if it’s. If I am ready to try. It may be some time. It was… in the dream, it was the pushing that was the worst.” Well, nearly the worst. But he didn’t need to bring up Steve becoming Jotun. That was too outlandish. So was sex as a Jotun, but at least that was… a possibility, he supposed. Even if it was an uneasy one.

He would need to practice first, so much practice. He had to be sure he wouldn’t hurt Steve by accident. He still didn’t know if Steve’s theory about his emotions was true, or if it was something about Steve himself. Either way, he had to be sure he had control, as much as possible before then. 

It would mean practicing in the bathrooms of their rooms, in secret. 

It would mean having to  _ look _ at himself as the monster. 

And no matter how much he said he saw it, Loki saw no beauty there. 

“ Until then… If you, if you really want that… until I am ready to touch and be touched, will it be enough, as it was?” That was a real worry; had Steve been interested in him at all, before he had turned blue? Loki didn’t want to push him away with disappointment. But he’d said if it didn’t happen it would also be okay. “We’ll do other things, but. You are not interested primarily in myself as a Jotun, right?” 

There had been stories of men like that, stories of men who liked shapeshifters for their ability to give them strange desires, things they could not truly ever fuck, unless there was a person inside. Stories of men with a perversion for things that were obscene. And how they could no longer enjoy the simplest, most basic of pleasures, without an element of the distasteful added in. 

He did not think Steve was one of them, but he did not want to leave him under satisfied, if he was. 

  
  


  
  


Steve felt the slightest tremor running through Loki’s hand as he squeezed his knee, and frowned. He wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or from the cold, but he intended to remedy it either way. He shrugged out of his jacket and reached over the drape it around Loki’s shoulders, his hand lingering on Loki’s back. 

The fact that Loki was willing to acknowledge the possibility at all filled him with a sense of conflict; on the one hand, he was thrilled that Loki was receptive to the idea and not ruling it out completely; on the other, he worried about Loki’s reasons for doing so. He didn’t think that Steve would lose interest, did he?

“ Someday,” he repeated. “When you’re ready.  _ If  _ you’re ready.” He reached up to lightly rub the back of Loki’s neck. “If you want, and only if. I won’t push you, or bring it up. You waited for me to be ready, and that was-- you were really great about that. Just... just that you’d think about it is huge.” Loki felt so strongly against this that he’d had nightmares about it, and yet he agreed to consider it for Steve’s benefit. It made his chest tighten in affection and something that wasn’t quite shame. Unworthiness? 

“ It’s not-- it’s not a big deal. I mean--” he cringed, because that wasn’t right. To Loki, it was clearly a big deal. “I meant to say, I’m happy just so long as I get to be with you. Any version of you. And I want you to feel happy and safe with me, in any form you have.” Asgardian. Jotun. Male, female -- so long as it was  _ Loki _ , Steve just wanted to be with him. “So, don’t think about it for now. We have time.” That last part might be wishful thinking, since they didn’t know truly how long they’d have until Thanos arrived and what would happen, but Steve felt determined to do whatever it took to have as much time with Loki as he could. 

And he’d treasure every damn minute of it. 

“What we had earlier was perfect,” he murmured. “It’s more than enough. Really.”

  
  


  
  


The additional weight of Steve’s coat on his shoulders was comforting. 

It was funny, to him, that Steve be so insistent on him being comfortable in every skin, when Loki did not think he was comfortable in any of them. 

The idea that Steve cared enough to disregard the fact that they were in public, that he was concerned enough that his fear of being marked as interested in men could be brushed off, in favor of touching, in favor of making him feel less disquieted… Loki wondered if Steve even realized how hypocritical it would be for Loki not to do the same, not to push his own boundaries, the way Steve had for him. 

Dream-Steve had accused him of taking his life from him, told him that he had turned him into the same sort of monster that Loki was. But that wasn’t true. They were building a life-- trying to save their lives. And it was Steve, teaching Loki not to be a monster. Teaching him to break free of the dark mires of hatred and fear. 

So, yes, maybe Loki needed to help Steve similarly. But there was nothing monstrous in that. And as for Jotuns, as for looking like one, being one, while intimate… it was something to toy with the idea of. Even if it still made him anxious now, made him feel a little ill. 

If, Steve had said. If he was ready. And what they had was enough. 

The relief that spread through him as his mind caught up helped to banish the last of his worries. The last of his fears. He leaned forward, pressing their brows together. 

“ Thank you, Steve.” He murmured. It didn’t feel like enough, but it was the only words he needed, at the same time. 

Loki let himself stay there for a moment, then sighed. 

“I suppose we should resume our walk. I am, despite all of that… still hungry.” He pulled his lips upwards and lifted his brows. “And I don’t think it would do for us to walk in with my wearing your clothes, do you?” He reached up and lifted the coat off, then stood and held it out, to help Steve put it back on. “I appreciate it, though. The walk will warm me plenty, I am sure.” 

  
  


  
  


Steve accepted his jacket back and slipped it on, not wanting to argue that Loki keep it so soon after a conversation regarding Loki’s boundaries. “Hungry is good,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets and beginning to lead them back around the block. They weren’t too far from the restaurant, but their order would be ready once they got back. “I ordered a  _ lot  _ of food, and we don’t have much space to put the leftovers.” He was fairly certain there had been a mini-fridge in the cabinet beneath the broken television, but all the same, it would be better to eat up. 

“ And you’re already wearing my clothes,” he pointed out, “though that reminds me. When we’re out looking at books tomorrow, we may want to see if there are any shops that sell clothes. We can get you a few things of your own. If you want.” 

Steve had spent enough of his life wearing ill-fitting hand-me-downs; a lot of Bucky’s clothes he’d outgrown became Steve’s, often a year or two later, and they’d still hung poorly on his frame. He knew the frustration that came of feeling like nothing fit quite right, and the satisfaction of having something that was all his and not someone else’s castoff. He wasn’t sure if Loki felt the same -- being a Prince, he’d probably had all his clothes hand-tailored for him -- but he felt the offer was worth making.

“ We can get a few books, look at clothes, walk around some more... There’s a trail that runs along the creek that’s supposed to be really pretty if you want to go for a hike,” he suggested. Given how long Loki had been cooped up in a cell, some time in the sunshine out in nature could be pleasant. “And I got directions to a dirt lot where we can try a driving lesson out, if you’re still interested.”

There was a part of Steve that cringed at the thought of wasting time here when they ought to be planning, collecting resources, and amassing allies to prepare for Thanos and whatever he might bring. But then, it was only one day. All the rest would come soon enough, and Steve just wanted one day to spend not thinking about it too much and doing some of the silly, mundane things he’d daydreamed about doing with Loki if they ever got him out of that cell. He had no idea what the future would hold or when the next chance they’d have to enjoy this sort of thing would be.

They turned a corner and up ahead, he saw the glow of the sign for the Twin Dragon Buffet.

  
  


  
  


“ I only meant that the people here seeing me in the clothing they had seen you in when we left might… make conclusions. The sort you are uncomfortable with.” Loki bumped his shoulder against Steve’s playfully. 

“ If you do not mind shopping with me, though… I think I would appreciate an ability to choose clothing. There must be something that is… if not closer to what I am used to, at least more comfortably tailored and layered.” He grimaced. “These clothes do not look so loose on you as they feel on me. I cannot stand it.” He’d meant not to complain about it, given that they had so many bigger things to worry about. 

“ However, we should begin making plans. I have nothing against any of those ideas, but the longer we stay in one place, the greater our risk of being caught. Besides… the sooner we leave, the sooner I can take off this moustache, and turn into Laura again. I will be a great deal more comfortable being able to touch you in public.” He did not mean to tease Steve about his discomfort, but to tease him with the promise of something more fun. Like letting his hands rove across his body, hanging off of him like an attentive lady love. 

“ To that end, any clothing we purchase tomorrow I will modify as needed. But also the sooner we know where we are going, the sooner we will know what things we will need.” Loki paused, shifting through his thoughts. 

Ahead he could see the restaurant they had ordered their food from. 

“Steve?” He thought to ask as they approached. “Is there any way for them to track us using the car? Someone would have noticed it missing, yes? Will they investigate, given how close it was to your apartment?”

Loki didn’t know enough about cars to offer to trade it for another, visually, and he had a feeling that the external forces of speed and wind would cause near-constant ripples in an illusion. 

“ I don’t want you to think this falls to you, though, either. I may not be versed in your world, but I do have a certain ability in tactics and stratagems. If nothing else, I will be there to talk through it with you, and help however I can.”

They were outside of the doors to the restaurant now. Loki stopped them with a gentle hand on Steve’s elbow, the briefest of pressures before he let go of him.

“ If you want to take the day, or several days, just to think and plan and make preparations, this room is not a bad one, this place is quiet. I do not mind. As long as we can be together, it is all going to work out.” He gave him a smile that looked much more confident than he felt, and Loki wished he could kiss Steve now, just a quick peck. 

But If Steve wouldn’t force him into another skin, Loki would not force him into situations where he had to fear for them both, because of casual contact. 

  
  


  
  


Steve winced. The shirt  _ was  _ a bit loose on Loki. Though he found it rather endearing, he understood the sentiment perfectly. “We might not be able to get anything tailored here, but I’m sure we can find something more fitted,” he promised, then grinned and leaned in with a whisper: “And in the next town, we can stop and buy you a nice dress.” Loki-as-a-woman in a sundress would be a knockout, he was fairly sure. 

His smile dwindled as Loki brought up planning, and the things that Steve would have loved to postpone thinking about but knew couldn’t be avoided. He frowned and bit his lip when Loki brought up the issue of the car. “I don’t  _ think _ they’ll be able to track it,” he said. Everything with microchips and digital signals was pretty new to him, but he’d had to steal a car on a mission a few months ago and he remembered one of the agents he was with explaining to him how the newer models with more tech were easier to find. The car he and Loki had taken wasn’t ancient, but it wasn’t new by any means, so he had to trust that it was old enough not to have any signal that could be found by SHIELD satellites. 

Not to mention there were probably thousands of identical sedans. “Swapping out the plates probably bought us some time, though we might want to find a way to change them again.” He was loathe to rob anyone else. But DC plates would stand out more the further they got from DC. Would Loki be able to glamour them, he wondered, without draining his seidhr too badly? Even then, if the car was reported stolen, they wouldn’t want to ditch it where it could be found too close to their final destination, as that would just give away their position. No, losing the car and finding another way to make the last leg of whatever journey they made would be best. “We’ll probably want to ditch it sometime soon...” He had the beginning of a plan forming in his mind, but not quite enough to give voice to. 

He looked down, a small smiling forming, as Loki volunteered his support. It was... nice. Nice to know someone had his back. That they were in this together, and it wasn’t all on his shoulders to lead and make the hard calls alone. 

_ Partners. _

The word really did have a certain perfection to it.

“ I know. And thank you. I... I may have something I’ll wanna run by you. But first--”

He held the door open for Loki, once again greeted by the smell of food. The man at the desk nodded to them and procured a very large brown paper bag. “You need silverware? Plates?”

“ Plates and forks, please,” Steve replied; he passed them a plastic bag with a yellow printed smiley face on it, containing a small stack of paper plates, a bundle of paper napkins, and several individually-wrapped packages of plastic silverware. Steve handed the smaller bag to Loki, hefting the larger brown bag in his arm. His stomach rumbled audibly. “Thank you!” he called, letting Loki lead the way back out. 

“Alright, let’s get back to the hotel before this gets cold,” he announced. “It was that way, right?”

  
  


  
  


The smell of the food was almost taunting him as he nodded in response to Steve’s question. 

“Back towards the bar, around the corner, up the hill.” Loki reminded him. 

They had not walked very far. But it was nice to walk, to get out, to stretch his legs, and not be stuck in a small room or an even smaller car. 

Their room at the inn was nice, though, larger, darker-- Loki appreciated the color to it, the fact that it wasn’t stark white or the grungy yellow of the room he’d found. It felt much more comfortable. 

“ I like the room here,” Loki offered, feeling the need to restate it. “It feels very… safe. Possibly thanks to your being in it with me, but…” He shrugged. 

The hill was less fun to walk back up, but hardly a trial for either of them. They seemed well matched, though the incline did provide the warmth that Loki had guessed that walking would. Which was for the best. It had grown chill, and promised to get cooler as the night went on. Loki was glad to be sharing the bed with Steve, too… his heat would be a boon. 

They greeted the old man at the desk when they finally entered the building, and took to the stairs, Loki leading with his lighter bag and free hand digging in the pocket of the pants, that he might fish out the key to open the door for them. 

He let them in and looked around, mildly gratified at the way the smell of their sex lingered in faintly in the air of the room. 

He sat the plates upon the edge of the bed and crossed to the window, twitching the curtains aside. 

It was calm and dark out there, much the way it had been moments before, when they had walked in. Surely if they had been followed, whoever it was would have come to them before they got into their lodgings. 

He turned back to make certain Steve had entered without a problem, dropping his glamours in the process.

  
  


  
  


Steve couldn’t help but smile as they made their way back. He had hot food in his arms, an incredible man who cared for him at his side, and a warm, soft bed awaiting him. Plans and all else aside, tonight was good. 

“ It’s a nice place,” he agreed. “The decor’s cozy, and the building’s got a lot of character.” He liked the tudor architecture; he also found that since coming out of the ice, he’d developed a greater appreciation for older structures that held up against the wear and tear of time. Though even before then, he remembered seeing old, colonial houses outside of the city and thinking about how someday, if he was still around, he’d love to settle down and have a highly-improbably family in a house like one of them. It had been a farfetched fantasy, of course. Beyond the unlikelihood of him ever getting out of Brooklyn tenements, the odds of him ever having a family of surviving to adulthood had been slim to none.

Though, perhaps not so slim now. He looked sideways at Loki, alternatingly bathed in soft blue moonlight and the warm glow of streetlights as they walked beneath them. Was there a future where the two of them would have a home together, someday?

He was probably getting ahead of himself. But he didn’t think the warm feeling in his chest was entirely from the bag of chinese food currently being held against it. 

He followed Loki into the hotel and up to the room, grateful that Loki had his key so Steve didn’t have to juggle the food to fish in his jacket pocket for his. Once inside, he plopped down on to the floor and began to pull the small cardboard cartons out of the bag. “Okay, so, we’ve got... couples water bottles... pair of spring rolls here, with dipping sauces. Dumplings. White rice,” he began, naming each item as he opened and identified it. “Beef with broccoli, pork lo-mein, aaaand orange chicken.” He pulled the bag of plates and silverware over, unwrapping several of the little plastic spoons and sticking them in the cartons as serving utensils. “Dinner is served.”

  
  


  
  


Loki looked at the spread, seating himself across from Steve, with the cartons between them. 

“ I did say I was hungry, but are you certain we will be able to eat all of this?” There was so much, so many dishes, and each food item shone was colorful in its own way. Uncertainly, Loki eyed the brightly shiny orange chicken. 

“Is anything here spicy?” He asked, realizing that the color was similar to the sauces that Scofield had spread liberally over his food, when he was in his care. 

Not that he thought Steve would intentionally serve him anything like that-- the look on his face when he got back, when he had heard what Loki had been through… He wouldn’t do anything at all similar. But maybe the restaurant had given them the wrong item. 

The pork, however, looked both safe and appetizing, and Loki pulled the plates from the bag, handing one to Steve and keeping one for himself. 

The first thing he took was a dumpling, followed by a spoonful of the pork. The steam spiraled off of the pile on his plate and out of the serving bowl as well. 

“ It retained its heat all the way back here.” Loki commented, surprised. Carefully, he broke open the dumpling, releasing yet more steam. 

“All of this smells wonderful. What is your favorite of these things?” He asked, wanting to be sure that he tried it, that he remembered the name, so that next time, he might be able to order for them. 

  
  


  
  


Steve chuckled. “My eyes may have been a little big for our stomachs,” he admitted, “but my metabolism is pretty fast, so I bet we can put a decent dent in this.” It had been nine hours since his burger, and Steve usually ate in the afternoons before dinner. By now, he was famished. 

“ Shouldn’t be too spicy. Flavorful, yes -- but more sweet and salty than hot. I avoided anything on the menu marked with a pepper,” he remarked. “Also, the rice is nice and bland, so if you try anything you don’t like, you can take a bite of it to neutralize the taste.” He had opened said carton of rice and, using a small plastic spoon, scooped and padded some down into a nice bed on his plate, where it could soak up the sauce of the other foods he intended to ladle over it. 

He glanced up to see Loki taking a dumpling. “Here,” he said, reaching for one of the little plastic ramekins of soy sauce. “Try dipping it in this.” He plucked a dumpling of his own from the box, and a spring roll from the little paper bag they’d come in. He began ladling tiny spoonfuls of beef and broccoli on to his plate while Loki served up the lo mein, when Loki asked him to identify his favorite dish. 

“My favorite...” He considered it briefly, then grinned cheekily. “You,” he replied, leaning in to plant an impish kiss on Loki’s mouth. Pulling away, he speared a piece of orange chicken on his fork. “Although, this is a close second.” He lifted it up and held the morsel in front of Loki’s mouth for him to take. 

  
  


  
  


Loki stuck his tongue between his lips, peering out from behind the proffered fork to blow air around it, creating a flatulant noise in response to Steve’s flattery. 

He tossed him an approving smirk just the same, though, and opened his mouth, putting his tongue out first and leaning in, so that he could tilt his head to the side, making his taking the food as obscene as possible, while he stared Steve in the eyes. 

He was so focused on his performance, however, that the taste took him completely by surprise. 

His look of shock and moan were not feigned at all, and he chewed slowly, nodding as he did so. 

“ Oh, oh yes…” He swallowed, then lifted the carton to put some on his own plate. “Oh, that is good.”

Loki could not believe that he had been so hesitant to eat this-- this… might have passed Pizza in his estimation of Midgardian food. 

“ ...Do they put this on Pizza?” He asked, extremely hopeful. 

But then the rest of Steve’s words sank in. 

“ Are you-- should you be eating more than we have been? We can always eat more.” The thought of Steve going hungry, particularly if it was because he knew Loki would not be, was utterly unacceptable. Especially after how little Loki had eaten in the recent past, and how he was only now beginning to eat more often. “You should have told me sooner, if you need more food.” His words were only mildly reproachful, though. 

As a peace offering, he handed the carton full of orange chicken to Steve, still a little over half full, which, for Loki, took control. 

He popped another bite of the sweet meat in his mouth, then took the lid off of the small tub of dark sauce that Steve had handed him for the dumpling. he pressed his fingers to it, checking for temperature, before lifting it and dipping it in the sauce. 

He swallowed his chicken and followed it with some of the dripping dumpling. 

That, too, was surprisingly flavorful; salty and rich. Loki hummed his appreciation around the mouthful.

  
  


  
  


Steve felt himself blush and chuckle nervously at Loki’s display, though the chuckle turned into something more hearty at Loki’s utter delight. “I don’t think they do orange chicken pizza, I’m sad to say,” he replied, “but we can try to make it on our own sometime if you want.”

He took a bite himself and only just barely refrained from echoing Loki’s lewd moaning. It was hot and sweet and savory. And there was more where it came from too. He dipped his spring roll in a container of duck sauce and had just taken a bite when Loki started worrying about him again. 

He rolled his eyes. “Loki, I’m a grown man with money. If I need food, I can get it. Yeah, I’ve been eating less than I usually do the last couple of days, but I also usually run and work out a lot more than I have been, so I’m not starving or anything.” He’d been a bit hungrier than usual, of course, but Loki didn’t need to know that. Steve could take care of himself, and he didn’t need Loki stressing out about anything more. “Although, I may go out for a run tomorrow morning if you don’t mind. It’d probably be before you even wake up, it’s just been the better part of a week since I had a good run.”

Not since before Fury had sent him up to New York. And speaking of New York...

Steve dunked his spring roll in sauce again, but hesitated, letting the pinkish dipping sauce drip on to his plate. “I actually had an idea about where to go next. But I want to run it by you.” They were in this together after all. He lowered the roll to his plate and licked his lips nervously. They tasted a bit like orange chicken still. 

He took a breath, and then said it: “I think we should go to New York City and meet up with some of the other Avengers.”

  
  


  
  


Loki made a face at being chastised about his worrying, light though it may be, but he let that fall away when Steve brought up his plans. His pause put Loki on edge, until he had spoken his piece.

“ I had assumed we should meet them at some point; you are the defenders of this realm after all.” Loki spoke slowly, not entirely sure why Steve had hesitated, and waiting for the other shoe to drop. “It makes sense,” He said.

Involving the Avengers was the logical decision, really, and given that while the two of them might be able to get by without notice together in a small town, the more familiar faces that the people here saw, the more they would put together that these people were not who they said they were. Going to the city was a wiser option.

“ As for your run, why should I mind? Only watch your back, don’t get swooped up and don’t bring home any one, just in case I haven’t put my illusions or clothing on yet.” Loki shrugged, honestly puzzled by the way the conversation had swerved. He did not get the impression that he had done anything wrong, save that Steve did not want him worrying over him, but of the things Steve was worried about, Loki was most concerned with that.

“ I only wanted to be sure you were not eating less for my sake. And you really should have told me you needed more when I was supposed to be caring for you. You remember, a few days ago, when you nearly died?” He was perhaps more cross about it for his puzzlement, but a lot of it was the learned intolerance for information withheld by a patient that he had picked up from the healers. 

“ It is good to know these things, as we are partners. And as you are apparently horrid at caring for yourself and me simultaneously, so I have to help as much as I can.” He pointed out, trying to change the tone of his voice into something more amused and playful than he currently felt. 

An idea occurred to him, though, and it did brighten his mood considerably. 

“ Do you think the Avengers would be willing to speak with us of Thanos over orange chicken pizza? I believe it is traditional to break bread together, to show that there is no ill will intended.” 

That, he thought, was a particularly fine idea, if he might say so.

  
  


  
  


Loki was taking the idea of going to New York surprisingly well.

Better than he was taking Steve’s recent habit of undereating, as it would happen.

“ Honestly, I’m fine. And I had you get the snacks out in the car on the drive here, remember?” he reminded, hoping to ease Loki’s annoyance. “You’ve been taking care of me just great. And it’s pretty normal for me to go a few days at a time eating a bit less. My body adapts, and then I just go back to eating a bit more once I get the chance.” Why Loki was focusing on  _ that  _ of all things, he wasn’t sure. And for not wanting to let Steve leave the hotel room to get food alone two days ago, Loki seemed surprisingly unperturbed by being left for a few hours while Steve ran. 

He wondered if he’d ever stop being such an impossible mystery to figure out. 

Some of the tension that had crept into his shoulders eased a little when Loki suggested breaking bread -- or breaking pizza -- with the Avengers. “I think Bruce is a vegetarian, so probably no on the chicken for him, but I imagine Tony would be up for pizza,” he mused. “I was actually up there a few days ago, the day before Barton showed up and everything...” he trailed off, waving a hand vaguely in a gesture toward everything that had led to their current position in the universe. “Anyway, I ran into Stark, and he invited me over to his tower. He’s renovated since the invasion. And he seemed pretty keen about me visiting again, and said that Banner would be visiting this week, so that’s two of them in one place.” 

He picked his spring roll back up and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Barton still probably hates us both. Thor is off world, so he’s a wild card until we hear from him. If we hear from him. And Natasha...” Steve frowned. He really liked Natasha. But if there was one thing he knew about her, it was that she was loyal to Barton. It was possible that she could convince Clint to come around. But in the meantime, he’d have to assume she was against them, on Barton’s side if not SHIELD’s. 

“ But, if we can get Tony and Bruce both, that’s half the Avengers on your side. SHIELD will  _ have  _ to listen. And if they still won’t work with us, well. Tony’s got more money and resources than we can shake a stick at, and the Hulk is the heaviest hitter on the planet. So we won’t be out of the running.”

The trick, of course, would be to get Tony and Bruce to not make the same assumptions SHIELD had about Steve being mind-controlled, or immediately blast/hulk out on Loki. If things went poorly on that front, he didn’t have a plan b. 

  
  


  
  


Loki frowned but let go of the food discussion in favor of turning his focus back to the actual food in front of him, as well as the talk of the future. 

“ Thor should not figure into your plans.” He said firmly. he punctuated the statement by biting off the end of his own spring roll, the crunch satisfyingly violent sounding. “I could speak to him, but at present Asgard is not likely to come to my aid. I cannot imagine that your involvement with me will do anything but make you less appealing as an ally. Unless we learn more, and can furnish a good reason for them to intercede on Midgard’s behalf, I would not expect Asgard to have any answer but that I should pay for my poor decisions.” He let his eyes slide away. 

“ It would likely relieve them to know I was no longer their problem.” And beyond that, he could not begin to know how to tell Odin that he had brought this upon them, because he was angry. Because he felt upset by the revelation of his birth, he had looked to destroy everyone he knew. And so going to them for help after felt… well, all of it felt wrong. 

He buried the surge of gloom he felt in his orange chicken, but even that didn’t seem as joyful, now. 

“ We should go to Stark and Banner. You should tell me what I should do or say...whatever you think it will take to get them on our side. I know this is important, and I would not want to risk it by letting my ignorance or… poor understanding. Or personality. Ruin anything.”

He cleared his throat, trying to elevate his mood again. 

“ And until then, we should focus on making sure you eat the way you should. I’ve a sneaking suspicion that you should keep your body up while you have the chance. We are on the run after all, and we’ve no idea when you will have the chance again, or for how much longer this one will last. And… I remember the way it felt, when I thought-- when I wasn’t eating. It’s not a pleasant feeling, hunger.” He shrugged. 

“The broccoli and beef is very good as well, though.” He said, and nudged the box towards Steve, helping himself to more of his own food. 

  
  


  
  


To placate Loki, Steve took a piece of broccoli soaked in enough sauce to negate any and all nutritional value, and scooped it on to his plate. 

He’d more or less figured they wouldn’t be able to count on Thor, though he hadn’t realized until now that Loki might have means of contacting Asgard even if SHIELD did not. Though considering Thor had been willing to come to Earth’s defense before, it sounded like Loki was perhaps giving him too little credit. If Thanos came after Earth -- Midgard -- along with Loki, then even if most of Asgard didn’t care, Steve would bet that Thor would want to help. And given how torn up he’d been in the aftermath of the invasion, from what Steve had seen, he suspected Thor might want to come back just to save Loki too.

But now probably wasn’t the time to bring that up. He didn’t truly know enough about Loki’s family to speak authoritatively on the topic, and if he pushed the subject, he’d probably just wind up upsetting Loki and provoking another fight that didn’t accomplish anything beyond derailing them.

So he avoided the emotional tangle at the middle of Loki’s relations with Asgard, and instead opted for a purely tactical note. “Well, if we do hit a wall and need to call in for back up, it’s good to know you can at least get in touch with Asgard,” he said, snagging another dumpling. “SHIELD has had some scientists working on it for at least a month that I know of with no luck, so you’re the only one in the world right now who can.”

He dipped the dumpling in the sauce, reaching out with his free hand to catch the drips before they could mess up the floor. He felt badly enough for whoever had to clean their towels; he didn’t want to leave too much of a mess for whoever cleaned the room after they left. “With Stark and Banner... I honestly don’t know Stark all that well. He’s so much glitz and glam, it’s kinda hard to find the actual person underneath it all. Like he’s wearing armor even out of the Iron Man suit.” He shook his head. He’d occasionally seen glimpses of Howard in his son, but Tony had something harsher and angrier and more brittle than Steve remembered Howard having. And he was even more of a ladykiller, according to the tabloids. But their recent encounter had been pleasant enough, comparably. 

“Banner may be our in,” he mulled out loud. “Stark likes him, and I think he’s one of the few people in the world he actually listens to on occasion instead of the sound of his own voice.” He reached for one of the bottles of water and unscrewed the top, the salt of the food making him thirsty. “We may want to call and give him a hint we’re coming when we’re close. I don’t think we should give them too much advanced warning since we don’t want a repeat of SHIELD, but I also don’t want him hulking out. But I talked with him a week or two ago about you, and I think he’s currently the most likely to take our side, so long as we don’t startle him too badly.”

  
  


  
  


“ About me?” Loki asked, surprised. “Why him? I thought Barton didn’t know… why should Banner? Or-- sorry. I don’t-- I wasn’t supposed to ask about that sort of thing. Sorry.” He wasn’t sure that Steve would betray SHIELD secrets even now. He was far too honorable for that. 

“ Ah, as far as contacting Asgard, I would…. actually have to return for that. I do not have a pager between worlds. And I do not know that Heimdall would respond for me, if I did call for him. It would not be a speedy process, I am afraid. And I could lead Asgardians to Midgard via my escape route, however…” He didn’t want to let others in on his secret. It was the only way he had been able to escape before, and knowing him, if he survived Thanos, it may be his only way back to Midgard-- to Steve-- if he was ever sent back again. 

“ I’d rather not expose those secrets, if I can avoid it. If the plan demands, if we can find a good reason…” He trailed off again, and put more food into his mouth, growing close to full despite the amount of food left on their plates and in the containers. “If it seems their aid could actually help us to stop Thanos, then I will sacrifice those secrets, without a hesitation. But if not… the spaces between worlds may be the only hiding places open to us.”

He finished his dumpling and swallowed roughly, before lifting his own water to wash it down.

“ Is there anything I could do or bring to make Stark like me more, or be more inclined to trust me? Would it-- if you brought me to them in chains, do you suppose that would be easier? Do you suppose that they would be less afraid that I had… that I might be controlling you?” He didn’t adore the idea of being incapacitated while faced with his enemies, but he did trust Steve to keep him safe, to escape with him if need be. 

He watched Steve eating, satisfied that he was, and made a mental note that they should begin having at least one more meal a day if possible, if not two. 

  
  


  
  


Steve nodded. He didn’t particularly want to get Asgard involved if there was a risk they’d take Loki from him; he remembered weeks ago, near when they’d first started talking when he’d mentioned SHIELD’s attempts at contacting Asgard, and Loki’s ensuing distress and insistence that he would not return under any circumstances. Steve had some faith in Thor, but no experience with the rest of Asgard. Normally, Steve would have jumped at anything that would give them an edge in Earth’s defense, including allies from another world, but now that he had Loki to protect he had no desire to sacrifice his safety if it was at all avoidable.

“ Ok, contacting Asgard is a fall back plan, but we’ll try to avoid that route if we can manage it. We’ll see what earth can accomplish first,” he agreed, stabbing another piece of orange chicken for himself. “And as for Stark...”

He grimaced and shrugged while chewing and swallowing. “Stark likes science, fast cars, and beautiful women. And expensive liquor. I’m not sure what we can do with that, but I know I am absolutely  _ not  _ chaining you up.” 

The last part he stated quite vehemently, emphasizing the point with a gesture of his fork. He remembered how Loki had shook and panicked when he’d been chained to the chair at SHIELD. Steve wouldn’t be a part of rendering him helpless like that again. “If we introduce you looking like a prisoner, like a criminal, that will set a precedent. That’s not how we need them to think of you. I don’t care if it’d make them comfortable.” 

Realizing he was getting a little worked up, he breathed deeply and took another drink of water, then another bite of food, taking the time he spent chewing to think about strategy. “It might help if I go in first and let them see me and see I’m not mind controlled, and explain the situation. We’d need you close by though, of course... I’m not keen on us getting separated.”

  
  


  
  


Loki tapped his lip with the plastic cutlery while he chewed, thinking quickly. 

“ I would suppose,” he spoke after swallowing, “That walking through New York as myself might not be the wisest of ideas. Not after… the things I have done. Ah-- would you object to my meeting them first in my female guise? You did say Stark likes beautiful women, and I can make myself as comely as you think fitting. Fashion my face to what you know of his tastes. Then I could be close without being in danger, you could explain before I show my true-- this version of myself, and he might even be more receptive to our suit?” He was much less conflicted about that offer.

He ignored Steve’s reaction to his suggestion of being chained up, glad that it had not been deemed necessary. As fond as he was of Steve, as much as he trusted him… he was still happy to be allowed control of his own body and his own surroundings. It was obvious Steve had not forgotten his discomfort… which was good. Especially after that dream. It was reassuring that he was mindful of such things. 

“ Regardless, I do feel better knowing that we have a heading, now. Have you any timeline you would like to operate on? I know that tomorrow will be for preparing, and teaching me to work your car. But aside from that, do you suppose it is better to reach New York as soon as possible, or is it better that we take our time, that SHIELD’s alertness might die down, or at the very least their focus turn toward places more remote?” 

Loki did not know a great deal about the geography of Midgard, but he was fairly certain that New York was not terribly far away. 

“ If they are looking for us in places I have been, I wonder if there mightn’t be a way to sew the idea of me, or us, in Stuttgart again, as a distraction.” He mused aloud. That was as far from their current location as he was aware of at this point-- He knew of the land he and Thor had frequented as younger men, far north, but that was several centuries ago now.

He mulled through the plan as he knew it, trying to think what else he might need to know or obtain.

“And Banner-- I do not know much of him, other than what Barton deemed necessary to brief me on, such as ways of triggering his anger. Obviously that is the opposite of our aim on this visit, and as such I will need a different sort of briefing.”

  
  


  
  


“Hang on,” Steve took his plate off his lap, setting it aside and getting up to rifle through their things until he found the notepad from earlier, and a pen. “You’re bringing up a lot of good stuff and I’m going to forget it if I don’t write some of this down.” It wasn’t entirely the truth of it; Steve had excellent memory retention thanks to the serum, but writing down his thoughts would help him organize them more concretely, and keep him on task.

  
  


Settling back down, he scribbled down a few ideas:

  
  


  * Loki as woman (need to stop & get ~~dress?~~ Lady clothes?)

  * Timing

  * Need to dump car

    * Set up false trail (how???)

  * Asgard: last resort for contact

  * Banner




  
  


“ Okay,” he announced, settling back. “So...” he paused, thinking, and then smiled, perhaps a touch mischievously. “I can’t wait to see the look on Stark’s face when you turn from lady-you into you.” Setting that aside, it actually  _ was _ a smart idea. “I think we may go with that. You’re right that your odds of getting recognized in New York are a bit higher than they would be elsewhere. Stark Tower was the epicenter of the attack, really, so people who work there may have got a look at you before. Also, if you’re a woman, we can just tell everyone you’re my girlfriend to get you through security.” He doubted all but the most zealous security personnel would give Captain America’s gal the third degree and demand papers. “We can go in, you’d be hidden in plain sight while I give them the rundown on what’s happening and show I’m not mind controlled, and then you can turn back and they’ll see you’ve been there peacefully he whole time...” he ran a hand over his jaw. “That might really work. Assuming it won’t be too much of a drain on your magic.” After all, they might need to make a second quick escape if things went pear-shaped once more. 

“ Though,” he added, “if Stark flirts too hard, we’re both gonna have to resist smacking him.” He’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t hold some appeal, but it wouldn’t bode as well for their prospects.

“ Planting some red herrings for SHIELD to chase after would be great. The problem is I wouldn’t have the first idea how to do it.” He shrugged. Natasha and Barton would know -- find ways of hacking computer systems and planting alerts on Steve’s credit card in foreign countries, or forging a customs form with a photo of him. But he didn’t have Natasha and Barton, and all his methods were significantly more analogue. “I’m open to suggestions,” he added, in case Loki had a magical alternative. 

“ Part of me wants to just take our time, but we should probably get a move on pretty soon,” he said, a bit grim. “If this doesn’t work, we’ll need to get cracking on plan C. If it  _ does _ work, we won’t be burning a hole in our resources out in the open where SHIELD can find us.” Stark would be able to give them a place to hide, if he took their side; and if they did deem it safe to make their presence with the Avengers known to SHIELD, Banner and Stark would be a solid wall of defense. Not to mention the security of Stark Tower that Steve had witnessed. “That being said, when we get to New York, I want to walk around just enough to give us a chance to come up with a rendezvous point where we’ll know to meet up if things go bad.” He wanted to show Loki around New York, too -- to take him to the Met, and his old neighborhood in Brooklyn, and Prospect Park -- but this was probably not the best time.

“ New York is about four hours’ drive from here. Maybe closer to five with traffic. If we leave early in the morning, we can ditch the car in a park n’ ride outside the city and catch a commuter bus or train. Which could take another couple of hours, granted. But then we’d arrive in Manhattan with plenty of daylight left.” He sketched out a few quick notes on the paper, fleshing out the plan. Steve was always awake obnoxiously early anyhow, and if Loki was tired, he could sleep in the car for a while. They could take lunch to simply enjoy the city a bit as Eric and Laura, then meet up with Stark and Banner, hoping for the best.

“ About Banner,” he began, chewing his lip. “When I talked to him before, ah, it wasn’t really SHIELD stuff or security or anything like that. I... I wanted an opinion. Advice. For helping you,” he clarified. “Bruce has... Well, he’s been through a lot, and some of it is stuff you’ve been through, and I thought he might be able to provide me with some perspective. He actually helped give me the idea for the whole thing with Agent Ferra. But, full disclosure, I told him about a fair amount of the stuff you told me back at SHIELD, so he’s already pretty up to speed. He knows you’re reforming, and that I care about helping you, and that... that you’re not the guy he last met.” He watched Loki carefully, hoping he wouldn’t be too upset by the breach of his privacy -- though could it be considered private if all of it had been caught on SHIELD cameras?

“ Anyway, he’s pretty up to speed and probably going to be more sympathetic than any of the others, so I wouldn’t worry too much. I’ll try to find a subtle way to give him a heads up so he doesn’t hulk out when you change back to--” he gestured to Loki’s current form, “--But the guy spends most of his time very deliberately  _ not  _ freaking out, so he’ll probably take it okay.”

  
  


  
  


Loki cocked his head, trying to consider what he might have told Steve that would have been relevant to Banner, or his knowledge. He didn’t know, and didn’t know enough about Banner to make a guess. If it was something in regards to helping Loki, though… he wondered how personal the information had been. But then, Steve was carefully not giving him anything of importance, personally, in regards to knowledge of either Banner or Stark, so who could say. He would act on that as he learned more, but it was not of utmost importance just then. 

“ Perhaps we should meet them privately. Then if Stark flirts over hard, I will simply become myself. Or slap him, then become myself, which may be even more gratifying.” Loki let his lips curl upwards, remembering the irritation he had felt at his last encounters with the man. 

“ As far as false leads, I could cast an illusion, if I could get close enough, but that would require physical proximity. I wonder if your technology might be of some help-- it must be attached in some way, and I could perhaps send magic along those lines?” He spoke doubtfully, because he hadn’t tried it. 

“ If there were a way to gain access to SHIELD’s observation systems, I could send an image within it, to mimic our forms, provided my energy is compatible with that of technology. It would bear experimentation, at the very least. Alternately, I could travel ahead and find a transportation centre, and allow myself to be seen purchasing tickets for a destination in the opposite direction than the one we are going, then come back.” That seemed more doable, but would likely mean another day drained of his energy. 

Speaking of…

“ Turning to a woman is more initial magic than casting an illusion, but once the change has been made it is permanent until I revert to my own shape, which can be done at any time, that day, or, should my seidhr become low through other exertions, the next. An illusion, on the other hand, takes a constant supply of low levels of seidhr. It is more conservative for me to take an alternate of my form than to create an illusion of someone else’s.”

He hoped that made some sense, at least. 

“You know your city better than I and your transport as well, so on that I have very little input to give, but I am happy to trust your instinct in regards to the timing behind our departure and arrival.” Loki shrugged. “Is there anything else we have yet to cover?” He asked, his own mind sorting through the information they’d discussed. 

  
  


  
  


“Privately is good,” Steve concurred. “We’ll go to the tower. I’ll pick up a burner phone and call Stark, tell him I’m in town, ask if I can swing by. Hopefully he’ll feel more comfortable on his own turf and that can work to our advantage.” It could also work to their disadvantage if Tony chose to engage the tower’s extensive security against them, but Steve wanted to be optimistic. If they could avoid causing a public scene, they’d stay off SHIELD’s radar for longer.

  
  


“ I honestly don’t know enough about tech to be much use there,” he said, glum and running a hand back through his hair in frustration. He’d adapted to a lot, of course; he could use an iPod and a computer and he had a facebook account, though he hadn’t checked it in months. He could use modern tech just fine; but he didn’t exactly have an in-depth understanding of how to plant a digital trail or hack a SHIELD mainframe. 

“ I mean, we don’t even have a computer.” He doubted a town this small would have one of the internet cafes he’d seen on occasion in the city. And the computer at the front desk downstairs was probably antiquated by modern technological standards. He sighed. “We might have to put that on hold and hope for the best. Though buying tickets in public  _ could  _ work...” Assuming the authorities didn’t catch up to them immediately once they were spotted. Already, Steve could feel the knot between his shoulderblades returning.

He’d nodded along as Loki explained the magical difference between transformation and illusion. It seemed Loki had it in hand. “Well, we’ll swing by Central Park before heading to Midtown. We can pick out a spot that would be a good meet-up point in the event of... in the event we need it. Plus, it’s a lot prettier than an empty parking lot in Ivy City. And,” he pursed his lips together briefly, “if things do go bad -- I’m not going to be in danger. Stark and Banner would have a lot more reservations about knocking me out than SHIELD might. And I know New York, like you said -- I can get out on my own. So if you have to,” he reached across and took Loki’s hand, “I want you to prioritize getting out on your own. I’ll catch up to you and we’ll leave New York together, but for a fast escape, you’re at more risk than me. Can you promise me that?”

  
  


  
  


Loki frowned, unhappy. 

“ I don’t think that is wise.” He said frankly. “While I may be able to escape, I cannot so much as speak to anyone without making it apparent that I am not what I seem. And there are too many people-- if I do not have you with me, there is little way to explain my own appearance suddenly in a crowded area. And what would I do if I were waiting for you and approached by… anyone? No doubt it would look suspicious for anyone to be simply… still. And if anything should keep you from joining me, I am very much vulnerable, left alone.” 

And there was the very real fear that if he was to strike out on his own, he would be taken by SHIELD’s agents, and Steve would have no way of knowing, no means of finding where they put him… and then he would have no one to speak for him. No one to protect him. 

“ I do not like my chances, separated from you, but even more, I do not like the thought of you being alone to deal with any fallout that may incur. We are partners, and I will not abandon you. Please do not ask me to again.” 

It was uncomfortable admitting that he was not solely motivated by concern for himself, because concern for others was so likely to cause harm, but this was Steve. His Steve, his partner. 

He would rather have voluntary sex as a Jotun than allow him to be harmed, or spend any more time not knowing if he had been. Like when he’d been left behind with no word, thinking him hurt or dead. It had damn near broken him, and he couldn’t-- 

“ I have no problem being apart from you, so long as I can be tucked away and kept out of the eyes of your public, but in situations of trouble, I cannot be uncertain of your safety. Not again.” 

The tone of their conversation, previously light, hopeful and joking, despite the subject, had gone altogether serious. Loki felt it, and the discomfort it might cause, but he did not seek to rectify it. It made the gravity of his words all the more sincere. 

  
  


  
  


“ We’re getting you books tomorrow, right?” Steve interjected. “You can go to the park, pull out a book from your pocket -- we can clean out any of the stuff we don’t need -- and you can settle down and read and ignore anyone who tries to talk to you; people do it all the time, you wouldn’t have to interact with anyone. Hell, New York has enough diversity you could just pretend not to speak English and no one would think twice. We’d pick an area that’s not too crowded -- New Yorkers barely notice other people, I swear. I wouldn’t be long, I’d catch up to you as soon as I could, an hour or two tops--”

He cut himself off, running a hand once more through his hair, realizing he was rambling about a contingency that, with any luck at all, wouldn’t come to pass. 

“ I don’t want us to get separated. I really, really don’t. But if we do end up in any situation where you can’t get the both of us out... I might get detained and poked and prodded, but no one’s going to take a shot at me,” he said. “I can take care of myself. And I can do that better if I’m not scared to death because someone might--” He broke off again, looking down. “I’m just saying. If we can get out together, obviously, that’s ideal. But if you’re low on magic and can only make a clean getaway for one of us, I need to know that you’ll be safe.”

It was probably a stalemate. They were both invested in one another’s well-being, to the point that neither could agree to leave the other in danger. “Tactically, it’s sound. I’ll be okay. I just need to know you will too,” he finished with, then sighed. “It’s hopefully all a moot point. If Tony and Bruce come around, we won’t have to run...”

  
  


  
  


“ And if they don’t, we will run together.” Loki was firm on this. “There is no reason for me to leave you, even if I can only get us out of a door, we can still run together.” He pressed his lips together, stopping any more words from escaping, the pressure so hard that he was certain they were going white around the edges. 

“ In an emergency, it does not always have to be you taking care of us.” Loki pointed out, standing as if he had something to do, though he realized there was nothing for him to busy himself with. He was finished eating; Steve may not be. He still had water, and could not go fetch more. Besides, Steve sat between him and both the door out and the bathroom. There was nowhere for him to go. 

He snarled, spinning to face away and look out the window again, getting his temper in check. 

“ When Scofield told me you wouldn’t come around any more.” He started, before he turned to face Steve again, “It took moments.  _ Moments _ for me to fall apart, to stop functioning. I couldn’t read, or move, or breathe, without it hurting. I want you to imagine us separated. Imagine you as myself, alone in a strange place. No identification, no comprehension of currency, no way to reach you. No way to speak to anyone. No allies. Not knowing if you were safe, alive, if you had been detained, if you were coming… It would drive you mad, would it not? The hopelessness?” Loki paused pointedly, not long enough for an answer, only long enough to make a point. “And why should it hurt me any less?” 

He spun, pacing the short corridor between the bed and the wall, before jerking his head back towards Steve. 

“ I. Am not. Leaving. You.” He stated firmly, punctuating it with sharp points downwards. “Not unless you ask me to, not unless it’s permanent. Not until you’ve tired of me and cease to care. But even then, I will not leave you in  _ danger _ .” He was snapping his words at Steve, syllables sharp and biting. 

Then quieter, he finished it, “I could not bear it. I should not have to. I would sooner die.”

  
  


  
  


Steve held his tongue for a moment instead of arguing; Loki had let him say his peace after all. So, even though he disagreed, he listened.

And slowly, his face fell. 

He hadn’t fully realized what must have happened with Scofield’s lies while he was in Latveria. He’d been able to put together a pretty good picture in the aftermath, from Loki’s state when he returned, but they’d never discussed the exact details. And he should have seen how vulnerable and lost Loki felt, when just ordering lunch had left him disheartened. He should have known. 

He reached over and tucked the food aside, dumping in the remainder of the rice with the orange chicken, and putting the last dumpling in with the beef and broccoli, capping the sauces and pushing it all out of the way so that when he stood, he didn’t trip over the remnants of their meal. In a few strides, he crossed the floor space between him and Loki, putting his hands on Loki’s shoulders.

“ I’m sorry,” he said quietly, looking him in the eyes. “You’re... you’re right.” He didn’t want Loki to be endangered or hurt. But he couldn’t expect to simply force Loki to shoulder that same uncertain agony in turn. It was cruel and selfish, in a roundabout way. That in trying to save Loki, he might only hurt him more. “You’re right and I shouldn’t have asked that. I take it back, and I’m sorry. We run together.” He stepped forward and closed the rest of the distance, letting his hands drop to the small of Loki’s back as he let his chin rest on Loki’s shoulder in a loose hug.

He stood there for several long seconds, then he began to speak, softly, still holding Loki. “Bucky had this thing he’d say... ‘I’m with you to the end of the line.’ It was sort of our mantra. So when I asked him if he’d follow me back into battle in the war, I always knew what the answer would be.”

“ And I asked him. And he followed me. And then I got him killed.” He said it flatly, keeping his voice even. “I just don’t-- I don’t want to ask you to follow me anywhere I could get you killed. ‘Cause I couldn’t live with that either. Not again.”

He pulled back slightly so he was speaking to Loki’s face and not over his shoulder, though his hands remained at his hips. “I don’t ever want to leave you. But I also don’t want to lose you,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry, I am, I shouldn’t...” he looked down, then his gaze flitted back up. “Can you just... tell me it’s all gonna be fine?”

  
  


  
  


Loki held him back, feeling the uncertainty and sorrow almost as if it was radiating from Steve’s chest and into his own, but certainly feeling his words as he spoke them, the rumble of his voice seeping into his bones.

“ It will. That is what I have been saying, it will be. You and I can surmount any obstacle.  _ Together _ .” He stressed. 

He pondered for a moment, then turned to press his lips against the side of Steve’s head. 

“ I will not follow you, Captain. I will not let you lead me. We will walk together, hand in hand, side by side. And if we run, we run together, and if we fight, I will only turn my back to place it against yours. If I am killed, it will be my own doing, not yours. But that isn’t going to happen. We are partners. And it will be truly fine.” 

He rubbed his hands in circles over Steve’s back, feeling the tightness there, the worry, the concern. 

“ Come, you’ve worked yourself up over something that may not happen, and that, if it does, we will be more than capable of managing. You’ve undone all of our good work of earlier… you were  _ so _ relaxed. Perhaps we can return you to that state, somehow.” 

Loki saw that the food had been tidied, put to the side, and a walkway cleared. 

“ Would you like to come back to bed with me, and I will demonstrate to you how thoroughly fine it is, right now?” Loki asked, the invitation and his tone sincere. There was no artifice to it now, no teasing or seduction. Just Loki. Just Steve. And it was  _ fine _ .

  
  


  
  


Steve leaned in to the touch of Loki’s lips, willing his brain to simply shut down and  _ trust. _

He trusted Loki. Loki didn’t lie to him. Loki was his partner.

Together, they’d be fine. 

( _ Fine.) _

He pulled back and gave Loki a watery smile. “Thanks,” he murmured, voice rough. He knew he should probably pick the food up more, putting it into the mini-bar fridge and throwing away the plates. He should go back over their notes and make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. He should tidy and be responsible and take care of everything, because that was his job. But right now, he didn’t want to do those things. 

He just wanted Loki. 

“And... yes,” he answered, letting his forehead fall forward to rest against Loki’s “I would like that. Very much.”

  
  


  
  


Loki’s smile was honest, excited, and he felt his heart beating calmer. Being needed-- it made him feel more solid somehow, and he wondered if perhaps the same was not true of Steve. He could set aside his own hurts when Loki needed him. And Loki, it seemed, was best able to function when he did the same. 

He pulled back just enough to direct Steve’s face, that he might slot their mouths together. He kissed him as if he meant to suck the very air from Steve’s lungs, and took steps forward, backing Steve up until he hit the back of the bed. But Loki did not stop then, using the strength he had, until then, kept mostly restrained, in order to lift Steve and bear him backwards until he was laid out across the middle of the mattress. 

He did it slowly, carefully, unwilling to surprise or scare him, but deliberately too, a display of the physical strength that he had, though he did not look it.

“What do you want, Steve? What can I do for you? To you?” He refused to move too fast, to try anything without Steve’s express permission, and more, his wish to proceed. 

“ May I taste you? Coax your tension out with my hands, my lips, my tongue…?” He let his voice dip, going throaty at the prospect. 

He had climbed up onto the bed and now knelt over him, his hands on Steve’s chest, pinning him but lightly, so that if he tried to sit up, he could. 

“Let me take care of you.” He whispered, somewhere between gentle urging and a plea. 

  
  


  
  


Steve returned the kiss with fervor, already feeling his cock begin to swell against the fabric of his briefs. Loki tasted sweet and sour, the lingering flavors of the food mixing with the unique taste of Loki’s kiss. Steve’s lips only parted from his to make a small sound of shock as Loki literally swept him off his feet, lifting him enough to bear him backwards and lay him out on the bed, despite the dense weight of Steve’s build. 

The strength was... surprising. In a good way. A way that had Steve’s trousers suddenly feeling much more uncomfortably tight. He gazed up at Loki as he crawled over him, pinning him in place; a wave of heady desire washed through him, a small shiver of anticipation following in its wake. Steve’s heart rate had picked up again, and he swallowed.

The thought of Loki’s mouth, Loki’s tongue -- already so talented in their kissing -- touching  _ there... _

Loki had said he wanted it. And Steve was loathe to deny him. “Okay,” he said, voice a husky whisper. He coughed, and cleared his throat. “Okay. Yes. Please, I...” his voice emerged slightly stronger, but still thick with lust. 

“Just tell me what to do,” he murmured, again, staring up at his gorgeous and strong and sinfully exciting partner. 

  
  


  
  


Loki smirked and lay another peck on his lips before climbing to his feet on the floor. He did not take his hands off of Steve, though, and never would again, if he had his druthers. 

“ What I need you to do,” He told him, his fingers making quick work of the button and zip on Steve’s pants, “Is talk to me. Tell me what you feel. What you like, what you want. Tell me everything that comes through your head while I touch you.” It was like weaving a spell, he realized, one that was wrapping over the both of them. 

Steve had already begun reacting, already gotten hard just in anticipation, and Loki smiled wolfishly when he realized that was the case. 

He tugged at his pants, pulling them down and free, then, after a moment’s thought, decided now would be the best time to remove the clothing he wore, as well. 

He shimmied out of both shirt and sweater simultaneously, to avoid the discomforting in between of feeling and looking too scrawny to be of any interest. 

He unzipped and kicked the pants off almost spitefully. 

“ Your seamstresses have done a very foolish thing with the pants fastening in your realm.” Loki told him, very seriously.

Himself seen to, he realized he ought to have made more of a show of it, turned it into something worth seeing. Next time, he would remember. 

He reached up and pulled Steve’s small clothes down. 

Once he’d been freed of the relevant clothing-- Loki left him his shirt; Steve could see to it if he felt the need-- Loki climbed back over him.

He pressed the heels of his palms to the flares of Steve’s obliques, using his grip to balance himself as well as to keep Steve from thrusting, just in case he got excited. Loki was to be the first here, too, and the thought was dizzying. 

As was the smell of him, musky and warm, clean despite the activities his body had seen since his shower. He was so perfect, Loki felt a tiny bit overwhelmed, just for a moment, and he stayed there, looking from up close, not yet touching it. 

“ Remember,” He spoke, the word almost startling him, given his near reverie, “I want to hear you.” He did not count on Steve being loquacious, or, he hoped, even cohesive, for the most part. But the sounds…  _ Steve’s  _ sounds, just looking forward to them made him shiver. 

He did not wait for Steve to agree. Only opened his mouth and brushed the broad flat of his tongue over the tip of Steve’s cock,one hand reaching down to hold it upright, for his own ease. 

He let the other hand slide until it was laid across Steve’s lower abdomen, like the safety belts in the car. He did not put undue pressure there, but he could, if he needed.

  
  


  
  


Steve wasn’t sure how much talking he’d be able to do -- his mind had gone dizzyingly blank last time, and all he’d managed to say was a combination of ‘yes’ and ‘Loki’ -- but he nodded all the same. “Everything,” he breathed. “Everything you’re doing. It’s great. You’re great.” And it seemed his coherency was beginning to slip already as he watched Loki strip his pants off of him, transfixed. Loki then set to removing his own clothes, and Steve’s breath caught in his throat. From the first time he’d seen Loki nude in the shower, he’d been struck by the beauty of his form. And every time he saw it, he was just as stunning.

He shivered and hummed faintly as Loki finished stripping, now wearing less than Steve. The words of complaint took a moment to sink in. “The pants--? Oh! It’s called a zippe- _ ah! _ ”  He sucked in a breath at the drag of cotton over the sensitive skin of his cock as Loki pulled away his briefs, leaving him naked from the waist down. Already he was hard, and he could almost swear he felt more blood rushing downward as Loki climbed back over him, hands pressed to the muscles at Steve’s sides.

He looked down, and waited as Loki stared at Steve’s cock for several long moments. He bit his lip in apprehension, about to ask if something was wrong. But then Loki spoke, his voice the velvet rumble that set off sparks in Steve’s belly. He was still in process of getting his brain to connect to his mouth enough to say ‘Yes’ when Loki licked against the underside of his head.

“Oh God,” he gasped, the muscles in his thighs and buttocks clenching. 

  
  


  
  


“ Mm. Not for some time now.” Loki retorted, eyes dancing with mirth, before he laved a long line along the bottom of Steve’s shaft, lifting him so that Loki’s tongue could follow the bulge of the underside of him. 

He stilled for a moment, cradling the weight against his tongue while he felt Steve’s heartbeat thundering through the organ. 

He looked up, meeting Steve’s eyes before grinning wickedly and moaning against him, his head shifting that he might mouth up it sideways, stroking upwards with him between his lips. 

When he reached the top, he closed his mouth over the head, careful not to allow his teeth to touch him. 

Though he knew tricks that employed the edge of pain that could grant, he did not think this the time to use them, particularly as Steve did not seem the sort to enjoy that, especially if he was unwarned. 

Once he’d gotten his mouth around him, he suckled lightly, his tongue playing over the hole at the tip, lapping away at the salty fluids that gathered there. 

He let his lips drag over the sensitive head as he pulled back and sat up a bit, licking his lips as he did. 

“You taste so good.” He told Steve, contented and nearly purring. “Is this okay so far?”

  
  


  
  


When Loki moaned against his cock, sending vibrations down the sensitive shaft, Steve echoed the moan, letting it forth after overcoming the initial impulse to hold it in. After all, the one thing Loki had specifically asked of him was to make himself heard. 

Loki’s tongue, his lips -- they felt  _ fantastic.  _ Warm and wet and textured -- smooth but not so smooth as to deny a range of sensation. It was incredible, and when Loki’s lips wrapped around the tip, engulfing his cockhead in soft, sweet heat, Steve’s breath caught audibly. The sensation along was amazing, but the sight of Loki looking up at him through his lashes, pink and kiss-swollen lips circling his cock, was one of the most perfect things he’d ever seen.

And when Loki began to suck--

Steve bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper, the pain bringing him back from the brink. The first time had been over rather quickly, and he had no plans to spoil this by coming too soon. He wanted to enjoy this; and he was supposed to have super-human endurance, after all. Squeezing his eyes shut, he breathed until he found an equilibrium between enjoying the touch of Loki’s mouth, but not so much that he’d be lost to it just now.

He opened his eyes again as Loki pulled away, licking his lips and  _ oh god he was beautiful.  _ Steve groaned. “This is... This is so good.” It wasn’t articulate, but at least he’d managed words in something approximating a sentence. 

Carefully, he reaching down and brushed away a strand of hair that hung over Loki’s cheekbone, brushing the side of his face. “You’re so beautiful,” he marveled.

  
  


  
  


And he truly believed that. Loki could hear it in his voice, feel it in the soft touches he pressed to Loki’s face. It made him snap his eyes closed and swallow, made his throat feel tight. 

He’d been about to take more of Steve in, but he thought this might not be the best moment for it, given the way he felt short of breath even without his airway blocked off. 

Instead he pulled his mouth off and let the excess saliva drip out of his mouth and into his palm. 

“ _ You’re  _ beautiful.” He countered, nudging Steve’s cock upwards, sliding his hand up and down over it, and bringing his lips down to Steve’s balls. 

If he’d been gentle before, he was even more so now, his tongue running over the skin and teasing at the folds that rested there. 

He slowed his hand to a torturous crawl, but sucked the loose skin of the balls into his mouth, teasing at it before releasing, only to move his head and repeat the move. 

Back and forth, he sucked and bobbed and teased, finally pulling as much as he could into his mouth. 

He was careful, so careful, not to harm him. 

Once his mouth was full, he hummed again, lips tugging into a smile as he did so, well aware of what that sensation would feel like. 

Hearing Steve, feeling the way his muscles reacted beneath Loki’s attentions… it was its own sort of power, and the kind Loki adored. He was doing this, no one else. He was giving Steve this sensation. 

He let Steve’s balls fall from his mouth with a gentle popping sound and licked the excess saliva off, blowing gently on them, just to tease, before apologizing with another broad stroke of his tongue, up the central seam of his ball sac and up the length of him, before he took the head into his mouth again. This time, though, he ducked down a little further. 

He held himself there, the first few inches of Steve’s cock in his mouth, the head just threatening to touch the top of Loki’s throat, and then he pulled back, this time twisting his head to replicate the technique he used with his hand. 

He went back down again, taking just as much as before, and when he felt Steve’s dick touching his throat again, he swallowed, then pulled off completely, holding his cock at the same angle while he spoke. 

“ What do you think, Captain? Would you like to go deeper? Want me to take you in all of the way, feel your cock bulging inside of my throat? I can, you know. I’m good at it. I could swallow you down in a heartbeat. All you have to do…” He paused dramatically to rake his eyes down Steve’s prone form, his hand sliding slowly up and down, “Is ask.” 

He wanted to encourage Steve to communicate with him, to learn to push through the cloud of lust a bit, to beg and ask and talk, maybe even work up to spewing filth, though Loki would be honestly shocked to hear it come from Steve’s mouth. But that was something he’d realized he would enjoy, after hearing him lie just the once.

  
  


  
  


“ Oh... oh Loki....” Steve breathed as Loki turned his attention to his sack, carefully licking and sucking the sensitive skin, his mouth a perfect focus of warmth and pleasure. Steve had, of course, brought himself off many times by hand; but he’d never been able to give himself any kind of attention resembling this, or thought to give his balls so much care. As such the sensations were totally novel, leaving him open-mouthed as he breathed, eyes fluttering slightly closed.

Loki took his balls fully in his mouth, and Steve moaned. It felt fantastic. “So warm,” he murmured, trying to vocalize his fragmented thoughts. “It’s so-- _ oh god--” _

He shuddered as Loki hummed, the vibrations encompassing the tender flesh and running through him like a current. “God,” he repeated, head falling back. He breathed raggedly as Loki released his balls and blew on them, the cool air and sudden temperature change making Steve shiver and twist, biting his lip and swallowing a whine. Then the hot tongue was back, tracing up to the tip of him and pulling him back between Loki’s lips. And more, and more of him... Steve’s toes curled and his hands balled into fistfuls of the sheets as he made an incoherent sound. Loki did something with the angle of his head and tongue that made Steve’s hips twitch, then pulled off, only to bob back down and take him again, deeper...

And swallow.

Steve gasped and groaned, making a small and pitiful noise as Loki pulled away again. He wanted more, but his brain didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Loki was talking; Loki needed him to talk. This was what Loki wanted, what Steve could give him in return. Struggling to catch his breath, he licked his lips and swallowed. “You’re amazing,” he panted. “God, Loki, you f-feel so good, everything is-- please, please yes. T-take it...” He hoped it was enough to satisfy Loki. The thought of him all the way in Loki’s throat, completed enveloped and squeezed by the muscles there, had his eyes beginning to water again. 

  
  


  
  


The words of praise caused a shiver to run through him, but it was that last rough  _ take it _ that made Loki nearly forget to breathe. 

He’d have gladly done it anyway, but that voice, those words-- the very essence of his reaction, made Loki want to fall upon Steve’s cock. 

“ Oh Steve, my  _ Captain _ ,” Loki moaned out, the last words he said before he was coaxing Steve’s prick further down his throat. It took some work to relax it, but then, once the head of him was through, Loki swallowed the rest easily. 

Loki had had large partners in the past, well endowed ones and ones who could gag him with their girth, if not their length. Steve was… perfect. Long enough that when Loki reached up to press against the juncture of the underside of his jaw and the top of his neck, he could feel Steve there. But it didn’t hurt, or burn, there were no feelings of alarming stretching. 

Loki took in as much as he could, then ground his face against the hard bone of Steve’s pelvis, tightening his throat as he did so, lips and nose brushing at the hair that lay there, his mouth so over-sensitized as to make it a shiver inducing experience. 

Loki found himself hard, painfully so, and that was rewarding in its own way, but Loki wanted the contact. 

His ass was raised and he had no way of gaining friction, save to reach back and take himself in hand. That was rude though, wasn’t it? Almost an admonition against your partner. Loki let it be, refusing to upset Steve with an accidental offense. 

Instead he swallowed around his cock, enjoying the way he could feel his air growing short.  He would have to come up soon to breathe, but he could not imagine letting Steve go. Not now, when he must be so close. Loki wondered if he could get him to come down his throat, or if he should pull back and take it in his mouth, that he might actually taste him as he’d said. 

He wished he’d had the presence of mind to ask Steve before when his mouth was less occupied, where he wanted to finish. But since he wasn’t able to now, that left it at his discretion. 

Loki pulled his head back, clearing room for him to breathe, for just long enough to suck air into his lungs, and then he dove back into it, swallowing nearly as deep before backing immediately off, setting up a speed and a rhythm that was fast and hard and tight. 

He couldn’t manage to find the presence of mind for much more, couldn’t hum or employ his tongue. He was busy, distracted with trying to look up and make eye contact, through it all.

  
  


  
  


“ Aaah,” Steve cried out softly as Loki took him all the way to the root, pressing into his groin and engulfing him in impossible bliss. “ _ Loki... _ ”  For having spent so long stifling involuntary sounds -- not crying out in pain or screaming in frustration -- this sudden permission (urging) to make himself heard was both freeing and terrifying. It ran against his own self-conditioning, but also gave him a thrill; knowing Loki wanted to hear him, wanted  _ him,  _ made it all the more appealing to just let go.

Although, not to let go entirely. His hips longed to buck forward into that perfect throat, but Steve just barely had the presence of mind not to thrust. He didn’t even know how Loki was managing to do this without choking, but surely any further motion on Steve’s part might hurt him. And hurting Loki was not an option; not when he was so wonderful and perfect and willing to give Steve  _ this. _

Instead he reached down and gently raked his hand through Loki’s hair, running over the curve of his skull, not holding him or pulling, but combing and kneading his fingers through silky strands, adding to the overwhelming beauty of sensation that was  _ Loki _ filling Steve’s senses. “So good,” he murmured. “Loki,  _ nnnggh _ ....”

He was breathing hard now, involuntary tears pooling at the edges of his eyes. Loki pulled off to breathe, then returned again, creating a rhythm the mimicked the strokes of their hands and hips, bringing Steve closer and closer, making him shudder with each constriction of Loki’s throat as he swallowed. Heat pooled in his lower belly, his balls beginning to tighten as Loki drew him toward climax with his ministrations. 

“ God, Loki, I-- I’m close, I’m so close...” he babbled, voice cracking, tremors running through his body, every muscle taut. He needed to warn Loki, needed to not choke him and  _ god, he needed to--  _ “ I’m gonna, I’m--”

  
  


  
  


The feeling of Steve’s hand on the back of the head made him falter if only for a moment, because he  _ had _ been shoved down face first on more than one cock in his life, and he had to remind himself that this was Steve. 

The fact that no pressure came from his hand was amazing, beautiful. He just stroked at Loki’s hair, and Loki arched into it, though it changed the rhythm for a beat or two. That  gesture alone was so oddly comforting, so intimate despite… current circumstances… Loki couldn’t  _ think _ , couldn’t make sense of the sudden fluttering in his stomach. 

It wasn’t even an erogenous zone. All Steve had done was stroke down Loki’s hair, and he felt like his mind was a mess. 

When Steve began his orison of completion, Loki did what Odin never bothered teaching his sons not to do. He spoke with his mouth full.

More accurately, it would have been words, had his throat not been wrapped around Steve’s perfect dick, would have been Loki urging him to cum, to fill him up. 

What came out instead was that same humming noise, but dropped lower, coming through his chest and moving upwards, not just vibrating his throat this time. 

He felt Steve tensing, knew he must be close. He pulled his head off for one last breath before he sank back down to the root in a single fluid motion, and held himself there, his grip on Steve’s pelvis likely hard enough to bruise. He tried to pull air through his nose, but failed. 

Instead, he began to swallow, working his muscles over and over Steve’s shaft, milking him for all he was worth- which, in this case, was rather a lot. 

  
  


The vibrations of Loki humming -- speaking? -- around Steve’s cock pushed him over the edge with a gasp. He felt Loki pull away and thought that was it, that he would spill over his stomach as he had earlier, already fully worked over by his lover; but then he took Steve all the way, swallowing convulsively around him as Steve peaked with a choked off cry.

For a few seconds, his vision went white and all he could feel was the waves of his orgasm crashing through him and into Loki, with all the unstoppable force of an ocean. 

And all he could think was  _ Loki. _

When it passed and he came back to himself, Loki was still teasing the last drops from him, and Steve felt spent, a quivering wreck reduced to uneven breaths, the muscles of his stomach rising and falling as he quaked for air. 

“ God...” he whispered, closing his eyes and then opening them again, looking down at Loki and running his hand through his hair again. “Loki, that...” he didn’t have words. How could Loki ask for him to form words when there were none that matched the intensity of what he’d just experienced or the depths of his affections?

He let his head fall back on the pillow with a small sound somewhere between a whine and a sigh, and he would have wiped the reflexive tears from his temples if any part of his body were able to obey his commands to move. 

  
  


  
  


Loki let him free of his mouth slowly, carefully and gently, afraid to jar Steve’s now even more sensitive flesh. 

He couldn’t resist lapping at the head of him, though, getting the last of his taste on his tongue. 

He rolled the flavor over in his mouth, swallowing again to help it to slide down. 

“ You taste wonderful.” He told him, voice bearing the signs of his throat’s recent use. 

He crawled up along side Steve and stretched himself out, enjoying unbending his knees after the position he’d just been in, twisting his head to pop his neck and rubbing at his jaw, which had become slightly sore during its use. 

He was still hard, but that would go away. His Steve was so blissful looking, so worn out, and again, the sides of his eyes glistened with the tears Loki had wrung from him. 

It was an alien idea, that these tears not be from pain, humiliation, or sadness. 

Loki reached up with quivering fingers to wipe them away, in awe that he could reduce someone so strong to such a state of vulnerability, defenselessness and weakness, just through pleasure. 

“You are so receptive in your inexperience.” Loki murmured as he stroked at his temples, even after the moisture had gone. “I hope your sense of wonder doesn’t wane.” 

He hoped he didn’t destroy it.

  
  


  
  


Steve sighed, still wracked with small tremors but feeling his body loosen and relax completely, once again. He hummed faintly as Loki wriggled up alongside him and caressed his face, his touch light and soothing; the staccato racing of his heart was beginning to slow, his breathing transitioning from ragged to simply deep. 

“ How could it? You’re wonderful,” he mumbled, nuzzling into Loki’s collarbone, letting his overwarm cheek rest against Loki’s cooler skin. “Wonder... wonderful...” He sighed and closed his eyes. He could easily fall back asleep here, fed and sated and completely happy. He tried to think about when, prior to Loki, he had felt this much happiness. During the war? Before? He couldn’t quite think of it, when the warm sense of joy and fulfillment he had now seemed to wrap around him like a protective blanket, shielding him and Loki from the rest of the world. 

“ S’good,” he murmured. “Thank you...” He tilted his head up to find Loki’s mouth -- red and wet, lips swollen and slick -- and kissed him.

A strange taste lingered there, salty and slightly bitter, and he chased it with his tongue until he realized it was his own cum on Loki’s lips he was tasting. In another context, perhaps, the realization would have left him pulling a face, but as flooded with lust and hormones as Steve was, he instead found the notion oddly enticing. He kissed Loki deeper, savoring every last trace of himself until they were both breathless again, pink-lipped and panting. Steve rolled on to his side, one hand snaking around to the back of Loki’s head where he could run it through his hair again, pulling him in for another kiss. 

  
  


  
  


Loki arched into the touch, his head tilting to encourage Steve’s petting while he kissed back. 

“ I should thank you.” He responded smoothly, without a moment’s hesitation.  He opened his mouth wider and ran his tongue across Steve’s own, hoping there was some of him left in his mouth, hoping that the taste lingered atop his taste buds as well as inside of them. 

“ Can you taste yourself in me? Do you like it?” He asked in a throaty whisper, his erection not quite flagged yet, and only growing more interested with the contact. He cursed it, a little, content to lie here with Steve and allow him to bask in his after glow. He considered running off to the bathroom for a moment, but didn’t want him to think he’d done something wrong. 

“ You taste wonderful, you smell like sex and warmth, and you feel…” Loki ran his hand down the side of Steve’s face and to his throat where he played in the hollow, with the tips of his first two fingers skating across his collar bones. His eyes flicked back up to meet Steve’s. 

“ You feel  _ perfect _ .” He told him, the surge of affection that followed the word making him smile hugely, something gentler than his usual grin. 

Loki leaned the front half of himself in closer, trying to keep his hardness from ruining the moment, while simultaneously trying to fill his senses with Steve. His heat, the way he looked and smelled… Loki wanted always to remember him this way. He was so beautiful like this. 

It was Loki who had been mistaken for a god, but it was Steve who deserved to be worshipped. And Loki meant to see to it that he was. Daily. For as long as they were both alive.

  
  


  
  


“ I can taste it,” Steve answered, low and husky. Though by now the bitter taste of his cum had mixed almost indistinguishably with the sweet taste of Loki’s talented mouth. Not the orange chicken taste, but the deeper, natural taste of Loki’s kiss. 

He let his eyelashes flutter shut for a moment as Loki touched his neck, his chest. Which only made him think of Loki’s own neck, and the throat it contained (the throat he had  _ been inside  _ in what had to be one of the most earth shattering experiences of his life). Opening his eyes, he let go of Loki’s hair to gently bring his hand to the side of his throat, his thumb reaching around to gently massage the place over Loki’s adam’s apple where Steve’s tip must have rested when he’d swallowed. “ _ You _ feel perfect,” he corrected. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to that spot, then another, slightly lower, trailing kisses down the column of Loki’s throat. 

He shifted downward to get a better angle, and as he moved, his belly brushed forward against Loki’s cock. Glancing down, Steve realized he’d been remiss; Loki still stood at half-mast, neglected. 

Clearly, he would have to remedy that. Sleep could wait. It was only fair, and Steve felt very strongly about fairness, after all. 

He sat up, gently pushing on Loki’s shoulder to roll him back on to his back. Steve then moved to straddle his thighs, kneeling over him and surveying Loki’s body. 

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured in awe, drinking in the sight for a few seconds before lowering himself, supporting his weight on his arms so he didn’t crush Loki as he kissed the hollow of his throat. 

  
  


  
  


Loki closed his eyes, taking a quiet deep breath as Steve looked down on his body. Trying to calm himself, keep himself from curling up or trying to hide. 

Beautiful, he said, as he always did, and Loki could not help but feel the small tingle of shame in his chest that always came with a compliment-- the doubt that was rooted there tugging at him, though he knew Steve wasn’t lying. 

Steve really did think him beautiful. Loki knew things were different here, knew Steve was so good, knew he saw beauty in so much, so many things that the rest of the world, that several worlds, would hardly deign to notice. 

And he was glad of that. Grateful for it. But he was also terrified by their differences. What would the world think, if he ever was allowed to be known as Steve’s… as his partner, as being with him? And even before then, the comparisons that would no doubt be drawn… How would Steve feel, when the rest of humanity shouted about the shame of his lover’s looks, that it was unfair that Steve waste himself on someone like Loki, someone cruel and wicked and thin and unappealing?

He was glad that the Avengers were to meet him as a woman. At least then, Loki was secure in the knowledge that he was desirable. Perhaps they would assume Loki spent his time with Steve in that guise. It would remove the worries Steve harbored about reactions. Loki could even become a new person, pass himself off as someone the world had never seen before. 

Loki felt his brow knotting, and he forced it to relax. He didn’t want Steve to think he’d done wrong. He’d have to think about it later. Now he was distracted, by kind eyes and gentle touches, kisses that dropped lower and a curiosity as to how far Steve’s daring would take him.

From here, the view of Steve kneeling over his body was heady and he could not help but grow harder for it. 

Loki brought his hands to run through Steve’s hair the way that Steve had done his, brushing it up and backwards, playing with it. It was as soft as he had always imagined it to be, looking out at it from behind the glass of his cell. 

Just as perfect as he’d known it would be, back when this had only been fantasy.

“When I lay alone at night back at SHIELD, I would imagine this. I would imagine what having this, with you, would be like, would feel like-- You surpass my every fantasy with the reality of you. I will never stop being grateful that you are real.” Loki told him, his words soft and his head tilting upwards, chin towards the ceiling, to give Steve more room to do as he would with him. 

  
  


  
  


Steve exhaled as Loki ran his fingers through his hair, reveling in those long, nimble fingers brushing against his scalp. It was a reminder though, that his hair was getting long. Perhaps... He’d explore that train of thought later, though. For now, he had more than enough to explore right in front of him, in pale planes of smooth skin. 

“ I could say the same,” he replied, lips just barely brushing the side of Loki’s throat where his carotid artery lay. He then pressed his lips in and through the skin could feel the throbbing rush of Loki’s blood. “I thought of you...” At the time he’d hated himself for it, punished himself with cold water when he chanced to think overly of Loki in the shower. But now, knowing Loki had similar thoughts, similar desires, he felt absolved of all the guilt he’d carried for his perversions. It was possible, he reflected, that as he’d laid awake trying not to think of the curve of Loki’s back as the water sluiced down it, Loki had lain awake scant miles away thinking of him. “This is better, though,” he added, letting his breath ghost over the place he’d just kissed. “Better than I dreamed.”

He trailed kisses across Loki’s collarbones, occasionally sucking and nipping at the flesh there, just enough to bring tiny rosy marks to the surface. He pulled back to marvel at them, at the beauty of the angles and lines of Loki’s body. “You have to let me draw you,” he said. “Not now, I mean, and I promise I wouldn’t show anyone if you didn’t want,” he hurried to add, remembering the debacle last time he’d drawn Loki, in his Jotun form. “And, of course, you don’t  _ have to.  _ I just... I’d like to draw you sometime. If that’s something you’re alright with,” he concluded. 

He wanted to immortalize Loki’s form in pencil; to etch the lines of him into his mind.

He also, as he had his head up for a moment, noted the position of the oil on the bedside table, just within arm’s reach if he stretched. 

Before Loki could reply, Steve ducked his head again and sucked at the hollow of Loki’s throat. 

  
  


  
  


Having Steve’s mouth against his neck made him feel oddly self-conscious about speaking… one thing to use vibrations as tools, another entirely to shake his lover’s lips while he brought him pleasure. 

Loki almost felt like his words were getting in the way. 

“ If you like.” He said, keeping the answer as short as he could. 

Letting Steve draw him could hardly do any harm. Let him render and image of the body he seemed so enamored with. It would please him, and Loki was glad when he could do that. But there was also a perversion to it, an attractive wrongness about someone like Steve drawing someone like him. He felt a twitch low in his stomach in response. 

He’d taken lovers, but never any so glorious as this one, never one so beautiful and wonderful as Steve. Never one whom Loki cared for so completely. Never one who stood at such odds against him in every way.

That in mind, he wondered if he might goad Steve into furthering his arousal, wondered how he might explore this interesting turn of events. 

“Did you touch yourself, thinking of me?” Loki asked him, willing to speak again, now that his voice was, again, partially a tool towards an end. “In your dreams, how did you picture this? Us? How did you imagine me?” 

 

  
  


Steve hummed against Loki’s shoulder. “Nothing so good as the real thing,” he admitted. He’d avoided touching himself, and he’d woken wracked with guilt; hardly something Loki needed to know. But... Loki wanted to hear him talk. He wracked his brain for something he could say, something sensual and appealing.

“ After the first time I saw you naked,” he began, leaning down to kiss the shell of Loki’s ear so he wouldn’t be able to see his furious blushing, “in the shower. I dreamed that, um. That we were in the shower together, only we were both naked,” he said, punctuating the words with a kiss to Loki’s earlobe to distract from his own awkwardness. Reaching out with his right hand, he tipped the lid off the jar of oil and swiped the first two fingers of his right hand into it. “Then you shoved me up against the tile, pressing your whole body against me,” he explained, then reaching down to take Loki’s arousal in his oiled hand, “and kissed me.”

He ran his fingers down Loki’s shaft, and leaned in at the same time to catch his mouth in a deep kiss, biting slightly on his lower lip as they parted. 

“You take such good care of me,” he said, voice rough as he began to feel some stirring once again in his own loins. “You make me feel so good...” he kissed Loki’s throat again, then trailed a kiss down his sternum, dragging his lips down his chest. “Tell me how I can make you feel good.” He dragged his palm up Loki’s length, then brought it down again before reaching lower to cup his balls. 

  
  


  
  


Loki’s breath hitched. 

“ Our-- our next hotel room must have a larger shower.” He said shortly. He took a deep breath, rolling his head so that his face touched the side of Steve’s. “And I will be sure to kiss you into the tiles.” He gave a smile that was broken when Steve’s mouth fell on his, when Steve’s teeth found his lip and squeezed it between them. 

“ I love your teeth. On me.” Loki told him, words nearly stuttered as his body reacted to Steve’s touch-- when had he slicked his hand, how hadn’t Loki noticed-- why didn’t he care? 

“ I like… not to hurt, I wouldn’t ask. Just that little…” He bit his words off, certain it was inappropriate. 

“ Roll my balls, gentle.” He’d never talked someone through pleasuring him before, and he thought he could change that; after all, if he wanted Steve to be more vocal, he ought to lead by example. 

“I-- if I tell you, understand it is. There is lust, and lewdness, and-- I don’t mean to take you aback. If I suggest anything you don’t want-- only tell me. I don’t. It is only suggestions. Only to arouse, alright? I know you may not-- I don’t want to push you.” 

Trying to be kind, and good, not selfish, trying to have the sense of mind to talk Steve into doing things, but only the things he wanted… Loki had been aroused for some time now, and seeing him like this… it was not making it easier. 

“I am not accustomed to holding my words back. I will try, but…” He tapered off, realizing that sounded like keeping secrets. “You are overwhelming, Steve. It is so easy to forget myself with you, forget what you know, what you don’t… and to know what you will want, as you do not fully, yet.” He shifted one shoulder upwards in a shrug. 

  
  


  
  


A larger shower. Steve inhaled, trying not to dwell on that scenario too much, though the stirring increased, his softened cock beginning to fill once again. He ignored it; right now was about Loki, and Loki’s pleasure.  _ Teeth _ . Steve took down a mental note, concentrating on that. He didn’t like the idea of biting Loki hard enough to hurt, but that wasn’t what he was asking. A little edge, a little roughness; this he could supply. His next kiss included the lightest nip at the end, which he soothed with another kiss.

In immediate response to Loki’s request, Steve rolled his balls carefully in his hand, lightly cupping and massaging one, then the other, trying to recall the motions Loki had made with his lips and mouth, though the memory was hazy despite being so recent, fogged as his mind had been. 

He looked up at Loki as he spoke in fragments, and offered a small smile. “I trust you,” he reiterated, knowing he’d said it a hundred times and happy to say it a hundred more. “Honestly, I’m... I’m willing to try a lot of things. If I dislike it strongly, I’ll let you know. If you ask me to do anything I’m not comfortable with, I just won’t do it.” Steve might be a bit naive in sexual matters, but he was a grown man and capable of making his own choices. He was requesting guidance, yes. But he wouldn’t blindly do anything simply because it was asked of him. 

“ I know you won’t make me do anything I don’t want to. Though right now... right now there’s a  _ lot _ I want to do,” he added, voice dropping slightly. He rolled Loki’s balls again, lightly tracing his thumb up and down the center of his scrotum. “So don’t worry. Just... just let go,” he coaxed, remembering the thrilling sense of freedom as he had done just that, “and tell me what you want.”

  
  


Loki moaned, both in response to the permission and the sensation. 

“ I want everything you are willing to-- ah.” The sentence ended on a huff as he felt the skin moving over his balls. 

Let go, Steve had said, but Loki knew that the words he often spewed out, the begging he’d learned to do, slanted in a direction that would only alarm Steve. 

“ I am-- I would love your lips, your teeth on my chest, teasing at my nipples. Your-- your nails, dragged over my skin.” He huffed air out from between his lips, blowing it upwards over his face. No more than that, no rougher. That was enough, now. He would scare him-- disgust him-- otherwise. 

Steve’s touch was good, and it was enough, he could get him off, would, would make him come, and the feeling would be satisfying and wonderful, and he would feel so safe and complete and cared for. So relaxed, once he’d finished.

But. 

“ With your cock in my mouth, in my throat.” He swallowed, remembering the weight of it on his tongue. “All I could think is that one day, you’ll be inside of me, pushing into me, opening me and filling me, so hot and hard, uhmm--” He groaned, able to imagine that all too vividly, the arousal in his mind melding with his words and Steve’s touches, until Loki was helping to drive himself mad. He looked downwards, watching Steve, watching this gorgeous man who was so intent on his body, his skin pale under him, his frame able to disappear under his muscles. 

“ After-- after I’m done, after we’ve sated ourselves, I want-- on top of me. Your weight and warmth, feel so small and so safe--” He felt like he was babbling, lucky to get out words, let alone these near sentences he was managing. 

“ Hands on me so good, working my cock, rolling my balls, holding so tight. Tight like your mouth, your ass, so warm.” Loki had been shying from the thought, trying not to imagine being inside of Steve, trying not to want something that he had not agreed to yet, had not expressed any want for. But if he was allowed to be greedy now, and he was, if only for the moment, as his dick strained upwards toward his stomach, under Steve’s care, if he was allowed to wish, those belonged there. 

“Riding you, bent in half you over me, every way, you touching everything in me, every part…” He sucked in his lower lip and bit it. Too much. He was saying too much. He opened his eyes, unsure when they’d fallen shut, worried at the look he might find on Steve’s face. 

  
  


  
  


His chest. Steve looked down at Loki’s pale chest, slim planes of muscle stretched over bone, the bumps of his ribs evident beneath the lines of his obliques, abdominals flanked by chiseled hipbones. He could focus on that easily, worship every inch.

Still rolling Loki’s balls, he leaned down to press his lips to Loki’s sternum once more. Remembering the electric feeling when Loki had dragged his thumbs over Steve’s nipples, he gently pursed his lips over Loki’s left nipple, kissing it and then swirling his tongue over the bud, teasing at it, sucking gently as it perked up under his attentions. Then, he lightly bit at it, pulling upward and raking his teeth over the sensitive flesh before letting go and blowing cool air over the vivid pink nub. His hand, at the same time, slid back up to Loki’s cock, beginning to stroke there again.

His breath caught and his hands stilled for a moment as Loki expressed the wish for Steve  _ inside _ him. And having already experienced the ecstasy of Loki’s throat working him-- Steve swallowed, cock growing hard once more. He resumed his strokes, closing his eyes and listening to Loki’s words, moving to his other nipple and taking it between his lips. 

He listened. He listened as Loki spoke of Steve inside him; of him inside Steve, of Steve pleasuring Loki as Loki had pleasured him, and more... His cock twitched and Steve moaned, nibbling at Loki’s nipple before pulling away, looking upward. Loki wanted these things, and Steve-- Steve wanted it too, he realized. It was filthy and it was everything he’d been told was wrong, but dammit, he  _ wanted.  _ Perhaps not now-- the thought of doing all of that right now send a small thrill of terror through him, because he didn’t know what he was doing, he’d do it wrong, he’d ruin everything -- but, perhaps...

Right now he had his hands, which he was sure of, and his voice, which Loki craved. He licked his lips, pressing his thumb to the sensitive underside of Loki’s cockhead. When he spoke, his voice was thick with want. “I... I want you to show me. Someday. Someday soon,” he said, adding a bit more speed to his stroked and moving down to nip at the skin over Loki’s ribs, dragging his teeth. “Show me how... how to swallow you, like you did.” He collected the pre-come beading at Loki’s tip and smoothed it over the sensitive skin, mixing it with the oil there. “Show me how...” he kissed Loki’s belly button, tongue briefly darting inside. “Want you to... to be in me,” he managed hoarsely. “I want that too. Teach me how to...” 

He broke off, breathing heavily, and  _ dammit _ he was rock hard again, cock aching between his legs. But Loki’s cock, long and slender and flushed, had his full attention. “I want to give you back everything you give to me,” he blurted, moving back up to kiss and bite at where Loki’s neck met his shoulder, groaning as his cock rubbed against Loki’s upper thigh, speeding the strokes of his hand.

  
  


  
  


A guttural noise was pulled from Loki’s throat when Steve moved over him, when his hand sped, and when all of the sensations pooled low in his gut, he shuddered. 

“ Steve,” He was pleading now, words dying on his tongue. His hips bucked upwards, the tightening of his thigh muscles alerting him to the warm stiffness there. He wasn’t the only one who was hard now, wasn’t the only one whose prick was heavy and tight and leaking.

Loki sat up some, using his elbows to lift himself and reaching for Steve’s hand to still him, not ready to tip over the edge yet, not now that they were both so ready. 

“Then give me what I gave you.” He coaxed, pulling him forward, guiding him with his hands so that their cocks were touching, Steve atop him, poised as Loki had been, their first time. 

“ I’ll teach you everything, anything you want. Some of it… some takes time.” He panted as his own hands pulled at Steve’s ass and guided him down over him, creating a sharp spike of friction between them, that he hoped Steve was feeling too. His mind was so bleary. 

“ I’ll show you so much, teach you-- you’re going to feel  _ everything _ .” He wasn’t making sense. He didn’t care. 

Steve was so good, surprisingly good, with his teeth and mouth. Loki needed to tell him so, when he could speak properly again. When he wouldn’t say something wrong, when he could try and explain, if he needed to, why he liked that, why it felt so good.

“Not-- not going to get inside you. Not right now, not while-- too close. Wouldn’t last-- not going to last.” He admitted, feeling sheepish. “But if you want-- press down on me, ride me. Make us come. Get off, get me off, just--” He used his hands, pressing on Steve’s hips, attempting to direct him by touch where his words were falling away.

  
  


  
  


Steve moaned into Loki’s shoulder, relishing in the noise Loki made, though he was so hard now it ached. He could feel his hammering pulse throbbing in the vein on the underside of his cock, still sensitive from the last go-around. Neither of them, it seemed, would last long. 

He let Loki guide him, lowering his weight so their hips were in line with one another, cocks pressed together like before, though their positions reversed. He looked down at Loki, eyes bright and cheeks lightly rosy, hair spread out over the pillow around him looking wanton and gorgeous. 

And he and Steve were going to have each other. Every way there was. Every day from now until forever, because Steve wasn’t willing to believe anything else. 

“ I’ve got you,” he groaned. “I’ve got you, I’m with you.” He said it like an oath. The feel of his cock against Loki’s was wonderful, though he hadn’t slicked them up with quite enough oil. He reached out and dipped a finger in the jar again, swiping up some more and bringing his hand down to wrap around both their cocks, mixing oil and sweat and dripping pre-cum into just enough lubricant to keep the friction from verging into pain as he bucked his hips and thrust against Loki. “With you... Promise...”

There was pressure building up inside him, a tingling in his balls. He lowered more of his weight on to Loki, increasing the friction as he moved his hips, rubbing them together, slick and hard and hot. “Loki,” he moaned into the side of his neck, one hand slipping under Loki to the small of his back, “God, Loki...” He was close again. 

But he wasn’t the one who mattered. Not this time around.

“Want to.. want to make you come,” he whispered into Loki’s ear, too far gone to feel self-conscious about the absurd words. “I want to feel it when you do... Hear you...” He let his mouth drift down to Loki’s throat and nipped at it, then kissed and sucked hard, pulling Loki to him and pressing into him.

  
  


  
  


He gasped air in, the significance of Steve’s moaned assurances making Loki dizzy, making his chest feel as though it would burst. 

Steve was strong, as strong as he looked, his control and force the perfect tools to tip him and Loki both onto the brink of their completion. As he moved, Loki rocked back against him as well as he could, given his position. The drag of them together was perfect, beautiful, and he felt exactly as he had wanted to, he felt Steve’s weight bearing down on him, turning him nearly inside out with pleasure as his eyes went unfocused. 

“With you.” He murmured in response, his focus wavering. “W’th you.”

He was so close now that he could feel it, feel the tension that was building in every limb. And Steve’s words were the final blow, the last thing he needed to send him spinning into his orgasm.

Steve’s own request, for his sounds, for his come… it was obscene, completely filthy coming from those kiss pink lips, set into that earnest, hungry face. 

“ Coming, Steve-- you’re so good, so good at this, you were so worried, but you’re so perfect, so good, Steve, come with me, please, Steve, come, Come on…” He let the words spill out, punctuated by tiny breaths and the short abortive whines that came of words trying to start while his muscles clenched and he spilled out between them.

The sting in his neck, the pressure and the pain and the-- it was everything, Loki didn’t know of anything beyond it. He let out a low moan, sustained for a few seconds as the last of his spunk trickled free, eyes moving to slits. 

He wanted to see Steve come, needed to-- not only for himself, to remember, but because he had to be sure he finished, had to be sure-- so that he could take care of him, if he needed any more help. 

His mind was unable to be sure of that, to make sense of it, but that much he did know. 

He needed Steve to come, so that he was with him. 

He wrapped his hands around Steve’s waist, echoing after him, assuring and agreeing. 

“ I’ve got you.” He told him passionately. “I’m yours. I’m with you. Come on.” 

 

 

The keening sounds Loki made as his breathing dissolved into shallow pants and his muscles clenched went straight to the pressure building at the base of Steve’s abdomen. He arched his back so his hips remained in contact with Loki’s but his head was raised enough that he could see; see the complete lack of anxiety or artifice on Loki’s face as he moaned and came, his eyes narrowed, lips parted, utterly perfect. 

And Steve had done that. Had taken him apart -- albeit at Loki’s direction -- and left him this beautiful wreck. 

Steve slowed his pace, biting down on his own lip, not wanting to hurt Loki by continuing too roughly, though he was  _ so close... _

_ Come on.  _ Loki urged him on and Steve groaned, the pressure building to the point of no return. Bracing himself with one forearm on the mattress, he reached down with the other, taking himself in hand so he wouldn’t rut against Loki’s oversensitive cock. It only took a few steady pulls to stroke himself through his own orgasm, spilling a lesser quantity of come over Loki’s belly in his second orgasm of the night. Or did this count as his third...?

Utterly exhausted, the adrenaline fading with the last tremors of his climax, Steve lowered himself back down on to Loki, ignoring the mix of fluids between their bellies. Loki had said that after, he wanted Steve on top of him, his weight and his warmth. Steve could give him that now. 

He reached up with one shaky hand and ran it once through Loki’s hair, making a small humming sound of affection where words failed him completely. 

  
  


  
  


It took a magnificent feat of will to lift his arms, spread out and wrung out as he was, but Loki did, if only to wrap them around Steve, resting his hands on his back. He pushed one arm under Steve’s arm and threw the other over his shoulder, holding him high and low, making it so that he would not be able to pull away as easily. 

He curled his face into Steve’s neck, happy to let his body be pressed down under Steve’s and into the mattress, feeling enveloped and surrounded and safe and warm, and, save for the moisture between them (negligible; he’d concern himself with it later) he was completely comfortable. 

Steve hummed his satisfaction, and Loki felt his lips moving upwards into a tired smile. 

“ My Steve. Thank you.” He was so sleepy, and he thought there was no better blanket than this. No greater comfort, no one he would rather be on the run, staying in a hotel in a small town with. 

Even when their situation wasn’t ideal, they were. And they were finding their way, together. 

Loki squirmed happily in the embrace, holding Steve tighter against him. 

He let his hands move in idle circles over his back, from the base of his neck to the swell of his ass. 

“ Not that I am ready for you to move yet…” He said softly, “But when you are ready, let me know. I don’t want you feeling trapped. I just want to hold you for a bit, if that is alright.” He should have asked before twining himself around him like a particularly stubborn vine, but that was easy to remedy if he objected… and in the meantime, he got what he wanted. 

It wasn’t like laying on the Bifrost, Mjolnir on his chest, there was nothing for him to fight against. It was an escape from the constant weight of his own worries, something real and solid, dependable and perfect and warm… 

He closed his eyes, replaying small images of Steve, Steve’s face reacting to a touch, to a feeling, to his words… Steve moving above him, filling them both with so much pleasure. Steve on his tongue, down his throat. Steve taking himself in hand. 

_ Beautiful _ . 

Loki never wanted to move again. 

  
  


  
  


Loki’s arms around him filled Steve with comfort, and he nuzzled into his crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of him; the musky odor of sex and sweat, mixed with the aroma of leather and metal and the air on the first day of winter that composed the unique scent of Loki. It was intoxicating, and Steve made a low rumbling noise of satisfaction, relaxing into Loki’s embrace. The soft motions of Loki’s hands over his body lulled him further into a state of blissed-out calm.

That morning had begun with nightmares. With fear and loss and anxiety, with losing his home and the closest he’d come to a family and a place to belong. With running away from everything. 

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Because now, lying with Loki, he couldn’t imagine a time when he wouldn’t have given up everything for this in anything less than a heartbeat. He felt so secure, so safe, so sure of where he belonged (here, in Loki’s arms), that all the nerves and uncertainty seemed unfathomable. 

It had only been one day. But it had been a hell of a day. And he never wanted it to end; to have to get up and clean off and eventually continue with their mission. 

He let himself lie there for a minute. Five minutes. His eyelids grew heavy and he moaned, realizing he was on the verge of falling asleep atop Loki if he didn’t move soon. “We should clean up,” he mumbled, wanting to protest the idea even as he proposed it. But the sticky mess between them would turn tacky and crusty if they didn’t wipe it up soon, and if they didn’t put away the food, the room would reek of sex and Chinese by dawn, at which point the mingled odors would be far less appetizing. 

 

  
  


Loki sighed, well aware that, like all good things, this too must end. 

“ I suppose.” He responded mulishly. “Thank you for humoring me this long.” 

He slid his hands free of where they surrounded Steve, allowing him to sit up. 

Well aware that he’d been almost criminally lazy the last time, Loki made a point of forcing himself up and into the bathroom, wiping the mess off of himself hastily before returning with a warm wet cloth, intent on returning the favor paid him by Steve.

He returned to find him already in the process of putting away the remains of their dinner, and he pouted. 

“ I can’t leave you alone for a moment without you already putting yourself to work.” He quipped, coming closer. 

It would have been ridiculous for anyone besides them, the sight of Captain America, cum drying on his skin, bending to handle paper containers full of lukewarm chinese dishes. 

Loki watched Steve’s ass and thighs, admiring the way the muscles shifted when he moved, the way he was graceful, despite-- or perhaps because-- of the size of him. 

“ Come here, when you’ve finished that. I want to clean you off.” He told him, an order despite the lightness of his voice. 

It was easy, intimate… and so achingly domestic that Loki thought he would vomit were he less relaxed. 

He’d not ever considered a life where he could be this easy around someone… perhaps not necessarily nude, because that part was not easy. He doubted it ever would be. But… he was comfortable, with Steve. Safe and cared for, caring… it hadn’t been like this in some time. It felt like having a family again, felt like regaining a piece of himself he’d forgotten was missing. 

He  _ ached _ with how peaceful he was. Because he knew that, too, could not last. Wouldn’t last. 

He paused, unwilling to go back to the real world of fears and regrets and hopelessness just yet. 

“I couldn’t tell you before,” Loki said suddenly, remembering that he was meant to compliment Steve when he regained his words. “I was too… well. You saw.” He smirked, pleased with them both for the state they’d been in at the time. “You’ve a very talented mouth, Steve Rogers. When you bit me-- I liked that very much. Thank you, again, I know that might have been… not something you would ordinarily think to do.” 

  
  


  
  


Steve had slipped out of the bed moments after Loki, despite the part of him that wanted to curl up and stay in bed forever. After all, the food wouldn’t pick itself up. Fortunately, he’d consolidated most of their mess earlier, so it didn’t take much to seal up the containers and remaining food, tucking them into the mini-refrigerator under the TV. He was just packing up the garbage into the plastic bag their plates and silverware had come in when Loki emerged from the bathroom and chastised him, though with no particular ire in his voice. He tied the bag off with a grin. “Yes sir,” he replied, teasing, and placed the bag in the wastebasket. He crossed over to the window and opened it a crack to let some fresh air in. The room was warm and pungent, and a bit of a breeze would help clear it out. 

Once he finished, he dropped back on to the bed, laying on his back so Loki could wipe up the mess smeared over his abdomen. He smiled up at his partner, then listened as Loki spoke up.

He blushed. “Oh. I, uh. I’m glad you liked that. I wasn’t... I don’t really know what I’m doing, but it’s good to know that part was okay.” With his head a little clearer and the euphoria abating, he felt some of the embarrassment and shame creeping back in, though not as much of the latter. “Thanks for telling me. And for asking me to.” The instructions had been helpful, had kept him from feeling like he was flailing, failing...

“ Just, let me know if I ever actually hurt you so I can stop?” He licked his lips. He didn’t want to cause Loki actual harm or distress, though he knew that just a touch of pain could be... nice. It was why he pushed himself as much as he did. Running, training, getting into fights -- it all brought him to that straining edge of exhilaration and pain where he felt the most alive. If that was what Loki was after, Steve could give it to him. Might even ask for it in return, if Loki was willing. But he wouldn’t push him over that line into any kind of suffering. 

He watched as Loki wiped them both down, stretching so he could reach all of him, and relishing in the feeling of the sheets beneath him, soft and cool. “Everything was so...” he trailed off with a happy sigh. “I’m happy we ran.”

  
  


  
  


Loki laughed dryly while he wiped at the jism smeared over him, glad for the opportunity to touch Steve again already, even in so non-sexual a way. This sort of care giving was good, intimate. It made him feel like he had done well for the both of them. 

“ I…” Loki sat on the edge of the bed, playing with the cloth in his hands. “I have come to like pain amongst my pleasure. I can assure you there is nothing you would do to me in bed-- I mean, you  _ could _ perhaps do something that would be beyond my comfort, but… I think, knowing you as you are, nothing that you do intentionally will come close to being too much pain.” Loki’s lips twisted uncertainly, but he pressed on. “Of course, I wouldn’t ask you for anything more than you are comfortable giving me. And I have adored all of it, all that you have done so far. I do not want you to be afraid to explore, to experiment on me as you will. It is… it is part of finding the peculiarities of your own preferences. And if we stumble across something that you find incredibly arousing, please feel free to tell me, or ask me to repeat it. Or, if there is something that seems close… let me know, also, that we may change it until it makes you feel as good as possible.” Loki looked down, spotting a bit of cum he’d missed on himself, and he dabbed it off carefully, before letting the cloth sit on the table beside the bed, with little thought beyond that. 

“ I do not want you to feel ashamed of asking me about anything, or asking me  _ for _ anything.” Loki gave him a most lascivious grin. “Having been around for centuries of your years, I am sure that I have thought of and experienced everything that could occur to you. And if not, well.” He winked. “I doubt I will be unwilling to explore anything with you.” 

He stood, returning the cloth to the bathroom and running warm water over it in a half hearted attempt at cleaning, before abandoning it where it sat.

He came back to bed and slid under the blankets. The window was open and he had no urge to replace his pants, and so it was wisest to burrow, as he intended to do now, though he shuffled closer to Steve’s side, hoping to take advantage of his body heat as well. 

Thinking back on what else had been said amidst their babbling, Loki remembered something else. 

“As for drawing me-- I would… like that, I think. I think it would help to see what you see, when you look at me.” It was a quiet admission, but one that he hoped Steve would understand, just the same. 

  
  


  
  


Steve nodded along with Loki’s words, a sleepy smile on his face. He looked forward to experimenting. To exploring this whole new frontier with Loki, finding out the things he liked, finding out the things he could do that Loki liked, and doing it all together. Everything so far had been incredible, after all. And the things Loki had spoken of wanting to do filled Steve with ideas. He wanted to try everything, in due time. 

Clean enough, he wriggled under the blankets when Loki got up to dispose of the cloth. The room would cool quickly now with the window open, giving them all the more reason to cuddle closely for one another’s warmth. He held the blankets up for Loki as he returned, and when he scooted up against Steve’s side, he dropped the blankets and rolled on to his side, reaching over to the bedside lamp to switch it off and plunge them into darkness.

He then wrapped his arms around Loki, holding him close, pressing their bodies together -- not for pleasure this time, but simply for comfort. The blankets pulled up to their chins, they were warm and snug in the bed, and Steve let out a contented sigh.

“ I don’t know if I’m that good of an artist, but I’ll definitely try,” he told Loki. “Thank you. For everything.” 

He pressed a small kiss to the back of Loki’s neck, letting his eyes finally slip shut. “And good night.”

  
  
  


 


	21. Twenty-One

_The air in the underground SHIELD hangar was chill, and Steve shuddered slightly as they stood around arguing. Something was wrong, but he just couldn't quite place it._

_"Steve," Fury began, and the sound of Steve's first name on his tongue was a strange thing._

_Something was off. He'd been here before. Done this before. He and Loki had come in, hadn't they? Called Fury and been brought in, only they'd done it before. Steve shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed to remember something..._

_"What you_ need _, Captain," Fury said, "is to get your head on straight. Report to Medical. That's an order."_

_"Not without--" Steve turned toward Loki and that's when he saw it:_

_A tiny little red dot of light, bobbing and dancing over the armor covering Loki's chest._

_His heart stopped._

_"Loki, get down!" he shouted, lunging forward in the hopes that he might be able to knock him out of the way before--_

_The crack of a rifle reverberated through the air and Loki jerked, a crimson spray of blood spurting from the exit wound as a high-powered bullet tore through him. Green eyes widened in surprise, and Loki's hand moved to the gaping wound in his chest, brows knit in confusion._

_Slowly, almost gracefully, Loki crumpled to the ground._

"No!"

_The scream tore through Steve's throat and he pulled violently from the SHIELD agents that tried to restrain him, falling to his knees at Loki's side. "Loki, Loki, come on, look at me," he pleaded, tearing off his jacket and bundling it up to press it against the wound. There was so much blood already, filling all the nooks and rivets in Loki's armor, seeping out from between the bands of leather and pooling on the concrete floor beneath him._

_Steve's eyes stung with tears. "Loki, please..."_

_Loki make a small choking sound, blood bubbling up between his lips and then trickling down his cheek as his eyes darted frantically around before finally finding Steve. "Cap'ain," he gurgled, trembling. "Steve...?"_

_"I'm here," Steve said, scooping Loki up and pulling him into his arms, as if he could push life into Loki's failing body through sheer proximity. "I've got you. You're gonna be okay, I promise..."_

_Loki gasped, then shuddered, green eyes still locked on Steve, unblinking._

_Steve reached out to brush his fingers across Loki's cheek. "Loki?"_

_Loki didn't react. Didn't move. Didn't blink._

_"No, no no, Loki, no..."_

_Blood soaked Steve's shirt, his hands, his knees. He cradled Loki close, unwilling to let go of the lifeless body in his arms. "Loki..."_

_Tears streamed from his eyes and his voice broke as he cried out once more--_

  
  


Steve opened his eyes, every muscle tense, briefly lost in the darkness with no idea where he was. Then his eyes accustomed themselves to the low light and he remembered to breathe.

A dream. It was just a bad dream. And he could hear Loki breathing beside him, close and warm and _alive._ He hadn't died in the SHIELD hangar. Hadn't been shot.

None of it had happened.

Steve breathed deeply and pulled Loki a little tighter to him, running a hand in a light circle over his back. There was no blood, no ripped flesh where an armor-piercing round would have torn through him.

He let himself lie there, comfortable in the dark for several long minutes, breathing evenly and holding Loki safe in his arms until he saw the sky begin to lighten outside the window.

Moving with care and no sudden motions, he extricated himself from Loki, unwrapping their arms from each other and sliding out from the bed, making sure to tug the blankets up closely to Loki's chin to keep him warm.

The air was cold on his bare skin, and Steve quickly grabbed his backpack and brought it into the bathroom with him where the light wouldn't wake Loki. He took a quick piss, wiped down what few traces of their night still clung to his skin (he would shower when he got back), and dressed in sweatpants, a t-shirt, and his sneakers.

As an afterthought, right before leaving, he grabbed the notepad and scribbled a quick note to Loki, in case he woke before Steve returned:

Satisfied, he left it on the pillow where Loki would find it as soon as he noticed Steve's absence, then slipped out the door.

Fresh air always banished the remnants of his nightmares, after all.

  
  
  


Loki's sleep was not untouched by the hands of cold fear. He couldn't remember why, when he woke, couldn't remember save for momentary glimpses. _They were running. Thanos was after them, and they could not run far enough, fast enough. They ran towards SHIELD and were met with guns, stern faces. So they ran for the Avengers, and Banner turned huge, green, swooped them up, hand delivered them to Thanos..._

It was a stupid thing, but waking up to an empty bed was jarring.

The note made sense of it, though. Steve had said he wanted a run.

Loki pulled himself out of bed, moved through the stretches he had done in the cell, his limbering up routine, and then decided to have a shower.

He considered the idea of going downstairs, of having breakfast, but he was certain that the others who stayed there would be down there as well. He knew he wasn't good enough at the pretense of being Midgardian to fake it in a conversation.

Besides, he didn't know the foods here, he might err horribly. What if there was something with spice, and he took it by accident?

No, better to wait for Steve's return. Besides, he could then use his eating as a reason to be sure Steve ate again. His body demanded more than he was getting, after all.

He wrapped a towel around himself and moved back into the main room, turning up the blankets on the bed.

In the interest of being practical, he emptied his ‘pocket' and did an inventory, then rearranged, hoping that he could make it take up less room. The sensation of fullness, the feeling of something poking him, was not painful, but it was an irritant, and one he did not need.

And he hoped to place whatever clothing or books he got that day into the pocket as well.

He put the shield on the bottom, then filled it, keeping the money box and the Captain's suit close to the front for ease of access. His delicate ingredients and poultices he moved to the middle, cushioned by the other supplies. At the very top, he rested his knives, for quick and easy retrieval. And when he was done, there was enough room for a bit more. Probably enough for anything they picked up.

His seidhr had filled, or come near to full, as any exertion took a little more time to fully finish. He would be gentle with his use that day, and by the next they would be prepared to take the step on towards Stark, Banner, and New York City.

Loki was not certain he looked forward to it. Not with Steve's seeming worry that they would be shot at or need to run.

Loki did not have any real interest in tangling with the Hulk again. He shuddered to think what that kind of power would do to someone like Steve, someone as breakable and mortal as he.

  
  
  


Steve ran.

He'd started off by approaching the young man half-asleep at the front desk, making inquiries about any nearby trails. Usually he ran in the parks in the city, but here there was open country to explore. A few small bills ensured that a laundry bag would be left outside his and Loki's room later so they could get their clothes washed. And then he was out the door, shivering in his short sleeves in the crisp morning air, and setting off at a light jog to warm up before picking up speed.

Now his feet hammered against the earth as he ran through the trails, the forest waking around him, soft pink and orange light filtering through the branches as birds twittered and dew dripped from the leaves. The cold air felt good in his lungs, his legs stretching and chest expanding as his mind went blank, slipping into an almost meditative state. He'd looped down through the town, back up the hill, up the road and into the woods, until now he ran on a ridge alongside the creek, the babbling of the water almost overpowered by the rush of blood in his ears. Eventually, he came to a halt, stretching and breathing deeply as he bent down to fix his laces and work out any tension that had built up in his muscles.

He'd come to a nice spot; a clearing next to the stream, near where large flat areas of stone stretched out over and into the water. He crept down onto the rocks and reached into the cold, fresh water, splashing some into his face now that he'd succeeded in working up a sweat. Crouching there, alone in the woods in the wilderness, he took a moment to simply _be,_ emptying himself of all other worries.

This solitude... it might have carried a sense of loneliness with it before, so far from any other sign of human life. But now, Steve knew he had someone waiting for him, and the thought brought a smile to his lips.

He had no watch to check his time, but the sun was up and he ought to be getting back soon, so he and Loki could eat and plan their day. Shaking water droplets from his hands, he wiped them off on his sweats and resumed his run. If he was right, the creek-side trail would bring him back to the hotel in another mile and a half...

  


* * *

  


It was still early, though the sun was well up and the town awake by the time Steve got back to the hotel. He waved to Gail at the desk, but made his way right up the stairs to his room to shower. To his happy surprise, a laundry bag already waited outside the door, and he fiddled with his key for only a moment before getting it open.

Loki was awake, sitting on the bed wrapped in a towel, his hair damply curling. Steve felt a small pang of guilt; with how soundly Loki had slept the other day, he'd almost hoped he'd still be asleep on his return, and Steve could gently kiss him awake. Instead he shut the door, smiled, then crossed over to the bed, sitting on the edge beside him.

"Good morning."

  
  
  


Watching Steve enter the room, sweaty and bearing limp material in his hand, it was like something from a dream. The good kind. The kind he did not wake up from quickly and filled with panic.

A real, warm smile bloomed over his face, and he leaned in for a kiss.

"Good morning yourself. Did you have a good run?" He did not smell anywhere near so clean as Loki did, but the smell was not unpleasant. It was a healthy sweat, and Loki was glad not to be able to scent any signs of illness in it.

He smelled like their room had the night prior, only without the sharp tang of sex over it, and Loki wondered idly if they should change that.

But they had things to do this day, he doubted Steve would have eaten before he left, and even if he had, he should eat again before expending any more energy.

So Loki kept his kiss easy and chaste, lips closing on Steve's and tongue staying out of it.

"I haven't eaten yet-- once I've dressed perhaps we could go down together?" He asked, certain there would be no problem with that.

He was glad of the fact that breakfast would be free. Even in having handled the box that Steve kept his money in, Loki knew they must be going through it in a rapid enough way to be worrisome. No resource was inexhaustible, after all. And he hated that he didn't understand well enough to help with the burden of it.

He decided, the next time he was alone, to make a study of the different denominations, and see if he couldn't parse it out, rather than point out yet another thing that Rogers would need to educate him on.

  
  
  


His eyes traced over Loki's face, warm and open, the edges softened by the morning light that permeated the lightweight curtains. "I did. We should maybe go for a hike later, if you're up for it. There's a really nice trail nearby." Loki would enjoy the peace of the creek, he thought; and it was far enough from other people that they could be open in their affection if they wished.

Affection like that they shared now. Steve savored the gentle kiss, pulling back with a smile.

"I have enough clean clothes to get us through today in my pack, so go ahead and grab whatever you need out of there. The rest we can put in here," he said, holding up the laundry bag, "and the hotel staff will wash it." That, plus a little shopping, would keep them from running out of clothes for another several days, provided they didn't make a mess of themselves.

"Just lemme get a shower in," he said, standing up and peeling out of his sweat-soaked tee-shirt. "Then we'll get breakfast."

He leaned down and pressed a quick peck to Loki's cheek, then shucked the rest of his clothes and shut the bathroom door, starting the water.

He kept his shower short but thorough, soaping himself down fully under the hot spray. When he climbed out, he brushed his teeth as he toweled off, vigorously rubbing his hair with the towel and then wrapping it around his waist as he parted and combed it, once again noting it was in need of a trim.

He spit out the toothpaste in his mouth and emerged a few minutes later, clean and fresh. "Anything in particular that you want to do today?" he asked, reaching for his pack and the remaining clean shirt it contained.

  
  
  


Loki pulled on the shirt made of the thinner fabric in the bag, hoping that it would at least cling to him somewhat, negating a little of the tent like feelings of the other shirt that Steve had given him.

There was an odd silky texture to it, and it was hard to tell, but it felt like the material stretched out over his shoulders and chest-- not so much as it would over Steve's, but... it did at least feel tighter. And oddly, though it hid his form less, it made him feel more, as if his shape being visible made him better in his silhouette. It was a cool grey color, closer to one he'd have chosen for himself, and with it holding tight against him, and the coat atop it, he did not feel even half so self conscious as he had the day prior.

He pulled the pants on as well, amused to find that these fit his waist just as did the others, though the legs were again looser than he was used to.

"I would like to find garments, something acceptable to your people but closer to what I am accustomed to, if that's still alright. And something to wear to meet your friends." Loki said, trying to think on what else he wanted to do.

His eyes danced across Steve's body, proud and pleased, and finding him beautiful beyond any description his words could make. He had no idea what he wanted to do, aside from spend the rest of his life in bed, curled around Steve. But he needed to be practical. There had to be _some_ practical things that he wanted.

"If we might shop for food items that will not spoil, I rearranged the contents of my pocket, and there is a little space within it, now... and I think it is something worth having with us."

He wanted the books as well, that they had spoken of, but they were less pressing, and didn't bear making into a priority.

He shrugged, unsure what else to say.

"Otherwise I have no pressing needs. Whatever you think we ought to do."

He wanted to ask about learning to drive, and handle money, and make food orders, wanted to question Steve about the options offered in shops here, and what sort of niceties he might be expected to engage in, but that, at least, he hoped to see. And he did not wish to annoy, as he knew from past experience that he had a tendency to do, while learning new things.

  
  
  


Steve pulled on his same trousers from the day before (they'd survive a while longer sans washing), and a long-sleeved brown shirt. Loki, it seemed, had selected a gray running shirt. Steve debated telling him that it was more for exercise than walking around in, but it wasn't as if they had many options at present, so he let it go. Besides -- the tighter weave of the shirt clung to Loki's shape, and he looked _good._

"Alright. We'll start off the day with a walk through town and see if there are any clothes stores. We can drive out a little if there's nothing decent we can find in walking distance," he added. He wasn't sure how they would shop for Loki in his female form without it being slightly conspicuous, but if they didn't think of anything, they could always stop on the drive the next day.

"I can also fit some things in my pack, if your pocket is getting full," he added. "Or we can pick up another bag." Carrying a lot of possessions wasn't practical, but for the more easily replaced items -- food, clothes, etc. -- they could throw a few things in a backpack or satchel and not strain Loki's magic.

Finished with dressing and grooming, he tidied up the room a bit, tucked his bag into the corner, and counted the cash he had on him. If had mostly been in large bills, so the original stacks he'd grabbed from the lockbox and stuffed in his jacket -- while thinner -- would still certainly last them the day. He shrugged on said jacket and moved to hold the door open for Loki so they could head down to breakfast.

The spread was simple but nice, buffet style. Most of it included things Loki had familiarity with -- croissants, muffins, fresh fruit, and cereal, as well hot tea, coffee, and juices. Steve murmured an explanation of what to do and what a buffet meant as he took a plate and loaded it up with fruit and a croissant.

  
  
  


"We should get some food to take with us in the car, if nothing else, and I can always carry a bag as well." Loki told him, moving down the stairs before Steve. "I will admit that my pocket is... nearing capacity, though I have also never reached it, so I have some curiosity as to what that will feel like. I did make it more comfortable, moving things this morning."

He lifted a shoulder to show his lack of care, one way or the other.

When they reached the dining room, he was grateful for Steve's instruction, and accepted the plate he was handed, following along after Steve. The flaky bread, the croissants, Loki picked up two of, along with a peach and a phallic looking yellow... thing, mainly because the shape made him smirk.

He found the stacks of cups, and a jug emblazoned with a very poor, overly rounded artist's rendering of what he supposed was meant to be a cow, though he'd never seen one whose mouth curved so.

It was grotesque.

Once he'd found the food he planned to eat, he followed Steve to a small table, with chairs only for two, and sat with him, turning his eyes on the very few people peppered throughout the room.

It seemed his fear of having to engage any of them had been utterly unfounded. They all seemed quiet and self involved. Thank goodness.

"What did you want to do today?" He asked, realizing he hadn't returned the polite inquiry.

  
  
  


_Spend time with you,_ Steve thought, but didn't say. He picked at his croissant, taking the small, individually-packaged serving of button and peeling back the plastic so he could spread it on the pastry. "

Well, checking out the shops first sounds good. By the time we're done eating and walk into town, everything should be open." He paused, then added, "assuming you're okay with walking. If you're tired at any point, we can drive instead. I just figured since we'll probably be in the car or the subway a lot tomorrow, it might be nice to get the fresh air and stretch our legs while we can."

He peeled off a piece of croissant and popped it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "After that, I figure we can take a walk on one of the trails, if you're up for it." That would hopefully give Loki time to unwind if the experience of shopping and dealing with transactions and Earth clothing sizing turned out to be stressful. "Then, depending on how we're feeling we can either see about that driving lesson, or just come back to the room and..." he trailed off with a small smile, then felt himself blush at his own suggestiveness. He coughed into his hand.

"I, ah, I forgot to grab coffee. Do you want some?" he asked, pushing his chair back. He then paused. "Wait -- have you ever had coffee?"

  
  
  


"I do not mind walking, so long as you will do the majority of communicating with others. I... am not ready yet, I think. My speech patterns are too foreign and my knowledge bases too unstable and widespread." He flicked a glance at the pair of older women who were sitting together, discussing lord knows what, in hushed tones and with gestures out the window, then at the woman stocking the food on the table, to be sure there would be enough for the next people who came in.

He had no idea how to speak with any of them in a way that was not commanding or reactive, or going to expose him instantly as out of his element.

"Coffee?" Loki repeated, a smile hovering on the edges of his ignorance at the way that Steve's _not_ saying something could make him blush, even though it _had_ been utterly apparent from the way he spoke that what he meant was another tumble, another intimate hour or more.

Loki wondered what new joy he might teach him, in that case.

He was delightful, his innocence in sexual matters was delightful. And Loki hoped it would never stop, even while he slowly helped him explore his way through all of it.

He hoped they got the chance.

"Unless it was one of the things you brought for me, no, I do not believe I have had coffee." He raised a brow, interested to discover why Steve found that so important. Was it like his saying they did not have cars? One of the more commonplace drinks of Midgard? Or somehow culturally significant?

  
  
  


Steve smiled. "Ok, time to try you out on some new things..." He turned and headed for the beverage table, grabbing three mugs. The first he filled with coffee, and left it black. The second he also filled with coffee, but to this added whole milk and several packets of sugar, mixing it thoroughly. The last cup he filled with hot water, and he grabbed a packet of Earl Gray from the basket of available teas, putting in the tea bag to let it steep, and adding a packet of sugar.

Carefully holding the three piping hot mugs with an effort not to spill, he made his way back to the table and gingerly set them down.

"Coffee," he began explaining, "is the fuel we humans function on. It's made from beans that grow in tropical areas, that you grind up and then pour hot water through. Now, some people drink it as is, or ‘black.' Other people like to add a mix of cream, milk, and-or sugar, since it's pretty bitter otherwise. It's also full of caffeine, which is a chemical that gives you a boost for a while after you drink it, so a lot of folks can't start their day without at least a cup."

He pushed the two mugs of coffee in front of Loki. "Give each one a try. Whichever you don't like, I'll drink. And if you hate them both, there's tea." He knew it could be an acquired taste, and while it wasn't spicy, it was a strong and unique flavor, so he kept the third option on standby so Loki wouldn't feel the need to pretend to like either cup if he hated the taste altogether.

  
  
  


_The fuel humans function on_. It sounded almost dire-- and if that was the case, how had he spent this long around Steve without being exposed to it? Not to mention all of the humans he'd held in his thrall.

"Bean water." Loki said, skeptically. It did smell wonderfully, though, the aroma rich and heavenly. It gave him some hope for the drink, though it looked like some of the more vile medicines he had made in his time amongst the healers of Asgard.

Tea he was at least familiar with, as it was popular and highly regarded on both Asgard and Vanaheim. But this...

Loki held it gingerly, the heat soaking through even the thick walls of the mug that Steve had made it in.

He blew at the steam, wanting to try it but not willing to scald himself on it in the process.

"And this fuel, how often do you need it? And what happens when you do not get it?" He asked, mindful that though Steve had had opportunity the last couple of days, those before it had been absolutely coffee free.  He was displeased to find that there was yet more he hadn't been aware of, in trying to nurse Steve back to health.

"And is there anything else, any other necessities that I should be aware of that you require, which you have not been getting?"

Loki finally risked taking a sip, just a small one, of the darkest cup that had come, the first one Steve had indicated.

At first, he did not see the reason for the disclaimer, but then he felt it on the back of his tongue, the bitter earthy darkness that spread through his mouth. He grimaced, scraping his tongue against his teeth, and sat the cup down a little harder than intended in his rush to get it away from himself, the liquid within sloshing alarmingly, but not spilling out, thank goodness.

Loki shook his head and took a bite of his peach, cleansing the sharp flavor from his senses with the sweetness of the fruit.

"That," he said slowly, "Is the sort of drink that As-- that men where I come from would sit around making a game of, to see who could consume the most in the most manly fashion." He groaned at the thought. "That is reprehensible."

He needed to remember to be careful with his words, because even here, he had no doubt Thor would be known; _he_ would be known, if mentioned by name. Who knew who might be listening in.

He lifted the next cup, staring distastefully down at it. This was paler, and Loki could feel the difference in the temperature, as well as see how it did not give off the same steam.

Surprisingly, when he drank this time, it was more palatable, though the aftertaste still had that lingering earthen bitterness that made his mouth taste dry and unpleasant.

"I... could perhaps drink that," Loki told Steve. "But if it is all the same to you, I would rather not. It is... I cannot fathom needing that, being forced to intake it on any sort of regular basis."

  
  
  


Steve had to cover his mouth to contain a laugh at the face Loki pulled on his first sip of dark coffee. It was amusing and endearing in equal parts.

"Don't worry about it," he told him, pulling the coffee mugs back toward himself and pushing the tea over to Loki.

"It's a bit of an acquired taste, and some people just don't like it. And we don't actually _need_ it -- well," he paused, considering, "some people insist they do, but they're mostly being dramatic. It's not like water or air or anything like that," he quickly disclaimed, remembering how annoyed and worried Loki had gotten the other night when he found out Steve had been undereating.

"It just gives you a boost -- wakes you up, makes you more alert, gives you a bit of energy. Most people start their day with a cup, and those that develop a dependency just end up grumpy and tired if they don't get a fix," he explained, sipping the coffee with milk and spearing a piece of melon on his fork. "It's not really a necessity. Although..." He smiled. "Some people will go to great lengths to get it. I remember one time in the war, our coffee rationing didn't come through, and a bunch of the fellas wound up brewing coffee with one of Monty's socks for a filter, using recycled grounds and chicory." The experience had been more joyful than the coffee, which had proved foul, but a testament to the commandos' ingenuity all the same.

He chewed a piece of fruit and swallowed, finishing off the first mug and pulling over the second; there was no sense in wasting it now that he'd fixed it up. "I like it, I'm used to drinking it, but I'm honestly fine without it. My metabolism burns through the caffeine pretty quick, so it doesn't do a lot for me," he said with a shrug. "It's mostly just comforting on account of being something routine."

Taking a bite of his pastry, he wondered if Loki would like hot chocolate. That would be something to perhaps experiment with at a later date.

  
  
  


Loki blew out air a little indignantly.

"Your people choose to swallow the oddest things. Who has cinnamon, and coffee, and Bhut Jolokia for the first time, and says ‘ah yes. This should go to my stomach'? Who thinks like that?" Loki asked, mildly incensed, but mostly playing it for laughs. "I will tell you who: people who hate happiness."

He took the tea, tipping his nose air wards and taking a large pull of it, pleasantly surprised by the sweetness. He was used to the leafy flavor being sweetened somewhat by honey, but there was always the flavor of it, the green and earth flavors combining. This was somehow cleaner, and had otherness to it as well. Something fruity in amongst the leaves.

"What sort of tea is this? It is unlike any I have tasted." He took another sip, surprised by it.

The color of it, too, was darker than he was used to, a brown rather than a green, and he did not feel like it could be boiled down and used to kill infections or strip colored varnish from furniture.

He returned to his own pastry, then, seeing that Steve had eaten most of his, put the extra that he had taken onto Steve's plate with a pointed look and a raised brow.

"I will grant that it is possible that your coffee is more pleasant than the means I have employed in the past of remaining alert-- namely to take large drinks of edik, which is...  fermented corn turned first to alcohol and then to edik, which is... bitter, sharp, sour, pungent... and of great use in most cleaning, healing, and cooking. Very acidic. A large swallow, and I would challenge any to count themselves still on the verge of sleep."

He wondered if they had anything like that here-- the dressings on the salads had been similar, though the effects of the taste much paler.

  
  
  


Steve couldn't help it.

He dissolved into laughter.

Once, there was a time Loki's ire would have had him reaching for his shield, ready to defend nearby civilians. But right now, without any force or seriousness behind it, it was just plain hilarious; his indignation at assorted culinary quirks of planet Earth reducing Steve to a fit of giggles that earned them both an odd look from the two old women in the corner.

"Sorry," he apologized, trying to recover himself.  He pressed his lips together to hold in a laugh. "You might have a point about the Bhut Jolokia, I'll give you that one."

He took a sip of coffee to even himself out. "Um. Earl Gray, I think. They had an assortment. There's a lot of different kind of teas, but I've always been more of a coffee drinker myself, so I don't know much." He shrugged apologetically. "Though that edik stuff sounds... intense. And pretty disgusting." A large swallow of that, and it sounded like it'd be impossible to sleep on account of being violently sick.

Though the thought wasn't enough to turn Steve's appetite. He happily polished off his croissant and started in on Loki's spare, figuring he'd humor him. He focused on cleaning his plate for the next few moments; the sooner he finished up breakfast, the sooner they could get going and enjoy the day.

  
  
  


Loki hummed, turning his attention to the peach he'd pierced in his efforts to be rid of the taste of the vile coffee.

"It astounds me how many of our foods are similar, and yet the flavors created are so different." He mused, eating it carefully, trying to collect the juices before they made their way down his arm.

Finally he gave up, sitting the fruit down and licking it off of his fingers, going out of his way to be as non-sexual about it as possible, well aware of how Steve would feel, exposed and vulnerable, if he behaved that way in public. Maybe as a woman...

The thought made Loki smirk, utterly amused at the prospect of teasing him with public flirtations. Mild ones, of course. Maybe once they had seen to their business with Stark and Banner, and hopefully all had gone well.

"I have had my fill." He announced, though he did lift the yellow thing. "Show me how to eat this, and then we can leave." He offered it across to Steve, grinning salaciously at the still-amusing shape.

Midgardian fauna grew with a tendency towards the same sort of humor that Asgard's did, it seemed.

  
  


Steve smiled back at him. "Well, first of all, that's called a banana. Second of all, you have to peel it..." He stood and gestured for Loki to come with him.

He could eat on the way.

  


* * *

  


The babbling of the creek was its own kind of music, Steve decided as he stretched out on his back, head on Loki's leg, the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees on to his face.

The morning's errands had gone as well as could be expected. They had walked into town and explored a few shops, including a small art gallery Steve found featuring mostly water colors of covered bridges for some reason. Eventually they located a thrift shop which seemed as good a place as any to look for clothes, and wound up getting Loki some attire that would fit his tastes and his shoulders better than Steve's own clothes. They'd even stumbled across a rather pretty blue sundress that they'd smuggled in with their purchase, so Loki would have something to wear in his female form when they went to New York.

After that they'd walked down the street and past the park they'd sat in the night prior, until Loki spotted the sign for a used book store, which they'd promptly entered to explore. While Loki was deeply immersed in his browsing, Steve snuck out to the small restaurant across the street that made sandwiches and salads to go, putting in a lunch order and having them bag it up, hiding the food amid the other bags of clothes and sundries over his arms when he doubled back to collect Loki and pay for his selections.

With their shopping concluded, they'd returned to the hotel to drop off their things, happy to find their laundry had been returned clean and folded. Steve quickly emptied out his backpack while Loki was in the bathroom changing into a new shirt, and loaded it up with their lunches and a spare towel. From there, he'd insisted Loki come take a walk with him, though he didn't divulge their destination until they arrived on the rocky outcropping over the water that he'd discovered on his run that morning. At that point he'd unzipped his bag and unloaded their picnic lunch for them to eat.

It wasn't an Asgardian hot spring, and it wasn't a mountain pool in northern Italy. But it was nice all the same, and with his BLT devoured, Steve now lay against Loki, enjoying the birdsong and the rustling of the leaves, the full feeling in his stomach and the warmth of his partner.

So far, it had been a perfect day.

  
  
  


For all of his complaints about Midgardian clothes, Loki found that the shirt he'd picked out from the store was actually very comfortable. It wasn't entirely unlike the ones he'd worn his first couple of visits to Earth, first to say goodbye to Thor, then again in Stuttgart, before he'd met with Steve for the first time.  But he'd foregone any additional layers, and so the thinness meant that he was comfortable in this setting, relaxed and at ease, now more than he had been save for obvious occasions, ever since arriving on Midgard.

The comfort of feeling at home in his clothing, sitting with his back against the smooth face of a rock, with Steve against him and the wilderness around him, it all felt too wonderful, too much like home. The home he wanted.

"Woods are very much the same between worlds. Colors and shapes of trees differ, but there is always that smell." Loki spoke slowly, his eyes closed and face upturned towards the sun, soaking it in while it peered out from behind clouds and filtered down between leaves.

He breathed deeply, taking it in-- the smell of dry warm leaves above them, and the cool, damp smell of decomposing leaves that had fallen to the ground not far beyond.

"It is amazing that your world can exist as it does, so many people and so much concrete, strangling out all of the green life in your cities, and yet this... it's close, and yet to far removed as to feel like its own world." It was so easy to marvel at how safe he felt, when in truth neither of them was safe in the slightest.

"This was a glorious surprise, Steve. Thank you. I would not have counted it as a priority, but... I think I am grateful we came here. It reminds me how much I miss the wilds of Asgard. And I will miss these woods, when we have returned to the city." He would miss the quiet of the place, the quiet of his time here with Steve.

Cracking his eye open, he looked down on his partner, at the beauty of his relaxed face, his perfect features held at peace.

It was easy to forget how young he was, how short his life had been up until now. He was hardly more than a child.

Loki was dragging this perfect child through the world, forcing him to shoulder burdens and take charge, to give up hopes and wishes and dreams, and in exchange... in exchange he was sleeping with him.

He frowned, but quickly smoothed it off of his face, lest Steve open his eyes, lest he see and take things the wrong way.

He looked ethereal in this setting, not only like a perfectly formed man, but closer to one of the gods Loki had been taken for, in ages past. He looked like one of the legends.

Asgard had many tales of the fae creatures who lived in the woods, of the dryads who would draw you into the bark of their trees and hold you to them until the tree grew around you and absorbed you.

He wished that Steve was one such creature, so that he could pull Loki in, never let him go, and they should be together eternally. Safe. Free, Untouchable.

But that was not the world they lived in. This had an expiration, as did everything and everyone else around them.

Loki found himself bending his head down to press a light kiss to Steve's brow.

"I do not have gods to pray to, but if I did I would send them my thanks for you." He said softly, nuzzling against his temple.

  
  
  


Steve hummed happily. "Then I can send a prayer up for the two of us," he replied.

He wondered  if having sex with a pagan god counted as blasphemy. Though that was probably the least of Steve's worries if even half the contents of his Sunday school lessons were true. He'd had sex out of wedlock, sex with another man, and to say nothing of all the times he'd taken the Lord's name in vain the night before. The thought brought a guilty smile to his lips. But surely, any God that brought him and Loki together couldn't begrudge them something that brought them both so much happiness? Not when their affection harmed no one.

Steve wondered. What they were doing went against a lifetime of what he'd been told by pastors and teachers and chaplains. All his life, he'd known with certainty that the part of him that wanted something like _this_ was deviant and wrong.

So how did it feel so right?

He opened his eyes and looked up at Loki. If he was going to go to hell for this, he decided, it was worth it.

"I figured you could use some time out in nature after being cooped up so long." Steve might be a city boy born and raised, but even he found the amount of chrome and glass and blank wall space in the Triskelion to be a bit soul crushing after a time.

"There's some great parks in the city too. You don't get as much privacy as this, but Central Park is pretty amazing, and there's lots of little places where you can get some quiet and some trees." He had to remind himself that they were going to New York tomorrow. That this was all ephemeral, and they had a destination to reach and a plan to enact.

"After all this, after Thanos... When everything is squared away, I'm pretty sure I can justify some vacation time. Maybe then you can... you can take me traveling to other worlds." He stretched and slowly sat up.

  
  
  


Hearing him speak so casually of their problems, his belief that they could end so simply, it made Loki's chest ache.

So young, so naive, and so sure. Loki shivered.

Steve was only going to get hurt by all of this. And Loki was going to do his best to protect him.

"I'd like that very much." He said, instead. "I would love to take you to Vanaheim. It is not like here, or Asgard, it is... utangard worlds, worlds beyond the fences, we call the other realms. It is a wild place, but also, by and large, a tranquil one. The figures of your Sword in the Stone would be comfortable there. I think much of what your world once considered magic may have merely been Vanaheim's influences on Midgard. The woods hang in silver and the sky is palest green, and the animal calls are like music. It is haunting and perfect." He reached up to run his fingers through Steve's hair as he spoke, the silky locks having grown longer in just the time he'd known him.

"I'm afraid I must be honest, though-- I have travelled many worlds, and never have I found anything so beautiful as you. You may have spoiled my eyes." He teased.

He knew he should inquire further about Steve's god, his religion. Learn of it, even if Steve hadn't asked him to practice it. Were they both allowed to live their lives to the ends of their natural spans, it seemed likely that he would be forced to mourn Steve, to send him off to whatever afterlife he believed in.

Loki owed it to him to know enough to be able to see to that correctly. But he did not want to talk about funerary rites. Not now, not so soon after they had started anew. There should be only talk of hope, as Steve was trying to do.

"When we have the chance, I will tour you around each realm and dare each lake to be half so blue as your eyes, each treasure to be as rich as your smile. And every realm will weep its embarrassment in our wake."

  
  
  


Steve could feel himself on the verge of blushing. "Aw, shucks," he mumbled, grinning all the same. "You know how to flatter a guy. Though I don't think I'd hold a candle next to you." He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Loki's cheek, grateful for the privacy of the trees that he was at liberty to do so here.

It all sounded beautiful, in truth. Like something out of a dream or a fairytale; he hoped that they really could see it, someday. A part of him knew that the chances were slim -- knew from how helpless he'd been when he'd touched the scepter that their odds of even defeating Thanos let alone coming through the fight alive were practically nil -- but he wasn't going to spoil the idyllic moment here with such dark thoughts. So instead he imagined himself and Loki touring the stars, exploring planets that bore resemblance to the crackled illustrations in the picture books he'd loved as a child.

He wondered how many of those picture books, or the old folktales that his mother would tell him at night when he was little that her mother had told her back in the old country, had their roots in reality. All that fantasy might not be so fantastical, if, like the Asgardians, creatures from the other worlds Loki mentioned had once visited Earth and left a mark on humanity that faded over time to a whimsical echo of a memory.

As Loki played with his hair, however, Steve found himself reminded of something much more immediate that he needed to ask:

"Loki." He shifted and turned so he was sitting cross-legged and facing him. "I wanted to ask -- and you're welcome to say no -- how would you feel about cutting my hair?"

  
  
  


Loki stared across at him, surprised. First, because he hadn't considered that Steve might think his hair in need of cutting, second because of the doubt in his request.

"Of course I will," He said, slightly puzzled and maybe a little hurt. "What made you think I would deny you that?"

He'd been trying to care for Steve as best as he could, and granted, he wasn't the greatest at that thus far... but he was trying.

He wondered if it was just because they were so newly partners, so newly together-- he tended to forget that they had only known one another as equals for so short a time, that the euphoria of their bond as lovers had only been in place for a few days. It was so overwhelming, though, as to have felt like a lifetime.

"I am very unfamiliar with caring." He told Steve frankly. "I am not good at it, and even worse at doing so in parts. I... have spent a good deal of time not caring, and so with you, I find myself... perhaps I care too much, too soon. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable. But there is very little I would deny you, particularly when it comes to closeness."

Then he remembered that Midgard did not place the same standards of meaning upon the activity, and he felt himself growing embarrassed.

"Or, of course, I forgot it doesn't mean, here-- if you would rather see one of your professionals, to be certain that it looks as you would prefer... " Loki shrugged, feeling like he was tripping over his tongue. "As I said, I know very little of Midgardian hair styles. But if you want me to... I would be happy to show you the way we would do it in Asgard. With pampering and care and closeness."

  
  
  


Steve reached up and scratched the back of his neck, unsure why Loki looked so troubled. "I just meant... I wasn't sure, since you said short hair is unusual on Asgard." He felt that it would be kinder to offer Loki an out if he was apprehensive, but now it seemed he'd somehow managed to offend him instead.

He scooted over across the rock and slung an arm over Loki's shoulders. "Hey." He leaned his head in so his forehead touched the side of Loki's skull. "I know you care. And heck, you have exceeded all expectations in the caring department." He would have once pegged Loki as a sociopath, incapable of caring about anyone but himself. But so much had happened since then, and Loki had come so far and opened up so much that he knew it to be far from true.

"You're very, very good at it, okay? I haven't felt this personally cared for since-- in a long time," he corrected himself. Since the death of anyone he might have looked on as family didn't seem like the right thing to bring up at the moment, though it was true. He'd known there'd been a void in his life left by the loss of his loved ones and friends, but he hadn't realized its depth until now, having Loki here to fill it.

"The great thing about hair, is it grows out. Nothing you could do wouldn't be reversible in time if it turns out weird, but that being said, I'm sure you'll do a good job," he assured, pressing a kiss to Loki's temple. "And if I wanted any old barber, I'd have asked for us to stop and see one." He remembered that Loki had described the cutting of hair as something intimate, something done by family or lovers. At the time, he'd felt like an awkward stand-in, but now, the dynamic was much more fitting. And if it would help Loki know Steve trusted him, then Steve wanted Loki to have first dibs on giving him a trim. "So pampering sounds real nice."

Of course, they'd need to acquire the tools for the job. "I don't have scissors," he disclaimed, "but I'm sure we could walk down into town and pick some up. We could also grab some snacks for the car while we're down there." It was hard to think of food when he'd just eaten, but he'd be hungry again in a few hours, so snacks would be good to have on hand. Though they did have leftover chinese in the hotel room. Maybe Gail had a microwave somewhere they could use to warm it back up...

  
  
  


Loki curled in closer to Steve, reassured by his words and tenderness.

Which, again, was ridiculous. He should be beyond his own petty doubts by now.

"We should do that, yes." He agreed easily. "I'd like for you to be pampered and feeling like you look your best for going to speak with Stark and Banner tomorrow. We can get those things on our way back in, and then I'll give your hair a cut and help you relax, and we'll plan to spend the rest of the night in. How does that sound?" He reached out to push his finger tips into the hair above Steve's ear, running his thumb along his cheekbone in the process.

He repeated the motion in a slow rhythm, leaning closer to Steve until their lips brushed together, brief and teasing and barely as a kiss at all.

"Do you know what you'll say to them? Do you feel ready for it?" He spoke softly, breath fluttering against Steve's skin, and he could feel Steve's breaths on his face.

They'd had a good day, fun even, close and relaxing. And now it was calm, quiet, and Loki's guard was down far more than it was in any room they had been in, for no real reason other than having grown used to being in a room with cameras on him at all times.

But out here he felt safe, safer even than he did of late with Steve at his side.

Other than the small changes to his hair that he'd had to continue using, since he had come to town looking that way, he hadn't used any of his seidhr at all, consciously saving it in the event that they had to run again. Though he could only hope that would not be the case.

No matter what Steve might say, no matter how he would protest if Loki tried to tell him as much, with how Loki seemed only able to butcher his words when talking to Steve, he did need other people.

Together they were good, they could do anything... but Steve was not the sort of solitary being that Loki was. He needed people around. And Loki knew that without some form of support other than just him, Steve would become uncomfortable quickly.

He really needed Banner and Stark to work out, not just for the might of Banner's monster and the weapons that Stark might furnish against Thanos, but because he needed their support for Steve.

  
  
  


"Mmmm." A haircut, some time in... maybe they'd go grab Italian. Or pick up something to eat back in the room. Steve leaned in to Loki's touch, cool fingertips and warm breath. "We'll be missing your driving lesson, but yeah, sure." It would probably be better to teach Loki how to drive in a car that they actually had the keys for, and didn't have a busted steering column, he decided.

The kiss was feather-light and sweet. Steve wanted to chase it with another, but then Loki asked him a question and he let out a small sigh, head falling forward to Loki's shoulder.

"No," he admitted. "I'm not sure. I have a general idea of how I want to explain it, but I feel like if I try to plan it out too much, I'll jinx it." So far, Steve's planning had a mixed rate of success. They'd gotten out of DC without a hitch, true, but they'd only had to get out of DC because of his cataclysmic failure in communicating with SHIELD. Thinking about New York, his stomach flipped.

Facing down ranks of enemies with guns, he'd hardly flinch. But facing down his friends to talk, and he felt ready to break out into a cold sweat.

"I think... I think Banner will probably get on our side. He's not too crazy about getting locked up by government organizations, so he may have some sympathy there... Stark doesn't play nice with SHIELD, so I don't think he'll run to them right away, which will hopefully buy us time to get him to come around. Getting him to listen will be the hard part." Everyone he knew had developed a very solid, unpleasant, preconceived notion about Loki. Getting them to see past that to how Loki was, how he'd become, would be an uphill struggle. But surely people as smart as Stark and Banner would be able to see it, right?

"Ready or not, it's probably better to get it over with sooner rather than later," he said with a nervous chuff, pulling away and beginning to collect the wrappers from their lunch back into his bag. "And I'm open to ideas, if you have ‘em."

  
  
  


"While learning to drive is useful, if we plan to be rid of the car soon, it would perhaps be best not to attract attention to it with my ignorance of its operation, correct?" It stood to reason that any irregularity would be noticed and cast light on them in a way that was completely unnecessary.

As for having ideas for the next day...

"I do not know your friends." Loki said softly, realizing he had broken their idle mood of relaxation.

"Or at least, not any better than I knew you, so long ago. Do you recall my trying to bribe you, when we first met again? It did not work out so well for me, as you will recall. I suspect that you will have some insight into their sympathies that will make what you say easier for them to be receptive to."

He had often coached Thor in things to say, things not to say, and in either case, it only had worked part of the time. Partially because of the oaf's delivery and lack of understanding-- subtlety was often lost to his mind, and more through his mouth, but the other half of the reason had been because if the people he'd been dealing with had wanted to hear from Loki, they could have.

His words, in anyone's mouth but his own, were not a good fit, and often lacked the power he conceived of them with.

"I suspect it will go better for us if you speak as you are wont to, earnestly, with honesty. And realize that they will likely demand some form of show, some sort of proof of what you will tell them. I do not mind demonstrating what they ask, within reason. You must feel safe in agreeing and speaking without looking to me, lest it appear I pull your strings. We must avoid that beyond all else. In fact, if you wanted to make a point of doing the opposite-- give me casual commands, simple things, it will look... less suspicious, I think." He was musing on the idea now, trying to guess what the day would have in store.

"And if, for any reason, there is question of food, please do me the favor of ordering for us both. I could not stand humiliating myself before them."

  
  
  


Steve smiled faintly, remembering Loki's bribe. And then later, his offer as a thank you. In the end, it seemed, despite Steve's refusals, Loki had managed to give him everything he ever wanted after all.

Loki had a point, though. Steve had been told he had an "honest face" and, well, honest everything else. He made a point of only saying what he meant, which resulted in people generally believing him when he spoke. Or at least believing that he believed what he said. And while he treasured the idea of him and Loki being equal partners, Loki also had a point about the advantaged of Steve taking charge; the main problem would be convincing everyone he wasn't being mind controlled. If he took command, it would be easier to make a case for Loki having no hold over him. And given his years of shouting out orders, it wouldn't be that hard a role to slip into. Loki would understand, having suggested it and all.

"Ok," he said with a nod. "I'm not gonna boss you around, but, I'll take the lead. Do most of the talking." He reflected on his two most recent conversations with the men in question. "I think it'll help that they've both talked to me since you and I started talking," he added. "Bruce and I talked on the phone, and Stark saw me in person. Recently, too. So they'll know I wasn't mind-controlled then..." he trailed off and reached up and rubbed at his face. "Anyway. We have until tomorrow afternoon to worry about it."

Slowly, he got to his feet, stretching. From the position of the sun, it was still midday. Maybe a little before one? That gave them plenty of time to pick up some scissors, cut his hair, and... do whatever else. He smiled a little at the thought, hauling his bag up over his shoulder, then offering Loki a hand to help him stand. "And I'll order for you if you want, but you've done really well so far. I read Thor's SHIELD file from when he first landed in New Mexico, and apparently he smashed some tableware in a diner, so you're already doing a lot better with your restaurant etiquette than him," he pointed out as they headed back toward the trail.

  
  
  


Loki hummed thoughtfully.

"Thor's strength-- and his weakness-- lies in his lack of fear. He does not fear making mistakes, and so blunders forward through them. I on the other hand, fear much. It causes me to be more... restrained about such things. It is true that we generally will throw cups to the floor in a show of appreciation, but our cups are often of horn or metal or stonewear, not generally the glass and ceramic of your world. Thor has never had fear to make him stop and think, and I have ever had too much not to. I wonder if that was an intentional behavior taught me, or if I picked it up because something in me knew..." He trailed off, walking alongside Steve silently for a moment, the thought weighing a crease into his brow.

"In any case, I already planned to follow your lead in your handling of your friends, but as I said, if there is any demonstration I can make of my goodwill, within reason, I am willing to do so. Provided it does not drain me unduly, should things turn southward and our escape become necessary." He lifted a shoulder.

He really did need to try and learn faster, though, so as to be able to see to his own needs, that he might sooner begin seeing to more of Steve's. His much younger partner being forced to care for them both was the sort of relationship that men and women alike laughed at, back home, and even those who did not easily fit within either heading would stifle snide remarks about.

Loki knew he needed to do better. And he planned to.

The trail let them out onto a road which would lead them back towards civilization, and Loki took a careful step to the side, creating more space between he and Steve, for Steve's comfort. He would not have thought of such things, before him, and Loki was unsure if this mindfulness of others' potential disdain was something he should be proud of steering clear of, or annoyed at his caring about.

But then, for as little as he cared for strangers, he had ever been careful of their perceptions. It would not hurt him to be doubly so, for Steve's sake.

  
  
  


Steve ambled along with his hands in his pockets, listening reflectively. He'd avoided discussing Thor or bringing him up very much, save for tangentially in discussing Loki's past adventures in Asgard. But now that he'd brought him up quite frankly... Loki's discussion of his brother now was largely devoid of spite or bitterness. It gave Steve hope, that perhaps things between the brothers might be mended, with Loki's anger so diminished. It was a nice thought. Even if he meant what he said before about going to Asgard as a last resort, it was probable that they'd run into Thor sooner or later, what with him and Steve sharing Avenger status. But everything was heartening right now, and despite himself and all his anxieties, everything was going well enough that Steve dared to feel optimistic.

Maybe they'd pull this off. Maybe Stark and Banner -- both smart, sensible men -- would take Steve and Loki both at their word and offer them safe haven. Maybe SHIELD would come around. Maybe it would all work out, and some day, he and Loki wouldn't have to hide a damn thing.

He was getting ahead of himself, sure. But he was happy enough with the last twenty-four hours to let himself dream a bit.

They made their way back into town, and Steve took them in the direction of a small family-owned grocery and convenience shop they'd passed by that morning in search of a clothes store.

"Go ahead and pick out anything you want to bring for snacks in the car," Steve let Loki know as he picked up a basket by the door. Mentally, he went over his list: scissors, a comb, water, food... He headed for an aisle and began to fill his basket with the things they required.

  
  
  


Loki trailed after Steve, following a few feet behind, both in an attempt to pretend that he didn't rely so heavily upon Steve for guidance, and to have a few moments to read the names of the items on the shelves.

There were cookies-- he recalled enjoying the ones Steve had brought-- but there were so many kinds of cookies that Loki began being unable to see any similarity between them. He plucked the ones that most closely resembled the ones he had had before, and carried them forward toward Steve. There were dried fruits to the left of him, and Loki paused to pick up some pineapple chunks on the way, curious what made them different from the other apples, save that they were yellower.

There was a child with his mother, further down the aisle, who was arguing about her purchasing him a white box with a blue and red roll on the front, or a yellow box that promised explosions of fruit flavor.

Loki looked curiously at them for a moment, if only because of the loudness, then turned back to Steve, holding both items up for Steve's approval.

"Is that okay?" He asked under his breath, well aware that there were others in the store who might find the question out of place.

He thought the selections were safe enough, though, since both things were at least close to what he had had before. Then another thought came to him, and he eyed over the few small provisions that Steve had placed in the basket as well.

"Should we get something with more substance for when you become hungry again?"

  
  
  


Steve smiled at the evidence of Loki's sweet tooth. Steve had picked up some more beef jerky and granola bars, and he added Loki's fruit and cookies to his basket. "We can get some fresh fruit while we're here if you want," he added, jerking his head over toward the tiny produce section. "I don't know how much they have, but some apples could be good. They're in season, I think, and we won't be traveling long enough for them to spoil."

It was possible they were going a touch overboard just with what they had as it was, since New York really wasn't that far from their current position. But if having food on hand would reassure Loki and keep him from fretting over Steve, then it was worth it for the peace of mind for them both. "If we need to stop for something more meal-like, I'm sure there'll be plenty of fast food joints where we can grab a burger as we make our way east," he pointed out. It wouldn't take long for them to get out of the sticks and back into a more densely populated region. Maybe an hour at most before they started seeing signs for Burger Kings off every exit.

"I think they might have scissors in with the toiletries in the next aisle," he mused, walking down their current aisle. He paused to look at some of the "fruit snacks" which didn't look anything like fruit, or anything naturally occurring for that matter, when he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle with the sense of being watched.

Slowly, he turned around. Then, looked down.

A small boy -- maybe six years of age -- stared up at him. A familiar set of circles and a star adorned the boy's t-shirt, and his mouth fell open as he gazed up at Steve in obvious recognition.

Steve's heart hammered, but also swelled with affection. Though he hadn't meant to be recognized, this was, after all, a kid -- and one who clearly looked up to his persona as the Captain. He smiled carefully down at him, and lifted an index finger to his lips in the universal sign for keeping quiet, adding a conspiratorial wink.

The boy's face broke into a wide smile.

Then:

"MOMMY! MOMMY, LOOK!"

.... _Damn._

Steve lowered his basket, placed it on the ground, and then turned and calmly but deliberately walked (despite wanting to run) toward the exit, grabbing Loki by the elbow as he went. "We need to move, now," he said, keeping his voice quiet and placid despite the rising panic as he heard shrieks of _Mommy, that man was Captain America, LOOK!_ and the teenage girl at the checkout leaned over his counter in curiosity.

  
  
  


Loki stumbled along at first, tripping over his feet and taken by surprise but catching up quickly at Steve's words. He had no idea what threat was looming but he trusted him, explicitly.

His immediate thought was SHIELD, and he wondered if Steve had recognized an agent. If so, they would have to worry about being shot at-- of course he would want to get into a lesser populated place. Loki readied himself to cast a shield of his own as quickly as possible, aligned the fingers of one hand to call for one of his daggers if need be.

And then he heard the boy's raised voice.

So it was being recognized, then. Loki had tried to warn him... the thought was petty and smug, and he switched away from that line of thinking.

He scowled, wishing he had been paying more attention, wishing that he had noticed and silenced the child at least long enough to tuck away his cookies.

An utterly selfish thought of course, but that didn't matter; it was just a thought.

He tried to keep even with Steve, using his own face to hide his, while a twitch of his fingers darkened Steve's eyes.

He was afraid to change anything larger, lest it become too obvious, but that small item would make it so if they were pursued...

"Your eyes are brown now, it is all I can do. What's the plan?"

They made it out of the door and into the street with perfect ease, and Loki's heart thudded in his chest.

"We should leave, shouldn't we? Should-- do you want me to take us into the room from here?" It would be relatively easy given their proximity, not a huge drain, but more than he'd intended to expend.

"Once there I can change us enough that when we come out no one would be any the wiser."

  
  
  


Steve's heart thrummed like a hummingbird, but he maintained a posture of calm, both for Loki's benefit and to avoid drawing further attention. He got them both out the door and made it a few yard down the sidewalk before he sucked in a deep breath.

"Don't use up your energy," Steve quickly told Loki, keeping his voice low and darting around a corner to break the line of sight of anyone who might be following. They should leave; Loki was right. But this unexpected development meant they'd have to be careful with their resources. "We go back to the hotel. We pack, and we get in the car and go. We'll be long gone before anyone figures out we were here." While there was a chance that the boy would be shushed and ignored -- that no one else had got a close look at Steve -- he wasn't willing to risk it. Even if one patron twittered (tweetered? twitted?) about a Captain America sighting, there was a chance SHIELD's legions of analysts would flag it and trace their location. It wasn't worth it to stay another night, however much he wanted to.

 _Stupid._ He'd been so sure no one would look twice...

He guided them back to the hotel at a fast walk just shy of breaking into a jog. The front desk was mercifully unmanned, and he took the stairs two at a time up to the room. It was a matter of minutes for them to pack up their things, meagre as they were. Steve winced at the state of the room, and made sure to leave some cash on the bedside table in compensation for whoever had to clean their linens.

Minutes later, they'd left their keys on the front desk and slipped out the back, where Steve managed to spark the ignition wires until the engine roared to life. Pulling the car into drive, he looked over at Loki.

"I think we might be heading to New York ahead of schedule."

  
  
  


Loki smiled wanly, his eyes darting up to Steve's hair, sad that he didn't get to pamper him further, to make him feel prepared for their meeting which... was that also to be pushed forward? Presumably, though Loki did not wish to badger Steve with questions. That was what had ended with them driving in such a state of tension before.

Instead, he just reached over and lay his hand on Steve's leg.

"I'm with you." He reminded him, pleased that at least that was true.

And though they were lacking in snacks, they did have some of the food from the night prior with them, so if Steve grew too hungry they could pull off the road for a bit.

"And, at least this time we have amusing things to speak of, rather than quibbling to do, or quiet to observe." Loki pursed his lips. "I know we are running, but at current there is no great need for concern. They do not know where we are headed, and even if they did it would take time for them to get here. If you are concerned, I can place an illusion on you whilst we drive, just to knock them off of our scent in the event of some form of surveillance. Whenever you deem it necessary, too, I will put on my other form. There is nothing to be immediately upset about." He spoke quickly and soothingly, just to be certain he wasn't causing more offense in his words.

"Let us go to your beloved city, my Captain. I cannot wait to see it from your eyes."  

He was nervous about returning, about seeing what damages remained, about being able to look around and see the lives he'd touched in the lines of their faces.

He could be cold and unfeeling when divorced from it, but placed beside the suffering... as with Barton, when he had come to his cell, he would likely feel ill.

But at least they would not know him. That was a great relief.

  
  
  


Steve reached down and gave Loki's hand a quick squeeze, grateful for the pressure on his knee. It helped to ground him, calm the panic that had briefly overtaken him. Loki was right; so long as they kept moving, SHIELD wouldn't be able to follow. He'd been sloppy, and they'd been recognized ( _he'd_ been recognized), but that had been an anomaly. A fluke. The plan was more or less the same.

Pulling out and driving down the road toward the roundabout that would put them back on to the highway, he briefly entertained the thought of pulling over somewhere on the way to New York and finding another motel to spend the night in, postponing their meeting with Stark and Banner until the next day as previously intended. But the more time they lingered in the open, the greater the risk of being spotted. Again.

Steve grimaced.

No, it would be better to just go. Get it over with, and either take refuge in Stark's tower, or... or keep moving.

"Whenever you're ready," he told Loki, taking a turn on to the highway that would take them out of town. "I can pull over if you want to change into the dress after shifting," he offered.

Safely on the highway, he took hold of Loki's hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "I'm with you, too," he said, sparing a quick sideways glance for a smile.

One way or another, they were headed eastward toward New York and the next stage of their nebulous plan.

  
  
  


He returned Steve's smile and brushed his thumb gently over Steve's lip, the closest he could get to a kiss in the car while he drove, before he lowered his hand back to Steve's leg. He left it there, watching as it shrunk in size and became something more delicate, softer looking and dainty.

The change did not take long, a few heartbeats at most, and Loki laughed as she realized that she had yet to remove the illusion of the moustache and beard that she had kept in place throughout their flight.

She flipped the visor before her down, admiring it in the mirror.

"You know, I think it's a shame that women don't grow facial hair. This would look quite becoming with tinted lips." She said, gesturing at it and turning her face towards him.

She pursed the lips poutily and then shook her head, unable to keep from laughing again.

"I will wait to put the dress on until you have contacted your friends," she decided, shifting in the seat so that she was seated in a way that was more comfortable for her wider hips and the way her shoulders now sloped forward.

"No need to wrinkle it prematurely, or cause it to smell of traveling. Particularly if they cannot see us tonight." She shrugged, amused at the way her chest moved in the now loose button down shirt. She adjusted it, preserving her modesty more to keep from distracting Steve than for reasons of personal discomfort.

This body, at least, she knew looked as it ought to, or at least it was effective in its purpose. She was still dark haired and too pale and thinner than was the Asgardian norm, but in a woman those flaws were much more acceptable. Much more alluring than deserving of derision.

And speaking of alluring...

"You haven't been with a woman sexually either, have you?" She asked, excited about the further opportunities this form offered.

  
  
  


Steve spared a quick look away from the road for Loki, then burst into a laugh. The goatee that framed her rosy, full lips was rather fetching, if somewhat disconcerting. "If anyone could pull it off, it'd be you," he teased, amused. Apart from the ill-suited facial hair, Loki as a woman, he also couldn't help but notice, looked very nice in a loose-fitting men's button down.

Well. She looked very nice, period. But Steve was somewhat biased.

"I haven't," he admitted. "You're my, ah, my first. Or, I mean, you would be. First woman, I mean, also, if we..." he trailed off, trusting Loki to understand his babbling.

Though now that she brought up contacting the other Avengers...

Steve groaned. "I didn't even think about how we'd get in touch with them." He'd utterly forgotten to find a burner phone to use. They'd have to find a payphone somewhere. Hopefully. They'd have better luck in the city, though that would mean giving Stark less forewarning before their arrival. Then again, that could be for the best, to give him less time to contemplate why Steve was calling out of the blue.

And if he couldn't get through -- well, hopefully, Stark would be home when the two of them showed up on his doorstep.

  
  
  


"Well," Loki said thoughtfully, a single gesture fully obliterating her facial hair, "We could always let ourselves in." She grinned at him.

"The cell back at SHIELD had little enough effect on me, and I assume it was the latest of Stark's design. He may be on the right road towards blocking out magic, but he isn't there yet. And I doubt that he would have made his home proofed against me, surely believing, as you did, that Midgard had seen the last of my particular brand of seidhr."

She shrugged.

"Or, you being yourself, I've no doubt that you could find someone to loan you their phone. After all, SHIELD would hardly dare swoop down upon you amidst all of the witnesses that a city would offer, would they? They wouldn't risk the damages or loss of lives that would result in attacking you. Us. If anything, I would expect them to try and sway your friends-- which only means that we must be certain to convince them and certain of their belief in us before we drop our guards with them."

She leaned her shoulder back against the door, twisting in her seat so that she could look more easily at him as he drove.

"So if you've also not had a woman's body, we may have to change that, provided, of course, that you are interested. There are tricks to it that you would no doubt find pleasant." A tiny smirk edged her mouth into an angle, and she licked her lips at the thought of the things she could show him, this way. "Something to look forward to, no matter how things pan out, for the next time we may be left alone together. Such a good way to de-stress, wouldn't you agree?"

  
  
  


"Yeah, I'm not sure breaking and entering would help give us that ‘not dangerous criminals' first impression we're aiming for," Steve commented dryly, though his mouth quirked up at the corner. As funny as it would be to see Stark throw a fit over his security being bypassed, they'd do better to keep everything as aboveboard as possible in their interactions, and give neither Stark nor Banner any more reason to be jumpy or suspicious.  

"And I'd still like to keep a low profile in the city. We'll keep an eye out for a payphone -- they have some in a few of the subway stations, still. Or at a gas station." They'd probably pull over somewhere along the way to check out the map and determine the best place to dump the car and catch a train. They might find a phone then. He tried to put it out of mind for the moment, since it wasn't something he could remedy here and now. He had the address book with Stark and Banner's respective numbers in his bag. The rest he'd figure out as they went.

The rest...

Steve smiled. Something to look forward to indeed. "Looks like I have a lot of learning to do," he remarked, pressing his lips together. "And I can't imagine we won't be building up some stress to relieve," he added as he watched the highway signs pass by.

It was good to have things to look forward to, he decided. It kept him from thinking too hard about what he might be dreading.

  
  
  


The trip, after that, went by quickly enough. It had the air of pleasantry over it that the first leg of their journey had been lacking, but it was no less laden with tension, if only because what loomed before them was nearly as frightening as the unknown.

Loki tried to keep her quips to the minimum, and amusing when she could not help but voice the opinion. She did not say I told you so. And it was... smoother than it could have been.

They stopped into a gas station and refilled the tank of its gas, just outside of the city. She asked for directions to the nearest park and ride, repeating the words Steve had asked her to pass on, and committing the answer to memory, while he picked up the snacks that they had missed out on.

There was no phone on the premises with which to make the call, but that was fine, for pulling into the station and leaving the car brought the opportunity, in the form of an above ground platform, which boasted things vending machines full of sugary beverages, and the elusive payphone.

Once Steve had purchased their fares and checked and double checked the time, he made the call, barely two minutes before their train came in.

Loki, for her part, held the bag she had been carrying and watched in awe of the great lumbering metal behemoth that the Midgardians had fashioned for their use.

When Steve hurried back to her, they boarded together and she watched through the windows until they went into the earth and the darkness meant there was no longer anything to look out upon.

They sat quietly, avoiding drawing attention, until Steve signalled that their stop had arrived. Loki stood and exited the train with him, and then they took the stairs back up and into the world.

And somehow, in the darkness and shuddering motion of their trip through the ground, they had gone from outside of the city to deep in the heart of it, concrete and noises and buildings so tall that Loki couldn't help but to tilt her head upwards and admire them.

"So..." She said at last, certain that her voice would be swallowed by the sounds around them, but available for Steve's ears, "What did your friends have to say?"

  
  
  


"Well," Steve said, adjusting the bill of the Yankees baseball cap he'd picked up in the gas station, a concession to the need to hide his face, "Stark didn't pick up. But I got a hold of Banner."

He had mumbled a small curse where, finally depositing his quarters and dialing Stark's number, he'd been met with voicemail. He'd mumbled a vague message, saying hey and that he was in town and wanted to take him up on his offer, could he swing by later? thanks, and bye.

Banner's number had rang twice, then picked up:

_"Hello?"_

His shoulders slumped in relief. "Hey, Bruce. It's Steve. Rogers, I mean. Are you in New York?"

_"...I am. How did you know?"_

"Tony mentioned you were coming over to do science when I saw him last week. Hey, are you two in the tower right now?"

_"Yeah. What's up?"_

Steve licked his lips. "I kinda wound up in town, sort of impromptu. Um. Is it alright if I swing by in another hour or so?"

_"Yeah, sure. I'll let Tony know. He's in the lab, still, but I think we were planning on ordering pizza later."_

"Terrific." Steve smiled, though Banner couldn't see him. "Thanks. I'll see you in a bit."

_"See you soon."_

And that had been it. The line had cut out and Steve had hung up, then hurried back to where Loki stood on the platform just in time to pull her on to the train heading into Manhattan.

He breathed deeply.

They were making good time. It had only been roughly three and a half hours' drive to Jersey City, not counting the time they stopped for gas. The tank was still roughly half-full when they'd pulled over, but Steve felt badly enough about stealing the car; at least this way, when it was discovered and matched to the report filed, it would go back to the original owner with a full tank. It was the least he could do.

The rail line took them right into the West End. From there, it would be easy enough to transfer on a train right to midtown, but before they got to the tower, Steve had one thing he wanted to do first.

"We didn't say much, but they're both at the tower and are planning on pizza later," Steve followed up with as he and Loki walked up the steps on to the sidewalk at the corner of 9th, escaping the smell of the subway. "I figured we'd explain everything when we're there." He'd made sure he was expected and wouldn't be left standing in the cold all night. Beyond that... He wondered if he ought to have given Banner more of a heads up -- more forewarning about Loki. But without being able to see him and gauge his reactions, Steve felt uneasy about divulging Loki's whereabouts and walking into another potential trap. They'd just be careful not to set Banner off when they did finally lay their cards on the table.

And in the meantime...

Steve didn't know the modern New York subway system as well as he'd come to know the DC subway, but he still knew Manhattan pretty well, and if he was right, three blocks south would get them on the C train.

  
  
  


There was something about the underground platforms that spoke to her of danger, far more than the above ground ones. It was exciting, the burst of air and the noise, the way you could see the light of the approaching train. She felt like the train might derail and come crashing through the structure of the stop, or else she might fling herself out in front of it, just because she was here and it was approaching.

The thought was alarming and she took a step back and grabbed Steve's hand to try and combat it, glad that, at least in this body, that was permissible.

She had changed in the bathroom, and since donning her dress-- which was small and light, but full of motion about her legs-- she had seen the way more people were looking at her. It made her want to stick closer to Steve, made her feel badly for pulling attention now when they didn't want it.

But she also knew this might be her last chance to change into it before they did want the attention.

Something about the City seemed so much warmer than where they had been, and so much damper as well. There were so many bodies that she wasn't entirely sure that she wasn't breathing in the perspiration of everyone around her, and she would have felt positively lost in this veritable sea of people had it not been for the anchoring presence of her partner.

When they were finally free of the rumbling lumbering contraption, she couldn't be more glad to be able to walk on her own two feet again.

When they rose to the surface, they were met by a tall building-- not the tower, not nearly tall enough for that-- on one side of them, separated by a busy thoroughfare, and a bank of trees beside them. Across the opposite street, Loki could see a good deal more trees and a much emptier sky above them than any of the rest of the area around them. It was the first time she had looked up to see buildings and found them lacking here, and that was disconcerting.

"Where are we?" She asked, attempting to be aware of the flow of foot traffic around them.

There were so many people, and all she wanted to do was stay close to him, but also to see everything.

She turned slowly to see an even more impressive building further up this side of the road, columns and sculptures more in line with what she expected than the sleep clean lines of the sky scrapers she had seen on her last visit.

It looked like it might be beautiful, but the densest population of people seemed to be just outside of its doors.

  
  
  


Steve smiled down at her -- and gosh, was it disconcerting to be taller than Loki, angling his head down rather than looking ever so slightly upward -- watching the sense of wonder with which she took in the city. It must, he mused, be very different from on the ground. A lot more overwhelming, though she was taking it all very well, keeping close and blending in. The look of awe in her verdant eyes was catching, and for all that Steve had been born and raised in New York, he recalled how different it had felt walking through familiar streets turned unfamiliar by time, and how foreign seventy years had made his home.

"Central Park," he explained, gesturing out . "It's a very large bit of nature in the middle of the city. I wanted to show you, before... Before we head up to Stark's. We're making good time, and he's probably still puttering around in his lab anyhow."

They had a couple hours of daylight left -- it was only a little after five, by his reckoning -- and a quick jaunt in the park would hopefully help settle both their nerves. It wasn't the same as the spot by the creek where they'd lounged earlier that day in perfect peace, but hopefully the natural surroundings would help.

"We've got time for a quick walk before we catch the train back down to midtown," Steve said, reaching out and taking her hand (and it was nice, being able to hold Loki's hand like this in public), giving it a light tug and leading her down one of the paths, scattered with fallen yellow leaves. And then, just because he could, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"A lot of people come walking or running here, and there's fields where kids play sports, and there's a few ponds and an outdoor theater," he explained as they walked. "Not to mention all the gardens and sculptures."

  
  
  


It was so tempting to just take him at his words, to push aside her worries and join him, strolling together hand in hand, talking softly and enjoying the area, but she had doubts, and they preyed on her calm in such a way that she knew, until they were assuaged, she could only be tense, could only ruin his peace.

"Are you not afraid you will be recognized?" She asked, holding a loose grip on caution, despite the unexpected flush of pleasure at his affection being so readily available in the presence of others.

After all, if there were places one might expect to find Captain America, it seemed to her it would be here. The place people came to run, the green spot in his own home town.

And considering how quickly they had left when a _child_ had seen him...

"Of course I would love to stroll the park with you, but. Is it safe for us to do so? Especially with so many people, so many trees and statues... it seems it would be an ideal place for SHIELD to have hidden Agents, the perfect opportunity for surprising us, should they discover our whereabouts and if they hope to get to us before we meet with your friends."

Perhaps it was paranoid and over cautious. If he had suggested it, surely it would be safe, would it not? But then again, he was human, he was fallible, and he was just as besotted with her as she was with him. She only hoped that was not compromising them both, in the logic and logistics centers of their minds.

  
  
  


Loki did have a point that they were at some risk of recognition; but then, New Yorkers tended to be unfazed by most things. If someone thought they saw Captain America out in a small appalachian town, it would be big news. Here, they probably wouldn't even slow their pace to rubberneck if Iron Man and the Hulk got in a fist fight on the upper east side.

He'd spoken to Bruce from a payphone in Jersey City to his secure line, kept his face hidden with a hat, and generally avoided anything to set off any red flags. SHIELD might have guessed where they were headed, but certainly wouldn't pinpoint their location enough to have agents waiting to jump out from behind the trees as they walked past.

"I don't think we've given them enough to go on to justify an ambush," Steve said. "It would make more sense to go right to the tower. If anything, going for a stroll would be unpredictable by their standards." It was a purely sentimental detour, with no tactical value. If they had attracted pursuit, walking here through the trees where there weren't as many cameras and CCTV feeds would help them shake it, if anything.

"And besides," he murmured. " _I'm_ not the one anyone is looking at anymore."

The summery blue-green dress had a flowy skirt that came to just below Loki's knees, and fitted top part that showed off her petite waist and killer figure. Steve was pretty sure that if he hadn't had his arm around her in the subway, she'd have attracted more than a few catcalls.

"Here, there's Belvedere Castle up here-- it's not like a real castle or anything, but-- come on, check it out..."

He dragged her along, showing her the cobblestone buildings and overlook, pointing out the stage down by the water where they did Shakespeare in the Park, and to one of the pleasantly shaded gardens where the path turned to gravel.

  
  
  


Here was something that she had not expected to find on Midgard, and particularly not here of all places. She'd known of the rich culture and art of the place, subdivided as it was, thanks to her trip to the museum on her first stay here. But to hear that plays were done, here out in the open, where any could see, and not just the bored and wealthy... well. It sounded its own slice of paradise, to her mind.

And there were people even now, performers of their own small arts.

Her eyes lighting on a woman hurrying to finish her drawing of the layout of their tiny ‘castle' before the light faded completely made her wonder...

"Have you ever drawn here?" She could picture it very clearly, but could not guess what it was that he might have chosen for a subject. People, she supposed. Doing whatever it was that people did here.

She had no such eye for subjects.

"What would you draw here, now, if you could?" She asked him, trying to see if she could guess.

Not the woman drawing, she thought, because she was turned away and so still that she seemed almost devoid of the life and movement that Loki remembered in Steve's works.

There were children down by the duck pond, breaking bread and tossing it to them, and, if they were not careful, that goose which was approaching would soon be sure to make them even more lively than they currently were.

There were two women sitting together on a bench not far from them, speaking animatedly, and one reached out to take the other's hand, pressing her lips to the back of it the way Steve sometimes did to his.

Them, perhaps. Unless he was too shy about the idea... it made Loki uncomfortable, but for other reasons. Like that he should not be able to do the same with Steve as himself. But he shook that off.

  
  
  


Steve was torn between looking at the park -- all the lovely locations he remembered and the ones that had been built or greatly repaired since his day -- and looking at Loki as she observed it all. He'd wanted to show her this, since before he even realized he cared for Loki the way he did, and now, sharing this little bit of the city-removed-from-the-city, had him smiling uncontrollably.

"I've drawn here," he replied. "Although I usually went to Prospect Park in Brooklyn. It's not as big or famous as Central Park, but it was a lot closer to home for me. We'll go there at some point so I can show you," he promised. He wanted to take Loki all over the city; to show her Brooklyn, and his old neighborhood, and all the touristy spots as well as all the little holes in the wall that only locals knew. He wanted to show her Broadway and the Metropolitan Art Museum and the top of the Statue of Liberty...

Eventually. Not right now. But he would, he decided. He would make it happen.

"Right now?" He looked around. A couple of women on a bench; kids playing; an old woman reading on a bench; starlings, swooping down to peg at an abandoned bit of food someone had dropped. He took it all in, then his gaze finally settled and he smiled.

"You." It was the obvious answer. And, as luck would have it, he had the means to do it. He swung his pack down off his shoulder -- he had his sketchbooks in it. His pens were probably all the way at the bottom, but he could get them out and get out a quick sketch before they had to go.

"SIt on that wall over there," he said, gesturing to a cobblestone wall under a tree, where the light was golden and dappled. "Pull your hair forward over your right shoulder..." He pulled out the newer of his sketchbooks and, after a few minutes of rifling, recovered his pens and pencils from underneath all his bunched up clothes.

  
  
  


Bemused and no small amount of flattered, Loki did not hesitate for long before moving to the wall Steve had picked out.

She pulled at her skirt so that when she sat it would gather appealingly, pulled her hair over her shoulder the way he'd asked-- it felt odd, being on display like this. Not unpleasant. As he'd said, people were looking now.

In this skin, people looked at her, and not at Steve. _I'm not the one they're looking at anymore._ And it was true. No one wanted to look at her as a man. She didn't make much of one.

And it was funny, that. Had she been raised as a girl, had they but taught her as a woman, her ambitions would have been different, she would not have been so compared to Thor. Would not have grown to hate him.

It was a disquieting, discomforting thought, but it was hard to hold onto it, watching Steve as she was, watching as his focus narrowed in on her. Of course she'd seen it happen before, when they were alone, when they were in bed, but that almost made her feel more exposed still. And also, more comfortable. More open.

"Is this what you wanted? Should I-- do you want me to move at all?" She asked, just loudly enough that her voice should carry to him.

She wondered how he would work, with no real hard surfaces to balance his book on.

And she wished, just this once, that she could capture him as he was going to capture her, show him how beautiful he was like this, completely unguarded and vulnerable, and all the stronger for it.

She loved him, so much, she realized. And that was more than a little alarming. And wonderful. She hoped.

  
  
  


"You're perfect," Steve replied, settling down cross-legged on a rock and balancing his sketchbook against his knee.

Pulling out a pencil with a reasonably sharp tip, he began roughing out the general lines of Loki's body, putting down curves for her head, her spine, hips, shoulders, the general position of her arms and legs, and then going back over those lines to work them into shapes with mass and depth. All the while, his gaze darted from Loki to the page, back and forth again, checking his angles and positioning. Occasionally he flipped the pencil and rubbed the eraser against the page, shifting a line up or over a little to properly reflect the reality of what he saw.

And what he saw was lovely. Her curly hair over her shoulder, pale skin aglow in the late afternoon light and her flowing skirt gathered around her, Loki looked like a Waterhouse painting; like a goddess or nymph from some fairytale -- which, Steve had to remind himself, wasn't that far from the truth. He wondered if any of the myths of beautiful magical women -- of Mab or the Morrigan -- had roots in Loki wandering the Earth in female form hundreds of years ago. It seemed doubtful, but given what he knew of Asgardians, not impossible.

He carefully traced the curve of her cheek, the line of her nose, smudging in a bit of shadow under her cheekbone.

 _You're perfect,_ he'd told her, and it was true. As a man, as a woman, as a frost giant -- Loki somehow managed to be gorgeous no matter what. Steve wasn't sure if he was so smitten with Loki because of it, or if it was the other way around -- that his adoration rendered her beautiful in any form. He wondered if it even mattered at all.

"Almost done, just another minute," he said after a while, rapidly sketching in the fabric folds in her skirt. Loki had been dutifully still as a model, and he didn't want to keep her so long that she grew uncomfortable. "Okay, I think that does it."

  
  
  


She stood, carefully dusting the back of her skirt off, so that nothing would linger there. She came back to stand beside him, shifting her hair back over her shoulder and tucking it behind her ears, in an effort to keep it clear of her face.

"You work far more quickly than any of the artists I have sat for before you," She said, surprised by that, given what she had seen of his work. If such speed was the norm for him, none of his portraits had suffered for it. "Is it-- that is, may I see?"

She wasn't sure whether or not it was polite to ask-- surely he would show her if he wanted her to see it, but at the same time, her not showing interest could easily discourage him. And then again, if he didn't want to show her yet, if he had intentionally left it unfinished, for later work, would he feel bad denying her, now that she had asked?

Artists, she concluded, were difficult to gauge. Even when she felt reasonably confident at least the majority of the time in regards to her knowing how he would react.

"If you don't want, of course, if you would rather I wait, that is fine as well." She hastened to add.

She found, though, that she rather liked the idea of his putting on the page his vision of her. Liked the idea of, just once, being portrayed in some lasting medium, in a way that didn't cast her as a shadow, as the lesser member of the royal family. Of a joker or a trickster... just herself. As she was, in this moment.

She liked that a lot. And he'd mentioned wanting to draw her in other ways. As a man. As... as a monster. Would it really be so different? So far removed from this?

 _Yes._ but... also no. It was just the same, it was her, only different. And it was Steve to see her, to put her down. It would bear some thinking on, some getting used to. And while she was hardly as keen to see the results of such a session... she didn't think she would respond the way she had before. Maybe. If she was expecting it, if she sat for it and gave permission, if she was there for it.

It would hurt a bit, she supposed. In the way it always did, hurt in her vanity and pride. Hurt in her humanity, her sense of self. Hurt to see him and know what he was seeing in return. But it would also offer some relief. Once it was done, once she had let him, he wouldn't want to do it again, would he? Not right away, at least. And where Loki could not-- had never even tried to look at herself as a Frost Giant-- if it was Steve's art... maybe she would be able to. Maybe.

  
  
  


Steve looked down at the page in slight embarrassment. "It's not... not great," he admitted. "I didn't get your jaw right." His natural inclination had been to draw Loki all hard lines and sharp angles when he got to the face, but that was all wrong now that her features were softened by womanhood, and he'd overcompensated and made everything a bit too blunt. But there was no sense spending forever agonizing over a small pencil sketch, so he merely sighed and handed the sketchbook over to Loki:

Carefully, he watched her expression as she looked.

  
  
  


She stared at it for a long moment, a tiny smile growing on her face. She turned eyes softened with fondness up at her Captain.

"You are too hard on yourself." She assured him. "I do not think anyone has drawn me this way, before. Not as a woman, and not..." She looked almost innocent, free of guile and mischief. She just looked at peace. "You've a way of making me less sharp than I am."

She didn't mean physically, or even insofar as intelligence went, but the way she pictured herself, the natural way her features sat, she always felt a little dangerous, a little like she might lash out, harm someone. But she didn't look like that. He didn't seem to think of her like that.

He thought far better of her than she did, far better than she probably deserved.

"I do not look threatening or dangerous." She smiled. "I am not used to that. I think... I could grow to like it."

Only for him, though. If the rest of the world feared her, that was just fine. She did not need their approval, their appreciation. Only his. And those who were important to him.

She pressed the sketchbook briefly to her chest.

"Thank you, Steve." she said softly, leaning up to kiss him while she handed it back. "It's beautiful." But it meant more than a compliment to his abilities.

It was so easy to think of herself as a woman as merely a sexually weaponized extension of herself as a man. It was nice to see that it could be something else, something separate. Something... beautiful.

  
  
  


"Well, I give all credit there to the subject," Steve replied with a grin, closing the book and tucking it back into his bag. He toyed briefly with the idea of taking it out and giving it to Loki, but it would be safer in between the heavy covers of the sketchbook and not in her bag or her overstuffed magical pocket. Later, perhaps.

Later, he'd fill a sketchbook full of Loki and give it to her.

"And I don't see you as threatening or dangerous. I mean, not that I don't think you could still lay down a world of hurt if you felt you needed to," he quickly added. "But... I haven't felt threatened around you in a long time. And for a good while now, when I'm around you," he shrugged, "I feel safe."

He'd seen Loki open and vulnerable, wiping tears from his face. He'd seen Loki terrified and shouting Steve's name. He'd seen him wrecked and undone beneath him, gasping through his climax. And having seen all of that, it was hard to still see the brittle shell of threats and anger Loki wore before.

"We should probably get going," he remarked, a touch regretful. The kids who had been playing ball in the field below were all getting dragged off by their mothers, and the shadows were growing long as the sun sank in the sky. It'd cool down soon, and they would need to meet with Bruce and Tony before the hour grew so late that they were left exhausted.

Slinging his bag back on to his back, he put his arm around Loki's shoulders, turning them both back toward the path that would take them to the subway, and onward to Midtown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments! We're going to be seeing more characters in the next section and some additional POVs get introduced. The art in this section is by Lena7142, and can be viewed [on her blog.](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/post/105555947909/artwork-from-the-newest-chapter-of-little-talks)


	22. Twenty-Two

Loki breathed in deeply, swallowing the last bit of green tinted air she was afraid she would experience for some time, now. It still tasted of the city beyond, but the fragrance was one worth remembering, their short time here worth treasuring. 

Loki snuggled into Steve’s hold, curling an arm around his waist behind him, too, catching him beneath the pack he carried on his back. 

“ I’m with you,” She told him, reassuring him with the words he had let slip during their last sexual interlude. They were weighted, coming from him, and she liked them. 

Now wasn’t the time to ask, though. She would remember-- but not now. Now, they had to raise those guards they had dropped in the park, they had to stand tall and speak clearly and keep their heads while they presented their case to Steve’s friends-- to the Avengers. And Loki had to hope that she did not cause a rift between them in the same way that she had with Steve and SHIELD. 

It was terribly difficult, though, knowing that she would have to remain vulnerable to these men, that she could not snap up her shields of disdain and cruelty to keep herself safe, or safer feeling. She had to trust that Steve would be able to protect her, and she would have to numb herself to any and all barbs she might receive, convince herself not to respond in kind. 

There was so much to be wary of, in all of this. So much attention to be paid. So many wrong steps that she could make. 

She let him lead them onto the train platform, and then onto the train, brow knit as she reviewed her mental list of things to do and say and things not to, how she should behave.  
Which was to say, how much of herself  _ not _ to be. 

They climbed the steps to lead them back above ground, and she breathed in again, less green in her lungs and more dirt and filth, but still a stabilizing sensation. 

She had Steve, he had her, and the rest… it would come, or not come. She just had to try. She could do that much. 

“Where are we now?” She asked cautiously, trying to be sure she would remember, so that in the event they had to escape, she could drop them off near enough the train station to give them the option to get away by foot or aboard one of the rattling machines. 

  
  


“ Forty-Second Street, Grand Central,” Steve answered. “We have about a block to walk -- we’ll be able to see the tower right about... now.”

And there it loomed, stretching up toward the sky like an accusing finger. Steve blew out a breath. The last time he’d been here in the daylight had been shortly after the invasion. The setting sun gleamed bright and orange over the one remaining letter -- an A -- near the tower’s peak. 

He paused, then reached into his coat and pulled out several folded bills, surreptitiously passing them to Loki. “Just in case,” he added. He’d shown her how the subway maps and fare cards worked, and she was a quick study. He trusted she’d be able to find her way if she had to. “If for any reason things go south and we wind up getting split up, we meet up at the castle in the park.” It was a memorable landmark, isolated enough in the evening, and he trusted that Loki would be able to backtrack if needed.

Which, if they had any luck left, it wouldn’t be. 

The last city block seemed impossibly short as they approached the glass and chrome doors of Stark Tower’s ground floor. Bypassing the rotating doors, Steve help open one of the normal hinged ones for Loki. “Ladies first,” he commented with a small grin, hoping to conceal his anxiety.

Stark and Banner were his allies. His friends, tentatively. They had nothing to worry about. It would all be okay. 

Realizing he didn’t have access to Stark’s executive elevator, though, meant they couldn’t head directly up. Instead, Steve led them toward the reception desk, where an immaculately dressed woman looked up at them with a blindingly white smile. “Welcome to Stark Industries. How can I assist you?”

“ Hi. I’m here to see To-- Mister Stark,” Steve announced, looking down at the black marble counter. 

The bleach white smile grew brittle. “I’m afraid Mr. Stark doesn’t see anyone without an appointment. If you’d like, I can direct you to one of our other departments--”

“ He’s expecting me. Or, he’s supposed to be, I just talked to-- Look, I’m a personal friend. I just need someone to let him know I’m here,” Steve insisted, his heart sinking at the disbelieving look on her face. Of course. How many nutjobs came in every day insisting they were personal friends of Iron Man and needed to see him right away? Probably too many to count...

“ I’ll be sure to pass the message along, Mr....?”

Steve sighed. “Nevermind,” he said, pulling away and crossing back across the lobby. Maybe if they looped around the block, they could find another payphone somewhere and call Stark or Banner and ask them to come down and meet them. It would beat sitting in the lobby until they were thrown out for loitering by security...

Security. Steve stopped, and blinked. Stark’s AI was wired into the building’s security system and had a direct line to Tony. He turned and walked right into the corner of the lobby, staring balefully up at the small shiny black security camera located there.

“ JARVIS, if you can see me, I need you to get Tony down here now,” he said. 

Which would hopefully work, or else he would wind up looking like a crazy person for nothing…

  
  


Loki clung to Steve’s arm, watching him speaking with the woman. She was as impossible to speak to as the guards outside of Asgard, and she found herself fighting not to sneer at her ignorance. 

She worked for Stark, should she not recognize his contemporaries? Or at the very least, have a list of people who should be granted access, regardless of their scheduling or lack thereof. 

Loki was biting back an offer to do something fun, something mildly destructive and sure to bring Steve’s friends to investigate, when Steve suddenly changed his directions and moved to speak to a spot high up on the wall-- a camera, Loki realized. 

Did he suppose the person on the other end would recognize him if the woman at the counter had not? 

Loki fidgeted, glancing over her shoulder at the woman at the counter, who still was looking after them, and then at the various men in bland uniforms who were positioned throughout the area, clearly there to discourage any of the sort of activity Loki had nearly suggested. 

But would they take offense to Steve speaking to a camera? 

She watched as one came to the counter to speak with the woman, who gestured after them. She watched as he lifted his hand to his ear and spoke into the machine dangling from it, like a wired leech. 

And then he began heading for them. 

“ Steve?” She asked, tension in her voice. “I believe we are about to be reprimanded by the large man coming towards us.” She stepped in closer to him, wrapping her hands around his arm again, this time to help keep her from reacting to anything this guard might do or say to them. 

“ Evening.” The man said, with the same sort of restrained anger that caused his politeness to sound stupid. This was the exact sort of role that Asgard would have fought to keep a person of his sensibilities out of. They did not always succeed, but it did mean less abuses of power by the lower ranks of guardsmen. Certainly he would never have made it far enough to be one of the Einherjar, and likely one of those would have slain him in the attempt, Loki thought uncharitably. 

“ Good evening,” Loki returned, her own voice the model of politeness. She looked to Steve, trying to glean from his body language how they were meant to proceed. The man looked up suddenly, almost jolting to attention, his hand drifting to his earpiece before he looked back at the desk. The woman there had her hand over her mouth.

“Mr. Stark has requested that you be escorted upstairs. If you would be so kind as to follow me?” He asked, still with the air of restrained violence, but now with the additional  air of put upon servitude and Loki breathed out, relieved. 

  
  


_ Oh Hell, _ Steve thought as the guard approached them. He was going to get kicked out of Stark’s tower on being mistaken for a loony Iron Man fanboy. 

Forget bullets and scepters and alien warlords -- he was going to be killed by the embarrassment when Stark found out.

Before he and Loki were bodily hauled out of the lobby, however, something or someone came through on communications, and the guard’s attitude did a complete 180. Steve let out a near-audible breath of relief, matching Loki’s exhalation as their shoulders relaxed in sync. Following the guard to the elevator bank, they were led to the executive elevator, which the guard unlocked the control panel for, keying in an authorization code. Something beeped, and then the elevator doors gently whooshed open and the guard stepped stiffly aside to let them in. 

In the elevator, Steve recognized the button for the penthouse, though he strongly suspected the elevator would take them to the appropriate floor regardless of what he pushed. The doors shut and the elevator hummed to life, taking them upward. 

“ _ Welcome back, Captain Rogers,” _ JARVIS’ disembodied voice announced from the ceiling. 

Steve felt Loki tense beside him. “Thank you, JARVIS,” he replied clearly, then leaned down to explain: “Stark has an artificial intelligence -- an independently thinking computer, named JARVIS. He does security for the building as serves as Stark’s personal assistant. A little like a butler.”

“ _ I am also frequently termed Sir’s babysitter,” _ JARVIS added, with what Steve would have called a joking tone if it had come from a human being. “ _ Mister Stark and Dr. Banner are both in the Penthouse at present. Please let me know if I can be of further service.” _   


Loki had known, in SHIELD, that they were being watched nearly constantly, but it had never occurred to her that it mightn’t be people who were watching. That the security system could potentially speak back. 

“ Is that… common here?” She asked, uncertain how careful he had to be around this all hearing machine. Was it Heimdall but for spoken word? “Is it normal for computers and cameras to… to speak?” Loki wondered what the cameras would have to say of his and Steve’s time together in SHIELD’s cells. 

“ And this personality, is it programmed as well? Do you--” Loki found herself speaking to the invisible person, now. “Do you merely make observations, or are you truly of opinions?” Asgard had had technology in the past, things not unlike the Midgardians’ equipment at times, but nothing like this. Nothing so… laden with sense. Aesir sense, human sense… 

“ _ I am a learning program.”  _ JARVIS answered, as if that explained everything, but his voice seemed offended and maybe a little puzzled, too, and Loki promptly ceased her questioning. If even the machines could tell that she did not belong, she wasn’t sure what chance at all she had of not triggering Stark and Banners’ suspicion the moment she walked into the room. And she felt small and humiliated already just from this voice that came from no face. She reminded herself of what she needed to do, how she should act and be.

She leaned into Steve’s side, taking comfort from the solidity that he offered.

The upwards slide halted, and the doors chimed before opening. Loki stumbled out of the elevator gracelessly, eager to escape the voice contained within that she had embarrassed herself in front of, but she was not prepared to stumble into the living area in front of Stark and Banner. 

“ Well, Hel-lo there, who’s this? JARV-- oh hey Steve, this yours?” She heard Stark’s voice sliding upwards questioningly, but she was saved when she saw that Steve had stepped up until he was right beside her. 

Straightening her dress, she demurred and only just stopped from curtseying. That wasn’t how things were done, here, she didn’t think, and anyway she wouldn’t begin to know how deeply one was meant to dip in the home of a… whatever Stark was. 

She hadn’t been into anyone’s home on Midgard yet, save Steve’s, and even that was under duress. 

  
  


Steve hurried to follow Loki out into the main area of Stark’s penthouse.

Since the last time Loki had been in New York, the place had been re-done and cleaned up, and while Steve hadn’t spent much time here before retiring to a guest room last time, it was every bit as understatedly sumptuous as he remembered -- he suspected Miss Potts’d had a hand in the decor, although the framed classic car posters on the far wall near the indoor bar were obviously Tony’s influence.

Tony, who was here. Tony, who was  _ hitting on Loki. _

Steve’s immediate instinct was to get in Stark’s face and tell him to back off. He reigned it in just in time; after all, while treating Loki as his girlfriend in public around strangers was all well and good, in a short amount of time Loki would shift back to his male self, and any shows of affection between them now would be abruptly cast in a new light; a light Steve wasn’t quite comfortable being seen under just yet. Not before they at least got everyone on the same page about Loki no longer being the enemy. 

One thing at a time, after all.

He stepped forward and placed himself firmly half a pace behind Loki, just off to her side. Close enough to make it clear they had arrived together, but not so close as to be intimate. “Tony,” he stated simply, keeping his voice even. And then, gaze darting over to the couch where Banner sat with a StarkPad on his lap, looking up with interest, he tilted his head toward the other man. “Bruce.”

“ You know, when Bruce said you’d be swinging by today, I thought he was pulling my leg,” Tony said with a grin. “Didn’t expect to see you here again so soon. What’s up -- you got another fancy shindig to go to I can crash? Hey, do you want a drink? I’m getting a drink. Bruce -- you want anything?”

“ Tea, please,” Bruce replied mildly from the couch.

Tony pulled a face, moving over to the bar. “Of course you do. Hey, how about you, sweetheart? What’s your poison?”

  
  


Loki looked to Steve first, who was obviously as uncomfortable with the situation as she was. Well, that at least made her feel better about it. If only because then she wasn’t alone in her unease. 

“ Thank you, no.” She told him firmly, regaining her footing. 

Stark’s use of the pet name-- without even inquiring as to her name-- made her feel superior already, if only in the realm of manners, though she had already known as much. But at least he was always forthcoming with his drinks. That had been appreciated, once. 

Here, even, Loki realized, looking around with renewed interest, before her gaze settled on the man on the couch. 

He met her look, still calm, still mild, but interested-- and reserved. 

Did he suspect? Or was he merely naturally cautious around strangers? She supposed it did make sense. 

Erring on the side of caution, she decided not to move forward any, merely to fold herself inwards, her feet coming to rest together, but loosely so, and balanced for easy flight, should the need arise. She smoothed down her skirt, giving her hands something to do. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She said simply. “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

The first lie of the evening. Not to Steve, though, so it was fine. He’d barely brought either of them up, and Banner-- and his beast-- much more than the other man. 

Banner nodded in response, though his lips and eyebrows did a small twitching dance, which she was certain meant that he wondered what she knew. He would wonder a great deal more shortly, but that would have happened either way. She had to be careful how she presented herself, though-- every moment would matter.

Loki was sure Stark’s ego would be irrevocably dented to learn that he was rarely the focus of their conversation, but she held her tongue, aware that the spiteful thoughts would not help them in winning any favor. 

“ Oh, Steve-- the accent, the cheekbones, very nice. You have a thing for the Brits, don’t you?” Tony came striding from around the bar, approaching to walk around Loki, appraising her while on the way to Steve himself.

He was clearly teasing, but it only served to make Loki feel off balance again, being spoken of as if she weren’t even there. 

Stark held a cup out to the Captain, filled a few fingers high with amber liquid. 

“I know you can’t get drunk, but that means that you’ll be safe to drive after this anyway, so humor me.” He said pressing it into Steve’s hands in a way that demanded he not be told no. 

  
  


Steve accepted the glass with a grim look. Good liquor was utterly wasted on him and he knew it. “We actually took the subway here. And we were kind of hoping we could stay for a bit; unless the offer of hospitality was a one time deal?” He raised an eyebrow in challenge. He was on edge, knowing how close to the precipice of their revelation they were

Stark raised both eyebrows in response, looking over his shoulder as he doubled back to the bar. “Hey, you’re welcome to stay all you like, there’s plenty of room. The more the merrier.” He poured scotch into another tumbler, and brought this over with his own glass, handing it to Loki. “Here you go, Steve’s-Mystery-Lady,” he said with a wink. 

“ What about my tea?” Bruce asked from the couch, seeming more vaguely amused than annoyed. 

Stark made a face of distaste. “I’m not touching your weird leaf water. You’re on your own, pal.”

Bruce sniffed but smiled, returning his attention to whatever he was working on with the StarkPad, though the occasional upward glance indicated he wasn’t so divorced from the proceedings as he pretended to be. 

“ Cheers! To surprise visits and Steve showing good taste,” Stark announced with a roguish grin and a glance toward Loki, lifting his own glass now that the three of them had one in hand.

Steve suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, dutifully sipping his own glass and managing not to pull a face at the burn. Utter waste. “Look, Tony, there’s a reason we’re here, and--”

“ \--Lemme guess. First date. No, no, that’s not right. You’re probably a movies and coffee kinda guy for that. Something as fancy as Stark Tower points to -- Honeymoon?” Stark waggled his eyebrows. “Did you two lovebirds elope? Running away together and you need to borrow my private jet? I have to say I’m disappointed I wasn’t invited to the ceremony--”

“ _ Tony. _ ”  Steve managed not to flinch when Stark hit a bit too close to the truth for comfort, and the firmness with which he said his name stopped the other man in his tracks. “I think it might be best if we all sat down for this.”

Stark’s eyes widened, his expression a mix of curiosity and gleeful anticipation. “Oh. This is going to be good, I can tell,” he murmured, retreating to the couch and dropping gracelessly on to the cushions, the liquor in his glass sloshing dangerously close to the rim, but not spilling. Bruce, beside him, sat up a little straighter, lowering his tablet and eyeing them both a bit more critically, a faint furrow appearing between his brows.

With one hand on Loki’s back, between her shoulder blades -- close enough to be comforting, but not so close that it would point to anything more than platonic -- Steve guided them both to the other couch, where he perched on the edge, immediately placing his scotch on the glass coffee table. 

“ SHIELD and I are on the outs,” he announced simply, figuring that was the best place to start. If either of them seemed like they were ready to turn him over on the basis of that alone, they’d scram before Loki’s identity could be revealed. 

Both Banner and Stark frowned. 

“ What, did you and Fury break up?” Stark asked, and at the same time Banner leaned forward, with “Is everything okay?”

Steve licked his lips, wishing he’d thought through his wording a little better. “Fury and I seem to be in, ah, disagreement about the best way to handle a prisoner I was assigned to interrogate and potentially rehabilitate. A prisoner I believe to be reformed and deserving of a second chance, but,” he swallowed. “But that SHIELD took a shot at the other day, after he saved my life.”

Bruce, he noticed, was looking very intently at Loki, his posture beginning to shift.

Steve took a breath. “I need you both to just keep calm, and not panic or-- just keep calm, okay? We came here hoping you might be willing to listen and to help us. If not, then... then as a professional courtesy as fellow Avengers, I ask that you give us at least a couple hours’ head start before you call Fury. Please.”

The atmosphere in the room had transformed entirely, and Steve could almost swear the temperature had dropped a few degrees. Both Stark and Banner were alert and sitting upright. 

“ Okay, not what I was expecting. Rogers, what the hell did you and your honey-bunny here get into?” Stark asked, increasingly wary but with a slightly manic glimmer of fascination in his eyes.

Banner’s face had gone totally blank, by contrast. “Steve. Who exactly is sitting next to you right now?”  
He chewed his bottom lip, knowing he couldn’t draw this out any further. “Please, just... remember not to panic, okay?” Steve took a deep breath, then turned toward Loki and gave her a small nod.

  
  


She threw back the entire contents of her glass, more for the temporary burn in her mouth than the effect of the alcohol; Midgard made theirs a little weak for it to be worth much in the way of stimulant for her. But it served as a minor distraction from what she was about to do, the change that, to them, would be no different than her taking on her Jotun form would be to Asgard. 

The same scared, helpless, sinking feeling began to shake through her, and she wrapped her hands around her upper arms, in an attempt to hide the way her hands had begun to shake.

She stood and crossed to put the table between herself and Tony-- and the man who contained The Hulk. Not that having a glass weapon between them would be the best of plans, but there was a physical sense of security that it granted, hollow and fragile as it was.

She knew that the timing would be everything, and she had carefully put the clothing they had purchased, the clothing she had changed out of, into her ‘pocket’, on top, for easy access. No matter what happened, at least she would be in pants for it. 

With a small twitch of her fingers, she let the seidhr spill the other clothes over her form, banishing the sundress to the pocket in their stead. 

“ Jesus.” Stark said, and she grimaced at the dullness of his voice. He recovered quickly though, given that she still had breasts-- which were now in a very loose shirt. “A little early in the night for Steve’s-clothes-as-Pj’s time isn’t i-- JESUS.” 

The second time, the word was in response to her losing her patience with his mouthiness, and letting her masculine Aesir form return, washing quickly over his body just as the clothes had. And now he filled them out. 

“ It is, yes, a little early for pajamas. Sweetheart.” He said very calmly and slowly, unable to resist the jab, though his eyes slid sideways towards Banner as he spoke. 

He lifted his hands, as the guards had always asked him to do, while at SHIELD. 

“ I mean you no harm.” He said to the both of them, tone formal and displaying empty palms and still fingers, nothing that could be mistaken for a threat. 

He looked over at Steve, not sure what came next. 

Steve didn’t look sure either.

“ Well.” The word came from Banner, and Loki felt his head snap in the direction of the most dangerous man in the room, ready to grab Steve and disappear if need be. “I think… there is probably more to this story that we haven’t heard yet.” 

Loki took a deep breath, glad at least because his willingness to listen meant that he was not likely to suddenly change and attack. 

“ I think I’d have preferred you have your tea before we told you, but thank you.” Loki said softly, his eyes skittering away from making contact with Banner’s.

“ No! What? I mean-- Steve come on, you got me to agree to let you stay without even letting me know your girlfriend was a crazy god of destroying towers? Cause I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t really know what insurance I should put calls into first. All of them, probably-- JARVIS, call all of the insurances for me.” 

“ _ Sir. _ ”  JARVIS’s voice said, cool and collected as always. Loki frowned at it, looking around for the source again briefly. 

“ I should have known-- no way would you just show up with a chick, you would have called first. You would have given me a lecture about how to treat her-- it should have been a dead tell. Do you even date?” Stark was babbling now, and Loki found himself sighing and crossing his arms. 

“Are you throwing us to the wolves, or may I sit back down?” He asked, interrupting the tangent that he could sense building in regards to Steve’s lack of a (known) romantic life. He doubted he had the patience to sit through it right at the moment, and he didn’t want Steve to have to, either.

  
  


“ Tony,” Steve said, interrupting, gently reaching forward to put a hand on Loki’s forearm, pulling him back down to the couch. “No one is destroying your tower. No destroying, no killing, no fighting. If you don’t want us here, we can just leave. That simple. But I ask that you hear us out first before you make your mind up.”

A strangled, slightly manic laugh slipped from Tony’s lips, and from the faraway look he’d gotten, Steve suspected he hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “Aw man, I was just about-- I was trying to-- why wouldn’t you  _ warn a guy _ about something like that?” He gestured to Loki. “I mean, what the hell was that all about!? With the dress and the breasts and the...”

Steve sighed. He glanced over to Bruce, who had his eyes shut and seemed to be doing some kind of tantric breathing exercise. No help there, but at least The Other Guy hadn’t joined the party. “Tony,” he tried again, “I’m sorry about the shape shifting and about not telling you at first. We had Loki disguise himself so we could get around the city safely, and so you’d let us in the door so we could at least try to talk about this face to face.” He shifted forward, feeling tense as a coiled spring. “I would have called, except the last time we tried to call ahead and explain our actions before turning up somewhere, SHIELD had a bunch of snipers in position waiting for us.”

_ That _ at least seemed to get through to Tony, whose expression sobered. He pulled a hand over his mouth, tracing the edges of his goatee. “This is so incredibly messed up,” he mumbled. 

“ Hmmm,” Bruce hummed in assent, opening his eyes. “Why did SHIELD have snipers waiting for you?”

“ They think Loki abducted me and that I’m mind controlled,” Steve explained bitterly. Then, looking up at the two of them and their scrutinizing looks, he added: “I’m not. Look at my eyes.”

Stark tilted his head, frowning. “They’re blue, Steve.”

“ They’re always blue! They’re not creepy radioactive blue now, and I mean it. I’m not mind controlled.” He ran a hand back through his still-too-long hair in frustration. “Look, there’s a threat out there, and this time Loki is on our side and can help us. So you can either freak out about everything that happened over a year ago and think I’m crazy, or you can actually  _ listen _ and help us do something about it.  _ Please _ .”   


Loki sat and cleared his throat. 

“ I would have it known, I did not kidnap him. I have not… I  _ have _ used my magic on him, but only to heal where he was harmed by this… threat.” He shot a glance at Steve, unsure if they should plow ahead, if they should tell them without their having agreed to listen. It didn’t seem like a good idea, though. It would feel too much like manipulation, that way. Particularly coming from him. 

“His mind is his own, and if there is any way I may prove that to you, within reason, to set your own minds at ease about it… I think you will listen better to us if you know, without any doubt, that this is your friend who comes before you now. I realize there is little love to be lost between you and I, but S-- The Captain deserves more from you. He deserves to be heard.” Loki was surprised-- he’d expected something different, some kind of reaction from the two of them more akin to… concern? Investment in Steve’s well being? Threats to Loki, about him, even. Not this. This was… it didn’t feel right. Did they not care for him? Did they not know him, as he was now? Did they know him at all, could they see the stress he was under?

And of course his eyes were blue; what other color should they be?

“ Besides, if I was to take the Captain’s mind, I would like to point out to you that it would be easier that I repeat the trick than spend this time convincing you. So, factor that seed of logic into your belief, if you would be so kind.”

Banner’s steady breathing turned into a huff, and Loki sent a sharp glance his way, only to see him looking amused, albeit in a mildly perturbed way.. 

“ Is this like that old puzzle? One of these men always tells the truth and the other one always lies?” Banner was laughing, though it too had an edge of tension to it that Loki didn’t particularly like. 

“ I do not always lie.” Loki said, as evenly as he could. 

“ Sounds like something a liar would say.” Stark responded, and Loki looked between the two of them, feeling instantly as though he were surrounded by clowns. 

“ Then test us in any way you can devise. I will not pull you unwilling into my-- _ our  _ fight.”

  
  


Steve had to admit, he was impressed. Loki was keeping his cool, and had his temper better in check at this point than Steve did. Though Loki had never counted these men as allies or friends, so having them look at him with mistrust wouldn’t have stung of betrayal the way it did for Steve. 

“ If you wanna run scans on my brain to make sure he’s not in it, then go right ahead,” he said. “We’re not here to start a fight. I came to you because... Because I thought you guys would get it. That you’d be willing to listen and to help, and that after everything that happened before you’d know me well enough to trust me.”

Stark looked grim. “You mean after everything  _ he did _ the last time he was here?” he demanded, pointing at Loki. 

“ Tony,” Banner interjected, standing. “I think it might be best if we talked to Loki and Steve each separately. It’ll help us come to a decision if we can get all the facts from each of you. Steve, I’d also like to take you up on the offer to run a few tests, just for my peace of mind.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “What are you planning to do with Loki while I’m getting tested?” He didn’t like the idea of being separated from Loki, and while he didn’t think Bruce and Tony would mistreat him horribly, his trust in everyone had been shaken by the events of the past few days. 

“ He’ll stay in Bruce’s room,” Tony immediately supplied. Banner turned and looked at him with eyebrows raised. “Your  _ Other  _ room,” Tony clarified, which earned a nod of understanding.

It took Steve a moment to catch up. “You want to put him in Hulk’s cell?” He demanded, forehead knitting in a scowl.

“ As a temporary measure,” Bruce explained. “Tony designed it for me, and I can assure you, it’s quite humane.”

Steve chewed his lip unhappily, glancing over at Loki.   
  


“ Another cage.” He said flatly, then sighed. “Well, it is nothing I am unfamiliar with at this point. I cannot say I am… altogether pleased by your choice, but neither am I surprised. If that is what you need for comfort, it’s fine.” He darted his eyes towards Steve, nodding when he met his concerned look. “But you will find that at the first sign of betrayal, it will cease to hold me.” He turned his eyes calmly from Steve’s to Banner’s, trying to be sure that he made himself clear. 

“That is not a threat. I am allowing you to lock me up. I will allow the cell to hold me. But unless your technology,” this he directed at Stark, “Has evolved and grown greatly of late, I will still have access to my seidhr. I want you to know this before I allow my imprisonment, in the interest of your not experiencing any false sense of security. If you betray us, I will not hesitate to withdraw my allowance, and if you value your tower’s structural stability, I would advise against it. As Rogers has said, if you choose not to help us, it is better that you merely let us go peaceably.” He didn’t look at Steve because he felt sure that he would not approve of Loki’s words. But he had asked for honesty, and he believed Loki could be better than his lies. 

This was his chance to prove himself.

Tony looked more than a little annoyed, probably at the news that whatever he had done to try and disturb Loki’s magic had failed. Banner, however, was unreadable. Which could mean he was forcing himself to remain calm, or that he was listening and thoughtful. Loki did not know, and he found that worrisome.

“ If you actually do end up working with us, I’m gonna want to have some talks about how your magic works and what that means for containment.” Tony said, speaking directly to Loki, who only raised an eyebrow in response. 

“ JARVIS I want energy readings on Loki as well as cameras for however long he’s here.” He spoke upwards, and Loki was relieved to find that even the creator tried aiming his voice for the person who was not there.

Loki took a deep breath, only hoping there was nothing within the cage that they would insist on chaining him to. He still remembered the chair and his immobility during the haircut, and the way that had made him recall the training he’d undergone at Thanos’s hands before they began working together. 

_ Never again _ , he promised himself.

But, it also reminded him that he had yet to cut Steve’s hair in return. It made his eyes move back over to his partner, his gaze dance over his face. And he could feel some of the tension bleeding out of him. 

Steve would not allow this if he did not think them safe. 

“ You may lead the way. Provided, of course, that Rogers thinks it appropriate. Captain?” He wasn’t supposed to make decisions like this on his own, though his training in being the voice for a negotiation effort told him not to look to others on your own board of advisors, lest you look like you are weak. 

He would rather be weak, though, and have Steve at ease. It would make him easier in turn. 

  
  


Steve didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. Part of his demands with SHIELD had been that Loki not go back in the cage, and here he was, letting Stark and Banner put him in another one.

The only thing that kept him from snapping in protest was Bruce’s words about the arrangement being  _ temporary,  _ and his reassurance that the container had been built with him in mind. If nothing else, Hulk’s size promised that any room constructed for him would at least give Loki some space to stretch in. Well, that and the knowledge that Loki could escape at any time. It was something he’d certainly suspected during a good part of Loki’s time at SHIELD, but hadn’t had confirmed for him until Loki had actually broken out on his behalf. And if SHIELD couldn’t hold him, he doubted Stark and Banner could either.

Steve didn’t like it, but in the end, he nodded, though his eyes flickered toward Loki with a look of apology. He would find a way to come and check in on Loki soon, he decided, though Stark’s surveillance would make it hard for him to say everything he wanted to. He’d just have to trust in Loki’s ability to read between the lines.

“ Okay,” he said. “But I want unrestricted access to the security feed on Loki, and once you’re done with your tests, I want to be shown the area where you’re containing him.”

Stark pulled a face, but said nothing. Which was better than a flat out no. Banner was the one who ended up stepping forward, nodding to Steve. “Okay. I’ll take Loki down to Hulk’s containment chamber. Tony, why don’t you bring Steve to my lab?”

Stark jerked his head in a stiff nod. “This way,” he grumbled, darting a quick and inscrutable look toward Bruce before leading Steve toward the elevator.

Steve tried not to let his eyes linger on Loki. Bruce... Bruce knew. He’d talked to Bruce and trusted him before. He didn’t think Bruce would do anything harmful to Loki.

It just troubled him knowing that he  _ could.  _

  
  


Banner directed Loki away from the elevator, in the opposite direction of where Stark intended to take Steve. They moved further into the living area of the tower, down a hall, and finally to a door that looked exactly like every other door they had passed, right up until Banner pressed his hand against a panel of the door, and the familiar light of a handprint being scanned went around his fingers. The door slid upwards, rather than swinging open, and the walls themselves collapsed away to make room for a much larger door-- something that the beast that Banner became could fit through. It was a sobering reminder of the sheer size of the Hulk.

Loki did not speak, or try to make small talk. He wasn’t certain what he could do or say to add to what he already had, and more, he did not want to risk upsetting the man with him now. Particularly not with Steve no longer at hand to help stop him from any damage Loki could potentially sustain. 

Banner, however, did speak. 

“ Look, I don’t know what’s going on yet with threats and whatnot, and we’ll get to that.” He had a slow way of speaking that told Loki that his every word was thought out and chosen carefully. “I do want you to know, though, whatever’s going on with you, and Steve, if this is some kind of play for you, some bid for-- for dominance or something. We’re gonna figure it out. And I don’t care how much power you’ve got on you, there’s always someone bigger, someone stronger.” Banner gestured through the door, obviously inviting Loki to step in. 

Loki did as he was bid, turning around to watch as a clear glass panel slid down over the now gaping hole in the wall. 

“ You have no idea how right you are, Doctor Banner.” He told him. But, feeling safe, Loki turned his back to the man and took in his surroundings. 

Most of the rooms in the tower had odd shapes, from what Loki had seen. The exterior was rounded and angled so oddly that the interior had to accept some of those lines, resulting in rooms with rounded out walls. 

This room, however, was perfectly rectangular, creating an odd feeling of regularity. 

One corner of it was covered in white sand, which appeared to be relatively deep, and there was a wooden wide pronged rake leaning against a nearby wall. 

Loki snorted out loud at the thought of the Hulk doing any form of gardening, be it with or without actual plants. 

There was an area across from that with several mats of woven dried plant matter, soft, almost silky looking, placed on the floor as… padding perhaps? Was the monster meant to sit on it? To sleep there? 

He wondered that Stark had not been able to manufacture a bed capable of holding the thing’s weight. 

All in all, it was a sparse cell, but nothing so barren as the one that Loki had spent so long in with SHIELD. 

And it was meant to be temporary. Just long enough for them to question Steve, to run diagnostics… He wondered if they would be able to sense his seidhr inside of him, with their machines, and if that would seem damning if they did. 

He resolved not to worry about it. Steve, he knew, would be safe enough.

Though he was troubled to realize that isolated as he was, he had no way of knowing if Steve needed his help. And He had been left alone with the man who became the Hulk and a man who donned metal armor to become invincible. 

And Steve did not so much as have his shield. Loki sighed heavily and seated himself on the mats on the floor. He had no better option, for the time being. He just had to trust that Steve knew his friends, and knew what he was doing.

  
  


The elevator whirred downward swiftly and quietly, the doors opening with a soft ding seconds later on to a new floor, full of metal surfaces. Stark’s happy, easygoing demeanor from when Steve had first arrived had evaporated. Steve followed a few paces behind, but from this viewpoint, he could clearly see the tension in his shoulders, the tight way he held himself, so different from the easy, bouncing sprawl he’d had before.

So he said nothing and followed in silence, allowing Tony the quiet of whatever thoughts were whirling around in that mind of his. Banner seemed to be the more grounded of the two, so Steve was perfectly happy to wait for him to return before launching into... whatever it was they were going to launch into.

He hoped Loki was alright. That he didn’t feel like Steve had abandoned him or forsaken him. Of course, he reminded himself, it had been Loki who had suggested that he come before the Avengers in chains. Perhaps it was because Steve had shot the idea down so immediately, he felt now like he had betrayed Loki by allowing him to be locked up with so little fuss. He’d allowed his friends to treat him like a criminal, a monster -- everything he said he wouldn’t do.

As soon as he could, he decided, he’d try to get Loki out. He’d talk sense into the others, make it clear Loki wasn’t a threat. There was still a chance that they would be wary, certainly, but there would have to be some security measures they could put in place short of locking Loki up. 

Stark led them into a large and open space, that looked halfway between a spaceship, a medical research facility, and a mechanic shop. Scraps of metal lay around the same tables as circuit boards, and other fancy monitoring equipment that had to cost a fortune and whose purpose Steve could hardly fathom littered the place.

“ Welcome to my lab. Now don’t touch anything,” Stark snapped. 

Deciding that he was better off not irritating Stark any further than he had, Steve folded his hands in front of him and quietly waited until Banner arrived. 

  
  


Tony’s idea of chamber music never failed to make Bruce grin, when he managed to be caught alone with it. 

Or, at least, not until today. Today, the guy everyone had bad dreams about was sitting in his zen room, someone he would hesitantly refer to as a friend had brought him here, and yeah, Bruce had a feeling they would check and find no evidence of tampering, (because what evidence did magic leave behind anyway?) but the idea that this was all for real, that Captain America was running from a big scary organization with guns and money and the ability to make people disappear, with an interplanetary bad guy in tow… yeah, it made him a little nervous. 

He was good, though, so far, he was in control. This all looked a little awful, and it was likely to get worse, but so far… so far it was things he could try and fix with his brains. 

He joined them downstairs in Tony’s playroom, the non-sexy one, as he was always quick to specify. (Bruce hadn’t found the sexy one, but he also hadn’t gone looking. He was about 80% sure it existed though, on the basis that this  _ was _ Tony, after all.)

As he stepped off the elevator, he could almost feel the tension in the room. It made the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up, and he breathed in deeply for calm. 

“ Relax.” He advised the room at large, rolling his sleeves up as he closed in the distance between them. 

Tony looked like he was a few muscle twitches from snapping in two, and Steve looked like he was expecting to get whipped or something, standing like a school boy in a museum.

“ You wanted to talk, so let’s talk. I want to do like you said, hook you up to a scanner for brain activity… and also set up a heart rate monitor. I have no doubt that you’re going to believe what you’re saying one way or another, but if your brain knows differently, we’ll see a reaction. I think. I’m not really that kind of doctor.” He shrugged apologetically. 

“ Sound okay to you Tony? Do we have those things?”   


Steve breathed in and out when Bruce arrived. For someone holding back barely restrained fury at all times, Bruce managed to keep a remarkably mild air about him that, when he actually made his presence known, helped to calm anyone in near proximity. 

“ Sounds fine by me,” he answered. 

Stark made a small grumbling noise. “Yeah, gimme a minute. Jarv, where did I put that EKG?”

It took roughly twenty minutes for the equipment to be assembled. Stark had to double down to another level to get some things, but in a surprisingly short time, Steve was asked to sit in a folding chair and take his shirt off, while Bruce carefully applied small electrodes to his skin.

Stark took another chair and flipped it around, sitting in it backwards and staring at Steve, as if he could discern the truth of the results just by looking at him long enough. It was slightly unnerving, so Steve focused on Bruce’s hands, grateful that he had not been on the receiving end of any of the love bites that took place the night prior. He was sure he’d seen the shadow of a bruise on Loki’s throat still that morning, though it had probably faded by now.

A shiver ran through him at the thought. The heart rate monitor skipped slightly and Bruce frowned at him. “Sorry,” Steve said. “Cold.”

“ JARVIS, turn the heat up two degrees,” Stark said.

“That’s not necessary...” Steve trailed off and looked away. “Are you all ready?”

  
  


“ I am, one second--” Bruce double checked the connection between one of the heads and the cord that attached to it, then spared a glance at the monitor that Tony had set up, just to be certain. 

“ Tony?” He asked, turning to his friend. 

He’d not seen Tony this tense since… well, since his last PTSD panic attack. Which was also rooted in Loki. So yeah, it made sense that his usual glibness was turned off. 

“ Tony, you want me to get you anything?” They’d found that Valerian root and St. John’s wort did help a bit for him, and yoga, too, though that didn't come as readily in a bottle. Still. There was some level of balance to be maintained between helping one friend, and keeping another from shaking apart in the process. Tony had been doing better, Bruce knew. He knew he’d been even worse before Bruce came back. But this could easily cause more problems. 

He approached where Tony sat and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“ Tony?” He asked one more time, and Tony blinked, sitting up a little straighter, and shook his head. 

“Nah, I’m good. Let’s get on with this-- should we try this get up out?” He gestured at the stuff around them and then at Steve. “We need a flat easy truth, a slightly stressed truth, and an outright lie, so let’s see…”

Tony stroked at his beard.

“Tell us your full name, answer are you a virgin, and tell us that Loki is innocent of murder.” He commanded, and though Bruce tightened his grip on Tony’s shoulder in reprimand, he didn’t say anything, and just turned to look over at Steve, waiting for the readings to start coming in.

  
  


Steve swallowed and looked at Bruce. “He’s kidding, right?” He got that Tony was upset with him -- he didn’t know how Loki had changed, and admittedly, if Steve had brought the Loki of a year and a half ago to his doorstep, he’d understand his aversion -- but now he had to just be messing with him to get back at him for it. Which was frankly petty, though not so petty as to be beneath Tony, Steve suspected.

Bruce shook his head, however. “That is how it works,” he confirmed, reaching forward and gently adjusting the blood pressure cuff on Steve’s arm. “If you could just answer the questions...”

Steve sighed, though he shot Tony a slightly dirty look before fixing his gaze on the far wall. Better to get this over with. The sooner he gave them answers and convinced them, the sooner he could check on Loki. “My name is Steven Grant Rogers,” he stated. Easy truth -- simple enough. As for the next one: “I am-- I am not a virgin.” He felt a small flush of color spreading in his cheeks; how recently the answer to that question had changed. He wasn’t sure which was more embarrassing to admit to at this point. He clenched his jaw and kept his gaze fixed on the wall. 

Next came the lie. 

“Loki is innocent of murder,” he said dully, knowing it wasn’t true, and feeling something low in his chest clench at the reminder. He blew out the remaining air in his lungs and looked up at Bruce. “That good?”

  
  


“ I’ve got the readings, yeah,” Bruce told them, hiding his own minor surprise much better than Tony had managed. The monitors showed three lines of spikes- the first remained flat on both heart rate and brain stress, the second showed a minor bump, and the third showed a hitch. None of them were the sharp inclines that a real lie-- the kind trying to hide as a truth should show up as, but at least if Steve was under control, the lie about Loki being innocent would have been a different reading altogether, instead of just a dull little rise in his line.

“ Awh, check you out, not a virgin-- we’ll come back to that. Okay, so how about this: Are you now or have you ever been under the influence or control of Loki’s brainless zombie magic?” 

Bruce huffed a little at the wording of that, but turned expectant eyes on Steve, and then back at the monitors. 

  
  


Steve took a moment to glare at Tony with a look that dictated that in no uncertain terms, they would  _ not  _ be coming back to that, as it was none of anyone’s goddamn business.

He then fixed his gaze back on the wall and took a few breaths; if his irritation at Tony skewed the readings, it would defeat the whole purpose of this exercise.

“ I am not, nor have I ever been, under the control of Loki’s magic,” he announced. And then, figuring while they were on the subject he might as well, continued: “He has never used the scepter on me, and for the record, while he has touched it since returning to Earth, he hasn’t used it against  _ anyone _ since the time of the invasion. Nor has he otherwise mind-controlled anyone or attempted to since returning to Earth.”

He didn’t think he could get much more definitive on the subject than that. He looked up at Bruce expectantly.

  
  


Bruce nodded once at Steve, accepting, and then looked to Tony. 

“ Not even a quiver. It’s the truth.” 

“ Fine. Good. Glad to have you with us. So, what the hell is he doing here, then? How long has Loki been here, that you know of?” Tony was being pretty dismissive of that, and Bruce couldn’t help but think he was somehow almost disappointed-- mainly in the fact that they couldn’t just toss Loki back to SHIELD, Bruce hoped, and not that Steve had decided to bring him here. 

With Tony, though, it was hard to say. 

“How about first, this threat you were talking about-- is it something we need to address right this second, or do we have time for backstory?” Bruce cut in, figuring priorities were probably a good thing to have, right about now.

  
  


Steve felt a swell of validation at Bruce’s confirmation, though Tony promptly glossing over it made him deflate almost immediately. He was beginning to recall why the two of them disliked each other so much when they first met on the helicarrier. 

Bruce, at least, seemed to be keeping everything in perspective. When this was over, Steve would owe him a big one. “Not right this second, though to be honest, we have no idea at the moment. It could be weeks, it could be years,” he admitted. “Though, given we’re dealing with something all alien and ancient, the odds are hopefully in favor of things moving slower. Assuming we use our time to prepare instead of doing nothing,” he said, sparing Tony a sideways look.

“ Loki is ‘here’ because I brought him here, and I’d say he’s been in your tower for a little over half an hour,” he informed Tony, unable to keep the sarcasm from creeping into his voice. “Though if by ‘here’ you mean Earth, then going on six weeks now.” Bruce, he knew, could confirm as much, or at least that Loki had been there for a couple weeks, since Steve had called him and told him the story then. So really, this was all just for Tony’s benefit.

He wondered that Bruce hadn’t said a word. He wondered also, if he would admit that he’d known. Part of him wanted to call him out, since Tony might be more willing to listen to his fellow scientist than Steve, but given Bruce wasn’t actively antagonistic toward him or Loki, he didn’t want to throw him under the bus either. So instead, he continued with his explanation. 

“ He showed up at the Triskelion in DC looking for the scepter, which wasn’t on base at the time. He was in rough shape from breaking out of Asgardian prison. I spotted him on the security feed, I was the first person on scene, and I confronted him. He was a mess, and surrendered without a fight. He remained in SHIELD custody after that up until a couple days ago -- the day after the Governor’s function,” he reminded Tony.    


Tony made a small strangled noise, and Bruce patted his shoulder before moving over to the refrigerator to grab him a water bottle. 

“ Steve?” He asked, lifting one up in an unspoken offer. 

“ But ok, he came without a fight-- we’ve seen that trick before. You said he was after the sceptre and that he’s had his hands on it-- what’s the story there? What’d he need it for, if not brainwashing and trying to take over?”

Bruce had to be honest, he was partially curious as to what the damn thing did. He’d had a very short time to poke at it, the previous year, before things had gone bad and they’d sort of lost control of everything. But the majority of him wanted to know what Loki’s angle was, here, what he was playing at and aiming for. 

Steve might be the most trusting person Bruce knew, but he wasn’t dumb. Bruce and Tony were also not dumb, and much less trusting, so it would take more than a sob story to bring them over to Loki’s side. Which was, of course, why they needed to talk to Steve first. 

“And if he’s a runaway from Asgard’s prison, why didn’t Fury just hand him over? Why keep him here to break out of our not so Asgardian prison, too? More importantly, why did he break out?” Tony was firing off questions, and Bruce forced the water bottle into his hand, hoping that drinking something would get him to shut up at least long enough for Steve to get started.

  
  


Steve nodded, accepting the water from Bruce, though he set it aside without opening it. Loki, he reasoned, might be thirsty. And with Loki back in captivity, Steve felt himself slipping back into the role of caretaker. Because if he didn’t look out for Loki, it seemed no one else would.

“ That’s what Fury and I thought at first too,” Steve conceded. “That he was up to something. Turned out, though, he wore himself out really bad on the trick he used to escape from Asgardian prison...” Steve swallowed, remembering Loki’s story that he’d been left alone and weak and starving for  _ days  _ before anyone bothered to look, and this time, in addition to feeling appalled, he felt a small spike of anger. 

“ And he broke out to get to the scepter,” he said, looking at Tony. “He came back to Earth for it. Originally he told us he had a dependency on it, like an addiction, but with magic. Which turned out not to be true--”

Tony snorted. “Big surprise there.”

“ \-- But the truth is a little more complicated,” Steve continued, voice sharpening. His gaze flitted back toward Bruce, and then, recalling how much effort he must be putting into resisting the tension in the current environment, felt a small pang of guilt. He took a breath to calm down before continuing. “SHIELD did try to get in touch with Asgard as soon as we had Loki in custody. No one’s heard a peep from them since Thor took Loki back, and the scientists they have working on some kind of interstellar radio haven’t had any luck.” 

He shrugged. “Loki wanted the scepter, but he didn’t know where it was and he was a wreck. I was the first person he’d talked to, and when I went to check up on him in the cells to make sure SHIELD wasn’t pulling a fast one... we talked. He said he’d cooperate with us, if only for the chance to touch it, not to use it. So, the director decided since Loki seemed more willing to talk to me, he’d assign me to oversee him.” Which was a bit of a simplification, but a true one nonetheless. “Fury eventually questioned him, and he’s given us a lot more intel about Asgard and a lot of other stuff than Thor managed to while he was here. After that, SHIELD built a containment chamber for the scepter so Loki could touch it under heavy supervision. Only...” Steve frowned, remembering how Loki had gone rigid with pain, his stomach twisting. “Only something went wrong. Touching the scepter hurt Loki.”

  
  


“ Hurt him?” Bruce echoed, the question unintentionally sharp. He felt his brow furrowing and made an effort to smooth it out, to relax into what was being said. 

“ Yeah, hurt him how? We saw him use that thing what? A lot. All over the place, back when he was doing his less victimized dance.” Tony was kicking his heel against the leg of the chair now, the movement a nervous habit, clearly, and that was something Bruce was a little glad about-- it meant that he was engaged. 

“ Also: I’m a little curious to hear more about this whole cut off with Asgard-- I thought SHIELD had some kind of direct line to them, or something. How else did Thor know to even come to Earth in pursuit of Loki, the first time, otherwise?” Bruce shot a look at Tony, hoping he’d turned something up while he was trawling through the various files on the helicarrier.

“ Well, like Steve said, Thor was a little busy trying not to let anybody else get killed when baby brother flipped his shit to tell us all about how their phones work. We’ll worry about that in a bit-- maybe if I had known we were having problems talking between realms, I could have solved them. And hey you know, if that’s the case, problem solved-- we give Loki back, he’s their problem, and all of his bullshit can go with him!” Tony slapped his palm against the back of the chair. “With him not around to shoot, you and Nick can kiss and make up, and we’ll all take a vacation for having saved the world again, what do you think, Bruce? Atlantic city? Maybe something a little slower-- Branson? Dollywood?” Tony looked instantly cheerier, and though the nervous jangle was still there, having given himself goals, he almost looked relaxed. 

“Tony, you need to let Steve talk. Steve?”

  
  


“ Loki is  _ not _ going back to Asgard,” Steve snapped. Then took a deep breath. For Bruce’s sake. “Not without a fight,” he added grimly, though the source of that fight he left purposely ambiguous. “If we did get hold of Asgard, they’d just lock him up for the rest of forever and forget about him. Again.” Which was the best case scenario, really. With a lurch, Steve realized that he didn’t know for sure if Loki would get the same punishment, or if after his escape, Asgard might look for a more permanent punishment. 

Stark’s foot hit the leg of his chair forcefully, his smile straining at the edges. “Doesn’t seem like a problem to me--”

“ \--Except that Loki is the one person we have who knows the most about an alien threat to the Earth,” Steve added more forcefully. “Look, Loki can probably explain this a lot better than me, but...” he licked his lips, trying to figure out how to explain this. “You remember how the Cube was like a door? It could open portals through space?”

“ Little hard to forget,” Stark grumbled, smile now gone and his eyes unfocusing. 

“ Well, the scepter is kinda similar. It’s not just a weapon, but it can act a bit like a door, but... for minds?” He struggled to explain. “It can transport consciousness to somewhere far off in space while the body stays in the same place. I think Loki used it to contact his army during the invasion. And when Loki touched it at SHIELD, his mind went to the people who sent him to Earth in the first place.” Steve shuddered, remembering Thanos and that dark and shattered world. “They weren’t exactly happy he didn’t get them what they wanted, and they ripped something out of him magically. Loki needed the scepter to make contact, to try to smooth things over. Which didn’t work out so hot. So they hurt him,” he added bitterly.    


“ So then you were stuck with a Loki who was both sick and in hot water-- he looks okay to me now. How long ago was all of this-- before or after you called me?” Bruce looked at Tony and raised his eyebrows, half expecting to be yelled at for the betrayal of his knowing, but Tony seemed to be at least partway checked out. 

“ Tony.” Bruce said, speaking a little louder than usual. Like the Hulk’s roar when Tony fell back to earth, watching Tony jerk out of whatever he was remembering was a jolt. 

“ I’m listening. Fuck you Banner.” Tony said, though it was mild. 

Bruce had a feeling he’d hear about it later. 

“ Ok. Anyway, so, how long ago was this and how exactly will it not be solved by just sending Loki back? I mean, if we can get hold of Asgard, I figure they have to have someone who can control him, right? Someone who will take the fight out of him, or bind him, or whatever they have to do. I mean, ignoring him is hardly that bad of a punishment. I would  _ pay _ to have the people in charge here ignore me. If that’s Thor, great, if not, well, fine, but… Like Tony said, how is this our problem?” His brain moved quickly though, and he held up a hand. 

“Wait. I got it. More to the point, why did the… whoever, why did they send Loki here in the first place? What did they want from him that they didn’t get?” 

Bruce looked to Tony, trying to check for any further signs of distress… or him zoning out. He was worried, and he had a feeling they’d be having a late night yoga session tonight, one way or another, instead of sleeping. 

“Is it something we can get for them? Something SHIELD could? And why are they against this, anyway, do they… they don’t believe you, do they?” It came out flat, and Bruce understood, suddenly, the reasoning behind how they had been approached. 

  
  


“ They didn’t give me a chance to even explain this much,” Steve answered bitterly. “When Loki first touched the scepter -- after he collapsed, he said it was like overstraining a muscle, from the magical contact. That was before I called you,” he said to Banner, grateful that he’d acknowledged the phone call so Steve could use it as a point of reference. “I didn’t find out about -- about Thanos, until a couple days ago.” He looked down at his hands, ignoring the way the monitor blipped and sped up at the mere mention of the name.

“ Loki figured -- He was convinced that he was going to die. He gave Thanos, I think it was a glove-- a  _ gauntlet  _ that he took from Asgard before leaving,” Steve said, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He’d still been a bit out of it in the bath when they’d first discussed Thanos. “It was the price of the Chitauri army. But he thought the next time he contacted Thanos through the scepter, he’d kill him, to get the scepter back and to punish him for failing.” The sense of fatalism had been deeply distressing, especially when he hadn’t known the cause. “He told me he was going to die, but wouldn’t say why. Not until recently.”

And then the revelation that the gauntlet wasn’t Thanos’ endgame -- that he had his eyes on Earth -- had come with Steve’s experience of grabbing the scepter. He shuddered.

“ And then we found out that Thanos wanted information on Earth, and we don’t know his plans, but it has something to do with Earth and-- look, this guy is,” Steve swallowed, the heart rate monitor spiking. “He’s a threat. And he’s focused on us for some reason we haven’t figured out yet, but SHIELD thinks I’m nuts and Loki is evil and I seriously need for someone to listen and  _ help  _ because we’re all in one hell of a mess otherwise. And just sending Loki back is  _ not  _ going to fix it, because Thanos has plans for Earth and Loki is a part of those plans, and right now he’s the only one who knows anything that might help us, okay? And frankly, given Asgard hasn’t bothered enough to come after him either time they lost him, I’m not trusting them to care that much to step in.”

The machine whined and the blood pressure cuff had grown uncomfortably tight. Steve looked down at it with a scowl. “Can I take this off, doc?”

  
  


Bruce didn’t bother checking with Tony this time. 

“ Yeah, yeah let me help.” He started pulling the things off. Other than excitement blips, tension, whatever you wanted to call it, Steve hadn’t lied to them once. 

“ But keep talking.” Tony said over the sounds of the wires being disconnected and the blood pressure cuff releasing its hold. “You said something about you being kidnapped-- I suppose Loki decided he’d had enough playing by the rules?” Tony was snide, still, but less… angry, Bruce supposed. It made sense why Steve would come to them, why he had kept stuff as secretive as he had. 

Bruce had a dozen more questions he wanted to ask about the Thanos guy, but like Steve said, he only knew a bit, had only found out recently. It seemed the person to talk to about all of that would be Loki. And, judging by how well this round of questioning had gone-- he thought he might want to swallow a few Valerian, just in case, before they started. Two, maybe three. Bottles. 

“ Wait, you said he wouldn’t tell you about Thanos until recently. What made him change his mind?” Changes of heart were hardly unheard of for Loki, but always, always suspect. Particularly when they were dealing with something this sizable. He couldn’t be sure Loki wasn’t just playing with them… making them walk into a trap, or getting them to pick a fight with someone they had no chance of winning against, for his own amusement. But he didn’t want to say that around Steve, not with how he was walking on the knife’s edge of his temper. 

As someone intimately familiar with that, Bruce could tell. He was glad that helping to make other people feel stable was a good way to focus him, otherwise he would be somewhere close to where Steve was now, he thought. And that… that would be bad. 

“ And you haven’t really said why SHIELD is so against listening. Why don’t you just go ahead, fill us in--  _ we’ll listen--”  _ Bruce shot Tony a dirty look to cut off any objections he might have-- “And then we’ll go up, talk to Loki… get the rest of the pertinent information, and figure out what the plan is, what to do, and how to do it.” 

He carefully didn’t say he believed him, didn’t immediately offer aid… because he couldn’t, could he? If it was just him and Steve and Loki against… against SHIELD and this Thanos and against Stark… he thought of something else, though, something that made him at once hopeful and afraid. 

“ Have you reached out to any of the others?” He asked. “Natasha, Clint…?” Or were they against them, too, as part of SHIELD?

Forget Valerian, he was going to need some aspirin.

  
  


Steve let out a shaky breath as soon as he was free of the cuffs and electrodes, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands for a moment, trying to orient his thoughts. The last few days had been... insane, was the succinct way of putting it. It was hard enough to comprehend it himself without having to explain it to Banner and Stark, who didn’t know Loki the way he did, and who wouldn’t need to know... certain details. But the incident with the scepter, however much he didn’t want to think about it, was a linchpin in this whole mess. 

And he needed them to understand the whole picture.

“ So,” he began, “the morning I left New York after staying overnight--” he glanced over at Tony “-- I got back to SHIELD and went to check in on Loki like I do did every day to bring him food and talk to him. He’d been filling out notebooks with information for SHIELD doctors to use, so I would have-- Anyway, I got to the Triskelion and one of Loki’s regular guards told me Barton had showed up and headed right down to Loki’s cell. I, ah, word had gotten out around SHIELD about Loki being in custody not long before. So I ran down and Barton wasn’t taking the whole thing well.” He winced a little at the understatement, rubbing at his jaw and glancing around for where his shirt had got to. “I tried to talk him down. Explained the situation -- that Loki wasn’t hurting anybody, that he’d actually used his magic to help heal people and--” he broke off. That was a tangent he couldn’t get into right now. He found his shirt and quickly pulled it on. “Anyway, he was pretty upset, so I offered to show him the scepter containment so he could feel reassured that it was locked up. He agreed, and I took him there, showed him all the security protocols...”

He grimaced, smoothing down the fabric of his shirt and wrapping his arms around himself. “And then, like an idiot, I managed to touch the damn thing. Next thing I know, I’m on a rocky barren planet and--” he stopped, swallowing. “I met Thanos. Let’s just say, ah, the experience wasn’t pleasant. He-- one of his, I don’t know,  _ minions,  _ got in my head--”  _ Don’t scream, don’t scream don’t scream-- _

He realized he was breathing more quickly, pulse thrumming in his throat. He ran a hand over his jaw. “I, um. I don’t remember much after that, except I was dying. And Loki broke out of his cell and turned up and saved my life with his magic. Then SHIELD showed up with guns pointed at us and he teleported us out to a motel in the city so he could finish healing me.” He looked up at Bruce, not quite ready to brave whatever expression might be on Stark’s face. “That’s when we talked about Thanos. He-- Loki-- was really upset. Worried. He’s-- he’s different than he was a year and a half ago.” He needed them to at least take that much away. That Loki hadn’t saved him simply out of conniving. That he had a heart.

“After that, we took a little time to make sure I was okay, then contacted SHIELD. I called Fury and told him what happened, told him where we were and that I was willing to come in, but given Loki’s cooperation, he shouldn’t be punished further for escaping since he did it to help me. SHIELD picked us up, brought us in... and I told you the rest,” he finished. 

  
  


There was a moment when they were both silent, trying to absorb everything, then Bruce and Tony began speaking at the same time.

“Healing? Loki can-”

“ What do you mean  _ got in your head? _ Do we know what they-”

They both stopped speaking abruptly, though Tony managed to go a little longer before everything caught up fully. 

“ Jesus.” He said, pulling his hands down his cheeks. Bruce agreed. This was a nightmare. Not the kind that sent his pulse skyrocketing and made him wake up a little green around the edges, but… the sort that meant the odds of him going all the way green at least once before it got straightened out were pretty high. 

“ The sceptre--” Bruce started, then stopped, almost afraid to ask. “Does Loki have it now, or… what happened to that?” The idea of having both Loki and the sceptre together in a cell upstairs made him uneasy. They were sitting ducks and the tower was an easy target. 

“ Nah. Like Loki said, if he could brainwash us into his own personal flying monkeys, he would. If he can’t even touch it-- if no one can, without meeting this Thanos character… I’d be willing to bet it’s still back at SHIELD. Right?” Tony asked pointedly. 

He folded his hands under his chin and propped his elbows on the chair back.

“ So. Loki healed you with magic, but no sign of it in your brain as far as we can see… are you sure he didn’t do anything else with his magic? I know you said he healed you afterwards, but is there any chance he could have been the one to… to plant Thanos in your mind?” Tony was thinking hard now, the wrinkle between his eyes digging in deep. “Is there any chance this is some kind of play by him? Especially with how vague it is, if we don’t even know what’s supposed to be going on… all we have is Loki’s word-- inadmissible, as far as I’m concerned, and your… what, death bed fever dreams, as far as we know?” Tony stood, tucking his hands behind his back, then stopped short in front of Steve.

“ It isn’t that I don’t believe you. We have all these results-- but I don’t trust Loki. Changed or not, that’s something you have to earn, that kind of-- maybe he earned it with you, miraculously, over… over  _ six weeks, Steve, are you kidding me _ ?” Tony shook his head, dropping his hands from behind his back. “No, there’s something up. You’re a good guy Steve, and you believe everything you told us. I get that, that’s good, but. Not being the biggest bad guy doesn’t automatically make him a good guy. It just makes him less of a priority than Thanos, if Thanos is real. Do we have any proof, outside of things he has said and things you saw because of  _ magic _ ?”

Bruce stepped forward, placing himself between Tony and Steve. He pulled Tony a few feet away and spoke softly, just for his benefit. 

“ Tony, stop.” He said quietly. “You saw his face, you heard him. Did that sound like a bad dream to you? Do you even think he would be here if that was the case? Steve is scared. Loki is anxious, and he’s worried enough to ask for help. That should be enough to get us a little more interested in figuring out what to do than trying to find ways that this could be made up. This isn’t red balloons, okay? At least not to these two. And until we talk to Loki, I don’t think we’re going to know exactly what this is.”

Tony’s head snapped away from him, looking back towards Steve, and Bruce could see his jaw working. 

“Right. Alright.” He took a step backwards, his voice light in the way that said he was on the defensive. 

“ I’m the asshole, I got it. I’m just saying-- you’re right. Let’s go talk to Loki. Let’s ask him the questions, let’s get this thing figured out.” He breathed out heavily. “All I wanted was some  _ pizza _ .” He said, and it was meant to be a grumble, but came out much closer to a whine.

  
  


“ _ It’s not in my head _ ,” Steve seethed. “Barton was there, he saw what happened. Loki wasn’t even in the containment chamber when I touched the scepter. SHIELD has security footage, so why don’t you go ahead and  _ hack that,  _ Stark?” He had little doubt Stark could do it after all. Though he realized a second too late that there was a lot on SHIELD’s security footage that he  _ wouldn’t  _ want Stark to see. Suddenly, he hoped the suggestion would go ignored. 

“ SHIELD still has the scepter,” he backtracked, changing tacks. “I told Fury to put it on lockdown, as secure as they can get it. He thought I was compromised at the time, but hopefully they’re smart enough to know it’s dangerous and keep it secure. So you don’t have to worry about that.” He slumped in the chair, suddenly feeling exhausted. The past six weeks had been an emotional rollercoaster, and retelling them had been emotionally draining in proportion. And despite what Stark said, a lot could happen in six weeks. Hell, Loki had snapped and gone from a prince to a patricide in less than three days, hadn’t he? 

He pushed his bangs back from his face, anger dissipating. “If you haven’t ordered pizza yet... can you get one with bacon on it?” he asked, voice quieter. “And... look, I think-- I think you should talk to Loki, he knows more about Thanos than I do at this point, but before you do, could you get me a security feed? I’d just, I’d feel more comfortable...” he trailed off, chewing his lip nervously.    
  


“ I think.” Bruce said slowly, still thinking it out, “We should get Clint on our side. SHIELD has to believe him if he says you aren’t compromised. He’s the only one of us who has any experience with ever having been.” 

“ Did Barton see Thanos, too?” Tony asked. “I thought you said you touched the sceptre and it moved your mind-- in which case, yeah, it is all in your mind. That doesn’t make it not real, maybe, but. Yeah. Yeah let’s talk to Loki. JARVIS, can you get me the footage of Steve and Clint and the sceptre… and Loki and the sceptre? Basically sort through, find me anything where the sceptre acts weird. ….And get me any time Loki acted weird, too.” 

“ _ Yes sir. _ ”  JARVIS replied instantly. Tony nodded to himself, satisfied. 

“ Alright. So let’s go see the Lokster, we’ll chat, I’ll grab pizza, JARVIS will isolate anything worth looking at, and we’ll go from there, okay? I think it’s safe to say, at least for tonight, you’re staying here. I’ve got more than enough rooms. We’ll see where  _ he _ gets to stay, once we’ve had our talk.” 

There was some snarl in his voice there, and Bruce shook his head and punched the button for the elevator. 

Normally he would insist on cleaning up, but Tony had told him that if the robots didn’t have things to clean, they got bored and up to mischief, and right now, Bruce couldn’t deal with any more mischief than was currently in their lives. He left the equipment out for them to figure out. 

He was sure Steve would have more to say on the subject, but he held the door for the elevator, and gestured them inside. 

Whatever it was, he could say it on the way. 

Bruce didn’t like the idea of leaving Loki alone up there any more than asking for problems from Tony’s brainchildren.

  
  


Steve’s chest tightened at Stark’s command to JARVIS.  _ Any time Loki acted weird.  _ Would that include Loki oiling and massaging Steve’s shoulders? Steve forcing Loki to change shape? Any of the strange moments of intimacy between them before they fully realized their mutual affection? 

He kicked himself for giving Stark the idea. Though perhaps JARVIS would dismiss that behavior. Maybe he’d get lucky, and the parameters would only apply to events involving the scepter. Though those had been compromising enough in their own right...

_ Damn _ . He felt slightly sick as he followed into the elevator. “Clint hates me, right now, I think,” he said quietly. “So good luck there.” He remembered the pain and betrayal in Clint’s eyes, the fact he’d gone to  _ Scofield _ before Steve. Hell, Fury would probably come around before Clint did. The end of the world would probably come around first too.

Actually, he realized with a wince,  _ it very well might _ . 

The elevator came to a stop and the door whispered open. The three of them exited, and Steve was torn between feeling like he wanted to keel over with exhaustion and nervously jittering until he came apart at the seams. His interrogation might be over, but Loki’s was only about to begin. And if Stark and Banner turned them out -- Steve honestly didn’t know where to go next. 

“ Bruce,” he said quietly, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I mean it, about the feed--”

Banner paused, turning and looking at him with a long and thoughtful look. Then he nodded and crossed over to the coffee table, picking up his tablet and switching it on. “JARVIS,” he announced, “Would you kindly pull up visual from Suite G on to my StarkPad for Captain Rogers?”

“ _ Gladly, Doctor Banner,”  _ the crisp voice replied. Banner handed the tablet over to Steve, the screen now filled with a view of Loki’s cell. 

Stark made a gruff sound. “Guest room is the same place as last time. Stay there or in the living room, but don’t go wandering, okay? Jarv, keep an eye on him.”

Steve glowered at him. He wasn’t a child in need of a minder, but he bit back a comment to that effect, sinking back down on to the couch wordlessly. 

Stark turned and stormed down the hall, and Banner, after a moment’s pause, sighed and followed. 

  
  


Loki sat, alone in the room and hoping, as the time went on, that it was because Steve was being listened to, and not because he had been hit about the head and they were waiting for him to come around.

It was a very real fear, he knew. 

Waiting was the worst part, waiting and not knowing. He tried not to think about what was being said, what was being  _ done _ , but he had nothing else to think about instead, and so he ended up absorbed in his worrying.

He was, as such, utterly unprepared when the forms of Banner and Stark showed up outside of the wall of his cell. 

There was no alarm for their approach here, the way there had been at SHIELD, and Loki flinched in his surprise, then smoothed his reaction down by standing up. 

“ Where is Steve?” He demanded, moving closer and seeing that they were alone. His voice was instantly harsher than it had been so far this visit, simply out of concern. “What have you done with him?”

He was already gathering his seidhr, in anticipation of their response.

  
  


Tony raised his eyebrows in response. “Hey, cool it there, Tootsie. Cap’s fine, he’s just sitting this out and probably playing angry birds or something while we come talk to you. And for the record, we’re gonna be the ones asking the questions, capisce?”

Already he could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, bristling like hackles. Loki locked up in Hulk’s cell didn’t exactly put him at ease; even in a dress shirt and jeans instead of armor, he was Loki, and the last time they had him voluntarily locked up like this, he was sowing the seeds of an invasion.

Tony didn’t give a damn what Steve believed; he trusted this greasy sonofabitch about as far as he could throw him. 

“ _ Tony,” _ Bruce murmured quietly behind him -- a reminder to calm down. Tony grit his teeth together. He wasn't going to think about the attack, or the portal, or the void. He’d made progress, and he wasn’t going to backslide in front of Loki, if for nothing more than to not give the jackass the satisfaction of watching him come apart.

“ So, we hear you’re no longer the biggest bully on the playground,” he said, folding his arms, lifting his chin in false bravado. “Who’s Thanos supposed to be, and why shouldn’t we just toss you back to him or Asgard or whatever and get you the hell out of our hair?”   


Watching Banner control Stark was a bit of a revelation. But he supposed it did make sense. Someone who spent much of his life dedicated to controlling his temper spending time with someone who, it seemed, chose not to bother. Someone would have to bend. 

Loki had no idea what angry birds was, but he understood the implication that Steve was fine, that he was just waiting until they finished speaking to Loki. 

He could work with that. 

Loki knew a thing or two about the way the minds of men worked, and it had been proven that you could make people like you, make them judge you more like them, by echoing their stances, their movements. 

So Loki crossed his arms and squared his shoulders right back at Stark. 

“Who Thanos is supposed to be, I do not know. Who he is is a mad titan, from times before even my knowledge, with powers greater than anything Asgard has seen. And as for why you should not simply let me go my way-- I would point out that that was my original intent. I needed-- need--the sceptre to do so. But I have encountered a problem with that plan, in the Captain. Thanos has seen him now, knows of him now, and has expressed an interest, not only in Rogers himself, but in your pitiful world.” Loki cast his eyes around the cell, intending it as the insult it was. 

He did not enjoy being left here. 

“ If that were not the case, I would have been happy-- before it was the case, my plan was to take the sceptre and go to my death, but it seems that Thanos is planning something larger. Something that needs information from your realm, which he thinks he can get through Rogers, something that requires the sceptre, and something which involves me. But he is vast, ancient, and powerful, and I doubt removing any single part of his plan will prove much of a deterrent. So. We have to determine what it is he wants, and how best to go about not giving it to him, if it does spell out the doom of your world, as I would imagine anything he is involved in should.”

Loki lifted an eyebrow, challenging them to ask him something with a little of the intelligence they were so known for behind the words. He turned his eyes on Banner, but did not engage-- apparently he was not allowed to ask anything of them.    
  


Tony scowled.

So far, Loki hadn’t contradicted anything Steve had given them. Not that that proved anything; if Loki had planted the story about Thanos in Steve’s mind, then of course he’d know it word for word. But it would be easier to prove if he slipped up. 

“ Just waltzing off to die, huh? That was your plan?” He asked, leaning against the wall as nonchalantly as he could. “Sorry, I’m not buying it. Diva like you’s gonna wanna go out with a bang, not with a whimper, or however the saying goes. And you strike me as more of a scrappy, survive-at-all-costs-and-screw-anyone-else kinda guy.” 

What had it been that Rogers had said back during the invasion? Not the kind of guy to lay down on a wire...

“And how exactly are we supposed to believe you suddenly care about the welfare of Earth, given you trashed the place last time you were here?” he demanded, eyes narrowed. “Sentimental value? Cause it seems to me like if this Thanos guy you managed to piss off wants a shiny new planet, you’d be happy to hand it to him on a silver platter. So what is this? Some kind of weird diversion? Side show? Trying to split us up and pit us against each other again to weaken our defenses? Because let me tell you, fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice...”

  
  


Loki couldn’t help but snort. 

“What makes you think I give a single damn about your world?” He shook his head. “I have grown… respect?” He asked, not certain the best way of saying it without telling them anything Steve wouldn’t want. “I am indebted to Captain Rogers. I would not do anything to harm him, and he will not allow me to merely take him off planet and allow this one to collapse. I have asked. So, here we are. I am locked in a cage allowing you to ask me inane questions, while we try and figure out a way to stop a nigh unstoppable force, because of one man’s obstinance. You may thank your Captain for that.”

Loki glanced at Banner, trying to judge how much the other man might suspect of the truth, given that he seemed the more likely to realize, being the more empathetic and thoughtful of the two of them. 

“ You seriously were just going to go hand yourself and the sceptre over?” Banner asked, and Loki saw a sort of acceptance there. He imagined that if any understood, it might be him. 

But he wasn’t going to bare his soul, particularly not to someone as loud mouthed and awful as Stark. 

“I have failed enough and do not belong anywhere. I cannot return to Asgard. I know of no world that would have me. That does present rather limited choices, and frankly... “ He shrugged. “I made the bargain in the first place. I traded my promised victory for my army to win it, and I lost both things. I saw no reason to fight, particularly if I was to fight alone. And there are none who would rise to my aid. However, Rogers is not me. He is deserving of life, of the help of his friends. He is well loved, and if that can turn into a way of saving him, then I am for it completely.” 

  
  


“ Ooookkkaaayyyy.....” Stark drew the word out, running a hand over his goatee as he tried to figure out what the hell Loki’s angle here was. “So, the story here is Cap thinks you’re reformed, but really you’re just cool with dying except for where you’re suddenly really invested with Cap staying alive...” 

Did Loki need Rogers for something? Was this all some way of manipulating Cap, and everyone else through him? He supposed it was easier to believe Loki cared about just one person rather than the human race, but even that felt like a stretch coming from Loki. “And you’re willing to stand up against some guy who can squash you like a bug all because you owe Steve a ‘debt’, but you don’t have any problem with stabbing your own brother in the back? The ‘honor’ angle is one you kinda burned through, buddy, I hate to break it to you. Also, Titan? First we deal with Norse Gods falling out of the sky, now we’ve got, what, the Greek pantheon joining the party? Because this is all really making me regret blowing off my humanities gen-ed requirement--”

Bruce stepped forward, before Tony could continue. “Okay. Let’s say we believe you,” he began, ignoring Tony’s snort. “Why is Thanos interested in Steve and in Earth? What do you know of his plan, how soon will he be here, and what can we do to prepare? You called him nigh-unstoppable, so that means he isn’t completely unstoppable.” 

Tony huffed and shot him a dirty look, but Bruce’s face remained a placid mask, not rising to the bait of his friend’s ire. And, to be fair, they were good questions. Ones Tony was absolutely going to get to, eventually. 

Except that meant thinking of another invading alien army floating in space over earth on the other side of a portal, thinking of the void and the cold and the dark and falling...

Tony shivered, folding his arms more tightly and scowling. Screw Bruce’s yoga; after this, he was going to need a drink. Or six.

  
  


Loki felt his lips curling up into something bitter. 

He would not have wished to bare his feelings for Steve to these men anyway, but they were not his friends. If Steve had-- but he didn't want to think that way. It did leave him feeling oddly exposed though. It left him having to lie, which Steve disapproved of, and it was Steve who put him there. 

"I doubt you would understand, but contrary to whatever you think you know about me and the circumstances of my life, I have not seen a good deal of kindness. That the Captain should show me more kindness as his enemy than... He inspires loyalty, which no doubt you know." Loki knew he sounded reproachful and he didn't much care. These men should be glad to have had Steve at their door, honored to be asked for their help. 

"I do not know what Thanos wants here. I do not know what he plans, what his goals are. Steve learned the most but he was. He was being tortured. All I know is that if he needs Steve, if he has aims here, then his plan cannot be infallible. If I learned anything from my... Attempt... It is that you humans are surprisingly good at being unexpected. And I would like to lend my hand to that. I will be able to contact Thanos if I can reclaim the sceptre, but I will need aid, and... Steve... Captain Rogers will not be eager to allow me to... Neither of us have had the best of experiences with the sceptre. I doubt he would be willing to let me have access. Likely for my own safety."

Tony turned to look at Bruce and Loki could see the disbelief and disdain written on his face. He did not mind that though. He was used to seeing such faces. 

  
  


Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I think... There’s obviously going to be more we need to ask you at some point, but for right now, I think we’ve got a lot to digest and think about.”

“ Like the fact that Loki’s a bigger Captain America fanboy than Coulson was,” Tony muttered, not looking at either of them. He was pretty sure he was beginning to break into a cold sweat. Of Thanos, Steve had said the experience hadn’t been pleasant, but he hadn’t mentioned  _ torture.  _ Remembering Afghanistan now on top of the invasion, he felt nauseous. 

Bruce, however, was looking up thoughtfully at Loki, like he was genuinely considering everything the smarmy interstellar jerk had said. “Loki, thank you for answering us,” he said.  “I think we’re going to go back and check in with Steve now. Unless Tony has anything else to ask?” he added, looking pointedly over at Tony.

“ Nah,” Tony grumbled, trying to sound casual. “Let’s just go order some pizza already.” He didn’t have much appetite anymore, but hopefully, not being in a room with Loki anymore would fix that. Not bothering to see if Bruce was following, he turned and headed back the way they came. 

 

Bruce looked back at Loki and saw him standing there. He stood tall for a few moments until he turned away, obviously under the impression that he was alone and not being observed. That, more than anything, gave Bruce the feeling that what they had seen was something else, something other than what Steve saw. 

He followed Tony out into the sitting room. Steve was there, and he still held the screen, looking down at it. 

"We're done with him... Did you hear? Or... Steve?" Bruce wasn't certain what he'd walked into. 

"So for pizza, I am thinking a ham and pineapple, one with bacon, and a tofu broccoli tomato abomination for Bruce. Hot wings, yes, no, mild, mouth scorching, what do you think? What does the green meanie eat? Does he eat?" Tony's mouth was firing off rapidly. Bruce would have tried to signal him from continuing, but Tony didn't seem to be paying attention. 

"You got a fan in there, buddy. I don't know what you did but good job. I mean I'm not saying he's a boyscout or-- hey Steve you okay?"

Bruce nearly smacked himself on the forehead as Tony's awareness finally caught up to his mouth.    
  


Steve stared down at the StarkPad in his hands, now showing Loki alone in Hulk’s containment chamber. The moment Banner and Stark had left, he’d all but folded in on himself, facade falling as he paced the limits of the room anxiously.

His words, however, tinny though they’d been over the pad’s speakers, resonated in Steve’s head.

_ I will be able to contact Thanos if I can reclaim the sceptre, but I will need aid... _

“ I’m fine,” he mumbled when he realized after a moment that he was being spoken to. “He, ah, he likes pizza. With bacon. Nothing spicy. Um. Juice or bottled water to drink.” He rubbed at his eyes with one hand. 

_ What makes you think I give a single damn about your world? _

That part was just Loki posturing, of course. It had to be. Steve knew Loki had come to care about more than he let on... He cared about Murray, and Ferra, and he could see the beauty in rural Pennsylvania and in Central Park. But with Banner and Stark as unwilling to see him as anything but the villain they’d fought in Midtown last time around, he’d put the guise right back on. The same one Steve had struggled for so long to get him to take off. 

It hurt, but he could live with it. It stung, to see Loki slip to quickly back under the mask, but he knew it was a mask. Knew the real Loki underneath. 

But Loki had asked for their help in getting the scepter...

“ I need... I’ll be right back,” he said, still holding the tablet as he stood and headed in the direction of the room.    


Bruce saw Tony beginning to object, and crossed to him to stomp on his foot. 

“Something is obviously wrong.” He pointed out, and he said it with a little more venom than usual, but then, he was a little tenser than usual. Not Other Guy tense, not yet, thankfully, but… 

“ He was watching, and he’s not mad at us. I have a feeling that letting him and Loki talk it out is gonna be a lot more educational than you and he getting into another argument. So why don’t you order pizza and we’ll have JARVIS set it up so we can watch?” 

Tony stared at him for a long moment, and Bruce could see how ragged he looked, how many lines he had around his eyes. He’d seen it before when the PTSD was triggered. And he felt bad for reacting as he had, but he’d already said it. Tony, though, was already putting on his Tony mask. 

He grabbed Bruce by the shoulder, maybe a little too hard to be casual. 

“ Uh, I love it when you talk all voice of reason at me.” He said in mock adoration. Bruce rolled his eyes, willing to play along for now, and watched the Captain’s back disappear down the hallway, concerned for his friends.

 

He’d not expected to see Steve so soon after the others left. At the sound of his approach, now that Loki knew he had to be listening for it, Loki turned, expectant and hopeful, to look towards the glass. 

He had been afraid he’d erred too far in caution, that he’d driven the other Avengers away and as a result would be denied access to Steve. But he would recognize the sound of that stride anywhere. 

He wondered what Steve had told them, what they had asked him-- what they had told him in return, in the scant time since Banner and Stark had left. 

Loki hid his misgivings about being made to lie by the person he was sworn to be honest to beneath the mask of his eager hope. 

Surely they would have seen the importance of all of this. Surely the Avengers, Earth’s protectors, would see that there was more to protect here than just Steve and their enemy. But would they?

  
  


Steve reached the end of the corridor and the glass wall that covered the hulk-sized door into Loki’s prison. 

There was a peculiar sense of deja vu to all this; standing on the opposite side of heavily enforced glass from Loki, pretending not to care as deeply as he did, wishing he could reach out and hold him --  _ shake  _ him --

The hopeful look on Loki’s face twisted the metaphoric knife in Steve’s gut. He looked so surprised and happy to see him. And Steve...

He held up the tablet and pressed it against the glass, with the black and white camera view of the two of them displayed on it in real time.

“ You lied to me,” he said quietly.   


Loki’s chest experienced a tug not dissimilar to the one felt when taken by the Bifrost, and for an instant, he thought he was being dragged from this to something that would hurt less… but it was, after all, his own emotions causing the sensation. 

The image on the screen showed them as they were now. Which meant, of course, that Steve had seen him as he was a few minutes prior. 

“ I didn’t lie!” He said quickly, panic surging through him. “We didn’t-- They needed to hear something from me, and I told them-- I told them as much as  _ you are comfortable _ with them knowing. I didn’t--” But that was his concern, it couldn’t be Steve’s. He buried that, off balance by this unexpected guilt, the disappointment written on his partner’s face. He cast about trying to remember what he’d said, if anything, was… 

“ You mean Thanos?” He asked, dread pooling stronger now. Of course. He’d specifically said that Steve wouldn’t be pleased, said as much to his friends… “We don’t-- we don’t know enough. And if he thinks I am working with him, thinks I am cooperating-- we don’t know that it will hurt me. I told you I wouldn’t use it on anyone, that is the truth. I told you we would have to go back for it, truth. I told you we would find a way to stop Him from whatever it is He intends… truth. But we  _ need _ information.” He was nearly whining, wheedling now. “And I can get it. You can’t, no one else can. It’s worth the risk.” He was begging with Steve, pleading that he see that this was not some sort of… of oath breaking, not a form of betrayal. 

“I am not trying to go back on my word. I did not know you could hear. I am…” the sorry died on his tongue. He wasn’t taking it back. It was still the best plan they had. 

  
  


Steve shook his head. He hated himself a bit for the look of anguish on Loki’s face as he fought the accusation, but at the same time, his heart just sank further and further. 

“ We don’t know enough, yes. We don’t know for sure he won’t just  _ kill you _ and  _ rip the scepter through you _ if you touch it again,” he said, jaw tight. “He could kill you, Loki. He could have that thing dig into your mind and rip out every thing you know about Earth and leave you dying on the ground, and  _ I  _ don’t have the ability to use seidhr and heal you!” he hissed in a low voice, straining against the glass. “How can you possibly say that’s worth the risk?”

And then of course, there was the matter of asking Stark and Banner to be complicit in hiding his intentions. “And how can you ask my friends to help you try to-- how can you hide this from me? This is an enormous risk, the danger is insane, you can’t just-- This is the kind of decision...” he trailed off, voice catching suddenly in his throat.  _ This is the kind of decision partners make together,  _ he wanted to say, only he didn’t know if Tony’s AI was still watching.  _ Because it will affect the both of us.  _ Loki had promised he would be honest, that he was with Steve.

_ To the end of the line... _

He swallowed the lump rising in his gorge, looking down and breathing through his nose. There had to be a better way. A different way. He wasn’t willing to let Loki play fast and loose with his own life so readily. “Would any of the other worlds have information on Thanos? If Stark were able to find a way to communicate between realms... Would there be any way to contact anyone else he might be in collaboration with?”

  
  


Loki laughed, low and quiet and hurt. 

“ Did you look around yourself at all, Captain?” He spat. “Did you bother to take in your surroundings when you spoke with Thanos? That was a world. That was  _ his _ world, the home he grew up on. He destroyed it. Did you see his daughters? The worlds they hail from are the same, now. And I-- I was meant to render this world and my own, eventually I am sure, into similar state. Do you suppose there are people who know of him? Do you suppose any who do would willingly speak to us? No.” He shook his head and took a half step backwards. “No, I really do not think there is alternatives to this.” 

It was too easy to fall back to the way he was, too easy to retreat behind the mask, behind the glass, into the role of the caged beast that he had been put in--  _ agreed  _ to be put in. 

“ I was not intending to hide anything from you. I was asking your friends to help me to get you to agree, to help me make you see that this is far wiser than any folly you might propose-- such as yourself being sent in my place. Because I  _ am  _ what I am, I do heal beyond your abilities. I have a better chance of surviving such a trip.” 

The hurt made his words turn bitter, but even still he kept himself from telling Steve to his face that Steve’s life was still worth more than his own. 

“ I am not aiming to die, I have no intent to sacrifice myself. I am asking you to allow me to be useful in what little way I may be!”

He wanted to believe there would be an end to this, an end where they won, and where he and Steve could travel, across this realm and every other, discovering and exploring and learning together, learning one another. But he also knew the chances were not good, and that if that was to have any chance at all, they had to be better prepared. 

But if Steve could watch Loki speak to the others, then there was no reason they mightn’t be watching Loki and Steve now. And he could only hope he had not already said too much.   
  


Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get himself back under control. He was scared and betrayed and upset and he couldn’t even say half the things he wanted to due to the specter of supervision hanging over them both. He let his forehead fall forward against the cool glass for a moment.

“ Okay,” he finally said, lifting his head and opening his eyes. “Okay, we can... we can consider it. But we look at our other options first. Bruce and Tony haven’t kicked us out or called SHIELD yet, and they’re two of the smartest people on the planet. They might see some angle on this we haven’t thought of. Or be able to come up with some kind of protection for you so when you...” So when Loki touched the scepter he didn’t get ripped to pieces by a being that could kill a god. 

Frustrated and anxious, he ran a hand back through his hair, feeling ready to take some clippers and just shave all the damn stuff off already if he didn’t get a haircut soon. Loki said he wasn’t aiming to die. But Loki also had confessed he had little left to live for, and his survival instincts were dubious at best. Steve trusted him with so much, but he didn’t know if he could trust him in this.

“Just... please. Don’t hide things from me,” he said softly, so quietly he hoped only Loki would hear. And then, just in case anyone else did, a little louder: “we need to communicate if we’re working together in this.”

  
  


Steve’s words brought every ounce of anger surging through him to a complete halt and turned it all into crushing, overbearing guilt. 

“ I am trying.” He said softly. “I do not want to hide things from you. I only want to help, to keep you safe.” He breathed in heavily. “I only needed to answer your friends’ questions, to prove myself to them. I cannot… I have so little available to me.” He gave Steve a pointed look. “I am trying my hardest to make this process as easy as I can, but I have to balance-- they expect one thing of me, and distrust whatever does not fall within that line. And you have much higher standards that you expect me to rise to, and my failure will… it disappoints you. Surely you can see my dilemma. How do I remain the person I am, recall the person I was, while simultaneously aspiring to the person you say I can be?” He shook his head. 

“ I am at a loss, Captain. And we, none of us, have time to be concerned with such petty games as these when there is as much at stake here as there is.” He spoke evenly, solemnly, and could only hope that Steve would be able to read his care between his words. “But unless you can convince your friends of the changes you have seen in me, anything I say that is not cruel, cold, manipulative… anything that could not come from my mouth whilst I invaded… it will all be disregarded for their suspicions. And we cannot risk that, either.”

He turned his eyes upwards, looking for the camera, trying to judge where it must be, from the way the screen had shown. He saw nothing, but glowered across the empty expanse of ceiling just the same, hoping that he made eye contact-- or close enough to it-- with the idiots who were no doubt watching them even now.

Deciding to give them something worth seeing, Loki reached up and placed his palm flat on the glass, as they had done in the past. 

Let them think that he swore an oath now, rather than reminding Steve of the emotions behind the words. 

“ I will not lie to you. I will not hide things from you. I will not take decisions out of your hands. I only want to help.” He spoke firmly and simply, letting his voice carry the honesty of the statements through the glass and to the man behind as well as those who listened in. But his eyes, he locked with Steve’s own, and he hoped they conveyed what his words could not.

 

Steve’s chest tightened and his eyes felt hot and overly damp. He blinked a few times, pressing his lips together and swallowing convulsively, nodding as he couldn’t trust his voice.

Loki couldn’t spell out his care explicitly, but it was clear enough. Steve, after all, had gotten good at reading what Loki  _ didn’t  _ say. 

He wanted to press his hand up against the glass opposite Loki’s, to offer him that small measure of comfort... but the screen on the tablet in his hand would clearly depict the movement. He looked down, pressing his lips together, then looked up. 

“ Thank you,” he said, voice a bit rough. “I... I know this is hard. You’re in a tough position, but you’re doing great, okay?” He looked Loki in the eyes, hoping he could see just how proud of him Steve was, just how glad of him he felt. He could only imagine how maddening it must be to surrender control and let himself be caged all over again, but the fact that he was willing, that he was trying, for Earth and for Steve... “Just hang in there, okay? I’ve got your back.” He forced a small smile for Loki’s benefit. The kind he hoped would say  _ everything is going to be all right. _

“ Also,” he added, “I know it’s not much. But Tony ordered pizza, and I told him to get one with bacon on it.”    


Loki felt his mouth splitting into a soft smile. 

“You are going to turn me into a glutton yet, Captain.” He told him, only able to summon forth mild reproach. 

Then it occurred to him where he was, the fact that the glass separated them, that he was still locked up. 

“Am I--” He broke the sentence off there, not sure that was the way to broach it. 

“ If it will make them more comfortable, I can stay in here.” He said softly. “I do not want to force your friends’ hands, any more that I want to force yours.” 

In truth the thought was repulsive to him. Over the last few days, he had developed so much to be certain of, and now he had to stomach so much uncertainty. 

“ Only… if they intend to keep me here overnight--” He tried to keep all emotion, anything that might show his opinion of that option, out of his voice. “I would like permission to at least create for myself a bed. As comfortable as I am sure all of this is for the Hulk, it is less so for me. Sitting on the floor is…” He grimaced. “Well I had enough at SHIELD, I think.” 

Though, the last time he had done so, Steve was with him, and they were free, and eating orange chicken and then they had gone to bed… it was not bad memories, but more wanting to make a point. 

“ And if I am to eat in here, I would rather not do so in the sand.” Loki gestured over at the corner of the room which was clearly meant to be a calming corner, but his lips twitched upwards. 

“ I do not think they were equipped or prepared to house… one such as I… overnight.” 

Which meant that Banner would revert to himself before he fell asleep. Loki was fascinated by the mechanics of the other man’s monster, still, if only to have a more complete understanding of what it was he was to have on his side-- or against him, if they decided their mistrust was too great.    
  


Steve shook his head, guilt rising. “I’ll have to ask. I’m not sure what the plan is... but I’m sure we can make sure you’ve got some basic accommodations.” Stark took enough pride in his hospitality and ability to procure just about anything that Steve could play off that if necessary. But it would be best to ask; Steve felt he may have pushed his luck enough already. 

And if Loki was to stay in the cell and not leave, then Steve would simply get Bruce to open the door so he could come in and eat with him. He’d shown nothing but goodwill so far, after all, and if Banner and Stark had to be convinced of anything by now, it was that Loki meant Steve no harm. 

“ I’ll be back with food and to keep you posted, okay?” Steve felt badly leaving Loki again, but the longer he lingered, the more chance there was he’d say something compromising. “You have your books that we picked up in the meantime, right?” A few had gone in Steve’s pack, but he was sure at least one had ended up in Loki’s pocket.    


“ I do, yes.” Loki confirmed, hesitantly. “Will you please let them know that I intend to retrieve one? I would rather not have the house descend upon me for using my seidhr again, particularly not now that they are… aware of whom they hold.” Loki shrugged and spread his hands apologetically. 

“ I will wait for a bit after you leave, to give them time to become accustomed to the idea, but. If it is not okay, if for any reason, please let me know. I do not wish to create problems. Well,” He amended with a brittle smile, “any more than I do merely by existing.”

It was difficult not to feel somewhat more like a beast, when caged like this. And even knowing that another under the same roof had the same sort of beastliness did not really save Loki from the internal discomfort. 

Normally he enjoyed being right, but when it was about how he would be perceived, the negative thoughts he had and his insistence that none would be willing to see him as aught but that which he had been… 

He would have been glad to be wrong. 

He pulled his mouth in, screwing his lips into something that was not quite a frown. 

“ I am sure your friends will have questions for you about what has been said here. I am sorry for the hardships I have caused to you, as well, with them. I will wait to be told… whatever news you may have.” 

He did not enjoy the fact that he was to be left alone again, as well, but he did at least like knowing that Steve was given free enough movement that he should be allowed to come to Loki, to speak to him, to promise to return with food. 

It made him easier about all of this, knowing that it was only him who was being treated with such suspicion, and that his misdeeds were not being attributed to the Captain as well. Finally, his friends were doing at least something right.   
  


Steve frowned. “Hey. None of this right now if your fault, okay? We’ll all get through this and figure it out soon. And you don’t need to worry about me.” That Loki was the one caged like an animal and yet apologizing to Steve for the current circumstances made him feel even worse.

And as for the matter of Loki using his magic -- “I can’t imagine anyone blowing a gasket at this point just because you bring out some reading material, but tell you what. Wait three minutes -- count to two-hundred. I’ll double right back if there’s an issue, but that’ll gimme plenty of time. If I’m not back, go ahead and assume it’s fine.” He gave Loki one more smile he didn’t quite feel. “Either way, I’ll be back soon. Pizza shouldn’t take too long to get here.”

With that he forced himself to turn away, rounding the corner and heading back down the hall toward the living area where the other two Avengers waited.

 

 


	23. Twenty-Three

“--Hang on, here he comes, quick, turn it off--” 

He entered the lounge just as Tony conspicuously dropped the remote on the couch beside him, the flatscreen on the wall going dark. Stark’s face was plastered with a look of false innocence, and Banner was too busy polishing his glasses on the hem of his shirt to make eye contact. 

Steve sighed. 

“Thanks for letting me borrow your tablet, Doctor Banner,” he said, stepping forward and handing back the StarkPad. “Glad to see you didn’t need it.” 

Awkward silence lingered for a few seconds. 

“I trust you gentlemen don’t need a recap of anything just discussed?” Steve was frankly too tired to inject any sarcasm or bitterness into his voice. 

  
  


Bruce looked over, glad to see that Tony had the good grace to look guilty, or at least apologetic. 

“You have to admit it seemed a little… suspicious, your need to see him right that second.” Bruce finally said. “But, no. I think we’re good. Full of questions, but good. First of all, Loki’s retrieving a book magically?” So he was a little curious how that worked. Sue him. Or, preferably, don’t. Because it would be Tony paying anyway, or at least hiring the lawyers. 

“Second, What did he mean, he only told us what you were comfortable with? What did-- No judgements, at all, but if something else happened, if you need medical help or… or therapeutic help, please let us know.” His very real concern colored the statement, and he looked over to see Tony nodding in agreement. Gratified, he turned back to Steve. “I get not being comfortable with something, but don’t you think your secrets will be just as safe with us as they are with Loki? If not more?” Bruce was speaking carefully and watching for a reaction, but he had a feeling he knew what he was going to see. 

“Most pressingly, not to belittle whatever pain it is you haven’t shared yet, but if the bacon pizza is for Loki, what do you like on yours? Because the order is just about to go in and if you want something else, I can totally make that happen for you.” Trust Tony, always, to behave irreverently and break the tension. 

Bruce was glad to see him acting like himself, even if he wasn’t actually all that at ease. He could hardly blame him. Not with how Steve had acted toward Loki, how they had… disagreed, but their tone, their words, the way they held themselves… it all pointed towards something Bruce wasn’t even sure made sense. 

One thing was for sure, though: whatever it was Loki felt for Steve, it seemed pretty reciprocal to him. And that… that was worrisome. Because they had already determined that Steve wasn’t under any magical influence that they could tell. 

And the way Loki had responded- shrinking down, almost groveling at Steve’s slightest display of displeasure. It felt wrong, but in a totally different way. It made him wonder what had been done to Loki at SHIELD’s hands. He was certain he wouldn’t like the answer on Loki’s behalf, though, and he had no time to spare now on sympathy for Loki. He had to remain as focused as possible. 

  
  


Steve sank down on to the couch, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. First things first. “Loki has a small, extradimensional pocket he magically stores things in. We stopped at a used book store the other morning, and he’s going to conjure up one of his purchases to read; if anyone has a problem with that, now’s the time to say something.” He looked up balefully, but while Stark and Banner exchanged looks, they said nothing. Exhaling, he leaned back into the cushions, thankful for small favors. 

Of course, Bruce’s questioning -- Bruce’s _uncomfortably perceptive_ questioning -- kept him from getting comfortable. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he snapped. “I don’t need-- I’m _fine.”_

He swallowed, looking down. _Nothing wrong..._ Was he starting to believe that? His attraction to Loki... for weeks he’d been ashamed and horrified by it, considering it some perversion, some sick flaw in himself that gave him predilections he shouldn’t have. And he’d only drawn comfort in the fact that at least he hadn’t _acted_ on any of those desires. He’d kept his secret under wraps, and no one had been the wiser. 

Until Loki. Until Scofield and Barton and... 

But it _didn’t feel wrong._ Being with Loki felt good and whole and _right,_ and it ached now having to go back to living the lie, to covering it up and not being able to so much as touch him. And God, did he want to touch him. Not even sexually -- just to hold his hand or run his fingers through his hair or pull him in for a hug, drawing strength and reassurance from the presence of his warmth. 

If there _was_ something wrong with Steve, he wasn’t sure now it was anything he wanted fixed. Not anymore. 

Of course, his small outburst was probably only going to draw further scrutiny, he realized belatedly. Especially when Bruce was showing genuine concern over his well-being; he didn’t deserve to be snapped at like that. Steve made himself look suitably sheepish. “Sorry. It’s -- it’s nothing I haven’t been dealing with for a long time, okay? So don’t worry about it.” 

“And Tony,” he said looking over at Stark, “just go ahead and order a large bacon pizza. I’ll eat whatever he doesn’t.” Loki didn’t eat terribly much anyway, at least compared to Steve or Thor, and frankly Steve didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment. Snacks in the car had been a couple hours ago, but it had helped tide him over, and with everything else... his stomach was doing the odd slipping thing it did so often now when he was worrying about Loki. 

  
  


Contrary to his intent, the words _nothing I haven’t been dealing with for a long time_ didn’t actually make Bruce feel any better. It produced more questions. 

Seating himself opposite Steve, he leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. 

“Steve… how much do you trust Loki?” It was a hard question, but if they didn’t develop this baseline, it would be even harder to talk to them. “I know you’ve had time to get to that point. But we haven’t got the benefit of time, if what you’re saying is true. So give us… give us some bare bones reasons why. Clearly… he’s not the same when he talks to you, but even that duplicity is worrying. For us, I mean.” 

Tony was messing with his screen- ordering pizza, but he still looked up. 

“If you leash trained him somehow, knowing the how part might be great. It sounds like he listens to you, tries to please. If we can get him on that page for the whole team, if he really means it, he could be the most useful pet monkey anyone has ever had.” 

Bruce shot Tony a look from the side of his eye, and he couldn’t tell if he was really that obtuse or if he was a genius, hiding it behind the words and face of an idiot. 

Well. Both were true in turn, but… which one applied at the moment was anybody’s guess. 

“Look, I think the important thing to know is, I’m willing to work with him, if this threat is as big and scary as he says. He seems to know the most about it. But I need to know-- we need to know-- how much we need to be watching our backs around him.” 

“ _Sir, the compilation of the SHIELD containment footage is complete.”_ JARVIS’s cool voice came over the speakers, and Bruce winced. 

“Oh, excellent. Dinner and a show, then! I guess when you tell us how things got to here, you can have visual aid. JARVIS, I hope you catalogued that footage with keywords the way I taught you.” Tony said. 

“ _Of course, Sir.”_

Bruce watched Steve’s face, trying to guess what was going on behind it. 

  
  


Steve stood abruptly, teeth clenched and a vein in his jaw leaping as he fought to keep from yelling or socking Tony right in the jaw. _Leash trained? Pet monkey?_

It was bad enough that they were caging Loki and treating him like an animal without talking about him like one too. 

“I trust Loki with my life,” he managed to say after a moment of all-but _vibrating_ with fury, his voice dangerously low. “And he hasn’t let that trust down. He’s patched me up when I got hurt. He risked himself to save my life, and he was willing to turn himself over to Thanos to die when he thought the only interest he had in Earth was due to the sceptre and Loki’s presence. And he’s _still_ willing to risk his life if it comes to it. So yeah, I trust him.” 

He whirled around to Tony. “And you know how I got him to listen to me? By _listening to him._ Which apparently no one has done in a hell of a long time, since the guy looks shocked and surprised every time he’s actually treated like a _person_ instead of a monster. So maybe if you guys treated him like a human being instead of an animal or a criminal, we wouldn’t be stuck with him on the defensive around you two, and if you showed him even an inkling of trust, he’d have the chance to prove he’s worthy of it.” 

He took a breath and let it out, realizing his hands had clenched into fists at his sides and he was practically spitting words. “Loki’s been told he’s a monster enough that he’s started to believe it. Hell, he was raised to hate his own _species_. He plays to that expectation, of being a villain, because that’s all he thinks he’s meant for. But he’s capable of so much better, if someone gives him a chance.” 

He looked up at the screen, then at the two Avengers staring back at him. They needed proof? Bare bones reasons? 

He swallowed. “Jarvis? Kindly pull up the footage featuring Agent Silvia Ferra.” 

  
  


Tony didn’t usually like sitting to watch the things on his screens. Instead, he stood with his hands on the back of the couch Bruce sat on, but they both directed their attention to the screen.  
When JARVIS cued it up, it took a minute to orient themselves, given the angle. 

Bruce realized the camera must be over the door, or at least on the same wall as it. 

There was a divided area against the back wall, with a cot inside, a small paper partition, and not much beside. Bruce realized with a pang that that must have been Loki’s quarters during his time with SHIELD. There was next to no privacy- the paper around what could only be the toilet was thin enough that even without being able to see Loki directly, one would have been able to see what he was doing behind it. 

Steve walked into the frame, followed by a woman and an unidentified SHIELD agent. 

They listened while Loki introduced himself, then watched as he produced the tea that he had told them he would-- 

“Is that the pocket you talked about?” Bruce asked, while Tony picked up the screen Steve had been using and pulled up the same footage, letting it keep playing on the main TV while he zoomed in as much as possible and played it backwards. 

“It… doesn’t appear, it’s small and gets bigger, or-- it comes closer?” The observation was interesting, but not the point of this display, and Bruce cleared his throat to point that out. 

On screen, agent Ferra was calling Loki cute, and him responding in a way that, though stilted, was friendly. He even ribbed Steve lightly in the process. 

It was like watching some strange TV show where these people were not who they were here. 

Bruce watched the little display of magic that Loki did while preparing the tea, and he nodded. It was smart, doing small bits of inoffensive magic, just to get her used to it. Loki knew how to create a relaxed environment. He knew how to set a stage. 

They listened in as Loki spoke, and Tony actually burst out of his silence in surprise when Loki said what he had planned. 

“Did he just say he thought it would only take him a few hours to _cure her brain cancer?_ ” 

Onscreen, Loki knelt and helped her remove her scarf, then began moving his hands over her. The story he told while he worked was about people from Asgard, and interesting for that reason, until Bruce realized that Loki’s motions were ones of gentle pulling, tugging, pushing… he was moving something that they could not see around in her head. 

The Captain had given Loki this sick woman to play around with her brain, and he was calmly, and sometimes even smirkingly, telling a story as he did so. This felt chillingly uncomfortable, and Bruce expected the woman to rise up and attack someone any moment. But Steve wouldn’t be showing them this, if that happened. 

His voice changed unexpectedly into that of a woman, and, having seen Loki as a woman already, it was even odder hearing a voice that so obviously did not belong to him, coming from his mouth. 

They watched as he worked, as he lifted her head and literally cradled it in his hand. 

“So are we going to actually watch four hours of this?” Tony asked. 

“Shh.” Bruce said, eyes fixed on the screen. “Did he just say-- what is kreller and… he accidentally took some of yours?” Bruce asked, sounding a little strangled at the prospect. 

  
  


“Krellr,” Steve automatically corrected. “It’s life energy. Kinda like, I think that book you tried to get me to read called it Chi? Sort of like that.” 

Watching Loki work now, he felt himself relaxing, the gentle tones of Loki’s voice, even removed over time and space through a recording, putting him more at ease. The joking, the surprisingly capable bedside manner he’d shown with Agent Ferra, the occasional light flirtation... It was all so very relaxed, and kind, and _Loki_. The Loki that Steve needed the others to see. 

“It’s what Asgardian healing magic targets. Moving it around to where it’s supposed to be,” he added by way of explanation. It sounded a little ridiculous when he said it, lacking the gravitas and confidence that Loki spoke of it with. 

“And don’t worry, it doesn’t take him four hours. He actually manages it pretty quickly here... And apparently, ah, my energy -- krellr -- is a bit more intense, and it’s capable of being temporarily donated. Sort of like having Type O negative blood, I think.” It was probably nothing like having Type O negative blood, but it was the best analogy he could come up with on the fly that didn’t sound like Loki was stealing his life away. “I don’t know if it’s an effect of the supersoldier serum or what. But Loki’s able to borrow it to help other people, and then put it back where it belongs.” He shrugged. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time, and it had allowed Steve to help in some small way, though Loki had done all the work. Still, it had felt like a joint triumph in the end. 

Looking over at Bruce, he saw the uneasy look on the man’s face. He almost kicked himself; of course -- Banner would have some reservations about _experimental_ medicine. Especially involving energy in uncharted territory. He winced and held up a hand. “And before you freak out at me, he and I did a test run on me the day before this footage. I had my ribs crushed by a doombot and Loki fixed them with his magic, so we knew it would be safe with human anatomy. He spent time going over medical texts and studying human anatomy, and he was trained in healing back on Asgard.” 

He hoped it was reassurance enough for them to both keep an open mind. 

On the screen, Steve had been retelling stories about his old comrades while Loki worked, brow knit in concentration. Then Loki announced that things were ahead of schedule, and then that they were complete but a few moments later, and Agent Ferra slowly sat up, eyes wide in surprise. The figures on the screen moved and spoke, and then a minute later, Ferra threw her arms around a startled Loki in a hug. 

“Jarvis,” Steve murmured, and that was all it took for Tony’s AI to zoom in on Loki’s face as he returned the hug with every bit as much fervor. “You see?”  


They had studied some of the footage, after the invasion. They had made note of how Loki acted, his abilities, and even his vulnerabilities. His face, stripped as bare of malice as it had been then, was nothing next to this. Then again, he didn’t suppose that Loki had probably stabbed Agent Ferra in the side with a knife right afterwards, either. 

“He looks…” Bruce trailed off, because he didn’t know. He didn’t know what that emotion was, on Loki. Vulnerability, probably. Something much more human than he had given the guy credit for being, for sure. 

And, he realized… that wasn’t all that far off from what people thought of him, a lot of the time. Which was why Steve had called him in the first place. Which was why… which was why Loki was healing people, he realized. This was the result of advice he’d given. 

“All of this, just from listening to him?” Tony asked, and Bruce raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. So Tony pushed on. “You guys cured cancer. That’s… That’s hard to argue with. But you can’t deny-- Agent Ferra’s cute polite magic hands healer, that’s not what we just saw in there.” He jerked his head towards the hallway that led back to where Loki was locked up. 

“Yeah but, look at what we just saw. For that, Loki wasn’t locked up. Like Steve was saying-- he acts how he’s treated. Which--” Bruce made eye contact with Steve, intentional and calm. “I get that.” 

“So.. so what, you’re saying we got off on the wrong foot? What do you propose we do?” Tony asked. His pocket beeped, and he answered it without thinking, glancing down at the screen. “Pizza’s on it’s way up.” 

  
  
  


Steve bit his lip and watched anxiously as comprehension dawned over Bruce’s features. 

It had been Bruce that had inspired this whole thing, after all. Did he know that? Did he see the timestamp in the corner of the footage? Did he see just how _good_ Loki was capable of being? 

Steve flinched a bit when Tony argued about the discrepancy between the Loki on the tape and the Loki they’d just met with, but Bruce interjected before Steve could. And when he looked Steve in the eye-- 

Steve sank a little with relief. Bruce understood. It seemed that he and Loki might just have an ally. 

He looked over at Stark, questioning if they’d got off on the ‘wrong foot.’ 

“When Loki invaded Earth, he’d been through something really rough. He hasn’t told me the details, but...” Steve remembered the way Loki had shook when he’d been chained to the chair early in his imprisonment. The look of pain and terror in his eyes. Whatever had happened to him, it had been ugly. “I don’t think the time between his leaving Asgard and showing up with the Chitauri was all too nice. And before that, he had a pretty big breakdown on Asgard. It did a number on him. So when Bruce called him crazier than a bag of cats...” he shrugged, “he wasn’t wrong at the time. But he’s doing better now.” 

Steve was admittedly far short of the kind of help Loki probably needed; he had no qualifications as a doctor or psychologist. But he could listen and offer kindness, which had to have been in short supply in Loki’s life of late. 

“As for what I propose...” he licked his lips. “You could start with letting him sit and eat pizza with us like an ally instead of in a cage like an enemy,” he ventured, trying to moderate his tone to something less sharp than before. “He understood when we were coming here that it would take you guys a while to trust him. That none of this would be easy. He even offered to let himself be chained up if it would make you feel better, except I told him no. He gets it. But if you give him just a little bit of trust, show that you’re willing to listen to him and not jump to the worst conclusion right away, I think he might do a little better.”  


Bruce nodded slowly. 

"I can break bread with Loki. I'm fine with that. Tony?" 

Tony pursed his lips in consideration. 

"If he can... Maybe not bring up a dozen nightmares over the course of the eating. I sort of want to be able to have dinner in peace. But I also literally cannot imagine a conversation topic that doesn't end in... I don't know, explosions and tears." Tony looked uncomfortable. "Should I put on a movie? Like Disney or something soothing? Not Lion King... Pinocchio?" 

Bruce shook his head. 

"He said treat him like a person, not like a toddler." He turned to look at Steve. "But Tony has a point. What does he like, what does he… is there anything we can do or say to make him feel more at ease?” 

It seemed like cheating, using Steve’s knowledge of the guy to try and get on his good side, but at the same time… it was better for everyone that they do get on his good side. 

“And… Steve, do you want to grab the pizza? Tony doesn’t like being handed things, so it’s better if one of us does it. And I can go let Loki out… unless you think you should be there.” 

Thinking of Loki in terms of his being Bruce before he fully understood what had happened to him, before he really understood who he was. Before he learned how to feel sufficient as himself… it made him almost protective. 

Not that he trusted him. 

Not that he necessarily believed him. But the question was if wanting to believe him would be enough.  
  


Steve inhaled and nodded, nervous and thankful in equal parts. It was a small victory; it could very well end in disaster, but it could also be the first step in the right direction. And at least Banner and Stark now seemed willing to try, and maybe give Loki a bit of the benefit of the doubt. Banner in particular seemed to be warming up a little to the idea, giving consideration to Loki’s comfort. It made Steve’s heart fill with gratitude. 

“I’m not sure if a movie might be a little too much, but we can have it as an option,” he replied steadily, thinking it through and giving Tony a grateful nod. 

He’d limited Loki’s exposure to sights and sounds and too much chaos for too long those first few days out of the cell, not wanting to overwhelm him. The derelict motel, followed by the small town had been a nice, quiet segue back into the world. But he’d dragged Loki through the New York City subway system and Midtown that day, and she’d held up admirably. So perhaps a movie wasn’t a terrible idea... 

“He really likes bacon and pizza, so we’re already heading in the right direction there,” he said to Bruce with a small smile. “Also books. I got him a StarkReader and loaded it up with a whole mess of things. He’s also been learning about medicine. Um.” A lot of the topics of conversation he and Loki had ventured into had been deeply personal and had ended, if not in explosions, then more than once in tears. Which wasn’t to say they hadn’t also had lighthearted, easy-going chats, though he was hard pressed to think of a good topic now to suggest. 

Though, given Stark’s general insensitivity, he could at least think of topics to skip: “Maybe try to avoid talking too much about Thor or his family to start with.” Banner, he hoped, would help run interference, as he seemed the more intuitive of the pair. 

And speaking of Banner... He considered the offer to go with him to let Loki out of Hulk’s cell. He did, after all, promise that he would be back. But at the same time, perhaps allowing Bruce and Loki a moment where Bruce could show Loki a little trust without Steve seeming to force his hand could be a good thing. “I’ll get the pizza -- just, let him know where I’m at and that I’ll be back up in a minute,” he told him, tucking his hands in his pockets and heading for the elevator. 

“Bill’s paid, so just make sure you tip the delivery guy,” Tony called. “You need cash?” 

“I got it,” Steve answered, pressing the button that would take him down to the lobby.  
When he got back, they’d all have warm, solid food, and a chance to clear the air. It would be good. Everything, he reminded himself as he watched the floors tick down to 1, would be good. 

  
  


He did not expect to see Banner coming towards his cell. He stiffened and stood, holding his book in front of him.

He drew himself up to his full height and held stock still. 

“Banner. Has something--” He bit off the words. What could possibly have happened to Steve in a few minutes? More importantly, what was Banner doing here, unaccompanied by either Steve or Stark? Was the rich idiot meant to distract the Captain, while Banner came here-- the Hulk came here, and… 

Loki’s throat went tight with worry. 

If he harmed Banner, even in self defense, he would alienate not only Stark, but Steve and the rest of SHIELD-- the parts that didn’t already want to kill him-- as well. He had to fight to breathe in, to hold still, though he felt panic pulling his eyes wider. He couldn’t react, couldn’t show the man his fear. 

“Have you remembered something else you need to ask me?” He asked instead, wary. 

“No, uh, Steve went to bring the pizza, so I figured I would come let you out for dinner.” Banner said simply. “I mean, you don’t want to be in here all night, do you?” He was trying to be kind, and Loki wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was it some new tactic to get something from him? 

Still, this was preferable to the way he’d been before. Suspicious. Distant. Unwilling to attempt to listen. And yes, Loki deserved it. He was a monster. But no more than this man. Or… maybe more, but. It was an interesting turn. He rather wanted it to continue. 

“Are you certain you and Stark would not prefer that I… not?” He let the raw concern and vulnerability seep into his performance, no more real than it had been when he first met Steve. “I cannot imagine that you will be at ease with a…” He bit the words off, carefully trying to manipulate this apparently sensitive “Well, with me at the table. I am sure that Rogers has asked this of you, but if you do not want… I can stay here.” The offer chafed but it also seemed the sort of selfless that would look attractive to these sorts of people. 

“No. No, look. Steve… told us about-- he showed us what you did for Agent Ferra. We know what you can do, we know what kind of person you can be. But we need… we needed to get a chance to know you. Outside of… what we think we know of you.” The words were hesitant and almost tripped on their way off of Banner’s tongue. 

Loki nodded. 

“I would like that.” He said cautiously, but he was surprised, too. It seemed sincere enough. He hadn’t expected it. 

He could only hope that it was real, that Stark felt similarly. 

That there wasn’t a trap waiting for him beyond these walls. That he wasn’t about to walk into the sights of several dozen SHIELD agents. 

He realized, quite simply, that the trust that Banner seemed willing to extend to him, he could not return. 

“Then I will follow you.” He said mildly. Banner opened the door and he let him lead him into the living room. There was no firing squad, fortunately. Beyond that, though, he had no idea what to expect. 

  
  


Steve took quick care of the pizza, locating the delivery boy who stood out like a sore thumb in his bright red shirt and hat in the middle of the Stark Tower lobby, which still bustled with activity even after standard working hours. The bill had already been paid online, but Steve provided the kid with what he hoped was an ample tip for the fast delivery -- and discretion -- before taking the stack of boxes back into the elevator and waiting for it to whisk him up to the penthouse. 

The elevator felt a lot slower than it had before. 

Finally, the doors opened and he stepped out; he was met with the sight of Loki out of the cell and standing slightly awkwardly in the living room. Steve beamed. 

“Pizza’s on,” he announced, moving forward to set down the boxes on the coffee table while Stark produced some paper plates and napkins from behind the bar. “Looks like an order of breadsticks, a veggie lovers’--” this he pushed over in Bruce’s direction, “Hawaiian,” he made a face setting Stark’s pizza aside, but the smile returned as he opened the last box and turned it toward Loki. “And one large New York bacon pizza.” 

He’d said once, when he’d first introduced Loki to the food, that he’d have to try New York pizza. Now, it seemed, he was finally able to make good on the offer. 

“Right. What does everyone want to drink?” Tony called from behind the bar. “I’ve got Sam Adams, some microbrews, couple of Guinnesses...” 

“Water or iced tea,” Bruce said. 

“Same,” Steve replied. 

Tony made a noise of disgust. “Oh come on, it’s pizza! Pizza and beer is about as all-American as you can get. You of all people should be sharing a cold brewsky here with me.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, but decided he wasn’t going to make a fuss if sharing a beer would put Stark at ease. It wasn’t as if he’d suffer any adverse effects. “Fine, I’ll have whatever you’re having. And a water.” 

“All-American, Cap. How about you, Cuckoo’s Nest?” Tony asked, directing this one at Loki. “Afraid we’re flat out of mead or whatever it is you drink on Asgard, but I’ve got beer, wine, liquor--” 

  
  


“I will also have what you are having. Please.” 

Loki perched on the edge of the couch, unsure what was expected of him now, what role he was expected to play in this new dynamic. 

He could at least fall back on his manners and protocol, or that which applied here. 

He kept his back straight and his shoulders back, his eyes sliding between them. 

“And Stark, if you would, please-- though I _have_ gone by many names in my time, I would prefer just Loki.” Small requests, easy to grant ones, often made people feel less burdened by his presence, he knew. But this was a different sort of tone than his past had given him experience with. He usually was merely an unwanted tag along, but now he was that as well as… as a criminal, a murderer, a failed usurper. 

No amount of being around Thor and his friends could prepare him for this. 

At the very least he could be certain of the pizza, certain that it was not poisoned and he need fear no adverse effects of eating it, given that Steve had been the one to handle it. 

Suddenly he appreciated more that it had been Banner to get him. 

And, he realized, there was a safe enough starting point. 

“The pizza here is a good deal larger and… glistens with oil. Is that the norm?” 

He looked to Steve for the answer, then back and at the others. 

“Also what does Hawaiian pizza entail to be so… distasteful?” 

  
  


“Absolutely nothing!” Tony exclaimed at the same that that Steve declared that “ _Pineapple_ doesn’t belong on pizza!” 

The two men paused and glowered at each other. 

“It’s a perfectly acceptable topping,” Tony said, pointing at Steve. 

Steve shook his head. “It’s _fruit.”_

“Technically, so is the tomato.” 

“Oh, don’t start--” 

“It’s a matter of personal taste,” Banner interjected with a placating smile. “And no one has to eat it who doesn’t want to. Don’t make me separate you two.” 

Steve allowed himself a rueful smile at Tony. “Okay, fair.” 

Tony sniffed. “As if I’d share my delicious Hawaiian pizza with a philistine like you,” he sniped, though the corner of his mouth quirked upward. He returned to the couches with three beers and a bottle opener, setting the chilled beers down on the table and popping the caps off. 

Steve took a pair of paper plates and served up a large slice of bacon on each, handing one to Loki along with a couple of paper napkins. “You can blot the grease off if you don’t like it. Pizza is one of those things that tends to be a bit different everywhere you go. Some places do a thin crush, some do it thick, some do it a lot greasier. But yeah, this is a pretty normal New York pizza -- thin crust, light on the sauce, and--” he lifted his slice and folded it in half, “You eat it like this.” He took a bite to demonstrate, long strings of cheese dangling elastically between his lips and the slice as he pulled away to chew. 

“That,” Tony said, taking a bite of his own and the washing it down with a swig of beer, “We can agree on at least.” 

Steve looked over sideways at Loki and smiled, hoping he would allow himself to relax a bit. 

  
  


The way they casually bickered, the lack of a unified front against him, gave a semblance of camaraderie to their meal. 

It made him feel slightly more easy. And it gave him a further opening, a way of continuing the conversation. 

But first, he folded the pizza as he’d been shown and took a large bite, surprised when the oil ran down his chin, and enjoying the taste, inelegant as the process of consumption may be. He wiped it off and sighed. 

After swallowing, he lifted the beer to his lips, stopping to say, 

“I don’t think I have ever had pineapple. What is it, other than a fruit? Is it-- we often make fowl with peach and apricot glazes. Is it so different?” 

He drank a strong pull of the beer and gagged as the bitterness registered on his tongue. 

He felt his eyes widen and forced himself to swallow it, noting the easy way that both Stark and Steve took swigs. 

He sat it down quietly, hoping not to pull any attention to how disgusting it was. This was not the ales of home, nor the sweet meads that were oft served with meals. 

Humans put the most disgusting things in their mouths, and he mentally added ‘beer’ to the list of cinnamon and Bhut Jolokia, as things to be considered inedible and unpalatable. 

He washed the taste away with cheese and grease, and saw Bruce watching him, looking both amused and a little like he was weighing him. 

Loki wondered if he would be thought favorably of for not causing a fuss, or if he would be thought a coward. 

Silently, he nudged the bottle to Steve. 

“Is that supposed to taste that way?” 

  
  


The total lack of dignity as Loki folded his slice New York style and ended up with the grease dribbling down his chin was, quite frankly, adorable. It took willpower for him not to reach out and dab away at the oil dripping down Loki’s lip. 

Tony launched into an explanation of the glories of pineapple -- sweet and tangy and tropical, puts the pina in pinacolada -- but Steve tuned out a bit as he focused on Loki sampling his beer, lips wrapping around the top of the bottle not entirely unlike they had wrapped around-- 

Steve blinked and took a swig of his own beer, as if it could wash away that line of thought. That very dangerous, very erotic line of thought. 

But where Loki’s eyes had fluttered closed in pleasure when his mouth had been, ah, otherwise occupied, they widened now in surprise, and he moved to put the bottle down. 

Tony had moved on from his discussion of fruits in alcoholic beverages to an argument with Bruce about the merits of vegetables on pizza, so Loki’s murmured question went unheard by the other two. 

“Bitter?” Steve said. “Yeah. It’s a bit of an acquired taste at first. You don’t have beer on Asgard?” It seemed like the sort of thing they would have, though he supposed, with the differences in their palates, Asgardian beer could taste totally different. 

Thinking over it, and remembering Loki’s tendency to favor sweet things, Steve had an idea. “Hey, Tony?” he asked, interrupting a rant against eggplant. “Do you have any hard cider?” 

“Huh?” Tony looked over. “Um, yeah, I think there might be some Angry Orchard in the fridge. Happy’s a fan.” 

Steve stood and moved over to the fridge under the bar, peering through the bottled contents until he found what he was looking for, returning with a slim brown bottle with a red cap that he popped off with the bottle opener before handing to Loki. “Try this instead.” 

  
  


‘This’ as it turned out, was something much closer to what Loki was used to, albeit the drastically less flavorful, less alcoholic version. 

“Our beers tend to be… less bitter? Sweeter. They are hearty, heavy drinks, that sit warm in your stomach, and their flavor is… perhaps closer to fruit. This, your cider, tastes like that which Idunn creates, every now and again, to keep the Aesir young. This is a paler imitation, one which few bother to make with apples from other trees, but Idunn’s, once tasted, will sit forever on your tongue as a memory. Her apples are, honestly, magical. Rather than cider, she bottles the magic of the apples. Apple seidhr.” 

He shrugged. 

"I wish I could bring you the tastes of my world. I think you would be excited by some of our flavors." He spoke primarily to Steve, but glanced at the other two to include them in it as well. 

"Midgard seems an eclectically mixed world. We have a single cohesive culture on ours, and while the similarities are marked, the differences in strength... You would be, I think, delighted." 

Loki realized that Stark was looking at him in interest. He wondered what had so piqued his excitement. He did not have to wonder for long. 

"Did you say you have magic booze?" He asked, with the air, Loki thought, of one scandalized not to have known. 

"Not at the moment." He said wryly. 

He heard Bruce snicker at that. 

  
  


“No, but really, how do ‘magic apples’ work? And can we get in on some of that down here? Cause I’d trade a significant portion of my very expensive wine cellar to try some of that magic apple cider out,” Tony said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees and a gleam in his eye. 

“Given we’re not currently in communication with Asgard, I think the odds of that are pretty slim,” Steve pointed out, taking another large bite of his pizza. “Though I would be interested in trying some of that mead someday.” If anything had the potency to hit him before his body metabolized it, he suspected that the alcohol of the gods would be the thing to do it. 

With the tension in the air no longer thick enough to cut, his muscles had relaxed and he felt... happy. Not as happy as he’d been curled up in bed with Loki, of course, but more content than he’d been since they’d arrived at the tower for sure. Right now things seemed to be going well. Bruce was coming around, and Tony was at least giving Loki a shot, his natural curiosity apparently exceeding his reservations about Loki’s past misdeeds. Without anxiety tying his insides in knots now, Steve felt the full force of his appetite returning, and it wasn’t long before he reached to dish himself up another slice of pizza, along with nabbing a breadstick. 

“You said these apples keep your people young?” Bruce asked, nibbling at his crust and looking perplexed. “How does that work, exactly? We were under the impression Asgardians just had naturally long lifespans. Or are they augmented by some sort of biological agent in the apples that preserves and extends cell life...?” He seemed to be thinking out loud, reaching up to adjust his glasses on his nose. 

“And seriously, that whole magic thing--” Stark waved his hands in the air in, frustrated, inarticulate gesticulation. “ _How?”_

  
  


Loki looked to Steve for guidance, but knew that without voicing his concerns, there was little Steve could truly do. 

He took another bite of his food, deliberating while he chewed slowly. Finally, he swallowed, though he looked down into his lap while he spoke, at first, before realizing that his words held the potential for causing offense, and it was better that he see, in the event an attack did come. 

“I… would not mind explaining, but for two things: First, I do not imagine it to be light conversation, and if you intend to eat, I think it would be advisable that be completed before we began. And secondly…” He trailed off, composing his words. “I am hesitant to teach you the workings of what is admittedly my best weapon, when you have not yet decided whether or not you want to… to work with or against us. I’d rather not educate you only to find, later, that I had helped you thwart or harm me. Not to offend, but surely you cannot blame me for my reluctance. Besides… There is too much I have already said on record at SHIELD.” He frowned, looking to Steve again, hoping he would not be angered by Loki’s decision not to be forthcoming. 

“I will tell you, though, that the apples are, according to stories, the means by which the Aesir do not age. Not many have spent long periods of time without them, because of this, and though age does catch up with us all-- them all-- in time, the fruit of Idunn’s tree is so rare and delicious that even were it not the supposed bearer of immortality, it would be in great demand. And as such, the apples are precious. None who are not masters of their craft may cook or brew with them, and so Idunn often makes the apple dishes of Asgard as a whole. Demand is always high, for they grow and ripen slowly, and because of that, it is very hard to bring the cider here. Mead on the other hand, flows as freely as water, and tastes three times as well, at least.” 

Perhaps giving them some small taste of Asgardian life would result in gaining Loki some sympathy, and make his words less harsh, less… challenging. 

Or, judging by the way Stark had shifted in his seat, maybe not. 

  
  


“Magic apple cider and dishes...” Bruce mused, a faraway and happy look in his eyes. He chuckled, glancing over at Stark. “Hey Tony, _how do like them apples?_ ” 

But Stark didn’t seem amused. “So, you’re planning to use magic to attack us if we don’t cater to you guys?” he asked, amiable demeanor abruptly gone and the fragile air of friendliness that had filled the room moments before now shattered. 

“Tony--” Bruce cautioned. 

“What? He called it his _weapon._ Not his defense or escape, his weapon. I don’t have a right to be concerned?” 

“The Iron Man suit is a weapon,” Steve interjected, good humor vanished as he lowered his pizza on to the coffee table. “How about you bring down the schematics and roll those out for us to look at?” 

Tony sputtered. “Are you crazy?” 

Steve arched an eyebrow. 

Tony huffed, then settled back, scowling. “Look, I’m honestly not comfortable letting him stay here, magic cancer cure-all or not. I’m not throwing out the idea entirely, but you’re gonna have to give me a little more to go with. And frankly, his mojo is some pretty freaky stuff. And besides--” he waved a hand, getting worked up now, bowling over Bruce’s attempts to cut him off. “The scepter uses magic, right? And your big bad -- Thanatos or whatever -- uses the scepter and put a mind-whammy on Steve, so obviously Tall, Dark and Bipolar here isn’t the only one we have to worry about throwing this kind of power around. If this is something I’m going to have to deal with, I’m going to need to know if it works. And if you’re claiming you want to be allied with us and help us out, then you’re going to have to spill, okay?” He said the last loudly, pointing directly at Loki. 

Steve stood, stepping in between them, protectively positioning himself in front of Loki. “That’s enough.” 

“No,” Tony said, stepping forward and getting in Steve’s face, “I really think it’s far from enough.” 

“You guys...” Bruce’s voice was dangerously low as he backed away from the couch. “If everyone doesn’t calm down, I’m afraid I’m going to be putting Loki out of a room in a minute...” 

  
  


Loki’s eyes ran to Banner and went wide, concerned, and he raised his hands and stood, in an effort of placating them all. Loki tugged at Steve’s arm, hoping to pull him back and aside, to get at the very least a corner of the table between he and Stark. 

“I was not threatening you-- I would not, while breaking bread in your house.” He tried to keep his voice and words calm. “I only meant that if you were to work against us later, and it falls to Steve and I to stop Thanos, I cannot afford to be so hobbled, so weakened. But even so, each of the things you listed use differing magics. I can tell you of those, or what I know of them, without endangering myself and my use of seidhr.” He offered it as a compromise. He would not risk Stark building another room like the one for the Hulk, not risk being truly cut off from the tides of seidhr that he had come to know and expect and rely on. 

“Regardless, all of this pales in the interest of your tower remaining in a single piece, as promised. Banner?” 

“Yeah?” Loki could hear the strain in the man’s voice, and it made him afraid. 

“I know you do not trust me, and have no reason to, but perhaps removing yourself from the scene whilst the confrontation is happening…? It was bound to, I suppose, at any rate. Perhaps having seen it out, it will mean the end of this squabbling, and the sooner it is done, the sooner we may move forward, in whatever way Stark’s choice may lead us.” 

“Steve? Tony?” Bruce turned to face the Captain, then Stark, and Loki followed suit, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men. 

“I don’t want to go, I want to be here, wanna hear what you have to say. What say we all just calm down, sit down, talk about this like…” Banner trailed off. 

“Like we are all people.” Loki finished for him, leading by example and looking up at Steve, pleading with his eyes that he do the same. “There is no need for any of us to feel endangered by one another, not now. Consider this a parlay- we meet neutrally, as equals, we will talk, part peacefully, and at that time resume our own campaigns, if they are not able to be shared. That is all-- this should not feel dangerous, I would like very much if it was not.” He kept his voice as soothing as it could be, and that was considerably so, all things considered. 

He paused, then added, finally, softly, 

“Please?” 

  
  


Steve stepped close to Loki, ready to get them both out of there if necessary -- though he resisted the urge to get too near, to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. If Stark was having a hard enough time with Loki simply being _not evil_ , he wasn’t going to divulge the rest. 

Stark took a breath, held it, and glowered at Steve and Loki for a moment before letting it go. “An appeal for peace is pretty rich coming from you, Mr. Kneel-Before-Me,” he grumbled, though he took a step back. “Sorry, Bruce, buddy. Didn’t mean to shake your cool.” 

Steve nodded toward Bruce. “Dr. Banner.” He felt guilt for putting Bruce in this position, but also gratitude for the moderating effect his presence had; given his condition, whatever discussion they had couldn’t be allowed to escalate beyond a certain point, which would hopefully keep things civil. 

And the way Loki had spoken -- with politeness and awareness and diplomacy -- had to count for something in this exchange. It was demonstrative proof that he wasn’t the mad and whimsically violent would-be dictator Stark still saw when he looked at him. 

He’d even said _please._

“Look,” Stark said, sinking back down on to the couch, though he remained perched at the edge as he picked up his beer. “It’s one thing to say everyone should feel ‘safe’, but I can’t just ignore the fact that the last time we were in this room, you threw me out that window over there,” he said, gesturing to the expanse of glass overlooking the city. “You say you don’t wanna talk about your magic because if we knew enough, we could come up with an off-switch--” 

“Tony,” Bruce cautioned softly. 

Stark lifted a hand. “Hear me out. You don’t want us to come up with an off switch. Well what if an off-switch is the price for us agreeing to work with you?” He fixed Loki with a stern look, and Steve couldn’t help but notice how much older and more haggard Tony looked in that moment. “You’re asking me to trust you. And I can’t, not one-hundred-percent. So what if the terms of this are that we agree not to call SHIELD back and mention that oh yeah, Cap and Loki _did_ turn up, and in exchange, you let us come up with a way to shut you down just in case you go all Ants-Beneath-My-Boot again?” He leaned back, eyes narrowed. 

  
  


Loki blanched and looked to Steve. 

They needed these mens’ help, and the unified front that the Avengers presented would grant them a certain power over the masses. But… that was a steep price. A price that Loki wasn’t willing to pay. 

“And who would make that decision, providing that you determine you could find a way to… to negate my powers? Whose choice would it be to turn the switch to off? And what would stop that switch from falling into the wrong hands?” Loki was shaking his head. “It is not natural, not-- not _humane_. Like telling me that you will refuse to come to the aid of your world, your friend, unless I permit you to tie a line around my lungs, that you may pull them out if the mood strikes. It is not a knife I can hand over or pledge to your service, Stark-- my seidhr is part of me, it runs through everything I am. And I doubt your abilities would be capable of stopping it from doing so, but…” He shuddered and felt sick at the thought, which caused him to wrap his arms around himself and lower his eyes. 

“I would really rather fetch for you a weapon capable of killing me than allow you the ability to do as you ask.” He looked up and flicked his eyes back to Steve, hoping the declaration would not anger him. It wasn’t that he wanted to die, but he did want them to understand what it would be like to live with his seidhr removed from him. 

Nightmarish did not begin to cover it. Horrific, perhaps. 

“What you propose is not merely disarming me, but something closer to dismembering me. Bindings such as that… When I went to Thanos.” He swallowed, aware that he had not yet told Steve this, but hopeful that baring this hurt before these men would let them see that he was capable of experiencing pain. “When I came to him, he hosted me, spoke to me. But when I asked for his aid, I had to be tested. Found worthy of his power, his strength. I do not think he had ever seen one such as I before, never dealt with my brand of monstrosity. He had me… I was bound to a chair, and he reached inside of me, inside of my spirit, and latched his fingers in the pool of my seidhr. He-- tried to lift it out--” Loki could hear the strain in his own voice as his breathing grew shallow. He paused, gulping in air that did not feel as though it was reaching his lungs. 

That had to be enough. He couldn’t delve any further into what he had experienced, what he felt. Flatly, he finished it. 

“It was agony. More than that. I don’t-- Even I do not have words.” Loki met Tony’s eyes, saw the way his face had frozen. “You cannot ask this of me, I cannot… Please.” It came out a whisper, and he felt ashamed, that even the mere memory of the experience had this effect on him. He’d shown himself weaker than he’d intended to. 

He looked down at the pizza on the table, no longer feeling hungry at all. 

  
  


The more Loki spoke, the more Steve regretted scarfing down pizza as fast as he did, the cheesy, greasy mess now coagulating into a turning pit in the bottom of his stomach. He’d suspected at some point during Loki’s time at SHIELD that the supposed ‘magic suppressors’ in his cell did nothing, which had later been proven fact. But now, he felt enormous thanks for SHIELD’s failure in that particular piece of engineering. 

What Loki described was appalling. Was _torture._

_Oh God._ Steve blanched -- when Loki had told him that Thanos had simply ‘tested’ him and made it sound like everything had been willing on his part, Steve had smiled at him and said he was thankful it hadn’t been worse. Memories of Loki’s panic strapped to the chair and chained floated to mind; Steve hadn’t known, and he’d... 

And if Stark meant to push it-- 

No. This couldn’t be an option. 

The problem was, they didn’t have many options _left_. 

Feeling sick, Steve thought of what their backup plan could be. He could try getting in touch with Natasha, but that put them at far greater risk of being turned back into SHIELD. He didn’t know much of anyone else -- the military? A foreign government? Or should he and Loki steal the scepter and run, fleeing across space and worlds in the hopes of drawing Thanos away from Earth and disrupting his plans? 

None of it was good. None of it was likely to succeed. But any of it had to be better than putting Loki through the kind of agony he was describing. Steve couldn’t agree to that or be party to it. Couldn’t force Loki to submit to it -- not again. 

“If that’s the price,” Steve said quietly, “then thank you for the pizza and beer; we’ll be getting out of your hair now.” He nodded his head to Stark and then to Banner, placing a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “Let’s go.” 

He made it halfway to the elevator, heart sinking a little more with each step, when he heard a voice behind him call out: 

“Wait.” 

  
  


Loki turned from where he had followed Steve, shoulders hunched and certain that he had ruined everything, on top of feeling weak, sick… disgusted with himself. He’d thought he was making himself seem more like a person, less like a monster. Apparently he’d thought wrong. 

But then Stark spoke up, and he turned back slowly, afraid that he would see a glowing palm leveled at them. He found his hand reaching out, a moment from grabbing Steve and making a run for it. 

“Wait.” Stark repeated, standing as well. 

Banner, beside him, looked as stricken at the thought as Steve did, and Stark looked-- Stark looked almost panicked. Desperate. 

“I didn’t know.” He said simply. “I get it, I’ve… yeah, I have been there. I’ve had people open me up, take parts of me out. Put parts in. I’ve had people close to me try and-- no, I get it.” He was looking away, and he took up Loki’s abandoned beer, taking a long pull from it. “That’s the sort of thing I want to know. I want to know how it works. And yeah, maybe jumping right to having a way of stopping it was dumb. But I’m uneducated. So educate me. All I want, in return for the help we can give, is the same knowledge of you that you have of us. I can’t trust you if we aren’t gonna be equals in this. And yeah you may be a crazy alien God with issues, but… if there’s ways to counteract some of your strong points, I want to know. One, so I can have your back, and two so I can stop you if something like your invasion happens again. But as far as you turning your back on us, working with this Thanos guy… Yeah. I don’t see that happening now that I know.” 

It wasn’t an apology, nor half so reassuring as Loki might have expected. But it was what was being offered them. 

He didn’t want to be the one to ruin these dealings. He took a deep breath. 

“You do not trust me. I understand. If you create anything… a weapon, an off switch… if anything comes of our speaking, my educating, I want your word that the only one to wield it be Captain Rogers. Someone whom we both trust.” 

He looked to Steve, hoping that was acceptable to him. Hoping that would be acceptable to all of them. 

  
  


Steve was ready to jump to Loki’s defense when Tony spoke out, ready to argue that _no, they were leaving,_ but the bloodless look on Stark’s face stopped him. 

And just like that, Stark backed off again. Somewhat. Steve watched him warily; this back and forth, attack and retreat was getting hard to keep track of, and he found himself still poised by the elevator, ready to grab Loki and leave. He was reeling from Loki’s revelation and from Stark’s abrupt shifts, and once upon a time he might have been able to blame it on the beer, but that wasn’t the case these days-- 

“Wait, what?” 

He must have heard that wrong. He turned to Loki. “Are you... I mean, is that--?” His mind tried to catch up. If there was something that could hurt Loki, Steve didn’t want to have anything to do with it. Didn’t want Loki to associate him with that; with the power to inflict pain upon him. 

But then again, if there was something that could hurt Loki, he sure as hell didn’t want it in anyone else’s hands. 

Swallowing, he tore his eyes from Loki and looked over at Stark. “I’m in if you are,” he said, shifting his weight and pressing his lips into a line. 

Stark narrowed his eyes at him, then gave Loki a long and piercing look. Finally, his shoulders slumped and he pulled a hand down over his goatee then back through his hair. “Yeah, okay. I can work with that.” 

“Thank god,” Banner mumbled, sinking bonelessly back into his armchair. 

“So,” Steve began, slowly stepping back toward the couches. “What’s the plan going forward? We’re in this together?” 

Stark and Banner exchanged looks. 

“Yeah,” Banner said. “I’m in.” 

“Yeah,” Stark echoed, taking another long draw from his beer. “You guys can stay. And we won’t go blabbing to SHIELD.” 

It was good news. It was what they’d come here for; Steve just wished he could feel some joy in it. 

  
  


“Look, I can’t imagine a good segue from ‘I was tortured and you wanted to do that too,’ to talking about ways to do that, without everyone being on edge. So, uh, why don’t we call it a night. I’m sure we _all_ have things to think about, there’s a lot for everyone to absorb.” Bruce glared pointedly at Tony. 

“It ah, it wasn’t torture.” Loki told them softly. “Like I said, it was a test. Lessons. I agreed to it. But that… I know better now. I won’t agree to it again.” 

Bruce raised his eyebrows and turned to look at Tony who just looked sicker and sicker. 

“ Tony why don’t you put away the food, I’ll show them to their rooms.” He figured the guy could use a break from this, and maybe a hard drink. Or, knowing him, five. 

"If you’re ready, that is,” He said, turning back to Steve and Loki. 

He clocked the worry on their faces and wondered why now, but then it made sense. “I’ll put you in rooms across the hall from one another, no need to worry, no one is sleeping in the Hulk tank.” Though he had come close-- and if not for Loki’s running interference, he might be there now. 

Everything about this situation was conflicting. Loki didn’t care for humanity, but seemed to care about the safety of one human. He was turning over a new leaf to help out, but a side effect of their victory would be saving himself. Even his defusing the situation between Tony and Steve was possibly mainly for his own safety. 

And yet…. 

Bruce led them down the hall to the room Steve had stayed at the last time. “Here you are,” he told him, but opened the other door first, certain that Steve would want to see Loki settled before he could do the same. 

“And here’s you.” 

Loki peered in the door and then went inside, his head turning to and fro. It was a casually classy room, nothing to sneer at, the same sort of grandeur that Tony demanded, but it was empty, completely devoid of any sign of being lived in, because it was a guest room. 

“This is wonderful. Thank you.” Loki told him, and then, looking beyond him at Steve, “I will be perfectly alright here. Thank you.” 

  
  


Thank God for Bruce Banner. 

He’d been worried for a moment that the sleeping arrangements would involve Loki being locked up again -- in which case he would be torn between preserving the fragile truce they’d all finally come to, and defending Loki from further degradation, particularly in light of what he’d just revealed. But Banner had apparently read his concern on his face and quickly clarified that Loki would be staying in a bedroom. Close to Steve, no less. 

With that settled, Steve gladly followed him from the room; though it wasn’t yet late, the amount of travel and unpredictability their day had involved had worn him down, and the thought of getting a little quiet without having to worry about Stark or triggering Banner’s Hulk had significant appeal. 

The room across from Steve’s in the guest wing of the current floor more or less matched his, though the color scheme varied slightly in the curtains and carpet, the furniture positioned differently. But the accommodations were identical otherwise, and in this Steve felt reassured. He returned Loki’s smile. “Okay. Holler if you need anything,” he told him, realizing as he moved to step back that this would be the first time in days they didn’t share a bed. He paused, adjusting his pack on his shoulder. “Actually, before we settle in for the night -- do you want to take some of my stuff out of your pocket?” 

They were no longer on the run, and it seemed that the present offer of hospitality might last. And where they didn’t have to worry about being recognized -- Banner and Stark knew perfectly well who they both were -- there was little point in hiding Steve’s shield and uniform in Loki’s secret space. 

He didn’t miss the flash of interest in Banner’s eyes as he looked from Steve to Loki. 

  
  


“I-- That would be wonderful.” Loki said, turning to Banner. “Would you object to my doing so?” He felt timid bringing it up, especially so soon on the heels of everything else. “It ah- involves magically reaching inside of myself to produce the items stored there.” 

He didn’t want to take Banner by surprise and make him react poorly. 

“No, please, not at all.” Banner was nearly tripping over himself to encourage it, and Loki supposed that this being the first time that Banner would see his sorcery in such a way that it was not aiming to harm him or someone else he cared for-- or a nasty surprise in general, Loki could understand where the interest might stem from. 

Loki nodded his thanks, hoping grimly that the show was everything that Banner wanted it to be. 

“ What do you want from there?” He asked, readying his hands to produce it, and unwilling to list off the contents, just in case there were things that Steve did not yet want Banner and Stark to know about. They were allowed to stay, they were working with these men, but it felt shaky. Loki wasn’t exactly ready to call himself safe yet. And who knew how soon they would be forced to flee again. 

Banner’s interest made sense, but it did remind him that he in particular would continue to live under surveillance. He had no doubt that Stark’s cameras and robots were watching him now, and waiting for him to slip up. 

  
  


“My shield and my uniform, if you could,” Steve answered. “Oh, and the boots.” 

The lock box, he decided, might be better kept in Loki’s possession for now, just in case. Stark had more than enough money to easily cover any of their financial needs while they were at the tower, but in the event that they had to make a quick getaway, well... Steve wouldn’t be leaving without Loki, and this way Loki wouldn’t be without cash to get them back on the run. 

But everything else, Steve could take care of now. He knew Loki’s pocket wasn’t all that large, and he probably had better uses for it than stowing Steve’s bulky gear, which had to be something of a strain. Having his shield and uniform on hand in case any Avengers business came up would be useful, and if somewhere down the line, SHIELD happened to see him as Captain America, working alongside Iron Man and Hulk against a threat, they might realize he wasn’t brainwashed and actually _listen._

Not to mention the guest room actually had a closet where he could put it all now. 

  
  


Loki closed his eyes and took a breath, self conscious now, and well aware that though this realm was not used to seeing seidhr wielded, this was still the least impressive of demonstrations. 

He produced the boots, one at a time, and handed them to Steve, then the uniform-- the next closest thing to the top. The shield, of course, was on the very bottom of the pile, and presented a slight problem. 

Withdrawing it would leave everything cluttered and toppled inside, and he would have to empty the pocket out and reorganize at a later time-- perhaps if he could find somewhere with more privacy, lest Stark have records of all of the things that Loki and Steve had in their possession. 

With a sigh, he produced it just the same, wincing at the feeling and sound of a falling pile of nonsense. 

He handed that across too, before opening his eyes. 

“I will have to reorganize at some point, but for now…” It made little sense but he swung his arms, as though loosening the muscles. It was only an almost physical sensation, after all. “It does feel better to be less full. We know the shield will fit, but I think-- nothing larger, and the shield is a little… uncomfortable.” It would not hurt that Banner know the dimensions, he thought. 

  
  


Steve had watched Loki place things in his pocket and pull them forth, and while it no longer startled him in the least, there remained something mesmerizing in how things seemed to simply fold out of thin air, unpacked from a dimension he couldn’t perceive. Still, after the boots had both appeared, he glanced away from Loki toward Banner as the scientist watched in mute fascination. 

When Loki sighed and stretched, Steve winced in apology. “Sorry.” He’d known it had been a fair bit to ask Loki to carry, but he hadn’t realized he was _uncomfortable_ this whole time. “Good news is, I hopefully won’t need you to carry it for me again,” he offered with a small smile, hoping it was enough. “But thank you for handling it.” 

If circumstances were different -- well, he could think of a number of ways he could make it up to Loki, but none of them were feasible with Stark’s omnipresent AI watching over them. Later, perhaps. Some other time. But he _would_ make it up to him. 

And they _would_ talk about what had happened to Loki with Thanos also, though that was a conversation Steve looked forward to much less. _It wasn’t torture,_ Loki had said. _It was a test. I agreed to it._ But Steve knew enough about torture -- had seen enough of it -- that he could hardly think of another word for what Loki had described. 

If his resolve to fight Thanos had wavered at all before, it felt rock solid now. 

“Goodnight,” he told Loki, folded uniform and boots balanced on the shield in his arms as he turned back toward the door of his own room. He gave Banner a perfunctory nod. “Doctor Banner.” 

  
  


“G’night, Loki. And… you know, today was rough. Thanks for-- you did a great job diffusing that situation.” It was hardly high praise, but just the same, he saw the way Loki looked puzzled, head tilting like a bird. 

He remembered what Steve had said, about the guy being shocked and surprised any time he _wasn’t_ treated like a monster-- and that made his chest feel tight. If that was an honest reaction, and not just a part of his game, then it was no surprise that Steve had been able to get through to him. He was starved for kindness. 

Bruce followed Steve out and heard Loki shut the door behind him, but that wasn’t worrisome. Of course he’d want to sleep in privacy. Or as much as he could get, in this house. 

“Steve-- before you hit the hay, can I have a word?” 

But, reminded of the utter lack of privacy, Bruce addressed the AI. 

“JARVIS? Where is Tony?” 

“ _Sir is in his room. Decidedly not sulking.”_ That brought a little smile to his lips. 

“And what is he doing?” 

" _Reviewing the SHIELD tapes of Loki and Captain Rogers.”_ JARVIS answered promptly. 

“Perfect.” Bruce muttered. He turned to Steve and raised an eyebrow while he gave the final command he had for JARVIS. “Captain Rogers and I need to speak off the record, please, JARVIS.” 

“ _Yes, Doctor Banner.”_ The voice said smoothly, and then everything went silent. 

“So.” Bruce said, leaning against the wall of the hallway, unsure how to start. 

  
  


Steve paused as Banner asked for a word, shifting the shield and gear in his arms as he stood awkwardly. He winced as JARVIS piped up -- reminding them of the constant scrutiny, as well as the fact that Tony was now looking over the tapes. And hopefully not the parts Steve dreaded having to explain... 

He blinked. _Off the record?_ That was interesting. And a bit daunting, though it was good to know that it was even an option. 

“Let me just put these down,” he said, not sure what Banner meant to get at. He stepped into his room, put the shield down on top of the dresser, then awkwardly gestured for Banner to come in, so he wouldn’t be left standing out in the hallway. After all, he didn’t know how thick the doors were, and if Banner needed to speak to him privately, it might be best not to have the conversation right out in the hall, just outside of Loki’s room. 

“There’s a chair, if you want to sit,” Steve offered, indicating the plush armchair in the corner. He sank down on to the edge of the bed, though his hands fidgeted in his lap now that they’d been relieved of their burden. “What, ah.... what did you want to talk to me about?” 

  
  


Bruce sat, not wanting to intimidate. He didn’t intend to take very long with this, but just the same… 

“Tony, mostly. He uh… he’s had some really rough times since New York.” He shrugged, not willing to beat around the bush with this. 

“You haven’t really been around, so it’s not like you could know, but. I’ve been working with him on his PTSD. Which centers around Loki, and his invasion, and the whole flying into the gaping hole in the sky into space thing.” He nodded, feeling like that covered it pretty well. “I don’t know a ton about it, I keep trying to tell him I’m not that kind of doctor, but…” He shrugged. “If you have any questions, I’ll help as much as I can.” Not much, he knew, but better than Steve would have had not knowing. 

“So this… having Loki here, it’s not easy for him. And that’s why he’s acting the way he is, and something I figured you should know. Both for how you interact with him, and so that you can… you know, take care of Loki. Which reminds me-- what I just did with JARVIS? The key is to tell him it’s ‘off the record’. Kills recording audio or video. Tony won’t be able to override it unless he is actively watching the feed right then. So you can check first. Just in case you and Loki need any time alone.” He kept his face carefully blank, but watched closely for any reaction from Steve. Bruce wasn’t an idiot, he could tell there was more going on than they were letting on, and whether that was just that they were closer than they were telling them, or something more… He didn’t feel threatened by it. In fact, knowing why Loki was as dead set on the route he’d chosen would help make him feel better about it. But he wasn’t about to pry. 

_This_ he would be happy to beat around the bush with. And Steve would tell him, in his own time. He hoped. 

  
  


Steve listened. And as he did, his mouth twisted, and he looked down at his hands. 

PTSD. He didn’t know the term until SHIELD had decided to screen him for it, as he was apparently at risk following the war and the invasion. But when he’d ask and it had been explained, he recognized it immediately. Back then they’d called it Combat Stress Reaction, or shell-shock, and he’d seen it plenty. Even remembered the way Bucky would get a thousand-yard stare after Steve had rescued him from HYDRA, and how he’d jump and reach for his gun and sometimes have that flicker of confusion in his eyes for a moment before he recognized you. 

That was Tony now, apparently. And Tony was a civilian. Steve had called him a soldier during the invasion, and he’d protested vehemently. But Tony had gone up with that bomb and almost not come back, and that had apparently done more damage than he’d let on, when he’d woken up and asked about shawarma before all else. 

And Steve had dragged the source of that right into his home. 

“Damn,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “I-- I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He’d been so focused on Loki and on himself, he’d been selfish and hadn’t considered that he could, in trying to protect his partner, be hurting his friend. It put Stark’s behavior, which Steve had remained more than a little miffed at, in a whole new light. Especially since Stark had agreed in the end to let them stay in spite of it. 

“Is there anything I can do to help? Should I-- would it help to talk to him, or should I just give him space?” He looked up at Bruce helplessly. Part of him wanted to run down to the lab and apologize immediately, but if this was something Tony didn’t want anyone to know about, then that could do more harm than good. 

  
  


“I don’t know, really.” Bruce said, spreading his hands. “You know Tony, he’s kind of like a cat. Sometimes you can pet him, sometimes you’ll get scratched. I found it’s usually best to let him figure it out himself, let him come to you.” Bruce shook his head. 

“I think it’ll take a bit before he’s really ready to talk to you about it, given that you came here with Loki. But maybe… maybe getting Loki to keep being the way he was tonight, human… or well. I guess that’s a bad word, but. He acted like a person, the way we aren’t used to seeing him act. Maybe that will help. And I think part of the reason Tony wants to ask questions is because when he’s afraid of something, he researches, he learns about it. Desensitization through self controlled exposure. He hasn’t been able to do that for the problems he’s been having. Whatever Loki knows and anything you can convince him to share, it’d probably help. And I’m not just saying that because I’m interested in the atomic physics of worlds other than our own… As Tony’s friend, I think… if Loki is really as into healing people as you made it seem, if he sees healing the brain as more than just the physical gray matter… maybe you can talk to him about this.” 

  
  


Steve nodded. He didn’t understand completely, but he’d commit Banner’s words to memory and try to pay heed to them. (Though the mental image of Tony as a cat was mildly amusing.) 

“I can... I think I can try to do that,” he said. Getting Loki to let his guard down when he felt threatened would be challenging, but if he could explain it right, he might be able to convince him. He’d done well earlier that night, after all. And now that Banner had revealed to him a strategy for speaking to Loki in private, that would allow them much more honesty in their conversations. 

It also, he realized, would allow him the privacy in which to steal a kiss, an embrace -- the touches that would help ground them both. And he could almost hug Bruce for that alone. 

“ Loki is pretty, well... I think he might not be in a totally dissimilar boat,” he admitted. “He’s had reactions that were, ah, visceral. To things that I think reminded him of... other things.” He winced at the lameness of his explanation. “I should probably try to find a book or something and read up on some of this. I feel like I’ve been flying blind. I don’t even know where to begin with a lot of this stuff.” Who on earth would even have any experience with dealing with the trauma of finding out they were a different species? Let alone being tortured by aliens or falling through the void of space-- besides Tony, he realized. Both Loki and Tony had fallen in the void. 

But now didn’t seem like a good time to bring that up. Or maybe put them in the same room together just yet. Though Steve would find a way to apologize to Tony, whether he came to Steve or no. He owed him that much. 

“Thank you, Bruce,” he said, looking up at the other man. “Really. I know I dropped a lot on you guys, and I know it’s probably not easy dealing with all this insanity.” 

  
  


Bruce stood. 

“We’re Avengers, it’s what we do. Deal with stuff, when it comes up. If you need books, I have a couple that I picked up. I’ll get them to you tomorrow. And you know if you need to talk to someone, I’m right down the hall, alright?” He paused, knowing he wasn’t going to get any more out of Steve tonight. 

“I think the only way this is going to work out is if we talk our way through it, which is why I told you about Tony. I knew he wouldn’t. And even though it’s… _a lot_ , I’m glad you came to us about Thanos. We’re gonna figure out what to do. One way or another, you aren’t gonna have to get through it alone. Promise.” 

He clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder, just a brief thing, to show his support, and then he stepped away. 

“I’m gonna go catch up on some sleep, while we still have the chance. Do you need anything else before I head to bed?” He asked, stopping on his way to the door. Just in case. 

  
  


Steve looked up with a wavering smile. “Thanks.” He meant it too. Without Banner’s level head and compassion, he wasn’t sure where he and Loki would be. And now... now at least they had some hope of a plan. They had allies. Hopefully, even friends. “I think I’m all set for now.” 

Banner gave him one last smile, then slipped out the door and shut it behind him. 

Steve spent a few minutes sitting on the edge of the bed in silent contemplation. Eventually he got up, walked into the bathroom, and washed his face. Then he got his toothbrush out of his pack, and set about brushing his teeth. He needed a shave, but he could put that off until morning, he decided. He kicked off his shoes and socks and changed out of his pants, pulling on the softer sweatpants from his bag and a freshly laundered t-shirt. He eyed the bed for a moment, knowing he probably ought to sleep, but... 

“Jarvis?” 

“ _Yes, Captain Rogers?”_

“Is Tony currently watching any of the live feeds?” 

“ _No, Captain Rogers.”_

“Great.” He licked his lips. “I’m going to go have a conversation with Loki. I’d like for our interaction to remain off the record.” 

He took the summary silence as assent, then stepped out of his room and crossed the hall, rapping his knuckles lightly on Loki’s door. 

“Loki? It’s Steve...” 

  
  


He hadn’t been sure Steve would come to him, wasn’t sure if he was able, or that it would be safe, but just the same he had stayed close to the door, just on the off chance that it would happen. 

He had nearly given up, though, given how much time had passed. The quiet and the isolation felt odd after so much time spent with Steve, being around him constantly, really, left Loki feeling oddly cold and alone. 

Strange how quickly one could become accustomed to small things, like sharing a bed, or the sound of, if nothing else, another person’s breaths. 

So when the soft knock and softer voice came, he all but jumped for the door. 

But opening it, he didn’t know a good way to put voice to the relief he felt, seeing Steve standing there. 

“Hey,” he said softly, then stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him quickly. “Is this-- will this be alright?” He asked, nervous that after reaching so tenuous a truce, Steve’s appearance in his room might shatter it. 

Loki didn’t want Banner and Stark to think that he was controlling him, yet again. 

He held back, wanting to reach out and touch him, hold him, but… he also wasn’t sure that it was safe to do so, or if they could talk with any kind of truth to their words. And he also didn’t know any way to ask, if they couldn’t. But he didn’t want Steve to think he didn’t want him here, either. Of course he did. Would. Always. 

“I don’t want there to be trouble-- more trouble-- for anyone. That’s all.” He hastened to add, pitching his voice so that if Stark or his machines were listening, they would be certain to hear it. 

  
  


The door opened and Steve’s heart leapt a little at the sight of Loki. It had only been minutes, but hours had passed since they had time truly alone together, and after the constant companionship of the last few days, he found himself missing that honest company. 

“It’s okay,” Steve assured him gently, reaching out and putting a hand on Loki’s shoulder. He knew he was partially at fault for instilling this paranoia in him, with his own fears and his own jumpiness at being discovered. But thanks to Bruce, they were off the record. There were no eyes on them. “Bruce told me how to have JARVIS disable the cameras,” he explained. 

He wondered, briefly, if Bruce knew or suspected anything. But no-- surely he just expected that Loki would need to talk about what he’d been through, and would want to do so with a little privacy. And that Steve would need to talk to him about Tony at some point, and that would go over better without Tony watching. That was all. 

But that didn’t mean his advice was any less of a gift. 

Unable to hold back any longer, Steve stepped forward and gently kissed Loki, one hand still on his shoulder and the other slipping around to wrap around his back. 

When their lips parted, Steve didn’t let him go. “How’re you holding up?” he breathed. 

  
  


Loki let himself melt into the kiss, feeling the tension running out of him little by little at the contact. 

“Better now.” He answered, smiling like the idiot he was. He rested the side of his face against Steve’s and took a deep breath in. 

“That did not go as well or so easily as I would have liked, but… better than I was afraid it might.” He admitted. “How are _you_ holding up? Stark… he’s good at pulling your sleeves, isn’t he?” He sounded as sympathetic as he could, but there was a small thrill to it, too, knowing-- remembering-- how Steve had been standing up _for Loki,_ that the fight had been about him, about his comfort. It was stupid, petty, even, but it made him feel… it felt both good and terrible, knowing that he had the power to cause such a rift, despite not actually using his words or his seidhr to have achieved it. 

And such thoughts, he knew, only marked him as exactly the sort of monster that everyone feared he still was. 

Himself included. 

  
  


Steve sighed ruefully. “I’m all right. Stark and I... I guess we know how to push each others’ buttons.” They’d butted heads all through the invasion, un until they had to work together to keep the helicarrier from dropping out of the sky. And truth be told, there’d been some bickering involved there too. 

“Actually,” he pulled away slightly, opening the space between them. “I wanted to talk to you about that. Do you mind if we sit?” he asked, already gently leading Loki toward the edge of the bed. 

“I was just talking with Bruce,” he began. “Tony... I don’t know if you knew this, I think at the time the Other Guy might have, ah, well.” Steve reached up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Apparently some big wigs in the World Security Council decided the only way to stop the invasion was to send an incredibly destructive bomb into the city. It would have pretty much vaporized all of Manhattan. So right before Romanoff closed the portal with the scepter, Stark grabbed hold of the bomb and used his suit to fly up into the portal and propel it at the Chitauri mothership,” he explained. “It went off and all the Chitauri on Earth dropped dead,” which Loki probably knew, “And Stark blacked out while he was falling out in space. Hulk caught him and he pulled through, but apparently...” 

He sighed, leaning into Loki a bit. “Apparently it’s a pretty rough memory for him. And us showing up like we did--” he made sure to use the plural, since this wasn’t Loki’s guilt to bear, certainly not alone, “-- reminded him of that.” 

He shifted a bit uncomfortably, then recalled the other thing Banner had told him. “Bruce said that you letting your guard down a little, being a bit more... open, seemed to help.” He didn’t want to use the word human, since that wasn’t accurate and given Asgard’s feelings on other species, could be taken as an insult. And he didn’t want to tell Loki to make himself vulnerable, since he had to be feeling enough of that already. “Just, something to think about. I’ll probably try to talk to him a bit tomorrow. But I think he’ll come around eventually.” 

  
  


Loki’s brow furled. 

“So that is how it was ended, then. I have to admit, I did wonder.” He murmured it, aware that it was likely the inappropriate answer, but it was also the first one to come to mind. “I am not surprised that there are lingering effects. If anything, I expected more of them… though, I suppose I am never sure how to prepare for them. As my reactions to both Stark and Barton might have suggested to you.” He frowned. 

“I am not good at this part, the apologies and the penitence. Of course I do not wish to hurt him further, however-- would it be better if… is there some other place I could stay? Or… I don’t know that it would make a difference, but I could take my other form, so he would not be forced to see me as anything other than a female. I cannot negate his nightmares, but I also do not wish to worsen them.” Those were little enough troubles, in their own rights, though the idea of finding an inn, lacking the safety that staying here would provide… it made a chill creep down his spine, and not a good one. 

If there were any way to be nearly certain of his being captured by SHIELD, that would be the way of it. And worse yet was the knowledge that Steve would not let him go alone, that it would not be only himself endangered, now, because he had been an idiot, had been so hurt and angry… but then, even before the hurt, he would never have imagined that he would be here now, needing the help of humans. Caring for them. Loving one. 

Being open was what Steve asked him for, and it was difficult and terrifying. He did not want to address it, well aware that the conversation would likely strike another argument. He did not have it in him to have another fight today. 

Instead he let his fingers bunch the fabric of Steve’s shirt, holding tightly even while not actually touching him. 

“Do you think they will be able to help? I do not know overmuch about them, nothing more than what Barton knew from their files. Do you suppose there is a chance of our obtaining another such weapon as the one which destroyed the Chitauri, for use against Thanos? I do not know that it would work, but…” He forced himself to release his hold on Steve’s shirt, well aware that he wasn’t about to lose him. It gave him somewhere else to look, though, and he slid his fingertip over the wrinkles he had made, so he didn’t have to face Steve, kind, concerned Steve, worrying for the tyrant who had caused so many problems. 

  
  


“People... They’re fragile, but they’re also resilient,” Steve said quietly, well aware of the paradox in what he was saying. “Some experiences can break us, but we can survive a lot, and we can recover from a lot, in time. This city has a lot of scars, but it’s healing. People are healing. But the hurt’s still fresh for a lot of folks. And everyone, I think, deals with it differently.” Stark’s anger had been different from Barton’s. Bruce didn’t seem to hold a grudge at all. Steve had seen people whose lives had been turned upside down and those who had all but forgotten. And Steve honestly didn’t know how to deal with it any better than Loki did. 

“You’re staying here,” he stated, a bit firmer, placing a hand on Loki’s knee. “That much is settled. And the tower is big enough that he can still have space if he needs it. In fact, Stark’s been doing renovations...” he mused, thoughtfully. “We could ask in a while if you and I could be placed on a separate floor.” It could make Tony a bit more comfortable if he didn’t have to worry about running into Loki on the way to the kitchen or the bathroom. “As for shifting into something different... I don’t think that’s as good of an idea,” he explained, cautious. “It might read-- dishonestly?” He winced at that. “I mean, you can ask him when you see him next and offer. He might take you up on it, I don’t know.” Loki offering to take Stark’s comfort into account to Stark’s face would probably be more effective than Loki actually shifting into a different form. 

“I don’t want you to do anything that will compromise your safety, okay? Or that you’re overly uncomfortable with,” he hastened to add. “It’s just-- when you feel threatened, I think, you do this thing where you get all cold and proud and distant. You were doing it before when Stark and Banner went to talk to you without me. And that mask you put on -- it looks a lot like the Loki they remember from before.” 

He sighed, lifted his hand from Loki’s knee and reached out, placing it along the side of Loki’s face, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. “I want them to see the Loki you are _now._ The guy who loves talking about the libraries from home and who made a hot spring in the bath and who asks if you can get orange chicken on pizza,” he said with a smile. “You don’t have to bare your soul in ways that you’re uncomfortable with -- I’ve asked more than enough of you on that front -- but maybe lower your walls. Like you did with Agent Ferra; I showed them the tape from then, and I think... I think that really helped.” 

Loki being human. Being a person. Caring. The new and reformed Loki, or perhaps, the recovered Loki pieced back together; Steve was never quite sure which. 

“And I _do_ think they’ll be able to help.” He moved his hand back through Loki’s hair, pulling him gently in against Steve’s shoulder as he stroked his fingers through the dark strands. “Stark used to be a weapons-maker. If anyone can engineer something that could take Thanos down, it’s him. And if anyone is strong enough to stand up to the guy face to face, it would be the Hulk. And both Stark and Banner are terrifyingly smart. I think... I think with them, we’ve got a shot,” he concluded, planting a kiss against Loki’s hair. 

  
  


“I feel naked, when forced into honesty.” He admitted. “My lies, for so long, have been the shield I have hidden my hurts behind. And especially here in a place where I am not certain to be protected from more hurts being inflicted by any other than you…” He pressed the fabric to Steve’s chest a little harder, communicating the panic he felt with his touch rather than his words. 

“It is a vulnerability, it leaves my thoughts and emotions bare to any who care to look. That is what the distance is for-- to keep me from those who would do little but use those weaknesses against me. And… Stark has already spoken of wishing to rob me of my strength. He will not use my name, instead referring to me by a list of common things. He would keep me caged and useless, like a pet, there for the harvesting of information, and who can speak to what he would do were you not here to disagree with it.” 

Putting words to the worries that had grown throughout the course of their time here did nothing but make his stomach wind tighter. 

“I know I have done terrible things and he has been scarred by them as you have said. I know that I do not deserve that he treat me any differently than he does now. But I also know the sickness I feel in my stomach, when he does. How will he react, do you suppose, if he will not see me as anything more than a beast, when he realizes what you mean to me?” Loki swallowed and took a deep breath, then shook his head. 

“I cannot be honest with him, and I do not think you should be either. Not about you and I, and not about the things you feel. He has my sense of cruelty, a need to hurt in all of the most casual ways, with small words and intentional actions. If he were a lesser man I would accuse him of being inadvertently unkind. But he is brilliant. You have said so. Which tells me only that he does all of this with the intention of inflicting pain. And I cannot… I am no martyr, Steve. I cannot put my hands down and allow him to chip away at what little personhood I possess.” 

  
  


Steve reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s not... Look, Tony can be a real ass, I’ll be the first to testify to that. But he isn’t outright malicious.” Frustrating, obtuse, and self-centered, yes. Definitely. But not cruel -- not the way Loki seemed to think. “He’s a genius, yes, but-- he’s a tech genius. He’s smart with machines; not as much with people. So really, a lot of that is inadvertent. It’s just how he interacts with people.” He looked down at Loki and gave him a little jostling squeeze. “You should hear some of the nicknames he has for me. Gramps, Spangles... Hell, I think ‘Capsicle’ was my favorite for sheer poor taste,” he offered with a small smile. “He does it to his friends. He’s not trying to tear apart your sense of self, I promise. And... I don’t think he sees you as a beast.” 

He pulled away enough that he could look Loki in the face. “The way he reacted when you told us you were tor-- what Thanos did to you?” And that was a whole other conversation they would need to have soon. “He freaked out because he-- I think he identified with you. Sympathized.” He shook his head. “Tony’s a bit difficult to deal with, but he isn’t evil. If you let him see you acting like a person, caring about things, about people, it’ll help him see you as you are rather than as you were. I don’t believe he’d use that against you.” And if he did, well, he and Steve would be having a very frank discussion. 

“Tony and Bruce are the good guys,” he promised. “They’ve both been through a lot. And I think... I think it might be good for you to talk to them honestly. Like you did with me. Bruce in particular I think would be really willing to hear you out, and you two might find you have stuff in common. Tony might be a bit more cagey, but-- the whole wanting to know about your power thing? He’s a scientist. He and Bruce both; they like to take stuff apart and understand how it works. They like learning -- like you. You’re all scholars,” he pointed out. “You don’t have to talk to them about your seidhr. That’s all yours. But... There has to be other things from Asgard and other worlds you can bring up. Like floating towers and, and the ocean running off into space, and moving krellr to heal people.” Loki had been willing to share his knowledge with SHIELD before. Surely imparting it to Stark and Banner for their goodwill wouldn’t be so different. 

“And I’m still here, okay?” He placed a hand on each of Loki’s shoulders. “You’ve got me. I won’t let anyone hurt you or take advantage of your honesty.” He looked up with a small, private smile; the smile that was for Loki only. “Let _me_ be your shield.” 

  
  


When Steve looked at him like that, when he held him and spoke to him, it made him _want_ to be better, want to be… to be what Steve wanted him to be. Made him want to be worthy of the attentions he’d been given, the care he’d been shown. 

“I don’t want you to be my shield. You stand beside me, not in front of me. My partner.” He reached up and caught Steve’s face in his hands, intending to pull him in for a kiss, until he looked surprised and moved his thumbs across his skin, wonderingly. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt your face not to be smooth.” He said softly, lips quirking with amusement. “I’d suspected you simply didn’t grow facial hair.” He swiped his thumbs up across the hollows of Steve’s cheeks. 

“I will try, as I have said I would. For you. But it will be difficult to let them see that I care, when what I care most about must stay here, behind this door, in the silence of Stark’s disabled tech.” He sighed and lowered his head to rub it against the bristle on Steve’s face. 

He pulled himself in close to him and rested their cheeks together, lips poised to brush against his ear when he spoke. 

“How long will Stark’s machines stay off?” He asked, wondering if he would truly have to sleep alone, as he’d first thought. 

Bad with people or no, Stark was, as Steve said, a tech genius, and no doubt that extended to his being bad at timing the use of his tech. Loki was not so daft as to suggest that they become.. more physically engaged, but. Perhaps they could explain away their shared bed by calling it a product of fear of being tracked down and separated by SHIELD. 

And though Banner was kindly, he was much too quiet for Loki’s tastes, which spoke of secrets. Knowing one did not mean an understanding of the man. Just as their knowing something of Loki did not calm their fear of him. 

If he were truly the man they thought him to be, he would do his utmost to maintain that fear, to keep their respect in that manner. It would be so much easier than the task Steve set for him. 

But then, that which he had unwittingly thrust into the Avengers’ laps was far greater still. Did he not owe them this much? 

“You won’t be able to stay here tonight, will you?” He asked, trying to sound neither hopeful nor resigned. 

  
  


Steve grimaced, reaching up to brush his own cheek. “Yeah, I really need to shave in the morning. And I didn’t grow it until the serum. Except for a little bit of fuzz over my lip and one or two hairs in my chin,” he admitted. He had bought his first razor in his mid-twenties just before launching on the USO tour, and if it hadn’t been for years of watching Bucky shave, probably would have slit his own throat. 

Loki, he realized, he’d never seen shave or otherwise manage his appearance beyond a few showers and the use of magic. He’d assumed the latter had been responsible for his smooth face, but now he wondered if Loki didn’t grow hair himself. It couldn’t be an Asgardian thing -- Thor had a robust quantity of facial hair. Steve didn’t want to ask if frost giants grew beards, though, so he decided to evade that line of conversation. 

Which sadly, left him with the topic of sleeping arrangements. “I don’t think I can,” he admitted. “I don’t know how long JARVIS will keep the cameras off for, and even if he keeps them off until I leave, that would leave a pretty conspicuous gap for time I spent in your room.” Like reading between the lines, what wasn’t shown might say more than what was. If Steve wasn’t seen in his own room until dawn, certain assumptions would get drawn by anyone who noticed. “I wish I could,” he added, for what it was worth. He certainly slept better with Loki in his arms, and when he woke, it was without the panic that he’d overslept through into another century. 

“And trying is all I can ask,” he said, leaning in and nuzzling against Loki with a sigh. “Maybe... Maybe at some point we can tell them. Not yet. But when they’re a bit less on edge.” Steve dreaded the revelation, but he didn’t savor the idea of hiding behind closed doors with Loki for the rest of their lives either. Even if he hid it from the public, should Stark and Banner turn out to be open minded... It could be an option. Maybe. Once he got some kind of idea of how they might react. 

  
  


“It’s alright.” Loki gave him a sad little smile, much like the ones Steve was so fond of pushing onto his own face. “You don’t have to bare your soul in ways that _you’re_ uncomfortable with, either.” He sighed. “It is not your fault that I grow so... I merely wish that your world was kinder, had been kinder to you. I wish you did not have so much… fear, I suppose. And that I could take it away.” He ran his fingertips over the stubble again, enjoying the sensation. 

“I like the feeling of this on you. But I also enjoy you smooth. Honestly, I am simply glad of you in any form. I do not mean to make you feel self conscious about it. I was surprised, is all.” As proof of the honesty of his words, Loki leaned forward to drag his lips upwards, from jawline to Steve’s lips, kissing him again before letting him go and sitting back. 

“Perhaps when it is not our first night here, and they are… as you said, not so on edge, I will use my tricks of going invisible and walking through walls. I’ll leave a false image of myself in here, and come lay with you in your bed.” 

It felt like a particularly mild form of dirty talk, promising them both a future night of decadent lack of loneliness. It never stopped striking Loki as ridiculous, how unlike any future he’d ever conceived for himself his life had become. 

“Have we any idea, then, what tomorrow will bring for us? I did promise them some information, so I suppose that will have to be imparted at some point, but beyond that?” 

  
  


Steve thought about stolen kisses, and Loki magically sneaking into his room, like lovesick teens hiding behind their parents’ backs. It made him smile -- as did the thought of sleeping with Loki beside him, even if they did nothing. Despite years of sleeping alone, a few short days’ respite from an empty bed had spoiled him, it seemed. “I think I’d like that. You slipping in, so long as we’re careful.” If Loki was found to be leaving doubles and sneaking around, it probably wouldn’t improve anyone else’s view of his trustworthiness, which Steve didn’t want to endanger. But all the same; if he and Loki were found in bed together, Loki’s magic would probably be the last thing being questioned. 

“And I could say the same to you. Of you. About everything,” he whispered, leaning in and gently pressing a kiss to Loki’s smooth jaw. “I’m glad of you in _any_ form,” he echoed, then cupped the back of Loki’s neck with his hand. “And... I wish _your_ world was kinder to you. Didn’t make you doubt yourself so much.” _Didn’t make you hate yourself,_ he didn’t say. But he resented Asgard for it all the same; for teaching Loki to hate his own race and look on his true skin with loathing. To mistrust everything, and think himself undeserving of basic kindness. 

Steve wished he could take that away too. 

“I’m not sure what’s on the docket for tomorrow, honestly. I think we’ll probably take it easy, not push anything. Hopefully we can all sit down together at some point and talk strategy about Thanos, pool our knowledge and figure out what our resources are. If Banner isn’t too busy, we could get him to show us around.” Part of him wanted to take Loki out into the city and show him everything, but he suspected the other Avengers might not be immediately comfortable with letting Loki loose on New York City again just yet. Maybe in another day’s time, the idea would be more palatable. “I bet Stark has some movies we could watch,” he suggested. “I have a lot that I’m supposed to be catching up on pop-culture wise.” 

  
  


The words stung, when being repeated back to him-- he hadn’t considered that they could be turned around and applied with Asgard. 

The difference, he reflected, though he did not put voice to the opinion in the interest of avoiding a fight, was that Asgard had been right about monsters like him, whereas Midgard couldn’t be more wrong about people like Steve. He wondered how long he had until Steve would grow tired of these feelings in him, before he would tire of assuring Loki of things he could never quite bring himself to believe, even from Steve. 

“I will wait until you think it would be… if not wise, then at least permissible, to spend time in one another’s company overnight.” If he left it to Steve to make that judgement, he could not seem too overly eager, too clingy. And if Steve had to tell him, it meant Loki would not surprise him while he was not expecting it, which, he knew, might prove deadly. 

“An easy day sounds nice. Is movie watching a team building exercise? We-- Thor and his friends and I-- would sometimes go together to see farces or at least watch or cause a good brawl, as a means of growing closer. Ostensibly. Do you have similar activities here that we might engage them in? We would also spar, but… under the circumstances, I think that would be ill-advised.” 

The thought of Stark panicking as they fought, or the Hulk manifesting was enough to immediately disregard the idea, but imagining himself and Steve wrestling… he chortled, for it was far too easy to imagine that turning into something altogether different. 

If, of course, they were not likely to be so observed as they would be. 

That in mind, Loki moved his hand up across Steve’s upper back, blunt fingers dragging over his shoulder blades through his shirt. 

“I will not be able to touch you as much as I would like, tomorrow. I will have to get my fill now, for so long as you feel it may be safe to linger.” He explained, and pressed himself flush against Steve, as much as possible. 

  
  


“Team movie is actually a pretty darn good idea,” he murmured into Loki’s shoulder. He’d done it a few times with Natasha and others from SHIELD after a mission in some attempt at socialization, since few of them were able to maintain social lives and connections outside of SHIELD due to the demands of the job. It had been fun, and Steve had been introduced to the Indiana Jones movies that way. Everyone had been entertained when he declared his general approval of the amount of Nazi-punching the movie contained, he recalled. 

And Stark had suggested Disney movies earlier in the evening, so he’d likely be up for it. Bruce had chided him for childish selections, but Steve in all honesty was curious to catch up more on animation he’d missed out on, as he had a soft spot for cartooning. He’d ask about the selections tomorrow. “We’ll definitely ask them. If they’re not interested, you and I can watch something on our own, but I think they’d join us.” A movie would likely bring out Loki’s innocent, curious side, which wouldn’t hurt their case at all. 

Steve groaned plaintively as Loki pressed against him, wishing they weren’t in Stark’s home, wishing they were back in the pleasant green loft of the hotel and they could get rid of all these clothes and make love. He wrapped his arms around Loki, pulling him close and burying his face in his hair, breathing in his scent like it was more vital than oxygen. 

He allowed himself to stay there for a few more moments, not knowing when his next chance would be. After several heartbeats, he pulled back and moved toward Loki’s lips, catching them in a deep and slow kiss. 

  
  


Loki loved the touches, but hated the feeling that accompanied them, hated the desperation that flavored their lips and coated their tongues. Too many of their kisses were desperate, and until Thanos was killed, he had a feeling too many more would be. 

Loki felt his heart rate elevating and the stirrings of interest deep in his core, and he pulled away regretfully. 

There was, at the very least, a bathroom attached to his room. He would be able to see to the erection that had become noticeably harder in the last few minutes, once Steve had returned to his room, without worry of Banner or Stark needing to make use of a communal one. 

And, he realized, that made it entirely likely that Steve had his own restroom as well. 

Which gave him an entirely wicked idea. If he was going to be left in this way, he wanted to be sure he wasn’t the only one. And it wasn’t as if Steve had far to go. Just across the hall. So it wasn’t _that_ cruel... 

“I am already missing our time together, alone, where we could explore your body and mine. Just being this close to you, kissing you… my body remembers your touch. I can’t help but respond. And when you’ve gone back to your room, I’ll be in my shower, running my hands over myself and thinking of you. I’ll close my eyes and let the water drown out the sounds of my breathing, the way my hand will slap wetly over my flesh. I’ll picture your mouth, so beautiful when it’s kiss bruised- that shade of perfect, obscene pink, stretching over me, around me…” He traced his finger slowly over Steve’s lips, feeling the brush of air and he blew out a frustrated breath, feeling his body react even further to the words as he spoke them. 

“What do you think, Captain? Should I start using my fingers, begin training myself looser to take you with ease, when you’re ready? It’s been some time for me, and I’m sure I’ve grown… hmm, so tight.” He punctuated his statement with a moan and skated his fingers downwards, circling tauntingly over Steve’s nipple. He looked down, watching his work, taking a moment to register Steve’s reactions, then flicked his eyes upwards. He was taking special care not to go anywhere near touching Steve’s groin… or his own. 

“I wish I had a spell to allow you to hear me when no one else could. I would whisper such filth into your ears each night that we spend apart…” 

  
  


Steve moaned, in a combination of desire and frustration. “God, Loki...” 

He could picture it. Loki, hair straightened into a wet curtain by the water, pale skin flushed by the heat of the spray, head thrown back as he touched himself, lips parted and droplets running down his features as he panted Steve’s name-- 

His trousers were growing uncomfortably tight. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, shivering as Loki’s hand moved over his chest. Desire bubbled up hot and thick inside him -- but there was also a pang of fear. The things Loki was describing now were not things they had done. They were things Steve wanted to do, yes, wanted to try, but he didn’t know how and knowing that he couldn’t possibly live up to the quality of Loki’s fantasies filled him with apprehension. What if Loki grew bored with his slow pace, with his lack of familiarity or skill? The novelty of Steve’s recently-lost virginity would wear off. What would be left then, when he fumbled and didn’t know what to do? What if he balked? What if he was _bad?_

He pulled back slightly, breathing shaky and cock still half-hard, looking down as he licked his lips. “I, uh, I don’t think either of us would be getting nearly enough sleep if you could do that,” he said, voice strained. 

But as it was, there was a pressing problem between his legs, and now that he knew what Loki would be doing once he left, there was only one way he was going to be rid of it. “When I go back to my room,” he breathed huskily, “I... I’ll crawl into bed, under the blankets in the dark, and think about you. Think about how your cheeks turn rosy when you’re worked up. About the line of your neck when you toss your head back...” He leaned in to press his lips against the side of said neck, the skin warm and smooth. 

Damn. If he lingered any longer, he didn’t know if he’d have the willpower to leave, anxiety or no. He forced himself to pull back, regret etched in his features. “I should... I should go,” he mumbled. Then darted in for one last, quick kiss. “Goodnight.” 

  
  


The shower did some good, not only in relieving the sexual tension that Loki had built up, but also relieving him of the grime and sweat from traveling. He did not consider himself an overly needy man when it came to cleanliness, but it was still nice knowing he would face Stark and Banner as well kept as possible.  
Steve’s hasty retreat had left him with a tiny smile playing about his mouth, which did not disappear until he crawled into his bed alone, and pulled up the covers, missing the warmth of Steve beside him, missing the sounds of his breaths and heartbeats. 


	24. Twenty-Four

The night was too quiet, too lonesome, and though Loki expected not to sleep at all, he did. He fell into a deep sleep, the likes of which he may have dreamed during, but did not remember, waking the next morning if not as refreshed as he had been on previous days, at least rested. There was some dread in him about how he might misstep that day, what new wraths he was in danger of incurring, or incidents to be created. 

He did not feel like he ought to be out wandering around, and he did not know, yet, if Stark or Banner were awake, or if Steve was, but he busied himself in the room, making his bed and dressing himself before looking around and finally settling in to sit on the bed and read. 

Surely someone would come for him. They could not object to his wish not to offend. 

Could they? 

  
  


After returning to his room, Steve requested another ten minutes of time “off the record” before grabbing a handful of tissues from the bathroom, crawling under the covers, and slipping down his sweatpants to take care of the  _ pressing  _ problem Loki had left him with.

It wasn’t terribly lengthy work, and when he was done, he fell asleep almost immediately after cleaning up, imagining he could still smell Loki on his clothes...

Sleep only lasted a few hours, however, with the sky still dark when he awoke. 

“ JARVIS?” he murmured into the silence.

“ _ Yes, Captain Rogers?” _

Steve licked his lips. He wanted to run, but didn’t feel comfortable with leaving Loki alone in the tower with no indication of where he’d gone, and no way of getting in contact with him. “Is there a gym in the tower?” he asked instead.

As it turned out, there was, and JARVIS gave him instructions. Steve spent a good hour  and a half on the treadmill. When he’d finished and worked up a good sweat, he returned up to the penthouse floor, taking a shower and shaving off the thick coat of stubble that had accumulated. When he was all dressed and cleaned up, he asked JARVIS where everyone else was. Tony, it seemed, was asleep in his workshop, Banner was in the living area checking his email, and Loki was in his room reading. 

Crossing the hall, Steve knocked lightly on Loki’s door. “Loki? You hungry for breakfast?”

 

When the knock came, he was a little startled and looked down at his book, glad that it was interesting enough to be able to suck him in, but almost sad now to abandon it. He had not had so much time to read as he had in recent weeks, and he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it. 

Besides, it was almost a disappointment to go from being safe while reading about others’ adventures, to being in the miserably slow part of his own. 

Still, regretfully or no, he put his book down, then, on second thought, marked his spot and put it into his pocket. 

He opened the door to face Steve. 

“ I am, if you are.” He smiled brightly at him. “Did you sleep well?” He let the mischief dance in his eyes but not in his voice, well aware of what Steve would have had to have done before sleeping, but more aware that if anyone was listening, it would be for anomalies in tone. 

He moved out into the hall, leaving the room’s door open. 

He had little enough that was his own, now, and he hadn’t left any of it there, so there was no need to feel protective of the space. No need to seal it. 

“ The beds here are magnificently comfortable. You will have to remind me to tell Stark so, if he isn’t in a mood that would make him less than receptive.”

  
  


Loki’s hair, washed the night before and left to air-dry, had formed a rather magnificent nest of curls to which he seemed unaware. Steve smiled and resisted the urge to card his fingers through it. “I slept well enough,” he said. “Glad to hear you got a good night’s rest.”

The beds were very soft -- almost like sleeping on a cloud -- but years spent sleeping on military-issue cots and bedrolls had Steve used to a somewhat more solid surface. Not that he was about to gripe over it.

They entered the living area, and Banner, seated in the corner with his laptop, looked up long enough to give them a nod and a cursory good morning as they walked by into the kitchen. A quick inspection of the refrigerator and cupboards revealed the presence of cereal, milk, plenty of leftover pizza, some suspiciously green pasta, and, as it turned out, a waffle iron. A bit more rifling produced a box of waffle mix, and some eggs at the back of the fridge that didn’t look to be too far past date.

“ You want me to make us some waffles?” Steve offered. “Shouldn’t be too hard...” It had been a while since he’d had a chance to cook for anyone other than himself, and Stark’s kitchen seemed outfitted well enough. 

“What were you reading this morning?” he asked, pulling out a mixing bowl. 

  
  


“ If you don’t mind.” Loki replied, leaning against the island in the middle of the pristine kitchen. “I would be glad to eat waffles.” 

“ One of the books I found is called… ah…” He shot a worried look over at Banner, then shrugged apologetically. “The Winter Prince. It’s about the children of Arthur, the same Arthur from your Sword in the Stone book. Though older now, wiser. And it uses other names- Latin variations.” Loki shrugged again, self conscious about the title, the fact that he really had been drawn to the book by the name. 

He had, at first, thought it might be a human fairytale about the Jotnar. But that had not been the case. Instead, it seemed to be much like his own story. 

And he liked it. Liked the way it read. There was a sort of friendly comfort, a sort of companionship, in finding yourself in a character. 

Not that he felt alone, not lately. Not since Steve. But even still… He supposed he needed to be sure that Steve also did not feel lonely. Needed to continue securing their place here. So he darted his eyes over and lifted his brows at Steve.

“How was your sleep, Banner?” He asked, turning away, trying to make himself seem kinder, more friendly.

“Not plagued, I hope, by images of me.” He said it like he was joking. He wasn’t.

  
  


Steve tore open the quick mix of waffles, pouring the powdery substance into the bowl, then looked through the drawers until he found measuring utensils, measuring out a teaspoon of vegetable oil as the box instructed. He paused as Loki mentioned what he’d been reading.  _ Children of Arthur?  _ The most notorious of those in myth was always Mordred, and Mordred’s story never ended happily. 

Typically, in most adaptations, it ended in patricide. Steve winced. 

“ Yeah, there’s a lot of books and variations on the myth by now. It’s a very old legend. Well, very old by our standards,” he corrected. For all he knew, the original Arthur who inspired the legends may have existed during Loki’s lifetime. “You’ll have to let me know how it is,” he continued, keeping his voice light as he turned to fetch the eggs from the refrigerator. “Maybe when you’re done I can borrow it.”

He could only hope that this book offered the characters a more happy ending.

He cracked an egg as Loki called over to Banner. Banner in turn looked up, blinking in faint surprise. “I slept well, Loki. Thank you for asking,” he replied, any puzzlement he felt quickly smoothed under a mild smile. “Did I hear that you guys were making waffles?”

“ Sure am,” Steve replied. “You want one?”

“ Huh. I didn’t even know we had a waffle iron,” Bruce said, closing his laptop. “That would be lovely, thank you. Though I should probably check on Tony and see if he’s conscious in case he wants one.”

“ Yeah, go right ahead,” Steve said, cracking a second egg and picking out a piece of the shell that fell in. Hopefully breakfast would go over better than dinner had the night before. 

He waited for Bruce to leave before turning back to Loki. “Hey, before they get back-- there’s something I wanted to ask you. About what you mentioned last night... With Thanos...”

  
  


"It is very good. I like the main character. Medraut, his name is. He... Reminds me of, well, despite the obvious tell of the title, he reminds me a great deal of myself.” He shrugged apologetically, feeling foolish for having said so. 

He watched Banner leave, mentally preparing himself to deal with Stark. And then Steve spoke. 

That Steve had waited for them to be alone was a fact that set him on edge, despite their being in a public room.

"...yes?" He asked slowly, cautiously. He could only assume Steve wanted them to see whatever this conversation was to be, or he would have addressed it in his room the night prior. 

"Did I... Offend? Was I mistaken?" It made him feel instantly on the defensive. Especially coming up as soon as it did after he had made the effort to be polite. 

  
  


“ You didn’t offend, Loki,” Steve quickly rushed to assure him, putting down the spoon he’d been using to mix the batter. “You... it’s not that.” He didn’t want Loki to think that in sharing his experiences, he’d done wrong. Not when it had been honest. 

He wondered briefly if he ought to have asked JARVIS to take this conversation off the record. But if Stark noticed too many blackouts in his security, it would be cause for suspicion. And besides, it wasn’t as if the man had the time (or patience) to sit through footage of every single interaction between him and Loki. Right? 

It would have been more private the night before, of course, but Steve had needed time to process. They’d both, he suspected, needed time to process. And calm down and sleep.

“I’m just... Back at SHIELD, when I asked you what happened after you fell, you made it sound like Thanos didn’t do anything to you that you weren’t all right with,” he said carefully, though he felt his grip on the wooden spoon’s handle tighten. “I... I said that I was glad it wasn’t worse,” he recalled, a bit sickened now. “But it was worse, wasn’t it?” He looked up at Loki. “Why didn’t you tell me what he really did to you?

  
  


Loki frowned, unable to see where the point of contention lie in this, and feeling like he was on unsteady footing because of it. 

"I told you, he tested me. Did I not? He tested me, with my own permission to do so. I did not-- have not-- knowingly lied to you." He could feel the furrows in his brow.

"I am sorry. I don't-- it's unpleasant and doesn't bear thinking about, let alone talking about. And I did not want to give SHIELD any ideas. I was... Afraid." 

The word was tugged from him almost unwillingly.

  
  


Steve grimaced. 

“ I’m sorry,” he said. “I won’t tell them, and I swear, you don’t have anything to be afraid of. I know you didn’t lie to me directly...” he swallowed, wishing he could have this conversation while holding Loki. Touching him to reassure him, to make him feel safe. As it was, the kitchen island rested between them. 

“ You might have given him permission, Loki, but what you went through-- you can’t tell me that’s what you wanted.” And if Loki was afraid to go through anything like that again, then it surely wouldn’t be a choice he’d have repeated if given the chance. “The more... the more I know about what you went through, the more I can help avoid doing anything that will bring it up. Talking about binding your magic, or, or like the chair when we cut your hair.” That was part of it, of course. The practical part. But a selfish part of Steve still hurt that Loki hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him.

“Also,” he said, chewing at his bottom lip, “If... Loki, if you were tortured before being sent to conquer Earth, that changes things. You couldn’t have been thinking clearly after going through something like that, having that threat hanging over you--”

  
  


"I didn't-- at first...I did not realize it was real this time. When I got here, I supposed it to be another test. I had been. In my head, I had been slain so often... And hurt so fully... I simply attacked. But once it set in, when the words began... It was real and I could change nothing. Nor... I don’t know if I would have. Not then." He shrugged. "It was my choice. All of it was."

He shook his head. 

"If you require a list of my injuries, I will make you one. I am sorry you feel... I thought I was saving you concern. And I did not want you to think I meant to excuse myself from my trespasses. I accept my culpability. And..." He paused and let the word trail off. 

"Is there aught I can do to help?" He asked, hoping that could be the end of it.

  
  


Steve appreciated what Loki was doing; taking ownership of his misdeeds, taking responsibility -- but if he’d been compromised by being subjected to-- to whatever horrors Thanos put him through (having only had a taste himself that left him nearly dead, Steve could only imagine), then that had to be taken into account. State of mind was a factor in criminal trials, and if there were extenuating circumstances, then maybe people would understand that the Loki who attacked New York was not this Loki. 

“ What do you mean you didn’t know it was real?” he asked, confused. 

“And I don’t need a list, but, if there’s anything you can think of that you think might be hard for you, or that we should avoid, let me know? I don’t want to cause you more harm just because there’s so much I don’t know.” He looked down at the batter in the bowl, not sure he wanted waffles anymore. 

  
  


"The testing was not fast, it was not once and finished. It was... I was not worthy." The words were bitter in his mouth, dry and hard to say. 

Had he ever been worthy of anything? And Thor... It had taken him but a few days on Midgard to become so. 

"I had to be groomed. Trained. Prepared. Made worthy of the sceptre. I had thought, once it was given to me, that there would be no more, but there was. More training, more pain. And then when I was sent to Midgard... It was not unlike other tests. Other training. I was not told.. But it made no difference. I did as I was taught. And those teachings were in my mind, and seemed so real."

He felt like a joke, explaining that he had begun his bid for domination by being pushed from the nest like a baby bird. 

  
  


Steve tried to mask the growing horror he felt, to keep it from showing in his face.

Loki had been tortured. Loki had been trained and conditioned and turned into a weapon, then let loose on the world without fully know what he was doing or that it was real. He’d been taken apart and put back together into something meant to attack first and ask questions later, like a wounded animal.

And what made it even worse was that the monster who did it to him preyed on his sense of inferiority to make him think he had to  _ earn it. _

Steve wanted to swear. The wooden spoon in his hand creaked as he squeezed it hard enough to start to splinter. 

“The other times... the simulations... what happened?” Had Thanos been able to replicate Earth? Had Loki died, over and over? He almost didn’t want to hear the answer, but he knew his imagination would keep coming up with worse and worse possibilities. 

  
  


He could see the tension in Steve's shoulders and neck and the way he barely restrained himself from breaking the spoon he held, and he felt badly about being the cause of it.

"I... I would be thrown headfirst into a fully formed world, taken from what Thanos knew, taken from my memories... And then I would be attacked. And as trivial as your weapons are against me, it  _ hurt -- _ more than it should have. And so I didn't..." Loki jumped at the sound of a scuffling foot and turned to see Banner leaning almost casually against the doorway. 

Despite the apologetic grimace, it was obvious he had been there for some time. And of course, Loki felt the color draining from his face. It was not as though he had any pretenses as to his privacy, but seeing the look on his face as well as the one on Steve's... 

He felt guilty, ugly and awful and undeserving all over again. And exposed. More than he had intended to be. Vulnerable all over again.

  
  


The strained, panicked look on Loki’s face made Steve’s stomach twist painfully, though he startled as he realized that Banner had been standing there; how much had he heard?

“ Loki, I’m sorry,” he murmured, reaching forward and putting his hand on Loki’s shoulder, giving it a short squeeze of reassurance. It wasn’t the crushing hug he wanted to wrap him in, but it was the best he could do for the moment. He felt like he should say something more, but words failed him. What was there to say? Any comfort he might give would be circumspect in front of present company, and no stunted apology would convey the depth of his remorse over what Loki had been through.

He took a deep breath, then turned his attention to Banner instead. “Didn’t see you there, Bruce.”

“ Sorry,” Bruce said, shuffling his feet awkwardly. His expression was drawn, and Steve figured he had to have heard enough, if he had that look. “Um. Tony isn’t up yet, so he won’t be joining us for waffles.”

“That’s fine,” Steve replied with a feeble smile. “They should just be a few minutes.” He forced himself to let go of the spoon, wincing at the slight indents he’d left in the wood. “Here, Loki -- how about you mix this while I get the waffle iron sorted?” He passed the bowl and spoon over, letting his fingers brush against Loki’s and linger for just a second as the items switched hands. 

  
  


The brief touches made him feel greedy for more; made him want to hide until he got his feelings under control. Got his masks back in place. 

He took the spoon and ran his fingers over the ridges in the wood. It seemed he was not alone in his hiding. He fisted his hand around the dent, healing the wood quietly before he began stirring.

It did not take long to see the batter sorted and to pass it off to Steve, but that left his hands unoccupied and no sensible alternative to facing Banner. 

He blew air out heavily. 

"I do not know how long you were there, but I wish to impress upon you my intent... Or at least that I had no intention of de-vilifying myself through your pity. I mean to earn your respect, not whine and wheedle it from you like some beggar. Please do not think less of me for..." He gestured, encasing his words in the movement.

Banner's face, while not blank, was difficult to read, micro expressions fluttering by too fast for Loki to fully register them. 

"I don't think less of you." Banner finally settled on. "Like this, I see a little of what you meant, Steve. There's a big difference seeing this side of--" it was Banner's turn to gesture. 

  
  


Steve sprayed cooking grease on the waffle iron and plugged it in, allowing it to heat up until the light turned on before pouring out a portion of the batter over the inside, closing the top and rotating it, automatically setting the timer in time to hear Bruce’s answer.

“ We don’t think less of you, Loki,” he echoed, turning around. “You-- That you came through that at all, let alone half as sane as you are now, is-- it makes you incredibly strong, okay?” he said.

He wanted to say more. That he knew Loki wouldn’t play them for sympathy, not when he hated being pitied; that he was proud of him for being a survivor; that he didn’t think less of any of the men who were captured and tormented by the enemy during the war, and he wouldn’t think anything less of Loki for the same; that he wanted to rip Thanos limb from limb.

“ Past experience doesn’t excuse anything,” Banner said softly, speaking slowly, like he was choosing his words with careful deliberation. “But it does explain some of it. Knowing the context of what happened, how you came here... it helps. To understand what happened then, but also to form some expectation of where you can go from here.”

Steve opened the fridge, pulling out butter and a can of whipped cream that only felt about half-empty from the weight of it. He would have liked fresh fruit, but there didn’t seem to be any. He’d check the cupboards for syrup. Waffles, he could navigate with greater ease than this conversation, and the emotions it incited. 

  
  


“ Hm.” Loki said, thinking before he thought, as he knew he needed to do more often. “I will remind you that I was not, as you say, half so sane as I am now. I was… Not this. I was something else, such was the state of-- I knew what I was doing, but not, I think, why. Not if I ought to. I did these things, as Banner said; what happened before does not excuse or change anything.” He shrugged, still uncomfortable, but reasonably certain that he had escaped this unscathed, comfortably sure that he had not lost his welcome for the story. 

“Thanos, as I have said, has a great power, and he is a brilliant tactician. Even weak as I was, even so obviously ultimately unworthy as I turned out to be, in wielding his weapon, I came close to achieving what he wanted. If you and your friends could thwart him before, perhaps now--” He felt desperate, eager to prove that he was serious about this. 

“ If you cannot believe my loyalty, if my debt to Steve--to Captain Rogers isn’t enough, believe in my fear. Believe in my pain. I would not… willingly undergo all of that. Not again.” He found his hands shaking and pressed them flat against the counter top, as if he was merely making a point, and not trying to hide yet more weakness.

“ Yeah, I get that.” Banner said. He looked as uncomfortable as Loki felt, and he sensed that perhaps he was pushing his objective too hard. They had been convinced. He did not need to continue to make them see. At least, not according to them. 

“Are there-- Is there anything else I can do for the waffles?” He asked, veering back to safety. 

  
  


“ Plates,” Steve piped up immediately, happy to break the awkwardness that descended in the aftermath of Loki’s speech. “If you could look through the cabinets and find us some plates, this waffle is almost done.” 

He’d been rifling through the cupboard as Loki’s plea grew more raw, and more painful in its sincerity. Steve believed Loki, and he suspected Bruce did too -- his loyalty, and his reform. But hearing about Loki’s fear, his agony; it made Steve shiver and remember the pain of having his skull torn into by Thanos’ minion. Made him remember the way Loki had trembled with tears running down his face. It made him want to break something, and with his strength, it was possible he might just do so unintentionally if he didn’t take a deep breath. 

When he stole a glance at Banner, he wasn’t sure whether to feel more anxious or relieved by the doctor looking a bit green about the gills. Pushing Banner wasn’t a good idea, but if he was even a fraction as upset about what Loki went through as Steve was, then it spoke to his character, and confirmed him to be the sort of man Steve believed him to be. The kind who wouldn’t kick someone while they were down.

He opened the waffle iron to reveal a perfectly golden waffle, which he pried loose with a fork and spatula from a drawer, ready to place on the first plate Loki provided. “Banner, why don’t you take the first one?” he offered.

  
  


Banner’s voice was oddly strained as he directed Loki toward the door which housed the plates-- not the fine china or glass or wooden or metal or stoneware that Loki would have expected, but thin things, ceramic and simple. 

Loki scooped up a few of the plates and offered them to Steve, catching the breakfast item as it came off the grill, warm enough to heat his fingers, even through the plate.

“I uh… I think I need a few minutes. I’ll take the next one if that’s alright.” Banner responded in answer to Steve’s offer. Loki held the waffle for a moment, then realized that meant it was for him. 

And that he had ruined Banner’s appetite. 

“ I am sorry, I did not mean to sicken you so.” He told him frankly, although puzzled as to how. Nothing he said, he thought, was all that horrific. He’d steered clear of even the vaguest descriptions. 

“What should I put on it, Rogers? What ah… is one of these things something I would enjoy more than the others?”

Opinions on food tended to incite some playful arguing, from what Loki had seen so far. Hopefully it would become something light-hearted and delicious, if he was going to eat it, after all was said and done.

  
  


“ Not your fault,” Banner quickly added. “Human rights violations in general just tend to put me off my appetite,” he said with a feeble, self-deprecating smile. “And it’s a lot to digest without adding waffles to the mix.”

“ Here,” Steve called, happy to step in and change the topic to something less grim. “Try this.” He held out a small brown jug he’d recovered from the cupboard, with a darker brown lid. “Remember the maple round pastries I brought you that one time?” he asked. “Well, this is maple syrup. You can pour it on the waffle, and it will fill all those little indents and soak into it. Or--” 

He finished pouring the batter in for the second waffle, sealed the iron and flipped it again, then presented the other options: “There’s butter, which will melt on it, or whipped cream, which is also very sweet. You can do just one, or two, or all three, or you can try a different one on each quarter of your waffle if you want. I like syrup and strawberries with a little cream, but I don’t think there’s any fresh fruit around.” 

Loki had liked maple flavoring before, and he liked sweet things, so Steve had his fingers crossed that waffles would be a hit.

  
  


“ I do like sweet.” Loki said, agreeing. He lifted the jug, which was straightforward enough. The thickness and texture of the liquid was surprising, as was the speed at which it flowed, but he managed to put it on the waffle with little enough difficulty. 

The whipped cream on the other hand…

He looked curiously down the spout but saw nothing. Still, he tilted it over the breakfast, further and further until it was vertically upside down. Nothing emerged. He righted the bottle and shook it, able to hear the contents sloshing about. 

He tried again, this time shaking it over the waffle.

Frustrated and certain he was missing something simple, he turned to Banner, who was the closer of the two. 

“ How do I--” He tapped the white nozzle while he spoke, accidentally knocking the container over and then his words were cut off abruptly with a strangled cry of disgust, when the contents of the tube came shooting out over his finger. 

He was sure the face he made was comical, but the cream now on his hand was sticky and thick and airy. 

He lifted his hand to his face, sniffing at it carefully.

It smelled sweet enough. He licked it off, then nodded. 

“ It is delicious, but I do not think very well of your packaging for this.” 

“ Do you want some help, there?” Banner asked him, and Loki shook his head no, glancing up to Steve to be sure that was okay. 

“ Now it is a matter of principle. I will conquer this demon tube.”

After poking and prodding, he got the release of the cream figured out, and then it was only a matter of aiming. By the time he managed it, the smell of the next waffle was already warming his lungs.

  
  


With Loki taking the syrup, Steve returned his attention to the waffle in the iron, and to the mess on the countertop. Periodically checking the progress of the waffle, he began to tidy up, scooping up the eggshells to toss out, and putting away the oil and milk, grabbing a sponge to wipe up some of the spilled powder from the mix and egg white drips.

He didn’t notice Loki’s struggle with the whipped cream until he heard his voice abruptly cut off by the squirting noise of the nozzle. He turned in time to see Loki’s shocked and appalled expression, and had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. It was a lucky thing that Bruce stepped in to offer to help, because Loki covered in sticky, sweet cream was a bit too much for Steve to keep a straight face through.

And then Loki had to go and  _ lick it. _

Steve blushed and returned to poking at the waffle; he remembered something Barton had said once about whipped cream and some of the, ah,  _ recreational  _ uses. And now all he could think of was Loki’s pink tongue tracking out lines of cold, airy cream...

The waffle iron dinged. Steve pulled over another plate, scraping out the fresh waffle and then sliding the plate over to Bruce. This time Banner accepted it, pulling over the syrup with a smile and procuring silverware -- blessedly not made of plastic -- from the drawers for everyone. Steve poured in the rest of the waffle batter, then moved the mixing bowl to the sink. “What do you think?” He asked Loki, moving over to stand near him and resisting the impulse to wrap an arm around his shoulder and kiss away the small spatter of whipped cream that marred his cheek.

  
  


Loki tore through the now sopping dough, laden as it was with cream and syrup. Gooey strands dangled from the tines of his fork, and he let them drip before lifting it to his lips. 

He watched Steve watching him, and wondered what Banner must think, if the attentiveness that Steve showed him passed just for that, or if it would look suspiciously like they were involved. He was used to being cautious, but only in a society very different from this. 

Plus, Steve seemed not to be so good at concealing it as he supposed, after all, if those at SHIELD had been so quick to jump to that thought. 

Loki looked up at Steve and quirked his eyebrow, chewing while he wondered what, exactly, casual companions would say to one another. 

“ Well it’s no orange chicken.” He settled on, “And it lacks a certain element of bacon. But I do appreciate it for the sweet bearing vessel it is.” He scooped some of the cream onto his fork and put it straight into his mouth. 

“ I still think Rogers intends to minimize my threat by fattening me on the Midgardian delicacies he makes and buys.” Loki told Banner, almost conspiratorially. “Your world has more sweets than any Asgardian celebration could boast, and our cooks would not be pleased to hear it.” 

Banner snorted, and Loki watched with interest as he prepared his own waffle. 

Unlike Loki, Banner used butter, placing it on the hot textured bread and allowing it to melt while he stood and went to the cabinet. 

“ What is that?” Loki asked, watching as he shook a powder out over the surface of his meal. 

“ Oh this? It’s cinnamon sugar. You wanna try some?” He offered Loki the small bottle, and Loki recoiled, sneering. 

“ _ Cinnamon _ .” He said distastefully, and looked up at Steve.

  
  


Steve snorted and rolled his eyes, though his mouth tugged into a smile. “Oh come on. We’ve already established it’s not going to kill you,” he teased. He looked over at Banner, who seemed perplexed. “Asgard doesn’t have cinnamon. Loki’s first encounter with it... caught him off guard.”

“ But he likes orange chicken?” Bruce asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“ And bacon,” Steve confirmed with a sidelong glance at Loki. “We’ve been working on introducing him to various foods Earth has to offer. Though I’m probably not the most well-cultured person for the task.”

“ Hmmm.” Bruce looked rather entertained by the idea. “I imagine Tony and I could probably contribute to that education. If you’re interested, of course, Loki. Though Tony’s contributions will likely be mostly alcoholic.”

Steve snorted. “Well, maybe it’ll be less wasted on you guys than it is on me,” he mused. Then he grabbed a spare fork and used it to pull off a small corner of waffle from Loki’s plate, spearing it and dipping the morsel in the pile of whipped cream, before holding it over the counter and snatching up Bruce’s container of cinnamon sugar, giving it a single shake. He then held the fork over for Loki to take. “Here. Give it just a tiny taste. It’s much much milder than the cinnamon roll.” The cream would cut the sharpness of the cinnamon, which he’d only barely sprinkled on it. 

Loki, after all, had said he’d be willing to maybe give cinnamon a second try... And this was a day for second chances.

  
  


Without thinking, Loki half-stood to take the bite from the fork, chewing it thoughtfully and allowing the taste to touch his tongue.

The sting was still there, the harsh tones that made his mouth water, but it was not as horrific this time, and backed by the cool sweetness of the cream… 

He sat back down. 

“ After Agent Scofield’s contributions to my education…” He spoke slowly, “Cinnamon is not nearly half so bad. It has an almost… pleasant taste, I suppose, under the little stings. I still wonder, though, which of your ancestors bit into this and thought, ‘My, I should consume massive quantities. That reaction on my tongue seems both safe and healthy.’ Hardly.” He quipped. 

He dug back into his own waffle, not offering another glance in Steve’s direction, though he knew that his willingness to trust him, to try it, was something that, at one time, would have given them both pause. Not any more.

“ I would be interested in trying the foods of your world. They differ so wildly from my own. But as far as alcohol… from what I have seen, all of Midgard brews their ale too weak to have half the effect Asgardian beverages do, and they do not taste as well as our-- as the Aesir make theirs, either. Though, of course, I would love to be proven wrong on this fact.” He gave a sidelong glance at Steve only then, when he added, “My stay here might have been greatly eased had SHIELD considered a strong drink to be part of the necessary humanities I was deserving of.”

He chewed his next bite. 

“ Well, what have you had so far?” Bruce asked. “You haven’t been here that long, have you?”

“Long enough to be unable to list off each dish.” Loki said simply. “I do like orange chicken though, and maple rounds, and bacon, and hamburgers, and your whipped cream, and cookies, and corn bread, and stews-- those are familiar, more than most meals I have had here-- And I do not like coffee, or Tony’s beer, or Bhut Jolokia. Is there any other foods you recall, especially, Rogers?” He was trying to be mindful, to distance himself, though it felt silly since they were discussing shared meals for several months of time. 

  
  


Steve had expected for Loki to simply take the fork from his hand, and blinked a little in surprise as he instead took a bite right from the fork. The gesture was a bit more intimate that Steve had intended, though they’d fed each other Chinese food the other night, but with any luck Bruce would chalk it up to cultural differences, with Loki being Asgardian.

Loki enjoying the bite of waffle (or at least not hating it) was a good thing, but Steve flinched at the mention of Scofield. Noticing Bruce’s slightly raised eyebrow, he shook his head ever so slightly. Discussing Thanos had been difficult for Loki. Adding the indignities he’d suffered at Scofield’s hands while Steve had been in Europe would hardly make for good breakfast conversation. Steve could fill Bruce in later on what had happened there.

Bruce thankfully picked up on the signal, continuing the conversation without pursuing the topic of SHIELD.

“ Shawarma,” Steve added to the list, remembering their lunch in DC with a small smile. “Breakfast tea. I think you covered all the ones that you particularly liked, though.” The waffle iron dinged and Steve crossed over to it to recover his waffle. 

“ Hm,” Bruce said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Well, you’ve got the basic Americana down. You may like some Italian and other European cuisine. If you don’t like spicy, we should avoid Tex-Mex, and we might want to be careful with South Asian cuisine, though there might be some milder Indian and Thai dishes you could enjoy. Also, have you tried sushi at all?”

Steve frowned, scraping out the last bit of his waffle that had stuck to the iron and unplugging it, before moving back over to where the others stood, pouring some syrup and squirting out a dollop of cream on to his waffle. “I don’t think so...”

  
  


Loki frowned a little, recalling what had happened at their lunch when they’d had shawarma. But that… it was true, he’d liked the meal well enough. All the more reason to remember himself, to keep his mind on the problems at hand. The most pressing of which seemed to be his being likable. 

“ What exactly is sushi?” He asked. “And what are Indian and Thai and European and Italian?” He understood, vaguely, that the way the Midgardians divided their world was passing unique, that they were so wrathful and war blown that they could not even agree on a single language, for all that they were a small realm, in the grand scheme of things. Their self importance would be a source of much amusement, had he been back home. But he did not understand how the dishes could carry the same levels of diversity-- particularly if they all gathered here the way that they did. 

Loki looked over as Steve sat down, and was amused to see how very little cream he had added, at least in comparison to Loki’s own drenched masterpiece of a breakfast. 

“Thank you, Captain. These are good-- You’re surprisingly adept in a kitchen.” He flashed him a tiny smile. Nothing too friendly. It was so funny, how in-adept he felt at giving affection, and how unprepared he was, even so, to restrain it now that he had begun. 

  
  


“ Sushi is raw fish, rice, and seaweed,” Bruce supplied. “It’s a dish common on an island called Japan, and it’s grown popular here in recent years. It’s quite good.” he took a bite of his waffle and chewed. “As for Indian and Thai and European...” He swallowed, and when he next spoke, Steve had no trouble imagining Bruce as a professor giving lectures. “Earth -- or Midgard, I suppose, to you -- has a lot of variety. We have a lot of different countries and cultures spread out across the globe, and because of how much biodiversity we have, there’s a lot of variation from region to region regarding what foods are available. Different herbs and vegetables and grains grow in different parts of the world, so local cuisine reflects that. You get more fish-based dishes in coastal and island countries, more fruits and potent spices in more tropical climates, etc. Steve, could you check and see if we have any juice?”

“ Hmm? Oh, sure,” Steve said, turning the fridge and pulling out a carton of orange juice, fetching some glasses from the cupboard and pouring it out.

“ So India, Italy, and Thailand, are all different countries, with their own unique styles of food,” Bruce concluded, gratefully accepting a cup of juice and giving it a sip. “They also all have their own customs, governments, languages, ways of speaking and dressing and worshipping. So while you might be used to Nine realms, on Earth, we have a little shy of two hundred unique countries. And some of those are encompassed by different ethnic groups and cultures within the same country,” Bruce pointed out, gesturing with a fork.

“ Stuttgart, for instance,” Steve pointed out after using Bruce’s anthropology monologue as an opportunity to scarf down half his waffle, “is in the country of Germany, which is in the continent of Europe. That’s where a lot of the fighting that I was involved in during the war took place, though there were battles going on all over the world at the time.”

“ Mmm,” Bruce hummed in agreement around a mouthful of waffle before swallowing. “And Loki’s right, by the way, Steve. You’re a good breakfast chef.”

Steve smiled, looking down bashfully. “Heh, thanks. Don’t know why everyone’s so surprised, though. I do a lot of my own cooking when I actually have time and a kitchen. Back before the war, I always did all the cooking when Bucky and I lived together. The guy could burn a pot of water, I swear to God,” he said with a somewhat wistful chuckle, using the tines of his fork to spread the cream across the remainder of his waffle. 

  
  


Loki’s brow creased as he sought to understand the lesson Banner gave, which was no doubt elementary to them, having grown up with such knowledge. He, on the other hand, felt as if there were something missing. 

Some vital, simple understanding, as to how these people would communicate, if they were stacked nearly atop one another and possessing of so much variation. He could not find the sense in it and he did not want to sound more ignorant than he already did. 

But when Steve began speaking of his friend, he could feel his face softening… not quite into concern, for he knew better than to allow himself to slip that far, but he also knew how Steve felt-- how culpable Steve felt-- in regards to Bucky. 

“ Well if it is of any help, the only things I am capable of doing is throwing things into a pot to boil for long periods of time, be that medicinal brews or stews. Raw fish is an utterly alien concept to me. In Asgard, fish is grilled upon leaves or salted or smoked or turned into soup. I cannot imagine-- is the texture not off putting for you?” He asked, directing this question to Banner, while he casually moved his leg to touch Steve’s foot with his own. 

It would look like an accident, if any one even noticed, but it was the only comfort he could offer, just then. “Not that I am against trying it, of course, but. I have a few misgivings.” He said simply.

Loki quirked his lips and finished off the last of his waffle, licking the sticky sweet remains from his lips as he swallowed. He did not miss the way Steve hurried through his own waffle, and he belatedly wished he had remembered that Steve needed more food than most. He should have claimed to be full, that he might offer him his own. His eyes turned to the fruit that sat on the counter, and he began to plan how he might quietly tuck some away for later. 

For the moment, though, he turned his face away from the bowl, and turned his attention to the glass of juice. He swallowed down a great gulping mouthful, enjoying the tartness beside the sweet. It made his tongue tingle pleasantly, and he had another drink, satisfied with it. They had oranges of course, but… 

“This is one thing that seems to be stronger flavored here than it is at home. Our oranges have a lighter flavor, not nearly so… full.” He gestured at the glass, groping for the proper descriptor. 

“I like it.”

  
  


“ Throwing things into a pot to boil was sort of the general cooking strategy or everyone in my company,” Steve said, smiling. “We had a lot of mystery soup. Since keeping it a mystery was generally better than asking what anything in it was supposed to be...”

‘ Stone soup’ his mother had called it before that, though hers had always been better. The recipe always varied, since the contents were whatever food they happened to have, scraps and leftovers and anything she got at the market for cheap, all thrown in together and stewed and seasoned. It managed to somehow always be appetizing. Which was more than he could say for Morita’s cooking, though Dernier usually would manage to scrounge up something edible from who knew where. 

Bruce pulled a face and pulled Steve back from his drifting down memory lane. “Yuck. Well, it’s better than Tony, I suppose. His cooking strategy is to pick up the phone and call for take-out. Pretty sure if it weren’t for Pepper and Happy he wouldn’t have remembered to include a kitchen in the design plans for this place.” He sipped his juice, looking over at Loki. “And the texture of the fish can take a little getting used to, but the way they prepare it, it’s not bad at all. We should get some at some point so you can try it, at least. It’s better than it sounds,” he promised.

“ You know, I don’t think I’ve had it either,” Steve mused as he swallowed another mouthful of waffle. “Natasha kept mentioning a place but we never got around to going there. So,” he looked over at Loki, “it’ll be new for us both.”

It would be fun, perhaps, to try something new with Loki. Everything about his world that he’d shown him thus far had been familiar to Steve. And the things that they’d done that had been new for Steve, well, Loki’d been experienced in. Trying something that was fresh to both of them, where neither knew more than the other, could be interesting. Exciting. 

He chuckled, polishing off his waffle. “I’ll add orange juice to the ‘like’ column.” Funny, that beer was weaker, but juice was stronger. Although--

“It’s made from concentrate,” Bruce said with a sigh, giving voice to Steve’s next thought. “Fresh squeezed tastes different from the store bought stuff. They add a ton of sugar and stuff to amp up the flavor.” He finished up his breakfast and picked up his plate, recovering both Steve and Loki’s empty dishes and stacking them before taking them over to the sink. “Here, you cooked, I’ll take clean up.”

  
  


Loki darted a glance Steve’s way and smiled before standing to follow the other man. An idea had occurred, another little trick, and he wanted to play it, because he wanted to feel useful. He took a deep breath, just hoping he wasn’t getting ahead of himself and being too daring, in the process. 

He lifted his hands and turned the palms down, before rotating his wrists, so that the palms rolled upwards in a scooping motion. The dishes that Banner held lifted themselves into the air, and he stopped moving, holding still. Loki paused and the dishes wavered in their floating, responding to his worry. He could not see Banner’s face, could not tell what he was thinking by the lines of his back. He held himself in such control… 

“ Please, no one need waste the time.” He hurried to assure him. “I can see to this easily enough.” He sent the dishes sinkwards and called the soap and the brushes and cleaning sponges to it with flicks of his fingers not wholly unlike the motions Stark used on his devices. He wet them and set them to scrubbing away the sticky traces of the breakfast they had consumed. 

“ That’s incredible. We aren’t anywhere near as bad, because there’s robots and maids and such, but… when I was a kid, there was this animated movie where a wizard did something similar. It was um. Merlin, Sword in the Stone. I just never thought I’d see something like that in real life. And… it’s such a mundane use for magic. Is it a spell? Do you need a specialized spell for any given thing in magic, or-- do you just-- how does it work? How do you get lift on these things?”

Banner’s excitement in regards to his abilities was near-catching, and made him grin, but he was distracted by something else entirely. 

“Did you say Merlin, and The Sword in the Stone? Isn’t that the book you gave me to read, Steve?”

  
  


Steve watched and marveled as the dishes, suddenly animated by Loki’s spell, began to wash themselves. Not only was it remarkable, but it signified that Loki was more at ease than he had been the night before, when he’d been worried to so much as summon a book using magic, let alone show off with something this active -- albeit useful. 

Wait. The Sword in the Stone...?

“ Yeah, I did, by T. H. White,” he answered Loki, blinking. He looked over at Bruce, eyes widening. “They made a movie?”

“ Hm? Oh. Yeah. I didn’t realize it was a book, though I suppose that makes sense, though they probably adapted the hell out of it,” Bruce commented, still watching the enchanted dishes in total fascination. Bubbles of dish-soap floated on the air. “It was out before I was born, I remember watching it as a kid. Early 60’s, maybe? It’s a cartoon, though...”

“ I took a couple classes in animation when I was a student at Auburndale,” Steve confessed. “I’d honestly love to see it sometime. It’s one of my favorite books.” He already felt rising excitement. Cinema had come a long way since his time, and it was one of the things he enjoyed catching up on. 

Bruce shrugged. “It’s on Netflix, I think. We can pull it up now, if you want. Or later today, if you’re interested.”

Steve’s whole being lit up. He looked over to Loki, a hopeful expression on his face. 

  
  


Loki couldn't help but smile at the eager, excited look that Steve leveled at him. 

"You needn't look to me for permission, Captain. If anything..." He trailed off and shrugged, though the meaning was clear. "You had mentioned that we might watch some movies at some point. I see no reason to object to beginning with one whose story I already know. But should we not invite Stark to join us? I would hardly feel easy forcing him to walk in to find himself having been… left out.” 

That, as Loki knew, hurt. And it would do so especially when it would seem Stark’s team was choosing Loki over him. 

Idly, Loki turned back to see Banner with his face under the plates, observing their movements from below, though that entailed sticking his head partially in the sink. He considered playfully sloshing water on him, but decided against it-- one, he wasn’t sure how he would react, if it would even be him who did react, or if it would be the Hulk, and two, he had no interest in reminding Steve that he was still owed some comeuppance from their time in his hot spring. And he also didn’t want Steve to think that his attempts at winning over his comrades was at all on par with his attentions for Steve. 

“ I would be happy to demonstrate for you, Banner, some of what I am capable of, so long as you are comfortable with my explanations of the technical process being somewhat sparse while I do so.” It was a compromise, a step away from his stalwart refusal to explain his seidhr to them, and he hoped that Steve saw it for what it was. 

“If you are comfortable being alone with me-- and having me use my seidhr while that is the case, I would be happy to show you whilst the Captain goes to fetch Stark.” He suggested, looking back and forth between the Doctor and the Captain, hoping that he had not overstepped his bounds.

  
  


Stark. It had been surprisingly easy to forget about him, given they were in his home. But Loki was right, Steve thought, smile dimming slightly. Even if Stark was still asleep, or not interested, it would be rude for them to not at least make an effort to extend the invitation. Even if Tony’s clear mistrust of Loki would potentially sour the otherwise light and happy mood of the morning.

Bruce, at least, seemed perfectly comfortable with Loki. Or comfortable enough. He was more fascinated than alarmed by Loki’s magic, and brought up no qualms with being alone in Loki’s company. Similarly, Loki didn’t seem bothered by being left alone with Banner, given his suggestion that Steve fetch Stark, so the burgeoning trust was mutual. 

And Steve... Steve had an apology to make to Tony, anyway, which was probably best done in private.

“ I’ll go check on Tony and see if he’s up to it,” he said. “Same lab as last night?”

“ Yep, down six floors and then hook a left down the hallway,” Bruce answered, poking at the scrub brush, apparently quite fine with the arrangement. “And Loki, I would like nothing better right now than to get an explanation of how the hell you managed this, because it’s brilliant.”

“ Okay...” Steve looked between them both, and took advantage of Banner’s momentary distraction to let his fingers brush against Loki’s arm as he walked by. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

He headed toward the elevator bank, and down toward the labs to meet with Stark.

  
  


“ _ Sir, Captain Rogers would like to speak with you _ .”

If the mild mannered voice he’d programmed into his computer hadn’t woken him, the sounds of the Captain approaching might have gone unnoticed. 

Tony was not a morning person. Or a whatever-time-of-day-this-was person, apparently. 

He’d gone back to his lab, stressed out and questioning his life choices, and started going through the videos JARVIS had gathered from the time Steve had spent talking to the alien in his fishbowl. 

He hadn’t gotten far, though, before he’d felt the panic welling and needed to turn them off. 

Steve seemed to think he had changed, and yeah, these were early videos, but even so. Tony could only stomach so much at once, and he’d gone over his daily limit. Way over. 

And now it seemed he was getting a head start on it for today.

Perfect. 

He hit the button to open the door just as Rogers approached, and stood, half trying to look more put together than he was, the other half of him just giving zero fucks about how he looked. 

He hadn’t had coffee yet, hadn’t showered, and there was, presumably, still a maniacal alien overlord, being chased by an even bigger evil maniacal alien overlord, in his home. 

Well, why not?

“ Heya Captain, how’s life in the Treasure House treating you so far?” He knew Steve had been frozen through the Captain Kangaroo years, and he didn’t care. Or more aptly, he loved ruffling Rogers’ feathers, and pop culture references that he had no reason to know were one of Tony’s favorite ways of doing so.

And yeah maybe it was a dick move, but, well. He was Tony Stark, after all. Dick moves were sort of his calling card.

  
  


Tony looked like he’d barely slept, or if he had, it had been the kind of sleep that left you more tired than rested when you dragged yourself back into the waking world. Steve winced, wishing he’d thought to make coffee or something to bring as a peace offering. 

“ Morning, Tony,” he began, ignoring the strange greeting. Stark had a habit, it seemed of making references to media, some of it frankly obscure, and while Steve had initially been like Loki -- constantly curious and asking for explanations -- over time he’d recognized when people were just having a go at him and now he just ignored any references he didn’t understand. It avoided calling attention to the gaps in his knowledge, kept conversations from getting derailed, and usually, he wasn’t missing much anyhow.

He sidled around a worktable toward where Stark was standing, glancing sidelong at the soldering equipment, and beyond that, the chair and monitors where they’d hooked him up the night before to make sure he wasn’t a liar or a lunatic. He grimaced. 

“ It’s not bad,” He said, trying to keep his voice light. “The three of us just had breakfast. Waffles. Bruce came down earlier to see if you wanted any but you were still asleep and we didn’t want to bother you...” How long had Tony been awake? Had he woken just after Bruce’s visit and missed out on waffles? Or had Steve’s arrival awoken him just now? He ran an idle hand nervously along the edge of the table.

“Look, Tony... I owe you an apology,” he blurted. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have dropped the whole thing with Loki on you yesterday with no warning the way I did. I mean, I only did it because of what happened with SHIELD, but... I was so focused on my and Loki’s safety and getting in conveniently, that I totally failed to take into account your comfort and sense of safety, and that was... that was a crappy thing to do,” he concluded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

  
  


Tony felt his eyes narrowing, and he found himself reaching for something on the desk in front of him. Anything. Didn’t matter what, it was just something to wave around, to distract himself with, to distract eyes with. Made him look casual. He was good at this. 

“ Yeah well, whatever, right? Done now. Waffles, huh? Who cooked? Was it Bruce? Nine grain gluten free waffles?” He didn’t want to talk about this, and his voice sounded tight even while he brought out his nonsense. 

He needed to move, so he started drifting around the table while he spoke, holding the screwdriver with one hand and pulling at the removable tip with the other.

“ But hey, on the topic of your friend the vanquisher of life, where uh--” He licked lips that suddenly felt too dry. “Where’s he at, round about now?”

He half expected Loki to be waiting in the hall, except that he had instructed JARVIS not to take any elevator with Loki in it onto a floor that Tony was on without letting him know first-- and if Loki just appeared on Tony’s floor sans elevator, to set off every alarm and get Bruce down there ASAP.

Which meant that Loki was outside of Steve’s supervision, doing who knew what right then. 

“ Wait. Why am I asking you? JARVIS? Loki’s whereabouts.” He opened up a screen and stopped suddenly. 

There was Loki alright, and there was Bruce with him. And they were… playing with bubbles. While the dishes washed themselves. 

“What messed up alternate universe did I just wake up into?” He asked, uncomfortable with so much about what was going on here. So much.

  
  


Steve pressed his lips into an annoyed white line. “Loki is with Bruce, and they’re discussing magic and doing the dishes,” he stated, though the image on the screen was pretty self-explanatory. “I cooked, so they offered to clean.”

And Steve had come down here to apologize to Tony, but that was clearly being ignored. 

“ Loki and Bruce... seem to be getting along,” he offered, wondering if Tony would be more receptive to Loki’s presence knowing Bruce approved, or if the revelation might accidentally spark off some sort of jealousy. 

“ We were all planning on watching a movie,” he hurried to add. “The Sword in the Stone. Bruce said it was on Netflix, and we wondered if you’d be willing to join us. Um. I can make up more waffle batter if you’re hungry. Not gluten-free, sorry.” He watched as Tony fidgeted and fiddles with the instruments on his table, preoccupation concealing whatever he was thinking.

“Look, I know... I know this has got to be hard. Believe me, it took a lot of time together and talking before I trusted him the way I do now,” Steve said, running a hand back through his hair, which had mostly dried from that morning’s shower. “I know New York was rough. But there is so much we didn’t know then. And look, if you--” He paused, swallowing, “--if you need to talk about any of it...”

  
  


“ Yeah, no, no offense, Rogers, but. I don’t really want to talk about much with the guy who woke me up to ask if I wanted to watch Disney movies with my team and the guy who tried to off me and, I guess, what do you think the body count would have been? Like, Half? Half of the world, before he got what he wanted?” Tony shook his head, then paused. 

“ You trust him.” He said flatly. “That’s what you just said, not ‘believe’ not ‘think he’s okay’ ‘ _ trust _ ’ . So, alright fine, tell me the turning point. Where’d that happen, what did-- You gave him access to a dying lady, you showed us that last night. So it had to be before then, right? What about his greasy smile behind several layers of safety precautions made you think, ‘oh yeah, this guy is good for something’?”

He made the effort to put the screwdriver down, turning to focus entirely on Steve, if only for a minute. 

It wasn’t that Tony couldn’t focus on just one thing, it was that when he did, that one thing tended to feel a little overwhelming. But sometimes he had to, sometimes there were things that needed said, and frankly, there was a reason that Steve was down here, taking the chance of leaving Banner and Loki together. And Tony wanted to know what it was. Sure the guy was a bit of a boyscout, but he hadn’t just come down here to invite him to their tea party. Had he?

  
  


Steve stopped, mouth falling slightly open. The body count-- But Loki hadn’t, and he wouldn’t, because  _ none of it was what Loki had wanted.  _ He’d been feral and half-mad and conditioned to it, he’d been in pain and he’d been angry, and he’d been a completely different person, so what did it matter now?

Before he could protest, though, and point out the error in Stark’s thinking, in his wording, Stark hit him with another question that derailed his train of thought, sending it careening back through his memory.

When had he begun to trust Loki?

He hadn’t at first, he knew that... He’d taken what he’d said with a grain of salt, and hadn’t turned his back on him fully even to offer him the privacy to shower (which was probably the first moment for a lot of things -- the misstep on a slippery slope that had happily concluded with him falling into Loki’s arms, but hadn’t been the origin point of trust). 

Had it been when Loki had given him his water, sharing his drink and Steve trusting that no poison had found its way in? A small act of trust, but not a defining one. Or had it been when Loki had trusted him, allowing him to cut his hair and see his true face? Or was it when Loki had touched the scepter, and had been the only one to get hurt because of it? If the whole thing had been an elaborate ruse, that would have been the moment to reveal it all and make off with the artifact, unleashing his power and running off to worlds unknown. But he hadn’t. He’d been hurt, and he’d passed out holding Steve’s hand. Had it been then? Or...

Steve swallowed. Oh.

“ I got sent on a mission to the Banat region in Europe. My plane got shot down, and I ended up being there for eleven days,” he began quietly. “Got worked over pretty good. When I got back to SHIELD, I went to check on Loki...” He paused, remembering the starved, wild-eyed specter he’d found in the cell waiting for him, arms raised in defeat. “While I was away, one of the guards... He let Loki think I was dead. Kept him completely isolated, starved him, didn’t give him water. I got back, and he was a mess.” 

Deep breath. He could feel his hands balling into fists at the memory of Scofield, but now was not the time to show that anger. 

“ The first thing he cared about, beyond making sure I wasn’t some hallucination? Was worrying about my busted ribs. Now, Loki had his magic. He could have busted out any time he wanted. He had no reason to stay -- he knew where the scepter was, and if I’d been a part of some scheme, the jig woulda been up with me MIA. But he didn’t. He just...” Steve trailed off, voice tightening. “He just gave up.”

Loki hadn’t fought back. Hadn’t shouted or attacked or defended himself. Hadn’t made any demands or staged a breakout. He’d taken the abuse as if... as if he’d deserved it.

(Steve could almost feel his heart breaking all over again.)

“If he’d been playing me, he’d have had no reason to do that. Not even for a long con. He’s hurting and he’s been through hell, and he throws up this... this armor to look cruel and indifferent. But he’s not.” He finally looked up at Stark, hoping he’d find understanding in his eyes.

  
  


Tony found himself scoffing. 

“So you what, felt bad for him? That’s all it takes, then? You know, most of the bad guys of the world get beat up when they’re knocked off their perches. The only difference is that none of them took a shining to you first.” He shrugged. 

“ So maybe he had a little crush on you, whatever, even if it’s not a game, why not have taken the sceptre and made a run for it? At least if he had, if everything else he says is true-- and let’s pretend, just for a minute, that I think it is-- if he’d made his run for it, he would have saved Earth. And if he cares as much as you seem to think he does, why didn’t he? That’s why you came here, right? Earth needs its heroes. All of Earth is in danger. Not just you and me and Bruce, not just New York, but… no, good guys don’t give up when they know there’s that much on the line. You came to me because you know that.” He couldn’t hold still any longer, needed to be moving, needed to pace. 

“ So what is he trying to get out of this? Because everything you say points to him being, I don’t know, some kind of depressed suicidal idiot. Right? Except now all of a sudden he wants to live, but he paints it like we’re saving you and he’s an after thought.” 

He stopped moving again. 

“ What if we untangle it, what if we just figure out a way to get you and Earth out of it, and let Loki get his dues? Huh? What if I don’t feel like I should be saving the guy I--  _ him? _ ”  He’d come close to slipping, come close to telling Steve about his nightmares, his panic attacks… 

And Steve was in this weird place in Tony’s mind right now, where he was a friend. Tony could count on him to have his back, to keep him from getting hurt… but he was also allied with a guy who still registered pretty hard on his enemies scale. 

But you know, whatever, why not just have them sleeping in his house, making waffles, playing with bubbles… watching Disney movies. 

Nothing added up, nothing made sense. It made him feel… skittish and stuck, but… there was that chance…

“And okay, if he is telling the truth-- pretend with me again-- then what the hell are we supposed to do? Send him back to Asgard, I feel like they’re better equipped to handle this… thing.” 

  
  


The ominous groan of metal alerted Steve to the fact that he’d accidentally squeezed a dent in Stark’s table while the inventor had been talking. “Loki,” he said quietly, jaw clenched, “is not going to Asgard. And he’s not getting handed over to anyone else.”

Asgard had forfeited any right to Loki when they let him fall off their damn bridge and didn’t go after him, Steve decided. And he and Loki were in this together; Steve would throw down his own life before he let Thanos get his hands on Loki again. 

“ Asgard won’t listen to him, and they probably won’t listen to us. If we’re Thanos’ target, we’re not Asgard’s priority. Thor might help us, sure, but no one else on Asgard came to help us last time.” And Asgard seemed to have a pretty strong bias against non-Asgardians. Who knew what kind of sentence Loki would face the second time around? He swallowed, trying to tamp down his emotions and frame his argument tactically: “we hand Loki over to Asgard, we lose our best source of intel and a heavy hitter on our side in any battle we might run into. And handing him over to Thanos and the Chitauri isn’t an option, tactically or morally. They’ll use him for something, break him back down and make him into-- into some kind of  _ weapon _ again, and they’ll--” He broke off, looking away, eyes stinging.  _ They’ll torture him. Kill him.  _

“We don’t have any guarantee that Loki and the scepter are the only endgame here. And even if they were, I’m not about to hand over a prisoner to that kind of treatment.” He breathed through his nose and then scowled at Tony. “So yeah, I felt bad for him. And I want to help protect Earth, and Loki. Because apparently I have some shred of empathy in me. Frankly, I hoped you did too.”

  
  


“ Is that why we’re treating him like he’s a kid? Watching cartoons and blowing bubbles in my sink? To try and build empathy?” He was shaking at the thought-- if they were trying to manipulate he and Bruce, it was a damn good way of going about it. Get them to see Loki as something harmless. The poor, sweet victim. 

“So look, fine. I get it, you have to be all justice and the American way about this, but. Guy gives me the heebie jeebies. That’s not gonna stop because he eats pizza and is too tender mouthed for beer, because some guy was an asshole to him or because he likes to watch the mouseketeers. I’m not throwing you out, I’m not turning my back on you, Steve. But I am at the very best supremely uneasy with all of this, and the whole being against SHIELD thing freaks me out, and giant gaping holes in the sky aren’t my very favorite thing, and if he really does have further intel, I would really love to hear it, because at least then I can think about what we might be able to do, as opposed to just what might be waiting to swoop in and kill us all.”

Even if what he could do-- that was going to lead down a dark road where all he could remember was the talk Fury had given them, about how they were laughably unprepared, hilariously unequipped. 

He realized it wasn’t just about him housing a warlord, hosting alien invader tea parties… if he fell in with this, he would  _ have _ to go back into weapons production. 

And if that was the case…

He swallowed. 

“But yeah, why not? Who doesn’t love a good movie? Just… why don’t you go have Bruce queue it up, clean up the soap mess. I need… I’m gonna change into something less grease monkey and. Coffee-- For future reference, don’t bring me this kind of conversation before noon without two cups of coffee in your hands. Three, if you want one.” He shook his head. 

  
  


Steve breathed deeply. Earlier, Tony had said ‘a little crush’ and Steve could still hear the words jangling in his brain. It was so much more than that. For them both. And part of him wanted to tell Tony how Loki was capable of passionate and selfless affection, of putting others before himself and of caring so deeply it almost hurt. But doing so would reveal more than he could safely tell now. Even if Tony was (grudgingly) willing to give them asylum now, who was to say he wouldn’t change his mind?

“ I’m grateful that you’re letting us stay. Really. And I’m not asking you to forgive or excuse anything he’s done,” Steve said carefully, measuredly. “Just... to look at him now and realize he’s capable of better. That just because he’s done terrible things doesn’t make him a terrible person, and that...” He looked down and smoothed his hand over the dent he’d left in the table, remembering some of his words to Barton when they’d fought over this. “That he deserves a second chance. Or, even if you don’t think he deserves one, that we can give him one and he can help.”

He took a step back, having said his piece. “I’m sorry to dump this all on you. But right now... We don’t have a lot of options and I felt like I could trust you to help. To listen. And I’m grateful that you have.” Because however much Tony had made it clear he didn’t like or trust Loki, he hadn’t tried to kill him or throw him out, and he’d let Steve talk, which was more than SHIELD had been willing to chance. 

“I’ll go see how Bruce and Loki are doing and make sure we have everything set up.” And the coffee pot on, apparently. He sighed, wishing this whole apology had gone better than it had. “I’ll see you in a bit, I guess.”

  
  


Tony waved him off and went to his own private elevator- the one that ran from his room to his workshop so that he could move to and fro quickly without having to stop his planning to think about little things, like floor plans and not walking into whatever new toy he’d bought himself or Pepper, of late. 

He didn’t want to see parallels between himself and Loki, but they were there. Small and uncomfortable and posed to eat him up from the inside. And yeah maybe people needed second chances. Maybe Steve was right. 

That didn’t make it any easier to wake up from a nightmare and switch on a monitor, only to see the monster from your dreams peacefully sleeping in your guest room. 

He shook his head to himself and hopped into a quick shower. 

They hadn’t waited for him for breakfast; they could wait for him to be ready to face Loki, at the very least. 

  
  


Bruce had exhausted his questions, had run his hands over and around the scrubbing brush as if checking for strings, and Loki had gleefully hovered bubbles-- untouched by anything and thus unpopped, for as long as they could be, in the air around the room. 

It was very pretty, and he wished Steve were here to see it, rather than talking to Stark. Which, he was sure, was not going pleasantly. Because it was Stark. 

At the sound of approaching footfalls, though, he took all of the bubbles that had been hovering and started them spinning, each at different speeds, in different directions. 

The light and the soap created sweet rainbow lines across their surfaces, and it was a spectacle worthy of at least some awe, if he said so himself. 

And he did. 

He just hoped Steve would be in a mood to appreciate it, the way Bruce was. 

  
  


_ Treating him like he’s a kid... _

Tony’s words reverberated in Steve’s ears as he stepped out into the living area of the penthouse to find Bruce and Loki joyfully playing with bubbles, opalescent orbs bobbing and floating all around them. Loki’s expression was one of naked glee, unrestrained and... Childlike. 

He wondered if this was the discrepancy that Stark felt troubled by; knowing Loki was guilty of much, but seeing him look this innocent?

Loki turned and looked at him with a hopeful expression, as if seeking approval, and Steve’s heart clenched. He smiled through it. “I see you two have been busy.” He reached up and gently caught one of the bubbles with a fingertip, the soapy surface clinging to his finger for several seconds before it popped.

“ Tony’s going to be up in a few minutes,” he announced when Bruce finally tore his attention from the scrub-brush. “I think we may want to get a pot of coffee on, if you know where it is. He said to clean up and queue up the movie.”

Which could frankly, go either way. It would be a situation where Loki and Stark wouldn’t be forced to interact directly, but spending prolonged time in each other’s presence when Stark clearly felt uncomfortable with Loki could prove... difficult. Steve and Bruce would have to keep a weather eye on them.

  
  


Loki could tell there was something Steve was thinking and not saying, but that was to become their norm, he was certain. At least so long as they were here. It was unbearable and had to be borne just the same. 

“ I can see to the mess.” He volunteered, realizing with no small amount of guilt that his attempt at cleaning had turned fully to showing off, and had created small splatters of droplets across multiple surfaces, from where the bubbles had popped. 

He sent those remaining bubbles back to the sink and let them pop within it, and picked up a rag to begin drying the spots with, lest it seem he was shirking too much, not pulling his own in the way of the work. 

And the worst of it was that in order for Stark to have sent orders to clean up, he must have observed them, must have seen Loki playing around. Which couldn’t have helped their cause; not when they were attempting to convince the man that the greatest threat to their world yet was on it’s way… and he was amusing himself with soap bubbles. Like an idiot. 

The small glee, the sense of pride that having Banner asking questions and complimenting his magic had given him, popped like one of his soap bubbles, and he turned his face to the surface he was cleaning to hide the dismay until he could properly bury it. 

It wouldn’t do to be seen that way, either. It would only be misread. 

“ Yeah, coffee’s not a problem. JARVIS?” Banner asked, and across the room, a small orange light flicked on, and the sound of water flowing began. 

“ _ Coffee will be ready in seven minutes. _ ”  JARVIS supplied helpfully, his voice floating down from nowhere. Loki tried not to frown at that, too, still… not disconcerted, per say, but unused to it. 

“How does one queue up a movie?” Loki asked when his voice felt steady again, aware of the practice of queueing, like for food in a banquet hall during the high feast days, when even the servants ate as one of the party. But movies… were they to watch so many that they need line them up?

  
  


Coffee was taken care of. The movie-- Steve blinked, realizing he wasn’t sure. He knew how to order movies on pay per view and how to work the simplest of DVD players, but Stark’s system was undoubtedly high tech. He looked over to Banner with an expression of panic.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes. “JARVIS?”

“ _ Yes, Doctor Banner?” _

“ Pull up  _ The Sword in the Stone _ on Netflix on the main TV, would you? Pause at the playhead.”

Immediately the television screen leapt to life, a blue screen with the words ‘Distributed by Buena Vista Distribution Co., Inc’ appearing.

“ Movie is ready,” Bruce announced, a thin smile on his lips. 

Steve looked a little sheepish. “Ah. I’ll, uh, put the tea kettle on. For you and Loki.” Steve and Stark would be the only ones sampling the coffee, he suspected, and while Loki mopped up the soap residue, Steve got out the teapot he’d seen in the cabinet earlier, filled it with water from the tap, and then put it on the stove, taking a few minutes to suss out the mechanics of Stark’s stove’s particular burners. Soon enough the water was heating, and Steve recovered some mugs from the cupboard, placing them on the countertop between the hissing coffeemaker and the simmering kettle. Bruce, meanwhile, got out a tin of tea bags and some sugar.

It was around then that the elevator door dinged. Steve tensed and didn’t turn as Stark padded into the room, waiting until he heard the inventor slouching into the fabric of the couch. “How do you take your coffee?” he called out from the kitchen. 

  
  


“ I’ll take the first cup black and after that we’ll move into soy milk and agave. Watching my girlish figure and all.” Stark patted his gut a little as he spoke, and Loki could only sigh at the already patronizing tone. 

Banner moved out into the living room and took a seat on Stark’s couch, leaving the other for Loki and Steve… which was fine, save that being that close to one another, without being allowed to be seen as  _ close _ to one another… 

He looked to Steve for guidance. Moving closer to where Steve was standing, Loki spoke under his breath, under the guise of cleaning a spot. 

“ I could sit on the floor…?” He offered, so quietly he was not sure Steve could hear… but he was certain the other two wouldn’t. 

Was all of their stay to be a test? It certainly seemed so, even if Stark and Banner did not know what they were testing them for. 

He looked then at the cups lined up on the counter, two with teabags hanging out of them and two waiting to be filled with bitter coffee. 

The pot on the stove beside him was making the soft wooshing noise of water nearly ready, and a little louder, Loki spoke as he stood up. 

“Can I help you carry these out?” He asked. “When they’re ready, I mean.”

  
  


“ Black coffee, coming right up,” he called out, putting a spoonful of sugar in one of the cups and moving to fetch the milk from the fridge. He poured in a small amount and replaced the carton, glancing over at where Stark and Banner now sat as Loki dropped his voice to a murmur.

The two couches were angled toward the TV, with Stark on the far end of one with Bruce beside him, closer to the middle. “Don’t sit on the floor,” he replied, dropping his voice to just over a whisper. “I’ll take the left--” which would put him nearer Bruce, “and you can sit to my right.” Putting Loki as far from Stark as was possible. That seemed best, in Steve’s mind. 

Steve looked at Loki with a soft smile. “If you could get Bruce’s tea, that’d be great,” he said, a little clearer, in response to Loki’s second question. The coffee pot finished brewing with a sputtering gurgle, and Steve poured out two cups, stirring his own. The kettle, at the same time (by fortuitous coincidence more than any genius of timing) began to whistle lowly, and he quickly switched the burner off, moving to pour hot water into the remaining two cups. 

Hot beverages all prepared, he took the two cups of coffee in his hands, allowing for Loki to pick up the tea, and gave him a reassuring nod. Crossing into the living space, he deposited the coffee cup in front of Stark, earning a vaguely appreciative grunt. Slipping back on to the couch, he took a sip of his own coffee, and looked up at the ceiling. “JARVIS, hit play, please?”   
With a swell of orchestral music, the movie began. 

 


	25. Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, the characters watch Disney's _The Sword in the Stone_ and discuss it. We highly recommend checking the movie out before or while reading, for context, and because it's a fun flick! It's less than 80 minutes long, and available to stream on Netflix.
> 
> Because we deviate for movie-watching, we're including this as a bonus chapter. There will be a regular Thursday update. Thanks for reading!

A good many words appeared on the screen, flashing up and then lingering long enough to have each word read and then disappearing again.  This was not at all like the films he and Steve had watched on the small TV in the hotel, when he’d first taken him.

The words made no sense, and Loki wondered if this movie was meant to be read in its entirety, if he had misunderstood somehow. But then it registered that what he was reading were names-- Anthony Rizzo like Anthony Stark. That made some sense of things.

A book appeared on screen, clearly drawn, and a man’s voice appeared.

...well. A male voice, singing the story, much like one of the bards who would at times make his way through the lower city of Asgard. If one snuck out to the inn at wintertime, bards were most treasured then, when large groups spent large amounts of time together, and such entertainments were the best way to distract them from their misery and feuding.

But this bard’s voice wavered and was high-- closer to Loki’s singing voice than any who could conceivably do so for a living. Asgardians liked their men broad and rugged and their voices deep and true.

As the words appeared on the sword, Loki shifted uncomfortably, reminded of Thor, and Mjolnir, and his own unworthiness. He looked to Steve to see how he was reacting to the movie so far.

  
  
  


Steve felt himself nodding in time to the music as the opening credits rolled, the brassy trumpets and piano not too far from the popular music of his time. Though as the music transitioned into the introduction, it took a more traditional, antiquated quality. The story sung in the opening was familiar enough -- the death of Uther, the lack of an heir, and the appearance of the sword in the stone, which would only be removed by the next rightful king.

(“How old is this movie?” Stark grumbled.

“It’s a classic,” Bruce said. “Shush!”)

The images darkened as the narration continued, describing a dark age: _the strong preyed upon the weak._ (And wasn’t that always the case?) Steve’s brow furrowed, but his eyes widened as the scene transitioned to a ghoulish forest, where a chattering squirrel evaded the jaws of a wolf and the clutches of a shrieking hawk. The animation was _beautiful_ \-- clearly each layer and each frame had been lovingly hand-drawn, the backgrounds painted in the tradition Steve had learned as a student -- nothing like the flat and crude cartoons that seemed to constantly occupy the television nowadays.

“This is gorgeously made,” he murmured, leaning in toward Loki (though not too close), as the screen panned slowly in toward an old man with a lengthy white beard, wrestling a bucket out of a well.

_“A dark age indeed,”_ the old man railed. _“Age of inconvenience! No plumbing, no electricity, no nothing!”_

Stark snorted. “Hear, hear,” he said, lifting his coffee mug as if in a toast.

Bruce chuckled. Steve smiled at the antics of the old man -- it had to be Merlin -- struggling with the bucket, already sucked into the story.

  
  
  


Loki hoped the elderly man on the screen was not Merlin, for in his mind he had imagined someone who seemed more respectable. Then again, he could not imagine whomelse it could be. He listened to him grumbling about the time period, no doubt as taken aback by it all as the Aesir had been by their visit to early Midgard. The list of complaints was different, but the gist was the same; and how funny of these Midgardian artists to have rendered themselves as the incompetent fools they were. Or, no doubt, considered themselves to have been.

But then Loki realized that this was what the bulk of the movie would be.

“Is--” He hesitated to speak, uncertain whether he might be shushed for interrupting. “Sorry, but-- all of this is drawn, is it not? How do you make it move, without magic to aid you?”

True though their books were in motion, the ones here were not, from his understanding. And that their screens could record the movements of things and people that already moved, well, Loki was familiar with security cameras. That the technology had been applied to plays spoke to the laziness of their people, their unwillingness to report to a proper theatre, or perhaps the actors’ unwillingness to perform it repeatedly. Whatever the case, it made some sense for movies of humans to exist. These pictures, on the other hand…

  
  
  


“Have you ever flipped through a bunch of pages really fast, and seen the contents sort of blur together?” Steve tried explaining in a low voice. Sensing, however, that Asgard probably didn’t have flipbooks, he quickly moved on from that approach.

“The foreground is all drawings. Lots of drawings, moving very quickly, so it makes it look like there’s movement. The backgrounds are painted, and the animation is layered over them,” he added, keeping his voice quiet so as not to distract too much from the film. “Movies are just very rapid sequences of static images. Time was they could only do it in black and white; I was nineteen or so when the first full-length movie in color came out,” he added with a fond smile.

On the screen, Merlin described a guest he was expecting -- a young boy. The music swelled and the image faded through the smoke of Merlin’s pipe to first a strapping, muscular young man, and then, shortly behind him, a scrawny young yellow-haired boy. “Wart,” Steve whispered, lips tugging in a smile. He’d always identified a bit with the Wart when he read the book, and seeing the artist’s rendition now-- well, Steve mightn’t look that way anymore, but he retained a certain affection for the little guys.

  
  
  


Loki hummed at the description, noting that Banner and Stark were watching the two of them more than the movie, obviously curious about their interactions. He tried not to tense under the scrutiny.

But he forgot about it temporarily when Steve whispered out the character’s name.

“Looks like the old photos, before my dad got his hands on you.” Tony said, a hint of mockery in his voice that immediately made Loki look toward him with a scowl. He knew that Steve did not remember that body fondly, much as Loki still did not see his own with any special love of his shape. But seeing it portrayed on the screen, he could see the changes Steve must have gone through.

He wanted to put his hand on his arm, to remind him that Loki was there, that he appreciated Steve regardless of how he had been or how he was.

But more than that, Loki knew the importance of complimenting what Steve was capable of, rather than his body.

“I like your art better.” He said simply, attempting to derail the comparisons between Steve and the scrawny child that they were watching, though when he began his foolhardy quest-- alone, unarmed, into a forest full of beasts, Loki nearly snorted and agreed with Stark, loathe though he was to do so.

“That wolf is nearly as ill-fed as the boy, but while children are often thin for the growth…” Loki trailed off, somewhat sad for the animal. “I do not suppose your people have any fondness for wolves, do they?”

Certainly Asgardian hunters did not, but Loki liked them well enough. It was one of the first shapes he had ever turned to, and he always thought the creatures to be dignified and beautiful, despite the way the Aesir saw them.

  
  
  


Steve winced at Stark’s admittedly apt comparison of Wart to Steve prior to the serum. At least Wart had the excuse of being merely ten... Steve had looked similar at twenty. The barb was immediately followed, however, by Loki’s undeserved compliment, and Steve lifted his coffee to his mouth to hide his embarrassment behind the mug.

Bruce, thankfully, jumped in on the topic of wolves. “A lot of people like wolves more now, and there’s wildlife groups dedicated to preserving their habitats. But for a long time, they were apex predators and people were scared of them, since they preyed on farm animals and occasionally went after people when there wasn’t enough else to eat. That fear lingered in humanity’s subconscious, so there’s a tradition in media where wolves are cast as villains. But they’re also represented as powerful and noble a fair amount of the time,” he said with a shrug.

“Sometimes it’s Red Riding Hood, and sometimes it’s a Jack London novel,” Tony mused.

While Steve got both references, he suspected the comparison was utterly useless to Loki. He would have said something, but at that point Wart fell through the roof of Merlin’s cottage, the two main characters encountering each other for the first time. The movie differed quite a bit from the book of course, but Steve found himself enchanted nonetheless by the absurd rambling and wide-eyed optimism. He smiled as the bespelled sugar pot came to life, marching across the table with a spoon slung back over its lid like a worker with a shovel over his shoulder, then chuckled aloud as the mischievous sugar pot overfilled the distracted Merlin’s cup.

  
  
  


Loki nodded at Bruce.  “I am glad to hear they are better thought of, here. I like wolves, myself. But I do not know of either Red Riding Hood or Jack London.” He flicked his eyes towards Stark. “Perhaps you can explain after…?”

Steve was paying attention to the screen again, and Loki looked back to watch, that he might see what was making Steve smile like that.

He snorted when the wizard poured tea through his beard, rolled his eyes at him attempting to impress, and then sighed when Wart could not help but be in awe of all that was shown to him. The poor child would grow up measuring himself against _this_?

“Merlin is a fool and a rank amateur if he cannot so much as spare the drop of focus it takes to speak and bespell sugar at the same time. Why does it behave as if sentient? You simply--” Loki waved at the mug he held and sent it floating over to the table.

“Anything more is unnecessary.”

And besides that it was unkind the way he treated the sugar pot, particularly if it was he who made it that way.

“I am glad that this Wart has the sense to leave this Merlin behi-- what is he doing?” His voice fell flat as Merlin began to prepare his bag, and a feeling of indignation rose within him as the music began.

He heard stifled laughter and turned his head towards it, only to see Banner looking overly innocent, his tea shaking suspiciously in front of his mouth.

He swallowed when he saw Loki’s stare, and cleared his throat.

“Is that how your pocket works?” He asked, again perhaps too innocently to be believable.

“ _Hardly_.” Loki sputtered. On screen, Merlin had begun to chant. A veritable army of books had begun to march forward towards his bag, and while Loki envied the collection, he did not appreciate the mockery being made of Seidhr-- and its users.

  
  
  


Steve tried to hold a straight face during the absurd scene and song, but failed miserably, covering his mouth with a hand as he giggled.

“Shame,” Bruce said, fighting to keep from smiling in the face of Loki’s indignation. “Would go a long way toward cleaning up Tony’s lab--”

“--Hey!”

“--Which at this point would probably require magic, or a small miracle,” Bruce finished pointing out.

Stark folded his arms and slouched in a melodramatic sulk.

The musical number concluded and Merlin and Wart set out into the forest, Merlin struggling with his own beard, while the two were unknowingly pursued by the unfortunate wolf. Realizing that Loki seemed positively offended, Steve recovered his composure enough to offer something of an explanation:

“We have a lot of stock character tropes in our storytelling,” he began. “One of them is the idea of the absent-minded professor. Someone who is so brilliant, that they’re typically thinking far above and beyond what anyone around them can understand, and they get easily distracted and aren’t terribly attentive to what’s happening around them. Merlin is in that character role in this. Which is a lot sillier than in the book, but more entertaining, I guess, for wider audiences.”

“And some of us manage to be geniuses and sharp as a tack,” Tony added, sipping his coffee.

“Says the man who has conversations with his cleaning bots,” Bruce mumbled into his tea.

“What was that?”

_“Nothing...”_

__  
  
  


Loki’s mouth angled sharply, on one hand amused at the causal bickering, and grateful for being included in it-- allowed to see it-- on the other hand, Merlin was still going. “He’s loud and undignified. And I dislike the idea of having all sorcerers dedicated as the role of the wise fool. That is perhaps one in ten of us, and even then, not like-- this is extreme.”

“Yeah, but think how much less intimidating you would be if you shouted weird stuff before you…” Stark wiggled his fingers, and Loki scowled, then blinked, realizing he was being teased. Treated like he wasn’t a threat, like Stark didn’t fear him.

The thought so took him off guard that any quip he might have gathered was lost.

“Undignified.” was all he said. He called his mug back to him, and was almost certain he heard Bruce laughing into whatever was left in his cup.

He held his tongue until the bag was packed and they had reported back to the castle-- or what it seemed the Midgardians called a castle.

“Your castles are as small as your wolves and children.” Loki muttered. And then he saw the Wart’s keeper. He looked like Volstagg and was just as wide. Which meant he ate while the boy waned. It made him dislike him, and he liked the man even less a few seconds later when he accused Merlin of ‘black magic.’

“That. I did not understand it in the book either. My magic tends towards green. What makes this magic so repellant? Is it merely its color?”

  
  
  


Steve smiled at the banter, but as Sir Ector and Kay were introduced and the Wart’s adoption was discussed, he found himself stealing sidelong glances at Loki. Would he be reminded too closely of his own adoption? Of course, Wart knew full well he was a foundling, and Sir Ector was more a master than a parent, so there were no secrets or lies there, which would hopefully avoid the sorest point of Loki’s familial history.

His worries on that front seemed unfounded, as Loki instead latched on to Ector’s offense at Merlin’s use of magic, apparently still caught up in how magic users were portrayed.

“It’s not the actual color, more of... a classification,” Banner offered.

“Because magic isn’t supposed to be real,” Stark grumbled, through with less anger than before.

“There’s an idea that there’s good magic, or white magic, and then bad magic, or black magic,” Steve supplied. “So, magic used to hurt people or for selfish gains would be called black--”

“Raising the dead, summoning evil spirits, controlling people. That sort of thing,” Bruce said.

“But again, as far as we knew until recently, magic was all fictional, so we obviously don’t know squat about it,” Steve quickly added.

As Merlin was sent to set himself up in the dilapidated northwest tower of the castle, Stark snorted. “I hope we can all appreciate that my tower is significantly better, at least?”

“Well, you did have about as many holes in it a while ago,” Bruce kidded. Then seemed to realize what he’d said, and looked apologetically over at Loki. “A number of which were the Other Guy’s fault, so, uh, sorry about that.”

  
  
  


“I am sorry for your tower.” Loki, said, distractedly, “But you have repaired it handsomely. However I am curious-- do you have good guns and bad guns? Good knives and bad knives? Magic is a tool. Why should its uses be evil? I have summoned an evil spirit and pushed it back into its body-- thus raising the dead, and then controlled the dead man, that he would not try to get away and I might question him-- all to learn information to help those who yet lived. So even your examples are flawed.”

He crossed his arms and huffed out a breath.

“I know when I was first able to use my magic in SHIELD, outside of my cell, you reacted poorly to it, Captain, I did not realize there was so much prejudice against it by your culture, atop your loathing for my uses. There was a time when those with magic, those with powers greater than your own, would have been heralded as gods. Not reduced to--” He waved his hand at the movie.

“I am sorry; I will stop with my commentary on magic. It is, however, a strange insight into the changes of Midgardian culture. Your portrayals of sorcerers is not all that different than Asgard’s of Jotnar. That which we fear, we must laugh at.” He tried not to sound sad about it.

“Astute.” Banner muttered, and Loki nodded towards him, grateful for the near-compliment. He always had been, according to his m- to Frigga. Still, it was a reminder that he was meant to be befriending these people and not upsetting them.

“And your guest room is much nicer, yes.” He told Stark, then remembered that he had prepared a compliment, earlier. “I do not think I have ever felt a bed so soft as that, on any realm. Exquisite.”

  
  
  


Stark made a noise somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “Happy to oblige. And we may not have good guns and bad guns, but the bad people do a lot less damage when they don’t have anything in their hands that goes bang,” he pointed out. “Speaking as a person who used to make guns.” His expression soured and he finished off his coffee, standing and crossing back to the kitchen for a refill.

“Magic is... well, everyone stopped believing it was real a long time ago,” Steve said, despite Loki’s assurance that he was done speaking about magic. He didn’t want him thinking he’d be as hated for his abilities here as he’d have been hated for his true skin back on Asgard. “It’s represented as fantasy. And some of it is in movies like this, intended for kids, so it’s shown as silly, but... it’s like what Bruce said about wolves, I think. People used to be scared of it, and people thought to be witches or whatever got persecuted, but now there’s more fascination with the idea than fear.”

“And it gets depicted a lot of different ways,” Bruce added, jumping in as he placed his mug of tea back on the table. “There’s silly, whimsical magic and there’s scary, skeleton-army raising magic, and pretty much everything in between. Even Merlin is shown in different retellings of Arthurian legend to be everything from an eccentric old man, to a wise and brilliant sorcerer.” He nodded toward Steve, who smiled at him in thanks, inclining his head.

Bruce continued, settling back into the couch cushions. “One of the most popular book series in the entire world is about a young boy who finds out he’s a wizard and goes to a magical school. Remind me to hook you up with some Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings later.”

“Wait, wait wait wait--” Stark appeared back from the kitchen, eyes wide, hands empty. “Back the hell up. Did you say earlier you could _raise the dead_?”

  
  
  


“Well, perhaps, in the event we do not all die horribly, I will be able to offer some education, or. At least someone perhaps without my history will be able to educate your culture again, teach your people what magic is like. And… I am genuinely sorry that your first exposure to seidhr was my… me. I have done no great justice to your world’s views of those who are capable of manipulating Seidhr at all.”

He filed away the titles that Banner mentioned, fully intending to ask him later, when Stark came back.

Loki raised an eyebrow and turned to face Stark, mentally preparing himself for the fight that would no doubt come of this.

“Only in Helheim-- Hel. Only with the permission of the Lady of death, Hela herself. I could not… say, gesture at a fallen friend and bring him back as he was. There is much thought to go into it. First healing the body once the krellr has ceased to flow, then reanimating the body, then petitioning Hela for the spirit… it is not a feat done lightly, and is not one that is done easily, either.”

But, apparently, judging from Stark’s face, it didn’t matter. It was all still evil. Still too close to something that was feared.

“But it is, traditionally, the thing magic wielders are most asked to do. Oft by grieving family or lovers.” He did not look at Steve; he’d taunted him in the past with the thought that he could do this. Taunted him with the knowledge that he could have his Peggy back.

She couldn’t have him now, though, Loki thought grimly.

“It is one of the leading causes of sorcerers’ deaths-- telling people no. Ironic, is it not?”

  
  
  


Steve felt his heart skip a beat as Loki spoke. He remembered the times Loki had offered him anything he wanted, from his magic -- first as a bribe, then as an act of thanks, and both times Steve had refused him. He hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up, hadn’t wanted to ask for _this very reason_.

Bucky.

Right after he’d fallen, Steve would have given anything in the world to have him back. And knowing there was even a chance now...

He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, then opened them again and fixated on the screen, though he didn’t quite follow the events depicted on it, the way his brain was now a-whirl.

“Huh.” Stark leaned against the doorjamb, eyes narrowed. “So, Hell is a real place? As in, if I told you to go to hell, that’d be a thing you could actually do?”

“Tony--” Bruce frowned faintly.

“What? I’m just asking. We’re keeping him around because he knows so much, right?” Tony made his way back across the room and dropped into his seat. “So, what. People ask you to raise the dead, and if you tell them you’re not in the mood, they offer to send you off to join them?”

“Can we just watch the movie?” Steve blurted.

  
  
  


Stark made a disgruntled noise and wandered off back into the kitchen, presumably to pour himself the coffee he’d forgotten the first time he’d gone in.

Loki closed his mouth with a snap, cutting off the retort that had been building and causing the words to die in his mouth. He pressed his lips together hard, fully aware that he had caused Steve distress, and he could guess at why.

Damn, but he was terrible at this. When had his mind become so preoccupied and his lips so loose, when had he ceased to be as observant as he should? He used to be so good at balancing the feelings of a room, manipulating them and turning them for his own purposes.

He wanted to reach out. All he could do was apologize.

“I am sorry. Yes, of course.” He could feel himself sitting stiffer, though. Steve didn’t want them to talk, he couldn’t touch him, so how was he supposed to fix this?

He turned his attention back to the screen, hearing singing. It seemed clear to Loki that the wizard was really hoping that someone would tell him he would make a good bard. Loki wished he would abandon his magic and tutoring and go to it, as it seemed he might be better suited to that

On screen, they were now both fish. His brow furrowed; he’d already told Steve about how awful it was to change someone other than yourself. It was a punishment, reserved for the worst of offenders. And yet here was a small boy, being subjected to it for the sake of-- what? A lesson? Loki didn’t like it.

He liked it a good deal less, too, when the child was suddenly in danger from a much larger fish. Even when the boy showed courage, when he took up arms against a foe too large for him…

Stark rejoined them and seated himself, taking in the action on the screen.

“You know, there are actual movies about you Steve, you don’t have to use stand ins.”

“Tony. Shhh.” Banner said, and handed him a small bag of red candies that he had procured from the drawer of the table.

  
  
  


“Funny, I don’t remember ever getting turned into a fish,” Steve said dryly, not looking over at Tony. He supposed he could see where some of the comparisons could be drawn, though. It had been why he’d felt so drawn to the book in the first place when he read it as a young man.

“I do remember this scene, though, vaguely...” He frowned. There of course, hadn’t been the singing in the book, which tended far more toward philosophizing, but the pike in the moat was consistent, and the tune was oddly catchy. He suspected he’d be humming it after. “It was more about the concept of Might versus Right in the book. And whether or not might makes right.”

Wart’s early lesson about the strong preying upon the weak for power and about how power wasn’t meant to be abused had always stuck with Steve. He’d had very little might for much of his life, and he knew all too well that those who did weren’t always good about how they chose to use their strength. it made him all the more cognizant of his actions after the serum, and the responsibility that it carried not to justify his actions, just because he could.

The movie, while it touched on the idea, seemed to focus more thoroughly on the notion of brains over brawn, and using intellect over brute force. Which was still an apt lesson, though a bit less morally conceptual. But then, Steve had read the book when he was twenty. The movie was made for younger children, as evinced by Bruce recalling it from when he was a little boy. He supposed it made sense to focus on simpler, more broadly applicable lessons rather than the philosophy of rule.

_And the song was really catchy._

In the end, the owl Archimedes rescued Wart from the jaws of the pike, and he and Merlin were safely returned to human form. Steve found himself settling slightly, smiling at Archimedes’ protests that he hadn’t acted with any goodwill, despite obviously having a heart under it all. Were they alone, he might have nudged Loki and teased him about characters who had more compassion than they wished for anyone to know. But they weren’t, so he held his mouth shut.

  
  
  


“I do not think…” Loki said slowly, unsure whether he should speak, given how recently doing so had upset Steve. He sounded like he was calm enough, but without turning to look at him, it was hard to say how much of it was merely an act for Stark and Banner’s benefit.

“I do not think I like Merlin overmuch in this form. Not only for the magic and his use of it, but for how he is with Wart. That is a small child, whom he is endangering to make his point.”

“Well, but it’s educating him. Didn’t your folks teach you lessons? I can’t imagine that all of them were safe.” Banner asked softly, and Loki could hear that there was some tension there, a sort of reservation. He made note to ask Steve about Banner’s family. He’d thought to ask Barton mostly about Banner’s monster and career, but hadn’t dwelled overmuch on his past.

“In Asgard, children are not born often, and when they are… it is of utmost importance to all of the Aesir to keep them safe. None would be so careless as this with them. The adult would be the one taught lessons for having done this. And--”

Back in the world of the movie, they were returning to the castle, and Loki was hard pressed to believe that what they were saying could be true.

“Do you mean to tell me that there is only this small boy for a servant, even in a castle that size? It’s no wonder the tower is in disrepair and there is mess every place… how does he find time to sleep?”

Then Merlin began the dishes washing themselves, much as Loki had, and tugged the boy off for his own adventures, and Loki huffed.

“And so the good character building work that gives time to think and builds strength in arms and appreciation for the effort that goes into life… that is not worth doing, and instead the child should be put into danger’s path. Again.”

  
  
  


The dishwashing scene made Steve smile, and he could see how Bruce had drawn the comparison that had led to the mention of the movie in the first place. The self-cleaning dishes and the floating sea of bubbles bore a fair resemblance to Stark’s kitchen’s state after breakfast.

But to this too, Loki seemed to take objection. “There are other servants,” Steve assured him. “And either he’s being overworked, or he’s not building character?” he asked, pointing out the slight error in Loki’s logic. Whether or not Wart was washing pots, he seemed to be upset with the situation. Though Steve did think that abandoning the chores was slightly irresponsible--

“Good character building work,” Stark scoffed. “You were a prince back on space viking planet, weren’t you? How would you even know hard work if it smacked you upside the head?”

“Says the richest man in America,” Bruce mumbled into his teacup under his breath.

“Which I worked for,” Tony pointed out sharply.

“He doesn’t actually get hurt,” Steve said to Loki gently, hoping to distract from Stark’s commentary. “Merlin and Archimedes between them keep him safe, or teach him the tools to solve his own problems. That’s a part of what he needs to learn; the wits and understanding to win his own battles.” Wart didn’t have a family to coddle and protect him, after all, beyond Ector and Kay (who were far less sympathetic in the film than in the book), and Steve knew all too well that in that position, you had to learn to stand up for yourself.

Meanwhile on the screen, Wart and Merlin were now squirrels, and garnering the unwanted amorous attention of female squirrels while Wart learned about gravity, love, and the irrationality of infatuation.

  
  
  


“If it is his job, it would not be punishment. If it is punishment, it cannot be his job,” Loki told Steve frankly. “And the idea that in either case, he is being relieved of duties assigned to him in the interest of putting him into-- well, as I said, I do not like Merlin’s understanding and teaching of responsibility. I like Archimedes a little better, but both teach him in a way that is at best described as negligent.” He said.

“If I were to teach wits and understanding, I would do it as you have taught me of your world, through stories and explanations, or we have games tables on Asgard, to show visualizations of armies in battle and teach our children how to use their wits and strategies. Children learn to care for themselves against problems that arise well enough, without larger problems that they are not suited for handling being introduced to them. If I wanted to teach a child about how to outsmart a larger predator, I would not endanger the child by attempting to feed him to a pike while out of his element and unequipped to defend himself; I would take him hunting and let him see the way a fox may outsmart and outrun a hound.”

“And being a prince is not being pampered, no matter what your people do with their royalty. Being a prince on Asgard meant the day was consumed with learning-- histories and languages, deportment and politics, strategizing and combat… and failure to behave in a princely manner…” Loki shrugged. “No child, no matter how studious, could sit through all of that without misbehaving. And when we did, we were assigned work to teach us the value of the damages we did or the offenses we made. I have sharpened swords and cleaned armor and mucked stalls. As I grew older, my punishment was hours spent in the healing wards, all of which is very much work. And, for the worst of offenses…” He said, trying to lighten the mood and sound less offended than he felt, “We might be forced to entertain one of the ambassador’s daughters. If we were especially heinous, it would be arranged that we spend a day with _Illrfifla_.”

“Was your Illrfifla anything like that?” Bruce asked, nodding at the female squirrel on the screen.

“Not at all. She was repugnant in name, personality, and hospitality. I cannot say I have ever had to deal with anything quite like that.” He gestured towards the screen, where despite his trying to push her away, the girl squirrel only advanced on poor Wart.

  
  
  


“Oh for crying out loud, relax, prince of darkness, it’s just a movie,” Tony said, drinking from his fresh cup of coffee.

“He does have a point,” Steve added, quietly. “All of it is just a story. Watching Wart study tables and strategies wouldn’t be as entertaining as shapeshifting, and a lack of peril wouldn’t be as exciting. No one is suggesting this is necessarily the way it ought to be done, but it’s a clever way to tell the story. Also...” He shrugged. “I grew up around the time this was written. And a lot of the time, you sort of had to hit the ground running and learn as you went. Sometimes, you have to learn by doing. Hell -- There were guys still in their teens fighting in the war.” It was nice to think that every child was loved and wanted and carefully guarded on Asgard, but not every kid on Earth had that luxury.  

But that being said, it was nice to see that Loki got so outraged over the neglect and mistreatment of a child; that he was the kind of guy who got bent out of shape when kids were in danger.

(A small voice in the back of Steve’s mind questioned how many children had been in danger or died during the attack on Manhattan. He quickly pushed it to the back of his mind, concentrating instead on the squirrels).

“So, spending time in the healing wards as punishment was how you learned to heal?” Bruce asked. “Send me to Asgard and get me in trouble, because I’d love to learn that...” He smiled. “Though I’ll take a pass on dancing with Illr-whatshername.”

The antics of the squirrels on the screen progressed, with Wart once again falling into danger and being rescued by the girl squirrel, only to be transformed back into a human, leaving her utterly heartbroken.

“That’s sad,” Steve murmured, as the girl squirrel cooed and wept in her tree.

“Interspecies relationships. Almost as bad as long distance,” Stark joked, putting his hands behind his head and kicking his feet up on to the table.

Steve stole a look at Loki and then quickly looked away, swallowing.

  
  
  


“Apologies. I did not mean to suggest that you would not have been endangered in your learning process. Only that-- well. I have said my piece.” He shrugged and sighed inwardly. Would not children, growing up seeing something such as this, be more inclined to trust elders who ought not be trusted? To agree to the dangerous methods of learning, rather than bucking against them?

Loki pressed his lips closed again to keep from further complaining about the story, since it seemed that here stories told were not used as lessons, were not taken with the gravity and seriousness of a story back on Asgard. He could not help but remember his own stories of his youth, the way each one taught the listener expectations and how to behave. perhaps it was better that he just close his mouth and attempt to enjoy the story for what it was.

But when Stark said his piece about interspecies relationships, Loki immediately went stone faced, carefully not moving a muscle, nor even breathing until several seconds had passed. Then he turned his head incrementally to look out the corner of his eye, first at Stark, then to Banner, and finally at Steve. Did they suspect--? No, because while Banner seemed capable of subtlety, surely such a revelation would bring out his beast. And Stark had no subtlety at all-- he would have exploded by now if he knew.

So the statement was probably intended as a joke. And it was not a funny one.

Back on screen, Ector, played by a depiction of Volstagg, was talking again of black magic. Loki glowered and folded his arms, but said nothing.

He continued to say nothing when the boy took up the fight against Ector, crying out that Merlin was good, and that his magic was good, too, but he uncrossed his arms and his frown turned to a look of sadness, while his heart clenched ever so slightly.

As little as he wanted to like Merlin, he did like Wart. He had a compassion that no one else exhibited, and whether he may have once resembled the boy or not, it was easy to see Steve in that compassion, that kindness. That care. And was that not what he was here trying to tell these men? That Loki could be good, that his magic was good?

The scene turned to the child in Merlin’s tower, and they spoke of education again.

“Well, that is true of Asgard, if not of your world.” Loki pointed out quietly, when Merlin spoke of the Earth being flat, and then, more loudly, when the child said he could not read, Loki spat out an incredulous, “Oh yes, and so we should be _squirrels_ rather than teaching the boy to--” He broke off his words, mindful that his ire was neither appreciated nor taken seriously. He bit down on his lip, standing to refresh his tea rather than be forced to listen to any mockery that Stark may come up with for his latest outburst.

“More, Banner?” He asked, politely.

  
  
  


Steve had nodded along with Wart’s tirade against Ector -- _He’s not an old devil! Just because you can't understand something, it... it doesn't mean it's wrong!_ \-- almost wishing he could turn up the volume on those words.

But of course, the thing most people didn’t want to understand, and that he’d been told was wrong all his life, was something that had to be kept under wraps for now. He pressed his lips together, holding in his indignation.

Loki had managed to contain his running commentary for the most part throughout that scene and into the next, but exploded when Wart revealed he couldn’t read. Steve couldn’t help but feel his mouth tug into a smile. The level of sheer frustration Loki felt for a fictional child’s plight was... well, frankly it was rather endearing. It a little bit annoying while trying to watch a movie.

“Yes, please,” Banner replied, handing over his mug. “But just Bruce is fine. And I think I’m with you on the prioritization there, Loki. As, it seems, is Archimedes...”

The fictional owl in question was in a tizzy over Wart’s illiteracy, and had started him on learning the alphabet and writing out letters in chalk, apparently sharing Loki’s views on the importance of reading over animal transformations.

But soon enough the lesson was derailed by Merlin’s failed experiment with a model airplane and Archimedes’ ensuing hysterics at the idea of human flight. ‘ _Man will fly, someday!_ ’ Merlin grumbled. To Steve’s left, Stark smirked. “True fact. Been there, done that, and it was awesome. Although--” He looked back in Loki’s direction. “Whaddya mean about it not being true of Asgard? You’re pulling my leg, right?”

  
  
  


Loki turned the tap off and placed the kettle back on the stove, twisting the gleaming knobs below it the way he’d seen Steve do, until he saw fire spring up beneath it.

Having thus conquered their system of food preparation-- or at the very least, tea preparation-- Loki leaned against the counter in the doorway, as Tony had done, to be able to watch the movie but pull himself back from it some.

“Asgard is flat.” Loki said, equally flatly. “Our-- _their_ realm is like a disc with waterfalls that plummet from the edges, and an upside and a downside. Asgard is… perhaps flat is the wrong word. We have mountains and the like. But only one surface.” He shrugged.

“And at some point, when you are not so… wary of me. Perhaps we might trade information on our respective knowledge of flight. I have no interest in using it against you, but I am very much fascinated in how your suit achieves its lift. It seems like it would be quite heavy.” He hoped his curiosity came off as non-threatening as he intended it to. Especially standing as he was now, with his arms crossed over himself and his shoulders slanted in-- not completely making himself small, but certainly relaxed and in no position to attack.

He watched the bird Wart begin his flight and sighed again, annoyed that the first real signs of growth for him had been interrupted yet again by Merlin and his urge to transform the boy… and, once again, leave him unarmed against a higher predator while out of his element. But this time…

This time he fell into a house, down through a chimney to land, covered in soot and coughing.

  
  
  


Stark gaped. “You’re shitting me. Flat planet? What, is it on the backs of four elephants standing on a giant turtle or something? No, no, ignore that. But seriously, how does that even--” He snatched up a tablet from a corner table and began flicking his fingers over the surface. “Jarv, start running simulations for me on a tetrahedral landform with sustained gravity...”

“In the middle of the movie?” Bruce asked. “Come on, Mim is about to show up, let it be for the next, what, half hour?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Because cartoons are more important than proving an astronomical impossibility. Good sciencing there, buddy,” Stark remarked casually, fingers flicking over schematics. “How much mass are we talking here? Asgard’s gotta be tiny for its own gravity not to pull itself into a sphere, unless you have your own laws of physics there too...”

“Loki,” Steve said, curiosity piqued by Loki’s mention of his knowledge of flight. “Can you... I know you can shapeshift into other forms, but can you shift into animals? Like a bird, for instance?”

In the movie, Wart was encountering Madame Mim, but Steve found himself distracted from the song number with its numerous transformations.

  
  
  


The teapot began its howl and Loki silenced it and poured the mugs full, carrying them, teabags intact, back into the watching area.

“I… can yes.” Loki said hesitantly, while on the screen behind Steve, a woman claiming to be evil demonstrated it by transforming, exactly as they were speaking of. He swallowed, wondering if he was damning himself with the admission. “Does that qualify as the evil magic you spoke of?” He asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Loki looked to Stark, confused by his blatant refusal to acknowledge the possibility of what Loki said being true.

“I am in possession of an energy force that you are unfamiliar with, one which originates from that place, and you cannot imagine how it works? Is it, perhaps, because you do not have all of the necessary information? From what I have seen, parts of your landscape do not float, either- if I told you that we have the hollow mountain, which may only be reached by air ship, or that it is the norm for buildings to have outer towers and homes, connected only by rooftop walkways, would you tell me that was impossible as well?” He arched his eyebrow challengingly.

“But Ban- _Bruce_ ,” He said with a nod at the man in question, “is correct. Let us finish the film-- this woman seems to be the most sensible of the characters thus far. Or, at least, her logic follows.”

  
  
  


“What? No, Merlin was doing shapeshifting the whole time, remember?” Steve hurried to point out, not wanting Loki to think he was evil because of archaic moral judgements on something that wasn’t even supposed to exist in their reality. “Madame Mim... nothing she’s doing now is evil, but--”

“But she’s bonkers,” Stark said without looking up from the tablet. “Bug-fuck crazy, that one.” He stopped and peered up at Loki. “Okay, on the off chance that you’re not just screwing with me here -- does physics just behave totally differently there? Or do you have some kind of additional force that exerts itself on mass in your relative area? Is it some kind of dark matter?” His eyes had taken on a fervent gleam, which Steve wasn’t sure was a good thing or not.

“Movie,” Bruce reminded them.

And despite Loki’s assertion that Mim was the most sensible, her current antics of jumping up and down, yanking at her hair, and declaring herself to be mad seemed at odds with that conclusion.

“Bonkers,” Stark repeated in a whisper.

And then, when Mim questioned who the greatest was, and Wart replied that Merlin’s magic was useful -- to _help_ people, Steve felt a small flare of vindication, and turned to Loki with a smile. Right as Mim declared her intention to destroy Wart.

“Yeesh,” Bruce said, blowing on his fresh, piping hot cup of tea. Just as Merlin appeared in a magical whirlwind in the nick of time to rescue Wart from Mim’s clutches.

  
  
  


“Again-- she is undignified, but her protestations of madness mean that no one expects her to behave otherwise.” Loki said, shrugging. “At least she makes sense-- she says she will try to destroy the child and tries. Even if those attempting to elevate the boy seem to have better chances of succeeding in destroying him than her,” he muttered, only a little less bitter, now that Wart had managed to do at least a little learning.

He sent a grateful look at Steve just the same, though.

“I know you have done it thus far without my requesting, however-- If ever something I do begins to verge on evil by your terms, please tell me.” Speaking with Steve had already alerted him to a good many differences, but he had not spent any amount of time speaking with other Midgardians until now, and it seemed there were yet more cultural discrepancies he had yet to consider, let alone adapt to.

He kept his eyes on the screen, content not to provoke Stark into questioning him further, lest he annoy Steve again.

Even so…

“It does seem an illogical means of dueling.” He said.

Stark snorted, and Banner looked bemused.

“Is there any real logical means of dueling?” He asked, clearly not expecting an answer from the question. Which was good, because Loki found himself illprepared to give him one. It was odd, knowing that the greatest destructive force he had ever seen-- so much so that he had once lay an entire plan around his urge to harness it-- lay trapped with a man so peaceable as this.

  
  
  


“I will,” Steve answered quietly, wishing he could give Loki’s hand a squeeze. He hadn’t had to call Loki out too many times, and it seemed that there were... cultural moral differences between their worlds. But the fact that Loki was willing to learn and to listen and to back off, to trust Steve to help be his moral compass when he didn’t fully trust his own judgement, meant a lot. He wanted to tell him that he was doing so much better and so well so far, that his self-awareness was so important and so good, but expounding on that topic in front of Banner and Stark was probably not the best. Maybe later, he’d tell him.

He hoped Loki already knew.

The wizard’s duel that Mim challenged Merlin to proved about as whimsical and wild as the rest of the film, with the two competing magicians changing into different shapes in search of a way to defeat one another. There were a few chuckles all around as Merlin turned into a goat to try to heatbutt Mim off a cliff with his horns.

“I think he stole your look there, Lokes,” Stark said.

Steve rolled his eyes, but contemplated Bruce’s question about means of dueling. “I used to go hand to hand in a back alley. Fisticuffs,” he mused. “Well, hand to face. Fist to face. My face.” He winced. “I wasn’t actually any _good_ at it...”

He trailed off. “In retrospect, that probably wasn’t very logical. But it felt important at the time.” There were guys who only knew how to have conversations with their fists, and when someone had to stand up to them, well, Steve was ready to do it while speaking their language. Even if he did end up with a black eye or split lip more often than not.  

And then Merlin turned into a virus, prompting Mim to break out in spots and chills, soundly defeating her while sparing her life and still adhering to the rules of the duel. “Clever,” Banner commented.

  
  
  


Loki swallowed the words he wanted to say, about it being difficult to imagine Steve not being good at anything, about how he wished he had known, when Steve was here being beat by those larger than him, so that he might come and put an end to it. But now was not the time, this was not the place and--

“I will have you know it is Thor with the fascination for goats, not I.” He said sternly, broken from his tender thoughts by Stark’s snide remark. He was quite used to being mocked for his helmet design. “You must admit, though, it does give me an identifiable silhouette, adds an imposing extra height, and back before I knew I needed no help in the department, made me look less like an Aesir and more like a monster. It was intended to be fearsome, but I will admit… I was young when I designed it, and have kept it only out of a stubborn wish not to look shamed into discarding it. I had thought to give myself a new one when I reached adulthood…” He trailed off, then shrugged. “Neither here nor there, now.”

Glad there was something to distract him from that, he turned his face back towards the screen, just in time to see young Wart receiving the news that he was going to be allowed to be Kay’s squire after all-- and then when he went to share his good news with his friend…

“Oh no.” Loki said on a whisper, his heart aching and his eyes tearing up.

He’d known he didn’t much like Merlin. He had no idea he would be led to hate him. He held tightly to his mug of tea, focusing on not breaking it, rather than trying to focus elsewhere.

Even still, he found himself leaning back, further into the couch, closer to Steve. He halted the movement and froze as he was, not yet touching him, but very definitely leaning in his direction, like a flower drawn to the comfort of the sun.

  
  
  


Steve rubbed his chin thoughtfully. If Loki wasn’t married to the idea of his costume... well, the horned silhouette had some negative connotations, and it was about all anyone had seen or remembered of his appearance during the invasion. Without it, he was unrecognizable to the public (SHIELD had contained any clear photos of Loki, so all that had hit the web and news networks were wide shots, blurry camera phone images, and other indistinct bits of footage that didn’t reveal his face.)

But with a new outfit, a new identity, a new purpose...

It was a longshot to imagine Loki could ever serve as an Avenger. But it was still a thought Steve didn’t mind entertaining. He was about to remark to Loki that he could help him come up with some new designs, do up some sketches -- but then Loki’s face fell and he murmured in distress.

Oh.

Wart, having finally been made a squire and given permission to go to London, had rushed up to inform Merlin, who rather than being happy for him, railed against the stupidity of the endeavor, insisting that Wart ought to be pursuing his education and making something of himself. When Wart began to argue, weeping, Merlin took off, literally, shooting through the air like a rocket with his magic, disappearing with no promise of return.

Steve could only imagine now what Loki was remembering. What memories of abandonment were springing to mind. He almost put an arm around him, then and there, Stark and Banner be damned. Instead, he shifted his leg enough that his knee was touching Loki’s, providing one small point of contact. “It gets better,” he whispered.

And then the scene changed to medieval London in the winter, with knights clashing in a colorful tournament, only for Wart to recall in horror that he had forgotten Kay’s sword.

  
  
  


Loki watched as the small boy, now more alone than he had been before he’d had Merlin in his life, was berated for his absent mindedness. He winced, well aware of what that kind of pain, that sort of denial, could do to a mind.

Loki forced himself to sit straighter, allowing his mind to focus on the tiny point of contact between them, small enough to look accidental, and all they could afford to risk at the moment.

He pulled his arms tightly around himself, then scoffed when this version of Wart pulled the sword from the… anvil, really.

“First, if something glows, I would advise against lifting it.” He drawled, then stopped-- aware that this was the distancing that he did, the kind that Steve had warned him against. “But more,” he spoke in a more normal voice, though he did fight the strain of his current tumultuous emotions out of it, “What has this version of Wart done that is worthy? He is kind, I will grant you, which is a sort of worthiness… but who would reward kindness with a weapon?” The logic, again, shuddered in his mind.

And yet… this small boy, who could barely read or write, who had no strength to his name and no power beside the kindness and goodness of his heart, had been found worthy.

And Loki, who lacked both of those things, had never been found anything but unworthy. It seemed a simple answer, but perhaps it was so just the same.

“I think it’s the idea that only someone who’s good should have the weapon.” Stark spoke up, unexpectedly, and Loki got the feeling he was reflecting on something other than the movie as well.

For all its whimsy, for all their protests that it was _just a story_ , it did still affect their thoughts, as much as it was affecting his.

“Yes, but now he is King, unprepared for it, and the boy who cannot protect himself from poor advisors and the danger posed by a _fish_ has to fend off politicking nobles and the assassination attempts of would-be kings.” He pointed out. “So all of these lessons, it would seem, are for naught. He may have the right on his side, but might will still tear his soul from his body.” Especially alone as he was on his throne.

Loki frowned, well aware that he would have been in a similar position, had he ever succeeded. Not that he would be in the right. But alone. He shifted a little, so that the Captain’s knee dug into his muscle ever so slightly, just reminding himself that he wasn’t, anymore.

  
  
  


“He makes friends, though,” Steve added. “He learns to surround himself with good people, like all the knights of the round table. And Merlin comes back,” he pointed out, just as the old wizard came rocketing back into the scene, in significantly better humor to help guide and reassure the Wart -- Arthur.

“He’s also the heir to the throne genealogically,” Bruce said. “Arthur’s the long lost son of the old king Uther Pendragon, so he’s ‘worthy’ by birth according to the laws.”

”Just because you’re a legacy doesn’t mean you deserve it,” Stark said, watching the screen instead of his tablet as the music swelled with the end of the movie.

“In legend, Arthur heralded in a time of peace of prosperity during his rule,” Steve told Loki. “Of course, it’s mostly legend. And you’re right, it’d probably be a lot less rosy in reality. But in the myths, his divine right to rule granted by the sword is respected because of his birth, and because he’s... well, he’s a good king. In the book, Merlin teaches him more about different kinds of rule and their pitfalls, but in this, he’s taught him to look at problems from a different approach and think his way through things.” He shrugged. “He doesn’t abuse his power, he has a good heart, and-- the whole idea with the round table that they mention there, is that Arthur ended up creating a round table that his knights sat at, so that no one would be at the head of the table, and every seat was of equal importance, so everyone got a voice. And it’s... it’s less about the sword being a weapon and more about it being a symbol.”

Bruce, he noticed, was looking at him oddly. But when Steve raised an eyebrow, the doctor shook his head and looked away with a ‘nevermind’ gesture.

  
  
  


“Your people do so love their symbols.” He said lightly, refusing to delve into it, refusing to put words to what Ban-Bruce’s look had so clearly meant. Who but a man good and fair and kind could be a symbol? One that people looked up to, one like… Steve.  

That would only make Steve uncomfortable though, and he had done enough of that. But it was through, they had had their group bonding-- watched their movie. And Loki felt somewhat unsatisfied at the end of it.

“I like the book a good deal more than this, if only because it was allowed to be more thoughtful. I appreciate the character of Wart, but less so Merlin. I… do not like him at all. Particularly his... When Wart is glad because he gets what he wanted." He frowned hard. But he didn't want to dwell on that.

"But the art was… Could you do such things with your art? Make them breathe and speak and move and cry?” He asked. The idea of Steve’s drawings in motion across their pages, reliving the moments they were caught in… it was a beautiful thought. And, he was sure, a sad one for Steve. He cursed his failure to think it through before speaking.

“You have been modest about your work, Captain, but all that I have seen of yours has been superior to what we watched in every way.”

"Yeah you said that before-- I didn't know you were an artist, Steve." The way Stark said it, there was almost an accusation in the words, and Loki wondered if it was because he knew this about Steve that Stark hadn't. The thought gave him some pleasure, if only because there was much he knew of Steve that no other did. The sounds and faces and warmth of him in intimacy. And Stark would never know them.

"You know he went to art school." Bruce said mildly, and Stark sniffed audibly.

"Yeah well I took a course in Estonian, but you don't hear me speaking it on the regular, do you?"

  
  
  


Steve frowned at Tony. “You took Estonian?”

“The TA was a cute redhead named Lisa or Liesel or Lise.... something like that,” Tony said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Not the point.”

Steve sighed. “I’m not an artist. I mean, I like to draw, and I think I would have probably liked to end up as an artist if it hadn’t been for the war. I did a little bit of cartoon illustration for the papers and advertisements, and I spent a summer working as a sketch artist on Coney Island, but once I enlisted, it was one of those things that just never happened,” he explained with a shrug. “I was a soldier. Still am, now. Probably always will be.” So long as he had the serum, he was obligated to be Captain America. To live up to the responsibilities given him, fighting the good fight and saving lives, rather to than fritter his life away on pretty pictures.

“And I only took one class in animation, and I wasn’t even that good at it,” he said, turning his attention to Loki’s question. “Something like what we just watched would have taken a whole team of animators months upon months. I could maybe do a flipbook doodle, but that’s about it. I did a few comics, but those don’t move.” And suddenly he felt apologetic, as if he had somehow let Loki down by not learning this particular skill, despite its frivolity.

“We really oughta take you to a museum or something so you see some half decent art instead of just my stuff,” he added, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

“So, are we gonna get to see any of this art of yours?” Tony asked with eyebrows raised.

Steve blushed. “I left all my sketchbooks behind,” he lied, looking down at the coffee table.

“Uh-huh. JARVIS, order some art supplies online. Cap, I’m totally commissioning you to do something. Maybe you can draw Bruce -- he’s really good at holding still when he does all that yoga crap--”

Bruce sighed, looking at Steve with his mouth in a grim, remorseful line.

  
  
  


Steve’s lie took a moment to register, but he sent him a small smile in recognition of it.

“Perhaps once you do, I can show you how we bespell our childrens’ books, that the illustrations within move.” He offered it as an apology; he hadn’t intended to make Steve uncomfortable. Then again, Steve’s lying had probably done more than Steve realized in returning the favor. The urge to reach out, to kiss the lie off of his lips, to taste the color high in his cheeks, rose unbidden in Loki’s stomach.

Rather than allow himself to become distracted by that, though, he thought back to the books he’d been given as a child and frowned, suddenly realizing just how many of them had been about slaying monsters. What else would a race of warriors teach their children, after all?

“I would… like to see a museum of your world’s art.” He said carefully, and though he spoke to Steve, he looked to Bruce and Stark, wondering if it would be… allowed, for lack of better word. If they would be permitted to leave unaccompanied. “Are we not concerned with SHIELD, though? Would they not… approach us, or attempt to restrain us?” It only seemed fair to point out the dangers.

“Have you heard from them at all?” Bruce asked Stark, and Loki turned his head to observe the man who was busily playing with his pad-- a handy way of keeping his eyes averted, so that they did not show any lies they might hold. Loki knew this trick; he had employed it freely in the past. But he did not like seeing it used against him now.

“Not me.” Stark said simply. “But then, I screen my calls. JARVIS?”

_“Nothing from SHIELD, sir.”_

Loki hummed, not certain he believed the robot any more than he believed its creator.

“Speaking of things we left behind, though,” Loki said, suddenly remembering a way that he might be able to touch Steve that even Stark and Bruce mightn’t object to, “We were getting scissors for your haircut, when you were recognized. If Stark has some, I might be able to do that now, before we do have to go out again.”

  
  
  


Steve tensed as Bruce inquired about SHIELD, but although they seemingly hadn’t made contact, the answer wasn’t as comforting as it ought to have been. Steve didn’t exactly know many people in the world anymore. The other Avengers were among his few contacts outside SHIELD. He would have thought Fury would have at least called, if not come banging down Stark’s door to see if he’d gone to ground here...

Unless he had, and Stark was lying. Did SHIELD know that he and Loki were here? Were they just waiting for the right moment? Had Stark told--?

He shook himself. No. Stark was an ass sometimes, but when the chips were down, Steve trusted him. If he were going to turn them over, he wouldn’t wait this long.

If SHIELD hadn’t come looking, it could be that they suspected he was here and were waiting and watching to find out what he and Loki were up to. Or, it could be that if they thought Loki was in full control, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to come and crash with two of the men who’d defeated him last time around.

He ran a hand through his bangs just in time for Loki to bring up the topic of a haircut, reminding him of its irritating length. “You know, yeah. Tony, I don’t suppose Miss Potts would have a pair we could borrow? I have a comb somewhere, but no scissors...”

Tony snorted. “I can do you one better. Gimme half an hour, I have this great barber on retainer, Vinnie, I’ll give him a call--”

“Just the scissors, please,” Steve interrupted. “I’d rather we keep a low profile for now.”

  
  
  


He could see how Banner was watching them, obviously finding the suggestion odd, and Steve’s refusal of a ‘proper’ haircut was explained away by SHIELD apparently not knowing where they were-- or at least pretending not to.

But if Stark could break into their videos, could they not potentially do the same for his? And if so, why would they not make calls, or moves, why not merely try to take the building? Unless they were waiting for a mistake from them. Unless they were just observing. Unless someone here-- unless _Stark_ was reporting to them, biding his time… Loki was gripped by a chill, but refused to let the shiver overtake him. Steve trusted these men. And Loki trusted Steve. If he had to he could get them out.  

But reminded of the videos, Loki began regretting having brought up the haircut. He would have liked to treat Steve to the proper levels of care due to his lover… not that Loki was at all experienced in giving it, but at the very least he could have tried. Now, he would be able to do no more than Steve had done for him, not knowing any better. At least Steve would not have to be tied down for it.

He wondered if Thanos had done that to Steve, if he had hurt him the way Loki had allowed himself to be hurt. Never again, for either of them, he promised himself once more.

“You sure you don’t want someone else to--” Stark started, but Loki turned his face to him so quickly, so furiously, that it surprised them both.

Forced to hide the reasoning for it, Loki thought quickly.

“I know you do not trust me, Stark, but do you really think me so foolish as to stab the only one willing to speak for me, _the man I choose to fight Thanos to save_ , while our safety relies on remaining under your roof?” Loki drew himself in, sure he was garnering Steve’s ire as well as Stark’s, and upsetting Banner in the process, but unable to stop, lest Stark be given more reason to wonder.

“Trust me or not as you see fit; at least credit me with some sensibility.” He said a little more gently, hoping that his near-teasing tone would soften the sting of his immediate reaction.

  
  
  


Steve reached and put a hand on Loki’s forearm, the gesture somewhere between comfort and an act of restraint. “Loki,” he said lowly, hoping the other man would calm himself. The abrupt gleam of anger in his eyes had been... unsettling. Though Steve supposed he ought to have expected something like it. Loki had been on alert in a stressful situation since they got to the tower, and his fuse would understandably be frayed by now.

Not that such an explanation was likely to make Stark or Banner any more comfortable around him.

“It’s fine,” he assured. “Loki used to cut Thor’s hair, and he knows if he gives me a mullet or anything I’ll just get him back when it’s his turn.” He tried for a joke. “Really. I just think we maybe all need some quiet time?”

“I think that’s probably a good idea,” Bruce commented, slowly getting to his feet. “Tony, would you be willing to help me with that particle relocator schematic?”

Stark had his eyes fixed darkly on Loki, but after a few moments, he finally stood. “Yeah. Sure,” he answered curtly. “There’s scissors in the linen closet at the end of the guest wing hallway. Help yourself.”

He turned away and Steve could almost swear he heard the words ‘it’s your funeral’ mumbled afterwards as he followed Banner toward the elevator that would take them down to the lab.

  
  



	26. Twenty-Six

Once the living area was empty save for Loki and Steve, the latter exhaled deeply, sinking back into the cushion and reaching up to rub the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Well,” he began, lowering his hands and staring up at the ceiling. “All things considered I think that went well.”

  


“I’m sorry.” Loki said promptly. “I-- reacted inappropriately.” It was the closest he could come to admitting what had really happened, and he could only hope that Steve understood. 

“ I just.” He stopped himself, stopped the excuses that threatened. Instead he heaved out a sigh. 

“ There is…” He tried to find words to make it sound dignified, for the men he was certain were listening in, as well as to distance him from Steve for their eyes. “There is a fine line between what I feel I am owed as a person and the sense that I need behave in a manner almost subservient in order not to incite ire and cause problems. And more… I don’t know what is expected of me. Am I a prisoner? Will I cause offense or startlement if I wander?” The sentences were short and sharp, punctuated more with his frustration than anything else. 

“ I did not-- I wasn’t sure if I should attempt to leave my room without you, let alone invite myself into the common areas.” He stood pacing as he spoke, because he knew this vulnerability would read well to all concerned. He could feel himself slipping backwards into the place in his mind where he analyzed himself, analyzed his movement and the people he was playing to, and adjusted himself accordingly. It felt dishonest, but did it count if he was lying for Steve, now?

He stilled himself, feeling the air stir around him. 

“ I’m sorry.” He said again. “That SHIELD has not moved puts me on edge. That I can be treated as a person one moment and then treated as a suspect the next…” He blew air out harshly. 

“ If you would retrieve the scissors, I will meet you in the bathroom I assume is attached to your room, the way mine is, in a few moments’ time. Is that acceptable?”

If he were doing this properly, there would be no fetching done by Steve, none of this sharpness. And he did not mean to be so sharp now, did not  _ need _ to be. But it was an act. And a good one, he thought. Something for Stark to think on-- a way for him to realize that Loki was making an effort to behave. Bruce, he thought, would merely continue to be sympathetic. And, he hoped, would then feel that he might invite Loki out from his room more often. It would give him further time with the man, to soldify their own bonds. Stark, it seemed, would continue to take work. And he was contrary enough that unless he got him alone, Loki would have to be careful that he did not push Steve and Bruce away by agreeing too easily with him. 

He doubted that time together would be given easily or willingly, but it did give him something to think on, some immediate target for his focus. He needed Tony Stark not to trust him… but to like him. Which he suspected would be easier said than done.

  
  


“ I get that,” Steve said quietly, reaching out and giving Loki’s hand a quick squeeze. Enough to be familiar, but not enough to be  _ too _ familiar. “And to be fair, I’m pretty sure Stark’s superpower is being able to push people’s buttons,” he said with a smile. “He knows how to hit mine.”

It wasn’t fair though, for Loki to have to exist in this limbo, unsure of his role, unable to tell the truth and then suspected for a liar. Steve had been the one to put him here too. But surely it had to be better than locked up in a cage?

Surely it had to be better than being dead?

“ It’ll get better,” he promised, with more conviction in his voice than he necessarily felt. “Once they get more used to you. See more of how you are. I mean, Bruce is already warming up to you. And Tony... it’s been less than a day.” Stark was petulant and stubborn and Steve didn’t doubt the man could hold a grudge, assuming he had the attention span for it. But with luck he’d realized he and Loki had more than a few things in common, and... well, Tony was a man of science. He had to believe in hard evidence, right? And right now nothing Loki did supported the hypothesis that he was still a villain.

“ You’re doing real well,” he said, just above a whisper, then clapped a hand to Loki’s shoulder, standing up and moving back. “And if SHIELD isn’t on us yet... that has to be a good thing, yeah?” If SHIELD knew where they were and hadn’t come in with guns blazing, then maybe they were actually watching. Maybe they were open to being convinced. 

Maybe.

Steve stepped into the kitchen, picking up one of the simple chairs and bringing it with him, as it would make a more comfortable seat than the edge of the toilet -- although it would be a bit of a tight fit in the bathroom, he was sure they’d make it work.

He made his way down the hall to fetch the scissors, and then returned to his room with the shears and chair in hand, setting up in the bathroom, and after a moment’s thought, peeling off his shirt so he didn’t get hair all over it.

“ JARVIS?” he asked.

“ _ Yes, Captain?” _

“ Is anyone currently watching the camera feed?”

“ _ Not at present, Captain.” _

Steve pressed his lips together, debating whether or not to ask to be taken off the record again, not sure if it was a privilege he might overly abuse. Before he could make up his mind, however, Loki appeared in the doorway.

  
  


He’d taken a few moments in the living room to compose himself, primarily as a show but also to try and put other thoughts from his head. He’d swallowed the last of his tea and had a glass of cool water, then left it in the sink, with a tiny afterthought of a spell setting the brush to scrubbing out the tea rings. 

Thus prepared he moved to Steve’s room, where the door hung open. He wasn’t sure if he should step inside, if he should close the door after him if he did… but there was Steve, standing there shirtless and composed looking, and Loki felt his own uncertainty being dispelled. He wanted to smile for him, to reach out and stroke and kiss and whisper sweetness to him, but his hands felt tied. So instead he simply raised an eyebrow. 

“ We haven’t really spoken of what you want with your hair.” He offered, keeping distance with his body in the doorway and his words not overly familiar. Even when all he wanted to do was rub at Steve’s temples and smooth the too-long strands in every direction, before brushing them straight and filling them with sweet smelling cleansing oils. 

“ As I said, the men of Asgard do not cut their hair particularly short often, but I am familiar with the process-- it is sometimes necessary to remove hair for healing purposes.” Not that he wanted to remind Steve of the time he had spent as a younger man, being ill, or make him think he equated this with that. “It should yield something close enough to your fashions.” He hurried to add. 

It felt strange, no glass between them now, but still lingering at a distance, though he was so close. It might have been easier had the glass been there, the reminder of a physical reason that he wasn’t basking in Steve’s warmth in place and firm. because his eyes told his body it could have what his heart wanted, but his mind continued to remind him otherwise. 

  
  


“ Honestly, so long as it’s out of my eyes, I’m happy. Just a little off everywhere,” Steve said, sinking down into the chair and grabbing a towel from the bar, sliding it over his shoulders as he’d done for Loki when he’d given him his haircut. Steve, of course, had the luxury of not being chained to the chair. He winced, remembering Loki’s panic. This, at least, promised to be less traumatic for the both of them. “And really, it’s just hair. It’ll grow out quick enough again anyway.” Not that he didn’t trust Loki -- he had a meticulousness about him that Steve strongly suspected would extend to the task at hand -- but he didn’t want to add any unnecessary pressure. 

“ Here,” he said, gesturing for Loki to step in. “Come on. Go ahead and shut the door so it’s not in the way...”

Not that the door took up significant space in the bathroom, but once it was shut, Steve looked up at Loki with a faintly mischievous smile. 

He’d checked, and while he didn’t think Stark would bug the bathroom, a cursory look confirmed an absence of cameras or any other recording device Steve could detect. “No cameras in here,” he whispered, reaching out to take Loki’s hand, interlocking their fingers this time instead of giving it a mere squeeze and letting go. Giving it a tug, he pulled Loki closer, looking up at him in adoration.

  
  


Loki’s face cycled through emotions, first shock and then fear-- then, when Steve explained, relief. And finally, pleasure. He lowered himself to straddle Steve’s lap and pushed a feverish kiss to his lips, only too glad for the opportunity to do so. 

“ You lied to them.” He whispered, upon breaking it. He lapped at Steve’s bottom lip to punctuate the statement. “They will say I am teaching you bad manners.” It wasn’t a complaint, though, not really. He rocked forward, teasing them both to prove that he had no hard feelings about it. Or at least, not upset ones.

He touched Steve’s face with his fingertips, tracing the planes of it upwards, from his chin all the way to the roots of his hair. 

he pushed the strands upwards, eyes catching on the way it changed color in the shadows of his fingers-- the way Steve was changing by knowing him, growing a little darker, maybe. 

Or maybe he was imagining it. 

He pushed his hands back, smoothing Steve’s hair out of his face before he turned his hands and ran the backs of his fingers down the sides, then in front of his ears and back down to his chin. 

“You like the sides shorter?” He asked, paying attention to the differing lengths and textures, as well as the intoxicating closeness that Steve’s presence offered. 

  
  


“ Shorter, yeah,” Steve replied breathlessly. He’d kept in the habit of the top being longer and neatly combed, though he knew it wasn’t the fashion anymore. But right now, he didn’t think he’d give a damn if Loki shaved his whole head, so long as he kept running his fingers over Steves’ scalp like that. “Don’t care much... whatever you want....” He let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, simply enjoying the sensation. 

He’d gone a lifetime without this kind of contact, and now, after a mere few days, he was out of his mind going just twenty-four hours without. He wasn’t sure if that was pathetic or romantic or something else entirely. All he knew was that when Loki shifted and their hips ground together, he barely managed to bite back a groan.

Just because there were no cameras in the bathroom didn’t mean the surveillance outside didn’t work just fine. 

He reached forward, snaking a hand around the back of Loki’s neck and pulling him into a second kiss. “What can I say?” he murmured against his jaw when their lips parted, mouth quirking in a teasing smile as he nipped at Loki’s earlobe. “You’re a terrible influence.”

  
  


“ True.” Loki conceded, “But you cannot claim--” He stopped speaking for a moment while Steve’s teeth dragged over the sensitive skin of his ear, “That I have not shown you some wonderful things-- taught you some wonderful things,” he corrected. 

He pried himself off of Steve’s legs, pulling free of his hands. 

“ You’re to relax now, though, and let me take care of you. I have promised to teach you a great deal about the pleasures of your body, and at least this once, you do not have to be concerned that I will do something you do not like. Nothing will make you uncomfortable about your scalp, hm?” He teased lightly, standing to turn on the tap. 

He did not have the spray bottle that Steve had worked with, but that was fine. He gathered some of the water into a ball and turned the stream off, floating it over Steve’s head, as he’d done once before. 

He smiled in his twisted, teasing way, but rather than drop it over Steve’s head as he had in his hotspring, he separated the water into small drops and sent them down directly over the area of Steve’s hair, saturating them like a light mist might, the way the bottle he’d used had. 

He allowed the rest of the water to hang there, visible out of the corner of Steve’s eye so he would not be constantly expecting a downpour, and Loki reached into his pocket to pull out a thin vial of oil. 

“ This is grapeseed oil.” He explained. “We use the berries for making wine and-- no, you have those. Sorry.” He cut himself off, realizing that that, at least, was shared.

He tipped the oil onto the crown of Steve’s head, then worked it in with his fingers, sending the vial to the counter to be used again if he needed more. In the meantime, he massaged it into the strands, then lower, working it through the skin of Steve’s scalp. 

“It is good for the hair, undoes damage, strengthens it… but leaves next to none of the residue other oils might.” He kept his voice low, speaking soothingly while he rubbed, taking care to apply pressure to the points that he knew would most benefit from the attention. 

Not that all of Steve didn’t stand to benefit, not that every part of him didn’t  _ deserve _ this attention. 

“How does that feel?” He asked, just to be sure he was living up to his promise, though he could see Steve’s face in the mirror, even as he stood behind him.

  
  


Steve had eyed Loki warily when he pulled up a ball of water similar to the one he’d teasingly drenched Steve in the bath with -- which he  _ still  _ hadn’t paid him back for -- and mouthed ‘ _ Don’t you dare,’ _ to his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

But Loki, it seemed, was not in a mood for mischief, and instead lightly misted Steve’s hair with the water, much as Steve had done for Loki. He followed the water with a bit of oil, narrating his actions for Steve’s comfort; also, as Steve had done for him. Not that Steve needed it; he felt more at ease and content now than he had all morning.

“ Hmmmm,” he hummed as Loki’s fingers combed through his hair, making a soft scritching noise as they worked the oil into it. He let his eyes shut, confident he wasn’t about to get splashed, and exhaled. “That’s nice.” The combination of sound and touch and warmth kneaded tension from parts of his scalp he hadn’t known were capable of holding it. Everything felt warm and tingly, and he felt himself rolling his head slightly in keeping with Loki’s touch, the muscles in his neck loosening with relaxation. 

Though nothing about it was sexual, it felt every bit as intimate as the touches they’d shared in the hotel. Blissful, generous, and sensual.

“Is this how all Asgardian haircuts go?” he asked quietly, leaning forward as skilled fingers pushed and slid up from the nape of his neck to the crown of his head, giving him a small shiver. “Cause if it is, I don’t get how you can bear to let your hair stay so long...”

  
  


“ The cutting is not a necessary part of the process.” Loki told him, his words light and simple. “This is the sort of care Asgardians give… regularly. When loved ones return from a day that may have been hard, or come back from a voyage or quest or trip or hunt or… it’s a greeting, and a celebration of intimacy. It is like sex, though without the effort that sometimes goes into it-- without the sport. It is a calm, slow, sweet bonding, and it is the sort that can be shared among friends, lovers, family… it’s closeness. Without expectation.” 

The oil served also to keep the hair moistened for longer-- water could dry out before he finished his work, but that part was hardly relevant. It was a technical aspect that had no bearing on Steve’s enjoyment. 

“ This part is merely another massage-- another area of you that has been neglected.” Loki informed him, the expression that he knew Steve could see clearly telling him what his thoughts were on that. 

Loki let his fingers drop from Steve’s hair, coming around to retrieve the comb from the sink and drop another quick kiss against Steve’s lips-- albeit sideways this time-- before returning to standing behind him. 

He pulled the comb through gently, ridding Steve’s hair of the snarls Loki had created with his fingers, and brushing the hair straight down from its roots. He used more of the water to aid him in this, another light mist that no doubt felt good for the chill that it offered after the friction of Loki’s fingers had pulled Steve’s blood to the surface of his skin. 

“ I am going to start with the front and the top, and then move on to the sides.” He decided, trying to figure out what made the most sense. Saying so, he came around again, this time to take up the scissors. 

He let a mischievous smirk take over his expression while he settled himself back onto Steve’s lap, though further back this time, to give himself some room to work. 

“Show me how low it should be.” He said.

  
  


Steve nodded vaguely, mind floating somewhere distant. He knew he ought to be keeping his guard up, in case Stark or Banner came to check on things, but... It felt so nice to just relax and let Loki take care of him. Selfish, a bit. But nice.

The comb wasn’t quite as good as Loki’s fingers, but it still felt pleasant, teasing through his hair. Having so much less of it would be a relief; he hadn’t worn it this long since he’d been a kid, and his mother would shake her head and try to get him to hold still and quit wriggling long enough to clear some of it out of his eyes. Not that holding still was a problem now. He felt like he might well melt into the chair.

“ Hmm?” He belatedly realized Loki had asked him a question, as his lover sat on his legs once more, though less provocatively this time around. “Um. About yea long, I guess?” he said, vaguely indicating the length that would be the shorter end of how he typically wore it. He let his hand drop to the top of Loki’s thigh, letting it rest there. Just those points of contact, those warm touches, were like opiates to soothe an aching wound.

“Ready whenever you are,” he said with a mellow grin. 

  
  


“I trust you will behave yourself while I work,” Loki told him, the words a soft taunt. “It would be a shame if we came out and you were bleeding-- no doubt Stark would quarantine me for a week for it.” 

That wasn’t funny, he realized belatedly. That was a little too close to true.

So he shifted the scissors to his off hand and reached down, stroking over Steve’s fingers on his leg. 

“You are so very tempting like this, so relaxed under me.” Loki told him, switching to a whisper to make him focus on the words, to draw his attention away from the joke that had gone wrong.

“ Some day we will wake together, and you will be like this, sleepy and malleable.”  He began his work as he spoke now, using the comb to draw the hair straight and keep the snips on an even line, so that the hair would not waver across Steve’s forehead. He called the severed hair to him, keeping it together in a separate hovering ball. 

Loki knew too much of old magics that required pieces of the people you intended to affect with them-- teeth, hair, nails-- he would not risk it. Not with Steve. It was perhaps paranoia, or in part protectiveness. Either way, the hair would never reach his skin or the floor. No itching. No loose strands. No mess. 

“ When that day comes, I will kiss across your sleep warm skin, and rub you everywhere, relaxing each group of your muscles in turn while you wake slowly, gently…” The closing of the scissors formed a rhythmic sound under his words, alluring but still calming. Loki checked over the line to be sure it was correct, then caught a few pieces that were slightly too long-- proof of their having escaped his blades. 

“And then I will slide down your body, running all of me down all of you…” He purred softly, and then stood suddenly, moving to the side to work on the hair there, but also to have access to Steve’s ear. 

He brushed the hair aside and leaned in close, dropping his voice to a low breathy whisper. “And I will use my mouth to bring you fully into alertness, so that by the time you are awake enough to say my name, you will be just on the edge of coming.” 

He leaned back and used the comb to follow the line around his head, a small pleased smile on his face as he gauged Steve’s reactions.

  
  


Steve let his eyes drift shut, and tried to keep from moving, from reacting, as Loki cut his hair, the first snip loud and coarse sounding. He braced himself for the tickle of hair falling on his face, but to his surprise, the severed fringe didn’t land. He opened one eye and watched in fascination as Loki’s magic tidied up the hair, keeping it floating off to the side.  _ Handy. _

Loki’s voice was a low and silken purr, almost a sensation in and of itself. Steve let his eyes fall shut again and breathed deeply, holding still as Loki trimmed his bangs. In his mind, he could picture the rumbled sheets, the soft, pale light of morning gently pouring in the window and illuminating Loki’s body, rested and glowing with contentment. 

It was a good picture. One he’d like to draw... preferably from life, he decided with a smile.

Then it wasn’t hair, but Loki’s breath he felt against his ear, and his words, though still low and smoother, turned from relaxing to something far more stimulating.

“ Nngh,” Steve groaned in dismay. “Not fair.” He opened his eyes and shot Loki a weak glare. “You know, if I’m supposed to be behaving, you aren’t exactly making it easy...”

His trousers were a tad too tight for comfort, and he adjusted his legs, trying to give himself a little more room; a little less pressure. “Terrible,  _ terrible _ influence,” he rumbled, closing his eyes again and letting his head fall forward. 

  
  


“ Oh, I am  _ quite _ sure they will say so. The man who corrupted Captain America.” He made the words lilt laughingly, though it was again likely to be true. Someday, at least. In some far flung future that neither of them was at all certain they would live long enough to see. 

He pulled his attention back to Steve’s hair, circling around behind him. 

“ But if it is so unfair, perhaps you would prefer I discontinue the story?” He asked innocently. “I am sure you wouldn’t want to hear about how I would take my mouth from you before you could find your completion, how I would back you down before bringing you close again… teasing it stronger in you, building you up so that when you did finally finish, you would feel drained, from all the way deep within your core. It would turn you boneless and relaxed all over again, easing tension you hadn’t known existed… but you don’t want to hear about that.” He let his voice turn back to its soothing rumble, keeping his tonal shifts to a minimum, so that the sound would roll out of his chest in waves that Steve would no doubt feel as well as hear. 

He finally came around to the other side, making quick work of the top layer, then circling back around to the front to be certain it matched. The top of the front he’d left a little longer, and he combed it off to one side, the way it seemed to want to lie naturally-- the same direction that the Captain was in a habit of pushing it off towards. 

He combed all of his hair from the top to one side, and then moved to the side that was away from the ends of it, reversing the comb to move upwards through the hair, lifting the hair up away from the head and using the thickness of the comb as a guide to make the length uniform as he cut the sides shorter, going down his head. 

“When is your birthday?” He asked suddenly, as the question occurred to him. This kind of care was often delivered as a personal celebration on such days, and it seemed like something it should be important that he know, and yet he didn’t. 

  
  


“ Mmm. Maybe just a little corruption,” Steve mumbled, grinning. He was rather enjoying the overall loss of purity his relationship with Loki had led to. 

Though the enjoyment at the moment was tempered by extraordinary frustration. He made a noise of complaint as Loki further described a hypothetical scenario. He could already imagine Loki’s mouth again, hot and wet and talented, and Loki’s lips, red and swollen, wrapped around-- 

_ No.  _

If he thought about that much more, he was going to end up in an extremely uncomfortable position, and without release, he felt like he might lose his mind. And if he came in his pants like a damn adolescent, he’d have to explain why his haircut necessitated a change of pants when next he saw Bruce and Tony, or else find a very very stealthy way of doing laundry.

So while part of his imagination taunted him with images of Loki, wanton and moaning, he tried to concentrate on  _ anything else  _ as Loki trimmed away his hair _ .  _ State capitals. Important historical dates. Ordinance specifications. 

He’d finally got Loki’s words (mostly) out of his head, the situation in his pants ebbing, when Loki spoke again. But this time it wasn’t an erotic whisper, but rather a question.

Steve blinked, a bit taken aback by how out of the blue it was. “Um. July fourth,” he answered, then blushed, because people always had a good chuckle about that. “No jokes, please. I’ve heard all of them,” he added. “When’s yours?”

  
  


Loki tilted his head to the side, puzzled.

“ Why should I make jokes? Is there something humorous about that day?” He asked. It would be funny, perhaps, if it was also the day shared by King Arthur as his birthday, but beyond that, Loki hadn’t a guess. 

“ I… do not know my birthday. First, because I rather think our calendars differ. I have not seen much of your sky, but I would guess that as our days are judged by our moon, and we do not share a moon…” He shrugged. “Also I am adopted, remember? So even the week we celebrated, at the height of  Mǫrsugur , is likely not truly mine. It doesn’t matter.” He added, flippant. 

“You will have to show me, at some point, your calendar and how it works. I would not wish to miss July the Fourth. When you will be… twenty-nine?” He asked, feeling bad for having to double check, and feeling twice as bad for how terribly young Steve truly was. 

But not so young, for his kind. His life was already a third of the way finished, if his serum had not changed that fact. The thought squeezed at his heart and he swallowed, willing his brief flash of panic not to show on his face. 

It was a silly thing to fear any way. Neither of them may live to see Steve grow old. Not in this lifetime.

  
  


Steve could have smacked himself for his stupidity. Of course, the date would have no meaning for Loki. And then he'd gone and insensitively forgotten about the topic of Loki's adoption, which he knew to be a sore point. 

"Sorry," he said, feeling like a first class dunce. "Uh, the Fourth of July is a holiday in the United States that commemorates our national independence. Most people think it's funny since I'm Captain America and have the same birthday as America." He shrugged. "It's a dumb coincidence is all. I guess it would make more sense for you to say I was born a couple weeks after summer solstice," he said, figuring the more astronomical measure of time would have more meaning for Loki than an unfamiliar calendar. 

"And technically I'll be ninety-six," he added with a sigh. "Biologically I'm going on twenty-nine, but given that I wasn't in the ice for an even number of months then technically I lost a few--” He’d frozen in the winter and not been thawed until spring, so he’d spent sixty-seven years and some odd handful of months in the ice, by his math. “It doesn't matter," he finished, just barely remembering not to shake his head.

"What season is Morsugur in?" he asked. "Even if we don't know when exactly you were born, we could pick a birthday for you on our calendar that we can celebrate." At Loki's age, the accuracy couldn't have mattered that much. It was the significance assigned that would matter.. “It may not be your actual birthday, but it could be your Earth Birthday. Or your Earthday.” He smiled at his own joke. 

  
  


“No need to apologize. I do not know these things, I do not take offense for that. You cannot help but take things for granted, common knowledge for you and common knowledge for me may always have that disconnect.” Loki assured him, trying to go back to soothing, never having intended to break that tone. He’d just let his words come out without thinking. 

He again moved his tools into one hand and turned to pulling his fingers through the hair on the side of Steve’s head, being sure to add the strands he’d snipped to the floating pile, and brushed his hand upwards, against the way his hair grew naturally. 

“ If it helps at all, I could not imagine bringing myself to care for America’s birthday. When I celebrate, it will be only a celebration of you.”

“ Mǫrsugur is at the height of winter, of course.” He said it without any of the bitterness he felt. “If they were to choose a day for me, I suppose they found it a fitting jest.” He shrugged. “It does not matter. I do not need a day. It’s been some time since I have celebrated at any rate.” 

He moved around a bit, keeping his eyes on Steve’s head rather than meeting his eyes in the mirror, and resumed his cutting. 

“Your hair is surprisingly thick for as short as you keep it.” He commented. “I can only imagine if you allowed it to grow long, what a mane you might boast.” The mental image of Steve as an Asgardian warrior was something he could not help but be pleased by-- the styles he was raised around had informed what he found attractive, and though Steve was by no means unattractive, the thought of seeing him in gleaming armor and with flowing hair… it was quite the image. Had he Steve’s skill in rendering, he would put that to paper. 

  
  


Steve snorted at the idea of himself with long hair. “I’d probably look ridiculous,” he mused. “It’s enough work to comb and keep neat with it short. Not that Asgardian hair looks ridiculous!” he quickly added, lest Loki take offense. “I just don’t think I could pull it off.” For all Loki’s insistence that Steve should have been born Asgardian, and the wonderful way in which he described Asgard (racism -- speciesism? -- aside), Steve couldn’t picture himself pulling off the bombastic persona Thor had, with the cape and armor and larger than life presence. It’d feel even sillier than the damn Captain America costume he’d worn with the USO. 

“ There were some perks to a Fourth of July birthday, growing up,” he admitted. “There’s a custom, that the Fourth is celebrated with fireworks -- rockets shot up in the air that explode harmlessly into pretty colored light. When I was a kid, my ma would take me up on the roof so I could watch, and she’d tell me they were all for my birthday,” he recalled with a smile. “Of course, it didn’t take long for me to realize that the entire country wasn’t celebrating my birthday, but... It was still nice to pretend they were  _ my _ fireworks, even after that.”

The thought gave him a sudden idea. “Hey,” he said. “You know... we have another holiday that gets celebrated with fireworks. And it’s in winter.” He turned and smiled, interrupting Loki’s haircutting. “We celebrate the starts of our New Year in the middle of winter, on January 1st. Everyone stays up until midnight the night before and when the clock changes over, there’s fireworks and cheering and celebrating-- and you’re, ah, supposed to kiss someone.” He blushed and grinned broadly. “Seems like we could both end up with fireworks for our birthdays, if you want. Kinda seems fitting that if I get a day about patriotism, then you could have a day about fresh beginnings.” Reaching out, he caught Loki’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  
  


This all felt like a fabulous game of make believe, and Loki could hardly believe someone so-- so  _ wonderful _ \-- even his thoughts choked up. 

“If you like.” He said, noncommittally. Inwardly, though, he was… flattered. Maybe even a tad overwhelmed. It was one thing to be celebrated by those who would do so in his name, as an excuse to celebrate. It was quite another thing for Steve to think of the one thing he treasured most about his birthday, and find a reason for Loki to get to experience that as well. Not to mention the meaning behind the days. It was thoughtful. It was… sweet. 

“ I think I would like that.” He said softly. “Very much.” 

Stricken by the urge and aware that this was the only time he would have for it, he bent down to press a kiss to Steve’s lips again, sweet and brief and nearly as wonderful as he. 

“ I do not think you will ever fully understand how lucky I am to have you.” He told him. “I look forward to having someone to kiss on my birthday, then, whenever it comes, here.” 

He straightened again, though, and stroked Steve’s cheek before gently guiding him back to face forward. 

“ Remember our discussion of your behaving, though? I shan’t finish your hair if you keep distracting me.” He winked at him in the mirror, openly acknowledging that it was he who was the lesser behaved of the two. 

“ And if it helps at all, I feel equally ridiculous in your Midgardian wear. It feels very much like a costume.” He offered Steve a grin following the words, though. “And yet you can still bear to look at me. I think you might be surprised, given the chance to try it.” Not that he could offer that chance, but even so. 

He spoke while he worked again, dead set on finishing caring for his Steve before something else horrible happened. Like Stark and Banner interrupting, or SHIELD deciding it had waited long enough. 

It wouldn’t do to leave his work half done, after all. 

“Nearly finished with the cut now.” He told him. “How long do you suppose they will leave us alone together?”

  
  


Steve felt a warm little ball of happiness forming in his chest as Loki pressed a kiss to his lips, glad that he had apparently corrected his gaff and pleased Loki (or at least not caused him further grief) with his suggestion for the birthday. “Well, you’re gonna have to kiss me every other day that we can manage, too,” he said, feeling a bit impish as Loki guided him back into position and playfully chided him.

“ You don’t look bad in Midgardian clothes, you know,” Steve said. “You’d probably look real slick in a suit.” Steve had never been able to fill out a suit, and the only one he’d owned as an adult was the second-hand one he’d had to buy for his mother’s funeral, which had to be taken in in the shoulders and unhemmed in the legs and generally hadn’t looked all that good. Bucky, on the other hand, had been able to look real nice and dapper in a suit. Steve would try to wear one now, but as far as fancy dress went, he felt more comfortable in military uniform than anything else. But Loki had the class and the bearing for it; real sophisticated. Maybe they could purchase Loki an expanded wardrobe now that they were in New York. They had more options available here, after all. And while Steve had never been much of a clothes horse, he did want to make sure that Loki felt as comfortable as possible.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted in answer to Loki’s question. “I think if Bruce can get Tony working on something, it could be a few hours. But if they’re paying attention...” He shrugged. “I’m not sure. Probably not much longer. Though, if you’re almost done, I could give you a trim too.” It had been over a month since Loki’s last haircut, and his hair was growing out again. 

  
  


“ I will kiss you as often as you like. And if you would like me in a suit, I would be glad to wear one. I have worn a suit before.” He volunteered, not sure whether to take him up on his offer of returning the favor and trimming Loki’s hair. This was supposed to be about caring for Steve, after all. But then, Loki didn’t want his last time to tarnish what this could be like, for him. He forced down the memories, the panic and fear and hopelessness, the sound of his own voice in his ears.  _ Please don’t kill me… _

“ Twice, in fact.” He found himself saying, shaking free of the small bubble of cold discomfort that washed over him. 

“ I like suits well enough. They are tailored closer to the body, the way we wear our clothing, but there is a lack of rigidity about them. Even the tightest cloth can only hold you so well, when your body is used to metal and leather.” He finished the side he was on and moved back around, checking to be sure he’d not missed anything. 

His process was meticulous and precise, and he felt satisfied by the outcome… he just hoped Steve was as well. 

“ I also like the layers of a suit, the way they can be cut to make you feel bigger, better made than you are. Suits are comfortable.” 

He sent the scissors back to the counter and called the oil back to him, tucking the comb between his teeth and using his hands to remove the towel and buff Steve’s hair a tad drier, before he combed it out again. 

Once done, he draped the towel over his forearm. 

“Lean forward for me, and look downwards?” He requested softly. 

  
  


“ Oh, right,” Steve said, frowning faintly. He did remember the footage of Loki at the Opera, where he wore a suit before summoning his armor when Steve arrived. But he had so many fresh, new memories of Loki, surely he could overwrite the significance of a suit in his mind. That he hadn’t even remembered it until Loki brought it up was a little surprising, but good. 

He leaned forward as instructed, letting his chin fall to his chest so Loki could trim the nape of his neck. Funny, that once Loki had forced him into the same position with the scepter at the back of his head, kneeling on the steps outside that same opera house. He’d commanded him to kneel, and Steve had told him  _ not today _ .

And now, all he had to do was ask, and Steve would readily do nigh on anything. 

“You know,” he said, “I bet we could use some of your illusions to slip out and get you some stuff. Now that we’re less worried about running, we don’t have to travel so light. I still have money, and there’s a lot more places to buy you clothes and stuff. If you like,” he offered. 

  
  


“Hm.” He tried for noncommittal. He wasn’t entirely sure that Stark would be willing to loose Loki onto the streets. Though if Steve were the one to ask, and if it were for something like clothes shopping… “I do not want to be a burden, but I would like that, I think. If you do not mind using your money that way. Otherwise, I can make do with what we have. I managed just fine while at SHIELD with only a few sets of my own clothing.” 

  
  


Steve’s hair was done, but that did not mean that Loki intended to leave off there. 

Had he not been collecting the hair, he could not have done this, but he was, and there were no remnants left to grind under his hands when he filled his palm with oil and rubbed it between them, then pressed them to the back of Steve’s neck. 

He used his thumb to trace out the edges of Steve’s spine and applied pressure, winging them outwards from the center. 

The oil seeped into his skin quickly, not providing as much lubrication as he might have liked, but that was just as well; Steve would have to return to space occupied by the others after this, and it wouldn’t do to have his shirt stained with the remnants of their time spent here. 

He soothed the muscles there, then worked his way outwards and up, until he was squeezing the flesh of his shoulders, putting in pressure the way he had in times past… just enough to loosen the knots and not enough to cause undue pain. He was learning Steve’s body, still, but this he felt sure of. 

“I know I contribute to this tension.” He told him, remorseful and softly spoken for it. “Thank you for your patience, in helping me… not to, any more.” He rubbed his thumbs in small circles, turning the pressure into a loving stroking, before returning to the process of loosening him. 

  
  


“ You’re not a burden,” Steve told him, closing his eyes as Loki’s fingers rubbed the muscles of his neck. “If it makes you feel more at ease, we can get you some fresh clothes. Trust me, I went long enough wearing nothing but the same second-hand clothes over and over that I know how good it can feel to splurge a bit on an outfit that fits right.” They’d gotten a start at the thrift store in Pennsylvania, but Loki deserved a few nice things. A few new things. Steve had no desire to subject him to that same faint shame that clung to him every time he’d gone out in Bucky’s hand-me-downs, taken in to fit his frame, wearing thin at the elbows and knees. Loki’s ego was fragile enough.

“ And I don’t spend my money on much. Necessities. A few charities and such. We still have a fair amount, and I can talk to Tony to see if he can get access to my accounts without SHIELD being able to trace it...” It would be a bit of a favor, but not as big of a favor as asking for Tony’s unlimited charity. Steve could afford to pay his own way in the world, and Loki’s too. 

He breathed out slowly as Loki’s talented hands smoothed the oil into his scalp and skin, banishing any of the stress that came with thoughts of Stark. “You don’t,” he tried to argue, though he knew that wasn’t wholly true. Loki caused him worry, because Steve worried  _ about _ Loki. He wanted to help him, and sometimes... Sometimes he felt like he was groping blindly, trying to find what Loki needed. And trying to get everyone else to listen was like screaming at a wall. But despite it all... “And if you did, you’d be worth it.”

It was all worth it.

As Loki’s hands eased on the pressure, Steve sat up and stretched, standing so he could look at his hair in the mirror. “Hey,” he said, running a hand through it and finding that despite the oil, his hair wasn’t clumpy or greasy, but rather soft. It was trimmed and tidy and back at a respectable length. “Not bad! Looks great.” He turned and beamed at Loki. “Thanks.”

  
  


“My pleasure.” He said silkily, stepping back to give Steve the room to turn and look if he needed. He heaved a great sigh, though. 

“I suppose we should return to them, let them have their fill of our company again. Or-- my company at least. I suspect they could stand to be around you a good deal more.” He paused, trying to choose his words. 

“I realize it may be.. onerous, at times, if you come to feel that you are my keeper. And I do not want that. If you need time alone, or time with your friends-- please do not hesitate to tell me so. I can be perfectly entertained in the room I have been given, with a book, until I am needed again.” 

And needed was a kind word-- wanted, too, would have been a stretch, when applied to any but Steve himself. Required, perhaps. When they developed new questions for him. 

Which reminded him… 

“ I am sure that Stark will remember at some point that he would like to attempt to apply physics to seidhr. That should make for an interesting series of conversations, no doubt ending in frustration and hilarity in equal measure.” He pressed his lips together, quite certain he would not find them all that funny, merely because he would have to behave himself. For Steve. 

“ I wish I had a way of repaying you for… all of this.” Loki said, trying to encapsulate his clothing and his situation, them together and the whole of their reality as it was, now. “If you think of any way, please do not hesitate to tell me that, either. I--” He bit the words off, not certain that he should say any more. 

The mortals were getting to him, making him so much more aware, so much more uncertain. Filling him with so much doubt and guilt. And yet...that was what made him capable of being saved, in Steve’s eyes. That meant he was getting better. So he supposed he must be glad for it.

“I really do appreciate you.” He settled on, instead of what he really wanted to say. “Even though it seems I may have less opportunity to show it, now. I just do not ever want you to doubt.”

  
  


Steve turned and took a slow step toward Loki -- in the crowded bathroom, it didn’t require much movement -- wrapping his arms around him and gently pulling him in flush to Steve’s chest. He buried his face in Loki’s shoulder, breathing in his smell, holding him close for a few minutes more before he had to keep his distance. Knowing they had a limit on this kind of contact made him feel like he had to infuse as much affection and adoration as possible into the embrace, to tide Loki over, so he would  _ know _ . 

“ I’m not your keeper,” he said quietly. “I’m your partner.” And damn, that still gave him a little frisson of happiness every time he said it. “And you do more for me than you know. Have already done so much for me,” he amended. He wished he had Loki’s gift of eloquence, so he could fully articulate the ways in which he felt like a gaping hole in his soul he hadn’t even been cognizant of was now finally filled by having Loki in his life, but any way he tried to think of to explain that seemed too cheesy to come across as sincere. 

He’d thought he was an aberration. Sick, in some way, for the ways he leaned. And after waking up to find Peggy old and everyone else dead, it seemed he’d missed out on his shot for anything resembling happiness. All anyone remembered him as was a soldier, and all anyone wanted him to be was a soldier, so that was all he figured he would be.

Now he was a fugitive. And he was more happy than he’d been in years.

He squeezed Loki tighter, then finally let go, stepping back a bit so he could look him in the face, brushing one final kiss very chastely on his lips. “We should probably go back to our rooms. I have some research I need to do, and I think this morning may have been social enough for everyone. But come knock if you need anything or get bored or want to go grab some food from the kitchen together, okay?” 

  
  


It was a dismissal, but the kind sort that none could object to. Certainly not Loki, who had just asked to be told when and if Steve needed his time to himself. 

“ Of course.” He responded, warmly and with his own little peck. He glanced over to the hovering water and let it splash back into the sink and down the drain, and the ball of hair he stared at for a long moment before dropping it into the toilet bowl and sending it down through the pipes. 

Safe enough, he supposed. Nothing would be likely to be looking for Steve specifically, wherever their waste went to. 

That done, he looked around checked for any further forgotten items-- and saw the oil vial. 

He called it to him, stoppered it, but did not vanish it away. He thought he might ask Banner whether or not they had more, here. Banner seemed the sort who would know if Midgard produced it. And if so, maybe when he and Steve went shopping, Loki might ask him to replace it. And maybe pick up some other sorts of oil, besides. 

“Good luck with your research,” He told him as he opened the door. “And if you’ve need of a research partner… let me know.” 

He did not pry; if Steve had wanted him to know what form of research he was doing, he would have said so. 

Instead, he returned to his room, glad at last to be left alone with his book. 

In it, the character he most liked was teaching his young half-sister how to hold small baby bats, how fragile their bodies and much more fragile their trust. 

Much like mortals, Loki found himself thinking, before he sunk fully into the world of the book. He smiled and let the land of Midgard slip away.

  
  


Once Loki departed, Steve pulled a shirt on, checked his new haircut in the mirror once again (he was genuinely impressed with Loki’s handiwork), then wandered into the living area. It was still deserted, Banner and Stark presumably occupying the lab, but a tablet had been left behind on the coffee table. He picked it up, switched it on, then retreated into his room and flopped on the bed.

Thinking back to his conversation with Bruce the night before, he opened up the web browser, and in the search bar, typed in ‘PTSD.’ The first entry to come up read:

  
  


_ Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) _

  
  


Steve clicked on it.

  
  


_ Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is a condition that may develop after an extremely high-stress ordeal involving physical harm, or the threat of physical harm. Individuals may develop PTSD after being harmed or threatened with harm, or as the result of witnessing a harmful event happening to others. _

  
  


_ PTSD is characterized by an altered or damaged “fight-or-flight” response, where sufferers feel threatened and afraid even when no longer in imminent danger. The condition is commonly observed in combat veterans, but may result from any traumatic incident. _

  
  


That much made sense. Stark had been in combat, and had very nearly died when he’d carried the nuke through the portal. And if he still felt threatened and afraid now, it would explain his hostility.

He clicked on the entry for ‘Symptoms.’

  
  


_ The individual with PTSD will, in many cases, persistently avoid all thoughts, emotions, and discussion of the stressor event. Some sufferers will suppress the event from memory, experiencing amnesia regarding the experience. However, the event is commonly re-experienced by the individual through recurring, intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, and nightmares. _

  
  


Well, Stark didn’t seem to have forgotten New York at all, so that was something. Did he have nightmares, Steve wondered? Flashbacks?

Bucky, he remembered, would sometimes whimper in his sleep, tossing and turning in his bedroll after Zola’d had him as a prisoner, in the months between the time Steve had rescued him and up until...

Bucky had always been a sound sleeper before that.

He kept reading, the list of symptoms long and, he realized, not unfamiliar.

  
  


_ Flashbacks—reliving the trauma over and over, including physical symptoms like a racing heart or sweating _

_ Bad dreams _

_ Frightening thoughts. _

_ Staying away from places, events, or objects that are reminders of the experience _

_ Feeling emotionally numb _

_ Feeling strong guilt, depression, or worry _

_ Losing interest in activities that were enjoyable in the past _

_ Having trouble remembering the dangerous event. _

_ Being easily startled _

_ Feeling tense or “on edge” _

_ Having difficulty sleeping, and/or having angry outbursts. _

  
  


He ran a hand through his now-short hair. Had Stark been experiencing all this? If so, Steve could hardly blame him for being angry. Hell, Steve was angry with himself. Especially when he knew how much hell some of these could be. The dreams, the thoughts, the guilt--

Not that this was about him. It wasn’t. He was looking up on this for Stark. So he could be better friend and understand and help.

Of course, bringing Loki, who was the embodiment and cause of the invasion that served as Stark’s “Harmful Event” probably wasn’t doing any favors. But where else did they have to go? And Loki...

Steve frowned.

Loki had been on edge, heart racing and on the brink of panic, when he’d been chained to the chair at SHIELD. He’d had an angry outburst earlier at Stark with little provocation. He avoided discussing what Thanos did to him, and he worried and was anxious and--

_ Stop it.  _ Steve rubbed at his eyes. He wasn’t a doctor. Hell, this list applied to a lot of the people he knew. It just meant life was rough and everyone had different ways of coping. Not that everyone around him was broken.

Right?

He scrolled down further to read about treatments and prognosis. Treatment, it seemed, consisted of a mix of medication and therapy. Stark, as far as he could tell, was getting by with liquor and Bruce, but Stark was a grown man and Steve wasn’t his keeper, so there wasn’t much he could do there. He paused on the paragraph about ‘Exposure Therapy’ -- maybe having Loki around would help decrease Stark’s anxiety around him? Or was he just trying to justify the fact that by bringing his lover to safety, he’d wound up hurting his friend.

Steve finally lowered the tablet, lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling, unsure of what he was doing or what to do.   
He supposed he’d have to keep making it up as he went. 

 


	27. Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains violence, and a major character injury.

The outside air smelled blessedly disgusting, and though it was not a sentiment he had ever expected to have, the past few days, spent inside the tower and in carefully controlled and clean surroundings had done naught but made Loki eager to experience something else. Even if that something was towering piles of trash taller than he.

The rankness passed quickly, though, and he turned his head to look at the architecture beyond, at the people who walked by them and at the various wares, sold from carts and tables along the street.

He continued walking, following Steve and keeping up, but just barely. There was so much to see, so much life around them-- nowhere in Asgard was populated like this, and while he had experienced New York before, there was a difference between the humans scattering beneath him like startled cockroaches, and them now, scurrying about their daily lives, ricocheting off of one another with grunts and angry shouts. He could see the more agile among them dancing through the crowd, swaying and spinning this way and that to avoid the people coming towards them.

Steve, on the other hand, walked directly. It was a strong, almost commanding gait, and though none had recognized him, or made any reactions, if they had, most everyone moved out of his way.

Loki had walked like that once, he remembered. Tall and proud and unafraid. People moved out of his way in fear. But this… Steve was kind, and whether these people knew him or his kindness or not, they still made space for him.

Loki wondered if he noticed.

“Where are we, exactly?” He asked, tugging Steve’s shirt to be sure he knew the question was aimed at him, and not merely street noise. “Some of this seems familiar.”

And it was true, though whether he had fought here or whether they had come this way on their path to the tower, he wasn’t certain. Or he could be wrong. So much of this area looked like so much else of this area.

Beside them, a cart sizzled and snapped as greasy sausages rolled in bacon crisped on flat iron boards, and the smell came through the dusty dry scent of the cars on the road.

Hardly a haven, he thought, but this place seemed like it could hide anyone. All you needed do was slip into the crowds and let them wash you away.

 

 

 

“Madison Avenue,” Steve replied, taking Loki by the elbow to guide him around a group of students and under the metal scaffolding that ran over a stretch of sidewalk.

It had taken a couple of days to convince Tony that Loki would be all right out in the city in Steve’s company. But SHIELD had still yet to make a move, and after Loki demonstrated his skills at disguise, the others had relented that Steve and Loki would likely be safe out in public, and unlikely to cause a panic.

Loki had been a fairly unobtrusive presence around the tower, occasionally permitting himself to be dragged forth for meals, movies, and scientific discussions. Bruce had engaged him several times to discuss krellr, xenobiology, and Asgardian medical theory, as well as a few discussions of what Steve was pretty sure was some branch of particle physics, which went over his head entirely. Even Tony had come up and grudgingly sat down at the kitchen table to talk about Asgard’s impossible geography, while Steve tried not to hover with a book nearby. While the atmosphere remained tense, it felt less hostile overall, and if the other two Avengers in the tower didn’t trust Loki completely, they at least acknowledged that he wasn’t about to slit all their throats while they slept.

So when Steve had proposed that he and Loki go out and purchase some clothes, there had been a few uneasy glances, but minimal protest. He’d headed off most of it by agreeing that they would stay in Manhattan within a close radius of the Tower (supposedly so Tony and Bruce could show up on site immediately should anything happen, but Steve didn’t want to venture too far from the safety of Stark Tower just in case he and Loki had to use Loki’s seidhr to make a quick getaway back to their current home.) So in the end, Loki had cast his illusions, and they’d walked out the front door into a bright and crisp fall day in Midtown.

Steve wore a baseball cap pulled low over his now-brown eyes, and a dark brown beard disguised his jawline. Loki, while still in his usual shape (it made no sense to buy a man’s suit for his female form), had turned his eyes a pale shade of blue and his hair into a wild a youthful mess of blond curls. He seemed to be enjoying the fresh air and stimuli, and Steve had to admit that after a few days of being cooped up in the quiet of the penthouse, the energy of the city was like a jolt of electricity right to his bloodstream.

He’d almost forgotten how _alive_ New York felt.

He’d asked Tony for recommendations on where to shop, and after talking him down into suggestions that were within a normal human being’s price range, Tony had pulled up a map indicating a chain store of men’s wear right around the corner from them, where one could buy a sharp suit. That was where he and Loki were presently headed, ducking under and around construction, moving with the thick pedestrian flow, and breathing in all the smells of Midtown.

“The store should be right...” he paused, looking around, then smiled a the gold lettering on a dark-walled and sedately-lit storefront caught his eye. “There.” Mannequins in tailored suits stood in the window, and after briefly looking both ways, Steve hauled Loki across the road in a break in traffic, holding open the door and leading them in.

 

 

 

The inside of the store was dim and surprisingly quiet in comparison to the world outside.

Behind the counter there were a few men, clearly meant to be making sales, but at present unoccupied, and there were obviously at least two more to the back of the store, their voices murmured as they went about the process of trying and measuring and fitting.

Loki sighed, remembering all of the times he had undergone similar treatment at the hands of the tailors on Asgard. Bossy women with deft fingers that even still would prick and pull at you while they made ready to make one look good.

Loki knew it would not be a fast process, and he sent a small silent apology to Steve with his eyes, before stepping forward.

“I am in the market for a few good suits.” He said simply, amused when the salesmen began to fall over themselves to get him started. His lips turned up and he followed them sedately further into the store.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

By the time they were done, Loki had picked out three fabrics, in black, dark blue, and charcoal, the jackets with slim lapels that curved in such a way as to give an impression that his chest was broader and his dimensions larger than they were, the pants simple but fitted to him. He had fought with the man taking his measurements, explaining that though he wanted to appear larger, he still wanted everything to be tight, with clean lines-- no excess fabric. And the upshot was that they could come back in a few hours to pick up the black suit, which they had had one of similar size and cut and form, complete even with the emerald lining he had liked. They would have it taken in for him that day, and the other two would be made as custom suits, for pick up at a later date.

He mistrusted this initial fit, but by the time Steve was paying (and Loki had no real concept yet as to the weight of the cost, but he did not imagine it to be a small amount) Loki was just ready to return to the street, perhaps find the man with the sausage wrapped in bacon, and spend some time out of the tower and submerged in the crowd.

Pushing out of the doors of the suit shop, the first words out of his mouth were-- “Thank you, Steve.” Followed very shortly thereafter by, “We can’t go back yet, right? Since we have to collect the black suit soon?” It was more of a plea than a statement of fact, but he hoped that Steve wouldn’t be too upset by his spending to want to spend more time outside.

 

 

 

Steve had almost had a small heart attack looking at the prices written on the tags of the suits, but had kept his mouth shut as Loki browsed, feeling the fabrics and the different weights and tooth, discussing the fit with one of the tailors who showed him the selections. He considered telling Loki that perhaps they could just get two now, and the third at a later date. Fortunately, another associate saw Steve shuffling about with his hands in his pockets, and when he found out he was purchasing clothes for Loki, assured him that he would be getting a good deal since he was buying several at once, with the third suit knocked down to a fraction of the price. The total was still in excess of the price of Steve’s whole wardrobe, not counting the running shoes he went through at an alarming rate, but when Loki stepped out of the back with a black suit on pinned to his dimensions, looking sleek and refined and beaming with happiness, Steve knew he couldn’t argue with the figure. It was worth it. Every cent.

Luckily, he’d had the presence of mind to talk to Stark the night before about his finances, not wanting to have to carry a large sum of cash around in the most crowded part of the city. Stark had hacked his way into Steve’s accounts with distressing ease, bypassing security and transferring funds so Steve could get to his money without SHIELD being able to trace it. It was a relief, having that much normalcy back, and he’d handed over his card with barely a wince as the associate rang them up and gave him his receipts for pickup, Steve giving them the number of the brand-new StarkPhone Tony had left in his room the other day.

Steve chuckled at both Loki’s excitement to be out and about, and his enthusiasm about the suits. “Not yet,” he agreed. “Besides, we still have to get you some shirts and ties to go with them.” Preferably something in green, to bring out his eyes. “There’s a department store a few blocks from here that we can check out that will have them for cheaper. We can get you several dress shirts since we know your measurements now. And maybe something a bit more casual too.” Loki in a suit was a sight to behold, but it wasn’t the right attire for every situation. And they would want some basics and necessities, such as socks and underwear and...

Speaking of necessities, Steve’s stomach grumbled. It was nearing noon, and he hadn’t eaten in hours. The smell of food hung on the air. “Wanna grab a bite and take a walk through Bryant Park first?” he asked.

 

 

 

“I can use the shirts we bought before.” He protested. “And ties…” He shrugged. “I do not see them as a necessity. I just like the shells.” They felt like armor when he couldn’t don his own. “You’ve done enough, I promise.” He assured him.

“Food and the park sounds wonderful, though.” He tilted his head, realizing he’d dictated a fair amount of the day so far. “What did you have in mind to eat?”

He was sure that there was plenty around here-- plenty enough of things that Steve must have mentioned in their talks, things that he wanted to show him.

The park was nice, and it seemed Steve favored things like that, outdoor spaces with a lot of open area and green life. Growing up in areas like this one, that made sense, Loki supposed. He made a note in his own mind to take Bruce aside and ask him about art museums, since Steve kept saying he wanted to take Loki to one. maybe if Loki arranged to take Steve to one instead… But then again, he kept encountering the problem of his not having Midgardian funds. And, unlike other worlds, there was hardly a firm in place here to translate one currency to the other. Damn.

He felt a tiny divot forming between his brows and dismissed the thoughts quickly.

“How--” He stopped that thought. He would save it for lunch conversation, so that it would not seem so directly the product of what it was, though he knew Steve would likely see through him just the same.

“Are there any places around here that you’re familiar with?” He asked instead.

 

 

 

Steve chuckled. “With a suit that nice, you need some more decent shirts,” he pointed out. “And shoes and socks and all that jazz. And with the weather getting colder, we should look at getting you a wool coat. New York winters are chilly, and I don’t think a green cape is gonna be the look you want.” His qualms with extravagant spending aside, if they were going to get Loki outfitted, they might as well do it right and make sure he had everything he needed. “I should grab a couple things too,” he added, hoping that might ease some of Loki’s concerns. “I left a lot of my stuff behind, and I could do with a few spare shirts and such for workouts.”

They crossed at a crosswalk, moving with the mob, blending in easily. “None of the places I ate at back in the day are still around. And this wasn’t exactly my neighborhood. Brooklyn is a ways away, though we may go there later in the week, if you want. We could even try it out tomorrow, if you’re up for it.” It wasn’t as if Steve had anything else pressing to do. He did feel some guilt over that -- if he were back at SHIELD now, they might be sending him on a mission to rescue a hostage or defuse a crisis -- but if Thanos was coming and was capable of what Loki seemed to think he was, then more was at stake in the long run, and he belonged here.

Besides. He’d racked up a fair few vacation days.

“There’s carts and foodtrucks and restaurants all around,” he said out as they moved through the lunch crowds in the general direction of the park, skyscrapers towering overhead. “Why don’t you follow your nose and pick something that looks good?” Loki had little enough say about so many things in his life these days, Steve felt he ought to offer him the chance to make choices where possible.

 

 

 

Loki’s lips quirked upwards and he tilted his head to the side. “Can I pick out a shirt for you, while we’re there, then?” He followed Steve through the crowd, feeling somehow buoyant. It must be the openness. Despite the crush of bodies and almost oppressive heights of the buildings, he felt free again. And it was odd that he hadn’t realized how trapped he’d begun feeling in the tower.

Perhaps because it was a more insidious sort of containment. He had more room, more apparent freedom, but even still.

“I would love to see your Brooklyn-- or as much of it as remains.”

The people passed them by so steadily that Loki did not fear to speak blandly here, well aware that even those listening might only catch tiny bits, a word here and there.

“And anything else you may wish to show me. Not that Tony’s home isn’t wonderful, but too much time within its walls… I do not need to go far, or anywhere special, but time outside is wonderful just the same.”

He lifted his head upwards, scenting at the air in an almost comedic fashion, searching for something that stood out, some smell that would speak of a wonderful taste attached.

“On the way here, there was a man selling sausages covered in bacon. Do you think we might find more like-- over there!” He pointed, nearly smacking someone in the process. She ducked out from under his arm and turned to glare; he looked contrite for perhaps a few seconds over it, but that was all. After she turned away, he swung back to face Steve. “Is that okay? If you’d like something else, of course, I am open to suggestions.” He grinned at him, carefree and glad of it.

Soon he’d be dressed in a way that would make him feel… if not invulnerable, at least less on display. He’d have Steve by his side, and they would be out of the tower, full of glorious bacon and soaking in Midgard’s sun and smells and people. And when they returned to the tower, his spirits would be so high he could not imagine even Stark being able to upset the day. It was going to be wonderful. It already had been. So it would be wonderful, but with added bacon.

 

 

 

Steve grinned. “Sounds good to me.” He’d eaten enough 2-penny hot dogs growing up, back before anyone thought to regulate what went in them, that he had no fear of street food to speak of. The smell of sausages and bacon wafted their way, and his mouth watered. Bacon, of course, was Loki’s favorite. And today, Steve was thrilled for a chance to indulge him in, if not everything, as much as he was safely able.

They made their way to the cart, and Steve purchased them two fully-loaded sausages with bacon and fixings on buns, served in little open cartons. He bit into his with gusto, enjoying the grease and the flavor and the solidity of it.

“Good choice,” he told Loki, as they walked and ate, approaching the greenery of the park, an oasis of vegetation in the metal and concrete landscape.

It wasn’t as large or enchanting as Central Park, with fewer paths and little nooks in which to catch a private moment, but it was still a pleasant place for a stroll, amidst the tourist groups, students, and businessmen and women catching some air and a bite to eat during their lunch hour. Many of the trees were already turning shades of yellow, gold, and orange, and would shed their leaves in a few more weeks, but the grass on the lawn remained green, as did the shrubs lining the terraces. Music piped through the air as they passed a carousel, and Steve couldn’t help but smile as he swallowed down the last bite of his lunch, wiping the grease from his fingers on his jeans. “That big building on the far end of the green is the New York Public Library,” he explained. “I don’t have a library card, so we probably can’t check anything out, but we could give it a look if you’re interested. It’s a neat building.” There were also the lion statues to be marveled at, and assorted other monuments and statues, some of which Steve recognized, and some, like the large wall coming up on their right, which seemed to be new…

 

 

 

The food was, as Steve said, a good choice. Loki might even go so far as to call it an excellent one, were he not busily consuming as much as he could put into his mouth. He slowed halfway through, though. He eyed Steve’s food, realizing that once again he had insisted on giving them equal portions, despite Steve needing more food than he.

Silently he waited until Steve had finished his, and then held out the last couple of bites.

“Here, I’m full. You finish it.” He tilted his head to look around, taking in the area. “There are more sculptures in this garden than the other.” He noted. But then the word library caught his attention.

“A library card?” Loki asked, unfamiliar with the concept. “Is that like the card you gave the men at the store, for the suits? I assume it is some form of currency. Which reminds me… How would I go about getting some, if I were interested in earning Midgardian money? At ho-- in Asgard-- it was usually gained in service, or by producing some article worth trading. But here, you have stores to supply all foodstuffs and then restaurants on top of that, you have endless opportunity to walk into any store and find what you are looking for. How does anyone make money?” This was what he’d been interested in asking before, and while he was temporarily distracted by the children mounted on stationary horses, it seemed like it might be less relevant than Loki having money of his own, that he might treat Steve to outings and food and clothing.

 

 

 

“You sure?” Steve asked, though he accepted the offered sausage after a moment nonetheless. No sense in letting food go to waste, after all. And if Loki got hungry again, they could just pick up more food.

“It’s a little like that card in shape,” he said around the bite he took, wincing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he swallowed. “Sorry. If you live in the city and can prove you live or work here, they give you a library card for free, and you can use it to check out books and all sorts of things. They only charge you if you take too long bringing them back; you can’t keep them forever since other people may want to check them out at some point too.” He took another bite, chewing and swallowing this time before speaking. “The card I paid with does transfer currency, so that works a little different.”

He finished off the sausage, throwing the carton into a nearby trashcan. “So, to get money, you need a job. Same as Asgard. And because people are always buying things, other people are needed to sell them. Everyone in those restaurants makes a living selling the food there, and the fellas we bought your suits off of get paid to sell us suits. So they can bring home the money they earn to buy clothes and food and whatever else they need. I can get you a book on Economics if you’re interested, I don’t think I can explain it terribly well.”

He shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets. “But if you want to earn money, you would need to find some kind of employment. Which might be a little tricky since you’re technically an illegal alien, and I don’t think the kind of jobs that are easy to get around here without papers would be up your alley.” Not if Loki wanted to wear suits to work, at any rate. Though it was hard to picture Loki sitting at a desk job in an office from nine to five. It was almost as absurd as Loki working the docks, like Bucky had with the immigrant boys back in the day. “You know, your best bet might be asking Stark... His company does a lot of research, they could maybe take you on as a consultant. I’m sure their legal department could work around the citizenship issue,” he mused. Tony still wasn’t crazy about Loki, but he didn’t glare at him every time he entered a room, which Steve considered an improvement. “Though he is letting us stay at his place rent-free already, which is pretty generous.”

 

 

 

Loki frowned, adjusting the direction of their wandering, edging them towards the shade thrown off by the wall. Not that he was too warm. As Steve said, it would be getting cooler soon. But as much as he enjoyed the sun on him, he’d become unaccustomed to it, after so much time spent indoors. The shade looked inviting.

“I do not want his hand outs, or any additional generosity. I want to--” He stopped though, as they got closer, and he noticed that there was a woman kneeling before the wall, and the sound of her soft cries came towards them.

Loki lowered his voice reverently, his eyes scanning over the structure.

“Is this one of your peoples’ holy places?” He asked, feeling utterly unprepared and impolite, to have walked so noisily and unthinkingly into the area.

Then the words on the wall began to make sense-- names. A long list of names. This was not a short wall, rising up several feet over their heads. It did not stretch far, though… an odd shape for worship. And then his eyes lit on the title scrawled atop the monument.

_“In memory of those lost during the Invasion of New York, May 4th, 2012.”_

 

Loki felt ill, the food souring in his stomach. He licked his lips, turning his head part way to look at Steve, but unable to fully take his eyes off of the wall.

“Steve-- what. What is this?” He asked, voice breaking despite his whisper.

He knew. Oh, but he knew. And there were so _many_. He felt a cold wash of horror douse his entire body, and he thought he might vomit.

 

 

 

Steve frowned as they approached the wall, curious. There were pictures and flyers and things stuck up on it, and flowers, toys, and other assorted objects laid at its base. It was new, the shiny marble freshly cut. An art installation perhaps? He stepped closer--

\--And read the writing on the wall.

Steve froze.

_Oh no._

He’d seen the statue honoring the fallen police, soldiers, and firefighters that had been erected near Madison Square Garden. Had seen the flyers tacked up for missing loved ones, the posters trying to reconnect survivors in the direct aftermath of the battle. But he hadn’t realized-- although it made sense, given they were right in the shadow of Stark Tower, which had been the epicenter of it all.

“Loki,” he said softly, “I swear, I didn’t know this was-- I’m sorry, we can-- we can go--” he reached out and put a hand on Loki’s shoulder. God, he hadn’t meant to shove this in his face, hadn’t meant...

The woman kneeling by the wall lowered a small white object to the base of the wall. A child’s stuffed rabbit, Steve realized, the sausages sitting unpleasantly in his stomach.

There were so many names.

 

 

 

Loki shook his head, mutely denying Steve’s offer.

He had done this. All of this.

He found himself stepping closer, knowing he had no right to be here and that if these people knew-- if the woman, mourning her-- gods, he’d killed a _child_. Probably more than one.

If anyone knew who he was, that he was here, they would kill him. He would be ripped apart just for standing, for breathing and-- and _he deserved it_.

He couldn’t swallow, his throat closed up and thick, the tick of his attempt so loud it even overpowered the sound of his heart beating in his ears.

He wanted to drop to his knees beside this mother, this woman he had deprived of her child, in front of the names he had deprived of their chances at life, wanted to apologize and ask her if there was anything he could do-- not to ease her suffering, he supposed. That wasn’t in his power. Not to ask for forgiveness. Even granted, it would not be hers alone to give, and he could never ask for it. He wanted to reach out for her, but he knew that would be selfish, obtaining comfort not owed to him, taking it from someone who did not know.

Right now he wanted to be ripped apart, wanted to put on his armor and face the crowd so they could see him as he was, so they would come for him, attack him. End him. Rid their world of this monster. Surely they would feel better for having done so. Surely he would feel at least somewhat… relieved.

“Steve…” His voice shook, and he knew his mind was doing things, things Steve would not approve of, urging him to do things that Steve would never--

He swallowed again, this one actually allowing his throat to work. “Steve I-- what--” He couldn’t make words come out. He felt so lost, so empty and… and _monstrous._

Loki just wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

And for a moment, when he felt the rumbling, he thought he was about to be granted his wish. Eyes wide, he turned to see people running and confused, as a plane hovered, setting in for a vertical landing in the park, right in the middle of the empty area, not far from where they were.

“Steve?” He asked again, more panicked now. And all he could think was, it must be SHIELD. They had found them.

And like in the parking garage, they would be aiming to shoot him.

And right now… he would let them. The tiny corner of his brain that was still aware of self preservation knew that there was a very real danger of him doing something lethally stupid.

He tried to think. All he could imagine was a gunshot hitting him in the head, his blood spilling against the wall at his back…

and then he looked back at the woman still kneeling there, but looking up, frozen in shock.

“Steve there are too many people here!” He called out in alarm.

He didn’t care if he was killed. But he did not want another wall erected in his name.

 

 

 

When Loki stepped forward toward the wall, pulling away from Steve’s touch, he meant to follow. But his feet felt stuck to the ground, and he remained frozen, watching as Loki approached the memorial, shoulders slumped inward in grief.

He hadn’t meant for this; to ruin this perfect day with such a morbid and horrifying reminder.

(Loki hadn’t meant for this either. Steve knew that. He couldn’t have.)

His eyes stung as he watched Loki approach the wall, wondering how long to give him. He would need a moment to process, and it wasn’t Steve’s place to deny him that or erase this damage, but at the same time, he couldn’t let Loki spiral down into despair. Or do anything stupid.

When the ground began to vibrate and a low drone filled the air, Steve’s gut sank, as his chest filled with the icy fear that somehow, Loki was about to do just that. Loki turned and looked at him with wide eyes and once more Steve was paralyzed, not knowing what to do.

Then Loki’s expression turned to confusion.

The rumbling, Steve realized, was coming from above.

He turned, looking up, and there was a small plane not unlike the SHIELD quinjets, coming in for a landing in the middle of the green. The dread that Loki would do something foolish vanished, replaced by the even heavier dread that they’d been found; that SHIELD had come to take Loki from him.

The only thing that shook him from his numb state of shock was Loki’s voice, screaming above the roar of the engines. _There are too many people._

It was like a switch had been flipped. Steve remained frozen, terrified, and lost, but the Captain woke up and leapt into action. “Everyone get away from the green!” Steve bellowed. “Move, move move! Everyone go, clear out!” He shouted and waved his arms, stunning the onlookers from a similar daze, sending them scattering. He reached into his pocket, finding the phone and switching it on, fumbling for Tony’s number in the contacts.

He turned back to the plane just as the hatch opened. Men in tactical uniforms poured out, but not, he realized with a frown, SHIELD uniforms. Was this a covert op, not meant to bear any attachment?

Then another figure in an augmented set of gear strode down, with all the confidence of an officer, but his face concealed by a mesh mask.

_“---ello?”_

Steve belatedly realized that the call he’d placed had gone through. He lifted his phone to his face, ignoring the way the illusion of his beard shimmered and disappeared. “Tony, suit up and get to Bryant Park, _now._ Bring my shield,” he said, hanging up before Stark could ask any questions.

He took a few strides forward, putting himself between Loki and the plane. He was unarmed, out of uniform, and ambushed, but he didn’t intend to just surrender to SHIELD. Assuming... that this was SHIELD...

“I think you missed the airstrip by a few miles,” he announced, hoping to give Loki a chance to escape. “What--”

Before he could say anything else, the figure at the end of the gangplank lifted his hands, and the mechanisms in his palms created a whine that ramped up in pitch and volume until--

The shockwave picked Steve up and threw him back several feet, sending him crashing into a table and chairs on the terrace.

 

 

 

Loki saw Steve put himself forward, and had the presence of mind to remove his disguise. If nothing else, perhaps someone would recognize him, one of the by-standers. If anyone threatened a symbol like Captain America, he could only hope some would come to his aid.

Or at least listen, when Captain America yelled for them to get out of the way.

Loki was disoriented, his own emotions doing more to send his mind reeling than any of the Midgardian alcohols that Stark had tried on him could.

When the man who was clearly in charge lifted his hands, like Loki about to unleash a spell, Loki acted without thought. He took hold of the mother’s shoulder and moved her, as he’d moved he and Steve before, just far enough to get her out of harm’s way.

He dropped her on the sidewalk, well aware she had seen his magic, and well aware he could not care.

“I am sorry.” Was all he paused to say, before turning back and going the way he’d come, without her this time.

This time, he stopped directly in front of where Steve lay sprawled. He did not know what the man had done, nor how many others may be harmed, but he pulled his knives from their sheaths.

He considered putting on his armor, but he needed to conserve his seidhr, needed the people to not see him as a threat, or worse, to see Steve as one.

“What business have you with us?” He challenged. From the corner of his eye, he saw the garish red of Stark, and he was carrying Bruce with him. Inwardly, Loki winced.

Before him, the man advanced, and Loki, still mindful of how Steve would react, when he got up-- if he wasn’t too harmed already-- no-- _when_ he got up-- Loki did not want to kill this man.

He sent knives flying for his palm and his shoulder respectively, hoping to disable his arms.

The armour he wore, though, deflected his weapons as neatly as Loki had deflected SHIELD’s with his own.

“I cannot imagine they will be too pleased with you…” Loki bluffed, seeing himself and Steve being surrounded by the men in their tactical gear. “There are a lot of civilian witnesses to see you throwing around Captain Americ--” He did not get the final syllable out, though, because Stark had dropped Banner off next to Steve, behind Loki, and then gone on to scoop a large number of the men who had arrived in the plane into his arms, the way a child might with a litter of pups.

It seemed the man in charge was also taken aback by this maneuver. With his attention diverted, Loki looked behind himself, where he saw Banner offering Steve his shield.

 

 

 

Steve’s bones felt like they were reverberating, his teeth buzzing in his skull with the echoes of impact. His head reeled and it took him a few moments to even figure out which direction was up, let alone get his feet under him. But the moment he recovered enough from his disorientation to look around, he immediately searched for Loki.

There. Loki had taken the woman from the wall and moved her to safety, out of harm’s way. Steve felt a moment of relief, but Loki then shattered it by approaching the plane once again, calling out a challenge.

Steve struggled to his feet; he was a bit dusted up, but nothing was busted, and the hardest part was extricating himself from the warped patio furnishings he’d landed in. As he got up, he heard a familiar whir of repulsor engines coming from overhead. Backup, it seemed, had arrived.

And not a moment too soon. Loki was moving forward, throwing knives ineffectively at the challenger from the plane (Loki was deadlier than that, why was he missing?), when Stark landed and provided a distraction, taking out several of the goons in strike gear and scattering them.

Steve whirled around as a hand tapped his shoulder. “I think you may want this,” Banner said, looking just a bit green as he handed over Steve’s shield -- though whether that was from the imminent presence of the Other Guy, or a result of Stark’s flying, Steve wasn’t sure. Why was Banner even--?

Loki. Of course. Steve hadn’t explained, so of course Stark had probably assumed Loki had gone ballistic once again, and brought the one guy they knew could toss him around like a sack of potatoes. He supposed he was lucky that Tony had identified the actual threat instead of barreling into Loki, but that still left them with the threat of the Hulk coming out in the middle of Manhattan, which could cause more damage than it stopped. Taking hold of his shield, Steve hefted it with a nod. “Thanks. Banner, circle the perimeter and make sure all the civilians are out of the way,” he said. Keeping Bruce out of the fight would hopefully prevent them from letting loose the Hulk unless absolutely necessary.

Banner didn’t argue, but nodded and took off at a jog. Shield on his arm, Steve strode purposely forward.

“You aren’t SHIELD, though you’re trying to look it,” he called out. “Who are you? What do you want?” He wasn’t about to back down from a fight, but if there was anyway to settle this before too many people got hurt, he owed it to try diplomacy.

In answer, the man in the mesh mask knelt down. For a second, Steve thought he meant to surrender; but then he saw the man’s hands placed palm-down on the ground, and heard the rising whine.

“STOP--!” He shouted, but the earth was already rumbling, shockwaves running through the soil and making it quake underfoot. Sirens and car alarms formed a cacophony in the distance, punctuated by voices raised in screams. Steve staggered, trying to get closer, but walking on the rippling ground was like stumbling through quicksand. While drunk. Gritting his teeth, Steve slid his arm out of the straps, took hold of the rim of the shield, and aimed.

He threw, and the shield bounced off the man’s chest, throwing him back and interrupting the vibrations. Steve caught his weapon as it sluiced back through the air in his direction, trying to clear the buzzing from his head. But before the other man was even on his feet, he shouted something indistinct, and the men from the plane opened fire.

 

 

 

Loki turned back around at the Captain’s words to see the man who he had been facing before, only now he was kneeling, hands flat on the ground. For a moment, he felt the fierce glow of pride. To have so easily conquered a foe-- he had forgotten this, this tiny taste of what it would be like to be a true warrior of Asgard. But then the man did-- _something_ \-- and suddenly he was pitched to one side, a feeling like pins and needles going through him.

He felt his face freeze in a snarl. He did not like not being able to count on the ground beneath his feet. It reminded him of Jotunheim falling out from under him, as they ran from the war that Thor had started behind them.

But if they were not SHIELD, as the Captain said, did that mean that he could kill them?

He could hardly ask now. It made him feel his hands were tied, but he could work with it. He had to. He could remember Steve, barely alive after meeting Thanos, whose first concern was that Loki had not killed anyone. He would not betray that trust now. Not here, not after--

the wall loomed heavy in his thoughts, jarred and disorganized as they were by the sizzling in his blood. He needed to _think--_

But just as the feeling stopped, the buzzing that had shaken him abating when Steve’s shield bounced off of the man, a series of gunshots rained down upon them.

Loki quickly threw up his own shields, one over himself and one over Steve. He looked around, trying to find Banner, but he seemed to have escaped notice for the time being. He was outside of the ranks of those advancing and firing on them. And Stark had his armor; Loki assumed it would absorb the damage.

Loki wished he had access now to the ice he’d used to stop the actual agents of SHIELD, in his mad dash to save Steve from the sceptre, but he could not have that without changing his skin, and the last thing he wanted was to be attacked by someone else for that… or for Steve’s friends to see him that way.

But what he could do was distract. He was capable of that much.

He stumbled shakily to his feet and screamed, louder than humanly possible, amplified by magic, and once he was sure they had heard him, were looking at him, he created his duplicates, an entire army of him scattered throughout the field.

The shooters no longer knew where to aim, which gave them a distinct disadvantage, and the movement of his illusions allowed him to move unnoticed through them, towards Steve.

“Illusions.” He yelled to Steve over the gunshots, broken now, and scattered, as the gunmen twisted wildly in search of a real target. “You can move through them.” He needed to get closer to Steve-- needed to be there to help, to protect him. This was not an urge he had felt often in battle, and not one he was comfortable with. But he acted on it all the same.

“Steve, who are--” his words were interrupted by a blast through the air which sent him tumbling, and sent the bodies of his images shimmering and wavering in and out of existence, floating and distorted like the spectres they were.

 

 

 

Steve grunted as another blast shook the ground. One of the lamp-posts nearby tipped over with a crash and a shower of sparks, resulting in shrieks from the couple who had been hiding in the shrubbery beneath it. “Run!” Steve bellowed in their direction, though he didn’t have time to see if they followed through. He hoped that Loki, wherever he was amidst the sea of rapidly-vanishing illusions, would have the sense to do the same, though he doubted he’d be so lucky. The man sending out the shocks was back up, palms aimed at the memorial wall.

Anger coiled in Steve’s gut like a serpent.

“HEY!”

The man turned back toward Steve. He tilted his head for a moment, as if in contemplation, then directed a hand at Steve and let loose a shockwave. Steve ducked and lifted his shield out of instinct--

\-- And felt the blast ride over his shield like ocean waves over a breaker.

 _Vibranium,_ he remembered. What was it Howard had said? _Absorbs vibrations._

A different kind of blast, blue and direct, caught his opponent by the shoulder, sending him reeling back. Steve looked up to see Tony coming in for a landing. “I got this!” Steve shouted over the noise. “My shield will absorb whatever kind of energy he’s putting out-- I need you to take out those gunmen before they inflict any civilian casualties!” _And keep Loki safe,_ he wanted to add, but the words stayed caught in his throat.

Stark hesitated, the impassive mask of his armor directed at Steve. “You sure?” the suit’s speakers asked.

“Go!” Steve barked.

Stark hesitated for a moment. “I had JARVIS scan him. He’s got power-packs on his wrists connected to the inlays in the gloves. Take those out, and you shut down Earthquake Joe over there,” he announced, then took off, a few well-aimed repulsor blasts taking out a pair of men advancing toward the terrace with automatic rifles.

Steve turned back toward the man with the shockwave gauntlets, in time to see him lowering his palm to the torn up ground once more. Gritting his teeth, he tilted forward and ran, diving into a tackle just as the first tremors began to spread.

They both went down hard, a heavy pile of limbs and gear. Steve got in a good punch, and another, then took a knee to the gut that drove the breath out of him. He headbutted his opponent, dazing him briefly, but then his enemy recovered in time to fire off a short burst of energy that knocked Steve back. Clambering up to his knees, he raised his free arm for a punch, hoping to take the guy out long enough to tear apart his weapons--

But before he could land a hit, the man reached up, snatching his forearm and squeezing. Steve heard the now-familiar whine of the gauntlets charging and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he tried to pull away.

The man squeezed.

Steve didn’t so much hear as _feel_ the bones of his forearm shattering as vibrations blasted through it, biting down on a strangled yell through the pain. The shock continued, pulsing through every atom of Steve’s body, making him feel like he might simply come apart--

Blue energy flared, and then a streak of gold and red crashed into the man, tearing him away from Steve. Gasping, Steve doubled over on the ground, holding his shattered forearm to his chest.

“I thought you said you had this?” Tony demanded, the faceplate of his armor up as he flew back toward Steve. His flight, Steve noted through the haze of adrenaline and endorphins, was wobbly and uneven. There were scorch marks on his armor, and at least one of his stabilizers was shot.

He grit his teeth. “Where’re the others?” his hissed, fighting back the urge to retch up those goddamn sausages.

Tony landed and looked around, brow furrowed. “Um...”

Struggling back to his feet, pushing himself up using his shield and his own good arm, Steve scanned the green turned field for Loki--

 

 

 

He needed to get these idiot humans to safety. He knew that if he didn't, Steve would be too busy keeping them from harm to pay attention to his own safety. Or at least, that was what he told himself.

He had never tried moving himself and two other people before. He’d never tried to care about more than himself, and one other, if they were lucky. These two should be grateful that the person he cared about cared for everyone.

He dropped them off outside the park and left them be, before hurrying back, proud that the’d managed to be rid of the distractions.

Only, it wasn’t good enough. When he returned, all he saw was Steve trying to get his arm free, and then-- He couldn’t hear Steve cry out, but he could see the beginning of it, before he bit down.

Loki took a step towards him, only to have one of the armed men grab him from behind. They took hold of his hair and pulled, and even his more-than-human-strength could not keep him from tipping backwards.

He landed on his back on the field, but righted himself quickly enough, turning to face his assailant and his cohorts. They seemed to have worked out that their guns were not working, but not, perhaps, why. So instead they had traded them out for gleaming sticks, as big around as Loki’s wrist and as long as his forearm. And the ends of them glowed and crackled. Loki sneered at them, creating another of his shields, wide enough to place between himself and them, and he _pushed,_ bowling them over and then locking them in place where they lie.

He turned, trying to find Steve, but could not see him for all of his doubles.

Instead, he saw the leader’s back as he advanced on Bruce.

Bruce, who was on the edges of the fight, helping to get a load of children onto a bus, to get them out of harm’s way.

Bruce who was not the Hulk, but who, if attacked, could easily become him. And who would reach for the first thing handy to attack with. Like a bus. Regardless who was inside.

Loki did not have any time to think; the man was raising his hands and he had no way to call for help, no way to know where anyone was. He saw Bruce turning to register the danger, and he was out of time. So he did the only thing he could. He took a step that carried him _through_ the man, and stopped in front of him, intending to use his shield trick to turn him aside, to push him away. He raised his arms for casting, but before the massive push of seidhr had travelled along his arms,  he felt the man’s hands close on him, one on his shoulder, the other on his side. Like a sick parody of a dance, he thought, and then--

Then a smell like lightning, and pain. All encompassing, consuming pain… Pain like Thanos, but rooted firmly outside of his mind. Everything shook, sharply, and he felt like he was being twisted, with no mind to the sharp fractures and the way every part of him splintered under the attack. He couldn’t move, couldn’t break free--

His eyes were open but all he saw was a wash of grey. He didn’t think he screamed, was not sure if he could scream. Everything was--

He felt his body hit the ground and it was distant. His lungs felt sharp, and he couldn’t take in air for the space of several sluggish heartbeats.

The seidhr he had been readying to use seeped back into him, pulling at his krellr as it went.

It was the only way he was still alive. His heart beat, but it had become irregular, his lungs pumped but they tore at him in pain with every gasping, wheezed breath.

And the man was still there. He could feel his footsteps in the grass, coming nearer. He couldn’t roll to see him, couldn’t brace for the pain. He just closed his eyes and waited for more to come. The last thing he saw, as the slits of his eyelids threw the world into sharp focus, was the memorial wall. He wasn’t so far from its base now. He deserved this pain, and it was somehow fitting that if he was going to die, it be here, before all of those whose lives he had ripped away. His eyes swam with tears and then fell closed, and he did not know any more.

 

 

 

Steve cradled his arm to his chest, assessing the field. Stark was rounding up the last of the gunmen, most of whom had been felled. NYPD was on the scene, with officers forming a perimeter around the park and slowly closing in. Loki’s doubles shimmered in and out across the field, distracting and diverting the attentions of the attackers. Bruce...

Bruce was loading students who must have been visiting the park and library on a field trip back on to a bus, trying to get them out of the way. Bust the masked man had pulled himself up, recovering from Stark’s tackle, and now stalked over toward Banner with an air of menace.

Steve’s heart skipped. He hefted his shield and made to run forward, already realizing he wouldn’t reach in time--

\--And then Loki was there, arms raised. Steve could have cheered, but that small flicker of victory extinguished under a wave of alarm as the man reached forward, putting his hands on Loki’s torso. A sharp pang ran up Steve’s arm in anticipation of what was about to happen. “Loki!” he shouted, breaking into a sprint--

\--Too late.

The whine and hum of the shock devices rose, and Loki’s eyes went wide, his face contorting in a silent scream as he _blurred_. Then the man dropped him, and he crumpled to the ground limply.

_“NO!”_

Steve screamed as he ran, then lunged, the edge of his shield catching the man hard against the jaw. He went down and Steve followed him, angling his shield and smashing down at the power packs on the man’s arms, not caring that he was pretty sure he heard bone splinter along with metal and plastic. The man screamed behind the mask.

Steve punched him in the head. He stopped screaming. Or moving.

“Nooo, no no no noo...”

Steve looked up to see Banner crouching over Loki, fingers tangle in his own hair as he curled forward, rocking on his heels as he pulled himself into a ball. “No, oh no..”

The fire of rage and pain in Steve burned out, leaving ice in its wake. Slowly, he edged forward. “Bruce?” he asked, voice cracking.

Bruce looked up at him, poison green edging the normally-brown irises of his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I didn’t-- he was just there--”

Steve dropped heavily to his knees. Loki wasn’t moving. His limbs were angled wrong, like a discarded marionette, bending ways they shouldn't. Dropping his shield so he could use his good arm, Steve reached forward, taking Loki gently by the shoulder. But the shoulder gave under his touch, like there were no bones at all, and Steve’s hand flew back to his mouth as he tried not to retch, frantically swallowing down the bile that crept up his throat.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“Loki,” he whispered, gently reaching forward and this time just barely touching Loki’s face, feeling for warmth, for breath, for signs of life. “Loki, _please_...” A small trickle of blood streamed from the corner of Loki’s mouth, and Steve choked on a sob. But there was a faint wheeze of breath accompanying it; Loki was still alive. For now.

The ground shuddered as Iron Man landed hard behind him. “What’s-- oh shit.”

“He needs help,” Steve said, hoarsely.

There was a moment’s pause. “Okay,” Stark said, finally. “JARVIS just called Happy, he’s on his way with a car. We’ll get him to the medical R&D levels of the tower; they’re closer than the hospital. You hanging in there, Jolly Green?”

Bruce let out a wavering breath. “Been better. Could be worse.”

“I hear that. Cap?”

Steve looked down at Loki, a shaking hand brushing a bit of hair from his face. He was _broken_.

“Steve?”

Slowly, with as much care as possible, Steve scooped Loki up into his arms, ignoring the grinding pain in his own arm, and the fact that his hand had gone numb. None of that mattered. All that mattered was Loki, and getting him help. Getting him home.

“Steve?”

He finally looked up. “Which way is the car?”

 

 

 


	28. Twenty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for graphic descriptions of injury, mild body horror involving broken bones.

It had been a long time since Bruce had been so acutely jumpy. Usually when he was actively helping people, he managed to find a zen in his work.

And yeah, he wasn’t that kind of doctor.

But frankly, he didn’t think there were any of the kind of doctor needed here on all of planet Earth, and this was his fault, so he needed to do something. And having Steve hovering made him nothing but antsy.

Steve was usually so open, so easy to understand. You could see what he felt written on his face, in the set of his jaw. But as he was now-- it was simultaneously terrifying and heartbreaking.

He didn’t ask. Steve wasn’t okay.

Loki was laid out as comfortably as they could manage for him.

It made Bruce green in a distinctly not angry way, laying him out to be man shaped and feeling him... Well, jiggle.

But as they watched, he was patching himself up. Somehow he had lived through that. Somehow he was recovering.

Bruce wasn't really sure what to say.

"I'm sorry." It sounded wrong and he had said it so many times that they didn't feel like words any more.

"He's doing more for himself than we can do now. You should go, get that arm set. With the serum, you don't want it healing crooked."

He bit his lip, not sure how that would be taken. Cap gave the orders. Cap was in who knew what kind of mood. And he'd been the one who got the guy Cap was protecting injured beyond the repair that their medical professionals were capable of.

 

 

 

Loki hadn’t woken. Which was probably a blessing, considering how much pain he would be in if he did -- his collarbone was in splinters, his ribs were shattered, several vertebrae were ruptured, and the list went on, with fewer bones left unbroken than not, and massive internal trauma throughout. But the sight of him so still, so limp -- it left Steve cold.

He hadn’t left his side. He’d carried him to Stark’s driver’s car, past the crowds of rubberneckers and emergency personnel. He’d held him in the back seat, ignoring the steady throb of pain in his own arm. He’d walked alongside the gurney that the medical research team met them with in the lobby, and rode up in the elevator, giving a soundless glare to anyone who tried to protest. He’d been there while they’d done scans and while Loki had been moved and while a doctor insisted that they couldn’t give him any kind of sedative or anesthetic without knowing how his unique biology would handle it. He’d stood solemnly while the medics worked to set the most obvious of the breaks, splinting what they could and leaving what they couldn’t.

At one point, in a lull where the team retreated to run a blood test (Steve didn’t have it left in him to tell them no experimenting; Loki had asked him not to let anyone experiment on him...) he took Loki’s hand in his. It was one of the few parts of him not too badly mangled, beyond a slight dislocation, but Steve held it like it was made of glass.

If it had been him instead, Loki would manipulate his krellr and fix him. Loki would heal him.

But Loki wouldn’t wake, and Loki couldn’t fix himself like this.

Bowing his head, Steve breathed in and out, eyes hot and stinging. He shut them and tried to imagine Loki as a network of light -- tiny fire-orange pinpricks, like a molten galaxy. That had been the picture he’d painted for Steve, hadn’t it? In his mind’s eye, he tried to picture a ball of his own light, moving from his heart across his chest, down his arm, to his hand and into Loki.

He opened his eyes.

Loki was still broken; Steve’s childish thought experiments as useless as the rest of him.

It took a second for him to realize Bruce had spoken. A second longer for him to parse the words together into meaning, at which point he frowned and looked down.

His arm was in bad shape. Everything from wrist to elbow was swollen tight against his shirtsleeve, and the skin was hot and painful to touch. But that was just an arm -- a single point of contact.

The man with the mask and the shockwave gloves had sent that energy through Loki’s _whole body._

“I don’t...” he stopped, swallowed. “Can you set it? Do it here?” He had no intention of leaving Loki. Not for a moment.

 

 

 

“That’s really not-- You should go see someone who--” He sighed. He still wasn’t that kind of doctor, but he felt like he owed the guy something, and with the way he was looking at Loki--

Like he--

Oh.

“I can… I mean, it might be a little rough. Are you sure?” He was asking more because he felt like he should than because he thought Steve would change his mind. He started casting around, looking through the drawers.

He wasn’t down in this part of the development branch often, thank goodness, but it meant that he wasn’t familiar with where things were kept. Something else occurred to him though, and he almost slapped himself on the head.

“Just a sec, I’m gonna grab someone to help me. I have a feeling if I have to tug against your muscles, I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”

He almost wanted to get Tony, but he had a feeling this whole situation was a lot more delicate than he’d fully realized. Not that he was certain; it was hard to be. Still, better to get someone who wouldn’t mouth off, someone familiar with following orders, someone strong and who knew where everything was.

He turned a corner, despairing of finding anyone he knew and could trust, when he walked into one of Tony’s robots.

“Sorry Dum-E.” He said, distracted, then he jerked his head up. “Dum-E, are you doing anything right now?”

Dum-E opened his claw and rotated it back and forth. No.

“Will you come help me? I need an extra hand in medical.” He gestured back over his shoulder. Dum-E closed the claw and tilted it a little, like he was considering, then dipped the head of it using his joint. Yes.

“Alright, this-- this way.” He’d worked with Stark’s robots before, of course, but never on something like this.

He led the way back into the room.

“Alright, Steve. I found-- I figured you wouldn’t want anyone we weren’t sure of in here with Loki right now, so I want you to meet Dum-E. Tony made him ages ago, and just rebuilt him after his house got destroyed.”

Bruce turned back to face the robot.

“Dum-E’s going to help me put your bones back where they belong so they can heal straight.” He addressed the machine more than the man and spoke like he was talking to a child. Dum-E gave one of his little dip-nods, and Bruce smiled, grateful he understood, then looked back to Cap, just to be sure. “If that’s alright with you.”

 

 

 

Steve eyed the robotic device Banner returned with. It wasn’t a person, or even person-like, but Banner addressed it as such. That, combined with the fact that the apparatus’ main feature appeared to be a claw-like appendage, in lieu of a screen or face, proved vaguely unsettling.

But then, Steve had once let Dernier fish a piece of shrapnel out of his leg once with a pocket-knife, using a flask of cheap brandy for a combined disinfectant and anesthetic. Looking back at his record, this would be a far cry from the most dubious medical procedure Steve had ever submitted to, and as Bruce had said -- the robot had no ill-intentions toward Loki.

Loki was what mattered. Steve just needed his arm sorted out as quickly as possible so he could stay here; could be the one there when Loki woke up, for once, as Loki had been there for him.

He owed him that. That, and a whole lot more.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, pursing his lips as he carefully pulled his arm away from his chest and held it out for Banner to do as he would.

 

 

 

Bruce would have liked to take Steve over and get this scanned, make sure there were no loose pieces floating around in there, but he figured that could wait. As long as it healed straight, if they needed to cut in later, they could.

He wheeled a table over and gestured at a chair. Dum-E placed it for him and he guided Steve into it, taking control of the arm and laying it as gently as he could onto the table.

“I’m gonna have to cut the shirt off of it.” He said, frowning.

It was huge and dark and swollen-- that didn’t mean great things.

“My guess is that you have a severed blood vessel. I’m betting your healing will handle that, though… so it’s just a matter of getting the bone in place and holding it there until that takes effect. Which is going to be hard because of all of the blood inside and the swelling, and also I don’t know if we have any splints strong enough to…”

His eye fell onto one of Tony’s gauntlets, abandoned down here for who knows what reason.

“Alright, yeah, so first we cut off the shirt. Then I’ll have to… to put things where they belong. Um. Are there-- do you know of any painkillers that work on you? Anything that will dull it, at least?” It made him nervous, the idea of making Steve hurt more, the idea that his screaming, if he did, would bring people running. And all they would see is Loki on a bed, the guy who was the Hulk holding his arm, and a robot helping. It would look bad.

And there was every chance Loki would be blamed, even unconscious and clearly in pain and shimmering with the effort of his healing.

Dum-E, at his shoulder, poked him with something sharp, pulling him out of his musings. It was the pointed end of the scissors he had found.

“Thanks Dum-E. Hand me the other end next time, okay?” He asked. He turned his body back to face Steve, tucking his worries under a mask of competence.

He made the first cut up above the elbow, all the way around the arm, then in a straight line down the sleeve to the cuff.

It had been holding the arm in more than he’d anticipated, and it wasn’t quite what Loki’s body looked like, not nearly so messy, but still a definite hurt.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to someone who actually knows what they’re doing?” He asked, once he had laid eyes on it. It looked almost purple, and angry. And he was _really_ not that kind of doctor.

 

 

 

Steve shrugged his good shoulder when Banner said he’d have to cut the shirt. It was dirty and ripped and had spots of Loki’s blood on it; it was a lost cause anyhow. “Do what you have to do,” he told him, only half-listening to Bruce’s description of what he’d have to do. Steve was fine with letting him complete whatever he needed to so Steve could get his arm splinted and in a sling, so he could get back to Loki’s side.

“Morphine and Dilaudid work for a little while, but I metabolize them fast. Any dose you could track down would take longer to find than it would to clear my system,” he answered, when asked about painkillers. “I have a pretty high pain threshold. Don’t worry about it.”

He watched as Bruce cut away the fabric, feeling oddly detached from it all. He inhaled audibly as the shirt came away, the change in pressure smarting the oversensitive skin, but that was the only reminder that he was still connected to the arm in question. The grotesque thing on the table didn’t look like his arm, so it was easy to pretend that it wasn’t; that all of this was happening to someone else, and Steve was an impartial observer.

And it _had_ happened to someone else. And it had happened so much worse. Steve stole a sideways glance over at where Loki lay on the bed, knowing that the purpled, mottled bruising on Steve’s flesh matched the livid discolorations on Loki’s whole body.

The robot next to Bruce whirred, wheeling back and forward slightly, like an excited and eager child.

“It’s a busted arm, not brain surgery,” Steve said, voice flat. “Go ahead and do it.”

 

 

 

Bruce frowned but bit his tongue.

If Loki wasn’t as banged up as he was, if he wasn’t lying on a table a few feet away maybe dying, Steve would probably have no issue seeing a doctor. A real proper fix you up physician. And if he’d been paying more attention to his surroundings, Loki wouldn’t be.

“Right.” He muttered. “Right.” He said again, and squared his shoulders.

He touched the arm, so warm it felt like it might burn him, and he moved his other hand around under it.

“Okay, it feels like-- no. No both bones are broken.Okay. Dum-E, can you bring me the gauntlet from over there?” The robot rolled obediently over, his head-- arm?-- thrashing like he was proud to be doing something.

Which, given his name, he probably was.

He deposited it on the table and Bruce began poking at Steve’s flesh, trying to get a good grip on the bones, or at least trying to figure out where they needed to move to.

It had to hurt. It had to be killing the guy, and he didn’t even want painkillers. Was it some kind of-- oh.

Bruce felt like he should talk, offer some kind of diversion. Because apparently everyone was dying or feeling guilty in this room, save for Dum-E.

“So uh--” what did one talk about in a time like this? Bruce’s mind flashed back to his earlier revelation. “You uh-- you ever seen him heal before? Any idea what to expect?” Talking to Steve about Loki might be an idiot’s move, but at the same time, he didn’t think Steve would respond to anything else.

Finally finding the break, and feeling like it was surprisingly clean given the means of breakage, Bruce gestured for Dum-E to take hold of Steve’s wrist.

He waited for Steve to start talking, hoping that the effort of finding words would distract him enough to get him to loosen his tension. He held up his hand, waiting, ready to deliver the hand signal he’d seen Tony teaching Dum-E a few weeks back for ‘pull’.

The second Steve started talking, he was going to have Dum-E pull the arm straight, push at the bones from the side, and then slap the gauntlet on, and hope Tony designed his suits smart enough to adapt for size changes, and tight enough to keep the bones from moving back out of place. It was a lot of hoping.

But not brain surgery, like Steve said. Bruce smiled inwardly, grimly.

 

 

 

Steve watched as Dum-E rolled over with one of the Iron Man gauntlets, wondering what Bruce was planning to do with it. Repulsor blast his arm back into place? It took a second more to realize it was the left-hand gauntlet. A rudimentary cast, then. Clever.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek as Bruce gently probed the swollen and oversensitive skin, sending electrical sparks of pain through his nerves. The taste of copper grew slick on his tongue, but he didn’t flinch.

At Bruce’s question, he shook his head. “Only other people. Me. Ferra. I don’t think-- he said he can’t see his own krellr, so it has to be unconscious manipulation, not--”

Dum-E pulled and Steve felt the bones in his arm _grinding_ as fire coursed up from his wrist to his shoulder. He bit down hard, teeth clenching, and breathed rapidly in and out through his nose. _Don’t scream._ It was just a break, just a break, it would be over in a minute and Thanos had hurt far worse and Loki was hurt far worse and---

And then it was over, the gauntlet clicking into places and squeezing the puffy arm beneath it as the stabbing, searing agony abated to a violently pulsing throb.

“Damn,” Steve whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds, breathing harshly. When he felt he had control, he looked up at his arm, oddly encased in red metal, and then up at Bruce.

“Thank you,” he said, voice a bit rough.

 

 

 

As soon as it was done, Bruce turned his face away, trying to provide some privacy. Steve didn’t scream. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard him scream when it happened, either. Bruce frowned, giving Dum-E a little pat to let him know it was okay to let go.

He did, and turned his head, like a golden retriever.

“Good job, Dum-E.” He told him.

At Steve’s words, he snorted.

“You’re still going to have to let someone check that out later-- don’t think that’s the end of it. But--” He gestured at the figure on the table. “So that’s his body taking care of things, huh?” Bruce could only sigh. People didn’t recover from things like that. He already looked dead, and he wasn’t looking any better since they brought him in. Not really.

“Off the record, please, JARVIS.” he said, then waited a beat. “Look I don’t-- I don’t pretend to know, but. He means a lot to you, doesn’t he? More than you’ve said.” He hurried to add. “I’m not prying. If you don’t want to tell me, I’m sure you have your reasons.” He twisted his mouth, not loving the secrets, but well aware that they all had them.

“I just want you to know, if there is anything I can help with, if you need to talk…” He huffed a laugh, well aware that he sounded like every bad sitcom parent who had ever existed.

“And, I get the feeling we’re both beating ourselves up over this. And that isn’t going to do any one any good. Especially not him. So if there is anything I need to know, I trust you to tell me. If there’s anything I can do, _please_ tell me, because I feel like I owe him that. He didn’t just save my life-- he saved me from having to deal with-- I might have done something terrible.” He felt his fists clenching, unable to put words to the idea of how close he’d been to all of those kids. How much he lost himself when he lost control. He didn’t know what he might have done, but…

“He did good, Steve. If nothing else, we have that to cling to. He did _good_.” And he hoped the words helped. He hoped he was wrong, and that the lack of pain meds, not setting the bones til now, he hoped that wasn’t Steve wasn’t punishing himself for not being able to help Loki. But that was something he couldn’t address. Not now. Maybe not ever. It was one of those things that you had to be the other other kind of doctor to talk about. Or Natasha.

Which was maybe an idea… he filed it away to think on, for later. For now, he needed to get Steve to worry a little more about his own care.

“Steve, if you don’t take care of yourself, how do you expect to be able to take care of him, if he pulls through?”

 

 

 

_So that’s his body taking care of things?_

“I...” Steve swallowed, his mouth dry. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think so...” The shimmer he recognized as Loki’s seidhr. Though what exactly it was doing, and whether it was putting his krellr where it belonged, Steve didn’t know. He wished he could see the way Loki saw, no longer just for the aesthetic wonder, but so he could maybe feel some greater hope...

He frowned and blinked as Bruce asked for JARVIS to go off the record, waiting apprehensively for Bruce to ask whatever it was he didn’t want anyone hearing.

In any other circumstance, Steve’s heart would have skipped a beat and leapt into his throat. His palms would have been sweating, and he would have chewed on his lip nervously.

But right now, Steve’s body had used up all its terror and fear and everything else; he just felt numbness, and a deep, low ache. Bruce was... offering a shoulder to cry on? A listening ear? Bruce _knew_ , and he didn’t seem to care. Or, he cared, but he cared about Steve. Not the other thing.

He wanted to laugh. Or maybe cry. Maybe both.

And Bruce blamed himself. Which was so damn stupid, since Steve was the one who had brought Loki into that park, who had unwittingly dragged him in front of that memorial -- had Loki held back because he had seen the tally of deaths he’d accumulated? The sudden thought made his head reel.  If Steve hadn’t led him to that wall, would Loki have fought harder, have defended himself more? Would he be laughing and smiling and preening in his new black suit right now instead of--

Steve made a small choking noise, covering his mouth with his hand.

_He did good._

“When,” Steve said, looking up at Bruce. “Not if. _When_ he pulls through.” His voice wavered slightly. Because Loki had to pull through. He had to. “And I’m not-- I can’t leave him.” He looked down, the ache intensifying, and this time not from his arm. “Bruce...”

 

 

 

Bruce had spent a lot of time away from people, hiding from them, because he couldn’t take their feelings. Couldn’t take the feelings they caused. He’d been braver, lately. In better control. But that didn’t make him _prepared_.

He had never seen Steve look so close to tears before.

“When, you’re right. Sorry.” He said quickly. “ _When_ he pulls through, Steve, he’s gonna need you. And it’s… Part of taking care of him has to be taking care of you.” Bruce didn’t really know what that entailed right now. He’d gotten to know Tony, gotten used to his moods and expressions. He didn’t know Steve the same way. “So that’s part of it, okay? If _you_ need anything, let me know, let Tony know, let someone know. And make sure you get it. If not for your sake, then for his.”  

It felt weird, having to say that to… to this guy. This was the guy everyone wanted to be. But he was, after all, just a guy. And a friend.

“I don’t know how well off he’ll be… like I said, I’m not a medical guy. And from what I saw and heard and understood, when he pulls through, it’s gonna be…” A miracle, he wanted to say. Did gods get those? Or just give them? If it couldn’t be Loki’s miracle, maybe it could be Steve’s.

“You know that we’ve got your back through this, right?” He asked, just to be sure.

He didn’t want to bother Steve with the realities they had to face now. If SHIELD didn’t know where they were before, they did now. If bad guys had thought them invincible, word of Steve’s arm, at the very least, would get out. Loki was… Loki was _sloshing_ around in his own skin. They were vulnerable in all kinds of ways. And Tony wasn’t down here for that reason. But Steve needed to let Loki be the center of his world right then. And Bruce could only do so much, their doctors could only do so much.

“I hate to ask. I know you won’t send him back there, but… if Asgard has ways of fixing this, of helping him pull through… is there any way to get ahold of them? Has he told you anything about how they do things that might help? I want him… I want to help him with the fight he’s having right now, too. I just don’t know how.”

 

 

 

He didn’t know what to make of Bruce’s kindness. Of course, he knew Bruce was a gentle man, a good soul who just happened to have a lot of anger, but if he’d realized-- how could he still be this generous?

Steve shook his head. “SHIELD spent weeks trying to build up a way of contacting Asgard. They had a-- a Dr. Forrester -- no, sorry, _Foster_ \-- working on it. But last I heard they were getting nowhere.” He looked down at his hands. One swollen and bruised where it poked out from the gauntlet, the other twisting in his lap. “The bridge between Asgard and Earth is broken. Loki’s one of the few who could travel through other methods to get a message through, but...” He looked meaningfully over at Loki, and felt his throat tighten. “I don’t think... I don’t know if they’d help him even if we asked. If we had a way. And I can’t-- I tried to move the energy but I can’t, and he’s the only one who can see it and if he wakes, I’d give it to him, but--” he broke off, realizing he was babbling, and brought his good hand up to his face, rubbing it over his jaw.

Loki had saved his life when he’d been hurt. And now he couldn’t do a damn thing to help him in return. Loki had done _good,_ had put himself in harm’s way to save others -- others who weren’t Steve -- and this was how he got repaid.

It wasn’t fair.

“We’d need magic. Which we don’t have,” he muttered bitterly. He drew in a shaky breath and then let it out slowly, before looking up at Bruce.

He tried to find some hint of disgust or strained honesty in his face. Some tell, some lie... But the worry seemed genuine enough; the offer of friendship sincere. _You know we’ve got your back through this..._

Did he know? He’d been lying and omitting and hiding because he hadn’t been sure...

“You don’t... It doesn’t bother you that-- that I...?” he trailed off, looking over at Loki and pressing his lips into a line. He didn’t want to say it, confirm it, in case he was wrong and Bruce didn’t know.

 

 

 

Steve shot down the idea pretty thoroughly, but he hadn’t held a lot of hope for it anyway.

“And we-- I never got him to trust us-- me-- enough to explain how the magic worked, I wouldn’t even begin to know how to try reproducing it scientifically.” He blew air out through his lips hard, perturbed at having found another way he’d failed Loki.

Even when Loki apparently trusted him enough, thought highly enough of him to put himself between Bruce and danger. Had he just not asked the right questions? It didn’t matter now, of course; like he’d said, beating themselves up over it wouldn’t help anybody.

He didn’t like hearing that Loki’s people wouldn’t help, though, even if they could get in touch with them… he was afraid to ask why. He wouldn’t like it if it was something Loki had done, and he wouldn’t like it if it was just Asgardians being assholes. There was no good answer, as far as he was concerned, and he couldn’t really worry about that.

What was more concerning was how Steve was looking at him, how low he sounded.

“That you what, Steve?” He asked softly. Steve was staring at Loki, and Bruce couldn’t guess what he was trying to… what? Apologize for?

Was he afraid they would turn him away for being unable to keep Loki whole? Was this a failure thing? Or was it for bringing him here? For keeping secrets from them? For--  

“I’m not.” Bruce licked his lips. “I’m not good at people the way you are, Cap. I can’t read your face and know what’s wrong. But nothing you’ve done bothers me, nothing you are bothers me… Loki has even stopped bothering me. And not just because he’s hurt, I mean. I can see why you could come to like the guy.” He shrugged, feeling awkward.

He felt like that wasn’t the answer Steve needed. But he didn’t know what to say.

 

 

 

Steve laughed. Almost. It came out a little more like a chuff of breath mixed with a sob. Maybe Bruce didn’t know. Or he did and he didn’t care -- _nothing you are bothers me,_ he said. But did that count for what he didn’t know? How could he not? Bruce wouldn’t refuse to help Loki just because of him and Steve, surely -- he was a better sort than that. But after...

He knew he ought to shut up. To quit while he was ahead and let Bruce get on with whatever he needed to do. None of this was his fault, and he’d done more than his fair share already. He didn’t need to be burdened with Steve’s secrets. Steve would stay here and watch over Loki, and when Loki woke up (because Loki _would_ wake up) he could take some of Steve’s krellr to heal himself, and then Steve would see about his arm, and they’d be all right and go pick up Loki’s suits and deal with the rest as it came.

He ought to. But the words were burning a hole in his chest, stinging like bile. And like bile, they crawled up his throat, bubbling up and spilling forth.

“It’s a little more than _‘like’_ ,” he said, smiling painfully as he looked over at Loki’s motionless form. Then he remembered himself, looked away and put his head in his hand. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

 

 

 

Bruce felt twice as awkward now.

“No, I-- I mean I didn’t know. But I thought. I figured… like I said, he means a lot to you. When I said like, I just meant. Well I’m not about to bring him roses or anything, but. No, he’s… he’s a good guy, Cap. I’m… glad, I guess. Well not right now but.”

He looked over at Loki, laying there, motionless, and he couldn’t help but hope that underneath everything else, the guy was also managing to be deaf temporarily. Or at least unaware enough to be spared the painful discomfort of this conversation.

And then it sort of filtered through how awkward it was, what Steve had meant, and he froze in his fidgeting.

“You mean, you thought. You thought I’d object to him and you, not because of who he is, but because… because _he_ \--?” He was shaking his head even as he spoke. “Steve, that’s not.”

Words were failing him again, and he couldn’t drop the ball here. He was bad with people but he knew that at least.

Bruce stepped around the table and pulled Steve into a hug, having to drop into a half crouch to do so.

“No, Steve. Nothing about this-- nothing-- you don’t bother me. It’s fine. And-- and everything is going to be fine. He’s going to be fine.” He wanted to reassure him. “And anybody who tells you it isn’t, anybody who has told you that it’s not fine, they’re wrong, okay? Not you. It feels right, right? He makes you happy? Because that’s not wrong at all. Okay?”

 

 

 

Steve didn’t know what he’d expected. More awkwardness. Bruce pretending he hadn’t heard, or perhaps quietly letting himself out.

The hug was about the last thing he’d seen coming.

He froze for a moment, not knowing what to do. Bruce was hugging him, and talking. Saying... saying it was alright. That it wasn’t wrong. That it was fine.

Steve hesitantly wrapped his good arm around Bruce’s back, and almost broke down into hysterical chuckling. ‘Fine’ had always been his and Loki’s best lie.

He didn’t realize he’d started crying until he felt the tears dripping down his jaw.

“Damn,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I... I thought...” His throat cramped painfully. It would seem he’d given Banner far too little credit. To know he wasn’t hated was more than enough; to be embraced and reassured like this, though, was more than he’d ever expected. More than he felt like he deserved.

“He has to be fine,” he echoed, just above a whisper.

He wasn’t losing Loki.

He pulled back after a moment, looking Bruce in the eye. “You’re not-- you won’t tell anyone?”

 

 

 

Bruce let him go so he could look him in the eyes.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Steve. And I don’t want you to worry about it, okay? There’s more pressing things. But look, you… you’re okay, right? You’re the same you. That’s what matters. You’re still probably the best guy I know. You’re still the Captain. You’re still Steve. That… loving who you love, or being attracted to who you are attracted to. It’s just part of you, and it doesn’t change anything. You and me, we’re good. We’re gonna stay good no matter who you bring home.” Bruce stood and squeezed Steve’s good shoulder.

“I’m gonna have Tony bring up those videos he got from SHIELD. You said Loki healed somebody-- Ferra?-- while he was in there, the one you showed us, right? Maybe we can find something in the videos to help us.” He stopped on the way out, though.

“I know you don’t want to leave him. But if you need anything… you can send Dum-E to get it. Or call JARVIS and have him let me know. And if there’s anything I can bring you, I’m happy to, okay?”

He didn’t love the idea of leaving Steve down here by himself, but he didn’t want to… to intrude. Especially now, when it was obvious how raw and new the whole thing was. And how much was hanging in the balance. Bruce couldn’t stand around doing nothing.

“Can I bring you anything? Food? Drink? Something to read-- anything?” He wanted to make it really clear he wasn’t abandoning him.

 

 

 

Steve couldn’t stop the tears coming down his face, though at this point he wasn’t sure how much they were from shock, pain, grief, gratitude, or relief. He wiped awkwardly at his cheeks, succeeding only in smearing the moisture around. _We’re good._ He wondered if Bruce had any idea how much just those words meant.

He nodded when Bruce brought up the videos. Normally he would have balked at the thought of them going through the footage with a fine-toothed comb, but Bruce knew and Bruce didn’t care, and Bruce had his back. His and Loki’s.

Steve _did_ know that now.

“I’m... I’m okay.” He smiled tremulously at Bruce. “Not much appetite. If you could just -- just keep me in the loop.” He’d been seen, in public, and with the amount of attention they’d garnered, he was half-surprised SHIELD hadn’t barged in already. He wasn’t in much shape to put up a fight, but so long as he had some warning, he’d find a way to keep Loki safe.  He’d failed at it once, and he wouldn’t fail him again.

As Bruce made for the door and Steve fiddling with the torn and rolled up edges of his shirtsleeve, he remembered one more thing. “Oh! Hang on...” he reached into his pocket and found the card he’d tucked into it earlier -- slightly bent, with the edges boxed in, but still there. He looked up at Bruce apologetically. “This is probably stupid, but, Loki and I were supposed to pick up a suit he had tailored. Um. Do you think... could someone just call the shop and ask them to hold on to everything for now? I have the number.” He held the card out.

 

 

 

“Yeah, of course. It’s not stupid. I’ll get Tony to send someone. He’s always saying he has people for that sort of thing. And… as far as being in the loop, how would you feel about. I mean, not to distract you or anything, but i was thinking of reaching out to Natasha, maybe seeing… where she sits in everything, you know. Are you okay with that? I wouldn’t do it anyway until I talked with Tony about it, so you have some time to mull it over. But I figure… it’d be good to have a friendly go between, or, lacking anything else, she’ll at least give us some info on what they’re planning. I think she’s with us that much.” He shrugged, hoping it wasn’t a really dumb idea. He tucked the card into his pocket, then glared down at Steve.

“I’m going to give you a couple of hours. Then I’ll be back down with some painkillers and some broth, just real basic stuff. We may not know how Loki works, but we know how you do, and if you don’t keep your calorie intake up, you’ll end up crashing. I’d hate to have you down here with him, only to be passed out when he comes around.”

He started thinking about what they could do as far as arranging somewhere for Steve to sleep down there, too. He’d have to talk to Tony.

If they couldn’t do anything for Loki, if they didn’t even know what sort of normal they were monitoring for, maybe they could move him up to the guest rooms. Without Tony there, preferably, because any joke he might crack about the state of the guy would almost definitely make Bruce hurl, and Steve… maybe hurl Tony out a window.

“I’m gonna see what else can be done, too, and I promise to keep you in the loop, yeah.” He assured him.

 

 

 

Steve considered it, chewing his lip. Natasha’s loyalty was to Barton, and Barton had made his opinion clear back at SHIELD. Steve doubted anything was likely to change with him. But Romanoff... He didn’t know. He liked Natasha, admired her even, but for all that he’d probably spent the most time with her out of all the Avengers he knew -- at least up until this past week with Tony and Bruce -- she was something of a stranger to him. He sighed. “I guess it isn’t a secret any more that we’re here,” he conceded. If SHIELD hadn’t known before, they definitely knew now. And if Natasha was their best hope -- it wouldn’t make anything worse at this stage. “If you think it’s a good idea, then yeah.”

Maybe Loki’s blood being spilt would buy him some goddamn consideration.

He looked down guiltily as Bruce pointed out his need to eat. Loki, he thought, would approve. He’d have to let him know, once he woke, that Bruce had nagged Steve about his nutrition in Loki’s place for him. He’d like that.

“Sounds good,” he managed to say with a bit more enthusiasm than he felt. He forced a smile up at Bruce. “Thank you, Bruce. For everything.”

In the corner, Dum-E clicked and whirred, tilting its claw inquisitively.

“Thank you too,” Steve told it, and the robot rolled back and forth excitedly.

Steve waited until Banner left and the door closed before picking up his chair and dragging it back over to the bed, propping it on Loki’s left side so Steve could resume holding his hand. He gently ran his thumb over Loki’s knuckles, the way he had in SHIELD Medical, and in the motel. Each of those times, Loki had woken up, sleepily, and Steve had smiled at him.

Loki didn’t wake up, though.

  
So Steve held his hand and waited.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Loki's eyes opened slowly-- so slowly that he was conscious before they had quite mustered the energy to rise, so that he thought, for a time, that the world was an odd swimming grey.

An odd grey that was punctuated by a feeling of wrongness and pain.

Finally his eyes opened. But he had a moment of panic when he realized he could not raise his head, or move it. Could not lift his arms, or even feel them.

He drew in a quick breath and it _hurt_.

He tried to call out, but to his ears it only sounded like a frightened wheeze, perhaps a moan. He was hurt. Very hurt. He wasn't dead. He was scared. All that he could see was the ceiling above him, cold and steely and a light that was so bright it hurt to look at. He couldn't move and he couldn't call for help. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know how he'd gotten there. All of this was wrong, and it terrified him. And on top of that all, he _knew_ Steve was hurt. Knew that much for certain, though what had happened after-- he remembered that he had tied some of the lesser agents to the ground. He remembered stepping between the leader and Bruce. He remembered-- he remembered pain. And the wall. He remembered falling. And then... nothing. Had the Avengers won? Had Steve at least gotten away? Who were those men... and did they have him now?

What new torture had he awakened to find himself in? And where was Steve?

His breathing came out in short, sharp, fast breaths, and he _couldn't move_ \-- He was trying to jerk his body, to thrash, to achieve anything, but he just lay there, useless.

He closed his eyes and felt tears rolling down his face, which he could not even have the dignity to reach up and brush away.

Everything hurt, almost more than he knew how to bear. The beating of his very heart felt like an attack on his veins, the expansion of his lungs threatening to tear through his chest.

Was he dying? Was this death? And Steve-- his Steve, his partner... he wouldn't have a chance to say goodbye. He hadn't been able to protect him, and now he wouldn't even get to see him, before he-- a stuttering sob forced its way out of him, feeling as if it was tearing his throat in the process.

"Steve." he pushed it out on a breath, the word barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry Steve." The pain of the effort was huge, bigger than he was, and he relaxed, or at least stopped fighting. Stopped trying. The only thing about him that moved were the tears and his mouth, contorted in a pained grimace.

  
  
  
  


Something had changed.

From the cot pressed up against the hospital bed, Steve registered the small difference, snapping from slightly-dozing to full alertness in a heartbeat. The quality of Loki's breathing, he realized, had altered. The slow and even wheezes, strained but quiet, were coming sharper and quicker now. He sat bolt upright, and felt his heart skip a beat.

Loki had opened his eyes.

"Loki," Steve murmured, scooting forward, closer, hope and joy and desperation bubbling up in his chest.

Loki was _awake._

This was the third day since the fight in the park. Or so he thought -- time blurred and the days faded together in this room without windows, with Loki's condition largely unchanging.

Which, considering that Loki was still alive, Steve tried to count as a blessing. Because by rights, it seemed he shouldn't be. The doctors had been in and out, running scans and x-rays and then staring at the results with horrified whispers (‘Where are his bones?' ‘You're looking at what's left of them...'), and one of the nurses had come in to look at him and presumably assist, only to turn white as a sheet and lose his lunch in a nearby trashcan. Steve hadn't seen him since.

The damage, from little he understood, was worst in Loki's torso, between the two points he'd been grabbed, with fractures decreasing in number from those points outward. The doctors had no idea how Loki's biology worked or what it was presently doing that allowed him to survive, and seemed unwilling to do anything invasive that might interrupt that process. They were flying blind, one woman in scrubs told him. So they'd done what they could to set and splint Loki's limbs, guiding the bones into place where there was enough remaining bone to do so; the rest, they said, would depend on what Loki's body could do.

It was during one of these scanning and setting sessions that Steve had permitted a nurse to remove the Iron Man gauntlet from his arm and check on the bones. Bruce, it seemed, had set the bones well, and the break had already begun to fuse. While Steve watched over Loki like a hawk, the nurse re-splinted and wrapped his arm, placing it in a sling and chiding him gently for not getting it seen to professionally sooner.

Steve only half-listened. It was just an arm.

One the second day, they'd been moved into a different room -- a smaller, unused lab, clean and sterile, within easy access of Medical R&D, but also closer to the amenities of the residential floors. The room had been cleared out and the hospital bed Loki occupied had been wheeled in, along with a small cot set up for Steve. Bruce's hand had been at work there, Steve knew. He'd come down periodically to force Steve to eat and drink and put on clean clothes, and had agreed to sit and watch over him and Loki both while reading a book so Steve would curl up on the cot at Loki's side and sleep for a few hours.

Besides Bruce and the medical staff, no one had come in to bother them. Bruce, Steve suspected, was responsible for that too. He didn't even have the words to thank him properly.

But as time slowly passed and nothing changed, and Loki remained unconscious and broken and so small and battered-looking, Steve felt his hope begin to wane. For a while, he'd tried reading aloud from the StarkPad Bruce had brought him, reciting from books he thought Loki might like. But each time he came across a line or phrase he knew Loki would chuckle at or question or find idiotic, he caught himself looking up and searching for a reaction that wouldn't come, and his heart sank a little more.

By midway through the third day, he'd simply curled up and listened to Loki's labored breathing.

Until it changed.

" _Steve,"_ Loki wheezed. And it was the most wonderful thing Steve had ever heard. He lunged forward, kneeling on his cot and reaching over the rails of Loki's bed, gently touching Loki's face and brushing away the tears that ran down his face.

"I'm here," he said, tucking a strand of hair back behind Loki's ear. "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. Everything's gonna be alright." He swallowed the lump forming in his trachea. "I'm here, and you've got nothing to be sorry for, okay?"

  
  
  


His eyes opened again, disbelief etching itself across his face.  Steve was here and touching him, Steve was--

He inhaled, working hard to shape words.

"You..." He couldn't. It hurt. He blinked at the way further tears were forming, making his eyesight swim and hiding Steve from his view. There was so much pain and he was so scared because he was trapped in his own body, but Steve was there.

Just the single word made him feel breathless, the lack of air making him feel light headed. Nothing was working right.

"Are- What?" He managed next, on another breath. Forcing words to form was difficult; he had no idea what was stopping them, why everything was so weak. Was he not healing? He should be, he could feel his seidhr inside of him. It was low, but it was there.  And if it was low...

"How long?" He asked, the first real, cohesive thing he had managed to communicate. He dropped back in his body, again ceasing to strain. He let himself have a few minutes to try and catch his breath.   

If Steve was here, that meant he was safe. They both were. That was good, at least. Now that Loki was a little less scared about his outside surroundings, it gave him more time to be scared about this.

His body wasn't working right. He couldn't communicate. He needed to ask where they were, what had happened, if Steve was okay, if he'd been healed yet, needed to be sure Bruce wasn't hurt. And the idea of forming the words, the anticipation of the pain they brought with them, made him cry again.

This was ridiculous.

And what if-- what if he wouldn't-- _couldn't_ heal any further? What if this was his life now?

Maybe he could convince a nurse to roll him over. He could feel a pillow under his head. If he could plant his face on it... There was always a way out.

But Steve...

Steve and his anxious, frightened face, Steve looking like he hadn't slept in days. His Steve. His partner had been here when he woke up.

Steve was touching him, talking gently to him, and Loki could only imagine what his body might look like, if it wouldn't respond. Why would he do that, would he... was he hoping Loki would still be useful somehow? When he found out that he couldn't move his fingers, much less cast a spell, couldn't even speak, hardly... would he leave? _He should_. Loki found himself thinking vehemently. _Even whole, how useful were you? You let him get hurt. You didn't stop the man with the mask. You could have. And now any suffering you bear, it's your own fault. If no one else is lastingly damaged, you should count yourself lucky, because if they are, that will be your fault as well._

Apparently all he could do now was breathe and cry. So he did.

  
  
  


Seeing how much Loki struggled just to speak -- Loki, who was typically so adept with his words, so eloquent in his descriptions and verbal in his curiosity -- made something crumple inside of Steve. It hurt. But not, he imagined, as much as Loki hurt, and right now, Loki was his priority.

Loki was confused and in pain and had no idea what happened. And if asking in a few broken words cost him this much, then Steve would just have to save him the trouble.

"Three days," he said. "You've been unconscious. You were hurt in the fight-- do you remember the fight? We were in Bryant Park and a plane landed and there was a guy with gauntlets that let out shockwaves. Anyway, he grabbed you and--" Steve swallowed, stopping for air in his babbling. "You, ah, you have a lot of broken bones. Most of your bones. The doctors said... they said that kind of trauma would have killed a human being; turned them into jello. But apparently your bone density is greater on account of not being human." Not that it looked like it had done him much good when he'd felt limp and liquified in Steve's arms as he'd carried him home. He tried to block that image from his mind; it already haunted his nightmares, where Loki dissolved in his grip and slipped away between his fingers into nothingness...

"Don't try to move," he added quickly. "They've got your limbs and back and hips immobilized, so the bones will heal right. If you need anything, I can get it for you, just tell me." He ran his fingers lightly down Loki's cheek again, drying his tears as they fell.

"You did good," he whispered. "You... you saved a lot of people, Loki. You saved Bruce, and anyone the Hulk may have hurt-- the civilians you got out--" he paused, licking his lips. "There were no civilian deaths. Thanks to you. And we got all the guys responsible." Bruce had been in to inform him of that much, and while Steve knew there was likely a lot more, for now it was enough. "So you just need to focus on getting better, okay? And let me know-- if I can help, just tell me what to do."

  
  
  


Loki closed his eyes while he listened, letting his mind collect the information while he tried to make it make sense. He remembered. And no one had been hurt. That was good. Well. No one but him. And Steve.

"You're. Hurt." He said slowly, finding it a little easier to talk if he whispered, rather than trying to push his voice into it. It robbed him of his breath just as fast, but it didn't hurt nearly so much. Right then, that was a boon. Any little thing was.

"How... is it better yet?" He asked. Three days was some time for Captain America's healing to kick in. If he let it, if he did what he needed to to allow it to do its job. Like eating. Taking care of himself. But knowing him, he'd sat watch over Loki for three days.

He must have seen him in pain so much, so often. Felt so helpless. Loki wished he could do something to reassure Steve. But not now. He just couldn't.

And the worst of it was that Loki knew he had a potion in his pocket that would let him sleep painlessly for days, if he could only get to it. If anyone could.

Three days, though. That meant, if his seidhr was low, that his body was using it all up, either in healing or just trying to keep him alive.

His bones were denser than humans, that made sense, but the rest of his insides, muscles and veins and offal, that must have been damaged as well. That man had had enough power to make the earth pitch and move and rumble. Of course he could cause this sort of...of destruction.

He needed to know more about his body's healing. If there had been any changes. If his seidhr was just going to keeping him functioning, then he would not be able to heal on his own. But he also needed to focus on one thing at a time.

Steve had been hurt, and looked as if he had not been caring for himself. Three days since the fight was a lot of potentially missed sleep, missed meals... _If you hadn't let yourself be injured, Steve wouldn't look this way now,_ that insidious part of his mind whispered.

Loki took a deep breath and ignored it.

  
  
  


Steve almost rolled his eyes, which were red and puffy already. It was just like after he'd returned from Symkaria; Loki was in far worse condition, but the first of his worries was Steve.

"I'm _fine,"_ he told him. "Just a broken arm." He moved so Loki could see the sling in his limited line of vision, without trying to move his head or neck. "Bruce set it, the nurses have checked it, and it's already healing. Couple weeks at the most and I'll be good as new, so don't you dare worry about it, okay?"  

He forced a small smile. "And before you start -- Bruce has been making sure I've been eating and getting a couple hours of sleep here and there. I think he figures it's his job to mother me in your stead until you're back on your feet."

The last thing he needed was for Loki to stress himself worrying about _Steve._ Bruce had been right about that much. Steve hadn't taken much care of himself, but he'd tended to at least his basic human needs, and wasn't about to collapse or pass out on Loki now that he was finally awake. Now that he was in a position to hopefully tell Steve what he needed, and how he could help.

He reached down and gently took Loki's fingers in his, repetitively stroking his thumb over his knuckles. "Loki..." He licked his lips. "If you can, I want you to take my krellr. To heal yourself. Please." He interwove his fingers with Loki's, hoping the contact would make it easier.

  
  
  


He smiled at Steve's nearly petulant description of Banner's care. Loki was grateful to him for that. He would have to remember. He owed Bruce his thanks, for seeing to Steve. But then the rest of his words made sense.

"Glad." He managed to mutter.

Loki blinked. Steve's krellr, which glowed so bright. Which was so strong, it cut their working time down to a quarter of what he'd thought it would be, for Agent Ferra. He wanted to give that to Loki.

Loki wanted it, was greedily hungry for how it would help, how it could make him better.

The greed was disarming, though. He could feel Steve's closeness, feel his warmth, but he couldn't--

"Are you holding my hand?" he whispered, the horror of not being able to tell pushing him to get the words out in a single, almost fluid stream.

How was he going to pull krellr from him, if he wasn't able to move? If he couldn't even feel Steve's hand on his own.

_How deep did the damage run?_

"You... may have to help me." He said softly, trying to bury the terror under practicality. "Krellr flows. Needs movement. I need." He let his eyes close again, trying to envision it. Hurt as he was, he could not change forms. Couldn't turn his eyes to Jotun or slip into a less damaged body.

And he couldn't focus through the haze of hurts to see Steve's krellr. He could only imagine.

"Palm up. Mine down. My fingers in your elbow. drag backwards, so I can. Pull krellr. Until palms are together." The motion should create a small tide. It would take more than he had in healing Ferra, but he needed it, he thought. And it was the easiest motion for transference.

Steve wanted to help him. This was a good way. It would be okay. It wasn't too much, was it? Steve's krellr was bright and strong, it would help. It had to. And this... he could only hope it would work.

"Please." He said softly, more prayer than to Steve, but meant for him, just the same.

  
  
  


Steve blinked in surprise. A cold feeling began to trickle up his spine.

Loki couldn't feel his hand.

What if he couldn't heal? What if his healing could no longer hold up against the damage his body sustained? What if he never healed fully? What if his spine was severed, and it didn't heal, leaving him paralyzed for the next four thousand years? What if Bruce had been right and it wasn't a ‘when' but an ‘if'? What if--

He put a stop to that line of thought as soon as he realized Loki would likely be able to read the horror on his face and in his eyes. He smoothed out his features and then rearranged them into a smile. "Yeah. I'm holding it." _And I'm not letting go._ He gave the fingers a slight squeeze, just in case Loki to feel it. So he'd know Steve wasn't going anywhere.

He listened, silent and patient, as Loki struggled through giving him instructions. He worried that the task, which Loki had been able to do so effortlessly before as to be accidental, now required Steve's physical assistance. But he has glad to have something to do, to help, and gladder still that Loki wasn't turning down the only aid Steve had to offer.

"Anything you need," he replied, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Loki's forehead, lingering for a second before pulling away.

He swiftly realized, though, that there was a bit of a problem semantically: they had four arms between them, and only one of those wasn't splinted. "I'm going to move over to your other side," he explained, getting up and crossing over to the far side of the bed, collecting a chair and dragging it over with him. This way, his good arm was on the right side to slide under Loki's without Steve trying to climb on the bed or contort around him. It took a bit of effort to do one-handed, especially when he was being painstakingly careful not to jostle or further injure Loki's arm, but he managed to slowly work his forearm under Loki's so that Loki's fingertips rested on the sensitive skin of the crook of Steve's elbow.

"Okay," he said, "I'm starting now." Carefully, smoothly, he pulled his arm back so Loki's fingertips dragged down the inside of his forearm, until they touched Steve's wrist and their palms were flush.

  
  
  


For a long moment, he was afraid it wasn't working. He couldn't feel it. He concentrated, certain it was his fault. If he could see, or if he had more seidhr to tap into...

And then Steve's krellr came all but crashing down, from his shoulder into his chest, and he sucked in a large breath, suddenly able to.

His lungs inflated and the area around them-- the collapsed ribs that had been keeping his breaths shallow, the pieces that had likely punched holes in them, were moved, pushed up and back and held in place.

He could feel the krellr and his seidhr working together to repair him, and the feeling was almost hot, as energies were used and burned up, as bones fused and were broken down and absorbed--

He couldn't tell if he was clothed, but he hoped so. He was sure his torso must look horrific, misshapen and deformed and disgusting right now.

He didn't know how it was that Steve always was willing to touch him, even when he looked... disgusting, or monstrous, or--

Maybe because--

No, he shut the thoughts down.

His seidhr ran thin, and he worried if he pushed it any further, there would not be enough to get him through the night, until his store could be restored, enough to keep his heart pumping. He didn't know how much of him was devoted to that task. Regretfully, he stopped the efforts, and let the rushing movement slow, though feeling Steve's life, burning warm in his chest, made him feel better. He hadn't realized how cold he felt, how still.

"That." He said, able to use his voice now, able to form the words with only the slightest twinge of pain. "That was amazing. Thank you." He spoke slowly, meaning it. "I can't do any more today. Not until I have more seidhr in me, but... I do feel better. Thank you, Steve."

  
  
  


There was a horrible moment where nothing seemed to happen, and Steve held his breath. It had to work, surely. There were so few options left, he had to be able to give Loki his krellr. He'd accept nothing else. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine molten light streaming out of him and into Loki. It hadn't worked before, and it was a childish hope, but all the same he tried to picture it, _will it--_

And then, the feeling started. The warm and prickly feeling of hot butter dripping along the underside of his skin, slick and tingly; first in a trickle, then ramping up into a stream, a torrent. His eyes widened, and at the same time he heard Loki draw a gasping breath.

_It was working._

Steve held Loki's hand and watched as his chest shifted and buckled, bones moving beneath the skin like something alive. It would have been nauseating, only this was Loki's body fixing itself and healing. That made it beautiful.

He watched as Loki's breathing eased, the shape of his chest turned into something no longer concave. But his surge of joy faded as the current of krellr ebbed, and Loki sank back into the cushions, exhausted. He looked slightly better, but still badly wounded.

"We'll do more in the morning," Steve said, smiling and giving the hand a squeeze. Part of him wanted to tell Loki to keep going, but he knew Loki understood his limits better than Steve. And if his seidr was exhausted, he needed time.

(The fact that Steve himself felt a little lightheaded didn't factor in at all).

"Pretty soon you'll be all patched up," he added, feeling truly optimistic for the first time in days. Loki's speech and breathing were no longer tortured, and he'd been able to use Steve's krellr to heal. From here, it was just a matter of time. "Can I get you anything?" he asked. "You're not supposed to have water on account of the internal trauma, but I think I'm allowed to give you ice chips."

  
  
  


Loki felt like he was floating on his little cloud of agony, and Steve's voice was the only thing keeping him from going under. His breathing and throat were eased, but his heart beat, pounding as it was from the exertion, still drove blood crashing into parts of him that were too delicate, too foreign to his conscious thought, to have proper names.  

All of the rest of his torso was seizing and protesting, and he breathed deeply trying to calm it.

"Not ice. I am... cold enough as it is. But if you could bring a warm wet rag, just for my face. My lips feel dry and stretched thin, and I am eager to speak, now that I can. I don't want torn skin pulling that from me." He kept his voice steady, attempting to hide the pain.

Steve worried enough as it was. He was going to give him more krellr tomorrow... or he said he would.

"If I can, tomorrow, I want to see you before I take more of your krellr. You need to heal as well, and I don't want to take too much. Today... I could not spare the seidhr to make the change, to see deep. Tomorrow I won't risk over draining you."

And if Steve thought that his being hurt would cease his being stubborn, he was in for a surprise. Frigga had once told him that he was never half so fixed in himself as he was when ill or incapacitated.

He only hoped that he did not make Steve uncomfortable with it. He would have to try not to let the pain drive him to unkindness. Not this time. Not to him.

  
  
  


"Of course, just a second!" Steve stood up, managed not to sway too badly as the blood rushed from his head, then took a wobbling step toward the bathroom connected to the lab.

"JARVIS," he said as he walked, "please turn the heat up a few degrees, would you?" Loki had said he was cold, and while the weight of added blankets could cause him discomfort, the problem would surely be remedied by turning up the temperature a notch.

It wasn't an actual bathroom so much as a restroom, but someone had outfitted it with washcloths and basic hygienic necessities when Steve made it clear he wasn't leaving this room for anything or anyone. He grabbed a clean washcloth from the pile on the back of the toilet tank and ran it under the faucet until the water turned warm. He then wrang it out and returned to the bed, sitting down close to the headboard.

Reaching over, he gently ran the damp fabric over Loki's lips, cheeks, jaw, forehead... He moistened the feverish and papery skin, then, letting the cloth slip aside, leaned forward and hesitatingly placed a feather-light kiss against Loki's cracked, dry lips.

"How's that?" he asked, folding the cloth and laying it over Loki's brow.

  
  
  


He didn't like not being able to see Steve, when he moved out of his field of vision. He couldn't see how he moved, couldn't see if there were windows, if anyone was there-- were there cameras, or guards, or...

Had he said anything that could... no, he didn't think so. Steve's secret was safe. He was being careful, wasn't he? It hurt, and it was hard to think through that.

When Steve came back with the wet cloth, he almost sighed with gratitude. it wasn't much, but it did help. And he thought they may be right to worry about giving him water. Parched as he was, the idea of swallowing anything was both daunting and offputting.

Steve's sweet, soft kiss made him feel less paranoid, made him grateful all over again-- He'd done nothing in the field but let him down, he had gotten himself injured and turned from merely useless to a useless burden. He was no doubt grotesque from his injuries, and still Steve wanted to touch him, to kiss him.

He did not deserve him. He'd always known that and this only served to reinforce that thought. He didn't deserve him but for some reason, through some luck, he had him, for now. And he was so desperately greedy for him.

He didn't want to ask any more from him, though, nothing more than he was willing to offer. And more, he didn't know how much was safe to say, who might be listening or watching. He had kissed him though, so surely there was some security, some privacy here.

"Steve?" He said finally. "I don't know-- I can't see where we are or... if anyone else is there, if anyone comes, you'll tell me, won't you? I don't." He took a deep breath, deciding to let himself have this one idiotic vanity.

"I don't want anyone seeing me this way. And I don't want to talk to you, thinking it's only you, and..." He trailed off, sure that Steve would understand.

  
  
  


Steve winced. Now was probably not the time to mention all the people who had seen Loki, like a boneless ragdoll in Steve's arms as he'd carried him from the park, to the car, and up to the tower. Of course, to most he was unrecognizable, but all the same...

"The only ones who have been in this room have been me, Bruce, and the medical staff," Steve told him. And that wasn't quite a lie, at least. A thought occurred to him, and he continued speaking. "The room we're in is about 400 square feet, white walls, ceiling, linoleum flooring. It used to be a small lab, but it wasn't being used and they cleared out the stuff that was stored in here. There's an adjacent washcloset, the door is parallel to the end of your bed," he described. "Main door is about six-- make that eight feet to your right, currently closed. The hinges squeak a tiny bit. There's a cot to your left -- if you don't see me, I might be lying down there, so just holler."

He took Loki's hand and gave it another small squeeze, wondering if Loki could feel it now. If Loki knew what the room looked like from Steve's words, at least, it might make him feel a bit less trapped. "Maybe tomorrow, if you're feeling up to it after some more healing, we can try sitting you up." It might be a bit ambitious, but Steve had seen the way blood pooled in nearly-black bruises along the backs of Loki's arms and legs and across his back, and while he didn't want to hurt him further through unnecessary movement, he also wasn't keen on the idea of Loki getting bedsores.

"Bruce may come by," he added carefully. "But, um. He knows."

  
  
  


Loki let Steve's description sit in his mind, too tired to focus on visualizing it now, but fully prepared to do so later.

"We are back at the tower then?" He asked, though it was more of an assumption. "Good. That's good." He felt himself drifting and slipping, and knew it was his healing and pain turning him exhausted.

"Bruce is good." He said distantly. But then he made sense of the rest of it. "He- he knows?" That caused a spike of alertness. "Knows... what?" That Loki was a mess, adjacent to dying? That he and Steve were... were partners? That must be it, that had to be.

"Are you... alright with that?" He asked, knowing how worried Steve had been and pushing down his own little thrill of elation. Someone _knew_. Someone close to Steve, someone... someone who mattered knew that they were... "Was he alright with that? He didn't... he didn't say anything to you did he? Anything hurtful?" Somehow, immobile, fighting for his life, he still managed to put threat into his voice, still wanted to defend Steve, to protect him from this world that put such stock in its various hatreds.

"You won't be punished for... for me, will you?" Something struck him and it made a chill separate from his pains shoot through his center. "You can leave here, if you wanted, can't you? You aren't a prisoner with me because. Because I failed to kill the man in the mask, and you got hurt for it, and then I got... you aren't being punished by being left here, are you?" That would explain the cot, and the worn, drawn expression on Steve's face.

Bruce had come down to take care of him, he'd said. Like Steve had Loki, when he was in his cage at SHIELD.

If Steve were trying to hide things from him, protecting him because his body was a mess, even though his mind was... scattered, self loathing, but. Not all that far off from usual, really... Would Steve tell him, if he were? He hadn't lied to him yet, so far as he knew, but...

  
  
  


"What? No!" Steve reaching up and gently brushed his fingers through Loki's hair, keeping his touch light. "I'm here because I want to be. The cot's here because I refused to leave; it was a compromise to get me to sleep. I don't..." He shook his head. "You've been there for me when I woke up. I wanted to be here for you. And I am. Neither of us is being punished."

It hurt seeing Loki so fearful and mistrusting, and it hurt even more knowing it was Steve's own paranoia that had helped to shape that in part. Misplaced paranoia, as it happened in Bruce's case.

"Me getting hurt was not your fault, you know that, right?" His brow furrowed. "I-- I'm proud of you for not killing anyone. For using non-lethal force. Not that I would have faulted you in that instance if you had, but... You did nothing wrong. Everything that happened was on the guy who attacked us." And Steve, for being careless and dragging Loki into the wrong place at the wrong time, but this wasn't the time to self-indulgently voice his own guilt.

"And Bruce is... Bruce was fine with it." He smiled weakly. "He felt really bad about what happened to you, and he's really grateful for what you did. And it turns out he's, ah, really open-minded. More than I thought to give him credit for. He cares about you, and me, and he's got our backs. He said he wouldn't tell anyone else, and... Well, he's on our side." The smile grew more genuine. "So you need to stop panicking and just concentrate on getting better, okay? Maybe lie back and get some rest."

Loki still looked like death warmed over, and here Steve was dropping more than enough emotionally charged information on him when he needed to reserve his strength. "I'll be here when you wake up."

  
  
  


Steve's words and touch were calming, probably more than they should be. Probably because Loki couldn't sustain these reactions for long. Everything felt bigger and more than it was, exaggerated by his condition.

But that also meant that he burned through it faster. And it sent him back into the foggy, half asleep world where he was so close to being rid of the pain.

He wanted that, wanted it so much. And Steve said he could have it. Could sleep and let go. Only for a bit.

"Need to talk to the doctors, before tomorrow. Need to know where to put-- what needs healed first. Prioritize." That was the bitch about being in charge of your own healing, he thought, but didn't say. "Wake me... if they come?"  

He didn't really wait for an answer though, didn't need one. It was for his health; even if Steve didn't wake him, he would be able to get an answer for him. Loki trusted him that much. Loki trusted him _so much_.

"You sleep too." He insisted, through the daze. "And of course I won't kill anyone. I told you I'd rather... die than lose you." His voice grew quieter as he drifted off, enough that he wasn't sure that he even spoke the last few words audibly. And he certainly didn't say what he was thinking, what he knew in the bones that weren't even there right then.

He loved Steve. More than anything.

That was the thought that let his eyes slide shut and his mind slide into the quiet gray.

And his Steve, his partner, would be there when he woke up. That was better than he could have hoped for.

  
  
  


"I'll wake you," Steve promised, setting aside the wet cloth and stroking Loki's brow, gently and repeatedly. "Sleep now."

As Loki's eyes fluttered shut, lashes darkening the already deep shadows underscoring his eyes, Steve felt something in his chest tighten. He continued to trace his fingers over Loki's face for several more moments, then reached down and took his hand in his.

Loki had woken. Loki was alive and going to pull through, and he'd already begun to heal. Bruce had their backs, and they'd get through this, one way or another. SHIELD knew where they were and hadn't stormed the castle, and Steve had at least one friend who knew his secret and didn't feel any differently about him for it. All of this was reason to be happy.

So he wasn't entirely sure why he had tears spilling down his cheeks yet again, and a stabbing sensation of guilt in his guts as he looked down at his lover.

"I'd rather die than lose you too," he whispered, though he knew Loki was long past being awake enough to hear.


	29. Twenty-Nine

The next time Loki was aware of waking, the entire room was quiet. 

He strained his ears trying to listen-- for running water or sounds of movement, pages turning, a pen scratching… anything. Anything that would tell him he wasn’t alone. 

He couldn’t remember his dreams, not really, and he was glad of that. Because all he needed to know was that it involved Thanos, and incorporated all of the pain he was in now, but made it hurt him emotionally as well.

Better not to remember, and better that Steve not be here to hear the panic he was sure was apparent, in his breaths, on his face… and in his voice if he had to speak. But better to know if he needed the mask he was slipping on, even now, or if he could let himself be panicked, let himself experience the pain. He would have to at some point. Just, maybe not yet.

Loki took a deep shuddering breath and blew it out slowly. 

“ Steve? Are-- are you there?” He felt like an idiot, speaking to what could well be an empty room. Having so small a patch of the world to see-- he felt like he would rather be blind. At least it wouldn’t taunt him so, that he couldn’t know more, couldn’t move, couldn’t see anything but a ceiling so flat and bright that it could have been a few feet up, or ten, or more. 

Emptiness and he did not get along. It was too orderly. Too vast. It made him feel small.

  
  


He was used to being the guy who was barely holding it together.

Whether it was struggling with the constant threat of the Hulk, the anxiety of being chased by the army, or even before all that, when he’d been normal but just trying to get through one day at a time, Bruce had often felt like he existed on the razor’s edge of coming apart completely. And yet, somehow, since joining the Avengers -- the timebomb of a team of heroes, that seemed to think he belonged in their ranks for some reason -- it felt like more and more people seemed to think him capable of hold them together too.

And now, even when they didn’t, Bruce found himself stepping in to keep them from shattering as best they could. Which was why he now found himself sitting and watching like a patient parent while forcing Steve to take a nap, after having glared him into submission and eating a bowl of soup with some toast. He’d brought a tablet with some light reading on it, and in the quiet peace of the empty-lab-turned sick room, his mind had drifted into a peaceful, zen-like place.

But Bruce looked up from the tablet in his hands as Loki’s breathing changed; a long, shaky inhale, followed by an exhale.

He winced.

“Um,” he said softly, hoping not to startle Loki too much. “Steve’s on the cot next to you, sleeping. Er, this is Bruce, by the way.” He carefully rolled the office chair he’d plunked down in closer, wincing at the rumble of the plastic wheels against the linoleum in the quiet. “He dropped off about forty minutes ago, but I can wake him if you want.”

  
  


That gave Loki pause. 

“No. Let him sleep. He needs it, I think.” That part, at least, was easy. The rest-- Loki didn’t know how he should act, what he should say. He was uncomfortable because he could not see the man, see expressions or tension, could not guess if he said something wrong. 

And this would be the worst possible person, at the worst possible time, to say something wrong to. 

Still, he did remember that he owed him. 

“ Hello, Bruce. I… understand I need to thank you, for caring for him while I… while I can’t. And for being the friend that he needed, when you learned about… about us. He’s been worried, and I can’t say I blame him. But he told me you were… well, I am grateful.” He paused, wondering if there was more he needed to say, but weighed against what he needed to know, pleasantries fell by the wayside. 

“ I know he is concerned for me. Can… can you tell me how he fares? I cannot see him, save his face, when I am awake and he leans in, and it… worries me. I know he was injured. Did you escape unscathed, or…” He trailed off, unwilling to guess what had happened, lest he paint some bleaker picture than necessary. Or worse; not paint something bleak enough, and offend. 

He didn’t think that Steve would appreciate his asking, but he did think that a good way of knowing that Steve was… if not hiding things, then at least not telling him. And it had been obvious, in his face, that he had been neglectful of himself. 

At the very least, Loki knew Banner was an ally in that fight. And knowing would mean he could, if not see to it that Steve took better care, remind him that he ought to.

  
  


Bruce blushed, uncomfortably reaching up to tug at his collar and adjust his glasses on his nose. He’d been getting used to this new, polite, self-effacing Loki, but right now, with Loki hurt and Bruce responsible... He almost missed the haughty god from the helicarrier who didn’t give a single damn. Crazy was easier to tune out. This sort of raw vulnerability and concern, on the other hand, demanded his attention. Demanded competence Bruce wasn’t sure he could provide.

“ Steve’s a good guy. Who he loves and loves him doesn’t change that, and doesn’t make a difference to me,” he said, placing the tablet down on the table beside him. “But he is pretty worried about you. With good reason; you’re in rough shape. And he’s... Well, he’s taking it a bit hard. But physically, he’s gonna be fine, he can handle a lot more than most folks,” he hastened to assure. “His arm is healing cleanly, and while he seems as intent on martyring himself as, well,” he paused, realizing he’d almost said  _ as you _ after recalling the way Loki had phased right through the man in the park to put himself between Bruce and the attacker. “He’s gonna be fine. So long as you are.”

He looked at Loki, considering him under the harsh glare of the lab’s fluorescent lights. It would be better, he decided, to move him and Steve into a guest room as soon as Loki was okay to be moved. He was seeming better since the day before -- his breathing didn’t sound like a death rattle and his torso looked a bit more like a rib cage and less like crushed putty -- but he still looked terrible. 

And Bruce felt so much guilt for the fact that he felt  _ relief  _ that at least this wasn’t his handiwork.

“I’m fine, too,” he added. “Not a scratch. Thanks to you. Um.” He smiled nervously, adjusting his glasses again. “Please don’t take this the wrong way -- I’m really grateful for what you did, and what you kept me from doing -- but I have to ask... why? I mean, I get why you would protect Steve, but...”

  
  


Loki pursed his lips. He could do that, at least, that small motion of consideration. It made his lips feel brittle and dry again, but he ignored it, in favor of the question. 

‘ I am glad to hear he is not as bad off as I had feared.” He said briefly, “Again, thank you for seeing that that is so. As for the other…” He took a slow breath. “I could give you several answers.” he said bluntly. “I could say, because you were kind to me, but that is hardly it. Because Steve cares for you comes close. Because there were children there, and I cannot stand cruelty to any child. Because…” He spoke quieter. “Because I had just seen the memorial wall in that park. Seen a mother grieving a child. One that I… I took from her. Ones whose death was my responsibility. And had I not acted, had I had the opportunity and failed to… any harm that came to them would also be my responsibility, as much as yours. And,” he lightened his tone a little, uncomfortable with how vulnerable he felt, how exposed. “And you and I had spent time together. I had come to think of you as… I hope it will not offend if I say I think of you as a friend. I would not see you injured. And out of your other skin, you seemed… unprotected.” 

He was glad he could not see Bruce now, would not be able to see the disgust, or distrust, the way he would surely withdraw from Loki’s foolish, childish aspirations of friendship. 

Steve is a good guy, Bruce had said. 

Loki, on the other hand, was decidedly not. And so he would not blame Bruce. 

He would no doubt be kind about it, though. He, too, was a good guy.

  
  


Bruce listened and nodded, staying quiet.

It was... it was a good answer. A blunt one. Sincere. And reassuring in its way.

When Steve and Loki had first arrived at the Tower, Bruce had, of course, been skeptical. Having spoken to Steve before, he was a little more willing to give Loki the benefit of the doubt than he may have been otherwise, but felt fairly certain that even if Loki’s care for Steve was sincere, his lone investment in humanity was Steve and Steve only. Which, while perhaps somewhat understandable, was far from comforting. If anything happened to Steve, or if Steve was threatened, Loki could not be trusted to act in the best interest of anyone other than himself and Steve. 

Except that hadn’t been what happened in the park. Quite the opposite.

Loki had fought while holding back. He’d inflicted no harm, and had used himself as a shield to protect Banner and the children, even when Steve had been hurt. He’d acted selflessly, out of compassion and remorse and a desire to protect.

He’d acted  _ human. _

Heroic, even.

“ I’m not offended,” Bruce replied, still keeping his voice even and quiet. He took a deep breath and let it out, counting in his head, the way he did when he meditated. “I am happy to... to count you as a friend as well.” And wasn’t that a kicker. Words that a few months ago, he’d never think to hear himself say, and yet, there they were. 

He smiled wryly. “Not that I’ve historically had many. But that also reminds me--” He hesitated. “A while back, Steve, ah, may have mentioned some things that we might have in common. Not terribly pleasant things, of course, but,” he licked his lips, and  _ oh God,  _ here he was actually  _ volunteering _ for this -- what was wrong with him? Despite himself, he kept talking: “I know you and Steve have a good rapport, but if you ever need to talk, about... stuff, with someone else. Um. As a friend, I’d be happy to listen. I have it on Tony’s authority that I’m a good listener, which I understand is far from a ringing endorsement, but, there it is.” He sat back, having said his piece, and breathed out. 

  
  


Loki blinked. 

That was… unexpected. 

He almost asked if Bruce was sure, but given how hesitant the man was already, he did not want to risk him withdrawing the words. They did Loki… a surprisingly large amount of good. Just hearing them, believing them… because he had no reason not to. 

“ I also do not have a history of many friends. I think you will find me… uncomfortable, at times, because of that. I am. I am learning. Steve has been teaching me, but.” He blew air out roughly, frustrated with his inability to communicate. 

“ I have a talent for words, but often find it difficult to speak, if that makes sense. It is far easier to make something of nothing than reveal anything. And though I know…” He stopped. “I know that much of my progress seems to have come only through opening myself to talking… it is hard. Do not be offended if I am… slow, I suppose, in coming to you.” Nor, he wanted to add, if he did not come to Bruce at all. For the only thing he could imagine sharing with this man was their monstrosities, and they were different. Very much so. Or at least different enough, and Bruce was far enough in control of his, that Loki could not imagine trying to compare them. Trying to find the common ground between his blue skin and Bruce’s green. 

It was kind of him, though, to offer. 

“ I cannot say that I am the best of listeners, but I think, for some time at least, there will be little else for me to do. Perhaps it will carry on afterwards. In either case, if you ever need a friend, similarly…” He knew he was not, should not be Bruce’s top choice, but it was true. He would listen. He would be happy to. 

“ And when I have recovered, if there is anything I might do for you-- I will owe you a favor, magically or otherwise, for your part in caring for my partner, as well as for me. I hold no illusions to the state we would be in, were it not for your help. Thank you, Bruce.” He pushed as much real emotion into the words as he could, fully believing what he said, and the honesty of the feelings draining him a little. 

Above him, the ceiling began swimming, and so he closed his eyes, hoping that Bruce would not think him rude for it. 

“Bruce?” He said, after a long moment of silence. 

“I know that your medicine says I should not be alive, but would you have your doctors make for me a list of the functions I should restore, in order of necessity? I have--” he yawned. “I have a lot of work before me. And little enough focus for the task, without needing to research first.” 

  
  


Bruce rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “In your own time,” he told Loki. “There’s no pressure. It’s just an open, standing offer.” While he was apparently crazy enough to invite an awkward and uncomfortable conversation with Loki, he wasn’t quite so far gone as to chase him down for it. If Loki was ever at a point where he felt ready to talk and wanted to, Bruce would make himself available. And otherwise, he’d respect Loki’s privacy, and simply offer what support he could. 

“ And you don’t owe me anything,” he told him, frowning. “That’s... You took a hit for me, I’d say that would make us square in most books.” Taking care of Steve he’d done because, well, Steve needed taking care of, and he was a good man with no one else besides Loki (who’d been incapacitated) looking out for him at the time. And Tony had no bedside manner to speak of. Taking care of Loki was really just an extension of taking care of Steve. And fundamental human compassion, which Bruce liked to think he still had, when he was in his right self. “Besides,” he smiled, voice wry, “I don’t think friends are supposed to keep score of that sort of thing.”

He let the silence hang in the air, and for a moment, after Loki’s eyes had closed, he wondered if he’d offended. That, or Loki had fallen back asleep. He waited, and considered reaching back for his tablet, when Loki spoke.

“ Oh. Yeah, I suppose that makes sense.” Knowing what he needed to fix would certainly be a priority. “I’ve got your chart at the end of the bed here, and I have access to the servers with your scans--” he stopped himself.  _ Not that kind of doctor.  _ “ Tell you what. I’ll go track down one of the medical staff and have them come in here to explain it to you in detail. Although,” he stood up and leaned over to look past the edge of Loki’s bed, where Steve lay fast asleep, curled up fully-clothed but barefoot on the cot beside him. “You might wanna wake him up. He hasn’t been crazy about the idea of anyone but me in here with you without him awake and present.”

  
  


Loki frowned slightly. 

“ Let him sleep. I cannot begin to heal myself until I have renewed my seidhr at any rate. And I am alive for the time being. I do not seem to be going anywhere. Rather, I sleep so much of the time now as it is, when he wakes and a doctor is handy, wake me. He needs all that he can get. And I am sure they have other, less befuddling things to see to, in their responsibilities.”

If he could have shrugged he would have. 

“ However, if you have interest in it… I would imagine I will be healing myself again tomorrow morning. I have to do it when the renewed seidhr is fresh, or the day will sap my stores and I will not be able to direct it. And…” He hesitated, unsure how Bruce would feel about the next part. “Steve has been giving me small bits of his krellr to help me to heal. I cannot imagine it is a pretty process, but for a big sciency brain such as yours, perhaps it is an interesting one. I would not mind, if you would like to observe.” 

It was perhaps an odd offer, but it was also an expression of trust. He hoped Bruce could-- would-- see it as such. 

  
  


Bruce nodded. He didn’t even pretend to understand how Loki’s magic -- seidhr -- worked, so he was ready to take his word for it, despite wishing he could help now. Though not a medical doctor, he’d volunteered with enough of the sick in his travels to know that rest was often the best thing to be done for a patient. And in this case, both Steve and Loki were in need of it. 

Loki’s next offer caught him off guard, though. “If you don’t mind-- I mean, if it would be uncomfortable, I wouldn’t --” He stopped himself. If Loki minded, he wouldn’t have offered. “That would be fantastic. Thank you. I was actually telling Steve earlier that, if we understood your healing better, it would make it easier for us to help you in the future. Not that I want you to get hurt in the future, obviously,” he tacked on. “But it would be great to know enough to help you when you need it. As well as expanding medical knowledge in general.” He wouldn’t pretend that the widespread applications of Loki’s healing magic didn’t have him a little starry-eyed as well. 

God, Betty would have loved this. Cellular regeneration as a result of pure energy... She’d be over the moon for the chance to study that. And the fact that Steve was somehow an energy donor of sorts as he’d described when he’d shown them the footage of Agent Ferra -- a product of the serum? -- was fascinating in and of itself. 

He moved back to his chair and sat back down. “I’ve got some files I promised Tony I’d go over, so I should probably get back to that,” he explained, reaching for his tablet. “How about you get some of that sleep you need, and I’ll force Steve to go take a shower once he wakes up?”

  
  


Loki tried to nod, forgetting again that he couldn’t. 

Soon, he hoped. Soon he would, and then… well, then there would be that much more still to do. 

“I would like that, I think.” He said, voice colored by the yawn he was trying to speak through. 

“I am very glad that we have you, Bruce. Steve… I don’t know what we would have done if you’d been a lesser man. I may spend the rest of my life thanking you for being there for him. And for me.” He knew he’d said it, but he wanted to be sure Bruce knew that he really did mean it. 

His lids felt heavier, and he let them fall shut, glad for once that a conversation would be easy to end. 

He only had to fall asleep. 

And he was becoming increasingly good at that. He only wished he could say the same of his partner.

\---

  
  


Steve woke the next morning to Bruce gently shaking him, telling him the doctors were there.

Bruce had told him the night before when last he’d woken that Loki requested a session with the medical personnel to go over the damage he would need to heal. Remembering that Loki couldn’t see his own krellr, Steve nodded along; it made sense. This of course, occurred after Bruce had all but threatened to have the Hulk physically drag Steve into the shower and then the kitchen for some hot food. 

He’d acquiesced, since Loki had woken before and knew Steve wouldn’t abandon or leave him. By the time he was clean, changed, and fed, Loki was still fast asleep, and after some time spent reading, Steve drifted off again as well. 

But now Bruce was back, and several doctors and nurses hovered in the doorway. 

“ They would like to do some scans to see where the damage is at,” Bruce told Loki. “We have x-rays from a few days ago, but since you were able to heal a bit yesterday, some fresh images will give a more accurate idea of what you’re looking at. Is that alright?” he asked, looking at them both.

Steve sat up a bit, reaching out to give Loki’s fingers a gentle squeeze. “Loki?”

  
  


“ I cannot see why not, as long as you do not see any inherent, inadvisable harm that may come from it.” He doubted very much that they could do at this point would hurt him. “And I doubt your doctors would suggest it if that were the case.” He said, unable to look at them but addressing them just the same. 

“ Well…” A voice spoke up, and then paused, like she wasn’t sure whether or not she was supposed to speak… allowed to. Loki imagined her looking around for permission.

“ He can’t see you, so it’s best if you introduce yourself.” Bruce spoke quietly, not to discipline or embarrass the doctor, but also to help make Loki more comfortable. 

“ Right. Um, sorry. I’m Doctor Ortega. Here’s the thing. We uh, we don’t know at this point what will and won’t cause more damage, because… because no one has sustained damage like this before, and been around to tell us about it. And we don’t know what you can and can’t fix, and what will or won’t hurt you, based on your… biological differences.” 

“I think it is safe to assume, at the moment, that as long as you do not intend to remove pieces of me, I can probably fix it in reasonably short order. As for things that will harm me…” He wished he could reach out and touch Steve, reassure him somehow while he spoke. 

“I would advise, at this juncture, not giving me any of your medicines without my knowing what it is and what is in it, and asking me first. As you can imagine, I am… greatly weakened for the time being. And while I am normally quite resistant to such things…” He trailed off. 

“ Your imaging system, though, if it did not harm me a few days ago, before I was conscious again, is unlikely to cause problems now, I think. Or at any rate, if it does I can put an end to it quickly enough.” 

Someone chuckled; a man who was not Bruce, and Loki held his tongue, despite being uncomfortable without knowing exactly how many people were looking at him at the moment. 

“ Fair enough. My name is Do-- Jesse. Jesse Cameron, and, well. If we can I’d like to just, maybe establish some kind of understanding of where you are, healthwise right now. I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear that we have very little idea of how to handle your case. But knowing your views on it will help us give you the advice that Doctor Banner here says you need. So if you could maybe summarize for us…?”

“ My summary is pain, doctor. I have repaired my lungs and that which was pressing down on them, to better facilitate my speaking. I have repaired my heart and the most prominent of its veins, so that it does not hurt… as much, with each beat. The rest… I cannot feel when I am touched. Only a sort of constant ache, a not-rightness.” He didn’t think there were words for the experience, but if there were he certainly didn’t have them. 

“ When you think you’re ready to try some human painkillers, you let us know.” Doctor Ortega said, obviously hearing in his voice at least some of the strain. 

“ We’re going to have to wheel you into the room a few doors down, where the X-ray machine is housed. If moving hurts you at all, you’ll let us know, right?” Cameron asked, and Loki wanted to snort, but deemed it too much effort.

“ Of course. I suspect I will have little choice, given the circumstances.”

The floor was uneven, and he was aware of a sensation of… quivering. Not shakes, like nervousness, but rather something more like the way a horse’s flank shook in reaction to impact with the ground. He could feel that throughout his body… but only on the inside. Any sensation outside of him, if air moved over his flesh, if anyone was holding him onto the table, he was completely unaware. He could not even tell how many people accompanied him. 

Once in the room, it went nearly dark, and he could feel heavy padding being laid along side him. 

“ We’re gonna move an arm over you now, and what it’s going to do is take some pictures of what’s happening under your skin. I guess I don’t need to tell you to hold still, but closing your eyes might be a good idea.” That was Ortega again, so maybe there were not so many of them as he’d feared.

He could see them moving about, by shadows and out of the edges of his vision, and then he shut his eyes obediently, to let them do as they needed, quelling a quiet nausea he hadn’t realized he had enough stomach left to suffer. 

He needed to know what had happened. That didn’t mean he  _ wanted  _ to.

  
  


Steve hovered close, but held his tongue as the doctors and Loki conversed. He tried to stand close enough that Loki would know he was there, perhaps see him in his peripheral vision, but not so close as to be distracting to the doctors. Loki’s health was tantamount, after all. 

Two doctors in white coats and an orderly in pale green scrubs arrived with Bruce; the orderly was a middle-aged woman with her hair tightly pulled back in a steely bun, with the kind of no-nonsense look about her that reminded Steve vaguely of Maria Hill. The doctors were younger -- the woman, Ortega, had eyebrows prone to drawing together, and a somewhat nervous manner. Whether this was her general temperament or the result of her patient’s condition or identity, Steve had no way of knowing, but when she spoke, she seemed alarmed about Loki’s wellbeing rather than his history. The man, Cameron, was tall and had a more easygoing feel about him. 

None of them set off Steve’s warning bells, at least. And if they were working here for Stark, they had to be worthwhile. Tony had questionable taste in some things, but he didn’t skimp on quality.

So Steve listened and shut up and tried not to flinch too hard when Loki described his current state; paralyzed and in pain, and only recovered so much that he could  _ breathe.  _

He followed wordlessly as Loki was wheeled out and moved toward radiology, and only stepped back away from the x-ray apparatus when Bruce put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away. 

“ No sense in getting hit with more radiation than you have to,” Bruce murmured. 

Coming from anyone else, Steve might have argued with that.

But Banner had experience enough, so Steve moved back and watched as the machine moved over Loki, scans showing up on the monitors as the doctors watched.

“ You’re doing really well,” he called out, encouragingly, no longer able to take the silence. Once the scans were complete, he made a beeline back to Loki’s side, resisting the urge to take his hand -- Loki wouldn’t be able to feel it anyway. He balked though, when Ortega approached with a syringe. “Is that necessary?”

“ We don’t know the extent of his internal bleeding,” she said. “Just from the preliminaries, I’d say he has a lot of organ damage. If there’s intestinal trauma, he could be septic for all we know. We need a sample.”

Steve pursed his lips, remembering how uneasy Loki had been with letting SHIELD get a hold of samples of his blood to test on. But if he had blood poisoning, they needed to know. And where he was already being scanned...

Steve stepped aside, moving to the head of Loki’s gurney and placing a hand gently on Loki’s hair, where he was pretty sure Loki could still feel his touch. “She’s going to draw some blood,” he explained, in case Loki had missed the exchange. His eyes were closed, so Steve wasn’t sure how with it he was. 

He watched, warily, as Ortega swabbed and then slipped a needle into the small, exposed patch of bruised skin between the splinted portions of Loki’s upper and lower arm. The way Loki had been crushed, his body in places showing the liquified elasticity of a water-filled balloon, Steve cringed with the fear that with a single prick, he’d pop and his pulverized innards would pour right out. It was an unfounded fear, however, as Ortega filled the syringe with dark blood without incident before passing it off to the orderly, pressing a pad of gauze to the puncture site. 

“So what’re we looking at?” Bruce asked, peering around Dr. Cameron where he stood, looking at a set of screens with a disconcerted expression. 

  
  


Loki was glad that Steve, at least, was kind enough-- had enough sense of mind to make a point of being within the range of his vision as much as he could. 

His hand on the top of Loki’s head was so warm, the weight so reassuring, and he couldn’t help but be glad that he could feel him somewhere, at least. 

He heard footsteps and saw the shadow of someone coming nearer. 

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to move you back into your room. We want to discuss the X-rays with you, but Doctor Banner isn’t all that comfortable in the X-ray chamber.” 

The woman, Ortega, seemed to be asking for Loki’s permission. which was nice, the fact that they were treating him as a person rather than the pile of bodily matter he no doubt resembled. 

“ Yes, of course,” He hastened to reply. “Though if I might ask, if it is possible to lower the lighting in the other room, I would like it-- not this dim. But somewhere closer to it. The shadows help me to know where everyone is.” He made his voice small, almost to a point of misery, and though he knew that Steve might worry, he couldn’t help but find some peace in the manipulation. 

It was a small weakness to show them, atop the very real, very large physical weaknesses, but that was part of what would help to humanize him. It is one thing to tell a man that you are in pain, but another to show him that you are afraid. The pain they could never know, never experience, the condition too alien for them to ever identify with. But everyone fears what they do not know, what they cannot see. 

“ I’ll find out what we can do about it.” She promised him, her voice sympathetic. 

They returned to the room, the group a good deal quieter than before, and he knew that whatever they thought they would see, whatever they hoped, it was not there. 

“ It’s basically like you said,” Cameron told him, finally, once they had settled in the still bright room. “You have lungs and a heart, your ribcage around them is pretty much pristine. Your left arm is shattered, but still generally arm shaped, and you have bits and pieces of… well, bone fragments is about the best that can be said of the rest of you. Your spine is severed-- and missing-- everywhere past where your repairs are. Your organs are… not. I honestly don’t know how you’re alive.” 

“ Your blood is tainted. Everything that was inside of you seems to have become one thick fluid, and it’s not… if you were a human…” 

Loki did snort, finally. 

“Yes, I believe I understand. I should be dead. Now we must discuss what is to be done about it. I have a limited amount of magic each day to employ. A section of that must be devoted to keeping me running. I can, as you have seen, rebuild. But only small areas at a time.” He decided not to tell them of Steve’s help. He did not want them asking to watch, or begging leave to poke around in Steve’s veins as well. 

“ If there is anything your science may do to ease my burden, it will help me not to have as long of a recovery process.” It felt odd, unable to move and unable to even see those whom he spoke to, but giving orders just the same. 

After a brief lull, it was Ortega who spoke up again. 

“ I guess… we could use dialysis to try and get your blood cleaned out. There’s a lot in there… I think there’s a lot that there shouldn’t be, but it’s hard to say because your blood has very little in common with ours. Without a good baseline, I wouldn’t know what belongs and what doesn’t.” He could hear her frustration. 

“Does SHIELD have anything on him?” Bruce asked, clearly expecting Steve to know the answer better than Loki would. 

  
  


Steve listened to the doctors’ litany of injuries, and felt his stomach turn. He knew it was bad -- just looking at Loki let him know it was bad -- but he’d been hard at work deluding himself into thinking it couldn’t be quite  _ that  _ bad. God, Loki...

He blinked, realizing Bruce had asked him a question. “Um.” He tried to think, then frowned. “No. Dr. Varma wanted to run some tests to get a baseline of his stats after he got rushed to Medical that first time, but... We didn’t want them testing on Loki or anything without me supervising, and then I got sent away, and it just never happened.” He ran a hand back through his hair, cursing himself. It was stupid -- he’d been trying to  _ protect  _ Loki, but now, it seemed, he’d deprived him of a chance to be helped instead.

“ He was in medical?” Bruce pressed, curious.

“ Um, yeah. After... He collapsed,” Steve said vaguely, not wanting to bring up the scepter around the doctors, however well-intentioned they appeared. “It was just exhaustion. They gave him an IV with some fluids and let him sleep it off. That was all.”

“ An IV,” Bruce repeated, mouth spreading into a thin, grim, but almost triumphant line. “And I don’t suppose you took the needle and swabs with you and disposed of them yourself?”

Steve’s frown deepened. “No...”

Bruce chuckled. “Okay. Then SHIELD has a sample of his blood. Not a big one, mind you, but even a few drops can be enough.” His eyes unfocused and glinted with something hard for half a second. “I would know.”

“ If we can get access to a sample from before his injury, we can run a spectral analysis to determine the ideal composition,” Dr. Cameron piped in. 

“ Then sort out what does and doesn’t belong in dialysis based on an actual standard,” Dr. Ortega concluded.

Bruce sighed. “I’ll talk to Tony. If SHIELD has scanned it and uploaded the results to a database, he can probably hack it. And if not...”

“ If not?”

Bruce shrugged. “I have some calls I can make. Don’t worry,” he reached out and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “We’ll work something out.”

“ While normally, I would prioritize repair of a spinal injury,” Dr. Ortega began, stepping closer to Loki and letting her heels click against the floor tile, “in this case, it might be better to hold off on fully repairing and reconnecting your spinal column.”

Steve blinked. “How? Why?”

“ Well...” She pressed her lips together. “Once the nervous system is fully reconnected... he’s going to be able to feel everything.  _ Everything,”  _ she repeated for emphasis, when it seemed like Steve might not be making the connection. “Until we figure out a pain management protocol that’s compatible with his system, which will be easier to engineer with a blood sample and his input, the paralysis is a bit of a blessing in disguise.”

“ What we’d suggest you start with,” Dr. Cameron said, addressing Loki, “is internal organ and soft tissue repair. We’ll try to do your kidneys’ job with dialysis, but fixing your digestive tract will help keep more toxins from leaching into... the rest of you,” he concluded. “If you’ve got the energy for it, reforming some of your pelvis will help protect your lower organs. Moving on from there, rebuilding the bones of your spine and major blood vessels is going to be important. As distressing as it might seem, we’ll want to leave your limbs and any kind of restoration of mobility last.” 

“Does that sound doable?” Steve asked softly.

  
  


“I think so.” Loki said, mind swimming at the various turns the conversation had taken around him. While it was good to know what he needed to do… 

“ I just… I’m sorry doctors, but I just--” Loki looked up at Steve. “There are too many people.” He said pleadingly. 

He could only imagine what they were seeing laying here, with that sort of damage. Was he even shaped like a person any longer? 

He tried so hard to seem as close to a person as he could, and he had hated his form before, but now-- 

Now he was terrified to know what was left of it. And there were scans, images. He could ask to see, but he had work to do on himself. He didn’t think he could find the motivation if he knew how little of himself remained. 

And though Steve’s was the only face he could see, his expression as they discussed what was wrong with him was… 

He knew it wasn’t truly  _ him _ that Steve was disgusted by. It was his body, the damages done to it by the man they had stopped. 

But he was afraid that all Steve would see, when he looked at him from now on, was this. This mangled pile of flesh that turned his stomach and made the blood recede from his face. 

He felt distinctly vulnerable now, moreso than he had before, and he knew the doctors were here in the hopes of getting to see his process of making repairs, but he couldn’t… couldn’t stand knowing that all these eyes were on him. These faceless people, seeing him as he was now. Who knew what they looked like, what they-- 

He took hold of his panic as firmly as he could, his will capable of grasping things even if his hands couldn’t. 

“ If I could-- just have you and Doctor Banner here for a few minutes…” He trailed off, knowing the others could hear him, but looking up at Steve to make the request, because he needed him. He needed him here, and not seeing him as the mess that he currently was. 

And he knew that he needed his seidhr to heal, but surely it wouldn’t be too great of a strain to just… just for a little while, just make some illusion of-- but no. No he would look vain, he would--

His breathing had gone shallow and he knew they could all hear it. He didn’t want to let them see this. He clamped down on that too, holding his breath to a five count before inhaling again. 

He should be healing, he should be using his energy on that. Not on… on concentrating on how disgusting he was. 

On how this would be the worst time for him to drive Steve away. 

  
  


Steve looked at the doctors, and Ortega immediately stepped back before he needed to say a word. “Of course, we’ll be right outside,” she said, grabbing Dr. Cameron by the arm and all but hauling him out after her. 

Banner hovered awkwardly a few paces back, and Steve took advantage of the privacy to gently brush his hand down the side of Loki’s face, providing what little comfort he could. And it was little. Too little. He was useless and the doctors had been close to useless if Loki was still  _ soup  _ inside after days of being here, with only the donation of Steve’s krellr giving him  _ working lungs,  _ and he was in pain and he’d be in even more pain and there was nothing they knew of yet to help--

He stopped, breathing deeply. Loki was already in distress; that much was clear from his request and his uneven breathing. Steve couldn’t let himself get worked up now -- not when Loki needed him to be his anchor.

There was little enough that Steve could do, but he could do that.

“ JARVIS?” Banner asked quietly, “would it be possible to bring the lights down another twenty percent?”

The lights dimmed a bit further, and Steve smiled down at Loki. “Hey. How’re you holding up?”

It was a stupid question -- obviously Loki was barely held together, let alone holding up -- but it at least sounded like something  _ normal _ to say, so Steve said it. 

  
  


“I am…” Loki had nothing he could really say. He didn’t want to start listing off the ways he wasn’t alright. He might panic again. And anything he would have said to the contrary would be a lie. So he settled for smiling as much as he could manage, trusting Steve would understand. 

“ I will be better soon, I think. If ah… if you have some krellr to spare.” Loki shifted his eyes towards where he knew Bruce to be standing, from the shadow he cast. 

“ Bruce?” He called, pitching his voice to carry. “If you want-- I’m going to um. I have to check on Steve first. But then, if he’s… if it won’t tax him too much.” He looked up and into Steve’s eyes, daring him to argue, “Then I’ll be doing some healing. If you want to see.” 

He looked back in the direction of Bruce’s shadow. 

“ I’m here, and If you think it’s a good idea. Yeah, I’d love to.” 

Loki turned back to Steve and closed his eyes, pushing hard behind his eyes. It took more concentration than usual. But finally, eventually, he felt the change, and he opened his eyes. 

Steve was so bright, so bright, always such a-- a--

“ You aren’t as… There isn’t enough. I must have taken too much.” He felt vaguely horrified. “Not today. You need to sleep and eat and…” He’d brought Steve this low from a single day of pulling from him. “Less, next time. We have to be  _ careful _ .” 

He couldn’t stress it enough. He couldn’t  _ fix _ things as he was like this. 

  
  


“ I’m  _ fine!” _ Steve insisted, his expression falling in dismay. “Loki, really, I’m okay! And I bounced right back after Thanos, it’ll-- it’ll refill or whatever. I feel perfectly fine,” he reiterated, almost desperately. 

Loki needed krellr. Needed to heal.  _ Steve  _ needed him to heal, and couldn’t just sit here uselessly. 

“ Steve,” Bruce said quietly.

Steve turned and glared at him. “I will eat whatever health food you want and sleep for eighteen hours, I swear to God, Banner, just...”

He paused, licking his lips. Loki couldn’t feel his hands. So he wouldn’t be able to feel if Steve passed him his krellr the way he’d done the day before. At least, not in time to stop him or give it back.

Before anyone could protest, he slid his arm under Loki’s, replicating the position from the day before and dragging it upward so Loki’s fingers slid down to his hand. Once, then a second time.

“Steve,” Bruce repeated, taking a step forward.

  
  


“You bounced back because I was able to help you. I can’t do that now.” Loki couldn’t help but sound plaintive. 

“It’s fine. I can heal myself, today. You can help… when you’ve restored a bit.” He wasn’t sure though. If he couldn’t control how much he was taking, how could he agree to take any of it? 

“ Today-- Today just something small then.” He let his eyes unfocus and frowned. 

Internal organs didn’t seem all that small. That was what he needed to do though. His stomach… 

He blew his air out and closed his eyes. 

He didn’t have enough. Maybe… maybe not today. Maybe he could just take the day--

_ But if you don’t have enough now, how will you have any more tomo-- _

but he did feel stronger. He felt--

His eyes flew open. 

“ Steve?” His voice shook. He couldn’t see him. He couldn’t feel him. 

“ What--  _ Bruce what is he doing? _ ”  He hissed, terrified and furious.

He could hear the sound of Bruce opening and closing his mouth. 

“ _ Steve _ ?”

  
  


It flowed easier this time. Like a channel that had already been dug, or a wound that simply needed reopening. The warm, runny feeling Steve recognized as how his krellr felt while being manipulated or transferred coursed through his arm in a rush, like Loki was a void and the emptiness in him was sucking the energy from Steve.

_ Good,  _ he thought, letting his fingertips linger, tingling where they touched Loki’s discolored skin. Good. Loki needed it, more than Steve did. Even if he didn’t think he did, and even if he was annoyed with Steve, it would heal him. And that was all that mattered. Loki’s protests were muted to his ears; Loki would forgive him (eventually). Because for that, Loki would be alive and well to do the forgiving. 

It was such a small thing to be able to give, really. A touch and a tingle of something he couldn’t even see... And Loki had done much the same for him. Fair was only fair.

How many pulls was that? Three?

“ That’s enough,” a voice announced behind him, gentle but firm. Banner’s hand rested on Steve’s bicep, tugging him away. 

“‘ M all right,” Steve murmured, blinking. His head felt a little fuzzy, but he was fine. Just a bit cold (the warm feeling must’ve taken all his warmth with it) and a bit... floaty...

“ Whoop, okay, sitting down now,” Banner said, and Steve felt the backs of his thighs hit something soft. Right. His cot. He was sitting on his cot, next to Loki.

He smiled over at his partner, wondering when Loki got so blurry. It wasn’t the best look on him, but Steve wouldn’t tell him so, not wanting to hurt his feelings. Loki was already hurt, after all. “Better?” he asked.

  
  


“ Better?” Loki croaked, disbelieving. “ _ Better,  _ Steve you... you can’t stand. You-- did this. You’re-- you can’t hurt yourself for me, and ask me to-- Steve.” He groaned the last word. 

There was so much power in him now, so much rushing through him, and he could feel it, even while he was distracted, he could feel it trying to heal… trying to heal his hand, his arm where it rolled up through, and he couldn’t let it go to waste like that. He didn’t want it, not like this, but he couldn’t give it back. He had to direct it, send it rolling to the pit of his stomach, but he also needed to be sure Steve was okay. He couldn’t see him any more.

“ Steve you have to-- promise me, not like this. Never again like this.” He could feel the tears on his cheeks, as it became all too easy to imagine Steve drained of his life. He’d seen it before. He’d been the one to put a stop to it then. He couldn’t do it now. And there was  _ so much _ . So much, and so strong, and he could feel it healing him as it trickled down. He lacked the ability to move it properly, lacked the finesse, so he started exactly the sort of wave he’d avoided on Agent Ferra. From his neck he gave it as much push as he could, letting it flow downwards, and setting up mental blocks around his legs. He needed it to get into his lower abdomen and stay there. 

And he needed to concentrate now, but--

“ Bruce, I need, I need to. Is he--?” Distraction and panic did not go well together.

“ He’s here.” Bruce reassured him. “He’s uh… he’s looking a little vacant but he’s upright. Like when you donate a little too much blood. Woozy, but he’s…” 

“ Weak? Breathing, heart beating?” He was so desperate, so desperately worried, and he needed-- his stomach was forming, his intestines, his pelvis, his spine, he had so much inside of him now that was growing and displacing, and-- 

“ He’s fine. He’s fine, Loki. Pulse is steady and his breathing is deep, but he’s fine.” Bruce’s voice, cutting through the panic. 

“ Bruce, the doctors? I-- too much-- inside of me, too much.” He skin, which already felt stretched tight, felt like it was burning, perhaps even tearing. His stomach was forming around the sludge inside of him and he could feel the bile rising.

“ We can get you hooked up-- it’ll take about ten minutes, we have a dialysis machine on its way.” Doctor Cameron’s voice came from outside the door; he’d clearly been listening in. 

“ Don’t you have leeches or-- Oh, oh no, I’m going to be sick. Can--” He began choking, on something much worse than his words. Through the sounds of his coughing, he could hear Bruce, telling Steve that he’d done what he could, that he needed to stay sitting, to let the doctors do their jobs.

“ We have to get him on his side. He might be able to repair other damage, but if he can’t breathe I doubt he’ll be around for it. Come on!” Ortega was shrill, but commanding; he was surprised, though he didn’t know why, exactly. Why that emotion should break through of all of them. And then they were tilting him, rolling him-- away from Steve, he still couldn’t see him, and his head lolled but there were hands holding him, aiming his mouth, and another set of hands with a basin. 

He could see what came out, thick and viscous and dark, and the smell-- well, at least it helped him to keep retching, even when he hadn’t thought he would have the muscles to do so. 

In the midst of him emptying out his newly formed stomach, he could see the cart being wheeled in, the dialysis machine arriving. 

The pressure was only somewhat abated, once his vomiting had stopped, but when they lay him back down on his back, he could see them lingering at his side. 

“ Loki, the doctors need to turn the lights back up, so they can see what they’re doing, okay? Why don’t you close your eyes, try and rest-- Steve is right here, right next to you, and he’s going to rest too.” There was a warning in Bruce’s voice, but the suggestion was firmly planted in Loki’s mind. 

“Bruce, I have-- pelvis, digestive-- It’s. That’s. Take care of Steve?” His whispered plea was made by a mind growing hazy, behind eyelids sliding shut. He knew he wouldn’t hear the answer, but frankly, he didn’t care. He knew what it would be.

  
  


“ No promises,” Steve mumbled. “No take backs, either.” He definitely felt a little stretched thin, but he’d gotten drained worse than this just climbing a flight of stairs before the serum. There was no actual pain; just a bit of a chill. Nothing like what Loki was contending with; and now Loki could use it to heal.

Except...

Except something was going wrong. Steve blinked through the fog. Loki’s voice had gone from anger to panic to pain, and now he was coughing and gagging and that wasn’t right, Loki was supposed to feel better now--

Steve tried to stand, but Bruce put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him right back down. And if Bruce could manhandle him without the Other Guy, then okay, Steve conceded -- perhaps he’d overdone it a tad. But far worse than feeling a bit weak and wobbly was the thought that Loki was in pain now, that Steve had somehow hurt him.

Steve didn’t care if he gave too much if the only effects were on him. But if his attempted donation had harmed Loki, he wouldn’t know how to survive the guilt.

He watched helplessly as the doctors rolled Loki, grabbing him by the ribs and avoiding his arms and shoulders, which moved in ways they shouldn’t all the same. For a moment, Steve stared, dazed at Loki’s back, and thought Loki had transformed into his Jotun form. But no, parts of him were still pale, and he wasn’t the right shade... This was dark, blue and violet and black and angry red; all the blood and bruising pooling where it had spilled from ruptured veins.

His head swam as Loki retched, broken form quaking with the effort. This was...

He’d been  _ helping. _

He looked up to Bruce with what had to be an anguished expression. Bruce reached down and gave Steve’s shoulder a squeeze, but said nothing until Loki was returned to lying on his back.

Steve didn’t have the energy to argue. He let Bruce gently maneuver him on the cot, letting him curl on his side so he could look at Loki. He wanted to reach out and hold his hand, but Loki wouldn’t be able to feel it. Somehow that realization hurt even more now than it had before.

“ You okay?” Bruce asked, after Loki had gone still and the doctors had connected him to dialysis (“We’ll start off with the most obvious impurities,” Dr. Cameron had said, “then refine our filtration once we get a better baseline”).

Steve waited until the medical staff had left, then shook his head. 

Bruce sighed. “Yeah,” he mumbled, tossing a blanket over Steve and sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. “I guess I wouldn’t be either.”

“ He’s supposed to get better,” Steve murmured.

“ He will,” Bruce said. “But it’ll take time. And it’ll probably seem like it gets worse before it gets better. So you have to be smart and take care of yourself so you can be there for him.”

Steve’s eyes stung. “Damn,” he whispered, squeezing them shut. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce patted him lightly on the back, until he slipped back into sleep.   
  


Loki woke up  _ hungry _ , and almost laughed at how ridiculous that was. Hungry. He wasn’t even able to sit up. He couldn’t move his hands. And now his body wanted to eat. 

It seemed he was going to be humiliated as much as possible, in this. 

He felt less full, presumably because some of the liquid-- if it could be called that-- in him was being pulled out and replaced all the time. 

So that was… well, that was good, he thought. But eating would only make him feel fuller and then-- and then what would happen when he had to use the restroom? 

He’d seen how his arms flopped around him when he’d had to be rolled the… whatever, whenever it had been. That morning, he supposed, judging by the levels his seidhr were at. 

He had more than he’d had waking the day before, but--

It did not occur to him that he might have wakened for some reason other than his body deemed it should be so, but when someone cleared their throat from the doorway again, he realized it had been that which brought him around in the first place. 

“ Who’s there?” He called, voice creaking from his earlier strains on his throat. 

How he wished he could have at least water. Enough water to make him feel full. his insides felt like they were creaking, too, and he knew it would turn to his stomach groaning its complaints before too much longer. 

He wasn’t going to ask to be  _ fed _ though. Maybe he could pass the noises off as the sounds of him healing. 

“ It’s uh, it’s Tony.” The response was stuttered and hesitant, and it gave Loki the feeling like he might have the upper hand, regardless of whether he could move his or not. 

“ It’s good to see you’ve finally found this floor.” He returned, somewhat icily. Stark should have made his way down here before. Not for his sake of course, but certainly for Steve’s. Unless… “I’m sorry. That was rude. You weren’t injured in the battle, were you?” If so, that would be one more responsibility he would need to make amends for, one more measure of guilt to be stacked against him.

He wasn’t sure where Steve was, if maybe Bruce had convinced him to go upstairs and have a real bath, real food, sleep in a real bed… or if he had even awakened yet. He wanted to ask, but he needed to know where he sat with Stark, as far as apologies owed went, first. 

  
  


Tony had been putting it off. 

After the battle in Bryant Park, he’d been in less than stellar condition. Not physically -- the suit was pretty battered and he had some bumps and bruises, but nothing that some ibuprofen and a stiff drink couldn’t take care of. Mentally, though, he kept remembering the  _ last  _ big fight in New York City he’d gotten involved in. 

And wouldn’t you know, there’d been a whole lot of illusory Lokis running around during that time too. It had put Tony’s teeth on edge, sending his heart rate skyrocketing high enough to set off the suit’s warning alarms.

But the fact that Loki got crushed into paste again was significantly less satisfying this time around. Probably because Tony couldn’t get the image out of his head of Cap, stony-faced as if he’d just walked out of a funeral, holding Loki’s pulverized, ragdoll body, like some badly-sculpted  _ Pieta _ . It was gross and it was depressing and it was the sort of thing he didn’t want to be looking at again in a hurry.

So yeah, Tony had kept his distance. He wasn’t a doctor, he didn’t have the disposition to be a shoulder to cry on, and he would have been useless down there anyhow. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t had stuff keeping him busy; he’d been occupied fending off the press vultures trying to get a quote, working on connecting with law enforcement for information, and delegating whatever he forgot to Pepper.

Oh, that was the other thing. Pep was finally back from her business trip to the Stark Industries Tokyo offices, and on returning from the airport, she’d dropped her bags and promptly demanded to be filled in on what had been going on. Which turned out to be kind of a lot, from fighting some terrorist wannabe a couple blocks from the tower, to, oh yeah, remember the emo-glam-rock supervillain god-prince that threw him out a window a year and a half ago? He was staying downstairs now...

There had been Talking. With a capital T. 

And then of course, there had been the footage he still had to go through. At first, he’d been trying to suss out what Loki was up to and what had happened that made Steve go from calling the guy out as a watered-down Hitler to being his new best friend. After a while, he’d had to put it aside, though. 

But then after Loki got turned into a living jello shot, Bruce had pushed for them to go back over the tapes, to find anything medically relevant. And then he’d given Tony the task of getting into SHIELD’s databanks to track down any data on a miniscule blood sample that may or may not have existed. Which, of course, he found. 

The problem being that now that he’d found it and Bruce had finally gone to bed, Tony didn’t have a good excuse or a good way around coming down to the medical levels. 

So yeah, he’d been putting it off, but he was here now, and maybe Bruce would quit giving him those disappointed looks every time he came upstairs. 

And it seemed Bruce wasn’t the only one peeved with him. Which was a little surprising, since Loki didn’t seem to particularly revel in his company, but hey, maybe the guy was developing some taste. Or something. Tony twirled the tablet in his hands, looking over Loki. 

Or, the vaguely human-shaped bruise that had Loki’s face.

_ Damn _ . Tony grimaced. That was... rough.

“Nah, I’m fine. Got off easy compared to you, Gumby.” He shuffled his weight back and forth, feeling antsy. He really wasn’t the bedside vigil kind of guy. “So, we got the stats on your blood sample. Passed it on to your docs so they can make with the hemodialysis and all.”

  
  


“ I am glad to hear that you were unharmed. Bruce told us about having apprehended those who moved against us. I would like to know more of them, when that information is… if you don’t think it would be against your interests to share it.” He wanted to know who they were, if not SHIELD, why they had been there. What they had been after. 

Not that he could do anything with the information if he was given it, but he hadn’t wanted to ask Steve or Bruce for it, knowing that if anyone was against telling him, it would be Stark. And so by rights it should be his decision to make.

“And thank you.” He said, words stilted with all of the composure he could muster. But the thanks seemed ill fitting, so he clarified: “for your help, for getting the information from SHIELD and… for the loan of your doctors and machines. I daresay they are finding this entire situation insightful and disturbing in equal measure.” That would see to the gratitude he must exhibit, by necessity. He would love to be able to scold Stark for having distanced himself from Steve, especially when it seemed he needed his friends more than he had before. But he knew that was likely more than partially his fault, and also more than a little aware that if Steve was here, if he was alert but quiet, he would disapprove of Loki’s tone. 

So one thing at a time.

“ Could you tell me, ah, is Steve… here? Or. No need to call him, only, as you might be aware, I can’t see anything that isn’t directly above me, at the moment.” He kept his words crisp and devoid of emotion. Bruce knew. Stark didn’t. And if he was Stark, and he had no understanding of what lay between Steve and Loki even now, he would have been upset for his friend, for Steve, that someone should put such demands on his time as to render him unable to leave a room. 

Loki didn’t want Stark to think him so thoughtless, so blind to Steve’s needs as all that.

  
  


Apprehended. Right. That had been his other reason for coming down here -- he’d been in communication with the NYPD through a couple proxies (the police still weren’t terribly fond of him after that incident with the bugatti and the fountain a few years back) following up on the park incident and he’d wanted to let Steve know--

Only Steve didn’t appear to be here. “Huh,” Tony muttered. He took a few nervous steps toward the open door to the bathroom to peek in and make sure Steve wasn’t in there washing his hands or whatever. Which he wasn’t, but from the vantage point Tony was able, once he turned back around, to catch sight of two stockinged feet poking out from beyond the right side of Loki’s bed.

Two more steps, and Steve was in sight where he lay, out cold, on a cot squished right up against Loki’s.

Which was sort of weird. Or, well. It would be, without context. Bruce had said Steve was staying close to Loki by camping out on the medical levels, but Tony hadn’t thought he meant  _ that  _ close. Then again, at the time, he hadn’t gotten to certain footage in the tapes. 

Which, still weird, by the way. 

“ Yeah, Stars and Stripes is next to you, having a nap,” he replied, modulating his voice to keep it a little quieter. “And don’t worry about it; technically this makes Stark Industries’ Medical Branch the current global leaders in extraterrestrial medicine, so I probably owe you thanks for the bragging rights.” He shrugged. “Not to mention Fury has a bit of a conniption fit every time he finds my software bugging up SHIELD’s servers, so that’s always good for a laugh.”

He stepped a little closer to the ends of the two beds, hovering awkwardly. “You, uh, want me to wake him up?” he asked, rather hoping Loki would say no. Steve looked pretty haggard. Not that Loki looked better -- far from it. But at least the stuff that was wrong with Steve was more within the realm of what a good night’s sleep and some painkillers could go toward fixing.

  
  


“ No, leave him be.” Loki spoke the words like the command they were, but felt terrible for it instantly. 

Stark was Steve’s friend, he wouldn’t harm him. While Loki might not have the same faith in him for himself, that was still true of Steve at least. 

“ Sorry. He-- he used himself as a donor for me, and overtaxed himself. I know this may sound odd but could you… would you check his pulse? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, but he gave me… he put far too much into me, and I’m concerned for him.” He carefully did not say what it was Steve had given; he didn’t want to speak with Stark about his capabilities. Not now. 

He didn’t have the patience. And he was concerned for Steve. 

“ Bruce is doing his best to make him care for himself, but…” Loki bit down on his lip, more for show, for Stark’s sake, than out of actual emotion. “But he’s worried for me, and I understand that, but… he isn’t helping by doing things like this. He may sleep for a day or more. The last time he got as low as I think he may be now is when Thanos pulled the life out of him. His willingness to part with it doesn’t make it better.” He sounded angry, he knew. He hadn’t fully come to terms with the experience, and he needed to talk to Steve about it, but hopefully he could use Steve’s tendency towards martyrdom to guilt Stark into seeing that he had better care taken of him. 

“ He won’t leave me, and I think he should.” He wondered if Stark could keep him away. He didn’t want him to need to, but if Steve wouldn’t listen when Loki told him he couldn’t give more-- if he woke up dead set on doing it again-- then Steve would not be able to be left alone with him. For his own good. Because Loki wouldn’t know until too late what he had done, what he was doing. 

“He needs a real bed, and food beyond what can be brought down in small bowls.” He knew there was a stubborn set to his jaw as he said this. He didn’t care. Stark could think whatever he wanted, think Loki wanted to do something sneaky and didn’t want Steve there-- whatever. He wasn’t going to let Steve keep doing this. And he didn’t think that Banner was the one to ask for help in this matter, as he was interested in the healing and friends enough with Steve to be more willing to listen to his highly impractical side of things. Stark, though, seemed to enjoy arguing with him. This might be better.

 

“ Donor?” Tony raised an eyebrow. Well shit, if they could just use Steve as a blood donor, then he didn’t get what he just spent five hours hacking into SHIELD for a blood sample analysis for. Unless--

He remembered the footage. What was it Steve had said? He could donate energy? Tony had watched the tape of Loki healing that woman twice more after Steve had shown him and Bruce. Once on his own, and once again the other night with Pepper looking over his shoulder, when they were combing through any footage JARVIS had flagged as ‘medically relevant.’ Which was how they’d ended up watching the recording of Steve letting Loki heal up those bruised ribs of his. Weirdly tense, for what it was...

But anyway -- right, blood donation made no sense, and neither did organ donation for the same reasons, so Loki must’ve meant that Steve had done that weird energy transfer thing that he’d done at SHIELD, which was kinda odd. 

The fact that this had Loki asking Tony to  _ check his pulse _ on the other hand, transcended odd and went straight to downright alarming. 

He moved forward and pressed his fingers to Steve’s neck, the skin surprisingly cool under his touch (didn’t Cap always run hot?). After a second, though, he found the steady beat of Steve’s pulse, and even caught the flicker of Steve’s eyes under their lids. He exhaled, straightening up. “Yeah, he’s fine. Just asleep.” But whatever Steve had done was enough to have Loki worried, which made Tony uneasy. He made a note to have the medical staff check in on Steve’s vitals the next time they came around, just in case. 

“ Well, he’s a stubborn ass,” Tony pointed out. “Guy’s got a couple history textbooks’ worth of martyr complex. But...” He sucked on his teeth, looking down at Steve. Which was a slightly more palatable alternative than looking at Loki in his current state. “Not that I’m gonna say this often, but you’ve got a point.” Just because Rogers was a supersoldier didn’t make him a god. And even gods, as they’d discovered that week, were surprisingly breakable. 

“ Jarv? Let me know next time Cap wakes up so I can haul him upstairs and let Pepper do her thing.” Pepper had been mothering him since she got back, which was nice for a bit, but she was in one of those anxious-nervous-hyperactive moods where she needed a project to busy herself with (something they tended to have in common). And if anyone could get Steve to sit down, shut up, and eat something healthy, well... She’d gotten Tony to drink kale shakes, which meant she was capable of just about anything. 

And he could have called it quits right then and left, duty complete, but for some reason, he felt himself rooted by a faint sense of guilt. “Um. You gonna be alright down here by yourself?” Not that Tony cared a hell of a lot about Loki’s happiness, but it seemed cruel to kick the guy while he was down, and what was more, if he had a panic attack down here and Steve got wind of it, he would never ever hear the end of it. 

  
  


The thought was a slightly concerning one, but he shoved down the small alarm where it threatened to build in his chest. He would not truly be alone. Bruce would come down when he could, no doubt, and the medical team here-- well. He would not be able to tell if they did any tests on him that had nothing to do with his healing. Would have no one to tell or talk to if they did… and if they came while he slept, he might never know. 

But then, he doubted any would risk Bruce’s ire, should he find out. Or at least, that was the hope. 

“I will be better alone down here knowing he’s not being careless with his health than I would be if he were here and I had to worry that he might be killing himself by sitting too close. As long as his breathing is even and his pulse regular, though, a few days of sleep and the proper nutrition for his body will have him fully restored.” 

Steve was going to be positively furious. But if he was in Loki’s position, he wouldn’t do any different, Loki was sure. Though he would likely be able to do it without needing to get others to help him. 

“ Don’t forget that he burns through food faster than most humans. No matter what he says, he needs to eat more often than he generally does.” 

And speaking of food, if Steve wasn’t here, there would be no one he trusted to take food from-- which was fine. He could wait a few days for it. His seidhr was not being so taxed, now that some of his body’s processes were restored. He could heal himself incrementally until Steve came back. It would only be a few days. He would not perish in that time from a lack of nutrition. And that would save him, too, from the problem of needing to expel anything he might take in. 

“ When you do take him, though, would you mind setting your voice-- your AI-- to alert me whenever someone enters the room? I am… vulnerable this way, and having some record of who comes and goes will make me feel somewhat better. Besides, not everyone is so kind as you are, when it comes to alerting others of their presence.” He let his lips curve into a small smile as the backhanded insult fell. 

He didn’t chastise Stark for not being here. He would do that to himself enough during the time he would be involved in keeping Steve safe from Loki and his healing process. And putting him in charge of managing what would no doubt be a stern and annoyed Steve was hardly a favor; Loki considered it pay back enough for the lapse in his hospitality and friendship towards Steve. 

  
  


Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, then pulled his hand over his jaw, rubbing at the stubble around his goatee. He’d been having a hard time believing this ‘new Loki’ was for real; a Loki who cared about anyone but himself. But the evidence was piling up to prove his existence; first, with Loki throwing himself in between Bruce and an attacker and getting injured, and now, stressing out over Steve’s health more than his own, when he could easily get himself back on his feet by letting Steve drain himself dry.

Of course, it could be an elaborate set-up. Some insane long con. But as insane as Loki was, he doubted even  _ he _ was nuts enough to get himself made into pudding just to earn a little goodwill.

Which left the idea that this was for real. That everything on the tapes was for real. 

Tony didn’t know if that was better or worse.

“ Right. More food, got it,” He reiterated, proving he was -- mostly -- listening. 

He’d get Jarv to put in an order for a family platter at one of his takeout places. Maybe General Xu’s. Or that pasta place with the gigantic meatballs...

Oh. Speaking of JARVIS -- “J, give an alert in this room anytime someone comes in, would you?”

“ _ Yes, sir.” _

“ Oh, and--” Tony hesitated, turning his attention back to Loki. He had to be going nuts, strapped down and unable to move, only staring at the ceiling. Tony would be doing his best to crawl up the walls in his place, melted Stretch-Armstrong limbs or not. “Do we have any audiobooks or radio dramas on file?”

“ _ Approximately 30,000 volumes, sir.” _

“Seriously?” Tony made an appreciative face. “Not bad. Well, give Loki here access to the entire fiction library, and pipe in whatever he requests.” He looked back over at Loki. Hopefully that would... Aw hell, he didn’t know. Help while away the time while he was regrowing all his bones or whatever. 

  
  


Loki blinked and his face froze, though this time in surprise rather than abject horror. 

“ That is… kind of you.” The words came slowly, as he tried to puzzle out what Stark stood to gain from the gesture. Perhaps it was as close to thanks as he was likely to get, on Bruce’s behalf from Stark. He knew them to be close, and as he had offered Bruce a boon when he had recovered… well, Stark did not trust him so far as to give him anything he might ask. But this would not have occurred to him, so he was glad that it had come anyway. It would help to diffuse the emptiness that lacking Steve would bring. Even for just a few days’ separation, it was more than they had had apart since… for a while. 

“ Thank you.” He considered asking Stark if he had limited the options to fiction because he knew Loki preferred it, or if it was because he feared he might learn ideas from the various dictators their world had seen, but it would be rude to seem ungrateful. And he was, truly, grateful. 

He hoped that came through in his words, startled and begrudging as the thanks might have sounded. 

Perhaps he could take the opportunity to reach out, an olive branch of sorts. 

“ I’m afraid I’ve had very limited exposure to the novels of Midgard. Are there any books you might recommend from your collection?” What he picked might give Loki insight into the man, some. At least more than he had otherwise. Like Steve’s love for Arthur, of the Sword in the Stone, had given insight-- unneeded by then, but insight just the same-- into his character. 

And speaking of Steve… 

“ Also if I may ask one further favor. If you could, before Steve wakes, if the doctors could be convinced to cover my palms with some form of cloth or something… I want to be sure Steve can not do any further damage to himself as a desperate last attempt before you force him out. I realize it is an… unsavory task, but if there are any of your employees you dislike, I am sure it would at least amuse you to imagine them forced to handle…” he flicked his eyes down, almost able to fake his own amusement at the prospect, despite the discomfort he felt about allowing someone to handle him without Steve’s or Bruce’s supervision. 

It was kinder, though, than asking any of Steve’s friends to do it. That much he was certain of. 

  
  


“ Yeah, well. We have them in the databanks, might as well keep you from going bored out of your skull -- you still have all of your skull, right? Yeah? Okay -- So yeah.” Tony shrugged uncomfortably. Loki sounded so damn surprised to be offered pretty much anything, it was almost a little pitiful. And also a little insulting. Tony might be a bit of a jerk on occasion, but he wasn’t the one in this room who went around destroying cities or kicking puppies or anything. Hell, he was a bona fide hero; people weren’t supposed to be surprised when he did the bare minimum to be decent.

Except, he had been doing just the bare minimum, a small voice in his head reminded him. He hadn’t been cruel to Loki while he’d been staying at the tower, but he hadn’t exactly been welcoming. With good reason, of course: Loki was responsible for his remodel, and not in a good way. But, Loki had gone and saved Bruce and probably all those kids in that bus, which for all of Tony’s petulance, he had to admit counted for something. 

“ Uh, not sure. I usually go for the scientific journals when I have reading time, probably not that interesting if you don’t have a background in nuclear physics-- what about Harry Potter?” he said, abruptly remembering the conversation from during the movie. “Jarv, you’ve got Harry Potter, right?”

“ _ In seventeen languages, sir.” _

“ Perfect. Right. Listen to some Harry Potter or some Tolkien. It’s all magic stuff, right up your alley.” Tony waved a hand vaguely, realizing a moment too late that with Loki immobilized, he couldn’t see any of his gestures. 

And it wasn’t Tony’s hands that Loki was worried about, apparently.

Tony looked over at Steve. It would be just like Cap to try to slip Loki some magical juice on his way out, the self-sacrificial ass. Sighing, he nodded. “Yeah, good call. Gimme a minute...” There was one of the wheeled carts with assorted basic medical equipment in the corner, including first aid materials and -- aha! -- bandages. Tony grabbed a thick roll of them and returned over to Loki; Tony Stark, not being an asshole, exhibit A. “All right, starting on your right,” he announced, lifting Loki’s hand -- and pulling a face at the way his wrist seemed disconnected because  _ damn  _ was that creepy -- sliding the roll of bandages around underneath it and slowly draping it around Loki’s palm and fingers, loosely wrapping his hand until it was covered, but not constricted. 

  
  


“ I’ll take it under advisement,” Loki said, partially to hide his surprise and partially because he wasn’t entirely sure how he was meant to be reacting. 

He did see how Stark was reacting, though, the grimace that Steve had always been so careful to keep from appearing on his face, the disgust that had managed not to register there finding itself a comfortable home on Stark’s. And it hurt, not physically, of course-- he couldn’t feel anything and no doubt Stark was being gentle in his work. But still, it was… disgraceful. Being so weak, so… malformed. Disgusting. 

“ I-- really didn’t mean that you should-- I know it’s not--” He bit off the words and swallowed the lump in his throat. It wasn’t for him, he reminded himself. He didn’t have to tell Stark that he was disgusting; he knew. This wasn’t about preserving Loki’s pride or saving him the embarrassment of being handled by others. This was to protect Steve. And he should remember that. 

People would do unpleasant things to protect him. Like manipulating Loki’s body, like helping him to stop Thanos. Like housing Loki and keeping him away from SHIELD. 

For Steve. 

He’d been harder than was necessary on Stark, of course. Because he’d begun taking for granted his help, invisible as it sometimes seemed. 

“ Thank you.” He said, quieter now, because he was closer. “I know you have no special love of me, and I know that you have more reason to hate me than not, but you have been… very kind. All things considered, I did not expect this much, and I know that we-- Steve and I both, have asked for a lot from you, which you have given. You are a good friend to him Stark. I thank you for that.” 

He needed to be kinder to him, needed to try harder. Steve wanted that of him. He’d asked him to be less unkind, to try distancing himself less, to show this man who he was, as opposed to who he had been, who he pretended to be. 

It had been so difficult when he could draw himself up and tuck the soft parts of himself away from view, but now-- Loki felt his lips twitch slightly. Now he was nothing but soft parts. It was hard to hide much of anything at all. 

Save the secret that was not his alone. That he would defend as long as he could. For Steve. Like all of this was. For Steve. 

  
  


Oh hell.

Tony really didn’t go in for the heart-felt thank yous and emotional stuff. Usually when people thanked him as Iron Man, he could snap off a cheesy soundbite and then blast off before it got awkward. Here and now, though, he didn’t have the suit, and therefore didn’t have the option. 

Which left him with rambling to distract himself as his main recourse.

“ Yeah, well, most of the docs went home already,” he explained as he finished wrapping Loki’s right hand. Realizing he didn’t have a way to cut the bandages, he spent a few moments trying to rip through the fabric, only to figure out  _ that  _ wasn’t happening, and that he ought to get some scissors or something from the cart. All the while, he kept talking, hoping that the sound of his own voice would drown out the awkwardness, and occupy his mind more than the way Loki’s eyes were a bit too bright and shiny. 

“ The medical levels here are more Research and Development than actual treatment. A lot of the staff are part-time since they only work here when we have a medical trial going on, I think. I’m not sure, Pepper handles the details with this sort of thing, I just signed off on it back when we were pushing into a bunch of new fields after we shut down weapons development, you know? Communications has been the biggest hit, and agricultural development. Clean energy is sort of a work in progress, but we’ve made some strides in medical R&D. Trick now is gonna be bringing the cost down enough to make it widely accessible to the public...” 

The bandage was cut and the end tucked in securely. One hand down, one to go. The problem now would be getting to the second hand, since Rogers had gone and pressed his cot right up against the side of Loki’s hospital bed, leaving very little room to maneuver. 

“ We could have taken you to a full hospital, but Cap seemed pretty keen on keeping you somewhere more secure. And considering the whole ‘by the way, he’s not human’ conversation that would have to happen if we went that route, this seemed like the better option,” he explained, gripping the end of Steve’s cot and dragging it to the side. Which, damn it, was heavy. He winced as the legs of the cot screeched against the floor, but Rogers merely grunted and shifted a bit, his brow briefly furrowing before smoothing out again in sleep.

With enough room to slip in next to Loki’s left side, Tony squeezed in and began wrapping the second hand, trying hard not to look too much at the surrounding damage. His mind rocketed forward, frantically snatching at any possible topics. “SHIELD knows you’re here, by the way. I mean, not that they’ve said as much; it’s been radio dark from the shady government guys since day one, but Cap was all over the evening news since, you know, the shield isn’t exactly inconspicuous. It’s sort of been a press circus out there. There’s a picture of you too -- some kid snapped a shot on his phone of Cap carrying you out, but your face isn’t showing, so that’s good -- but SHIELD’s gotta have put two and two together.” He circled Loki’s hand methodically, wondering if Loki could even feel it. “But as far as the general public knows, you’re just a civilian that got caught in the crossfire whose medical bill Stark Industries is footing. So no angry mobs or anything. And I’ve had security amped up in case SHIELD tries anything without playing nice, so, um. Don’t worry about it for now,” he added, belatedly realizing that this might not be the most relaxing thing for Loki to think about in his recovery. 

His work completed, he stepped back, fidgeting. “So yeah. Tell JARVIS if you need anything else, and he’ll hook you up or get someone to come lend you a hand. And...” He bit his lip. “Thanks for, you know. Taking a hit for Bruce and all that. Sorry you got made into jello.” Okay, that came out just ringing with sincerity. Tony winced. 

Which was when Steve conveniently rolled over a bit on his cot with a groan. “St’rk?” he mumbled sleepily. 

“ Aaaand I think that’s my cue,” Tony announced, moving over to Steve’s bedside. “Hey, Rogers. How you doing?”

“ Mmmmph.” Steve opened his eyes, taking a few second to find Tony with a glassy stare. “Howard?”

Tony’s grin grew strained at the edges. “Sure, close enough. Hey, I need your help with something upstairs, mind coming with me and giving me a hand?”

He turned back toward Loki and winked, hoping the guy was able to see it. 

“ How’rd... There’s a train line... twelve klicks north o’ here...” Steve slurred, too out of it to resist (but also too out of it to  _ help _ ) as Tony manhandled him to his feet and hauled him toward the door, determined to get Steve upstairs and in Pepper’s care before he woke up enough to protest.

  
  


Loki thought he was probably glad he didn’t know what jello was, because it smacked of being a mental image he would not banish, otherwise. Plus, with the way Stark flinched at his own words, it was probably not the kindest thing he had ever said. 

Loki held his silence as Steve woke and was wrestled to his feet. He seemed not to realize where he was or… more importantly,  _ when _ he was. He spoke to a different man than the one who carried him now into the hall, and Loki all but held his breath until he couldn’t see or hear either of them any more. 

He knew he should feel glad. Steve was going to go upstairs and be given proper care, eat and sleep and have his arm checked out and be kept away from draining himself unnecessarily. 

But… he was  _ so  _ confused about what was going on. Loki grimaced, imagining what he would think when he did finally wake up. 

And Loki wouldn’t be there for it. Hadn’t been, really, since they arrived at the tower, but now it actually mattered. Now it mattered and Loki wasn’t there. Wouldn’t be there when he woke up feeling like he’d time jumped again. 

He bit down on his lip and felt the familiar bubbling sensation at the top of his throat. 

He didn’t want to cry. There was no actual privacy for it, he knew, and he had the feeling that the wrenching motions in his chest would hurt more than the paltry emotional pain he felt now. He just needed to relax. To close his eyes and try to sleep. He knew when he woke up, things would feel better, he’d feel less useless and less… 

He breathed out hard. 

Stark had sidestepped his thanks, and that smarted a little. Stung. 

He wondered if Stark thought he was not worth receiving thanks from, if his words held no weight because of who he was. It would be a fair notion, he thought. Fair, though difficult to overcome. 

And Steve was going to be so angry. At Stark, most likely, until he told him he’d been removed at Loki’s request. And then he would be upset in a whole new way… Loki would have begun shaking if he had muscles, as images of the coming confrontation ran through his head. And he couldn’t even look at him. Couldn’t stop him from unwrapping the bandages and draining himself dry, if he wanted. 

And SHIELD knew where they were, and SHIELD had not said anything yet, had not shown up… why? What were they waiting for? Had they washed their hands of the entire affair? But no, this was SHIELD and they controlled everything. They needed that control. So why were they not moving now, while Loki was disabled and Steve was… well not that they knew he was drained, and he wouldn’t be for long, but… 

The worries circled and dove, like birds of prey taking their turns attacking their dinner.    
But eventually, despite the unquiet of his mind, he did manage to get to sleep. 

 


	30. Thirty

When Steve woke, he blinked in confusion, trying to remember where he was and how he’d got there. 

It took two seconds to spot his shield in the corner, his bag on the chair, and the familiar clothes on his body. It took three to recognize Stark’s guest room. All this confirmed he was in the 21st century, and that he hadn’t lost time. 

Which was reassuring, only something was missing. It nagged at the back of Steve’s mind. Loki? No, Loki would be right across the hall in his room. Steve frowned, sitting up.

The sling his splinted arm lay in thudded against his chest.

His breathing hitched. Loki was  _ not  _ in his room. 

The events of the attack in the park and everything that followed came rushing in, leaving Steve frozen in horror. Loki was broken and battered, and Steve hadn’t left his side. Except... He looked around at the guest room that was  _ not  _ Loki’s sickroom, contained no Loki, and which Steve had no memory of arriving in.

His heart thrummed like a hummingbird, breathing catching in tight, painful wheezes. Someone had taken Steve from Loki. He didn’t remember how or why-- was-- had Loki died? Had Steve been moved here because Loki hadn’t been able to heal? He recalled the sound of choking, hacking, gasping, wet in Loki’s recently re-made lungs... 

Oh God.

Steve bolted to his feet, ignoring the rush of blood from his head, and staggered to the door. He yanked on the handle, only to find it firmly shut. He pulled more, rattling the knob in its place, but the door remained firmly closed.

No, no no no no...

“ JARVIS?” Steve demanded, voice cracking. “Open this door, now!”

“ _ I am afraid, Captain Rogers, that I have counter orders that supercede your request. You are to remain in a quiet environment until your condition is re-assessed.” _

“ DAMMIT!” Steve swore, slamming a fist down on the door. He breathed raggedly, letting his forehead thunk against the wood. “JARVIS? Is... is Loki...?”

“ _ Mister Loki is in a stable condition, at present, and is listening to an audiobook. You were removed from his quarters and returned to your own at his insistence, for your own well being.” _

Slowly, painfully slowly, Steve’s chest unclenched and his breathing began to ease. Loki was alive and-- admittedly, probably not  _ well,  _ but not  _ dead _ , which was the important thing. But relief gave way to anger, because this should have been his call to make. Not that he could be too angry at Loki -- after all, Steve had gone against what he wanted in donating too much krellr -- but Bruce and Tony had to be complicit, and he could damn well hold a grudge against them.

A knock came at the door, and Steve tensed automatically, taking a few steps back. The door opened and the angry protest he had ready died on his lips, when it wasn’t Banner or Stark on the other side, but a tall, slim woman with straight, strawberry-blonde hair. She smiled at him gently. “Hello Captain Rogers. JARVIS told me you’d finally woke up. I don’t know if we’ve ever been formally introduced, I’m--”

“ \--Pepper Potts,” Steve said. “Yeah, I’ve, uh, I’ve seen you on the news. How long was I out for?”

Ms. Potts continued to smile, but worry lined her expression. “It’s been about nineteen hours since Tony brought you up.”

“ Nineteen--?” Steve gaped, then grabbed the door to open it wider. “If you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I need to--”

She moved to block his way. “No.”

“ I’m sorry?”

“ No,” she repeated, firmly. “You’re not excused, and the only place you’re going to is the kitchen, since your blood sugar levels are way too low for you to be doing anything else just yet. Understood?”

His mouth snapped shut, jaw clenching for a few seconds. “When can I go down to Medical?”

Ms. Potts’ expression softened slightly. “Once you’ve had a full meal and given Bruce a chance to look you over. Dr. Ortega sent up a memo that she wants to check on your arm this afternoon, if you’re up for it.”

He nodded stiffly. That was... not too long. And now that food had been mentioned, his stomach rumbled. He found himself wondering if Loki had eaten. Or if Loki even had a stomach at the moment...?

“ Lead the way, Ms. Potts,” he said, shoulders slumping in concession. 

She smiled, stepping aside. “Please. It’s just Pepper. Now, how do you feel about mashed potatoes...?”

  
  


\----

  
  


It wound up being several hours before Steve made it in to see Loki. After being all but force-fed enough food for a whole unit, and then accidentally falling back asleep on the couch while he waited for Bruce and being allowed to nap for a whole hour, he’d been cleared for a visit downstairs -- on the condition that he didn’t overexert himself. The doctors ambushed him right out of the elevator though, dragging him in for more x-rays and to adjust the wrappings on his arm -- which they assured him was healing up a treat, and that at this rate, he could start up with mobility exercises within a week. 

He cared very little about mobility exercises, though. Not when Loki had been abandoned for a solid 24 hours. 

Finally, they cut him loose, and he made a beeline for Loki’s room. A small chiming sound rang out from the speakers as he stepped in, but he ignored it as he crossed briskly over to the bed. 

“Loki...” The word was full of anger and frustration and worry and affection all at once. 

  
  


After the first couple of times that doctors had come in, Loki had finally given up and tried talking to JARVIS himself. He’d convinced him to stop anything Loki was listening to, so that he didn’t miss anything and the doctors didn’t have to speak over it, and he’d convinced him that it might seem odd, introducing each person by name each time they walked in and out the door. 

Especially when Dr. Cameron had had to make six trips to carry in the various items needed to sanitize the dialysis machine between pulls of his blood. It had begun to sound like some of the more abrasive music they had scrolled through on the radio. Even in a voice created to be soothing and cultured sounding. 

“Steve.” He tried to make his voice warm, but there was so much lingering apprehension. He’d expected him to be gone for another day at least. 

“ How-- ah--” He would be fidgeting now if he could, he knew. “How are you feeling?” He hadn’t had a chance to check Steve’s krellr levels before he left, and now that he was back, Loki was almost afraid to let him get close enough that he could do so.

He could see him from the corner of his eye, and he could feel the way his body was straining towards him-- he wanted to roll, to turn his head and respond to him, to reach out. He couldn’t do any of those things, and he couldn’t keep him safe. 

The feeling of being useless, of being dangerous, returned to him, and he huffed. 

“ When you’re recovered, when you feel better… Steve we need to have a talk. And I am not going to take any more krellr from you until that happens. If you try, I will have Jarvis call Stark and Bruce down here faster than you can unwrap the bandages.” He tried to sound stern, but he knew he failed at it. His concern overwrote some of his control, until all he sounded like was someone who was whining. 

He was ill equipped to argue and he was even less equipped to stop Steve from doing whatever he wanted. But he was meant to be able to trust him. He shouldn’t have to experience this fear. 

His seidhr was strong within him for the moment, more of it left each day, after the parts keeping him alive had ebbed. He felt about as good as he could, possibly, in his current state. But not good enough to fight with Steve. He didn’t know that he ever felt well enough for that.

  
  


At first, Steve felt a flash of irritation. “I’m better, but I panicked when I woke up this morning without knowing-- I didn’t know how I got there or where you were or if you were even still alive,” he pointed out bitterly, remembering the crippling panic that had seized him. 

How could Loki ask him not to help? To force him to be this useless? It wasn’t fair, he thought, but at that moment, his gaze fell on the bandages. 

For a second he feared that Loki had sustained fresh injuries in some capacity, without Steve here to guard over him. But then the words sunk in, and with them, realization. Loki’s hands weren’t bandaged because Steve hadn’t been there, but because of what he’d done when he had.

To keep him from touching Loki and giving any more krellr. 

The anger he felt flared out, like a flame cut off from air. He’d been upset at feeling helpless, watching his partner weakened and hurt -- but then he’d gone and put Loki through the same. Loki, who was paralyzed and couldn’t even see the world around him, who was in a hostile world and who had told Steve to  _ stop-- _

He abruptly dropped into the chair next to the bed, feeling sick. “I...” He put his head in his hands for a moment. “I’m sorry. Loki, I... I just wanted to help. I won’t--” He took a deep shuddering breath.

“Are you... did it help?” he asked weakly.

  
  


He could hear the distress in Steve’s voice, heard the furniture he slumped into creak at the mistreatment, but he couldn’t see his face any more. That made it easier, somehow. 

“ I was able to rebuild the majority of my internal organs with it, yes… but Steve. Steve that was so much. Too much.” He knew he sounded plaintive. He didn’t care. 

“ You can’t possibly remember what you looked like when I pulled you away from the sceptre, how-- how close I came to losing you before I ever had you. And that was bad enough when-- when it was my fault because I didn’t tell you not to do something. When you finished giving me your krellr, I… I had to use it. I had to use it before it healed the wrong thing, I had to heal myself knowing that you might be in the same state I found you in that time, right beside me, because of me, and there was nothing I could do!” His words were heated, but he stopped and dropped to a whisper. 

“ Imagine if you had died Steve. Imagine if you gave too much, and you couldn’t recover, and you died, laying less than a foot from me. And all I could do was listen to it happening.” He could feel the tears breaking free of his eyes, the same tears he’d been able to hold back before, because he hadn’t let himself even think about that. But saying it…

“ And then-- and then when Stark took you out of here, you were so far gone from me, Steve, you didn’t know where you were you… you kept calling him Howard, and you didn’t even see me. I was terrified that you... “ he stopped and took a deep breath. 

“I don’t want you doing that again. I wouldn’t tell you no unless I had a good reason, right? I need you to trust me. Please. I know it’s not easy, always, and I know I’ve done things in the past where I don’t deserve it, but… but I need you to believe me. I want to be well as much as you want me well, but I don’t want to hurt you in the process.”

  
  


Steve felt sick with guilt. He might not have had any idea what he looked like after Thanos had got to him, but he would never be able to scour out of his mind how Loki had looked after he’d been hit with a shockwave powerful enough to shatter stone into rubble. Nor how Loki looked after, (and still), lying in the hospital bed, unable to move his body save for the involuntary rise and fall of his chest. He remembered it clearly, and probably always would. Like Erskine getting shot, or Bucky falling, it’d be etched into his nightmares.

He would have done anything to fix it.

It was funny then, in a horrible-and-not-funny-at-all sort of way, that the very reason he’d done it -- the horror of seeing a loved one potentially dying while he watched helplessly -- was the reason Loki was furious with him for it. He’d eased Loki’s anguish, but had traded him his own in return. 

“ It wasn’t because of you,” he said quietly. “It was my choice. But I realize... I realize it wasn’t wholly my choice to make. And I’m sorry.” He hung his head. “I didn’t mean for it to be so much. But I only regret it because I know I upset you. Not because I helped you.” He glanced up, shifting a bit closer. “But I’m fine now, Loki. I was a little tired and a out of it, but I’m okay. And you needed it a hell of a lot more than me. You still do,” he pointed out. Loki was looking a bit more solid in the torso region, but he had a long way to go. 

He sighed. “That said, I promise I won’t give you any today beyond what you’re comfortable with.” He carefully avoided saying he would never do it again -- because if Loki was ever hurt that badly again and Steve could give him enough krellr to pull through, he’d do it in a heartbeat -- but he hoped it would be enough to placate him for now. 

He reached out to brush a loose curl of hair behind Loki’s ear, but stopped with his hand hovering in between them. “Is it-- can I touch you?” he asked softly. “I won’t try to make a tide.”

  
  


“ None today.” Loki supplied quickly and insistently. “That much krellr-- I want you to understand, a lesser man than you would not be standing here. I honestly expected you to sleep for as much as another full day before even waking, let alone being able to stand. And that isn’t an invitation for you to repeat the experiment… that, Steve, that’s the sort of dangerous thing… you  _ can’t do that. _ We can move slowly. I’m here, I am not-- heh, I am not going anywhere. I will get better, but I need you around to do that. Both for your krellr and for my… my everything, Steve. My peace of mind. My heart. The last time I thought you were dead, I gave up. I can’t afford to do that now. I know I’m.” He swallowed. He didn’t need to start down that path again. “You can’t give me any krellr today, or tomorrow. I’ll take a look at you after that. But you can’t give me any again until I know you won’t suffer from giving it, okay?” He had to make sure Steve knew. “I need you around, Steve. And I don’t mean down here with me all the time, either. How long has it been since you have seen sunshine?” The words were a little acidic. “Don’t make decisions that aren’t just yours. That’s all I ask.” 

He looked up at the hand hovering over him, feeling starved for it, but he could only smile a little sadly. 

“You don’t have to touch me, you know. I-- I know what I am now is… well, I thought I was monstrous and disgusting before, but.” He swallowed, feeling his throat tightening. “If I could keep you from seeing me this way I would have, but you don’t have to touch me if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t blame you in the least.”

He couldn’t forget Stark’s face, the distaste that he’d caused. How could Steve even look at him with care, now?

  
  


“ I thought nobody but me could donate krellr like that, though,” Steve pointed out. “And, look... I... I screwed up. I’m sorry. But that’s no reason to shut down on it.” He ran his lower lip between his teeth. “If we do it more often, in smaller amounts, I’ll be able to practice. I’ll be careful and learn where the limit is, so this doesn’t happen again, right?” He didn’t want Loki to reject all help from Steve out of fear that Steve could come to harm. Not when it was the only thing besides Loki’s magic and the dialysis machine that they currently had at their disposal to help Loki. “Today -- none today, okay, agreed,” he allowed, though he didn’t like it. Because right now, Loki’s peace of mind was important, and as much as Steve wanted to prioritize fixing his partner’s body, he had to allow for the security of his heart and mind as well. “Tomorrow, though, you take a look at me and we’ll  _ both  _ decide.”

Just as it wasn’t Steve’s place to make choices entirely on Loki’s behalf, it wasn’t Loki’s place to make them entirely on Steve’s after all. 

His eyes widened though as Loki sadly told him he didn’t have to touch him. As if it was some act of pity; some chore.

“Hey, none of that talk now,” he said, pulling his chair closer. “You’re none of those things. Ever. Okay?” To illustrate it he ran a hand over Loki’s face, cupping his cheek. “I don’t need sunshine when I’ve got you,” he added with a soft smile, then pressed a light kiss to Loki’s forehead. “I don’t just like you for your good looks, you know.”

  
  


Loki felt laughter bubbling upwards through the fresh threat of tears, and managed to sputter out a surprised chuckle before the pressure of it on his insides made him stop. 

“ That’s… fortunate for the both of us.” He wheezed, wishing he could do more than blink the wetness in his eyes back. Steve was here and with him, and they were talking about it, and he didn’t need to… to turn music on so Loki couldn’t talk, or to run to a bathroom. He was listening now, and he was so sweet and kind and good… His hand was warm against Loki’s face and his lips were so gentle, so careful, like he was afraid to hurt him any further. 

“ Nobody but you can donate krellr, but you need time to regain it. And we  _ will _ go slower when we start again. If you want to give me some everyday, it will have to be less than you did the first time. I need it in small amounts, that I can control. Especially now that-- well, the big portion is done. It’s bones now, muscles, veins… nerves.” He shuddered at the last, not sure he wanted to feel any of this. “And the skin,” he added as an afterthought. 

“I want to know that you are completely fit, better, and taken care of before we start again, and even pumped full of my seidhr, it took you a full day. The only reason I don’t want to check tomorrow is to save myself some of the energy, when I know you won’t be ready.” 

If he could have reached up to touch Steve… what he wouldn’t give now for one arm that worked, one hand that didn’t wobble when you grasped it. 

“I know you want me well. I just want you well, too.” 

  
  


“ I feel perfectly okay,” Steve insisted. “Really. I slept for nearly an entire day, and Tony and Bruce and Pepper made sure I ate enough to feed a small army. Even my arm is healing up fine, honest.” Loki had enough to worry about without Steve’s ailments, fictional though they might be, plaguing his mind. And he hated to think that in trying to speed things up and help Loki, he may have delayed his recovery further. He stroked Loki’s brow. “Please. I can be tired and wobbly for a few days if it means I can get you back sooner. I’m not going to drop dead if we’re careful and do it in increments, and even if I’m a little sick and a little out of it, that’s worth it to me.”

Normally Steve could be a reasonably patient man. But right now, he couldn’t stand the idea of Loki staying in this condition a day longer than necessary.

“ Anyway,” he said with a sigh. “Think about it. We can talk tomorrow; if I feel back at a hundred percent, will you at least consider it?” He truly believed Loki had overestimated the damage Steve had done to himself and underestimated his rate of healing. 

And the sooner Loki was healthy and whole, the sooner they could get out of this hellish limbo and... and  _ live.  _ They could go outside and Loki could wear his suit and they could take the train to Brooklyn, or go uptown to the Met, and maybe go to the library and see about getting Steve a library card so he could take books out for Loki--

Books. Steve smiled, remembering; he reached into the inner lining of his jacket and pulled out a rectangular object. “Oh. So, I may have stopped by your room before coming down here,” he said, opening the paperback from the used book store to the page Loki had dog-eared, flipping through the pages so he could hear the rustle of paper. “I thought maybe I could read aloud to you. If you want.”

  
  


“ Perhaps if I feel up to checking the condition of your krellr, we may have this talk.” Loki said, giving in a little. “But if I say no, you must promise me you will listen. It isn’t just your health Steve, but the demands of having so much to heal… my body only has so much in it, before I am exhausted, and I become so tired, so quickly, krellr or no.” Loki peered up at him, owlish and amused. 

“ Is it not enough that I will recover, in the time it takes me to? Most would not, you know. Without you it could be… years, really. We are so very lucky. And yes, I abhor this bed, this ceiling, this room… but it is far better than so many alternatives.” He pursed his lips and twitched his eyebrow upwards, about the full extent of his abilities in expression. 

“But until then, if you want to read to me, I would like that. Very much. You should start at the beginning, though, that we might share it. By the time we’ve caught up to where I left off, it will be surprising to us both. I cannot promise a good ending, but…” He trailed off. 

“But you’ll stop when your voice gets tired.” He instructed sternly. 

  
  


Steve looked down, abashed. He hadn’t realized... of course, healing would take Loki’s energy as well as his. He’d been acting obtuse.

“ I can see about getting you moved back upstairs,” he said carefully. “Once you’re... well, once you’re a little more stable and the doctors think it’s okay.” Steve would sleep easier in the bed upstairs if Loki was right across the hall, where he could shout for Steve if need be. And the setting would be less sterile than the converted lab. If nothing else, it would give Loki a change of scenery as he healed. 

And yes, Steve knew they were lucky that Loki could heal, that Loki had survived at all. But it didn’t feel lucky that this had happened in the first place. Not after everything they’d been through. 

He almost protested that he could start from where Loki had left off, but bit his tongue at the last moment. He’d argued enough, and if Loki didn’t mind hearing the story from the beginning, then Steve would read to him from wherever he wanted. Hopefully, it would be a distraction for them both.

He flipped back to the beginning, to the page labeled Prologue, cleared his throat and began to read.

“He sat on the floor before the hearth with his knees against his chin, the flames at his back, and warily watched his father’s face. His own face was in shadow, and though the April night was too warm for him to be so close to the fire, he did not move away...”

  
  


\---

  
  


When he pulled his eyes deeper, seeing as his true body would, he was surprised, and almost too stubborn to admit that he had been wrong. 

But he had promised not to lie. 

“ Your krellr is strong and full.” He said, almost begrudgingly. “And if you want to give some of it to me-- just a bit-- I think no harm would be done by it.” He closed his eyes, and though it took more work than usual to see as he usually did, he was glad he was able to change it back. 

As much as he disliked the bland starkness of the place, he did not consider the red tinted version of it to be any great improvement. 

He had already seen and spoken to Doctor Ortega-- a surprisingly young woman, for the deep and husky sound of her voice, not the face he had expected at all-- and together they had discussed what would be needed before he could move. 

His blood had been cleaned over a process of several days, the majority of the questionable or unwanted contents drained out, and a bit of it removed and disposed of, under Bruce’s watchful eye, so that no testing could take place, but the excess would not cause complications while Loki began the final stretches of his healing. 

“I need to reform my spine, shoulder blades, and collarbone, before I can be moved upstairs.” He told Steve calmly. “But that does not all have to happen at once, if either you or I feel it is too much.”

He knew that he hoped it would not be too much, at least as much as Steve did, but he also knew better than to voice it, lest Steve push harder than he might be comfortable with.

He had let him read, the familiar words and familiar voice and tones all the comfort he had found necessary to sleep, perhaps more deeply than he had since Steve had scraped him off of the field of the park and carried him back here. 

And now he felt… if not prepared for the task ahead of him, at least like he could handle it. With Steve’s help, if he was willing to listen. 

“What we have done so far is hard pushes of a lot of power, and that was fine given that I had a lot to mend, and it was low in my body. But now what I need is a small, steady trickle of energy, that I may first spill it across my upper back, and then down my spine. I think… it might be worth, if we can, having you spend a few moments on one side, then moving to the other, back and forth, for a more even distribution across the sides of me. Since I can’t direct it very well, the two streams should meet in the middle and then move downwards, with little urging.” 

Plus, having him move from side to side would guarantee that he break contact to do so, for at least long enough that Loki could tell him to stop if need be. 

“ Just… remember that you are very strong, and this is a reparation that requires a good amount of precision.” He cautioned. 

They needed to move slowly, not even so much for his own health or his ability to rebuild, but because he needed to regain the trust in both Steve and himself that he would require to be able to turn his attentions inward. He could not allow himself to take in more than Steve should give, and he was not entirely convinced Steve wouldn’t try to push more into him than he should take. 

 

Steve nodded. 

He’d been elated when Loki had grudgingly admitted that his energy was at full levels, after Steve insisted he look because he’d woken up feeling completely back to himself. He’d tamped down on his joy, however, trying to keep up a face of somber attentiveness as Loki spoke. He wanted Loki to know he was listening, and that he wouldn’t screw up this time. He could be trusted.

Trust, after all, was one of the keystones that made this whole thing between them work. He wouldn’t violate that again. And if things went well today, even if he had to hold back, then tomorrow Loki might be amenable to him giving a little more.

“ Precise, small and steady trickle, alternating sides,” he repeated. “You say go, I’ll start. You say stop, and I’ll stop. So just say the word.” He smiled and gave Loki’s fingers a small squeeze, despite the fact that Loki couldn’t feel them. Then, on a whim, leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Loki’s temple. “I’ll try to do better at following orders than I usually do.”

It was just the two of them this time; Bruce was upstairs, helping Tony and Dr. Ortega install the equipment in Loki’s room that his move would necessitate. Now that he had a functioning digestive system, there’d been talk of putting Loki on some IVs and a catheter, as well as keeping him on dialysis for a little longer to keep stress off his newly-formed kidneys. So they were all moving the furniture around and getting things hooked up, while Steve had the less laborious but no less intensive task of helping Loki heal.

He slid his arm under Loki’s -- this time on Loki’s left, which made for a bit of a harder angle, with Steve sitting on the bed and leaning over to get his good arm under Loki’s --lining up their forearms until Loki’s fingertips rested inside Steve’s elbow. 

“Ready when you are.”

  
  


Loki took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

“ Alright. Slow, slow, and no more than a few inches of movement.” he instructed, trying to focus enough to be able to feel it, despite the fact that he hadn’t rebuilt those parts of his arm yet. 

He was tempted, to be sure, but he knew how important it was to play by the healers’ rules. 

Scant moments after he felt the krellr touching his seidhr that he had caused to pool in his shoulder, he clicked his tongue against his teeth. 

“ Alright enough, the other side--” He gave Steve plenty of time to move, focusing instead on pulling what he could of the shattered bones and the bits around them together, and letting the krellr coat over it and linger there, rushing in tiny eddies over the bone, strengthening and thickening it, healing the fractures… rebuilding. 

He opened his eyes, to see Steve in position on his other side, while he regained the definition on his back, lifting him off the table a bit, leaning him towards where Steve was now. 

“ And again, go slowly…” He waited and let the trickle come, this time letting it go a moment or two longer before cutting it off. 

“ Give me a moment, I need to-- you can come back around now.” He said, his words distracted into almost an after thought. This side formed quicker still, with the additional krellr, and what was left over he devoted to connecting the collarbones to their anchor points. 

“ Okay, again here, slowly, and then you can stay on this side, and the last time will be the spine, one last pull after this, slightly larger, but small for now, okay?” There was some pain involved in the process of regrowing bones, as the material around them was rearranged and pushed aside, and he could feel and hear the sounds of the part scraping against one another or other matter that lingered, and it was… unpleasant, to put it lightly. 

With a little more work, it was on its way. And then came the real test, of the both of them. 

“Alright Steve. Just a little left now-- are you feeling alright? Do you-- we can stop if you don’t have it in you. And I want you to really think. We are at a good point for stopping. I would not think less of you for it.”

  
  


Steve felt the warm, runny feeling tingling under his skin a moment after he began to move, but he breathed in and tried to think of holding it, as if by will alone he could restrain it from accelerating into a stream, keeping it at a trickle. It seemed like only a second had passed when Loki told his to stop, but stop he did all the same, obediently letting go and moving to the other side, following each of Loki’s instructions. 

Loki’s shoulders began to form, the lines of his collarbones coming together like a balloon inflating into place beneath the skin. The familiar contours of Loki’s throat and the hollow at the base of it were now visible, yet another small step back toward Loki’s old self. 

He moved back, holding on a little longer this time, wishing he could hold for more but still releasing Loki’s arm the moment he told him to. He paused to think and to check in with his own body. He felt a little tired, but no more than if he’d done a mild workout. Certainly not like he was going to fall off his feet. All the pulls were mild, and he’d eaten and slept more in the past two days than he had in any of the days preceding. “I’m doing good,” he answered honestly, moving to the other side. “I’m definitely good for one more. Just tell me when.”  
  
“ Alright.” He didn’t put any of the scepticism he felt into the word, just simple acceptance. It was fine; if Steve over taxed himself, it still wouldn’t be as bad as the other day, and he would be the one more annoyed by the need to wait before performing any further healing. 

Perfectly fine. 

He swallowed and tried to nod before remembering he couldn’t. 

“ Okay, one solid push, and stop as soon as you’ve managed it-- not too much, but more than before, if you can.” 

Loki could feel the warmth flowing into him, and he sent the pool of it rolling down his spine, building and forming, tightening it before it ran on to the next notch, the next vertebra. It was odd, there was feeling returning, and he felt himself gaining the form he’d been lacking-- he hadn’t realized how low to the bed he’d been laying until he took on a real shape and lifted up. 

There was a solid sounding thunk when his shoulders and ribs, neck, skull, collarbones and finally pelvis attached, and the core of him was, by and large, reconstructed. 

He took in a deep breath, for the first time experiencing no pain from the process.

“ I think… we’ve done it.” He said shortly, feeling oddly exuberant despite how his words came out in panted pieces. 

If not for the splints, the ties and the pins, he would be able to lift his head now, look at Steve, follow his movements around the room. His quality of life had just taken a drastic improvement, and he couldn’t help but grin about it. 

He was tired though, worn out from the effort and concentration. His seidhr was running low again, and he could hardly wait for it to be back up. It would only be a few more such days, and then… then he could hold Steve again. Touch him and check him over, heal his trifling broken arm and then… see to those who had done this to him in the first place. 

But he was getting ahead of himself. 

Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep. 

“How are you feeling now, Steve? Sit if you need to, I know you’re here. That is enough.” The smile still curved his lips upwards, and he felt certain that he had not gone too far, that Steve had not, and that everything was fine. 

  
  


He was getting more control over it. Maybe. It felt like he was, but that could just be that he was growing more accustomed to the sensation, and his mind was playing tricks on him with the rest. But between the movements and the mental effort that may or may not have actually done anything, Steve felt more attuned to the flow of energy leaving his body. So when Loki asked for one last push, it came easily, running down his arm and into Loki’s like water pouring from a vessel. 

The faintly-audible sounds of Loki’s body reforming and snapping bits into place would have been gruesome in nearly any other circumstance, but at this point, after everything he’d seen the past few days, it was practically music to Steve’s ears. It was working. 

Loki’s panted words confirmed it, and Steve beamed. He let go of Loki’s hand and reached up to brush a knuckle against his cheek. He sat down in the chair beside Loki’s bed. “I’m okay. Little tired,” he admitted, knowing Loki would worry less if he felt Steve was being honest, “little cold too, but nothing some hot food and a nap won’t fix.” He’d allow the others to mother him and then head to bed early, for Loki’s sake if nothing else. 

“ _ Captain Rogers?” _

Steve looked up out of habit, despite knowing JARVIS wasn’t actually in the ceiling. “Yeah?”

“ _ Doctors Banner and Ortega would like to notify you that they are prepared to move Mister Loki whenever you are both ready.” _

Steve looked over at Loki. He looked exhausted, but it would be much easier to move him like this, with enough of his bones regrown that they didn’t have to worry about damaging his brand new insides when they picked him up. “How about it? Ready for a change of scenery?”

  
  


Loki let his eyes droop. 

“ I could do with that to be sure, so long as they don’t expect much of me in the process. I’ve a feeling I won’t be awake much longer. Bones. Takes it out of you, putting them back in.” He smiled wanly. 

“ If I sleep, just move me. They can poke and prod or take more scans-- photos-- or plug me back into their blood machine. Don’t let them do more than that. I want to talk to them, when I come around again, about what’s to happen next.” 

At least he had the presence of mind to give instructions, slow and hazy as they were. 

“And you please eat something. And have that nap.” Loki smiled, his eyes sliding shut further as his lids grew heavier. 

“Not long now, a few more days… we could nap together, if your friend Stark wasn’t so… nosy.” It was meant to be an insult, but even his sleepiness could not hide the yearning behind it. 

“ I cannot wait, Steve. A few days’ time and I will be able… to touch you again.” He was mumbling now, and he knew it. He closed his eyes the rest of the way and relaxed.

He was asleep, the sort of weariness that meant he was asleep but still awake, vaguely aware, like a child being lifted from his mother’s lap and into his own bed. 

He could feel the movement of his being transported, and there was still some pain, but for the most part, he was too tired and too borderline comfortable to care. He hadn’t realized what a relief it would be to breathe without hurting, but now that he could, he intended to take advantage of it by breathing deeply and evenly. 

The movement stopped, and he was laid back down, but it was softer this time. Less stiff. It felt good against the tender and sore skin of his back, and he could tell the splints were still on, in his half asleep daze, because he did not loll, or roll, or sag into the bed as he might otherwise. 

He was aware of voices around him, but he did not really register what it was they were saying.

No matter; he doubted it was anything important. After all, what could be more important than… than falling deeper into sleep, until he was aware of nothing more…?

  
  


Steve decided as they moved Loki, that it was probably for the best he’d dropped off. Though the fresh bones in his torso made it easier to life him and transfer him to the gurney with Bruce and the doctors’ help, his arms and legs still flopped awkwardly; if Loki had managed to regrow any nerves capable of feeling discomfort, then it was definitely for the best that he was out cold.

It was a bit of an ordeal getting the gurney in the elevator and down the hall again, but eventually they got Loki situated in an actual bed, with pillows carefully propped around him and the softest blanket Steve could find draped up to chest height. Dr. Ortega set to work reconnecting him to dialysis; she wanted to put in the IV and catheter, but Steve convinced her to wait until Loki had been consulted. Eventually she departed, and it was just Bruce, Steve, and a deeply sleeping Loki.

“ You should probably go get some shut-eye too. You’re looking a little peaky,” Bruce said.

Steve shrugged. “In a little bit.” He pulled the book back out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the nightstand. 

“ Sleep or food. Now. Pick one.”

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

Bruce folded his arms, though the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth ruined the seriousness of the image. “Seriously. Now come on-- he’s right across the hall now.”

Grudgingly, he nodded. “Okay, I’ll nap. Wake me up when dinner’s ready?”

Bruce agreed, and Steve sunk into the mattress of his own bed moments later, asleep the minute his head hit the pillow.

  
  


\--- 

  
  


Being upstairs for the remainder of his healing did help. Because he knew that Steve could walk away, knew that he could rest and get food and still be within hearing distance. 

Healing went slowly and then in large dashes, fast enough that they did not strain themselves, and slowly enough that by the time the splints could be removed, Loki was glad to be rid of them. 

Being able to move his head, to be propped up, to turn his face away or look down at his own body if he chose (though he often did not) was exhilarating. 

His legs he healed first, bones, then muscles, then skin, then nerves, so that once he was whole from the waist down, there was no pain but for his stomach, left empty out of pride and rejection of all of the sanitation systems offered by the Midgardian medical professionals. 

The best of his healing, though, was at the end of it, when he could take Steve’s hand again, close his fingers around it and feel it. That, more than anything, told him that he was alright. That they would be alright. 

Once he was, as far as the krellr was concerned, whole by and large, he was confined to a wheelchair by the doctors, until he had eaten and they had checked over his muscles to be certain he wouldn’t damage himself by standing and moving about. 

He was loathe to be seen in the contraption, but it did have its upsides; it was one Stark had made, which meant that it was faster than any chair bound person should find necessary, and it had enough power and the turning radius was such that Loki could (and did) chase Stark around the coffee table with it with relative ease. 

He’d only stopped because Pepper had… not even asked, but expressed her disapproval. He liked her a good deal more than he had thought he would like someone who was connected to Stark romantically, and she had immediately joined ranks with Banner on the side of logical, kind, well behaved people.

And so as his state of invalidity drew to a close, the lack of pain and his extending ability to remain awake left him with his thoughts more and more. And his worries increased the longer he dwelled on them. 

But it was tempered with the time he spent with Steve, which, it seemed, none would question for so long as he remained at least somewhat incapacitated. Which meant Loki was happy to extend it as long as he could, before he had to go back to being denied the little touches, the soft words and the long hours they spent together, now taking turns reading to one another. 

But he knew nothing could last forever, particularly not here, and he was scheduled to meet the doctors on the morrow for a final (he was certain; everyone else hoped) consultation. He was well enough, now. 

And so he clung to Steve’s hand, certain that he would lose the privilege soon, and tucked his finger between pages to preserve their spot. 

“ Has there been any word at all from SHIELD?” He asked, well aware that it was a non sequitur to their story, and utterly uncaring of the fact. It had worried him more and more of late, and he wondered if the information had been denied him because of his condition, or if it was truly as quiet as it seemed. Both options were equally unsettling, in his mind. 

And he would have to face it sooner than later.

  
  


Steve opened his eyes. He’d been lying on the bed beside Loki, drifting as he listened to him read, half-listening to the story (the other half of his mind focusing solely on the low, melodic quality of Loki’s voice, which managed to be sharp and satin smooth at the same time). But the question had jarred him from the scene in his head of far off lands and from reflections on Loki’s voice alike, and he propped himself up on his elbows (his healed arm having been freed from the splint several days ago).

“ Not that I’m aware of,” he replied, frowning faintly. He almost asked Loki where that line of thought had come from, but the truth was he knew the answer. Even if nothing had seemed to provoke it in that very moment, the question of SHIELD had been hovering over their heads for weeks now. Steve had been putting it out of his mind as best he could, refraining from asking. The reason there was twofold; first, there was little he could do without leaving Loki’s side, and secondly, he knew he had a terrible poker face -- if he got new information to agonize over, Loki would know something was off the moment Steve walked in, and then Loki would have more to stress over in addition to his recovery. Steve hadn’t wanted to add anything more to their list of problems, so he’d been content to wait and let SHIELD be a matter for a later date.

But a later date had come, and with Loki on the verge of being back on his feet, they had no reason to evade the issue.

The fact that SHIELD hadn’t turned up was the most disconcerting stroke of good luck Steve had ever had. For the first few days after the park, he’d expected them to turn up at any time. Even in the weeks that followed, there was a chance that JARVIS would pipe up to announce the presence of men in uniform in the Tower lobby. But rather than storming in or taking advantage of their injuries to bring them in, SHIELD had held off. 

It was nerve-wracking. But, Steve tried to feel optimistic. If SHIELD was holding off and hadn’t attacked, then they didn’t consider Loki an imminent threat. And while he didn’t always agree with Fury’s methods, he couldn’t deny the man was smart as hell. It could be that they now believed Steve wasn’t under Loki’s control; that they were in a place where they would be willing to listen. Loki had said back in the hotel, when Steve had melted down following their escape from DC, that this schism would be temporary. They needed SHIELD back on their side to fight Thanos after all.

Maybe there was hope for that now?

“Bruce, I think, was going to reach out to Romanoff. He hasn’t said anything to me about it, so I don’t know if he succeeded or how it’s going,” he added. “But I think that they’re giving us time is a good sign.” 

  
  


“ Hmm.” He agreed, mind whirring. “Do you suppose that time is for honorable reasons, not wishing to take their enemy-- by which I mean me, not you-- while he’s down? Or do you suppose it is so that Stark alone must bear the brunt of my treatment?” 

In reality he didn’t think either of those things was likely to be true. If they had waited, they had their own reasons for doing so. Perhaps hoping that the Avengers would see to Loki so that they did not have to, or waiting for them to tire of his caustic personality, and throw him out into the world, defenseless, or better still, for him to be handed back to them, calmly and already subdued by their best. 

No, none of that seemed likely to happen. So how had they not realized by now?

“ I appreciate not being forced to perform any sort of trick of evasion while I have been recovering, but I cannot say the silence makes me easy. Still, if it is Bruce handling communication, I have utmost faith in his abilities as a go-between. And he would have told us had things taken any sort of newsworthy turn, I am sure.” The words were not a question, but his tone was very much so. 

He liked Bruce. Trusted him, even. But… his trust was a difficult thing to keep, once won, and if Bruce had had a change of heart about him-- Steve said that Bruce knew, but Bruce had not said anything to Loki. Could it be that his acceptance only ran to one of them? 

Loki found himself pressing his lips together, surprised to feel anger at the prospect, when in the past he had so often only felt sadness, defeat, and his own acceptance that such treatment was what he deserved. But this wasn’t just him. This was Steve, too. Loki could ignore it, shrug it off, take in the hurt and just add it to his collection. Steve, though… Steve was vulnerable in this area. 

It made his reach out and run a hand down the side of his partner’s face. 

“ You know that no matter the turn out, I will be at your side, right?” He asked, offering reassurance while seeking his own. If it had to be, it could be them against the world, them against the Titan, and Loki would keep them safe until they fell. Until he fell. He would not lose Steve so easily as all this. 

Though, he remembered, he did have unfinished business. He set his mind to churning on that score, but brought his focus, his attentions, back to the man in front of him. 

_ Beautiful _ , he thought but did not say, for fear of Stark’s robots watching. He gave Steve a tiny smile, basking in the closeness. 

  
  


Steve shook his head. “We don’t really... I don’t think Honor has the same value and strength as a concept here than it does in Asgard. At least not anymore.” He frowned. He’d always tried to fight fair and do right by folks, but the chivalry and honor of the knights in the storybooks he’d read proved to be just the stuff of storybooks. Even when he’d been confident that they were fighting on the right side... they’d done things he hadn’t been proud of. Done things that had been necessary. He wondered how much of that Loki realized. “SHIELD is an intelligence organization. They operate through subterfuge. If they wanted to take us out, they wouldn’t flinch at doing it when you were laid out. The fact that they haven’t...”

He stared at the far wall contemplatively. “I think they’re waiting for us to make a move,” he stated. “What happened in the park -- you saved lives. Alongside the Avengers. That goes against everything they think they know about you -- most of which is wrong, by the way -- so they’re holding off until we do more to let them figure us out and what we’re planning. Just that we came to Stark and Banner probably threw them for a loop.” He didn’t add that SHIELD likely considered Stark Tower one of the safest places to leave Loki, while Bruce inhabited it, since the Hulk was one of the few entities they knew could take him out far more effectively than any SHIELD strike team. 

And speaking of Bruce: “He may just not have heard back from Natasha yet. If she’s out in the field, it could be a while. She’s not exactly the easiest person to get in touch with,” he said with a shrug. “Bruce is on our side. Hell, I think Tony’s even warmed up to you. They’ll let us know as soon as there’s something worth knowing.” 

After the past couple of weeks, he felt far more certainty in those words than he might have before. Bruce had proven to be a true and dedicated friend, and despite his lack of formal medical qualifications, had pointedly kept tabs on both Steve and Loki’s health as Loki recuperated. Stark was still a tad brusque, but didn’t flinch nearly so much. He’d procured a wheelchair for Loki with no prompting, and the simple act of introducing Loki to Pepper -- who Tony had confided in Steve one night, over several glasses of scotch (all drunk by Tony), was the single most treasured thing in his life -- spoke volumes of increased trust. 

Loki was beginning to fit in. The friendships were still new and tender and fragile, just like Loki’s bones, but the framework was there. The animosity had dissipated. 

Steve smiled, tilting his head into Loki’s touch.  _ I know.  _ He reached up and caught Loki’s hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “JARVIS?”

“ _ Yes, Captain?” _

“ Off the record, please. Until further notice.”

Steve waited only for a single beat of silence, then leaned in and pressed his lips to Loki’s.

  
  


He leaned into the contact, grateful for it as he had learned he should be, during any of the times when Steve saw fit to take them out from under Stark’s ever watchful eye. 

But he worried, too, that such an action might mean he had more to say. That keeping them off record might mean he knew or wanted to ask something harder. Something that his friends should not overhear. 

So when their lips parted, after the kiss had run its course, he pulled away with some hesitance behind it, disinclined to move from something so sweet as this into the realm of something so unpleasant as any further conversation on the subject of their future might be. 

“ Was there something more?” He looked the short distance into Steve’s eyes, his own half lidded and his face relaxed, “or did you merely need to touch me, now that I can return the favor?” He asked it salaciously, pushing all of the hunger he felt for Steve’s touch into his words. 

His own hands were itching to reach out, to stroke and take and pull his Steve to him. But he did not want to presume… and especially not so soon after he had been little more appealing than field carrion, he did not want to push Steve into accepting him wholeheartedly back into his arms before the image of himself as bruised and rotting flesh could be fully taken from his mind. 

And before that, before even the fight and the injury and the time spent recovering from the pain, there had been the wall. 

They had not yet spoken of it, had not discussed how Steve felt, knowing that the man he held, the man he had nursed through his hurts, the man who read to him, was responsible for the deaths of so many, so many innocents. Of course he knew, had always known-- but seeing them together, being confronted with the fact that Loki could stand before such a memorial, as all the names on it no longer could… 

He did not let his feelings travel to his face. These things were too unpleasant and the moment too precious to waste on such sad thoughts. 

“I have missed this.” He whispered instead, basking in the warmth off of Steve’s skin and the smell of him. 

  
  


“ Mmm,” Steve hummed in agreement. He’d missed this too. Being able to touch Loki and having Loki feel it, beyond just stroking his hair and face. That, and being able to hold him without fear of shifting shattered bones and causing him harm. He’d felt horribly guilty all those times he’d wished he could hold Loki, knowing that if he did, he’d risk hurting him further. But come morning, Loki would have a completely clean bill of health and clearance to walk around on his own two feet. 

And right now, Loki looked beautiful, relaxed on the bed beside him, lips rosy from being kissed. 

He propped himself up, rolling over so he was leaning over Loki. “Well, I was thinking. We oughta celebrate. You’re feeling better, you’re whole and healthy again, and, well, seeing as you’ve got your sense of touch back--” He smiled, the expression straddling the line between sheepish and impish; the grin of a man who knew he was misbehaving, and only felt slightly repentant. 

“I reckon we should test it out and make sure everything works right,” he said, leaning in and whispering the words against Loki’s ear. “You know. For science and all.” He brushed a kiss to Loki’s earlobe, then nuzzled at his neck. 

  
  


Loki felt the shiver build and blossom over his body, tilting his head and leaning into the pressure of Steve’s face against his skin. 

“ Oh really?” He purred. “For science? What did you have in mind?” 

He had more energy, and perhaps he was not necessarily energetic, but the idea of spending some time with Steve, a slow, languid dance of skin upon skin and sweat rolling between them… it was more than Loki could have hoped for when he woke that day. 

He was glad to be as certain of Steve’s playfulness as he was, or he might have grown concerned that Steve really did care, primarily, about whether or not Loki was fully functioning. That said, he was more than happy to demonstrate that his krellr had been put to good use, and that Loki was as hale as any lover could wish. 

“Would you like me to pull us together? Would you like me to stretch out above you, to curl in close and grind us against one another until we are both shaking and straining to come?” He licked his lips. “Would you like me to take you into my mouth, swallow you to the hilt and let you stroke yourself through my neck?” His eyes glittered with mischief. “There are so many forms that science may take, Steve. I am hard pressed to think of one I would prefer above the others.” He smirked, incredibly glad that this was their focus now, and not more violence, and fear, and fighting. This was far better, far more satisfying, than even an answer from SHIELD was bound to be.

  
  


Steve inhaled sharply, the sound of Loki’s voice sending tendrils of arousal coiling hotly through his abdomen. Each mental image that his words conjured was... Well, damn. He closed his eyes briefly, then leaned in and kissed Loki deeply, swiping his tongue along the inside of Loki’s lip before pulling back.

“ That all sounds great,” he breathed, “but  _ you  _ are supposed to be taking it easy. I’m not going to be responsible for you overexerting yourself and straining something. So--” he continued before Loki could object or think that Steve was being an unkind tease, “what I’d like is for you to lay back and let me do all the work here, all right?” He smiled, sliding a hand down Loki’s chest to his side, down to his hip and the waistband of his pants. 

Loki had been hurting for so long. Right now Steve just wanted him to feel good again. To be happy in his body, and not suffering in it. 

He leaned back in and kissed Loki’s throat, his fingers slipping under Loki’s shirt and sliding upward along his ribs, lightly massaging his chest. Steve moved to straddle Loki’s thigh so he was nearly directly over him, lowering himself enough that his own leg rubbed up between Loki’s when he moved while still making sure to support his own weight. “I’m so glad I have you back,” he murmured, “that you’re okay.” He tugged at Loki’s shirt, exposing the edge of a newly-formed collarbone that he christened with a kiss. 

  
  


Loki let his smile play at the edges of his eyes, tugging the corner of his lips upward while Steve began taking control of the situation. 

He knew he was not nearly so delicate as he had been even a few short days prior, but he still felt it, a little. And Steve’s gentleness was exactly right, exactly what he needed and what he would have asked for had he tried to put it into words. 

He felt so coddled, and despite having just lived as a coddled partial being for weeks, he could not bring himself to object to it. 

“ I never truly left you, you know.” Loki informed him, seriously. “I would not. Not you. You’re far too precious for me to lose so easily.” He brought both of his arms up, one to drape across Steve’s shoulder and the other to card through his hair, anchoring him.

“I cannot tell you how often these few weeks I have wished I could touch you-- wished I could feel when you touched me.” 

Steve’s shifting set his leg against Loki’s cock and he could feel the way his body responded to even those lightest of touches. 

“Now I feel everything so much more acutely.” He told him, words and voice soft. 

  
  


“ I’m sorry,” Steve said, reveling at the feeling of Loki touching his hair, recalling the wonderful scalp massage he’d received during his haircut when they’d first arrived. “We’ll just have... to make up... for those weeks.... with interest,” he said, punctuating every few words with a kiss up Loki’s throat and jaw until he reaching his mouth. 

Moving upward slightly caused his leg to drag against Loki’s groin, and he smiled at the fact that Loki was physically responding. Not that Steve had doubted that Loki would heal himself thoroughly and everything would be working, but it was good to know that his affections were garnering the desired reaction. 

His hand on Loki’s chest slid back down and caught the hem of his shirt, working it upward and exposing his partner’s skin. There were very faint traces of bruising lingering in handful of places -- almost invisible unless you’d known they were there -- but Loki otherwise looked as he had before the incident. 

A thought crossed Steve’s mind, and he hesitated, pausing in his ministrations and pulling away from the kiss. “You... you know that even if I couldn’t give krellr and you had to heal the long way ‘round, I’d still be here, right? We’d have made it work. I wouldn’t have gone anywhere either.” He needed to make sure Loki knew that Steve’s feelings for him hadn’t flickered in the slightest; that they weren’t contingent on Loki’s body in any way.

  
  


“ Sweet Captain, if I had had to heal the long way, the human way, I would have wanted you to leave… not in a permanent way, but… Do you remember, when we were at SHIELD, and you asked, if you went away, that I would continue eating?” He had, or at least had tried; surely that counted for something. It made him feel less bad about what he was asking, though, remembering that he had been asked to try. This was no more than that, really. Steve could hardly take offense. 

“ Much the same, if for whatever reason, I cannot take care of myself, I ask that you at least care for you as I would, during that time. Sleeping on that little bed, eating too little, too rarely… No matter what happens to me, I do not want that.” He felt his mouth settling into a line, quirked with displeasure, and it was so contrary to the feelings low in his stomach that he really didn’t know how to put things right, to direct them back on the path they’d been on. 

But he wanted back onto it desperately. 

“ You need not be by my side constantly, no matter my condition, Steve. Save when my condition is aroused, then… then I would much rather have you near. Like now.” He tried employing a lopsided, rakish grin. 

“Now, I want you as close to me as possible. Atop me, beneath me… inside of me, one day. But for now… mm, I trust you. I want you. I want anything you want to give me.” He bucked upwards against Steve’s thigh, pressing his point.

  
  


Steve didn’t like the idea, didn’t want to think of abandoning Loki while he was paralyzed and alone -- but he also didn’t want to get in an argument about it now, especially when Loki  _ had  _ healed, making it a moot point. 

Not to mention, there were far more enjoyable things demanding his attention.

“ Not leaving you,” he breathed petulantly, pecking Loki’s forehead with a kiss, “ _ but,  _ I can take care of the other thing...”

He sat up enough to gently take hold of both of Loki’s arms and maneuver them over his head, so he could pull Loki’s shirt off completely. Freeing him from the fabric, Steve promptly did the same with his own shirt, so he could feel the warmth of skin on skin. Lowering himself back down, he nuzzled the hollow of Loki’s throat, then began to slowly inch downward, trailing kisses down Loki’s chest. He took a few moments to flick and circle his tongue around each of Loki’s nipples, until they were rosy and pert, before continuing downward, kissing Loki’s stomach even as he felt his partner’s hardness pressing against his own belly. 

He traced the edges of Loki’s stomach muscles with his lips, then looked up and smiled. “How’s that so far?”

  
  


“ Good,” Loki told him, unsure when his eyes had slipped closed, but he opened them, looking down the planes of his own body to see Steve. There was something so intensely arousing about the angle of it all, about watching him pleasure Loki. It sent a hot spike of possessiveness through him, and he let out a shuddering breath. 

“ So good, Steve.”

He swallowed hard and took in a breath. 

“ You’re so gentle. I feel so… treasured.” He smiled softly. “It has been so long since I felt so near to being worshipped as this.” 

He brushed his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone, then eyed where his chin hovered, pointing down between Loki’s legs. He hummed a little, wondering if Steve intended what Loki thought he might. His imagined image of Steve’s plush pink lips wrapped around him rose back to the forefront of his mind, and he felt a flush travel across his face, down his neck, and spill across the top of his chest. 

“What are you planning to do down there, sweet boy?” He couldn’t keep his hands away, brushing his fingers against the short hair above Steve’s ear, teasing its texture up against its growth. He hoped, but he didn’t dare put voice to it, lest he push Steve too fast, or somewhere he was unwilling to go. 

  
  


Steve smiled.  _ Treasured,  _ Loki had said _ ; Good _ , Steve thought. He wanted Loki to feel that way -- to know he was adored. Though a small and sarcastic part of his mind questioned if this didn’t make him a heretic, worshipping another god than the one he ought to be paying worship to. 

He let his eyes flutter briefly shut as Loki’s hand stroked over his cheek and through his hair. He was fairly sure he could feel Loki’s cock swelling where the seam of his pants pressed against the front of Steve’s chest. And when Loki called him  ‘ _ sweet boy’  _ \-- hell if he knew why, but Steve gave a shiver, a tingle running from this scalp where Loki’s fingers scritched through the hair on the side of his head, down his spine, pooling in his groin and making his own cock swell and twitch. He opened his eyes, found Loki’s gaze, and let his mouth quirk in a coy little grin.

He slid down further, dragging a trail of kisses from Loki’s belly button to the waist of his trousers. Slipping his fingers underneath the band, Steve began to work them down, tugging the clothing inch by inch until Loki’s cock slipped free. 

Heart hammering in his chest, Steve quickly pulled Loki’s pants the rest of the way off, leaving him bare and beautiful on the bedspread. Crouching down between his legs, Steve pressed a kiss to his knee, lighting running his fingertips up and down the outsides of his thighs before kissing the soft flesh on the inside, a trail of kisses slowly leading him upward until he hovered over Loki’s groin, where he licked his lips in slightly nervous anticipation. 

  
  


Oh Norns, yes. 

He swallowed, fighting down his feeling of being exposed. Steve had seen him so much worse, and Steve was being so gentle and sweet, and his attention now really should be-- should. 

His mouth went dry with the first brush of Steve’s lips over his thigh, the skin there so sensitive, the blood pulsing close to the surface, making every touch register more sharply. 

“ Oh Steve,” It was a groan, and he made no pretense of being better capable of speech than that. “You can’t imagine how beautiful you look like that, all the things I would love to do, right now.” 

It was difficult not to reach down, to fondle himself, to stop the teasing that the Captain was doing and take himself in hand. But that felt too crude, too impertinent. Especially since he was there, since he was so close now. He couldn’t stop-- he couldn’t-- 

Loki cleared his throat. 

“ You know, you don’t-- if you don’t want to, if you don’t like it, it’s okay. You don’t have to, if you don’t like it.” 

He knew cock could be an acquired taste. It certainly had been for him, but he’d had more to gain in learning to manipulate both the feelings he caused and his own taste buds, his own gag reflex. Steve, on the other hand, was motivated only by his lust and his urge to care for Loki. Which did nothing but make it better still for Loki, and as unrewarding as possible for Steve. 

And Loki knew he hadn’t tried it yet, and he was anxious for him to do so, but he didn’t want Steve to feel trapped into it. 

  
  


Steve looked up at Loki, blushing and smiling at his praise and the lust in his voice. The groan did things to him, and for a moment his brain stuttered, almost forgetting what he was doing. Loki looked so handsome, so perfect, stretched out above him, pale and long and lovely. He wanted to make him feel so good -- so happy, like he deserved to feel...

He nipped at the skin in the divet below Loki’s hipbone, pausing in his ever-closer teasing as Loki cleared his throat. “I want to,” he swore. “And...” he grinned cheekily, “how will I know if I like it or not without trying?” Loki had seemed to enjoy it well enough after all, when he’d done the same for Steve, and Steve desperately wanted for Loki to feel the pleasure Steve had experienced. Desperately wanted to be the one to give that to him. 

He wrapped a hand loosely around the base of Loki’s cock, then lapped gently at the underside of the head. The smell and taste were earthy, musky -- the part of Loki that smelled of leather and sweat. Experimentally, he lowered his head slightly, licking a long stripe up the underside, tracing the thick vein there with his tongue. 

“ You’re so handsome, you know that?” his voice was rough, and he could feel himself hardening in his pants -- but now was not the time for his own pleasure. All of this was to be about Loki. 

Not waiting for a reply, Steve took the head of Loki’s cock into his mouth and sucked. 

The taste was... well, it wasn’t great. He managed to keep from pulling a face, not wanting to hurt Loki’s feelings. From the way he’d talked, it sounded like divine nectar or something, but the flavor of the precome beading at the slit when Steve swiped his tongue over it was salty and slightly bitter. Not offensively so, but... perhaps an acquired taste. He could stomach it though; for Loki. 

  
  


Loki’s eyes wanted to flutter shut, from the heat and the wetness of Steve’s mouth alone. He didn’t let them though, too enraptured by the sight to blink, let alone close his eyes and miss it all. 

Steve was new to this, inexperienced but eager, and it showed. It made Loki grin, both enjoying the experimenting of his partner, and already picturing the process of helping him find his way. 

Steve’s tongue was stiff, more used to being used to taste food than living flesh, and the drag of it across the head of Loki’s dick stood in stark contrast to the gentle handling he’d had up until now. It didn’t hurt; far from it, but it did show Steve’s lack of knowledge, his utter inability to pretend at this. 

Loki felt like he was about to receive the most honest oral ministration of his life. 

“I am going to put a hand on the back of your head,” He explained to him, speaking before he moved. “This is not to hold you to me, and I want you to back off as often or much as you need. But your neck can get sore, and this tends to help.” 

And saying so would help him, too, because if he knew Steve, and by now he felt that he did, then he knew he would remember it, and make a point of returning the favor the next time their roles were reversed. 

It was hard to keep a clear mind, though, erotic as the spread before him was. 

With the free hand not currently tangling in the small hairs at the nape of Steve’s neck, Loki grabbed at the pillows and stuffed them under himself, propping his neck upwards that he might see without having to hold his head up. 

“Tell me, Steve… would it help if I tell you what you are doing to me, what it feels like? Or would that be too torturous? I know that you are hard. I don’t want to cause you any… discomfort.” 

  
  


Steve listened as Loki explained what he was about to do, and swirled his tongue around the head of Loki’s cock, trying to find that spot under the head that he’d hit with his thumb when he’d gotten Loki off with his hand in the inn. The sensation of Loki’s hand on the back of his head was reassuring and comforting -- he knew Loki well enough that he had no doubts as to his safety. Loki wouldn’t try to push him down or hurt him in any way. He trusted in this completely. 

He let Loki’s cock-head slip from his lips, licking the saliva away as he looked up at him. “What... whatever you want,” he said. It would  _ definitely  _ be torturous, hearing Loki’s velvety voice narrating, and he wasn’t sure whether it would be amazing or too much or both. But more important was how Loki would feel. “If it... if you like it, I want you to do it. Do whatever makes it good, okay? If it’s distracting for you, then... just make sure you tell me if I can make it better, yeah?” 

He remembered, for the most part, what Loki had done. His recall was good, and his ability to replicate maneuvers in combat training would hopefully carry over to a different set of muscle memories. He remembered the incredible heat of Loki’s mouth and throat as he’d taken Steve down to the root, the pressure as he’d swallowed, muscles constricting...

Loki being propped up on the pillows gave Steve a good view; it let him see how Loki’s pupils were blown wide, his hair slightly mussed. 

Steve wanted to take him apart. 

He put his mouth back down, ignoring the taste, sucking on the head for a moment, and then began to push down. Two inches... three...

Steve’s eyes began to water. He’d only taken a portion of Loki’s length, but he couldn’t breathe, and Loki’s tip was pressing on his gag reflex. He tried to fight it and take more. He wanted to give this -- to have his nose press against the dark thatch of hair at the base of Loki’s cock, to swallow him and give back everything in return that Loki had done. He wanted--

Oh God, he was going to be sick.

He pulled off, coughing and sputtering, drawing in deep gasps of hair. The tip bounced off his chin, leaving a string of spittle and precome dripping down his face. “Sorry,” he choked, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I-- I’m sorry, here, lemme try again--” Before he could look up and see the disappointment on Loki’s face, he plunged forward, trying again, hoping that this time he could get it right--

  
  


Alarm bloomed in his chest, and he inhaled sharply, the experience something he wouldn’t ever try to replicate but-- too tight, and the fluttering of Steve’s throat at his head when he tried to force it down-- it would have felt good, if not for the emotions welling in him at the sight. 

“ St-steve stop.” He moved his hand to pull at Steve’s hair, more worried that he would damage his throat than he was about the short lived pain that he was doubtless causing him at the back of his head. He put his hands on either side of Steve’s head and lifted him further, trying to haul Steve upwards along his body, trying to bring him closer to his face so that he could look him in the eye.

His brows furrowed and he frowned, concerned. 

“ Are you okay?” He took a deep breath. “I don’t care how… how sexy you think it is, or how… you were  _ hurting yourself _ .” He was angry, now that the scared part of him was fading, angry and worried. Why? Steve had never shown any interest in that sort of bed play before. And when he hadn’t been able to do it, he’d  _ apologized _ , like-- like--

Like he thought it was what he was supposed to be doing. Like he thought Loki expected it of him. 

Looking at him now, his face red, his eyes filled with tears, this man who was more precious to him than any throne, any realm, all Loki could do was feel like he had wronged him. He swallowed hard. 

“Steve? You know that… you know you don’t have to do that, right? It takes practice, I’m not expecting you-- and you shouldn’t expect yourself-- to be able to swallow me down. That’s--” he shook his head, listening to Steve’s breaths. “You’re good for me, just you. You don’t have to hurt yourself for me. I don’t want you to do that.”

  
  


Steve had begun to choke a second time in spite of his efforts, when Loki yanked him back, his cock falling from his lips with a wet sound. Steve looked up, chest heaving for breath, and didn’t resist as Loki pulled him upward, unsure of what he’d done wrong. Had he really been that terrible? Oh hell, he had, hadn’t he? Loki looked upset--

Steve frowned, confused, as he reamed him out. He reached up to tentatively wipe the spit and the tears that had managed to slip from his watering eyes away, feeling... feeling rotten. He’d screwed up. He’d tried to make Loki feel good, and instead he’d done  _ this.  _ Loki looked worried and angry and upset and Steve had just gone and wrecked everything.

“‘ M sorry,” he mumbled. “I just... you did it for me. I wanted to do it for you.” It was fair, right? How could he accept something like that from Loki when he couldn’t reciprocate in kind? He felt a rising bubble of frustration; it had been a long time since his body had failed him at something others had done with ease, but the prickling shame was all too familiar. He looked down and swallowed, his throat aching a bit with the motion. 

“ You... deserve everything. I want to give you everything.” He ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it out of his face with a pained chuckle. “Which I guess is a little ironic since I apparently don’t know how to do  _ anything.” _ He was bitter, he knew, and he ought to keep a lid on it for Loki’s sake. But it rankled. He hadn’t been able to save Loki; hadn’t been able to heal him right off; and now he couldn’t even do  _ this _ for him. 

  
  


“Steve, no.” He wasn’t angry now, only sad. Steve shouldn’t feel this way about himself, why-- 

“ Steve, I don’t.” He stopped, trying to find the words, and having a hard time of it. 

He swiped his thumb over his chin, drying the skin further.

“ You don’t have to give me everything. You  _ are _ everything. Knowing that I have you, knowing that you are with me, that you care for me, that we can be together and that-- Steve, you have seen me look the furthest thing possible from a person and you have stayed by me, you know my sins and you do not run-- what is there, in any realm, that you think you could give me that would surpass that?” 

He leaned in, shifting until he could press a chaste kiss to Steve’s mouth. 

“ Anything you do not know how to do, I will show you, I will teach you, if you let me. If I can. But these things take time. And I do not want you harming yourself to bring me pleasure. Or for any other reason, ever, save if you discover small forms of harm that you like. And then that… would be another talk.” He shook his head again. 

He didn’t know if Steve would want to try any further today, or even if he should let him try again. He felt wretched for having led Steve to believe this was something he… he  _ owed _ Loki. 

“ My partner, my sweet Captain… Do you know it took me nearly an entire mortal lifetime to learn how to take a man into my throat with ease? I’ve no doubt you will learn faster than I, but it is not… Slow, is how you learn; carefully. Not like that, not with violence-- and that was violent. You were using me to hurt yourself, despite your intents. And I appreciate what you were trying to do. But… I leave it up to you. I want you, I always will, and I want however you are comfortable allowing me to have you. If you want to try again, we can. If you want to wait and try it some other time, later, that is also acceptable. Or…” Loki said slowly as a new idea dawned. 

“Or you can relax for a bit, hold me and let me hold you, and then, once your throat has ceased to burn and your eyes to water, once your heart has evened back to a calm beat, you can take your pants off, and we can take one another in our mouths, and I will show you what to do, and you can try that way. And I will not swallow you down. I will show you how to experience and give pleasure, with just your hands, your tongue, and mouth. If using your throat is something you wish to do, I will help you do it. But not, I think, today.” He felt his eyes darting across Steve’s face, trying to find if any hurt remained, if there were still things that he needed to make better in his heart, in his mind.

  
  


Steve looked down and away at first, feeling useless and ashamed. He’d messed up, killed the mood, and now Loki sounded goddamn  _ heartbroken  _ about it. He nearly flinched from the light touch on his chin, unable to conceive of deserving it when he’d failed rather miserably. 

But then Loki kept talking. And incrementally, Steve let himself relax, the knot in his chest beginning to unwind enough that he could accept the kiss, and even lightly return it. Knowing how long it took Loki to be able to take Steve the way he had helped; it was reassuring to know that it wasn’t just something he  _ should _ have been able to do, which marked him as the pitifully rank amateur that he was, and that Loki wouldn’t be disappointed in him or get bored when the novelty of Steve’s inexperience wore off. 

The offer of tutelage was... was also good. Nice. Steve had liked it when Loki had given him instructions before, and as much as he wanted to be able to surprise him, to impress him, he found himself craving the security of Loki just telling him what to do. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Loki pleasuring him simultaneously -- that sounded a little on the acrobatic side, and all he’d wanted was for Loki to lie back and be taken care of. Though now they’d somehow flipped things so Loki was taking care of him and nursing his bruised ego with kind words. The swell of affection and... and  _ love  _ Steve felt for him in that moment was so strong it ached. 

Carefully, he rolled off of Loki, dropping to the mattress beside him so he could lie there and wrap Loki up in his arms, burying his face in his partner’s hair. “I’d like to try again,” he said, muffled. “In a few minutes. Just... tell me what to do?” He ran a hand up and down Loki’s back, lightly touching the smooth, warm skin, no longer blemished by black bruising and bed sores. 

  
  


"In a few minutes," he agreed easily. "Relax for a bit. You've been hard on yourself."

He stroked his palm over Steve's hair, smoothing out where he'd mussed it. 

"I'm sorry I... Didn't mean to get angry at you. Or make you feel badly. It is only that I worry for you. You have been so quick to sacrifice your comfort, your health, for my well being, my... simple pleasure. I would ask you not to, but you would find it hard, I think. I think it is part of you, as much as the things I do that disquiet you are part of me." He made a small moue with his lips, glad that Steve could not see. He let his voice rumble lowly and held his partner to him, as glad of his closeness as he had been at the prospect of his pleasure.

"I would ask only that you are aware of how it concerns me when you do so. Selflessness is a kind of good I cannot say I will ever be truly comfortable with."  He gave Steve a rueful smile. 

"But even so afflicted with selfless tendencies, I find you perfect. You know that, don't you? You needn't doubt, but if you do... Only let me prove to you that your doubts are unfounded. I adore you, Captain." He did not let his fingers still as he spoke, soothing and teasing. 

"How are you feeling?" He asked then. "You didn't... Hurt yourself too badly, did you?" 

  
  


Steve shook his head. “I’m not hurt,” he assured Loki. He’d been winded and his throat was a bit uncomfortable still, but that would pass soon enough. “Mostly just embarrassed,” he admitted. Drooling, choking, retching and crying had not been on the list of things he considered sexy and wanted to do while going down on his partner. Pretty much the opposite. 

But the feeling of Loki’s body pressed against him, warm and safe and speaking words of care and affection, helped to soothe everything. If Loki felt treasured, then the feeling was mutual. The amount of concern and kindness Loki displayed with Steve in the bedroom when they were both at their most vulnerable always astounded him, and he couldn’t remember how he had ever once hated Loki or thought him cruel and evil. 

Loki’s warmth against him also served to remind him of what he’d started, before it had all gone pear-shaped. Because Loki was here -- naked and beautiful and smelling faintly of musk and sweat, overlaid with the crisp and clean smell of shampoo and soap from the bathroom. It was a good smell, and Steve breathed it in deeply, his heart rate back to its regular slow rhythm.

After long seconds had passed where they simply held one another, he leaned in and caught Loki’s lips in long, sweet kiss. When they parted, he gently pulled away, sliding down and positioning himself over Loki, hovering at a point where his chin was a few inches above the base of his partner’s sternum. “I think I’d like to try again,” he said. 

  
  


“ Don’t feel embarrassed.” Loki told him, trying to keep from letting his partner from attributing only negative emotions to his first attempt. “You were doing very well until you thought your throat worked like my pocket.” He winked at him, to show that he was joking. “When you held me and were just flicking your tongue over me, oh, Steve. You’ve no idea how good that felt.” His moan was partially exaggerated, but not by much.  He gave Steve a final squeeze, just to be sure his point got across before he let him go, let him move around some.

“ You’re ready to try again, hmm?” Loki asked, eyes sparkling as he warmed to the idea. Not that he took much convincing. He was still hard; his cock remembered the feeling of Steve’s mouth on him. 

“ And have you thought about what, exactly, you would like to do? You won’t try swallowing me again this time, I hope. But do you want me to show you, or tell you, or guide you at all? Or if you just want to explore, want me to lay back and let you have your way, I will, if you will only promise not to force yourself into anything.”

This was different, attempting to allow Steve to lead but waiting to step in and guide him through it. It was exciting, too, because Loki could show him exactly what he liked, teach him how it best pleased him. There were selfish reasons for him to want to be in bed with Steve, nearly all of them were selfish, in fact, save those that wanted him not to have bad times with his first experiences of this nature. 

Loki kept a hand on the side of Steve’s face, though he felt his breath on his neck, and it brought shivers up his spine. 

His face, his lips, his eyes-- so trusting and kind and so blown out with lust, and still bright from his recent tears… Loki did not think he had ever wanted anyone in his life more than he wanted Steve right at that moment.

“This is your show Steve, I won’t take that from you. But tell me what you prefer. I promise, no matter what you choose, it’s going to be good for me. And one way or another, you’re going to be spilling, too, before we’re done.” 

  
  


Steve was deeply relieved to find Loki hard -- either because his erection hadn’t fully flagged, or because he’d recovered it quickly. Either way, the tangible evidence of Loki’s continued physical interest was reassuring. He could feel it against his lower abdomen, and rocked his body gently against Loki’s to create friction. 

This was his show, Loki said --  but Steve didn’t quite know what he was doing. Or at least, he was hit and miss. He knew some things for sure, obviously: the trick with the twist, fondling the scrotum, the fact Loki enjoyed occasional nips and scratches... But his confidence was still shaken from the failed swallowing attempt, and while he didn’t want to task Loki with walking Steve through his own pleasure-- 

“ A little guidance would certainly not go unappreciated,” he said, sliding slowly downward, feeling the slight drag of Loki’s cock slipping against his chest between their bodies. He positioned himself back between Loki’s legs, reaching up to cup his balls and gently roll them in his hand, pressing feather-light kisses to the sensitive skin there as he carefully massaged them. 

He listened for the sounds Loki made, felt for the slight quivers in his body that would indicate that Steve was doing it well. Tilting his head to the side, he kissed the silky-soft flesh of Loki’s inner thigh, then sucked at it -- not quite hard enough to bruise (he’d seen Loki bruised enough for one lifetime), but definitely enough to tease where the skin was highly sensitive and so very close to his target. 

He pulled away and looked up at Loki, his mouth hovering inches from his cock head. “What do you want?” he breathed.

  
  


The touches, the sweet, barely there kisses, it was enough to drive Loki to distraction. He was trying to watch, to keep himself focused enough to give the guidance he’d offered, but it wasn’t until Steve asked that he realized he’d lapsed into awed silence, his breaths heavy and his eyes wide. 

He blinked, shaking himself, and flashed Steve a smile. 

“ I don’t know how much guidance you need. I could come just watching you between my thighs.” He reached down again, smoothing a hand over the side of Steve’s head. Then he bent his knees, trying to open his legs wider, that he might give Steve more room, and make it easier for him to see what was going on. 

“ Will you do what you did before, where you moved your tongue over the tip? The groove under the head...I’m so sensitive there, and your tongue is like velvet. That felt so good…” He trailed off, turning it into a suggestion. He wasn’t sure what tone he should take here, if he should make requests or plead for release, give orders or simply explain what worked, what didn’t.

He’d let Steve do what he had before, show him that he was on the right track, and then he’d worry about giving directions for trying other things. Mentally, he was already shuffling through things he’d enjoyed before, things he’d done that others enjoyed, trying to construct a program of oral education. 

Physically, he was trying not to twitch under Steve’s fingers, his muscles bunching in anticipation.

  
  


Steve reached out and stroked Loki’s spread legs. He had quite a view of his partner from here, and he let callused fingers stroke up the lines of his lower body, up from his legs to trace the edges of his hips, drinking the sight of him in. His eyes were dark and bright, cheeks beginning to faintly turn pink, lips parted as he breathed. 

Part of Steve wished he could capture Loki like this in pencil or paint. But the greater part of him loved that he was the only person now to see Loki this way. Oh, he knew there were others before him, and that there would likely be others after --  he was a god, after all, and it was stupid to be jealous of lovers Loki had taken before Steve had ever been born (though he didn’t exactly want to dwell on those that Loki had perfected his swallowing technique on). But here and now, Loki was all Steve’s, and seeing him like this was his privilege alone. 

Doing what he did before would be easy enough. And the definite direction was good. It relieved him of the task of thinking, of planning, removing the onus of having to lead and take control in unfamiliar territory. That was something Steve got more than enough of elsewhere in his life. “Yessir,” he replied in a breathy moan, smiling as he shifted his balance. 

Bracing himself with his left hand, Steve used his right to slowly work back Loki’s foreskin, and flicked his tongue against the underside of Loki’s head. He repeated the motion, then swirled his tongue around the head, tracing it over the slit (prepared for the taste this time, and taking care not to flinch). He pulled away long enough to spit into his palm, giving it an extra bit of lubrication as he began to stroke the lower part of the shaft, taking the tip into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks. 

Slowly, he began to bob his head up and down, taking a little bit more of Loki’s cock into his mouth, but pulling back before it could hit the back of his throat. He matched the movements of his head to the movement of his hand, creating a steady rhythm of squeeze and suck while doing his best to ignore the slight strain in his arm and neck, and the nearly painful hardness in his pants. 

  
  


Loki felt his head tilt backwards and recognized it as his body’s first step toward pushing his hips up, of trying to obtain more depth, more friction. He stopped it. The worst thing he could imagine himself doing was thrusting and doing to Steve what Steve had just agreed not to do to himself. 

“ Oh Steve, that’s perfect.” He brought his hand back to cradle the base of Steve’s skull. He hadn’t thought his hand cold, but it absorbed the heat that came from the skin at the back of Steve’s neck where it lay. 

His breath caught on his next inhale, and the click that came of it sounded harsh in the quiet that was his heart beat and the sounds of Steve’s mouth and their breathing. 

“ When you pull your cheeks in, when you-- you’re so tight around me. It’s so good, Steve, and your hand-- ah. Use your other hand, if you can, stroke over my balls, and maybe. Low on my cock, use just a couple of fingers… and just squeeze a little. Not too hard--” He cautioned quickly, remembering the strength that Steve had at his disposal. 

“ And with your mouth, ah, that. You can. You can also turn your head a bit, take me nearly sideways. You’d look so pretty with my dick stretching your lips and pushing against your cheek from the inside. Love to rub the side of your face, feel me touching myself through you… or have you do it. Stroke yourself, stroke me at once…” It felt disjointed, and the image that sprang to mind, of Steve kneeling at his feet, of Steve  _ actually _ stroking himself while he blew Loki… that image was just too good. He bit down on his lip to stifle the sounds that he made in response to that, mixed with what Steve was doing now. 

“So gorgeous, Steve, wish you could see yourself like this.” He huffed out a breathy laugh, one that felt almost cruel to him. “You look so needy, dearest. Are you sure you won’t let me do something for you now? Would you like to touch yourself while you work on me? I think I’d find that so appealing. Or I could touch you. Have you lay yourself out over me, and do to you what you’re doing. Use my lips and hands, drive you just as mad as you’re making me.”

The words came easier now, lubricated as they were by Steve’s saliva and the slide of his lips over Loki’s shaft. He felt lust drunk on it. It was wonderful.

  
  


The flow of instructions Loki gave him now that he’d started required more hands than Steve actually had. But he did his best to comply all the same, happy for the direction. Pausing in his ministrations just enough to move, he shifted his left arm so he was propped up on his left elbow, now tucked under him, allowing his left hand to fondle Loki’s balls while his right arm took some of his weight where it lay along Loki’s thigh. He squeezed, gently, at the base of Loki’s cock, pressing his tongue to the sensitive spot under the head. 

Loki continued to babble, and Steve smiled around him. He sucked in his cheeks again, bobbing down as low as he could without gagging, then pulled up and angled his head as Loki wished him to. When he bobbed down again, still alternately squeezing and stroking the base of the shaft and rolling Loki’s sack with his hands, he widened his jaw as far as it would go, and the change in angle brought Loki’s tip bumping and pulling at the inside of his cheek. He did it again, and the angle of entry made him slurp a little, which wasn’t all that dignified, but he hoped Loki wouldn’t mind. 

He ran his tongue along the side of Loki’s head, then drew back a bit, so it swirled just around the very tip and pressed into the salty-tasting slit. His lips were red and wet now, his skin flushing. Then he drew all the way off, a bit of pre-come still sticking to his lower lip as he took a few deep breaths before licking a long, wide stripe up from Loki’s balls, all the way to the tip. 

It was like playing an instrument, he thought. It required hands and mouth, like any of the flutes or brass pipes he’d seen, all often doing separate things, as well as passion, concentration, plenty of practice...

...And, he noted, as Loki made a delightful sound while he wrapped his lips back around his length, it yielded beautiful music. 

And then Loki was offering to do things for Steve, to bring him to completion too, telling him how needy he looked, and that just wasn’t fair. Steve’s cock throbbed in his trousers, uncomfortably taut against the seam, but he didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to interrupt his current task, not when Loki sounded like he was getting ever closer. In arousal and frustration, he moaned around the mouthful of cock, letting go with one hand to reach down and fumble with his buttons, taking himself in hand.

  
  


The vibration of Steve’s frustrated noise made Loki’s eyes slam closed and his throat work convulsively. The muscles in his thigh jumped, and it took a force of will stronger than he knew he was capable of not to shift his hips forward. 

He wrenched his eyes back open, in time to see Steve squirming. It almost looked like he was humping the bed, which was arousing to start with, until Loki realized that he only felt one of Steve’s hands on him. He was slow to make sense of things, the haze of arousal inside of him pushing against the backs of his eyes and taking all of the air from his lungs.

“So close now sweet boy, I’m so close. Rub yourself for me, tease yourself.” He could feel his vocabulary fading out. It forced him into shorter sentences. He lost the ability to string words together and all he could do was try, try to breathe and try to continue speaking. 

“ Are you close? You’re hard, I know. So hard for me. Once I come, I’m going to lay you out. I’m going to pull your own orgasm out of you, and I’m going to--”  _ swallow it _ , he’d been about to say.  _ Drink it down. _ But that reminded him that he needed to tell Steve something else, and soon-- oh, so soon now. 

“ Steve, when I-- when I finish. Don’t feel like you have to-- It doesn’t have to be in your mouth. I’m close now, and if-- um.” The feelings weren’t stopping, the words being derailed now with every jolt, every brush of contact between his sensitive skin and Steve’s hands, lips, tongue… He felt liquid pricking in his eyes, and the realization that this was what Steve had been feeling, this-- it felt like some hot core of arousal inside of him was being pulled outwards, drawn out inexorably through his shaft… the feeling was damn near to overwhelming. 

“ Steve, I am going to cum. If you don’t-- you can just give me a few tugs with your hand and I’ll--” he was breathless. Wordless. He shuddered and tried to hold off, tried to give Steve time to decide what he wanted out of this, but even then he knew it to be futile. 

“Steve…” he groaned, eyelids falling partway as the end came for him, and he began to spill out. 

  
  


_ Sweet boy.  _ Again, the words were like an electrical spark that zinged from his ears right to his groin. Steve all but whined around Loki’s cock, his own length so hard and hot and oversensitized that it was almost painful to take hold of. But he wrapped his hand around it all the same, smearing the dripping pre-come down the shaft and stroking roughly, knowing that just the sight  of Loki and the sounds he was making had him on the brink. He hadn’t missed the jolt that passed through his lover’s body, or the tightening of the muscles his right arm laid against, even through the fog of lust that had descended over his mind. 

And Loki was close. They both were. The rough texture of Loki’s voice -- no longer silky but something more desperate -- mingled with the noise of Steve’s blood pounding in his ears. He ground his hips forward into the mattress, eager for more friction where his hand couldn’t reach all at once. He wanted to do what Loki wanted; wanted to rub himself, to come for Loki with Loki on his tongue and  _ god _ , Loki was so beautiful and Steve’s jaw was beginning to hurt but he didn’t give a single damn. 

He groaned again, knowing in a few more pulls he’d be going over the edge. The pressure deep in his belly was mounting, and his strokes with both hands began to speed up on to the final stretch. He groaned again, closing his eyes and sucking hard on Loki’s cockhead, partially aware of Loki’s warning that he was close, something about his mouth...

Steve shuddered, his movements stuttering briefly, and he covered for the stalling in his hand by pressing his tongue hard against the dip at the base of the crown as he spilled over the sheets, rutting into his own mess with a moan. He opened his eyes, wet and shining, and looked up at Loki almost pleadingly, hoping this was all right, hoping--

He almost choked in surprise as something hot and salty and bitter flooded his mouth. His eyes widened and he convulsively swallowed, trying to get all of it down, though he wasn’t quite quick enough and a bit of warm fluid ran down his chin. The taste was... Steve grimaced, trying not to think about it. He was still riding the aftershocks of his own orgasm, and he closed his eyes again, concentrating on his own bliss as he stroked Loki’s shaft to pull him through the rest of it, swirling his tongue around the tip to clean of the last of the viscous, bitter come. 

When it was over, he let Loki fall from his lips with a wet sound and looked up at his lover, soaking him in.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

  
  


Loki couldn’t keep the lopsided, amused grin off his face. 

He was floating a bit on his own release, but that didn’t mean that he had missed the expression on Steve’s face, the distaste, followed by his utterly contrary words. 

“ There are no words for what you are. Amazing, perfect.” He nearly sighed rather than speaking. “ _ Mine _ , I think, is the best of them.” He looked down his chest, wiping at Steve’s chin with his thumb to get some of his cum off of it. 

“ Come here.” He instructed, sitting up to help pull him forward, draping him back over Loki, so that he could revel in the warmth and weight of him. 

He dragged his eyes over Steve’s face, wrecked as it was. Beautifully so. 

“ I’ve made a mess of you.” He said softly, before he leaned in to lick himself off of Steve’s lips, dipping his tongue into his mouth to chase the taste. 

He’d been afraid, for a moment, that it might be worse than usual, given his recent illness, dehydration, and lack of food, but Steve’s mouth tasted about as he would expect. Which left, sadly, the conclusion that Steve was not overly fond of the taste. 

Which was neither unexpected nor unprecedented, and, unless he wanted to risk making him feel inadequate now, did not bear commentary just at this moment. 

“Did you finish yourself, or can I do something to help you out?” He asked instead, words warm and full of promise, just in case. He thought he’d seen Steve coming, but he didn’t want to risk neglecting him, just because his mind had been incapable of actual thought at the time. 

  
  


Steve smiled, blissful and happy despite the lingering flavor in his mouth. Loki looked content; clearly, he hadn’t ruined things as completely as he’d initially feared. He hummed as Loki wiped at his chin, and then obeyed the gentle command to move upward, closer to Loki. Despite his earlier concerns about letting Loki take too much of his weight, he allowed himself to flop over his partner, sighing into the crook of Loki’s neck before he felt his chin tipped upward for a kiss. 

Loki didn’t seem to mind the taste, at least, as he chased it from Steve’s mouth. He wondered if this too, like swallowing, would be something he learned and accustomed himself to with time. At any rate, the taste of Loki’s seed was quickly replaced with the taste of Loki’s mouth, which Steve decidedly preferred. Although, if sucking Loki off made him look that blissed out and happy, eyes bright and cheeks rosy each and every time, then he’d learn to love it. 

When asked if he’d finished himself, Steve winced and lifted himself on his elbows slightly, parting their bodies enough to reveal his softening cock and the mess of come on his stomach, now smeared in part on to Loki’s through contact. “I, ah, I think I’m good,” he said, glancing back up apologetically. Lowering himself back down (it wasn’t like he’d manage to make much more of a mess anyhow), he caught Loki’s mouth in another kiss, sucking on his tongue and sighing into his mouth. 

He felt like he could easily fall asleep here and now, nestled into Loki, breathing in the combined smell of sweat and sex and their own respective musks. He hadn’t fully realized how badly he’d wanted this again until he had it. 

“Yours,” he rumbled softly when their lips parted, resting his forehead against Loki’s. 

  
  


He rolled his head so that he could bury his nose in Steve’s hair, press his lips to his scalp. 

He lay still for a minute perhaps, before he heaved out a sigh. 

“I know this is wonderful, astin min, but you have to get up, we have to clean up… don’t forget where we are.” Loki had no particular care to give if they were walked in on, but he knew Steve felt otherwise. 

And they had been here for some time now, away from his friends’ eyes. Who knew when someone would decide they needed to investigate, or worse, check Loki over for any medical failings his seidhr may have missed. 

As much as he would have loved to fall asleep with Steve in his arms, he needed to look out for him, needed to be certain that his secrets were protected, and he was not hurt by any of the few vulnerabilities he allowed himself. Loki chief among them. 

“If you will let me up, I’ll get the cloth to clean up with-- and I suspect you may want to remove your pants that I might pull the mess from them, or you may face interesting questions that you are not ready to answer yet.” 

He pressed a reassuring kiss to Steve’s forehead. 

“ One day, though, you will be. One day they will not doubt me so much, and you will be able to tell them proudly who it is I belong to.” He murmured, unable to keep the longing from his voice. “Until then… maybe tomorrow night I will create a double of myself, and join you in your room. Would it look odd, do you suppose, if I took you into my mouth while invisible?” He was teasing of course, trying to distract from the fact that he would not be joining him later this night. 

He had other plans. 

  
  


The reminder of where they were -- and who might check in -- deflated the bubble of happiness in Steve’s chest rather abruptly. Feeling petulant, he groaned and muttered a rather inventive curse into the pillow, before giving Loki one last squeeze and then rolling off of him on to his back. The loss of warmth made him shiver a little, the cooling come on his belly turning tacky already and, as Loki had guessed, smearing a bit on his pants where he hadn’t pulled them down enough. He winced. Next time, he’d remember to get them out of the way first. 

He wanted to stay here. To sleep with Loki in his arms, his warmth staving off the nightmares that still plagued his sleep (though less often these past few weeks, he suspected, simply because he’d been too exhausted for dreams). But he still hadn’t been able to match the rest he’d gotten when he and Loki had shared a bed, and he hadn’t woken with the brief flicker of terror that he’d be alone. 

_ One day.  _ Maybe... maybe one day soon. Bruce knew, and didn’t hate him. And Pepper was a modern woman, so maybe she’d have an open mind about that sort of thing too. Not that he was ready to go public, but maybe he could tell her and Stark, and at least not have to feel like he and Loki were sneaking around, stealing kisses where no one was looking. Assuming Stark was all right with the whole thing, and didn’t hate him all over again. He’d finally started coming around, and Steve didn’t want to throw that in jeopardy all over again. 

Steve sighed as Loki got up, but took some joy in his proposed course of action for the next night. “So long as we kept the lights off, I don’t think anyone would see,” he remarked. “And if the cameras do catch any footage of the faces I’m making...” He smiled. “Well, I guess it’ll just look like I’m having one hell of a good dream.”

  
  


Loki chuckled softly, bent down to press a kiss to Steve’s lips, and retreated to the bathroom. 

It would be wiser to use toilet paper and clean them with something flushable, but he was already going to be drawing the semen from Steve’s pants. Adding a washcloth to that would hardly strain him, magically. 

And the softness and warmth was something he wanted for Steve. He ignored the mess on himself, resolving to shower before he dressed again. 

So instead he returned to his own bedside, where Steve lay, and, almost in parody of their roles for the last several weeks, Loki leaned over him to wipe at what he could. Starting with his face. 

Now that the afterglow had been decidedly broken by the reminders of where they were and the responsibilities they held, Loki thought it might not be so terrible to address the matter of swallowing. 

“ So…” He hedged, pausing in his work to make eye contact with Steve before pressing on. “You realize you needn’t take my release in your mouth, right? Many find it distasteful, and there is no harm in that.” He shifted downwards, giving Steve a moment of private time that he might sort through the words without having to face Loki, while he wiped away the mess on his stomach. 

“There is something about seeing you with my seed on your skin that is... “ Loki exhaled loudly, attempting to find words that weren’t too crude, given that they we no longer in the heat of the moment. “Incredibly arousing.” He settled on. “If the taste doesn’t appeal, I know it isn’t hurting you, but… like shoving me into your throat without learning how to relax first, it’s something you should know isn’t a necessary part of sex. I happen to enjoy the taste. That’s all.” 

  
  


Steve did his best to hold still while Loki tenderly wiped at his face. The cloth was soft and dampened with warm water, though the moisture quickly turned cool when Loki drew the fabric away, leaving Steve chilled and wanting more. 

Though he supposed, if he thought about it, it wasn’t the warmth of the  _ washcloth  _ he really wanted more of. 

He couldn’t help but wriggle slightly as Loki mopped up the mess on his stomach; it tickled a bit. Still, he pressed his lips together, considering what Loki said. He had assumed that swallowing was normal, that it could potentially be an insult not to. Knowing this wasn’t the case was... helpful. But at the same time, he was relatively sure he could adjust to the taste in time, with enough exposure. 

“ I think-- I mean, I don’t mind it that much,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t taste as good as kissing you, but it still tastes better than K-rations, and I’ve willingly put those in my mouth a hell of a lot more times,” he added with a rueful smile. 

But then one of the other things Loki said sank in, and Steve tilted his head thoughtfully. “But... if you’d rather come  _ on _ me than  _ in _ me...” he raised his eyebrows. “I mean, I’d be willing to try that too.” He wondered if it would be more or less palatable for Loki to spill on his chest, or his face, rather than in his mouth. Not that trying to get come out of his lashes and hair sounded all that delightful, but then again, if it ended with Loki lovingly mopping him up, it’d definitely have its perks. 

  
  


Loki swallowed at the sound of Steve when he said that, the suggestiveness of it. Or at least the suggestion in the words. He may not even have intended them to arouse, necessarily. Still. 

“ Next time.” Loki promised, feeling more than hearing the slight huskiness of his voice. He cleared his throat, attempting not to be pulled back into bed by the beauty of the man spread out there. 

He cleaned the last of Steve’s own fluids off of his skin and undid the zipper of his pants the small few clicks that were left to it, before he lay the washcloth out over it. 

Like the hair he’d cut or the water from the sink, he lifted just the semen from the denim and put it into the cloth, then carried it back into the bathroom to sit in the sink. 

Casting a judgemental eye down Steve’s form, he nodded to himself. 

“Your secret should be safe for another night at least.” He assured him, grinning brightly. “And…” He hesitated, not sure if the offer would be appreciated or if Steve would see it as putting too much pressure on him… “You know if there is anything you like, anything you want more of, or want me to remember that you prefer, you can tell me, too, yes? I… actually would like it if you did. It helps me to know that you are enjoying yourself, helps me be sure you’ll enjoy yourself more, the next time.” 

  
  


Steve smiled at ‘next time.’ Because hopefully, next time would be soon. There would be no weeks of waiting until he got his hands on Loki’s skin again, caught his tongue with his mouth, ran his hands up the back of his shirt...

If he hadn’t just been reminded of the need for discretion, he’d have pulled Loki right down on to the bed for another round. Though it probably wouldn’t be wise to wear Loki out the evening before his final health check-up. 

Tucking himself back in, Steve zipped his fly up and sat back up on the bed, swinging his legs off the side. “Thanks,” he said, in response to Loki’s cleaning spell. It was far handier than sneaking back into his rooms and trying to scrub his pants clean in the sink with soap and fingernails. 

He reached over and took Loki’s hand, giving it a squeeze -- and boy was it nice to be able to do that again and know Loki could feel it and  _ squeeze back  _ again. “I know. Honestly, apart from trying to swallow, I’ve liked pretty much everything.” He had little to compare it to, but the times he and Loki had been intimate had all been pretty phenomenal and pleasurable. “I suppose,” he said, grinning a bit wickedly (or as wickedly as he was able), “we’ll just have to keep doing more to figure out more of what I like.” He stood up and used his grip on Loki’s hand to pull him in for a kiss. 

He pulled away slightly, but stayed close enough their breath mingled. “I, um. I guess I like it when you call me things. Besides Captain.” He got enough of that from every single other person, it felt like. Sometimes, he wanted to stop being Captain America, and just be  _ Steve. _

  
  


“ Hmm.” Loki responded, looking down at Steve’s mouth. The urge to kiss him again and just keep kissing so strong that he almost succumbed. Almost. 

“I shall leave Captain outside of the bed, then. If there is anything in particular that you like, let me know. I’ve had partners before who preferred their names not be used in bed, but for different reasons, I think, and for them it was usually better that I resort to invectives. I can’t really imagine that you’d enjoy that much.” He flicked his eyes upwards to meet Steve’s. 

“ Though if you did, I would be happy to do that as well.” He lifted one side of his mouth, then stepped in closer. 

“ You were wonderful just now.” He told him softly. “Thank you for sharing this with me, for letting me be the one to… to guide you through this. To help you find the things you like. I really enjoy doing it.” He glanced downwards, though, feeling exposed now, feeling how the sex mess on his skin was drying. Now that Steve was at least partially clothed, Loki couldn’t help but remember how uncomfortable he was with most every skin he wore. 

“ I think I am going to take a shower, tonight. I’d rather the doctors not mistake the smell of my body odor for the smell of sickness clinging to me, and banish me back to the wheeled chair for another week.” He nodded at the device, abandoned by the door as it had been for days now, the moment he got into his room. It had never been necessary, as far as he was concerned, but it made the medical personnel stop pestering him. 

He would have invited Steve to shower with him, but that the showers here were small and he was attempting not to take too much more time and magical energy before he got on to his business for the night. 

It would be so much easier to take his leave if Steve were not suspicious… nor hanging around him. He would have no reason to suspect that Loki was gone. No one would. 

  
  


Steve smiled. He felt... good. Better than he had in a good while. Definitely better than he had since Loki had been hurt. Having this, sharing it, stealing some time in which to be together -- even if there had been less than perfect moments, he didn’t regret it for an instant. It had been completely worth it. 

“ Sounds good,” he said, leaning in for a quick peck. “And... thank  _ you.  _ For being patient with me.” Loki’s nearly unfathomable levels of understanding and consideration were far more than Steve could have hoped for in a partner. 

He almost wished he could accompany Loki in that shower, like in the hot spring bath Loki had made in the motel, what felt like an eon ago. But he knew he ought to be getting back out into a space where JARVIS’ systems could locate him, before anyone suspected something was amiss. He reached up and brushed Loki’s hair behind his ear. “Have a good shower,” he said, then kissed his cheek lightly. “Goodnight.”

He waited by the door to make sure no one was walking past, then slipped out and back into his room. 

He lingered for a few moments -- what he trusted was long enough for Loki to be in the shower -- then spoke to re-activate JARVIS, and sank down on to his bed, idly picking up his StarkPad but not really reading the article it displayed. 

All he could think of when he stared at it was the bright-eyed, blissed out look on Loki’s face as he came. 

Which, Steve decided, lying back with a smile -- was a much happier thought than anything else anyhow.

  
  


His shower was quick, perfunctory and more about making his excuses honest than truly worrying about getting too clean. There would be other opportunities for that, but what he intended to do tonight had waited for long enough. 

He got the worst evidence of the night’s activities up to that point seen to, and climbed out of the shower and into the steamy room. He wiped at the mirror, looking himself in the face, trying to steady himself for what lay ahead. 

He knew he should have told Steve of his plans, but he was… embarrassed-- and more than a little scared, if he was being honest. If he was caught, if he was recognized…if SHIELD was waiting for this opportunity... he shuddered to think. But the risk was worth it. 

Looking in the mirror, he could not see the man that Steve had called beautiful. Nor, though, could he see the man that the Captain had fought so long ago, now. All he saw was himself. A version of himself that lacked definition. And not physically; that had not changed, really. No, he lacked the labels he had held so close for so long. He was not a prince, not a villain or an Asgardian… he was Loki, he was-- 

He stopped, froze. He was still a monster. Still a monster that he had not faced. And if tonight was to be about anything, it was that.

And so he thought it only fitting that he let his fleshy image melt away, let the blue and red overtake him, and become that which he had feared, hated and reviled for so much of his life. 

He did not look for long. He could not bring himself to, knowing that this was him. Truly, honestly him. He’d told Steve that he would try to be more… comfortable, he supposed, with allowing him to see the real him. But he thought that may take some time, yet.

He preferred the lie. 

With a sigh, he opened the door, turning himself invisible and sending a duplicate out to take his place, clothed in pajamas and sent to bed. 

It was not very good, not one that would talk or remain if touched. Just enough to pacify any who may check the security cameras until he could return.    
He mentally reviewed the map that he had poured over the day prior, and took himself out of the tower and into the night, only hoping that none would notice his absence. This was going to take some time. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book that Steve is reading to Loki (and which the brief excerpt comes from) is The Winter Prince by Elizabeth E. Wein (and it comes heartily recommended by MostFacinorous)


	31. Thirty-One

_"I had him on the ropes," Bucky grumbled._

_The brief whine of a charging weapon was the only warning Steve got. He turned to see one of HYDRA's suited warriors leveling its barrels at them. "Get down!" he shouted, moving in front of Bucky and lifting his shield._

_The blast threw Steve back and tore a hole right through the side of the carriage. His shield had skittered out of his grip, and now Bucky had it, lifting it in one hand and his sidearm in the other as he fired at the enemy. Then the second blast caught the shield and threw him as it had done Steve, only this time toward the gaping hole where the train carriage wall had been._

_Frantic, Steve ran forward and snatched up the shield, throwing it as hard as he could before the HYDRA agent could get off a third shot._

_Bucky!" he called, holding to the rails and climbing out of the gap. Bucky was still there, clinging to one of the bars on the torn metal siding, hanging above the plunging ravine, but still alive._

_Only..._

_Only it wasn't Bucky anymore._

_The wind whipped at long dark hair as Loki stared up at him, eyes wide in terror as he clutched the metal with a white-knuckled grip. Steve only had to reach him. "Hang on!" he bellowed above the rumble of the train's engines and the rushing of the wind. The snow still swirled around them, but below them the white flakes turned into tiny dots of starlight, the ravine replaced by the bottomless void of space._

_Steve inched outward, stretching, his fingertips reaching for Loki's. He was so close. He just need to catch him --_

save _him --_

_"Grab my hand!" he shouted. He was so close now. Almost there. "Loki! Take my hand!"_

_Loki looked down at the abyss, then looked back up at Steve, his expression suddenly going terrifying blank, devoid of any emotion save for a muted and crushing sadness._

No _, Steve thought numbly. No, no no..._

_"LOKI!" he screamed, lunging forward just as Loki let his grip go slack, slipping away and falling, plummeting downward into the dark--_

 

 

Steve sat upright, breathing heavily, not sure if he'd woken himself with his own scream or if it had been all in his head. His heart pounded deafeningly in his ears, and it took him a few moments to remember when and where he was.

Bed. Stark Tower. 2013.  Bucky was dead and had been for nearly 69 years; Loki was alive, and sleeping in the next room.

Slowly, his pulse eased back to something resembling normal, and he slipped out of bed, crossing into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Walking back into the bedroom, doubting he'd be able to get back to sleep after that, he checked the glowing numbers on the bedside digital clock: 5:09 AM.

_Great_. Steve sank down on to the edge of the bed with a sigh. He had a couple hours until sunrise, and some excess adrenaline to burn off. _Gym it is, then._ Technically he was still supposed to be going easy on his arm, since the healed break was still fresh, but it felt fine enough to box. Though he'd probably earn fewer disapproving looks if he stuck to the treadmill for now. He ran a hand back through his hair and closed his eyes--

\--but etched into the backs of his eyelids, he could still see the last moments of his dream with Loki falling.

He shook himself. It was just a dream. Loki hadn't fallen. Except... Okay, Loki hadn't fallen any time or place where Steve could _see_ The dream itself was pure fiction. Loki was fine and sleeping in the next room, where Steve could even go check on him if he wanted.

It would be easy, Steve realized, to just peek his head in and confirm, chasing away any lingering doubts and easing his mind. No one would know, he'd be careful not to wake Loki, and he'd be able to scour the dream from his mind that much quicker. Pulling a pair of sweatpants on over his boxers, he quietly opened the door and slipped into the hallway, reaching for Loki's door and opening it.

Loki's room was dark and silent. The air smelled slightly of lavender soap and the faint, lingering scent of their earlier exertions. He smiled, waiting for his eyes to adjust so he could make Loki's figure out on the bed. In the blackness, he could just barely see the outline of him under the blankets. Which should be enough, he knew. But suddenly the anxiety in his chest rose, and he needed to feel Loki's warmth, feel the life in him to know everything was fine.

Just one touch. That was all. Padding over to the bed, Steve sat carefully down on the edge of the mattress, reaching a hand outward to carefully brush against Loki's hair.

But instead of touching soft curls, his hand passed through empty air. Green-gold light shimmered and flared, and abruptly the bed was empty.

Steve's heart stopped.

Loki was _gone._

"Loki?" He said quietly, hoping, praying he was wrong. That this was some prank, and Loki would appear behind him with a smug grin. Which he didn't. Steve swallowed. "Loki? This isn't funny..." his voice threatened to crack, but still Loki didn't appear. His heart was thudding hard again in his ears, and he drew a shaky breath.

"JARVIS?"

_"Yes, Captain Rogers?"_

"Is... Is Loki in the Tower?" Maybe he'd got hungry in the middle of the night and was getting a snack or a glass of water, he tried to tell himself.

A pause, and then: _"My scanners do not detect Mr. Loki's bio signs within the tower at this time."_

Steve buried his head in his hands, breathing raggedly, chest tightening. _No no no no..._ "Is there-- were there any signs of intruders or anyone besides Ms. Potts, Banner, Stark or myself on this level?"

_"No, Captain."_

Which ruled out Loki being taken, probably. "Any unusual activity anywhere?" he asked desperately.

_"My sensors recorded two energy spikes consistent with my readings of Mr. Loki's quantum-discordant phenomenae shortly after you re-engaged my recording capabilities last night. One shortly before he exited the bathroom, and one shortly after he entered the bed. I have no interruptions in my recordings since then, and no indication of movement in the room until your entrance."_

Steve frowned. "Quantum what?"

_"Sir dislikes using the term 'magic.'"_

Magic. Two times. Hadn't Loki spoken hours ago about casting an illusion of himself as a double while sneaking into Steve's room? It seemed he'd put half that plan into action, only instead of joining Steve... He'd left. Steve paced the room, hitting the lights and looking desperately for any signs of Loki -- any clue as to where he'd gone. A letter, perhaps? If he'd left Steve, he'd surely leave a note. He wouldn't just vanish without a word, not after what they'd been through, what they'd had. But a search turned up nothing, and panic tightened its hold on his chest like a vice.

Loki was gone. He'd magicked himself out of the tower, left a diversion so no one would know of his disappearance, and he'd left no trace or explanation. But why? And where would he go? He had no other allies, he could only teleport so far without exhausting himself, and Steve hadn't even got around to teaching him to drive. But what if he had teleported, and instead traveled between worlds? How far could he get? Had he -- Steve felt his stomach bottom out -- had he gone to SHIELD? Turned himself in for some reason? Was he trying to get the scepter back, after all this, to go after Thanos alone? Steve leaned back against the wall hard, breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

_"Would you like me to wake and notify Master Stark and Dr. Banner of this development?"_

"No!" Steve snapped quickly. The others still had doubts, and knowing Loki had vanished would simply confirm all their worst fears. He couldn't deal with that. He had to find Loki, bring him back safe, figure this out before anyone knew...

And to do that, he needed to calm down and breathe. Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, Steve took several long, deep breaths, trying to think through the leaden haze of anxiety, starting with what he knew. Loki had vanished from the tower by magic, seemingly of his own volition. He'd left a double in his place, presumably to conceal his disappearance, or delay discovery of it. He had left Steve, with no goodbye, no note, no _anything._ Which Loki wouldn't _do_ he thought angrily. It made no sense. Unless... Unless Loki didn't plan to leave for long. There would be no need to leave a note if he intended to return, the double hiding that he'd ever been gone at all.

The thought eased some of the pressure around Steve's heart and lungs. If Loki intended to come back, then he wasn't doing anything colossally stupid like going after Thanos alone or submitting to SHIELD. But that still left the question of where he'd gone and why. What could possibly be so important that he had to slip out of the tower in the night and disappear for hours, when he was barely back on his feet?

Steve wracked his brain. Nothing they'd discussed recently seemed to indicate a likely answer. They'd talked about SHIELD, of course, but their topics of conversation before that had all been light and banal, or based around the books they shared. Of course, Loki was probably going a bit stir-crazy again, but why leave in the night? Steve couldn't fathom any good reason that had arisen in the weeks since the incident in the...

... In the park...

"Oh," Steve breathed, hopeful as a hunch began to form. He stood and crossed back toward his own room, yanking on some clothes and then grabbing his shoes.

_"Captain? Do you require further assistance?"_

"No, thank you JARVIS," Steve replied, tying off the laces. "I think I know where he may have gone. If anyone else wakes up before we get back, could you tell them not to freak out?"

_"I will convey your advice in that regard. Though if you intend to leave the tower, might I recommend bringing a jacket?"_

Steve grabbed his jacket from the closet, yanking it on as he hurried down the hall toward the elevator. "Thanks, JARVIS. Ground floor, please."

It was just a hunch, but he could think of at least one thing within Loki's range of teleportation that would be of enough importance to demand his attention, and enough weight that he would think he needed to go there alone.

Steve would just have to make sure he knew that wasn't the case.

  
  


Everything was stiff, cold and wet from the night and the dew. It covered his hair, clung to his lashes, but his mind was decidedly elsewhere. Or at least, he was pushing it to be.

At some point during the night, he'd been unable to keep standing, and had dropped to his knees, but his contact with the wall hadn't faltered. Now his head was bowed, his palm flat against it, and his eyes closed. He had no need of the outside world. He needed a little more seidhr, if he needed anything, but there was a sudden flicker of it. Which only meant that something he had reserved energy for had ceased to draw from it.

Just as well. He would still have to get back. Not that he really felt up to it.

But he would have to. He needed to be there by the time Steve woke up.

The light of the early morning didn't so much strike him as seep into his awareness, and he just leaned in closer, until his forehead rested on the cold stone of the wall.

It was uncomfortable. But then he hardly deserved comfort. Not ever, but most especially not here. Not when he'd been so careless, so remiss... so selfish and stupid and _monstrous_.

It was his self hatred that had kept him here, kept him awake through the night. That, mixed with a feeling of needing to put things... not right. He couldn't do that. But even so, he suspected that something about his night time vigil was healing. Selfishly, so, if nothing else. And wasn't that like him.

He breathed in deep as he sensed the sun gaining a foothold on the sky, and roused himself, as though he were surfacing from a particularly tempestuous body of water.

It was cold enough that he could see his breath, feel even the smallest joints of his body aching, from his fingertips to his ankles, and his spine protested the way he had curled at some point.

He could feel, more than hear, someone approaching from behind him, and he kept his head down. No one would bother him. He would seem like just another grieving family member. Someone who had lost someone, something in the battle.

No doubt the city was full of them. People whose lives he had crushed, families he'd broken, worlds he had taken apart.

And he supposed in a way he _had_ lost something. But it had been before the battle. It had been in a chair, in Thanos's clutches. He'd given them permission and they had taken from him every kind part of his nature. He'd lost his compassion, his awareness. Lost his way. Lost himself.

And now he knew he couldn't do that. Not ever again. The next time he lost sight of the good, he would lose Steve as well. He felt so precariously balanced. It was better that he was alone now. His body wanted the comfort of a touch, of an embrace. And Steve would not deny it.

But he did not deserve such comforts. He deserved to die here, for the blood spilt and the lives lost. He deserved to have every name etched into his back with a blunt dagger. He deserved to be punished for this.

A small sob broke free of his lips, and he squeezed his eyes shut harder. He needed to keep the sun out and the tears in. He was nearly done now.

  
  


The light was the pearly blue-gray of pe-dawn, but the city was already waking -- or, more aptly, Steve thought, it had never slept in the first place. As he made his way from the tower lobby on to Vanderbilt and then down 42nd, he shoved his hands into his pockets against the cold, silently thanking Tony's A.I. for mothering him into wearing a jacket. He passed a few runners in long-sleeved gear and reflective vests, and a handful of the earliest morning commuters. Trucks unloading merchandise rumbled in side streets, and somewhere amid the city fumes, he thought he caught a smell of coffee. His breath crystallized on the air, and he found himself jogging the last block or so to the park when he realized Loki had been out in this cold all night.

He slowed as he entered the park, where everything was still quieter, the night time lingering in spite of the paling sky. An old man on a bench fed birds and a woman in a municipal uniform swept one of the walkways free of fallen leaves, but the park was otherwise nearly empty.

Nearly.

It took Steve a moment to find him; he was curled up and kneeling in front of the memorial, the black of his hair and the dark color of his shirt fading into the glossy dark stone of the wall.

Loki didn't move or turn around as Steve gently approached. He wondered how long he'd been here, unmoving and tortured by guilt, and felt a deep inner ache. He wanted to pull him to his feet and wrap his arms around him, throwing his coat over him and rubbing the warmth back into him while dragging him back to the tower, maybe stopping for a hot coffee and tea on the way. He wanted to get him out of this place and forget it and all the grief that came with it; the suffering Loki had inflicted and endured here alike.

But when Loki's shoulders shook in a single shudder -- a shiver or a sob, he wasn't sure -- Steve couldn't bring himself to tear him away. Because Loki had sought this place out, and for all Steve's discomfort, this was something Loki had clearly needed, and must not have thought Steve would willingly let him do. Sobered by that thought, Steve bit his lip, then sank to his knees beside him.

Wordlessly, he reached out and put a hand on Loki's back, deciding that he would kneel here in silence with Loki for as long as he needed.

  
  


Loki flinched at the touch. He knew that hand, knew it as well as his own, if not better. Knew the heat and the weight of it.

Mutely, he turned wide eyes towards Steve.

This early light and the pain on his face looked wrong for him, in Loki's exhausted mind. He should be bathed in gold and smiling. Instead he looked almost ill, all of the color washed out of him, and the temperature leaching his warmth from every bit of him it could reach. The same way Loki did.

Overnight, he'd come to see himself as not only a monster, but something of a black hole. All the good in the world could be thrown into him, and he would do nothing but take. He was a void of darkness, and even Steve's hand on his shoulder now felt like too much.

"I'm sorry." He croaked. The words were so small, but held so much in them, that they turned from something meaningful to something dwarfed by his horrors. That, like anything else he did, was not enough. Never would be.

"How--" his voice broke, and he cleared his throat, pulling his hand away from the memorial at long last. "How did you find me? I was... I meant to be back. I'm sorry." He was exhausted and emotionally wrung and nervous, now, that Steve had not spoken.

Loki knew he was not supposed to have left the tower, not on his own. Even if he was not a prisoner now, he was still not trusted. Still under observation. And that he'd been missed... he wasn't sure what he might have ruined with his stupidity.

It must have been his double collapsing that had sent him that final burst of seidhr. Damn, but he should have known; should have realized. He wouldn't have left, though. He'd been so nearly done.

He was finished now.

"You shouldn't be kneeling here. The concrete is freezing." Loki told Steve frankly while he struggled to get to his own feet. They were asleep though, numb from his weight on one side and the burning pricks of cold on the other.

He wanted to reach out, to take Steve into his arms and apologize for days, to hold him. But that was... that life should belong to someone who hadn't done this. Caused so much pain and suffering and heartache. Someone who wasn't the monster he was, in every sense.

He huffed out a laugh, bitter and sharp, about how useless his body was. How clumsy he was, that he had to use the memorial for balance. How disrespectful that he should stand, using the memories of his victims as support to rise. But then, that was what he'd done before, wasn't it? That was what he did. And that was why he didn't deserve to so much as look at the man beside him.

He was only going to destroy them both, given the chance.

  
  


Steve frowned, brow creasing in worry. Loki was pale, almost blue (though Steve knew what he looked like truly blue, and that deep cerulean had much more life in it than this), the hand he'd held pressed against the marble white and bloodless from the cold. Steve wanted to reach out and wrap it in his, coaxing circulation back into the digits, but before he could, Loki staggered to his feet, stumbling slightly on legs that had to be numb and catching himself against the wall.

Steve was on his feet in an instant. He almost replied that Loki shouldn't be kneeling on the freezing concrete either, but he knew how that might be taken -- that he had no right to be here -- and held the comment back. He kept his expression steady when Loki let out a brittle laugh that cut like a knife, and tried not to imagine all the things that Loki must have been thinking in these long hours out in the cold and the dark, while Steve slept in a warm bed. Had he counted the names? Read them all? Or merely sat here contemplating the vastness of it? Had he remembered the lives he'd saved mere yards away from this spot?

Steve licked his lips, not sure of what to say or how to help. He didn't know what was going on in Loki's head, though the various suspicions he had were none of them good. He wanted to tell Loki it was alright; that he was forgiven, that everything would be okay. (But there was a wall beside him etched with hundreds of reasons why it wasn't alright, and would make him a liar).

Words caught in a lump in his throat.

So instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Loki, pulling him close. He dragged his weight against his chest and put his chin on his shoulder, pressing Loki into the warmth of Steve's own body, hoping that even without words, the gesture would speak loud enough.

_I'm here. It's okay._

He waited a few breaths, then spoke without letting go, asking the only thing that mattered to him in that moment: "Are you alright?"

  
  


Bodies were such dull things, illogical and prone to stupidity. Loki's, for instance, had stopped shivering hours prior- had simply given up, because he didn't have the energy for it. And yet now, when warmth was finally offered, warmth from Steve's arms wrapped around him before he could object or warn him away, _now _the shaking returned.__

Loki wanted to bury his face in Steve's neck and cry, but he couldn't. Not here. Here, the tears belonged to everyone else but him.

"No." He said, teeth chattering through the word. "I'm... I'm all wrong." He tried to smile at the turn of words, feeling clever despite how drained he was.

He managed to move his arms up to Steve's shoulders. He lay his palms flat against them and pressed back gently.

"People will see, Steve. They will see you holding a man first, and then they will see you holding _me._ " He nearly spat the word, it was so laden with disgust. "And no one will know why you would want to. In the shadow of this--" He gestured. "In the shadow of the things I have done, why would you even--" He broke off, too tired for this argument now.

He wished he could clutch tightly to Steve's chest, so tightly that they became the same. Wished he could burrow inside of him and be part of something right for a change. Something good.

"I'm sorry." He said again, already tiring of the word's taste on his tongue, and certain that it would come out several dozen more times at least.

"I'm sorry I killed all of these people, and I'm sorry I snuck away. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm sorry I brought you into this. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you from getting hurt. I'm sorry for the awful threat I've brought down upon your world. I'm sorry for all the deaths I haven't caused yet, but that we both know I will. I'm sorry I'm not good. I'm sorry I'm not human. I'm sorry I'm not someone you can be proud of. I'm sorry--" The words were stopped when another sob fought its way free of his chest, and he brought a hand to his mouth to stop the words, to stymie his tears.

He didn't deserve those here. He wouldn't cry. He couldn't let himself.

  
  


"No one's here," Steve murmured in response to Loki's protests. _And I don't care,_ he wished he was brave enough to add. But if anyone saw two people embracing in front of a memorial, he doubted they would look too closely. And right now, Loki needed the warmth; he was shaking like a leaf in Steve's arms, which only made Steve hold on tighter, wishing he'd thought to unzip his jacket first so he could press Loki right up to the fabric of his shirt. Loki needed warmth, and Loki needed to know Steve wasn't going anywhere. Not for anything he'd done.

Even if what he'd done was terrible -- the testament to the lives he'd taken looming over them both -- Steve wasn't letting go. He had known this. He'd seen the names before; just as he'd seen lists of names engraved on countless memorials from countless acts of violence and war, that at the time seemed impossible to ever recover from. But somehow life went on all the same. People recovered; adapted; changed.

The man trembling in his arms was not the man who had killed those people. Not anymore.

He reached up with one hand and cradled the back of Loki's skull, threading his fingers through Loki's hair as he apologized, heart breaking a little more with each word.

"I _am_ proud of you," he said softly, when Loki's voice cracked and broke off. Steve's own eyes were beginning to water. "I'm proud of you _because_ you're sorry you killed them. The man I met in that cell the first time I came down wasn't."

When Steve had asked him if he regretted it so many weeks ago, Loki had been barely remorseful. And Steve, back then, had _wanted_ so badly for him to show regret; to feel sadness over the lives he'd taken and not just his own failures. It was, he realized bitterly, a prime example of being careful for what you wished for, since now he'd do almost anything to ease the pain and guilt that wracked him.

He pulled away, letting go of Loki's hair so his hand was free to cup Loki's cheek. "You're not that person anymore. You _are_ good. And the rest..." he shook his head. "Don't be sorry about the rest, okay?" There were things Loki had done that he would need to atone for and make apologies, but so many of the things he'd said just now weren't among them.

He wiped the pad of his thumb across Loki's cheekbone, catching a tear that had slipped free from his brimming eyes, then pulled him back in. "You can't change the past or go back, no matter how much you want to," he said. "Trust me, I know. All you can do is keep living and do better. Make a better life. And you're doing that, Loki; I'm right here with you for it." He pressed a quick kiss to Loki's ear. "I forgive you."

  
  


If anything could destroy his resolve utterly, it was those words.

_I forgive you_.

It didn't matter then that forgiveness was not his to give. It did not matter that suddenly he was not the only person whose opinion weighed on Loki's mind. All that mattered was that Steve knew, and Steve cared, Steve saw what he had done, and he forgave him, and he was holding him.

Loki clung to him with the intent of never letting go.

"It hurts, Steve." He told him, though he felt certain that he could feel the hurt, feel it through his clothing and Loki's own, feel the acid sting of Loki's chest where it touched his. He felt like a little child, lost and afraid and burning with a... it wasn't loneliness, exactly. It was akin to abandonment, inadequacy. He needed someone to care about him, care for him, care what happened to him. Even if he didn't deserve those things, and especially not in the arms of someone so good.

"Feeling hurts. Caring hurts. Trying to be good--" His mind went to the weeks he had just spent, his body utterly destroyed from trying to be good, from trying to fight without causing harm, and trying to keep others from it. He could only shake his head.

He wasn't good. He wasn't kind. He couldn't help at all, here. Oh he could heal, there was that, that small thing. One person at a time, once a day... hardly better than being useless. Meanwhile all of the damage he did, the harm he caused. The loved ones he took away, lives he destroyed.

"I feel so ill equipped." He sniffled, still shivering. "I wish I was you, or someone else, anyone-- any _thing_ \--" The words fell away again as he was overwhelmed by everything wrong with him, from his body to his mind, from the way he thought to what he was, truly, beneath all of the lies. and the fact that he needed those lies...

"How can you stand it? How can you stand being around me when you know that things like that wall exist? When Thanos would never know of you or Earth had I not set my eye here? I bring naught but destruction and pain, and you--" He put his hands on either side of Steve's face, looking at him in miserable wonder. "You are so much my opposite, in all things. Noble and kind and good and beautiful, fair and honest and strong and smart, people adore you-- how can you look at me and think me anything but cruel, disgusting, and evil?"

  
  


"I know," Steve murmured as Loki told him how much it hurt. He knew that ache. Knew the pain of guilt when he'd been gutted by it after Bucky died, a raw and gaping wound so horrible he didn't know if he'd even survive it. But in time the wound had... if not healed, scabbed over, the agony reduced to a dull ache, only occasionally tearing open and bleeding afresh. "It hurts," he echoed. "I don't know yet if it ever stops, but it gets easier in time. Promise."

Loki had a monument of his dead here. The ones he'd killed. Steve had monuments all over the world -- fields of white crosses in Normandy, acres of gravestones in Arlington -- commemorating, if not those he'd killed (though he was sure there were stones with their names somewhere too), those he'd been unable to help save.

He rubbed a hand up and down Loki's back as his legs, beginning to ache, bended and folded, slowly lowering them to sit back down on the ground. Loki was still shaking, undoubtedly exhausted, and sitting seemed a better option than letting him collapse. "I don't wish you were anyone else," he said quietly, though he feared he may have given Loki that impression at some point. A wave of guilt rose like bile in his chest, and he wondered how much of this was his fault; how much he'd deconstructed Loki, stripping away the armor that held him together until he shattered.

He was jolted from his thoughts as Loki's frigid hands cupped his face, holding it with a gleam of desperate amazement and despair in his impossibly pale green eyes.

Steve shook his head, gently taking hold of Loki's bony wrist, but not pulling his hand away. "I don't see you as any of those things," he said, voice rough. "I... you're not. I look at you and I see..." -- he swallowed, heart beating loudly enough to could swear Loki must hear it, like a war drum -- "I look at you and all I can think of is how much I love you," he blurted.

  
  


Loki exhaled reverently, none of the trite and twee words that came to mind fitting, none of them making sense; not for him, not for Steve, and not for this.

All he could do for a long moment was stare and focus on breathing, even while the air felt like it had been punched from his lungs.

He knew he loved Steve. He did, he knew that. He had known that Steve cared for him. That he took care of him. They were lovers, partners... love was part of that, wasn't it? And yet it took him so by surprise.

"I-- I love you, Steve. So much. It's overwhelming, how much I-- It isn't love like I know it. There is an actual pull in me, a... a need. I need you, and I love you, and I don't know what I would do--" He stopped, because he didn't want to tempt him, didn't want Steve to realize he could abandon him, could leave him to find his own way.

Not that he would. That was what love meant, didn't it? Unconditional.

That was what he had been missing.

It wasn't that Steve saw good that wasn't there. It wasn't that he was so wrong as to be projecting his goodness onto Loki, or making believe that it could exist within him.

It was that it didn't matter. Loki was good, in his eyes, because he loved him. Loki was good because he loved Steve. And Steve loved him. Steve wanted him to be good, but he wanted him as he was, too. So long as Loki wasn't directly opposing Steve's goodness, he would always see him as good. And they... loved one another. And that was good.

He felt like he'd had some sort of epiphany, but his mind was too tired to put words to it, his body too neglected and too exhausted for him to function well enough to make sense of his emotions.

He only knew that it felt like Steve had reached within him and was holding him inside as well, cradling the newly formed tissue of his heart within those gentle, warm, steady hands. And if it had ever happened before Loki would be terrified. But he wasn't, now. Because it was Steve.

It did not solve their problems. It did not take the threats out from over their heads. It did not end wars or cure ailments. But it made Loki's mind, always hissing at him from the darkness, suddenly still and quiet.

Steve's love did not make him innocent. It did not make him human, or better, or right, or strong, or good, or kind. He would have to work to be those things, work to be worthy of that love. But Steve would give it to him anyway, until such a time as he was, and then after, besides.

"I love you, Steve." Loki whispered, looking into his eyes from his slight height advantage. "I love you, and I am so glad that you chose me." There was a peace within him now, a stillness that had not been there before. But along with it, all of the spite and anger and disgust and self loathing, all of the dark feelings that he had used to fuel himself, it all dissipated, and left him weak, cold, shaking and exhausted. His clinging now was the only thing that held him upright, and a tiny voice in the back of his head granted that maybe Midgardian doctors did know some of what they were talking about after all.

  
  


In the long seconds before Loki answered, Steve worried he'd said the wrong words.

They were important words, he knew. Maybe not magical words like Merlin used, but they had a power all the same. And Steve had been hit and kicked enough in his life to know the adage about sticks and stones was bull, because words could build up or break a man's spirit with so little effort if applied right.

He'd wanted to say them for some time now, but he'd been... holding off. Waiting for the right moment. Not because he didn't love Loki or felt he would change his mind -- he'd known he loved Loki since they'd fled SHIELD together, and he didn't see that ever changing. Nor because he didn't feel it would be reciprocated -- he'd never felt more loved than when Loki was caring for him. But he knew the strength of the words and he wanted the timing to be right. Not to waste them when they'd be lost in the tide of other words and feelings, or at a time when they'd be unwelcome.

He needed to say them when Loki needed to hear them.

And, he realized with joyful relief when Loki replied, this had been the moment. For once, he'd finally said the right thing at the right time. He felt the tension seep out of Loki, and though though the shivering remained, he was no longer taut as one of Clint's bowstrings.

"I love you," Steve repeated, echoing Loki. "I love you and sometimes I feel like I'm gonna go crazy from it, because you're all I can think of. Honestly, sometimes I love you so much it scares me a little bit, but... these past couple of months? I've felt more alive since--" he paused, then chuckled. "Well, since I got declared dead in the 40's." He glanced down, then back up again. "Thank you for letting me in."

He took Loki's face in both his hands, tilting it down and stretching up to press a kiss to Loki's forehead. When he drew away, the rising glow of dawn made the shadows under Loki's eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks all the more apparent, and Steve pursed his lips. "Now how about we get you home, warm you up, and get you some sleep? I can leave the doctors a message seeing if we can reschedule your check-up for this afternoon so you have time to rest."  He slid an arm around Loki, under his arms and wrapping around him, so that when he stood he half-pulled, half-lifted Loki with him. A cab, he decided, would definitely need to be flagged down, despite the proximity of the tower. Under normal circumstances it was a short walk, but given Loki's current state, it might as well have been transcontinental.

  
  


The obnoxiously bright car that Steve hailed carried them back to the base of the tower, and Loki was glad to see that though the driver keeps looking back into the back seat, his eyes visible in the rear view mirror, it was Steve he was focused on, and Loki was only a trifling curiosity. For the best, of course, because he was too drained of seidhr to change to his female form or create a false face over the one he wore.

He kept his head down, just the same, letting the quiet of his mind envelop him. The ride was slow, even this early, and the gentle rolling and bumping motion of the car made Loki even sleepier.

He felt... oddly accomplished, like he had managed something of note, when he knew he'd managed almost nothing at all. Steve's love wasn't his accomplishment, nor was his night at the memorial.

And with his knee bouncing off of Steve's, it all combined to be strangely comforting. Plus, the cabin of the car was warm, almost too warm, and it was wonderful. He could feel the tight muscles of his limbs relaxing and loosening. By the time they returned to the tower, he was a few moments from sleep, and by the time Steve got him into bed, his mind was nearly as warm and fuzzy and also nearly as thoughtful as the blanket that was tickling at his chin.

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day.


	32. Thirty-Two

"--Not recommend that you take up any strenuous physical activity for a couple of weeks, and maybe work back up to any long walks you might be planning, but it seems like you're in pretty fantastic shape, all things considered." Doctor Ortega was very excited to proclaim him fit, and Loki, after a good few hours of sleep, was right there with her.

"So I can walk on my own out of here, then?" He asked, softening the words with a smile.

They had insisted on taking him back down to the medical research wing in his wheeled chair, and after his excursion the night before, and the fact that no one had said anything about it yet, though he knew JARVIS must have registered his absence, he was willing to play along.

But only for a little while.

"As long as you're just planning to go upstairs and sit down, I don't see why not." Dr. Ortega was almost chirping her answers now, and Loki could not help but think of himself, after he'd healed Agent Ferra. She hadn't had much of a hand in the process, but no doubt to her, the recovery was equally as miraculous.

He turned his face upwards to look at Steve.

"I think the Captain would flog me if I tried to do anything more than that." He quirked his lips, a tease forming in the corner for Steve's benefit, before he pressed his face into a careful blank once again. "Thank you, Doctor, and my thanks to Doctor Cameron, as well, when next you see him."

He stood, careful not to wobble, lest the permission be revoked, and looked to Steve.

"Shall we?" He asked. "If you've nothing more to add, of course." He asked Doctor Ortega. She shook her head.

"Nope, you're good. If anything goes wrong, I'll be on call, and if you have any questions or need any help, you know where to find me."

Loki nodded his thanks again, then looked to Steve, the question written on his face.

  
  
  


"Thank you, doctor," Steve said, inclining his head to Dr. Ortega. He'd been worried, the way Loki wilted on the way home and had to be all but carried to his room and put into bed, that he'd been too worn out to pass muster. But after a few hours of sleep, he seemed much recovered, and the appointment had gone well. Steve had to admit, the doctors had grown on him; they'd been dedicated to their job first, and had done everything in their power to assist with Loki's healing and make him as comfortable as possible, without passing judgement or exhibiting bias. He made a note to ask Pepper whether it'd be appropriate to send them flowers or a fruit basket or something by way of thanks.

At Loki's expectant look, Steve couldn't help but grin. "After you," he told him, nodding toward the door. He kept a close half-pace behind Loki, just in case he needed to steady himself on Steve's arm, but let Loki be the first to open the door.

_"Congratulations!"_

Where the hallway had been empty when they'd come down, Pepper, Tony, and Bruce now stood outside the door, wearing big smiles. Bruce had a rather bulky garment bag slung over his arm, and Tony had a small, glossy box in his hands. Pepper's hands were free, which allowed her to reach out and take one of Loki's hands in both of hers, clasping it warmly. "JARVIS let us know the good news. Congratulations on a full recovery," she said, before taking a step back.

"We thought you might like these now that you're back on your feet. Steve mentioned that they needed picking up," Bruce remarked, holding out the garment bag. Steve stepped forward to take it, not wanting Loki to get tripped up holding it, but he unzipped it enough for Loki to see the suits it contained -- tailored and pressed.

  
  
  


Loki's heart leapt into his chest at the unexpected presence, and he realized that this was it. It made sense, of course. Between being recovered and his actions the previous night, using his magic to deceive and leave...

It made sense that they should band together in case he grew upset or violent. Made sense that they would want to bring his things down here, so that he would have no reason to go back upstairs, no chance to ruin anything there.

He looked to Steve briefly, trying to keep the hurt off of his face.

"I... thank you. This is very kind. Um. Have you any... preference to where I go, or...?" He could feel himself trying to choke up and struggled to fight it down. "Just out of curiosity, I mean. I won't be any more of a burden, if there were no plans, I'm sure I will find my own way." He spoke quickly, the panic that was rising in him trying to edge its way into his voice. He wouldn't let it.

They had been more than kind, had provided for him throughout his recovery, and now that he was better, they could be rid of him. He could not fault them in their hospitality. And he could not blame them for their wish to have done with it. He did not contribute anything, only took up time, and space, and resources.

The worst part of it, as far as he was concerned, was how happy they looked, how little they tried to hide their pleasure at being rid of him. He wasn't under any illusion that they were close, but he had at least thought himself on friendly terms with them. Still, Sif and the warriors three would no doubt act similarly, had they been given the chance. He had to try not to hold it against them. Perhaps they really did wish him well in his... future. Whatever it was to be.

He spoke of his leaving in the singular, unsure where Steve fell in all of this. Had he known? He wouldn't make Loki leave on his own, of course-- he knew that. Particularly not after last night, after-- he loved him, and so he would not abandon him. But what he planned to say, what excuse he planned to make... Loki could not begin to guess.

"I thank you for your hospitality, and for sheltering me in my recovery. I hope we can part at the very least, not as enemies, and without ill will?" He had withdrawn to his distantly polite speech, and though he hadn't intended the words to be a question, it was only a small weakness.

  
  
  


Steve frowned in confusion. He and Pepper had discussed the plan earlier, while Loki had been sleeping. Knowing Loki's guilt and his distress, Steve had wanted to make sure that despite his rough night, the day ended on a more positive note. He wanted Loki to feel accepted and supported; to know that in spite of his deeds there were people beyond Steve who thought him capable of change. Pepper had been surprisingly in favor of the idea of rehabilitating Loki once she'd gotten over the initial shock, on her return, of finding an ex-supervillain living in her boyfriend's building. And Bruce, of course, was on their side. Between the two of them, they roped Tony into everything, and the plan for a show of camaraderie came together.

But Loki, contrary to expectation, didn't seem pleased. If anything, he sounded hurt, and he wasn't making sense.

Bruce connected the dots before Steve did. "Loki," he interjected, "we're not kicking you out. We just wanted to..."

"--Be supportive," Pepper finished for him, when she noticed him searching for words. "And celebrate your official return to health."

"Yeah, we've got like, 6 pizzas upstairs waiting for you. Also, here. Present." Tony shoved the black box in his hands at Loki.

"I'm so sorry, Loki," Pepper said, giving Tony the side-eye. "We didn't mean for you to think-- There's plenty of room, so you and Steve are both quite welcome to stay as long as you need."

Steve was definitely giving her a hug later. He reached out and put a hand on Loki's shoulder. "They're here as your friends," he told him softly.

  
  
  


Loki cradled the box in his hands, and tilted his head the slightest bit, confused.

"As... friends." He repeated slowly. It took the space of a few heartbeats for the words to fully sink in.

"You... you're happy that I'm well?" And of course, that sounded stupid. He wasn't particularly useful in general, but he was doubly so when incapacitated. But more interestingly, more importantly, they wanted to celebrate his wellness. Wanted to show support. They wanted to be friends. Loki was unsure what he had done to deserve that.

He looked down at the box in his hands and then out at them again, realizing that his response had been wrong. The sudden back and forth made his eyes teary, but this time he stopped them falling with a huge, brilliant smile.

"Oh." Was all he could say. "I um-- thank you. I'm a little overwhelmed." He looked back at Steve.

His fingers started working on the process of opening the box, feeling rude for having waited so long, and somewhat awkward for having stood in the hallway for all this time, with everyone staring at him. Perhaps after this they could go upstairs.

Tony, though, saw him working on it and smirked a bit.

"It's a Starkphone." He told him. "So you can call and get hold of us, if you need us. It also takes pictures, holds music, surfs the net, and interacts with JARVIS, so if you need any help, you can ask him." He grunted, as Pepper delivered an elbow to his ribs, then added, "Or me, obviously."

"Thank you." Loki said again, trying to sound more excited about it than he was, primarily because he didn't fully understand. He was still short on emotions, the way he was short on seidhr, and he felt like all of this, the joviality and his return to wellness... it was all too nice. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For someone to say something about his sneaking out. For someone to say anything that wasn't infused with kindness and good intent. But it didn't seem to be coming.

His stomach lurched, groaning audibly, likely in protest of the whip-crack change of emotions.

"Did you say you have pizza?" He asked, to hide his embarrassment at the sound, and to hopefully get them out of the medical wing and somewhere that was less sterile and more comfortable.

That, at least, he did not have to fake excitement for.

  
  
  


"With extra bacon," Tony replied, actually cracking a genuine grin this time.

Bruce cleared his throat, and Tony rolled his eyes. "And one veggie tofu monstrosity."

Steve relaxed when he saw realization dawn on Loki's face, bringing with it a smile. "I'll help you set up and program your phone later, and make sure you have my number. And yes, Tony--" he added before Stark could interject with something smart-assed, "I know how to set up a phone. I'm from the 40's, not the middle ages, I'm not an idiot."

The whole situation was a little bit more strained and awkward than he'd hoped for in his head. He knew Loki didn't have the kind of camaraderie with the others that Steve'd had, and that his history made things, well, difficult. But they'd been getting used to him as a reformed entity even before the battle in the park, and when he'd done what he'd did and had to spend all the time recovering from it...

"How about you go on up and get the plates out, and Loki and I will take the next elevator up? I think I left my jacket in the exam room," Steve said, giving Bruce and Pepper meaningful looks.

The three of them took the first elevator up, and Steve (whose jacket was in his room, he knew perfectly well), waited a beat before pressing the button again. He glanced over at Loki. "You okay?"

  
  
  


Loki gave Steve a slightly watery smile and a nod.

"I am. I did not mean to seem unappreciative. This was just something very much unlike--

I've not had a group of friends before, is that common friend behavior?" He did not want to tell Steve that this level of kindness made him feel almost paranoid, or even at the very least suspicious.

"This level of good-- you, my health, their kindness. It makes me wary, I suppose. Of what will disrupt it. I feel as though, in my life, whenever I become too happy, something always must stop it from happening." He sighed, then smiled again, the expression less strained now.

"I am excited though, to be able to bid farewell to this area of the tower, about pizza and my suits-- May I put one on upstairs before we join them for food?"

He'd managed not to explain how much it rankled him, having been seen for so long in such a state of... well he could better that image now, could look good in his clothing and look put together, polished. As refined and grand as he preferred to look.

The elevator opened up for them, and Loki entered first, not at all exaggerating his joy at being done with this part of the building. He would be happy never to see it again, never to see the ceiling of it again most especially.

"But I am... glad. I need a moment to myself, so I can cast off some of my less happy emotions, and then... I want to celebrate with our friends." The words felt foreign on his tongue, and smiled at that, too, and shook his head, bemused.

"You have been entirely too good for me, astin min." He wished he could act upon the surge of affection he felt, the joy that rose as he reminded himself that these things were his. His love, his partner, his friends, his suits, his ...Starkphone, though he still wasn't sure what he would do with it. And they had said he could stay. This could be... home. His home.

He was overwhelmed all over again. Only this time, he could not stop grinning. This was the reaction he was meant to have, only come too late.

  
  
  


Steve had a pang of heartache when Loki confessed he hadn't had friends before -- because how unkind was it that a guy with over a thousand years of life had managed to go through it friendless? He realized he'd heard Loki talk of Thor and his friends, but they were always framed as ‘Thor's Friends.' Never Loki's.

"Yeah," he said, "more or less. Not that either Bruce and Tony are particularly normal, but recovering from a serious injury or illness is usually seen as cause to celebrate a little, with friends and family. And I've been meaning to get you a phone for a while now, so that's really handy too..." He trailed off, realizing Loki probably had things of greater weight on his mind than the phone.

"Yeah, of course, we'll stop at your room first and change. And...I know what you mean," Steve said softly. "About waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I know we're definitely gonna hit some bumps and hiccups -- we've got a lot ahead of us -- but I don't see why life can't also just get better. Considering how much we've dealt with and survived, I'd say we've earned a little bit of happiness." He looked over at Loki and smiled. "And if anything tries to keep you from being happy, I can always smack ‘em with my shield," he teased.

He wrapped the arm not currently supporting the suits around Loki's shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss against the cheek. Loki's happiness kindled his own joy, along with seeing Loki realizing and understanding that there were people who liked him, who loved him, and who saw his potential for good.

It wasn't perfect. But it was good. And getting better.

"Can I ask you a question, though?" he said, taking advantage of the privacy the elevator provided for a few more moments of keeping his arm around Loki. "I've heard you say it twice now: what does _astin min_ mean?"

  
  
  


Loki colored a little, pleased and embarrassed.

"It is an endearment. It's... beloved, or... perhaps sweetheart is close. If you do not like it I can stop." He hurried to offer, though he curled into Steve's arm while he did so, physical proof of the offense he would not take if that were the case.

"I think, like you, if a shoe is to drop today, I might be inclined to destroy it." If he had seidhr for the use, of course. "I should apologize though. It seems the plans I made yesterday with you for this evening may be... well I do not think they will be possible. I drained my seidhr somewhat more than I had planned, last night." And how he regretted that.

The doors opened as he said that, and Loki stepped out and towards his room.

"Cap!" He heard Tony beckoning. "C'mere, I need your opinion on something!"

Loki couldn't help but be amused. He held his arms out to take his own suits, and nodded towards the shared area.

"Go ahead. Let them know I will be along shortly."

He stepped in closer, daring because the rest of them were together, which meant that Stark would not be spying. Loki wrapped an arm around the garment bag and pushed his fingers through the hangers, pressing the tiniest peck on the corner of Steve's mouth while he did so.

"Save me some bacon pizza." Loki instructed as well, then stepped back with his gifts.

  
  
  


Steve grinned. Something about the idea of Loki calling him his sweetheart was both incredibly amusing and incredibly... nice. "Nah," he said, "I like it. I was just curious." He had told Loki he liked it when he called him things. This hadn't been quite what he had in mind, but he liked it all the same. It was unique, and sweet, and something just between the two of them.

The news that their relations for that evening would have to be postponed was disappointing, but far from surprising. Steve had suspected as much when Loki had been barely conscious in the cab ride home that morning. But they had plenty of time for that sort of thing. Before he could tell Loki as much though, the doors dinged open, and he heard Tony shout his name.

After handing Loki his suits and seeing him off, Steve made his way into the living area. True to Tony's word, there were six large pizzas, half of them bacon or some meat-covered variation. Tony had out a six-pack of some fancy microbrew, Pepper had a glass of wine in her hand, and it looked like even Bruce had deviated from his usual steady intake of herbal teas in exchange for a glass of red. Steve pulled a cider from the fridge for Loki and made his way back over, searching for the bottle opener.

"Hey, where's the Lokester?" Tony asked, upon looking up and realizing Steve had entered alone.

"Changing into a suit," Steve said, lifting off the cap of the cider, then reaching for a beer for himself. "He was a little excited about them."

Pepper bit her lip in concern. "I should go get more napkins... I hope he doesn't end up spilling anything on it."

Recalling the trick Loki had done with Steve's pants the night before, he flushed a bit and smiled. "Somehow I don't think it'll be a problem." He looked up at all of them, and his smile widened. "Thank you. For doing this."

Bruce shrugged. "It's really not much. But I'm glad he came through all that okay."

"He seems like he's really turned a corner, from everything I've seen," Pepper added, sipping at her wineglass. "You're a good influence, Steve. Hopefully all of us can help with that too."

Tony snorted. She gave him a sideways look. "Okay, _most_ of us."

"Never been a good influence a day in my life," Tony proclaimed proudly, taking a swig of beer. "Not gonna start now!"

"Anyway," Bruce said. "We backed your call from the start, and he's done nothing to make us regret that. And he definitely grows on you."

"Don't forget though that he did once throw me out the window," Tony added, though he was too busy loading a paper plate with a slice of meatlovers' pizza to bother injecting any bitterness into his tone.

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Tony, sweetheart, there are times I _wish_ I could throw you out a window."

"Aww," Tony grinned, leaning in to nuzzle at her cheek. "You say the sweetest things, Pep."

Chuckling under his breath, Steve pulled out a plate and slid out a piece of bacon pizza to set aside.

  
  
  


Putting on the suit was like taking a deep breath of air, after feeling starved for it for too long. It cradled him in ways no other Midgardian fashion did, and he felt a good deal closer to his own self, in it.

The shirt that was hung behind the jacket matched the emerald silk lining, though in a matte form, and he did not recall picking out a shirt. He was not sure who to thank for it, though he suspected Pepper may have had a hand in the choice. He made note to ask who was responsible and thank them.

When he stepped into the hall, he felt fresh. New. Like a large burden had been lifted from him. He'd left the jacket in his room, hanging with the other two in his closet, deeming it a more casual affair than would require a coat. Even so, the tailoring on the vest helped pull him straighter, make him less inclined to slouch. Maybe the added comfort was the improvement of his posture... or just his familiarity with the feeling. Maybe it was being in love with Steve, being loved in return, or even being openly ambulatory. Whatever the case, he felt much closer to free than he had since arriving at the tower, and it was good. He felt good.

As he walked, he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, as well. He would need to get cufflinks, something nice. Maybe he could commission some be made in the shape of Steve's shield, partially as a joke and partially as a statement. Or... he would if he had any money. He would need to speak... maybe to Pepper about whether there may be a way for him to find employment.

But then again, he should be putting his efforts and energies into finding out what Thanos planned and how to stop him.

The thought was sobering, and so he brushed it off for the time being. This was about being glad, and being whole, and being appreciative of this small group of friends that he had not counted on gaining.

He was sure they had not counted on him, either, which made it all the better.

Stepping foot into the living room, he could not help but be swept up by the air of joviality.

"Thank you for the shirts-- I know I did not pick them, so whomever did, your taste is impeccable." He beamed around the room, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "And thank you for this-" He gestured at the pizzas. "It's more than I could have asked for."

That said, he came around the couch to settle himself on the opposite side of Steve's seat.

"Yeah, when me and Pep went to pick it all up, the guys at the store recommended getting you some other stuff. The ties and socks are in the dresser for you, whenever you get around to it, along with a couple other shirts, suspenders, pocket squares. You know, the usual." Tony told him, shrugging it off.

"Oh." Loki said, his eyes widening again, almost comically, he was sure, but really. "You've done too much. Thank you."

He was only a few seconds from tipping out of the level of gratitude and back into the land of how was he ever going to repay these people, when Bruce pushed at the pizza on the plate in front of Steve, edging it a little closer to Loki.

"You're gonna want to start eating, before it all disappears." Bruce told him, an almost impish, almost shy smile in place.

"We could turn on a movie, maybe distract them enough to give you a better chance of eating your share." Pepper offered, teasing.

Loki wasn't sure, given the last time he had sat down to watch a movie with everyone, his talking through and over it had been... more annoying than anything, probably.

"Only if it is something without magic users." He answered, tone equally playful, despite his doubts. Pizza and movies and friends, in his suit, felt like a good night to him.

  
  
  


Steve looked up when he heard Loki's footsteps approaching, and promptly felt his jaw drop.

Steve was of the mind that Loki looked great no matter what. In casual clothes, he was lovely. In his armor, he was impressive as hell. In nothing at all, he was sublime. But in a suit...

In dress clothes, he was something else. The pants were fitted just right, and the pleats created a line that ran up his body and continued in the seams of his vest, emphasizing his height and streamlined build. The dark green of the shirt (a new addition; Steve hadn't picked it up) brought out the color of his eyes, and his hair fell in soft curls around the starched collar.

He blinked as Tony spoke up, rattling off a list of ‘the usual' which, judging from the prices Steve had seen in the store, must have cost more than what Steve typically spent on a month's rent. His mouth went dry. That was... Well, that was really something. Stark had been generous enough by letting them stay here, eating his food, living in his rooms, and, of course, by securing for Loki the services of the doctors on his payroll. And while the clothing surely amounted to a lot less, as a gesture, it was remarkably kind. More than Steve would have expected, which he felt a little ashamed for. It seemed he kept underestimating his own friends.

"You look like a million bucks," he finally managed to say, voice low as Loki sat beside him.

"If we aren't doing swords and sorcery, I vote spaceships and robots," Tony said.

Pepper sighed. "Don't you have enough robots to last a lifetime?"

"Didn't we deal with enough spaceships to last a lifetime?" Bruce mumbled into his drink with a small and rueful smirk.

Steve dished up his own slice of pizza while Bruce and Pepper teamed up to convince Tony that ‘the one with the hot chick and the robot cars' was not a viable choice for a team movie night. He would have paid attention, but he kept getting distracted stealing glances over at Loki. He looked elegant and sophisticated, better suited to -- well, to _suits_ than Steve had ever been. The tailor had really known what he was doing, he decided, taking a bite of scalding cheesey goodness. And also...

Also, Loki looked _happy_. Content. And while Steve had seen him as such before, it was rare that Loki looked that way around others. Between his returned health, the suit, and the smile tugging at his lips, he almost seemed to glow.

"What about a classic?" Pepper said, interrupting his thoughts. "Gone with the Wind?"

Tony looked up, aghast. "It's a million hours long, Pep!"

"Something Hitchcock, maybe?" Bruce piped in.

"Maybe... JARVIS, do we have Rear Window on DVD?" Tony said, tilting his head back.

_"Affirmative."_

Tony sighed and pulled himself to his feet. "Right. I'll get it. Jarv, turn the TV on, would ya?"

Steve took another bite of pizza, plucking away the strings of cheese with his fingers and surreptitiously licking his fingers as the TV screen blared to life, still set to the cable news channel.

  
  
  


Loki froze with the tip of his slice of pizza in his mouth, unbitten.

On screen, there was video footage of the memorial in the park, the same one he'd been at overnight. And the woman there was pressing her hand to the stone, trying to explain frantically to disbelieving news people about how it had glowed at her touch.

Loki felt his mouth go dry and sat the pizza down on the plate, averting his eyes.

He was ashamed, and a little bit concerned that even if they hadn't said anything before, they would have to, now. Have to address Loki's sneaking and magic use. Have to discuss the memorial and what it stood for... and it was one thing to be reminded of having thrown Tony out a window, or wrecking his tower. No one had _died_ from those things.

Loki swallowed and wished the couch would enfold him in its cushions, devour him up.

He looked studiously at his lap.

"Hey uh, Loki-- you wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?" Tony asked, and Loki winced at the strain in his voice.

"I--" he licked his lips. "I know I cannot make full amends, but in Asgard, when a life is lost... taken. When you kill someone, you give their family _jarlgjeld_ , a man price-- I thought. I know it isn't enough but." He gestured at the screen.

"Last night, I stole away and put an enchantment on the monument. The first member of the family to touch the stone will see their loved one's name glow softly-- only the once, never again. And they will find, on their person, a piece of Asgardian gold. It... should fetch a fair price. It is cowardly, I know, but..." He shrugged, miserable. "I wanted to do something. Small though it may be." He lifted his chin, almost defying Stark to say anything.

"I will not undo it." He announced, firmly, despite his fear of how they may react to that.

He did not dare look at Steve, his partner, his wonderful sweet boy, who had come to find him. Who had seen him at the end of the spell, wrung out and exhausted, and carried him home. And Loki hadn't told him. Hadn't wanted to. He'd intentionally omitted the detail of why he was there, so that Steve would not have to be confronted any further with what sort of horror Loki held within him.

He didn't think he would be able to bear the look of disappointment on Steve's face. On Bruce's or Pepper's... so he stared down Stark, because it was the safest place for him to look. The best option for his cowardice.

  
  
  


It took a few moments to understand what he was seeing. And it took a few more to process Loki's explanation, but it all slowly clicked into place -- why Loki had been at the wall, and why he'd been so weary and weak after. How much energy would such a thing take? Steve thought of the sheer number of names and felt his stomach drop. Loki had used his reserves to enchant each and every one.

It was little wonder he'd been the way he had when Steve finally found him.

"Huh," Tony said, the first to break the silence. "That's... cool. I mean, semantically a little weird; are we talking immediate relatives or second cousins half removed here? And there's probably gonna be an oversaturation of the gold market--"

"Tony!" Pepper hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

"--But, yeah. Um." Tony's eyes were glued to the screen as an old man reached out with a shaking, arthritic hand to touch a name, which flared brightly before winking out. "Good job."

 _"It's God's work!"_ a woman being interviewed on the TV stated, tears tracking down her face. _"The Lord is letting us know he's looking out for all our angels, and they're looking out for all of us!"_

"You were making reparations," Bruce said, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. "That's... that's very noble. I think."

Pepper had a hand over her mouth, eyes shining bright as she gazed at the television screen. "Oh," she breathed out softly, saying nothing more.

"So, Cap-- did you know about this?" Tony asked. "Little midnight field trip to the park?"

"Not the magic, no," Steve murmured, staring at Loki's profile. "The park, yes..."

Loki was sorry. Steve knew that. But he hadn't known that Loki had gone a step further. Back at SHIELD, Loki had saved Agent Ferra's life, with prompting, when the opportunity had been placed in his lap. But this -- this he had sought out all on his own. He'd been barely recovered when he'd gone out and used up his seidhr and probably every bit of gold he had to try to make it right. To try to help those he had hurt, to ease their burden and make recompense -- and all of his own initiative.

_"--at peace. It's gotta be--"_

_"--some kind of dormant luminescent agent triggered by the bio-electric signature of--"_

_"--like they're watching over us, you know?"_

Ignoring the voices on the TV, Steve felt a swell of pride and sorrow and-- and love, yes, he could call it that now -- and _love_ , wrapping around his heart like a fist. Without thinking, he reached out and took Loki's hand, intertwining their fingers and squeezing. "Loki," he said softly.

It wasn't until Stark cleared his throat that he remembered they could be seen, and they weren't alone: "Uh, Cap?"

Tony was looking at them with brows raised and eyes wide. "...Something you wanna share with the class?" he asked, gaze flicking pointedly down at their clasped hands.

Steve swallowed and froze.

 _Oh_.

Unmoving, he let his eyes flit from Tony to Pepper to Bruce. The latter gave him a faint smile and a small, encouraging nod.

He took a breath. "I..."

Pepper turned the volume on the TV down, and in the silence, Steve felt like he was about to step out in front of a firing squad. Only that wasn't right, because these were his friends. Loki's friends now too.

One day he'd planned to tell them.

(He just hadn't planned on one day being _today_.)

"I like men," he said in a rush, getting the words out as quickly as possible before he could lose his courage. "I... I'm queer. And Loki and I..." he looked over at his partner, licking his lips nervously. "We're, ah. Together."

He held his breath and braced for a response.

  
  
  


Loki fought to keep his eyes from widening, to keep his reaction from showing at all for Steve's sake, though he could hear his own heart pounding in his ears.

He turned his face to Steve's-- to their friends, and glared, daring them to say anything. If this was the other shoe that Loki had been expecting, he would have a hard time handling it. He could not destroy these people. And he had just barely given himself permission to think of the tower as home.

Loki refused to let go of Steve's hand, to take back what had been said. This was Steve's secret; it had been his choice to keep it. And they had been... approving, almost appreciative of Loki's work the night prior, much to his surprise.

But this... could they accept this, when they'd so newly accepted him? It occurred to him that glaring at them would hardly help matters, so he took a deep breath and covered Steve's and his own entwined hands with his other, protecting it like the precious thing it was.

Pepper nodded at them, surprising Loki with how quick she was to accept it.

"Thank you for telling us." She said, obviously weighing her words with gravity solely for Steve's benefit. He'd sounded so worried saying his piece-- Loki would have done the same. She was a very bright woman.

"That's well, not gonna pretend it's not a little bizarre-- ow!" Pepper hit Tony, which again, Loki was grateful for, primarily because otherwise he would have to and it would be less respected of an act. As it was, he was going to have very unpleasant showers, when Loki got his powers back.

"Look, I'm not saying it's bad. I'm saying, a year ago, if you had said either of those two things to me, I'd have told you to pull the other one. Right Bruce? Back me up here." Stark turned to his friend who wasn't waiting in stony silence for his judgement, and wasn't hitting him.

Bruce shrugged.

"I've known for a little bit. I think it's good. For both of you." Bruce said in his frank, calming way, speaking directly to them both, but looking at Loki.

"Wait up, when you got here, we had you hooked up to the lie detector..." Tony said slowly. "You said you weren't a virgin. Did you--?" He looked back and forth between them, an incredulous grin growing on his face at what he saw on theirs. "You did! You sly dogs! But then, wait--" He looked pensive.

Pepper put a hand on his arm, effectively stopping whatever thoughts he was having now that were trying to worm their way out.

"I'm glad you feel safe enough to tell us. I'm sure it must have been a difficult thing to keep in. If there's anything we can do, if you want to change sleeping arrangements, or anything at all, you know Tony and I will support you in that."

"And me." Bruce hurried to add.

"And Bruce," Pepper allowed. "I just don't get to speak for him in the same way."

"Tony can speak for himself." Tony interjected.

"Tony gave Pepper power of attorney years ago." Pepper mocked, then sighed and smiled. "We're glad you're happy, Steve. And you too, Loki. Take care of eachother. And eat your pizza, the cheese is starting to coagulate."

And that... seemed to be it. Loki felt bemused and a little breathless, and turning back to look Steve in the face, he squeezed their joined hands.

"You alright?" He asked softly.

  
  
  


He didn't think it would be that easy.

He'd expected an outburst, probably from Stark. A disapproving look. Maybe for Pepper to blush and politely look away (she was diplomatic enough that he doubted she'd say anything, but...). At the best, he imagined things would be frightfully awkward. At the worst... Well. Steve had seen the worst happen to other guys, which was why he kept his head down and his predilections to himself up til now.

In the end, the calm acceptance of his declaration was so anticlimactic that it left him reeling. He had of course, felt his face heat and turn red when Tony asked him about the whole virginity thing. He'd hoped he would have forgotten that detail in the time since he'd let that detail slip, but there was apparently no such luck, and his lack of a poker face gave more of an answer than anything he might have said. But apart from that moment of embarrassment -- there was nothing. No shame, no rejection; entirely the opposite. Like when Bruce had shocked him with a hug, Pepper was gently but firmly supportive, her voice warm and soothing. And even Tony, for all his flippancy, seemed more curious than upset.

And despite it all -- or perhaps because of it -- Steve's sense of shame intensified. Letting out a shuddering breath, he felt his legs go leaden and heavy and his head go light as he came down from an adrenaline rush he hadn't noticed kick in. He felt shaky and a bit dizzy, and it took a second to realize that the laughter he heard was coming from his own mouth.

"God damn," he said, combing a hand back through his hair. "I... You know, I spent so long being too scared to let folks find out--" that being accepted and told all his fears were unfounded was almost a let down. Only he couldn't say that. It would be far too impolite and ungrateful sounding -- and he _was_ grateful. This was more than he'd hoped for, and he felt awful for not realizing they'd be as kind about this as they all were.

He shook his head, trying to get a grip and bite back the hysterical giggling that wanted to spill out. "Thank you. I... I don't really know what else to say." He made himself look up at all of them. "You're really not bothered?"

"You know I'm not," Bruce calmly pointed out, taking a bite of pizza.

"Before we knew Loki better, it might have been a bit troubling," Pepper admitted, with a nod to Loki. "But seeing how different you are now, Loki, and seeing how much you obviously care about each other... I'm happy that you're happy. And Steve," she reached across the coffee table and put a hand briefly on Steve's knee. "You're still Steve Rogers, regardless of who you like. Whether you're attracted to men or women or both or neither doesn't matter to me."

"Ditto," Stark said around a mouthful of food. He swallowed, then his face broke into a grin. "Aw man, though. Can you imagine how big of a cow the conservative news networks would have-- ow! Pep, seriously, you're gonna put a hole in me in the shape of your elbow--"

Steve's eyes widened. "I'm not--"

"No one is telling the news," Pepper stated firmly. She turned toward Steve. "If you ever decide that you do want to make a public announcement and you want any help at all coordinating with the press or scheduling appearances, come to me and I'll take care of all of it. But no one in this room is going to out you."

Steve breathed deeply and nodded. The thought of anyone beyond this room knowing terrified him. And for all he knew, Barton and Scofield already did -- But there was nothing he could do about that now. "Thank you, Pepper."

"And if you want a great big Stars n' Rainbow Stripes Captain America float in the Pride parade--"

"No, Tony."

"--Then Stark Industries will just make a generous donation to an LGBT organization instead."

Tony looked to Pepper, who beamed at him approvingly and gave him a peck on the cheek:

"Better."

Steve took that moment to look over at Loki, shooting him a quavering smile while running his thumb over his knuckles. "I'm okay," he said quietly. And then, because they'd both just gone through dramatic revelations that had been received better than anticipated: " _We're_ okay."

He scooted over so that his shoulder pressed against Loki's, and he could feel his warmth at his side. He wasn't sure how he felt just yet about very overt displays of affection in front of the others, perhaps more out of his own sense of propriety than fear of judgement now, but this seemed benign enough. "What you did... It's really good."

  
  
  


"Thank you." Loki told the room at large, and then, giving his undivided attention to Steve, he reached up and touched his cheek, creating a barrier between them and the rest of the room, in the form of his arm.

"Wellp, I think I am going to go reheat this pizza. Pepper, Bruce, grab a couple of boxes and help me out?" Tony declared, standing and collecting two of the pizza boxes in his hands. Loki was amazed at his situational awareness, as well as his attempt at subtlety. He let them go, keeping his attention on his partner, able to see the way he was verging on hysteria.

"It is a start." He told him. "Not enough, but all that I can do, for now."He shrugged that off, though; he had done what he needed to and if they did not care, if they did not find it offensive, then he was done with it. Steve thought it was good; that was important. He felt better for having done it. And from what he had seen, the people appreciated it. That was nice.  But more pressingly, Steve mattered. Steve, and how he was handling telling his friends his secret.

"I am so proud of you. That was very brave, and I want you to know that I am glad you chose to tell them. I love you, Steve." He spoke softly, not certain if their friends were listening in on them. Either way, he could not bring himself to care. He stroked his thumb over the side of Steve's face, worried for him, well aware of how difficult this had been.

He hadn't planned it; that much was clear from the way he had frozen, the way he'd looked, panicked and worried and terrified. And Loki wished that was an expression he would never have to see Steve wear again. But he was almost certain that he would, every time they met a stranger and had to explain their relation to one another. Each time Steve had to tell a friend, or worry that an enemy might know.

And if he had known he was going to say something, Loki was certain he would have asked him, or at least told him. But no, this had been as much a surprise to him as Loki's actions at the wall had been, and his honesty had been at least partially Loki's fault. He hoped that Steve did not regret his decision, already, or worse, hold Loki's involvement in causing the scene against him.

But it had gone well. Everything had gone well. Everything that was important, they knew, now. Everything that had been hiding wasn't, and a further weight lifted from Loki's shoulders. They wouldn't have to lie and omit and cheat and sneak any longer. He could not say that he was not excited for the future, for them both.

"We _are_ okay, aren't we?" Loki said, words warm and reaffirming what Steve had said. "I suppose I won't need magic, won't have to sneak into your room, tonight." He gave him a smouldering little grin, then broke the stare.

Everything had gone so much better than expected. Their secrets were gone, everyone was fine, they were in love, none of their friends objected, and they--

 _"Pardon me, but there is--"_ JARVIS's voice cut in, interrupted by the doors of the elevator sliding open.

Loki dropped Steve's hand and slid away as Natasha Romanov walked into the room.

"Well hi, Cap. Fancy seeing you here." She greeted him.

Loki swallowed audibly.

  
  
  


The other shoe dropped.

 


	33. Thirty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger warnings in the end notes.

Steve stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the plate of half-eaten pizza on the coffee table in front of him as he sidestepped in front of Loki. Not that he could hide him, but if Romanoff was here to take him in, she’d have to go through Steve.

(Only he didn’t  _ want  _ to fight Natasha. She’d been his only friend for much of the time since the invasion, and he  _ liked  _ her. And just now, he’d finally been realizing that he wouldn’t necessarily have to choose between his friends and Loki; had finally been accepting the idea that maybe he could have it all, friends and a partner and allies watching his back--)

Somehow, he managed to retain his composure enough to square his shoulders, take up an evenly weighted stance, and lift his chin. “Natasha,” he said simply. 

She raised an eyebrow. “At ease there, soldier.”

“ Woah. Hey. What are you doing here?” Tony demanded, stepping out of the kitchen. “Jarv, what is SHIELD doing in my penthouse? What, are you sleeping on the job there, buddy?”

“ _ Ms. Romanoff utilized the Avengers override protocol, sir. You granted her access approximately sixteen months ago.” _

Natasha snorted. “Nice to see you too, Stark.”

It was around then that Steve noticed that she wasn’t wearing her Black Widow suit or any SHIELD gear. Instead, she wore jeans and a plain black tank-top under a short brown jacket; she looked to be unarmed, but Steve had watched her in action enough to know that didn’t count for much. 

She maintained a casual posture, though he gaze flicked analytically across the room sizing it up, before eventually coming to rest to a point behind Steve. “Loki,” she said simply, inclining her head by the barest fraction. 

  
  


Loki stood and placed a hand carefully on Steve’s back. 

“ I don’t have the seidhr to move us.” He whispered urgently, only then realizing that he had dropped his guards at the least opportune of moments. That just because he could trust those within the tower did not mean that those outside of it would not come. And so they had. 

“ Widow.” He greeted, raising his chin as he stepped around from behind Steve. 

At least he had his health. A bullet would likely not kill him, at this very moment. But by and large, he was not overly excited by the prospect of being shot.

And, far more interestingly, he’d been watching her face when Tony greeted her as SHIELD. She hadn’t emoted, exactly, but the tiniest lines around her eyes and mouth, the slightest tightening of her facial muscles, there and gone-- she had felt something. And Loki could only imagine what it was. 

How would he feel, if his friends were harboring a fugitive, and so in response to his showing up, they treated him with suspicion and a lack of welcome? 

Not, he supposed, all that differently than when he had thought they were asking him to leave. And he could see her watching him, covertly, from the corner of her eye.

The tension did not break with the realization, however. What broke it was Bruce shuffling out of the kitchen. 

“ Hey Tasha! You got my message, I see?”

Loki could feel the way everyone turned to look at him, and for a brief moment he felt the swell of betrayal. 

“ I did.” Romanov said evenly. “And you can relax, Steve. I am honestly not here about Loki. I’m here about what happened in Bryant park.” 

Loki crossed his arms defensively and glanced back at the screen, where people were lining up to touch the wall, relatives arguing over who got to make it glow, since it only did it once per name. 

He looked back to the Widow. 

“ Then it seems you are here about me, after all. I put the enchantment on the memorial.” He said, squaring himself for the argument that was sure to come. 

“ Yes. And it’s a lovely one, I’m sure. But I’m actually here about Schultz?” She said, looking hopefully at the people gathered in the doorway of the kitchen. She huffed out a sigh, then pulled a folder out of the bag that had been slung over one shoulder. 

“ I’m just trying to get any information you might have on what happened a few weeks ago. We’ve tried our best, but there’s just too much that doesn’t add up.”

Pepper strode forward, a plate of pizza in one hand. 

“ Let’s trade.” She offered, a benign smile on her face. Natasha arched her eyebrow, but took Pepper up on her offer. Slowly, Tony came forward, stepping away from the kitchen. 

Pepper passed him and smacked the folder to his chest, forcing him to take it or let it fall. 

“ Tony why don’t you get some drinks for everyone, I’ll bring the pizzas back out.” She suggested. Tony gave a jerky little nod, then paused halfway to the bar. 

“ I’m just gonna go ahead and throw this out there-- I want my windows to stay intact and no one to exit through them, if that’s okay. Mainly because I am tired of being the person whose turn it is to plummet to his near death.” 

And though Loki knew that it was being said in jest, he felt terrible. 

Natasha, on the other hand, came towards the couch, looking smug. 

“ You know Tony, some day you’re going to have to let that one go. It was one time, and the room was on  _ fire _ .” 

This, Loki felt, had just gotten bizarre. 

  
  


Steve felt some of the immediate fight or flight response ease when Natasha said she wasn’t there about Loki; he still felt like he had his guard up, but felt more like he was on the edge of hostile territory than like he’d just walked into a firefight. She was here because Bruce had reached out to her, and she clearly wasn’t dressed for a fight. And they  _ did  _ need to know more about what the hell had gone down in the park and why, now that they didn’t have their hands full with the aftermath. 

He pressed his lips together, eyeing her with caution, but also curiosity. “Schultz?” he asked.

“ Herman Schultz. The man who led the attack. He wore a mask and those gauntlets that gave you all some trouble.”

Tony flipped open the folder in front of him. “Herman Schultz,” he read, “aka ‘Shocker’ -- ha! Oh good grief, what poor naive soul thought that was a good moniker--”

Steve tilted his head. “German?”

“ In ancestry, maybe.” Natasha shrugged, taking a bite of the pizza that Pepper had given her and slowly sinking down on to an open spot on the couch. “But he’s an American citizen. Born and raised in New York.”

His frown deepened. “Why would a New Yorker use a stealth jet to attack a monument to dead fellow New Yorkers?”

Natasha sucked in her cheeks, looking grimly around the room, though he noticed her look lingered on him, then Loki. There was something she wasn’t saying, and maybe it was for the best. Right now, after the day they had had so far, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. It doesn’t fit his M.O. at all. Schultz has a record as a thief. He’s done time for bank robbery, and while he doesn’t seem to mind getting violent, every report we have on the guy suggests he’s only driven by the pursuit of money and respect.” Again there was the sense of her withholding something.

“ And getting your ass kicked by the Avengers does neither...” Tony mumbled, leafing through the file.

“ SHIELD’s working on means of getting Schultz to cooperate--” Natasha began. And for once, Steve fiercely thought:  _ good,  _ hoping they were being as aggressive and unpleasant as possible. Normally he’d have balked at his own reaction, but after what Schultz had done to Loki, he had about as much sympathy for the guy as he’d had for Zola when Phillips took the squirrely bastard into custody. Swallowing back his ire, he keyed back in to what Natasha was saying; 

“ \--Wanted to ask you if Schultz said anything when you were fighting that may have indicated his intentions. Did he want anything? Did he make any demands, or say anything to you?”

Steve glanced over at Bruce and Tony, who both shook their heads. He sighed. “The guy didn’t say a word. Just landed and started causing damage. It was... it was like the only plan was to cause harm and make a scene.”

“ They certainly picked a spot to make a scene,” Pepper remarked, emerging with reheated pizza. “Middle of midtown at lunch time next to a new memorial is going to cause a stir.”

Steve stepped back, one hand gently touching Loki’s elbow, and sank slowly back on to the couch. He looked sideways at Loki, trying to gauge how he was doing. They hadn’t spoken much of his attacker or the incident since it had happened, and where it had been a traumatic day already, he wanted to make sure he was holding up.

  
  


Loki followed Steve’s lead, taking his seat and refusing to look at him, because Romanov was a new variable in this situation, and it was already uncertain enough without her. 

He frowned, not having had enough presence of mind to devote his own mind to the attack much since being injured. 

“ But it was a park. And a memorial. What did they have to gain in attacking it?” He knew he must sound slow. “Unless this Schultz was seeking to compare himself to me in making the subject of his attack the memorial. I take it we are to assume he had no way of knowing that Steve and I were there?” He looked first to Tony, then to Romanov for an answer. 

“ Well, without him making demands, it’s hard to say. SHIELD thought he might have been after something you had, but he would have had to communicate that to have any hope of getting anything from you. We know that his ship was very close to what SHIELD has, but we have no idea what else he might have, or who might have supplied his technology. Which, as you can imagine, is very worrisome to the director.” Romanov was curt, cold but civil, polite without being kind. It was unsettling, but he really could not expect better, given the circumstances. That she was willing to speak while in the same room as him was enough to be considered miraculous.

“ What do you mean Fury has no idea where the tech comes from? It’s his tech!” Tony, naturally, seemed most upset about this. And given that it was his job to develop such things, it made sense that this was where his voice should raise and his interests intensify. 

“ But it’s in-house tech. You’re the only outside company that we work with, and for just this reason. But we’re not missing any. No one has been in our employ that could have access to the plans without having been screened, trained… unless we have a mole, it’s not us. And no one has accessed those plans in the last year, save a handful of people, all of which Fury met with and personally screened. And we haven’t been able to find any ties between Schultz and SHIELD. We’ve got people running fine tooth combs over his entire life; if he and a SHIELD agent so much as had library cards at the same place, we would know.” She shook her head. “Schultz is a high school drop out. He’s not capable of managing all of this on his own. And then there’s the matter of his team.” 

“ They were trained.” Bruce spoke up suddenly. “They took and held formations, they aimed to wound; not to kill. I saw them going after Loki’s clones. Lotta shoulder shots.” 

“ Which suggests they were meant to take any responders from the Avengers alive.” Romanov said, frowning. 

“ Except that what Schultz did to me was far from something most would survive.” Loki pointed out. “So they may have been meant to injure, but I do not think Schultz was operating under any such restraints.”

None of this made any sense at all. At least not to him. He looked, finally at Steve, trying to see what he made of the whole thing.

  
  


Steve rubbed his jaw, trying to process it all. It was strange, switching his frame of mind from this relaxed, civilian state he’d been in minutes ago back to the mindset of an officer and tactician. “Ok. So, if the gunmen and Schultz were targeting differently, the question is why. Either Schultz was going off book as a wild card... or the gunmen were just meant as window dressing. Extra noise, but second fiddle to Schultz’s lead...” 

“ What else do we know about the gunmen?” Tony asked, handing the file to Bruce.

“ Like Banner said, they’re trained,” Natasha said with a nod. “Most of them escaped police custody before SHIELD was able to get on scene, but those that we’ve managed to positively identify are career mercenaries. Professionals.”

“ Says here Schultz usually works alone in his past heists,” Banner said, frowning at the documents. “So why commit an act of terrorism with a mercenary following?”

“ And why the SHIELD-esque tech?” Tony followed up with.

“ When the jet came down, I thought they were SHIELD at first,” Steve admitted. 

Bruce lifted his glass and swirled it, but didn’t drink. He glanced sideways at Natasha. “I mean, if they wanted to discredit SHIELD, undermine you guys, then using your tech to stage an attack would do the trick...”

Natasha brushed her hair behind her ear, looking pensive. “But why go for something big, like the jet, but not bother with accurate SHIELD uniforms? If they wanted to make this look like a SHIELD strike to the public, it would have been easy enough to do.”

Pepper had come around and was leaning over Bruce’s shoulder, looking at the file. “Schultz is usually after money, correct?”

“ Which is why this makes no sense,” Bruce grumbled. “There’s no profit in beating up a park...”

“ Unless you were one of the mercenaries getting paid to do it--”

Steve straightened abruptly. “Wait. We’ve been assuming Schultz was the one in charge.” He looked at the others. “What if he’s just another mercenary? The attack isn’t his M.O., but if he was getting paid for it--”

“ Then we’re looking in the wrong place for answers,” Natasha finished. “We need to find out who paid Schultz, and what they want-- which could very well be outside of Schultz’s usual tastes.” She looked as though she had just made sense of something, nodding to herself.  
“ And who outfitted him with SHIELD tech,” Bruce added, pulling Steve’s attention back to that.

“ And we still don’t know the  _ why _ of any of it,” Tony pointed out, finishing his drink. “I mean, seriously, all they managed to get accomplished was some property damage, some Avengers PR, Loki here doing his best impression of a water balloon, and Cap dishing out an ass-kicking...”

  
  


“ Well. As Steve said, our initial thought was that SHIELD had come for us. Had we not been there to note the differences, would any here at the tower have been able to say that we were certain it was not SHIELD?” Loki asked, then frowned. 

“ Also, Steve and I had stayed quite out of sight up until this incident. Not that I generally believe I am at the center of everything, but. Could it have been a ploy to draw us out? I assume SHIELD knew where we were but had, for whatever their reasoning, chosen not to act on it?” 

Loki looked to Romanov, who shrugged. 

“ I know about before you left SHIELD and about the attack. Fury’s not fond of giving information he doesn’t have to.” 

“ And you’re fine with that?” Stark asked, voice sharp.

“ It may seem odd to you, but I deal in intelligence the way  _ some people _ ,” She said with a pointed look around the tower, “Use money. He’s basically the penny pinching rich guy type, as far as I’m concerned.” She shrugged again, though some of her veneer of ease had been scraped away. 

Loki snorted. 

“ That is a childishly benign way of depicting him, and I feel we are not, any of us, so naive as that.” He shook his head, though.

“ Continuing in the line of why… if they did know Steve and I were there,” He said, switching his attentions, “Steve was also only injured despite engaging in close combat with Schultz himself. I on the other hand-- despite the fact that I am here now, I feel we must count my injury as a lethal blow, for on any one else, it would very much have been the truth, and it nearly was for me as well. So if they were to engage with and injure others, but meant to kill me…” He lifted his chin and firmed his mouth. He would not say that he deserved it, though he felt that way, and a queasy feeling was developing in his stomach. So many more people had been there that day that might have died, and those all would have been his fault. 

“ If you’re talking about being targeted in retribution for your attack on New York, then yeah that would make sense, except that Steve definitely had to pull him away from pulverizing the memorial. Which makes no sense for some kind of patriotic vendetta.” Bruce spoke up, and Loki could have kissed him, with how quickly some of the knots in his chest unfurled at his calm words of logic. 

“The other thing, though…” Loki said slowly, “Is that with them fighting me to kill, had I used lethal force to defend myself, it would become apparent that I am still the monster who did invade, who caused that memorial to need erecting. So if it was to draw us out, perhaps there was discrediting intended to happen all around. This attack may have been a sloppy attempt at severing ties between SHIELD and the Avengers, as well as public support and the Avengers, if you continued to harbor me.” He took a deep breath. “Which I suppose begs the question: was I recognized?”

  
  


Steve swallowed nervously, but Natasha spoke up immediately:

“ By SHIELD now, yes, but there’s been no media word. Twitter blew up with a picture of Cap carrying you out of the park, but your face doesn’t show and you were only captioned as ‘wounded civilian.’ We’ve kept news of your return to Earth on the down-low; most of SHIELD knows, and a few outside consultants, but the public at large is unaware. I don’t think anyone knows where you are, though we have had people working on trying to track any signatures your magic might give off. It’s all been unsuccessful, as far as I know.”

“ Which doesn’t mean someone else didn’t spot the news footage and recognize him,” Bruce pointed out.

“ True,” she acknowledged. “But if they have, they’re keeping it to themselves. And without the get-up and the army, he’s not exactly an obvious match for the guy people saw during the invasion. So for now, your presence on Earth isn’t widely known.”

“ And nobody outside Bruce, Tony, myself or SHIELD would have had any reason to know Loki was here prior to the chance of him being seen during the attack,” Steve added. “So... the likelihood of him being targeted would be low, right? It could just be a coincidence.”

“ This whole thing is giving me a headache,” Tony announced, running a hand back through his hair. “So, we don’t know who or what is behind this, we have tech that shouldn’t be accessible turning up places it shouldn’t, and we have a whole mess of possible motivations, against SHIELD, Loki, or the Avengers. Anything I’m missing?”

“At least we have a slightly better idea of where to look and what questions to ask,” Natasha said, though without much optimism in her voice. Her face had gone closed off again, and she was looking between Steve and Loki in a way that made him uncomfortably aware of how close they were to one another. What did she see, looking at them? What was she thinking?

“ I’ll let SHIELD know to stop focusing on Schultz’ motivations, and to grill him on who hired him. We can track down all his financials and any known associates to see if there’s indication of who might have put him up to this, or anyone he’s interacted with that fits a profile of hostility toward any of us.”

“ So you  _ are _ reporting back to SHIELD,” Tony snapped.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Unless you have another intelligence network in your back pocket we can use that you haven’t told us about...?”

“Natasha,” Steve interrupted, worrying his lip. “When you report in...” He looked sideways at Loki, then back at her, expression almost pleading. 

  
  


Loki furrowed his brow, unsure what Steve was trying to ask. Romanov, it seemed, had no such problem. 

“ You want me to find out what they’re planning on doing about you guys being here?” She asked, making it sound like an offer. Loki was a little surprised at her frankness, but he supposed she was among her friends. Or trying to make them feel like she was. 

“ If you would.” He said. “I feel as though, if nothing else, it will give me some level of expectation in how I am to be met by them, so that should anything else like the incident in the park happen, perhaps next time I will not have my bones crushed to a powder.” He spoke frankly in return, surprised at how her tone shifted from moment to moment, as though she could not decide how to address the situation. He wondered if it was simply the dichotomy of speaking to her friends with an enemy in their midst.. 

“ Yeah, I can ask. I won’t promise answers, because it’s Fury, but I’ll ask. It’ll cost you, though.” She said, and Loki stiffened for a moment, until she raised her plate. “I’m going to need at least two more slices. And a beer.” 

Loki’s lips twitched into an incredulous smile, but he stamped it down and turned to look at Steve. 

“I believe that’s a deal we should take. If you will excuse me?” He asked, standing. 

It was likely, he thought, that the moment he walked away, Romanov would either hit Steve very hard on the head in an effort to recover his mind, just in case, or she would say something about Barton. 

Loki wanted to ask, but did not know how, and the idea of telling the rest of the Avengers that he had made an even deeper enemy of one of their number was unappealing. 

The pizza was in the oven, set low to keep it warm, though the cheese at the top was beginning to brown. 

He realized suddenly the large amounts of windows in the room, though, and became worried that perhaps he had been sent alone into the kitchen to be restrained and kidnapped from it. 

He grabbed three slices and returned quickly, though he had been willing to try and give them time to clear whatever might need airing. Apparently that was not to be the case, thanks to his paranoia. 

  
  


Natasha let out a breath as soon as Loki left the room. “All right, anyone wanna fill me in on the Asgardian roommate situation?”

The tower’s denizens exchanged looks. “Apparently Steve’s overwhelming morality is contagious, and Rudolph caught a nasty case of human decency,” Tony said with a shrug.

“ Steve came to us for shelter with Loki after SHIELD took some shots at them,” Bruce explained, a bit less flippantly. “We hooked Steve up to a lie detector and made sure he wasn’t brainwashed--”

“ \--Which I’m not,” Steve hurried to add.

“ \--And he’s honestly been astoundingly sane and normal. Not to mention he got hurt taking a hit for me in the park attack,” Bruce finished. 

“ He’s... he was hurting and he was messed up when he came to Earth the first time,” Steve said, purposefully keeping the details vague. “But he’s not like that now.” He licked his lips. “He deserves a second chance.”

Natasha tilted her head thoughtfully and looked at him. “And you don’t think he’s going to blow that chance?”

“ No,” he said, voice firm. “I don’t.”

Her eyes flicked over to the others. Pepper shrugged. “He’s been nothing but a gentleman since I’ve been here. And... he’s been quite compassionate.” The TV was now showing the weather report, but she still stole a glance at it.

“ I think he’s genuine about reforming,” Bruce commented.

“ He hasn’t broken any of my stuff this time around,” Tony pointed out, nonchalant. “So, you know. Better than a lot of my houseguests have been. And besides, if he goes dark side on us again, I think we can handle it. We did the first time around.”

Natasha seemed to consider it all, then nodded. “I’m here about Schultz, not about Loki. But if the topic comes up...” A half-shrug. “I can pass that along.”

Steve blew out a long breath. “Thanks, Natasha.”

Her expression softened slightly. “Yeah, but in exchange, I’m gonna need your new phone number. Your old one doesn’t even go to voicemail anymore with your inbox full.”

  
  


“ And at some point, I still need to learn how to work a phone.” Loki said, passing the plate her way while he forced his voice into some semblance of nonchalant normalcy. He returned to his seat calmly, settling in without looking at Steve. Romanov was not like the others, and he realized that he would have to start all over again with winning her over before he could be open with Steve, even in their home. He sighed inwardly, revising his plans for the night yet again. Still, he supposed he should make nice with her. He tried a pleasant, small smile. 

“ Stark was kind enough to give me one of his phones as a wellness gift. You actually came at an ideal time; I was just declared whole and free of observation this morning.”

It occurred to him as Romanov bit into her pizza that she had exhibited trust in allowing him to get it for her; he did have poisons in his pocket, though he had yet to organize it, and he had been alone, and had opportunity. 

But then, it was this sort of thinking that made him less than the person that he could be. The person he should be, for Steve’s sake. So he pushed the thoughts aside. Romanov was Steve’s friend. Not his, yet, and perhaps not ever for the wrongs he had done Barton. He wondered if she had repaid him yet, if she counted her debt to him settled. 

He thought that how safe he felt around her might depend on that a good deal. 

“ Wait, so, you don’t just… heal up instantly? I mean I figured since you came away from the Hulk with only a few scratches…” She sounded interested, curious, and Loki thought he should extend her at least a little of the polite trust she had extended him. 

“Actually I had four broken ribs, my leg was pulled from the socket and my whole torso was a bruise, but those were all small things. I had them healed before you got to me.” Loki looked to Bruce who was wincing. 

“ Bruce, it’s fine. We were enemies then, remember-- and it’s likely I would have done much worse things if you hadn’t stopped me.” He spoke softly, apologetic. “The point is, that took very little healing. And it was just fixing what was there, not regrowing and reforming what wasn’t. So yes, I only just finished all of that, after Schultz’s attack.” He shrugged. “We were not exaggerating when we said it would have killed anyone else. More aptly, there would be very little of that person left.” 

He put his lips together, pinching them as he considered. 

“ However. I did use a good deal of… magic, in the fight. Did no one equate that magic with the wounded civilian? There were a hundred duplicates of me, at one point. I find it odd there has not been more rumor mongering. I am glad that it is not Loki whose name is attached to it, but I was thinking, if it were to happen again. Perhaps it would be best if we established some form of false identity for me.” He looked from Stark to Pepper to Romanov. “I believe you would be the people to ask about that.” He would not ask Pepper about jobs in front of Romanov, because he did not want her knowing that he was, at present, merely leeching off of the others. And he did not want her to begin questioning how she felt about his interacting with other humans, less suited to… how had Tony put it? ‘handling it’ if he went ‘dark side’? 

No, better that she grow comfortable with the idea of him here, now as he was. 

“ Oh-- I’m sorry, I forgot to get your beer.” He realized, cursing himself for the impression he was making. 

“I got it. Anyone else want anything?” Tony asked, already halfway to the bar, and seemingly glad to have something to do. 

  
  


“ Water,” Steve and Bruce said in unison.

Tony pulled a face of utter disgust at them, then wandered into the kitchen while grumbling under his breath.

“ To answer your question, Loki, you’d be surprised what people can rationalize,” Natasha said. “As far as the greater population is concerned, magic is all fairy tales. If they see it, they’ll usually try to justify it with science, or some other rational explanation; government experiments, mass hallucinations from gas leaks, that sort of thing. Failing that, some will call it a miracle and ascribe it to faith. And others...”

She shrugged. “Others will just blank it out and ignore it completely, because they can’t handle something that changes their worldview so much. There are people who still insist that the Chitauri attack was a terrorist event and not extra-terrestrial in origins. And there’s a lot of folks who’ve managed to convince themselves that Thor is another super soldier like Cap here who happens to have electrically volatile tech. Given all the chaos happening during the Bryant Park attack, I’m not surprised people have either rationalized away or ignored what they saw.”

Steve wanted to say that was ridiculous, to insist the masses weren’t so ignorant. And yet... They’d seen magic taking place on the television, and people had defaulted to more palatable explanations, just as Natasha said. He chewed his pizza slowly and thoughtfully. 

“ All that said,” she continued, nodding her thanks as Tony handed her an opened beer, “I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything about it if SHIELD hypothetically had a cyber unit that monitors online communities and social media, hacking and corrupting files, or posting misdirection and derailing rumors using alias accounts...” 

Tony snorted. “Of course you wouldn’t,” he said, dropping on to the sofa with a grin and grabbing a slice of bacon pizza. 

Things were… if not comfortable, at least quiet. Peaceful. There was small talk without much real sense of camaraderie, and once Natasha had finished her food, she stretched, the motion seeming out of place in the borderline tension of the room.

“ I better go before some idiot thinks I’ve been kidnapped and need an extraction team,” she said with a yawn. It jolted Steve out of his sense of complacency. She was here on a mission, had been the whole time. He shot a quick look at Loki, hoping he had managed to keep more distance from the situation than Steve had.

“ If you’re tired, we have guest rooms you could stay in,” Pepper offered. 

Steve felt a brief flare of alarm -- for all that he liked Natasha, and didn’t think she was going to pull anything, he wasn’t sure how he felt about her sleeping just a door or two down from Loki after all that had happened. But Natasha assuaged his worry with a shake of her head: “I’ve got a hotel room in the city, and all my stuff is already there. I appreciate the offer though.”

“ I’ll have JARVIS call you a cab, then,” Pepper said, still gracious. 

“ And I’ll walk you down,” Steve said, standing and brushing a few crumbs from his lap.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Alright.”

Steve gave Loki a quick smile as he scooted past him off the couch, then walked with Natasha down the hallway toward the elevator bank.

“ You know,” she said in a quiet voice as they walked down the hall. “I half thought when I came up here that I’d have to rabbit-punch you in the head.”

He snorted. “I’ve seen how hard you punch, so I’m rather glad you didn’t.”

The corner of her mouth tugged upward. They reached the elevator and Steve hit the button. 

“ He’s killed a lot of people, you know.”

“ I do know,” he replied evenly, “I was there.” He looked at her askance. “I happen to know some very good people who overcame very dark pasts.”

“ Hmm,” was all she said, expression blank and inscrutable.

The elevator doors dinged open.

“ Steve?”

“ Yeah?”

“ You still haven’t given me your number.”

“ Oh, right,” Steve smacked himself in the head. “Uh. Do you have a pen?”

She huffed in amusement, then reached into her jacket and pulled out a glossy ball-point pen, handing it to him before she hit the button for the lobby.

“ By the way, be careful with that,” she remarked as Steve gently took her wrist, holding out her hand so he could write the number on it along the side of her thumb. “It’s loaded with C4.”

Steve fumbled and nearly dropped it, eyes wide in horror, until he looked up to see her smirking. He scowled. “You’re messing with me.”

“ Probably,” she said, shrugging with one shoulder as he scribbled out the digits. “But you make it easy.”

The elevator whirred downward, the numbers above the door steadily dropping. 

Steve handed her the pen back and cleared his throat. “So, uh. How’s Barton doing?”

“ I was wondering if you’d get around to asking me that.” She glanced at him, then away as her smile dropped. “He’s been better. Been worse, too. But...” She sucked on her teeth for a moment. “You need to talk to him, Steve.”

“ I’m pretty sure the last thing Clint wants is for me to talk to him.”

She pursed her lips, a small line appearing between her eyebrows. “Even so.”

He stared at his feet in silence, searching for something to say to that and coming up empty. 

The doors dinged as they reached the lobby, then opened. Natasha sighed and stepped out, pulling her jacket tighter around her. “Well, it’s been real.”

The elevator door began to shut, and Steve quickly reached out to hold it back. “It’s good to see you, Natasha,” he said abruptly. And meant it. The circumstances may not have been absolutely ideal, but Natasha was sane and reasonable, and... and she was a good person. Regardless of the skeletons in her closet.

She paused, and there was a brief flicker of surprise on her face, before it vanished behind a self-assured smile. “You too, Rogers. I’ll be in touch.”

He waited until she’d got into her taxi and shut the door before taking the elevator back up.

When Steve reached the penthouse again, he heard Pepper’s laughter filtering down the hallway and smiled. Hands in his pockets, and mind still occupied peripherally with thoughts of Natasha and Barton and the scepter, he made his way back into the company of his friends.

  
  


Loki was glad that the evening had been conducted on disposable plates. He would have felt like he needed to help with dishes, but the adventure of doing so with Midgardian plumbing and soaps, and without seidhr, was one he could live without. 

He relaxed further when Steve returned, glad that at least Romanov had not tried to coax him into leaving with her, or worse: done so by force. 

She may be a friend of Steve’s, but Loki had no real reason to believe that she would not work towards his ruin, if she thought Steve would benefit from it. 

And illuminating as her visit had been for him, she had not learned much, while here. It would be good to have solid answers when she got back, though. If she could get solid answers. Provided she intended to be honest with them.

He was very divided. And he was worried about what SHIELD showing up in this way would mean for them. It was clever of them to send in someone this familiar, this much a part of their group already. She integrated herself so easily, save for with him. And she had seen the way her eyes and lips tightened when she spoke of or looked towards him. She suspected something, but was either too polite or too focused on her task to say anything. He did not look forward to her returning when he  _ was _ her assignment.

That said, she wasn’t staying with them. Which meant that Loki was free to curl up to Steve as much as he wanted-- as much as Steve was comfortable with, considering how new all of this would be for him. 

Unless… 

“ JARVIS?” Loki asked, quietly aware that there was another conversation going on that he had been mostly ignoring for a few minutes now. 

“ _ Sir? _ ”

“ Can you tell if the Widow left anything behind? Any technology or…?” Loki felt his eyes slide sideways, hoping that Stark would not be offended. 

“ _ Nothing that I can find.” _ JARVIS answered promptly. Loki frowned. 

That didn’t make any more sense than the rest of the night had. But he was glad of it, at least. 

So Loki turned to Steve. 

“ Like I was saying before-- are you alright?”

The visit had been a surprise, he knew that. He just hoped it wasn’t too unpleasant of one for Steve. Loki himself was suspicious, but fine. Not unaffected, but… not as upset over everything as he might have been, had it been anyone else to deliver the news. 

  
  


“ Hm?” Steve looked up, jerked from his thoughts, which had begun to wander again. He’d been thinking about SHIELD and the mess he’d probably left with increasing guilt, and it must have shown in his face. He took a breath and let his expression ease. “Yeah, I’m fine, sorry. So, no bugs or anything?”

He didn’t  _ think  _ Natasha had planted anything. But he wouldn’t have been wholly surprised -- or offended -- if she had. He reached for the glass of water Tony had given him and took a sip--

\--And sputtered and coughed. “Jesus, Tony, what the hell?” he wheezed. “That’s... that’s not water!”

“ Nope.” Tony shot him a shit-eating grin. “That would be vodka. Surprised you didn’t smell it.”

“ Why,” Steve said, lowering the glass, “would you give me a  _ water glass of vodka?” _

“ Because,” Tony stated. “This is a party -- not just because Gandalf here is back in the land of the fully ambulatory now, but also ‘cause you’re out of the closet, which, good for you, and SHIELD isn’t gonna storm the gates and Romanoff was only being slightly terrifying versus her usual levels of moderately-to-severely-terrifying. So I think everyone needs a drink to make this a legitimate celebration.”

Steve glared at him. “Alcohol doesn’t affect me. I metabolize it too quickly.”

Tony held up a finger. “Just because you metabolize it quickly doesn’t mean you can’t get drunk. It just means we need to fill you up with booze  _ faster.” _

Bruce groaned, covering his face with his hand. “This is a terrible idea...”

“I have a bottle of Everclear, and so help me, grandpa, you are going to be buzzed tonight, and we’re going to have some fun. Hey Jack Skellington, you in?”

  
  


Loki raised a single eyebrow. 

“ Are you speaking to me?” He drawled, keeping his friendly smile in place, but making his voice a little closer to his usual nobler-than-thou tones. “I did ask that you call me by name, Tony.” He pointed out. “As for drinking, do you think it wise? Attempting to inebriate a god? Especially given the…” He made a face. “Flavor of your drinks. I’m not certain, if your ales are so abhorrent, that there will be anything strong enough or flavorful enough to do the trick. With all due respect, of course.” It was almost a sneer, but the effect was ruined by Pepper throwing a pillow at him. 

“I’ll have you know there are plenty of very tasty alcoholic beverages. Not everything is better on Asgard, I’m sure of it.” She told him. “And Steve-- even if it doesn’t work, maybe just a little? Group bonding, and all?” 

She was lucky Loki liked her as much as he did. 

“ Come on, I’ll line up some shots. Something nice and frilly to start off with. Who’s in? You are Loki; this one’s for you. Pep?” Tony was already making his way behind the bar, unstacking shot glasses and plopping them on the counter with sharp little sounds. 

“ Yeah, I’ll have one. One.” She repeated sternly. “Steve? You can handle one shot, I know you can.” She stood and offered her hands to Loki and Steve respectively to draw them to their feet. 

“ Bruce?” Tony called out. “You wanna join in, be one of the cool kids?” 

“ No, thank you, but no.” Bruce said, raising his hands almost defensively. “Alcohol impairs decision making and filters and control… and you want to keep celebrating the tower being in one piece, right?”

“ We’ll make you a green tea soymilk shake or something then. Something celebratory. JARVIS? Get on it. Alright. So… four? Four.”

Tony started pouring, then stopped. 

“ Hey, weird question, but do you weigh less as a girl? Do you get drunker faster?” He was looking Loki’s way, of course, and he could all but see the calculations trying to work themselves out in Stark’s head. 

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Just pour. It’s not like you don’t have enough for a few extra fingers, and you know better than to ask women weight questions.” 

“ Ye-ahhh,” He conceded, busying himself with making the drinks. “But he’s not a woman at the moment, so.” 

“It still counts.” Pepper insisted, wrapping her hand daintily around the shot glass. 

She looked back at them and tilted her head, as if to say,  _ well _ ?

Loki looked to Steve for guidance, not entirely sure what was happening here.

  
  


Steve looked to Loki and shook his head, indicating that he was every bit as much at a loss.  _ Just go with it,  _ he mouthed. It seemed like Stark was going to foist alcohol on them one way or another; all they had to do was outlast him drink for drink, and they’d be able to escape soon enough. Right?

“ Alright, here we go,” Tony announced. “Everyone gather round. Bruce, this one is you--”

“ \--I had a feeling,” Bruce said with a sigh, accepting the shotglass of green liquid. 

“ \--This one’s yours, Pep--”

“ Thanks.”

“ And for you loverboys--” He handed them each a shot glass.

Steve’s had something a bit more viscous and a poison shade of blue at the bottom, gradiating up to clear, with a reddish liquer floating in a layer on the top. He looked at it, then up at Tony, who grinned. “How patriotic,” he observed cautiously. 

Tony winked, lifting his own simple, amber-colored shot. “Ok, everyone. To--”

“ To health,” Bruce said, raising his.

“ To friends,” Pepper added with a smile. 

“ To getting you lot trashed, and not my tower,” Tony said with a smirk. “Ok everyone -- 3... 2... 1... go!”

Steve lifted his shot, and, seeing that Tony was throwing his back, proceeded to down it. The initial taste was sweet, followed by the sharp intensity of grain alcohol, and ending on a sour, tangy flavor. He shoot his head, pulling a face, and set the glass back down on the counter. “That was.... interesting.” He glanced over to see how Loki had fared.

  
  


Loki’s had been light, yellow tinged but clear, and the rim of the glass had been limned in sugar, but the flavor… well, it tasted a good deal like chocolate. 

“That…” He said slowly, “was delicious.” He sat the glass back down, but pushed it towards Stark, willing to admit he was wrong, but also willing to milk the opportunity for all that it offered. 

“ What else have you got?” 

Bruce kept tally, but Loki didn’t actually want to know the numbers. Or particularly care, really. He’d tried one of everything Tony had thought he ought to, surprised and glad to find that nothing was as bad as the ale. He’d tried so many flavors, each with a more ridiculous name than the last, and eventually he’d settled down with a bottle of something called midori and had ceased to notice when his glass refilled itself. 

They had migrated back to their previous seats, and he had found himself lounging, leaning against Steve in the process of getting his feet tucked up beside him on the couch. 

It was surprisingly relaxing, this, and surprisingly easy. He was used to being the odd man out in such situations, but so near as he could tell, none of them were. Even Bruce was smiling and chatting, not seeming awkward at all. Though he also did not have the sleepy torpor that both Loki and Pepper were exhibiting. 

But suddenly he felt as though he were no longer missing out on the situations he had always somewhat written off, from the times he had made his excuses to Thor and his friends. 

He tilted his head to the side to look up at Steve, breaking off in mid sentence about the limited flavors of meads and melomels that he had experienced on Asgard, as a sudden thought struck him. 

“In Asgard, in such situations of celebration and friendship and community, often dice or card games are played. Have you any such things here, any such entertainments?”

  
  


Tony’s eyebrows shot up and he held out a glass of some whiskey variation in Loki’s direction. “You. I like the way you think. When it’s not crazy-talk or anything, I mean. I think I have a deck of cards--”

“ Tony, no...” Pepper swatted at him and missed. “You remember what happened the  _ last  _ time you and Rhodey tried to have a poker game!”

“ Somehow I’m not sure cards or gambling would be the best idea,” Steve remarked. He’d been sipping bourbon for a while now, after doing 5 shots of something that tasted like it could be used to clean drains, to get Stark off his back. He wasn’t drunk, or even buzzed, but he was beginning to get a sort of warm feeling in his extremities that was.... nice. “Considering how deep in debt we all probably are to Tony anyhow, and given I’ve been reliably informed I can’t lie to save my life.”

Stark waved a hand dismissively. “Bah. All debts forgiven, you don’t owe me squat.”

“ I mean, there are other party games,” Bruce ventured with a shrug. “There’s charades--”

Pepper and Tony both groaned. “No one here is drunk enough for charades,” Pepper said. Which, given the very bright shade of pink her cheeks and the tip of her nose were gradually turning, Steve figured was saying something. 

“ What about Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Tony said, waggling his eyebrows at her. She snorted and rolled her eyes. “I’d hope it’d be longer than seven minutes....”

Steve downed the rest of his shot, coughing slightly. “Uh, Tony. I need another.”

Tony dutifully picked up a bottle of liquor. “Brucie! Party game ideas?”

“ Never got invited to all that many parties,” he said, shrugging. “And I don’t like my chances of getting out of here alive if we play Spin The Bottle...”

“ Truth or Dare?” Pepper piped up, nibbling on a pizza crust. 

Tony’s grin widened. “Okay. Okay, I can see that. Rogers, why don’t you start us off-- Truth or dare!”

Steve blinked, catching the shot as Tony slid it down the counter at him, a little bit of golden brown liquid sloshing over the rim. “Uh... Dare, I guess.”

  
  


Loki sat up, intrigued and bemused. 

By dare, he hoped they did not mean something that might endanger Steve, but… these were his friends, were they not?

“ I  _ dare _ you…” Tony was fishing for something to say, that much was obvious. “Pepper, give me some options here.” 

“ I am not R&D, Tony. Nothing about coming out.” She told him, and prodded at him with her toes. 

“ That’s not options, Pepper, that is the removal of options. Don’t make me demote you.” Tony was obviously only playing grumpy, his disgruntled expression breaking in favor of a half smile. 

“ You wouldn’t do that; I’d get even less vacation time.” She sounded smug. And, Loki thought, she had every right to be. If anyone had perfected the art of getting Tony to behave, it was Pepper. 

“ Everclear.” Tony decided, firmly. “I dare you to grab the everclear, and get busy. I expect you to keep drinking it until it’s gone or you think you’re going to puke. Or both.” 

This time it was Tony who looked smug, and Loki was certain the look on his face was distinctly unimpressed. 

“ At least one of us just toasted to health a bit ago, I feel like drinking to illness is a porrible-- horrible, poor use of the evening.” He tripped over the words, which was unlike him. 

“ I’ll be honest, I’m curious to know at what point the alcohol might take effect on your system, Steve. If that doesn’t work, we can always try it dry, mixing it with some maltodextrin… it’d be dehydrative, but maybe that would help…” Bruce trailed off thoughtfully. 

“ Well Steve? Gonna take the dare?” Tony pressed, a wicked smile all across his face. 

“What happens if he does not?” Loki asked.

  
  


Steve snorted. “Tony becomes even more insufferable than usual.”

“ There’s no real conquequence-- consequences,” Pepper said. “Just that in the spirit of the game, you either have to be truthful or complete a dare. It’s no fun if you chicken out. But--” she looked pointedly at everyone, “--it’s also no fun to push people past their comfort zones. So  _ be nice.” _

Tony was ignoring her, retrieving the bottle of colorless alcohol and shoving it into Steve’s hands. “Here you go, champ.”

Steve looked at the bottle, sizing it up, then looked at Tony’s smirk. The last time he’d made an honest effort to get drunk, he’d downed an entire bottle of brandy without feeling a thing. Surely, this wouldn’t be too bad, barring the taste.

“ Okay, fine,” he said, unscrewing the cap.

Bruce whooped softly and clapped his hands, grinning. 

Steve sniffed it, regretted it instantly, then braced himself and lifted the bottle to his lips. The taste wasn’t so much taste as it was  _ burning,  _ like disinfectant. It felt like it was eroding his throat on the way down, and he managed three-- four large gulps before he had to lower it, coughing. “That,” he sputtered, “is gross.”

“ You gonna puke? Or you giving up on us there?” Tony folded his arms.

Steve looked up balefully. He lifted the bottle and began to drink again, this time trying not to even think of the taste. He got a little over half the bottle down before he had to lower it again, his sinuses stinging and making his eyes water. “What is this stuff made of?”

“ Almost pure alcohol,” Bruce remarked.

“ Here, how about you take a break, Steve,” Pepper intervened, getting a glass and filling it with water from the sink. 

Steve accepted it gratefully. “Thanks,” he croaked. He sipped at it slowly, wincing as he could all but feel the Everclear sloshing in his stomach. “Whose turn now?”

“ Since Tony gave the dare, I think it’s his turn,” Pepper pointed out. Tony gave her a betrayed look. 

“ I’ll go,” Bruce volunteered. “Truth. Steve?”

“ Hmm?” Steve blinked and shook his head. “Sorry? Oh. Um. You said one time you broke Harlem... what happened, exactly?”

Bruce winced. “Oh. Well, it’s sort of a long story...” 

He launched into what he assured them was the abridged explanation, involving the military, the bastardized serum and the project attempting to recreate the results of project rebirth, and how in addition to creating the Hulk, the serum was used on a man named Emil Blonsky, who became something even bigger or worse. This culminated in Banner and Blonsky facing off, with the Other Guy being the only thing strong enough to stop the abomination that Blonsky had become. “...And that’s how we wrecked several blocks of Harlem,” he concluded with a shrug. 

Tony began to snicker. Bruce glared at him. “What?”

“ Nothing, it’s just...” Tony’s eyes crinkled with mirth and he dissolved into giggles. “The Other Guy invented the original  _ Harlem Shake _ !”

Bruce and Pepper groaned at a joke that Steve apparently missed. He sipped his water and tried to ignore the slightly tingly feeling he was beginning to experience, certain it would pass soon. 

“Loki, you’re up,” Bruce said, turning. “Truth or Dare?”

  
  


Loki pursed his lips and took another drink, buying himself a little time. Either option could be daunting, but given that, according to the rules as he understood them, it would be Bruce who was asking for the truth, that did seem the safer option. 

After all, a rambled rant through a minor explanation of seidhr could hardly cause any harm, could it?

“ Truth, I suppose. Contrary as it is to my reputation.” He swung his head in a graceful arc to face Bruce in wait for his question. The motion felt smooth, fun. He almost wanted to repeat it. He stopped himself, though. The Midgardians knew their own form of alchemy, mixing their alcohols for flavor and effect. Loki would love to make a study of the art form. 

“ Alright…” Bruce seemed to be thinking, and Loki felt a little unsure; he’d supposed Bruce to be the sort with a list of things he’d want to ask, already ordered by priority. 

“So you said Asgard is flat. Has anybody ever fallen off?” 

“ Come on Bruce, you aren’t even drunk, that’s not how--” Tony broke in, angry sounding. 

Loki held up an imperious hand, despite the slight blurring he noticed around the edges of it when he looked at it. 

“ Well, I have, for starters.” He said simply, patting Steve’s leg. “But actually when an Asgardian dies, they are sent over the edge in a small boat, set on fire. To go and join the stars.” 

“ Stars are burning balls of gas. Not dead space vikings.” Tony said flatly, as though he were offended. Loki shrugged. 

“ I’m a god. You said worlds couldn’t be flat. You have no idea what seidhr is, or krellr, or how they work… who are you to say that my-- Thor’s ancestors are not stars?” It was perhaps not his best worded argument, but he thought he made his point. 

Judging by the petulant look on Tony’s face, he had. 

Pepper laughed. 

“ Oh, stop Tony, he’s right. Don’t be disrespectful. My turn. Dare.” She said.

Loki appreciated the idea of this powerless mortal woman putting her life, though restrictively and under supervision, into his hands. 

“ I dare you not to do Stark’s duties for an entire day, and let him figure it out.” He said frankly. 

She laughed again, then sobered. “Oh, oh you’re serious, Loki no-- I would have so much work when I came back to it.” She was shaking her head and looking disappointed, and Loki had meant to do something good for her through the power of this game. 

“Well then, I dare you…to find me a job in the mortal world.” 

  
  


Steve had winced when Bruce asked about anyone falling off the edge, bracing himself for the mood to shift--

Only it didn’t, and Loki patted his knee in reassurance, continuing without a hitch. The banter and joking didn’t falter, and Steve allowed himself to relax. Truly relax -- the liquor Tony gave him had been foul going down, but it was hitting his system now and the feeling was not wholly unpleasant. He even found himself eyeing the remainder of the bottle. 

He blinked at Loki’s second dare. 

“ Wait, what?” Stark frowned. “You want a  _ job?  _ Like what, bagging groceries? Styling hair?”

“ He cuts hair good,” Steve interjected, then frowned. “Well. Sorry. Cuts it well.” But aside from that, while he recalled Loki asking about money and jobs and how they were acquired some time ago, he hadn’t realized that Loki had been serious about being employed.

Pepper looked as startled as the rest of them, but then her expression turned thoughtful. “Okay, deal. But I’ll have to look into in the morning when my head’s on straight. We’ll talk options, okay?”

Steve looked back and forth between the two of them. “What kind of options?”

She shrugged. “Well, with his knowledge and skill set, he could be a huge asset to any of the research divisions. We could set up paperwork for a consultant position. We have enough foreign consultants that the legal department can work around the loopholes of him not having cizin--citizenship,” she explained. “Anyway. Later. When I can talk. Tony?”

“ Yes, dear?”

“ Your turn.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “I know you. Your dares are lame. Like daring me to do the dishes or go a week sober or something inhumane like that.” He lifted his chin defiantly. “Truth.”

Pepper tapped her chin, grinning wickedly. “I think I’m opening this one up to the floor. Boys?”

  
  


Bruce chuckled and Tony looked downright betrayed. 

Loki looked at Steve and raised his eyebrows, trying to see if he had any ideas, before turning back around. 

Bruce was there first, though. 

“ You must have made some incredibly dumb things, throughout the course of your career. And I’m not talking bombs or whatever, I’m talking… what is the dumbest idea you actually tried to develop?” 

“Spoken like a true English teacher.” Tony said, saluting Bruce with his drink before he took a good sized swallow. 

“ Well, I assume you’ve all met Dum-E.” He looked around nodding, but Pepper was shaking her head. 

“ That doesn’t count and you-- know it.” She paused for a moment, sounding a little like she might have the hiccups. 

“ Fine. I wanted an alarm clock that would double as a bed maker. I was… mm, maybe not quite twenty.” He tilted his head, and his eyes rolled to the side as he tried to remember, though the expression lasted only for a moment. 

“ I made it while I was at MIT, and it was late-- or early and I was drunk, and I wanted it to play a different song every day, and then once I was up it was supposed to take care of making the bed, so if I brought a girl back during lunch, well--” His eyes shifted to Pepper and he shrugged. 

“ Anyway what actually happened was it played Walk like a man the first day, and made the bed with me still in it, but broke down in the process, so I was basically tied to the bed by my sheets. Didn’t make it to class, couldn’t reach my phone. Rhodey had to come looking for me and cut me out of the mess. Second day, it played Walk like a man again, I combat rolled out of bed, and then the bed caught on fire. I disassembled it that night. Still can’t hear that song while I’m asleep without launching myself sideways.” He gave a crooked little grin, like  _ what can you do _ ?

“Bruce, you get a dare this time. Dare you to save the day one of these days all green and pantsless.” 

  
  


“ Um, I’m not sure that’s how it’s supposed to work,” Steve protested. He lowered the bottle of Everclear, which he’d been taking a swig of. Because as it happened, chugging the damn stuff  _ could  _ give him a nice buzz, which was something he hadn’t enjoyed since 1942. 

Bruce gave a much maligned shrug and sighed. “Well, unless Tony hurries it the hell up with those nano-fiber pants I requested, it’s gonna happen one of these days whether he likes it or not. The Other Guy is pretty rough on pants.”

“ Right, nano-fiber,” Tony snapped his fingers in the air. “I’ll be working on that. Like. Real soon. Wait, whose turn is it? Stevey? Lokes?”

Steve sighed. “Me, I guess. And since I learned my lesson, Truth.”

Tony snorted. “Whatever -- I see you still drinking that stuff, you lush. All right, all right--”

“ You just went!” Pepper protested. 

“ What? Do you have a good one? Anyone? No? Ok -- Steve--” Tony grinned wickedly. “When did you lose your virginity?”

“ Tony,” Bruce groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Steve felt the color rising in his cheeks, and not entirely as a product of the liquor. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck. “Um.”

“ We can come up with a less crass one,” Pepper offered.

“ Hold up. I have to save the day naked, but  _ he  _ gets the less crass one?”

“ It’s okay,” Steve said, glancing sideways toward Loki, as if to confirm that it was, in fact, okay. And since everyone in the room already knew he and Loki were together and didn’t mind... 

He took another gulp of liquor and put the bottle on the table. “Day before Loki and I got here. Probably... mid afternoon?”

Stark’s eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his head as he choked on his drink. And that, Steve decided with a grin, was entirely worth it. 

  
  


Loki had to stifle a laugh, surprised at how free Steve was with his tongue after drinking his liquor. He reached over to offer him his hand, just to touch him, to remind him that he was here, that he loved him… that yeah, they did that and it was great, and if they were not too drunk, they may well be doing something similar that night. At the same time, though...

“ I don’t know what you expected,” he felt the need to point out to Stark. “It isn’t as though we had all that much time together, outside of SHIELD surveillance and before arriving here.” 

That said, he was glad that Steve had not seen the need to go into detail about it. There were some parts of Steve that he was perfectly happy to keep to himself. 

“I believe the next question goes to me, and again, I will take a truth, but in the spirit of Pepper’s giving her question to her partner up to the floor, I believe the question ought to be opened to any who wish it.” Loki rubbed his thumb over Steve’s hand. 

“ You can ask me questions any time, and you know I will tell you truths.” He told him, voice a loud whisper-- louder than he’d intended, in fact. He looked skeptically at the green drink, shrugged, and helped himself to a little more.

Tony raised his hand. 

“ Yes, got it. I know I just-- but can I? Please?” He looked back and forth between Bruce and Pepper, and Bruce made a hand gesture that suggested Tony get on with it. 

“ Okay so, you know, there’s stories of you from a long time ago, I guess when you came for a holiday visit or something, but. There’s some stuff in there about you screwing animals and having all kinds of wild babies. Truth?”

Loki stared incredulously, then scoffed. 

“ Truly? Those stories persist?” He shook his head, appalled. 

“ No animals, no children. I once was… enamored? Entangled? No I think, I was not engaged enough to be either. I spent some time bedding a mortal man, Snorri Sturlson. He was a Christian, but he became, hm, very  _ dedicated _ to learning the beliefs of the people we stayed with. Until he discovered that I was to return to Asgard and was not to take him with me. And so… he chose to besmirch my name as much as possible. The saddest thing, however, is that the stories he told were naught but the fantasies he’d spoken of in bed, turned to lie, then to myth, and, I suppose, now, legend. He was very fond of the idea of my shape changing being used to get me with child, and often with the child of monsters or beasts.” Loki laughed a little, then took a drink. “But no. I’ve not given birth.”

“ Man, and I thought Europa and Japan’s corner of the smut market were weird…”

“ See? Your exes could always be worse.” Pepper remarked lightly. It was all slightly awkward, but the way was eased enough by the drink to be bearable, and to stay away from the morose.. 

“ Alright, Loki can’t ask Pepper again, so Bruce, you do it.”

Obediently, Bruce nodded. “Pepper?” 

“ Ohh, truth, what the heck.” She said. 

“Do you want kids?” He asked, almost instantly, and Loki blinked. 

  
  


Pepper looked surprised, lowering her glass; beside her, Tony’s eyes widened in panic. “Well, I kinda missed my window on that one,” she began, puzzled. “Biologically speaking, I’m a little old for a safe pregnancy. And even if....” she shrugged. “With Stark Industries and everything else I handle, I don’t really see kids figuring into the picture. I have some nieces and nephews I get to spend time with, which is nice. But in all honesty--” she grinned, and lightly punched Tony, “--I already have a great big baby I take care of full time.”

Tony snorted. “Har har. And thank god, because let’s face it, I’m not exactly qualified to be a dad.”

“ What makes you say that?” Steve asked, sipping at the bottle which, honestly, didn’t taste as bad as he’d initially believed, though it left his mouth sort of nicely numb.

Tony gave him an incredulous look. “Aside from the obvious? Not like I exactly had an ideal role model for fatherhood, given I got stuck with Howard.”

Steve frowned. “Howard was a good man.”

Another disbelieving snort. “Yeah, maybe in 1944. People change. Into assholes, sometimes.”

“ Well if having an asshole dad disqualifies you from parenthood, I guess that covers me too,” Bruce said, looking down bleakly. “I mean. If you weren’t counting the issues with the Other Guy. Of which there are many.”

“ I’m picturing a bunch of highly destructive green toddlers right now, I’ll have you know,” Tony said with a grin. “What about you, Steve-O? Lemme guess -- you had a real swell, all-American pop who threw a baseball around with you in the back yard and called you ‘sport’!”

Steve shook his head, shoulders slumping a bit. “Nah. My dad died before I was born. Never knew him.”

“ Oh. Damn. Sorry, pal.” He pulled a face. “Though, if it’s any consolation, it probably makes him a lot better than Bruce’s dad and mine. Honestly don’t know quite what the extent of Lokes’ daddy issues are, but I’m willing to bet there’s something rotten in the state of Denmark there. So really, none of us have much of a good standard for dad-hood, so it’s all probably for the best we don’t have or want kids, human-shaped or otherwise.”

Steve’s frown deepened, his expression turning annoyed. “I’d want kids...” he muttered, taking another drink.

  
  


“ Would you?” Loki asked, surprised, and glad that he was not only trapped in his male form. It would be horrible to think he could not give Steve this thing that he wanted. “I think you would make an amazing father.” He said softly. “You’re so good and kind and patient…” He had to reach up, to touch Steve’s cheek, to smile at him. “Any child would be lucky to have you.”

Bruce startled at that. 

“ Green toddlers isn’t that far off of a possibility, though, and… what about you, Steve? Aren’t you worried that they might get some of the serum in their bloodstream? I can only imagine… it’s hard enough keeping people from taking samples off of you or I, but from a child…” 

“ Junior skins a knee and you’re practically calling in Hazmat.” Tony sniped. 

“ And if they didn’t get the serum… I saw the before pictures in your file. You were really sick, weren’t you?” Pepper sounded concerned. 

“ We hadn’t spoken of this yet,” Loki murmured softly, leaning back against Steve. “But we could protect a child. If they were ill, I could heal them, make them stronger. If that is truly something you wish, in theory I could conceive as a woman. As I said, I haven’t before, but…” He shrugged, thinking it over. “Oh, but… I worry that it might come out blue.” He swallowed and sat his drink down at the horror that spread through his chest at that thought. “Actually, I… I don’t think that is a very good idea after all.” 

He swallowed again, trying to imagine what he might do if he gave birth to a squalling blue monster. 

He would probably kill it, he thought. It would be a merciful act. The child would not grow to hate itself. It would not have a secret like that, and it would never learn that it must hide its face to be a person. 

The thought was upsetting just the same, though, because he knew he would do it. He would kill the child. And no doubt Steve would hate him for that.

  
  


It kicked in a minute too late that he ought to have kept his mouth shut. 

“ I mean, I just... hypothetically...” He cursed himself internally. Of course, he shouldn’t have said anything. Not without talking with Loki. He’d only meant it in the abstract sense, forgetting briefly in the haze of the alcohol that this wasn’t just his choice to make; that he was in a relationship with Loki, a relationship they were both committed to making  _ last,  _ and that meant that any hypothetical future he had now would involve Loki and his wants and needs as well.

And Bruce had a point. As did Pepper. And it wasn’t something he hadn’t entirely considered either. If any biological progeny he had got the serum, they’d have government agents and morally bankrupt scientists chasing after them with syringes, which wasn’t something Steve would tolerate. It was bad enough having people go after  _ his _ blood like vampires attempting to recreate the serum; a kid who was half-supersoldier -- or half supersoldier and half  _ god -- _ would have little chance at a normal childhood. And if the effects of the serum didn’t get passed on... not that he wouldn’t love and protect any child, regardless of if they inherited his sickliness or not, but his heart ached at the thought of passing it on and having to see a kid of his go through that. 

“ Wait, what you do mean,  _ blue?” _ Tony asked, looking at Loki, perplexed.

Steve stiffened. “It’s nothing,” he said, putting a hand on Loki’s knee. “I mean. It’s just a thought, for the future and stuff. Obviously we’d have to talk about it. Maybe once I retire, get a civilian job. Then maybe, I dunno, adopt.” He wasn’t feeling very articulate, but he figured the general intention came across. And more importantly, distracted from the mention of Loki’s jotunn heritage.

Pepper raised her eyebrows. “You want to retire from being Captain America?”

“ Well. Someday, yeah. It’s not like I wanna be throwing the shield around when I’m in my 60s,” he mumbled, blushing a little. 

“ Well, technically, you’re like, 95...”

Bruce frowned. “How old are you anyway? I mean--”

“ Without the whole frozen-in-ice part?” Steve’s nose wrinkled. “Um. 28. Give or take half a dozen months.”

Tony whistled. “Looks like Tall, Dark, and Godly’s robbing the cradle.”

  
  


Loki vaguely registered the conversation that happened afterwards, his heart pounding and head echoing with the word ‘adopt’. 

“No.” He said, suddenly, well aware that it was too late, that talk had moved on, but his mind was working slowly from the alcohol. 

“ No, Steve--  _ adopt? _ ”  He didn’t have words for the horror he felt, but it spilled out in his voice. 

He shook his head, scooting sideways so he could turn to more fully face Steve, uncaring what the others might think of the rudeness of his pose, and the way he was cutting them out of the conversation now, but they weren’t important at the moment.

“ We can’t adopt. We can’t-- do you know how much that hurts?” He thought to his own discovery, his own revelation, learning that his parents, his family, his home, his realm, his kingdom, his future, his past, none of it had been his. None of it was real. And that hadn’t even been the worst of it. 

“ Can you imagine, Steve?” He asked urgently, voice feeling fuzzy with sorrow to his tipsy brain. “Bad enough with me, finding out you’re adopted and you’re a monster. Can you imagine a child? You’re adopted and your father, who has been chasing monsters from your dreams and from under your bed? He’s the real monster.” He swallowed, the bile an almost physical presence at just the thought. 

He wrapped his arms around himself. He was starting to shake, and suddenly felt, acutely, the presence of their friends, felt their eyes on him like fingers trying to pry him apart. 

“ I think-- I think I need to be excused.” He said softly and slid jerkily to his feet. 

He wanted to say thank you, wanted to apologize for having ruined the evening, for having taken away the fun, but he knew doing so would only make it worse. Instead, he gave everyone a tight lipped little smile, and said, “I hope you’ll continue the festivities.” 

And he meant it. 

This was so ridiculous, this was such a… not small, but it should not bother him so much. He should not be weaving so, down the hall on the short walk to his own room, and yet… 

And yet all he could think of was drowning blue children, or having some small mortal child, who he would have to watch grow up, grow old, die… watch them realize that he was not what he’d seemed during their childhood. That he was terrifying, horrific, a monster. 

And if having a terrible father meant that he should not be one, well. Clearly, as Stark had said, it would be best if they did not have children. 

But Steve… Steve wanted children. Steve wanted to be a father. And it seemed Loki could not give him that after all. 

He felt a dry sob shudder out of his chest, and he stood in his room, staring without seeing at his bed. 

He should have realized that Steve’s life would need all of the things a life should have, short though his would be. He would want a home, which Loki could not give him, and a family, which Loki could not give him, and… and what  _ could _ Loki give him? 

He was going to lose him, because all the things Steve truly wanted, Loki could not be. 

  
  


Steve’s eyes had widened at Loki’s outburst. Of course, he knew Loki had been adopted and found out under awful circumstances. And it had been thoughtless of him to forget that. But even with that knowledge, the absolute  _ horror  _ on Loki’s face was nothing he would have anticipated. 

He stared in open-mouthed shock, his brain unable to catch up to form a suitable reply, to find words of comfort and reassurance enough to make Loki stay. Instead he sat there gaping like an idiot as Loki stood and excused himself. It was only once he’d made it round the corner that Steve found his voice enough to call out, “Loki, wait!”

“ ...What just happened?” Stark looked shaken, eyebrows both arched upward. “I feel like I’m missing something big here.”

“ Loki’s adopted,” Bruce murmured, grimacing. “I forgot, Thor said as much.”

“ I’m guessing it’s a sore subject,” Pepper noted softly. 

Steve groaned, dropping his head into his hands. It felt like the inside of his skull was buzzing. “Dammit,” he groaned. “I screwed up. I didn’t mean for--  _ dammit _ .”

Things had been so happy and going so well. And then he had to go be stupid and put his foot in his mouth. 

A hand gently touched his shoulder. “Maybe you should go after him?” Pepper suggested. 

He swallowed, rubbing at his face, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I gotta...” He got to his feet, blinking as the room spun a bit. The amount of liquor he’d drunk had apparently been enough to exceed his metabolism, and affected him more than he’d expected. Still, he’d created this mess, booze or no, and he needed to try to fix it. 

Concentrating hard on placing one foot in front of the other, focusing intently on his balance and moving in a straight line, he made his way down the hall toward Loki’s room. The door was shut when he reached it, and his hand was halfway to the doorknob when he stopped, and made himself knock instead. “Loki?” he called out.

“ Loki... I’m sorry.” He licked his lips. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have said anything and I definitely shouldn’t have brought up anything like that without talking to you first. I’m sorry.” He let his forehead fall against the door with a thunk. “Loki, I’m real sorry. Honest. Please,  _ please  _ open the door.”

  
  


Loki hadn’t meant to keep Steve out, just to keep any sounds he might produce from reaching the party in the other room. 

He opened the door, facing Steve. He wasn’t crying, he hadn’t done that yet, but… he felt miserable. He was sure he looked miserable. 

Steve certainly did. 

“I…” He hesitated. Then, “I’m sorry. I… the drink lets my imagination get away from me, and I. I think you should be a father. I think you should have children, and a family and…” He huffed and stepped aside. 

“ Do you want to come in? I know we started this talk in front of others, but we don’t really need to continue it in public.” He couldn’t help but think it odd, this entire situation. His brain was distant and his emotions bruised and everything was so much more difficult to handle, right then. And he didn’t not know if it was just the day he had had, the alcohol… or if he was genuinely this shattered, if he broke so easily at the thought of… of all of this. 

He closed the door behind them and took a seat on the bed, exhaling loudly. 

“ I… haven’t had a family. I mean, I did, but then. It was false. It was a lie. And I would like that, would like to have that with you, a family. My family. Our family.” He felt like he was desperate, saying this. “But I cannot imagine adopting a child.” 

There it was. His line in the sand. “We could try… try making me pregnant. I would do that, I would carry your child. I would give birth to him. But we cannot take in some other child, lie to him, tell him that he is like us. He will not be a super soldier, a god. He would be different from us, always feeling like an outsider, always like he didn’t belong. And I cannot imagine-- I do not want to be the reason for any child to feel that. It-- look what it did to me. And I had fall backs, skills, my seidhr, my training. I do not want to force any child to have such a life as that sort of lie might give them.” 

He took a deep breath. 

“I want you to have the family that you want. I do not want to lose you because I cannot provide it. So I will, I’ll have your child if you like. We could do that. But we can’t-- I can’t adopt a child. Please, Steve.” He hadn’t intended to beg, but he was. He needed him to understand, and he felt like he wasn’t making any sense. 

  
  


The door opened, to Steve’s relief. Loki wasn’t shutting him out. Not yet, anyway, in spite of his stupidity. He gratefully followed Loki into the room, sitting on the bed beside him, and listened. 

“ Loki...” he finally breathed, the word heavy with sadness. “We wouldn’t-- we would do better than your family did. I promise.” He reached out and took Loki’s hand in his. “We wouldn’t lie or keep it a secret like your parents did to you; we’d have no reason to. If we adopted, he-- or she-- would know it. They’d know we adopted them and they’d know that we didn’t have a kid because of-- of an accident or because we got sloppy one night.” He squeezed Loki’s hand. “We’d have a kid because we  _ chose them.  _ We  _ wanted them,  _ enough to jump through all the hoops and paperwork to bring them into a family. And yeah, sure, they wouldn’t be like us.” 

He shrugged. “But-- On Asgard, it hurt you not being like everyone else. But a normal kid we adopted? Would be  _ just  _ like everyone else. They’d be Human. Normal. All their friends, teachers, boyfriends or girlfriends they’d have someday -- they’d be like  _ them _ .” Being the black sheep of the family would certainly hold little candle to being a unique child of a god and a supersoldier, and not having DNA even close to any of their peers. “And even being normal wouldn’t mean they couldn’t be extraordinary if they wanted. I mean, look at Stark, or Natasha. They’re 100% unadulterated human.”

He swallowed. “And if... if we had a kid of our own, we’d have to be paranoid about them. We’d be scared to let them go to school or play outside on their own in case the government or military came after them like Bruce, or someone else wanted to run tests on them. There’s a lot of people who wouldn’t go after you or Thor or me cause we all hit too hard, but a kid’s an easy target. And that’s no way for anyone to grow up,” he said as he shook his head. 

“I wanna have a family someday, yeah. And... and I love you. I’d love to have it with you, Loki. My family’s all dead and yours let you down, and maybe-- maybe out there somewhere is a kid whose family died or left them, and we could give them a proper family too, you know?” He reached up to brush a knuckle against Loki’s cheek. “It’s... we don’t have to talk about it now, though. We’ve got time to figure it out. And... and if you don’t want kids...” he winced, but tried to force a smile. “Well, Pepper and Tony don’t have any and they’re okay, right?”

  
  


“ I don’t think we would, I don’t believe that any would think that they could get away with it, once we have made it clear that we will not look kindly, will show no mercy, to any who harmed or tried to experiment on our child. He could have tutors in the home, or he could go out with guards, with a governor until such a time as he could care for himself. I am sure he would have your strength, my ability with seidhr. Woe to any human who thought they could take him unawares. And he would grow up knowing that he was loved, treasured… Family is important to you, and to me too.” He caught Steve’s hand. “I would not make you give up this dream, not for me. I want your child. How could he be anything but perfect, with a father like you? And… and if I somehow ruined it, if it came out monstrous, or… well. Perhaps one of the Jotnar would take it in.” Then again, child of a Jotun runt and a human, it would be small. No doubt, if he sent it to Jotunheim, the child would only be left to die, as he had been. He frowned. 

“ If I ruined our child with my blood, at least we would have tried.” He said simply. He didn’t know what they would do after that, though, if it came to pass, but he had to believe that it would not. 

“ As for us taking in a mortal child… can you imagine Steve? Imagine looking up to your parents and finding that in every way, they are taking strides that not only can you not match, but you never will be able to. How many children have you seen who wish to grow up big and strong like their fathers? But our child, he never could. He would never even approach being as strong as his family. And then… it is one thing to know that I will likely see that day that you die, but Steve, asking me to watch our child, watch him age, and grow old, and can you imagine being him? White haired and decrepit, embracing his father and having me look as I am now? And we don’t know-- what if you age slowly? This child we selected, this child we chose… we would also be choosing to give him so much pain.” Loki’s face was crumpling in sympathy for this little person who did not even exist, not really. 

“ How would telling him that he did not belong be any better than letting him merely sense it, to see it as he grew up and further apart from us?” He shook his head. “Adoption is not a bad thing, for those families who are mundane, are the usual sort of people of the world, and if they take in children like them. But… for us, for any child we could adopt here…” Loki let his words taper off, seeing the way Steve’s face was changing as he spoke. 

He was certain he’d crossed some line.

  
  


Steve shook his head as Loki described the kind of overly sheltered, isolated life they could give the kid. Even he knew that was cruel; more cruel than not resembling or having the skills of his parents would be to shut him or her away from society, from friends, unable to form connections or have a regular care-free childhood, kicking a ball around on the sidewalk or hanging out in the park with buddies, without the specter of a bodyguard lurking nearby. That was wrong.

But not as wrong as what Loki said next.

Steve had noticed the way Loki had referred to their hypothetical offspring as ‘he.’ Figuring Loki was simply hoping for or preferring a boy, Steve hadn’t said anything, though he would have been equally happy with either. But noticing the word made it all the more apparent when Loki switched from ‘he’ to ‘it’ -- the minute he mentioned the possibility of the child being Jotun.

Everything Loki said after, about a child not growing up to be like them, or aging at a different rate -- it faded into the white noise ringing in Steve’s ears.

“ Can you even hear yourself?” he demanded, horrified. “A child isn’t an  _ it,  _ Loki, just because, just because he looks different! And he wouldn’t be a monster -- we’re talking about your child  _ and mine!” _ His head hurt, and he felt vaguely ill, though whether from the conversation or the excess of grain alcohol, he wasn’t sure. Part of him wanted to get up and leave; but another part, the tenacious, angry, stubborn part, couldn’t let this go. “You think it’s too unfair to raise a kid in a loving home just because he isn’t superhuman, but you don’t see a problem with  _ abandonment!?”  _ He stood up, wavering slightly on his feet. “How-- how can  _ you _ of all people think that’s okay? If --  _ if  _ \-- we had a kid, adopted or biologically or, or whatever, we’d love them, unconditionally,  _ no matter what.” _

He felt sick at heart as much as he felt sick to his stomach. He’d thought -- he’d hoped that they’d moved past this, or made progress of some sort in Loki’s self hate. That he was beginning to understand that his actions were monstrous, but that he could be better. Was better. But it seemed now he’d been wrong about that; another instance of him being tragically naive and stupid. 

  
  


He took to his feet, pointing angrily at the ground, as though he thought he needed to illustrate the point he stood upon. 

“ It is love that would cause me to abandon the child, to give it up to the Jotnar. And yes, ‘it’, Steve. You may be so free thinking, so unencumbered with the knowledge of the species that I have, but they are, every one of them, monsters. They aren’t people, and I am only playing at being one, as well you know. We could not raise such a child without forcing it to play act as something it is not as well, making it feel and know that it is lesser. It would be our child Steve, but it would be a child that you could not touch when it cried, for fear of your skin burning. A child who could not be washed for fear of it freezing the tub with itself in it.” He was shaking now. “I don’t know how to care for a child like that. The Jotnar do. And if they would take it in, surely the child would be provided for. It would still be one of that royal family, at the very least.” Not that that had helped him much. 

He took a breath, trying to steady himself, but he felt the ire growing.

“ I would have no child believe that he was inferior, not because of me. Whether that child was of me or not. Adopting is no good way of ensuring that, because you cannot. Whereas a child born of us, provided it’s lacking the birth defects that my bloodline  _ might  _ bring forth, should have your power, my ability, should be at least receptive of magic, that I might help him not to feel lesser. That he might grow not to  _ be _ lesser.” 

He was angry; he did not see how Steve could be so disgusted by Loki’s thought process, if he could be so accepting of Loki’s much more horrific actions and realities. How could he be so sympathetic to the pains Loki had borne, and yet be so quick to cause them in another?

“ I do not understand how you could be so… so irresponsible and so blinded by your need for this family that you do not see, that you refuse to face the reality of the damage such an adoption would cause! Am I not proof? Is New York not enough evidence of the hurts caused, the way a life can be so lost?”

He took a deep breath, calming himself as much as he could and clamping down on his emotions with a fist of self control. 

“ Maybe, if you want a child, it would be best that you lay with another. Impregnate a woman, and we will see her through the pregnancy, and then take it when she has had the child. Such arrangements are not uncommon on Asgard. Surely we would have no hardship finding some Midgardian female who would be willing to bear the spawn of Captain America. And then it would truly be a perfect child. With no fear of its secret or latent monstrosity.” 

The thought hurt, but he could love that child, could he not? A child that was Steve’s, perfect and healthy and not the slightest bit of him, of the Jotnar. 

“ He would lack my seidhr almost certainly, but he would be human. And he would be of you.”

This seemed like a good answer, as far as he was concerned. He was hopeful that it would end their fighting. 

  
  


“ He’d only feel inferior if you made him feel that way!” Steve snapped. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to grow up knowing you’re weaker and and you can’t do the same things as everyone else? Cause I do. And I’m still so damn grateful for the people who loved me and stood by me!”

His mother. Bucky. They’d been strong; and they’d inspired in him another kind of strength. He remembered that. And he remembered loving them and knowing that he was loved back. He and Loki could love a child in that way, he knew they could, but Loki refused to even think about it. Instead-- 

Steve took a step back, shaking his head, baffled. “I don’t-- no! I’m not gonna just, just sleep with someone else -- Loki, I don’t even  _ want _ a kid to have my genes, okay? Haven’t you been listening to me?” How was Loki so opposed to adoption and yet suggesting this? And would he come to resent Steve and the child for their biological connection, when he didn’t share it, as he had with Thor and his family? 

“ I don’t want that, Loki.” He took another step back, running his hand through his hair. “I want a family. I want a  _ normal, happy family.  _ And a kid who can have a normal childhood, with, with bikes and scraped knees and school and and baseball and playing in the mud. Or dance recitals and tea parties, and, and I dunno.” He waved a hand broadly. “Whatever they want! We could  _ do that!” _ His frustration was building. Loki was calling  _ him _ irresponsible, when he couldn’t handle the idea of giving some orphaned kid a good home, out of fear of screwing up the way his foster parents had. And in the same stroke, in an act of total hypocrisy, he was willing to give up a birth child if it was born  _ off _ in some way, exactly as his Jotun parents had.

“And what if, what if the kid doesn’t get my power, huh? There’s no telling if the serum gets passed down!” he hissed. “What if he’s sick, like I was? What if he’s ill and-- and-- and weak and the doctors say he’ll never live to see twenty? What if he’s born like that? Would you just-- just throw him out and abandon him for that too?” He was almost shaking now. The room was beginning to tilt, and on his third step back he staggered. “You’d just give him up if there was something wrong with him that made him ‘lesser,’ huh? Like that doesn’t make him a person anymore?” His breathing was ragged, and his throat stung. “You think that wouldn’t make a child feel inferior? How can you-- how can you think--” His throat closed up and he stumbled back into the wall. 

  
  


He wasn’t thinking straight, he knew, and he knew Steve wasn’t either, judging by the way he swayed, the way he stumbled. But Loki still frowned. 

“ If the child is sickly we nurse him to health. Your doctors know nothing. They would be wrong. You don’t give up on something that can be fixed, someone who can be healed! But there are some things… you don’t fix being the wrong species.” He nearly hissed it.

“ And I would  _ never _ tell a child they were inferior. Never! But I wouldn’t have to, would I? Did you need to be told you were inferior? Or did you know, each time you could not run as fast, breathe as deep… when you could not play like the other children, or like your family, did you not know that there was something wrong? And there wouldn’t be. There would be nothing wrong with the child, only he would come to think there was because he would see us every day and ask himself why he is not that. Us.” 

“ But I don’t-- I don’t understand. If you do not want a child that can be yours, a child to continue your name, to take up your shield, to carry on after you, why… what is it that you want out of a child?” He was frustrated, and he felt… off. Drunk. And ill. And tired. 

“I do not want a child born of me in case it is wrong, you do not want a child born of you because it may be wrong, and so the answer is to find a child to take in and love, who will grow to hate us, and then we or at least I, will have to watch grow old? Watch die? Or does that not matter? Do you suppose that should not be considered, because you can be comfortable, knowing that you will die first?” 

  
  


Steve bit his tongue to keep from arguing that some things -- smallness, frailty -- couldn’t  _ be  _ fixed. Not without a serum and a vita ray machine that even the world’s best minds had failed to recreate. And still, it felt like a slap to the face when Loki referred to him, in his former condition, as inferior. He reeled at that, expression pained.

And why did he want a child? “I don’t care about my name or the shield. Someone else can take the shield. Rogers is a common enough name. I just want...” he trailed off and shook his head, regretting it as the pounding in his temples increased. He wanted to be a father. To love someone the unconditional way a parent loved a child; to shape and raise someone into a good man, or woman. To feel that affection and pride -- to reclaim some semblance of the normal life he might have lived if he’d been able to come home from the war. The normal life the serum might have given him, which he’d briefly held hope for.

Only he’d never come home. Not really. And some things, maybe, he was just destined not to have. 

He breathed in and out, shakily. “Well, if everything you’ve said about Thanos is true, we’ll probably both die first so this is a moot discussion anyway,” he muttered darkly, looking away. 

Dammit.

His gaze flicked down and he pulled a hand over his face. “Hell. I’m sorry. I...” he swallowed. “I should never have brought it up. Doesn’t matter anyhow.” His throat felt closed up and his stomach turned. “I... I should go.” 

He swayed on his feet a moment, then made for the door. 

  
  


Loki watched as the man he loved staggered out, and he huffed angrily, closing the door behind him. 

He collapsed across his bed, angry but also aware that this had been his own fault. He had made something of it, had started this talk when they shouldn’t. When the drink was heavy in their systems and when they had not had a chance to talk it through soberly, and when he was already upset about it. 

This had never had any chance of being anything but an argument. And he knew that. 

It didn’t make him feel any better about what was said, about what  _ he _ said. 

And in all that, it was still Steve who had apologized. Steve who had given up. And that wasn’t the way it ought to be. Steve was supposed to be the hopeful one who didn’t give up. Not on him, not on what he thought was right. Not on anything. And he shouldn’t have apologized. It was Loki who had stepped over lines, Loki who had turned it into an argument, who had called him irresponsible.

He stood, legs still wobbling but nowhere near so badly as Steve’s had been, and opened his door. 

Steve’s door was closed, and he remembered how the talk had begun, with Steve knocking and asking him to open it up. Pleading with him to talk to him. 

Loki crossed silently to the other door and knocked. 

“ Steve?” He called out softly. “Steve, will you open the door? I just want to apologize.”  
He stood, waiting, expecting any moment now to hear Steve’s footsteps, to see the door open. 

To make amends and hold the man he loved. He could not think of anything he wanted more, just now.

But he waited a long time. 

  
  


Steve half expected Loki to call out after him as he left, the way he had when Loki had left the living room earlier. 

He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not when he didn’t.

Back in his room, he shut the door, then crossed into the bathroom, wincing at the brightness of the lights. It seemed that the alcohol had fully hit his bloodstream now, and he felt absolutely horrific. Cursing Tony Stark’s name under his breath, he turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face. He side-eyed the shower, considering how good the hot water and steam would feel, but decided against it; in his current state, given his poor balance, he’d probably slip and crack his head. And wouldn’t that be an embarrassing way to end up in Medical? 

Fighting down nausea (he was  _ not _ going to vomit, dammit), he relieved himself, then grabbed some mouthwash from the cabinet. Spitting it out, he made his way back to the bed, his headache throbbing and pulse pounding deafeningly in his ears.

He was going to have so very many regrets in the morning, he noted grimly, kicking off his shoes and collapsing on to the bed, groaning as the room spun around him.

It was a relief, when moments later, everything faded to dark. 

  
  


Loki didn’t know what to do. Steve had never refused to speak to him before. 

He stood there for an awkwardly long time, until his shoulders collapsed inwards, and he felt the cold of regret filling his chest. 

He sat down and pressed his back against the wall, too tired and woozy to stay standing. 

He wanted to wait, to be here. He hadn’t been, that morning, and he had told Steve that he would be there when he woke up. But he hadn’t been. He would be now. He didn’t want him thinking that a single fight was enough to change that. 

No matter what words had been said, no matter whether or not they had come to an agreement… as long as Steve loved him, he would be there for him when he woke. 

And so he stayed there, his head tilted upwards until he felt it slowly falling, and sitting straight until he began slouching, and, eventually, that was where he slept, blanketed in his thoughts. 

_Poor Steve._ _He deserves so much better than this._

  
  
  


“ _ You should have left it in the ocean.” _

_ Steve’s words echoed as the portal in front of them flared to life. SHIELD personnel in tactical gear raised their weapons and Fury took a step forward. The Tesseract flared and sparked, the same way it had on Red Skull’s jet; raging with enough energy to tear open a hole in the fabric of space. _

_ The portal rippled and roared, briefly showing a glimpse of deep space in all its blackness. And then it was gone, residual tongues of blue flame lapping up the walls. And in its place- _

“ _ Loki,” Steve breathed, taking a step forward. _

_ Loki, crouched with the scepter, looked up. _

_ Only--- _

_ Only he was wrong. All wrong. Feral and cruel and wild, with eyes glimmering the brightest, maddest shade of blue. Steve’s stomach dropped. “Loki,” he gasped, and suddenly his throat and chest were tightening painfully, his breath coming in wheezes. He looked down, and to his horror, he wasn’t Captain America; he was skinny Steve from Brooklyn, all bony knees and elbows.  _

“ _ Sir, I need you to drop the spear--” Fury began. _

_ And like a wild animal, Loki leapt forward, sneering and lashing out. Gunfire tore through the air. And so did Loki’s scepter, slicing and slashing with brutal efficiency. _

“ _ Loki!” Steve shouted. “Loki, I need you to stop! Look at me!” _

_ He ran up behind Loki, reaching up to grab him by the shoulder. He whirled around with a snarl. _

“ _ Loki, no, please--” _

_ He cut off, gasping, and looked down. Down at where the scepter, pulsing a toxic blue, was buried in his chest.  _

“ _ ...Steve?” _

_ Steve looked up, in time to see the blue fade from Loki’s eyes. They widened in confusion, then shock, then horror.  _

“ _ Loki,” Steve gurgled, wanting to let him know it was alright, he forgave him, this hadn’t been him-- _

_ Loki let out a wail. Steve reached out a hand. _

_ Shots rang out. _

  
  


“ No!”

His clothes stuck to his skin, soaked with sweat and clammy. He lurched upward, disoriented, trying to get his bearings and breathe through the crushing tightness in his chest.

Room. Room, Stark Tower. 2013. Loki... 

Steve groaned, burying his aching head in his hands. It felt like he’d been hit in the head with a hammer (and his mouth tasted like something had died in it). Sliding off the bed with a swear, he staggered into the bathroom, peeling off his wrinkled and sweaty shirt as he did. 

Splashing more cold water into his face, he grabbed the cup by the sink, filling and drinking it down. And again. And then he snatched up his toothbrush to chase the flavor of roadkill out of his mouth. 

Feeling vaguely human again, he made his way back into the darkened bedroom. It was still the middle of the night, and he knew he ought to try for a bit more sleep. But his thoughts ran to Loki instead as he sank on to the edge of the mattress.

“ Damn,” he murmured out loud again. It didn’t quite seem to encapsulate the sheer magnitude of his screw up though. “Fuck,” he tried. And yeah, that was about right.

He’d have to apologize in the morning. Profusely. Maybe with waffles with a disconcerting quantity of whipped cream. And hot chocolate. And--

He stopped. The morning prior, Loki hadn’t been in his room. He’d slipped out and gone to the park, where Steve had found him. Only, if he’d messed up bad enough... would Loki go somewhere Steve wouldn’t find him? Could he have left? Could he...

Swallowing, Steve sat back up, the vice in his chest returning. It was stupid paranoia. Loki was probably fine. But he’d sleep better, surely, if he just checked.

Getting to his feet, he made his way to the door, quietly opening it--

  
  


\--And nearly tripping over the body in front of it.

He drew in a sharp breath, heart leaping into his mouth. Loki was outside his door. He dropped to his knees, frantically reaching to find a pulse. But before he could touch, Loki stirred, mumbling in his sleep, then stilled again. Steve let out a breath, and the panic solidified into something heavier. Loki was sleeping outside his door, instead of in his bed. 

Had... had he come to find Steve while he’d been passed out?

“ Fuck,” he repeated, feeling well and truly horrible.

He couldn’t leave Loki there, obviously. He could carry him back to his room across the hall, tuck him in there. That was the smart option. Or...

Steve looked back over his shoulder at his still-warm bed. Then back at Loki.

He might hate Steve in the morning. But at least Steve would know where he was, and that he was alright. Setting his jaw, he got his feet under him, then slid his arms under Loki’s shoulders and the backs of his knees, hauling him up into his arms with a grunt.

  
  


Loki stirred with the motion and woke groggily. 

“ Steve?” He asked, voice burred by sleep and drink. He was disoriented, but it faded quickly. 

He blinked a few times, seeing that he was in the hall, in Steve’s arms. That they were poised to enter Steve’s room. 

He saw all of this and accepted it readily, curling in closer to Steve’s chest. He threw an arm up and over his shoulder to drape around his neck. 

“ Jus’ wanted to say I’m sorry.” He mumbled, the sleep still clinging to him. “I said unkind things and I am sorry.” He shifted to be able to look Steve in the face. 

“ I wouldn’t-- you know I wouldn’t treat a child badly, don’t you? No matter whose it is?” He knew that should be low on his list of worries, but it was the thing that clung to his mind, the way he now clung to Steve. He buried his face against Steve’s chest. “I just want to be happy, with you, and have you happy as well.” He spoke with Steve’s nearness muffling his words, allowing himself to be surrounded by the smell of Steve.

“And I won’t let Thanos or anyone else take the opportunity for you to be a father away from you. Not even me.” 

  
  


“ Sh-sh-sh-shhhh,” Steve hushed, straightening and taking Loki’s weight in his arms as he turned back toward the bed. “I know. I know. It’s ok. I’m sorry too.”

It hadn’t been okay. But there had been things said by the both of them. And Steve was every bit as much at fault. It had been a stupid time to discuss it; and now was no better. 

“ We’ll talk about it tomorrow. When we’re awake. And sober,” he commented, carrying Loki back to the mattress and lowering him on to the tangled sheets. Steve stripped down to his briefs, peeling off his pants and socks, then crawled in beside him.

Even if Loki infuriated him sometimes... Steve could give up the pipe dream of a normal little family in a happy domestic bubble if it meant he had Loki still. Him and Loki happy and together would be family enough. He scooted in close and pulled the blankets up over them, pulling Loki’s back against his chest and wrapping his arms around him.

“ Just go back to sleep,” he whispered, nestling in close and letting his eyes fall shut.

They could wait to deal with it until morning. 

  
  


Loki curled toward him, taking Steve at his word. They would concern themselves with that which need be concerned with in the morning, or whenever they roused themselves. 

They would sleep now. And it did not matter that they slept together, that those in the tower knew. At worst, Stark would barb them about it, but no matter what, they would be together.

Loki slid his fingers over the soft skin of Steve’s chest, reveling in the texture and the smell of the warmth coming from Steve’s body. 

Sleeping here, this way, was far superior to the hard floor of the hall, and he drifted back off easily enough, one of his last thoughts managing to become vocalized before he let the dreams sweep him up and take him.    
“ Love you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pressured into drinking by friends and Infanticidal thoughts.


	34. Thirty-Four

Loki woke to an empty bed, which, although part of the norm of his more recent days, was slightly more alarming given that he was in Steve’s bed, and they had quarreled.

He got out of bed and made it hastily, then tugged his shirt down and grimaced at the way that it creased from being bunched and slept in.

He would need to change, but that could be seen to later, once he had found Steve and made things right between them. Or, as close as he could get to right. He had a feeling this problem that he had created would take time to overcome.

He padded into the hallway, barefoot as he had been since the day prior, but he found that he noticed it more when attempting to be quiet, the soft slap of his feet against the floor and the coolness under them serving as the backdrop for his worry.

What would he say if he got out to the public areas and Steve was no where in sight, but others were? He wasn’t even sure how he would face them if he and Steve were actually fine, after running out the night before, let alone now, when they were probably not.

Fortunately, that didn’t end up being the case. Steve was in the kitchen, and Loki was able to come nearly to the door without making any sound, so that when he coughed politely to announce his presence, he had had a few moments of watching Steve, watching the way his muscles in his back moved before he did, and a few moments to compose himself, and think what he should say.

“Good morning.” He tried, to start, hoping that he could test the waters without upsetting anything.

  


Steve had managed to sleep another couple of hours, but it had been light and fitful at best, despite the warm presence of Loki in his arms. Once the bedside clock had displayed a somewhat sane time to be up and about, he’d quietly slipped out of bed, pulled on some sweats, and gone down to the gym, instructing JARVIS to notify him when Loki woke. After doing a few miles, just to clear his head, he’d gone back up and used the shower in Loki’s room so as not to wake him, pulling on one of his old t-shirts that had made its way into Loki’s drawers.

It was dawn now, and when he asked JARVIS, the AI informed him that Loki was still asleep, but showing signs of entering a shallower stage of his sleep cycle.

Steve thought back to their argument the night before and grimaced. Breakfast in bed, he decided, would probably go a long way toward improving things. Or at least taking off the edge. So he’d made his way into the kitchen, retrieving the mixing bowl, waffle mix, milk and eggs, getting to work as he had the morning they’d all watched the movie in the lounge.

He’d just finished the batter and was greasing up the waffle iron when he heard a voice from the doorway. He turned, spotting a rather rumpled and bed-headed Loki standing there, and offered an apologetic smile. “Oh. Hey. You’re up. I ah,” he glanced down at the mixing bowl and spatula in his hands. “I was gonna make you breakfast in bed, but I guess I wasn’t fast enough. Waffles sound okay?”

  


“Waffles sound wonderful.” He told him, grateful that he was at least not angry. Angry men did not make you waffles to be served in bed.

“Is there anything I can help with?” He asked next, well aware that he was not horribly capable in a kitchen, but feeling as though he would be remiss if he didn’t at least offer.

He weighed his words, then hazarded another small offering; another small bit of civility, in search of the line where he oughtn’t tread this morning.

“I did not mean that you should have to carry me to bed. I only… I wanted to be there when you woke, as promised. I know I have not been of late… either out of the tower or out of your room… or in the infirmary. So. Thank you for that, I suppose. I had missed sleeping with you.”

He leaned back against the countertop, waiting to see if he was in the way or about to be given instructions, and he hoped that Steve had had enough time to himself to think through his own reactions, as Loki had done the night before, and that he wasn’t interrupting the process.

  


Steve scooped batter into the pre-heated waffle iron, listening to it sizzle as it struck the hot metal. “Whipped cream is in the fridge if you want to get that out. Pretty sure it’s on the top shelf,” he said, closing the iron and flipping it, setting the timer before reaching to open a cabinet and recover some plates -- actual flatware, not the paper kind, for a change. It seemed a bit uncouth to let Loki help with the breakfast when it was an apology from Steve, but he suspected offering some task would help mitigate the awkwardness that hung in the air between them.

He looked back over at Loki as he set the plates down. “I... I missed it too.” Waking with Loki pressed up against him, breathing softly into Steve’s collarbone, had almost made up for the circumstanced that had led up to it. He looked down and grabbed a paper towel from the roll hanging under the cabinets, using it to wipe up the spilled waffle mix.

“I was actually getting up to go check on you when I found you,” he admitted. “I’m sorry you were...” he trailed off, brows knitting together. “How long were you there for anyway?”

  


Loki shrugged, the refrigerator door closing behind him while he offered the whipped cream to Steve.

“It’s difficult to say. I was drunk and did not look at the clock. I suppose I went after you perhaps… half an hour? Maybe less?... after you walked away. Did you not hear my knocking?” His brow furled, and he realized a good deal of his worry about how furious Steve must be was based around his perceived refusal to open the door or respond to Loki’s apology. But, then again, he hadn’t seemed angry when he’d moved him into his bed.

“I suppose I was not particularly loud,” he said doubtfully.

It did seem odd, though. Steve was so keen of hearing…

“When did you get up to check up on me?” Loki asked, trying to contain in his voice the worry that Steve was checking to be sure Loki was not doing something horrific-- that he did not doubt him now because of his lack in communication about his intents the night before last, and his apparently disgusting opinions voiced the night prior. “In any case, regardless of how long I was there, I am sorry for having worried you enough that you thought you needed to. Check on me, I mean.”

  


Steve shook his head, feeling even worse. “I’m sorry. I was... I was really out of it. I don’t know what exactly Everclear is made of, but it probably ought to be illegal. I conked maybe ten minutes after I got back to my room. Guess I must’ve been asleep when you knocked.” He opened a drawer and fished around for silverware for the both of them.

Loki had gone after him. Loki had followed, to apologize, and Steve in his drunken stupor had been too far gone to even hear. The tips of his ears reddened with shame. And because of it, Loki had been left sleeping on the hard floor of the hallway, where he’d probably have stayed until dawn if Steve hadn’t woken up and found him sooner. As it was, he’d spent hours out there, and he was only barely just back to health...

Steve shook his head. “It must’ve been around three, I think. And I-- it wasn’t anything you did,” he clarified, reaching for one of the plates when the timer on the waffle iron went off. “I just had a dream. Wanted to make sure you were okay. Second night in a row, actually, I woke up and found you out of bed,” he remarked, using a fork to coax the golden brown waffle out of the iron and on to the plate, before sliding it across the counter toward Loki.

  


Loki smiled, accepting the food.

“Well perhaps now that we can again share a bed, it won’t happen a third time.” He responded, hoping that Steve’s goodwill would continue. He hated feeling as though he were tiptoeing around an issue, if it wasn’t part of a lie or plot.

“And,” he said, “About before that. I don’t know why I said the things I did, or why I aimed them to hurt you so. I usually know better. I usually can be better.” he pled with his eyes for Steve to understand. “So many of my objections, in the light of day, seem… They have not disappeared.” He admitted. “But they are lessened.”

He picked up the whipped cream and shook it, before coating his waffle in a layer of the stuff that verged on too much, even by his standards. Were he not so fixated on the design of the cream atop the waffle, the length of the stream of sound it emitted while he worked might have been nearly comical.

Satisfied, he turned his eyes back to Steve.

“I am, truly, very sorry to have ruined the night your-- _our_ friends had put together. I… will apologize to them as well, when I see them next. I just… wanted you to know. It does not matter, to me. If you want to adopt… I am sure you will do better for any child lucky enough to have you than… And I don’t say this because Thanos will come crashing down on our heads, either. I… I love you.” He wasn’t sure what else needed said, or should be said.

  


Steve watched fondly as Loki coated his waffle in a truly obscene amount of whipped cream, unable to suppress a smile at his partner’s sweet tooth. It was nice to hear that Loki’s objections were diminished, but at the same time time he worried that he might just be saying that. Loki was acting like he was walking on eggshells, with the same anxious demeanor he’d had back in the cell every time he thought he’d offended and Steve would leave. And he didn’t like the idea of Loki compromising only out of fear.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured him, getting out the syrup for his own waffle. “ _I_ was the one who put my damn foot in it. I shouldn’t have said anything. Definitely not without talking to you about it first.” Normally he wouldn’t have been so open with such a personal matter, but between how much had happened that day and the alcohol -- it hadn’t been his finest judgement at work. “I’ll apologize to the others. This one’s on me.”

Though Tony and his goddamn Everclear perhaps held some shred of responsibility.

“Look, Loki,” Steve put the syrup down and turned to face him. “About the other night, what we talked about; don’t worry about it, okay? Let’s just...” He shook his head. “We’ve got a long way before any of that has even remotely got a chance of happening. We have to deal with Thanos first, and SHIELD and everything. We’re sort of putting the cart before the horse just thinking about it, you know? We’ve only been together for less than a month.” Finding some stability would be key before settling down or starting a family was even a consideration. It could be years; if it ever happened at all.

The waffle iron went off again, and Steve grabbed his plate, turning to fetch his own waffle. “Let’s forget about it for now. We’ve got other things to focus on. If... by the time we’re really in a place to talk about it, who knows? We could both feel differently.”

Unplugging the iron and picking up his own waffle, he crossed back to Loki’s side and leaned in to peck him on the cheek. “I love you too. Okay?”

  


“Okay.” Loki said softly, then, again, louder, “Okay.”

He scooped some of the whipped cream off of his waffle and put it into his mouth, smiling brightly around it.

“Next time, rather than fighting, might I suggest we skip to the waffles, and come back for the fight later, if we feel it’s needed?” The day already seemed brighter, the morning full of a good deal more promise, now that he knew that Steve was not about to… the leave him, or tell him what a monster he was. Or even simply continue to be angry at him for how he expressed his opinions, the night before.

“Speaking, however, of Thanos and SHIELD, now that we have Romanov to serve as a go between, we should have her remind them that the sceptre is not to be trifled with. And… I do not want to argue, remember, but I do think that we should discuss the possibility of my using it in an attempt to try and contact Thanos again. There is so little we can do without gaining more information, and at worst, it does not work. As you said, he apparently needs me, meaning he won’t be planning on killing me, or doing anything that might tip my hand in betraying him, as I assume he does not know that I have already, as I live and breathe, yet.” He took a moment to pause. “But it is just a discussion, to be had at your leisure. Not this morning, though, I think. This morning should be about waffles, and whipped cream, and then… perhaps if you have no plans and if we are not needed elsewhere, I can take you back to bed, and do as I had originally intended to, last night, before other things got in the way.” He raised his eyebrows, hoping that Steve would get the implication.

“I want to use the time we have, while we have it, to its fullest.” He said, finally, before cutting a piece off of the waffle and putting it into his mouth, quickly, lest the inch and a half of whipped cream atop it escape.

  


Steve chuckled at Loki’s suggestion of skipping right to waffles. “I like the sound of that,” he said, pouring some syrup on his own waffle, then swiping a finger through the mountain of whipped cream on Loki’s and popping into into his mouth with a cheeky grin.

Loki, it seemed, was as ready to put the last night’s discussion behind them as Steve was. The things said-- they were drunk. They hadn’t meant them all. It was easier just to forget it ever happened. And he knew now not to bring it up again. Not until they got other things squared away first.

(He wasn’t running away from a fight or taking the easy route. Just prioritizing.)

And Thanos, as Loki brought up, was a priority. Steve sighed. “I gave Natasha my number the other night, so she can get a hold of me. I don’t imagine it’ll be more than a day or two before she reaches out again. Now we have a better idea of where she stands, I’ll bring it up with her when I hear from her next.” SHIELD seemed more inclined to listen now than they had before, and Natasha was nowhere near as trigger happy as the agents in the garage. While he still felt some unease, he was far more optimistic now than he’d been before about potentially securing SHIELD as an ally in the upcoming conflict. Whenever that might be.

“You already know how I feel the idea of you using the scepter again or putting yourself at risk,” he said cautiously, squeezing out a dollop of cream on to his waffle, using the tines of the fork to mix it with the syrup. “But I’ll ask her to look into it. It’ll probably take a while for SHIELD to be comfortable again with the idea of giving you access--” hopefully, a good, _long_ while, “--but we can try to secure it as an option.” Hopefully not a necessary one, though he was realizing more and more that they might not have much other recourse, given how ill-prepared they were and how little they knew.

But as Loki said -- it didn’t have to be a topic for this morning. And the idea of perhaps going back to bed and having a lazy morning after all certainly held some appeal. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, then split into a full smile when Loki wound up with a smear of whipped cream on his lip.

“Come here,” he said, leaning in and kissing the cream off Loki’s mouth.

  


Loki could not help but be glad.

This was what he wanted, this moment, captured forever. He kissed him back, tasting Steve and the whipped cream both.

“And maybe, sometime soon… we could go out again? Just you and I. And no… no trips to medical afterwards. Other than my night at the memorial, I haven’t been out properly since being injured, and you still haven’t shown me your Brooklyn.” He ventured a little grin as a wonderful idea came to him.

“I know you are concerned, and I appreciate it, but really…” as he spoke, he swiped his fingers through the whipped cream on his waffle and quick as he could, he reached them up and drew a stripe down the center of Steve’s face.

Laughing, he danced backwards.

“You are too sweet, Steve.” He told him, a wry grin in place.

As he moved away, expecting Steve to give him chase, he continued talking.

“I was thinking I might go out as a woman, this time? So people don’t see you with the ‘injured civilian’ and begin to draw conclusions.” He’d managed to edge his way to the door, and backed up into the hallway-- and into someone, bouncing off of them.

“Ah. Young love.” Tony said sardonically. “I hope you left some whipped cream for the rest of us.”

“And if you plan on going out, I have a feeling you’ll need something other than suits to wear. You can borrow something of mine, until we get you something of your own.” Pepper stood behind him, likely the only reason that Tony was awake and not still-awake, and Loki noticed that they wore matching bathrobes.

He turned back to Steve, challenging him with an eyebrow. He wanted to dare him to come after him now that there were witnesses, but he didn’t know how comfortable he might be.

  


Going out again... would be nice. With no incidents this time. There were so many things Steve wanted to show Loki -- places he wanted to take him, things he wanted to share -- and they were all so close now. They just needed to courage to go out into the world, now that Loki was back on his feet.

He could arrange something. Maybe not Brooklynn -- they’d stay in Manhattan, the first time at least, just in case they wound up needing back-up again -- but there were plenty of things Uptown that he figured would go over well. He smiled and opened his mouth to say as much, when Loki swiped cream across his face.

Steve squawked indignantly, then glared. “Sweet, am I?” He arched an eyebrow, then ran his fingers through the cream, gathering a large glop of it and grinning wickedly. “Let’s see if we can make you _sweeter--_ ”

He went after Loki with the cream; he had his messy fingers raised for a counterattack, when Stark came around the corner, stopping him in his tracks.

He reddened, the blush of his skin obvious against the pale of the cream. “Oh, hey. Um. Didn’t think you would be awake this early.” Unsure of what to do with the cream on his hand, he quickly held it behind his back. “Morning.”

Tony held his hands up. “Hey, don’t stop with the adorable shenanigans on our account. We just ventured forth because we smelled waffles.”

“What? Oh! I can make up more batter if you want--”

Pepper waved a hand. “Please. We can make our own, don’t sweat it. Sorry for interrupting, we can double back if you two need a minute...?”

“Oh, no, that’s... okay...” Steve flinched as the cream on his fingers slid to the floor with an audible _plop_. “We were, ah, just finishing up.”

“Really?” Tony looked at his disbelievingly. “Because those waffles look untouched.”

“Guess they’re all yours!” Steve told him with an almost manic grin, grabbing Loki by the hand and dragging him into the hall past the two of them. “Enjoy!”

“I meant it about the clothes! Talk to me later!” Pepper shouted after them.

  


Loki snickered, following along.

“So cruel, Captain, to offer me sweets and then pull them out from under me so readily… I hope you plan to replace them with something equally appetizing.” He turned his voice to low velvet, inwardly marvelling at Steve’s daring.

There was no possibility that Stark and Pepper did not know where they were going or what they intended to do, but yet here he was, pulling Loki along without a care in the world.

It seemed that to him, perhaps it was a kind of honeymoon, a kind of celebration, being known for who and what he was, and not being reviled for it. Loki was glad of that for Steve, and more than happy to take his part in the celebrations.

They were back in the hallway, and Loki did not want the hesitation of the question of whose room they ought to defile.

“I made your bed before I came out this morning. Let’s unmake it.” It was a command, but spoken like a seduction, and he hoped that it would have enough effect to keep Steve from feeling like Loki meant to dictate things. Though he had said he appreciated being led, somewhat.

And Loki, seeing Steve lie, so casually and blatantly _Oh we were just finishing up_ indeed, could not help but find himself both amused and aroused at the proceedings.

Once within Steve’s room, he swung the door closed decisively and leaned back against it.

“And now you have me all to yourself again, astin min. What would you have me do with you?” He let his stance shift, putting his weight onto the balls of his feet, turning from the prey he’d made himself out to be in the kitchen, into a predator of the bedroom. He had every intent of devouring Steve, if he was going to be allowed.

“In what delightful ways would you like me to take you apart today?” He asked. His eyes went to the head of the bed, searching for an idea as to what new he might offer Steve, what he had not yet experienced, but not only was the headboard ill-suited for tying one to it, he was not sure Steve was quite ready for that. But it did give him an idea.

“I’ve seidhr, but rather than make myself invisible as I once told you I would, what if I merely made it so that you could not see me? Could not anticipate the touch that was yet to come, or see how I am doing what I do to you-- only feel. What do you think? Do you trust me to take you apart without your seeing what is going on?” He let his teasing tone dry up, then said, “If you don’t want that, it is of course fine. I only want what you are comfortable with, and it is only an idea. I assure you, I have plenty more.”

  


It was impulsive, and a little rude, but Steve knew he wouldn’t be able to tolerate Tony’s knowing smirks throughout breakfast; not when Loki was right there, a taunting smile on his face. He wanted Loki, wanted to kiss that smirk right off his lips, and not have any reminders of the night before arise.

At least Pepper and Tony were aware now, that whatever argument had driven them from the festivities the night before was resolved.

“I’ll make you more waffles later,” he replied, pulling Loki in for another kiss as they stumbled down the hall, his tongue chasing down the sweet taste lingering in his partner’s mouth. And god, he wanted to kiss Loki forever. “All the waffles. And cream...”

Realizing his fingers were still sticky with melting cream, he slipped them into his mouth and sucked them clean, glancing up at his lover. “Okay,” he said, nodding as Loki led them into Steve’s room. He followed dutifully, startling slightly as Loki slammed the door behind them. Turning to see him stalking toward him, Steve felt a shiver run down his spine; a shiver that redoubled at Loki’s next suggestion.

He licked his lips. “You mean... like a blindfold?” Being magically blinded was a bit more than he was necessarily comfortable with, though something mundane as a blindfold was a bit easier to consider. The idea of not being able to see, not being aware, was still somewhat unnerving. And yet... This was Loki. And Steve trusted him. What better way to show the completeness of that trust than to let himself be vulnerable? He took a deep breath, then nodded. “I think, ah, I might like that.” He was already feeling the pricklings of arousal thinking about it, along with the faint undercurrent of anxiety. He swallowed. “So long as I get to look at you plenty afterward to make up for it,” he added, leaning in and kissing Loki again.

His hands slid to Loki’s waist, tugging his dress shirt out of his trousers where it hadn’t yet come untucked, sliding under the fabric of his shirt and vest to run against smooth bare skin. “Tell me what to do,” he murmured, looking up at him.

  


“Like a blindfold,” he agreed, relaxing. He’d realized too late that he was being manipulative, drawing on Steve’s trust to get him to agree, and he hated that it came so easily that he was unaware of it until too late. Hence the disclaimer, but Steve had paused to think about it. And he wasn’t just okay with it; he _thought he might like it_. “And you may see as much of me as you like before I put it on, and once we take it off.” He assured him.

His hands were tickling Loki’s ribs, warm and calloused and strong, and how he adored those hands. This man. He reached out to him and ran gentle fingers up his shoulders, over his neck, and brought them to rest at the bottom of his jaw,thumbs beneath it on either side to hold his face and keep him looking straight at Loki.

Steve wanted to be instructed, and as if a sharpening of awareness had happened, Loki had an idea now of what to do. What to try. And he wanted to see how Steve reacted to it.

“Take off my vest and lay it out so it does not wrinkle further, then do the same with the shirt.” He told him. It would have been offensive not to show care for the suit that Steve had bought for him, but more, it gave Steve control of the speed of their beginnings. The sooner he was stripped down, the sooner Steve would be blindfolded. If he was afraid or nervous at all, if he hesitated, Loki would know that he needed to tread carefully, to work his way upwards and warm Steve to the idea.

“But first remove your own clothes. I want to see you while you tend to me.” He added as an afterthought.

He was a beautiful man, and just because he would not be allowed to see Loki did not mean that Loki should be likewise restrained.

  


Steve began to reach for the buttons of Loki’s vest, but stopped when Loki added the instruction-- (command?) -- to remove his own clothes first. Swallowing, he took a step back, feeling his breathing stutter. Slowly, he took the hem of his shirt in hand, then pulled it upward, exposing his stomach first, then dragging it over his head and freeing his arms, letting the tee fall to the ground in a heap.

Next he reached down and pulled each of his socks off, thankful he hadn’t put his shoes back on after his shower. He glanced up, watching Loki’s face, and smiled a bit bashfully at the openly hungry look in his eyes. Straightening, his fingers found the elastic band of his sweatpants, sliding them down over his hips, along with his briefs, until they were free enough for gravity to do the rest. Naked, and utterly exposed in comparison to Loki’s rumpled, but dressed state, he stepped out of his pants and reached forward, licking his lips as he found the buttons of Loki’s vest.

At first, he fumbled with the top button for an embarrassingly long time (and wasn’t be grateful now that he’d worn simple clothes himself). The second and third were easier, and he reached up to Loki’s shoulders once the vest was open, sliding it down his arms with a whisper of fabric against fabric. Pulling it free, he turned and laid it out on the chair in the corner -- the bed, he imagined, would not be a good place to leave anything soon enough.

Part of him wanted to tear Loki out of his clothes as quickly as possible, of course. But Loki had given clear direction, like Steve had asked, and the tone implied that he expected meticulousness and care. So he moved slowly and deliberately, reaching down to begin with the lowermost button of Loki’s shirt and gradually working his way up, exposing a narrow strip of pale skin as the buttons parted.

  


Loki held his arms out to allow Steve to divest him of his clothing easier, watching him as he put those artist’s hands that Loki so loved to work.

His fingers slipped and he was clearly… maybe not nervous, but at least flustered. Loki bore in mind that his partner was young, inexperienced, and still so new to this. It sent a wave of warmth through him, not necessarily of arousal, but… adoration. Fondness. That this perfect, beautiful man would choose him, would trust him, made him feel both humbled and powerful.

He watched his clothing get laid out, and let some of the warmth he felt manifest itself across his face.

“Come here, darling boy.” He instructed, stepping forward towards him, away from the door, to catch his chin again. He kissed him, lips sliding over Steve’s in a sweet, lingering touch before he pressed in further, deepening the kiss and sliding his tongue over Steve’s mouth, tasting the sugar they had abandoned in the kitchen.

They had time, now. They were safe and did not need to fear interruption. And Loki intended to make the very most of that.

“You’re so very good for me, aren’t you?” He asked, words breathy and meant to send air dancing over the moisture of Steve’s lips, freshly wet from Loki’s own tongue. He didn’t need Steve to answer him; they both knew it was the truth.

“Would you like me to blindfold you now, or would you like to get me ready, first?” He asked. “If you are blindfolded now, I will have you kneel before me, remove my pants, and take me into your mouth. If you’d rather wait, I would have your mouth just the same, but you can see what you are doing. I’ll let you decide.”

He thought that after the last time, it would perhaps not hurt for Steve to be unable to see. He would not have any visual of how much of Loki he had inside of him, how much he had not managed to take yet. Loki thought it might allay some of his fears and concerns in giving oral attentions to his partner. But he knew that it was something that Steve had not been horribly comfortable with. And so the choice.

He was already planning to take Steve apart similarly, once he had him spread out on the bed and blindfolded. He could hardly wait.

  


Steve moaned faintly into the kiss as it deepened, warmth flooding his body as Loki’s tongue invaded his mouth. Just this, simply kissing, felt so good, and he let his eyes close until they both parted for air, Loki’s words ghosting over Steve’s lips with breath warm and cool at the same time, making the moistened skin tingle.

He licked over his lips, pursuing the lingering taste of Loki on them, and considered his options, even as he felt a twitch in his exposed cock at Loki’s words.

Blindfolded, he wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing; he could be even worse. He might do something inept again and disappoint. Only Loki would surely know he was at a disadvantage, and with Steve giving up control, he might take hold of the situation and guide him more.

Helpless and on his knees wasn’t somewhere Steve would normally ever allow himself to be. It went against everything he did; every time he’d ever stood up and defined himself by the fact that he was the guy who _would_ stand up instead of surrendering.

And yet...

And yet, for Loki, he realized he would. He’d never surrender to an enemy; but to a lover, a partner...

Slowly, sliding his hands down Loki’s bare torso to guide and steady himself, Steve sank to his knees. When they hit the carpet, he looked up at Loki and inhaled. “Now,” he answered, letting the breath out. “Let’s... do it now.”

  


Loki stroked across his lover’s cheek with the backs of his fingers, wordlessly rewarding him for his choice.

“Close your eyes.” He commanded, sliding the middle fingers of both hands together and drawing them outwards, so that his thumbs held onto invisible tails of fabric, while between his hands, a faint shimmer appeared on the air, and that was all.

“This is like any other blindfold you have ever experienced, or may have experienced.” He said softly, bending to secure it around Steve’s eyes, to tie it behind his head. “The only difference is that I can see your face through it, so that your expressions won’t be hidden from me. I get to watch you while you see nothing.” He spoke lowly, almost sinisterly, but the words were negated by the gentle touch he used to be sure that everything was snug, but not tight. Comfortable for his partner.

He wanted to be sure that he wasn’t too tense, but the lines of his neck and shoulders did not seem to be. He seemed no better or worse than usual, as far as Loki could tell.

And on his knees like this, well… Loki had ordered him to kneel once before. He’d not meant it this way, and Steve had resisted him, then, but he went down so easily now. It seemed almost humorous, in a bitter sort of way, how different things had become, whipped cream and waffles rather than sceptres and fists.

Steve was so much more receptive than he’d expected to this, and he filed away the information, the way that his skin goose pimpled, the tiny shivers he had developed when Loki spoke to him. Good. All of it was so good.

“How does that feel? You can adjust it if you need to, but once you are done, give me your hands, and I will show you where the fastening of my pants are. Once you are comfortable, we can begin. And you can remove the blindfold at any time, and I will stop whatever we are doing. And you can always talk to me about what you feel or want or need, understood?” He wanted to cover every angle with Steve, make sure that nothing would go wrong. He wanted him to enjoy this.

  


Steve obeyed and closed his eyes, though he opened them a moment later to peer through squinted lashes at the blindfold Loki described. He saw nothing, save for a paint haloing of light, but when Loki’s hands moved forward to wrap around his head, he was suddenly plunged into darkness.

He drew in a short, quick breath, but made himself relax again almost immediately. It was surprising, but Loki was still speaking, explaining, his voice an anchor in spite of the blackness that now defined Steve’s world. Without sight, the feel of Loki’s touch on his cheek and the low, velvety rumble of his voice were even more distinct.

He could feel the touch of the blindfold -- cool and smooth, like silk, against his face. Tentatively, he reached up and touched it, fingertips skimming over what now felt like an ordinary length of cloth, despite the magical nature he knew it had to have. He adjusted it slightly over his left ear, then nodded.

“Okay,” he said, then held his hands out for Loki to take.

Warm hands engulfed his, and led them to the edge of Loki’s slacks. Steve ran his fingers lightly over the waistline, until he found the fly by touch. Swallowing, his mouth feeling dry, he undid the small metal clasp at the top, then found the zipped and tugged it down. The pants now loosened, he pulled them down, inch by inch, to Loki’s thighs, reaching back to tug them down over the taut muscles of Loki’s backside, and leaned in to let his breath blow lightly over Loki’s groin, in an echo of how Loki’s breath had tingled against Steve’s lips earlier.

He moved to nuzzle Loki’s cock through the fabric of his briefs, only to find with some surprise, that Loki was not wearing any. Steve reached down to check in case he’d pulled them down already, but there was no other clothing with the slacks. Odd. But, efficient. Steve hovered over Loki’s cock, inhaling the musky, earthy scent, and tilted his head up toward Loki, unsure if he was meant to proceed, or if Loki had specifics in mind.

  


Loki was not sure if the blindfold gave Steve more bravery, or if being accepted by his friends had contributed to his boldness, but he moved his hands more assuredly now, removing his pants, than he had working on his shirt and vest. It could be from being unable to see, and needing to feel, or because of a childish sense of, _if I can’t see you, then you can’t see me_ , which helped him to not be embarrassed. No matter the cause, the effect was stunning, careful and gentle and sure.

When Steve tilted his face upwards, Loki brushed his lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

“I want you to lick. Don’t take me into your mouth yet-- just get me wet, taste me. Let me worry about holding myself; you can keep your hands on my thighs for balance.” He kept his tone even and calm, though the slight huskiness that arousal lent him could no more be hidden than the erection he sported now, which he could feel Steve’s breaths on.

The heat pooling low in Loki’s groin was nothing in comparison to the temperature of the inside of Steve’s mouth, blown out over the sensitive skin of his cock.

Steve’s hands had continued to stroke over him once his pants were down, presumably to be sure he had not missed lowering them on any side, that he had done a good job, and Loki could admire that. He wanted to see him apply the same attention with his lips, his tongue, and the motions of his head.

“Once you have moistened my shaft, I will have you hold me in your mouth, only a little, and I will ask you to let me move you, to show you how to use the motion of your head to make things feel best for me, if you are okay with that. If so, I realize you may not speak easily, doing this. If you need respite at any point, you can tap your hand against my thigh. Like this.” He demonstrated with the flat of his hand against Steve’s cheek, not a hard hit, or even something he would call a hit, but just enough that it would get his attention.

Satisfied that he had said what he needed to, he took himself in hand, lifting so that the head of him was just before Steve’s mouth.

“If all of that is agreeable, you can begin when you are ready. Put out your tongue, and you will feel me.”

  


The tap on his cheek startled him, not out of pain, but rather because he didn’t -- couldn’t -- see it coming. All the same, he appreciated that Loki knew what he was doing, and had thought this through enough to plan ahead and devise a signal, offering Steve an out to make sure he felt safe at every turn.

And he did feel safe. Anxious, a bit, yes, but that was out of instinct. The moment he forced himself to think rationally, he knew Loki would take care of him completely.

Steve nodded first, then remembered that just because he was blindfolded didn’t mean he was gagged, and he still had the use of his voice. “Okay,” he said again, and this time his voice was a bit rougher in texture. He took a steadying breath, his hands running up Loki’s legs to settle low on the front of his hips, at the tops of his thighs. Then he leaned his head forward until his lips brushed against the hot and velvety tip of Loki’s cock.

He was ready for the taste this time, as he flicked his tongue over the tip. He knew what to expect, and didn’t make a face or flinch as the bitterness hit his taste buds. He let his tongue circle the head, tracing over Loki’s foreskin, and then moved to the side, mouthing the sides of the shaft wetly.

He couldn’t see Loki to check his expression and gauge how he was doing. Instead he found himself listening, feeling, trying to detect any hints. Pulling his mouth away as his cheek bumped into Loki’s hand, he ducked down, placing the flat of his tongue against the underside of Loki’s cock and then pulling his head back, dragging up to the tip again. He repeated the motion, then, enthusiasm building, proceeded to lave every bit of Loki’s shaft he could with gentle licks, wrapping around it the way he might an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.

  


In the same way that Steve’s blindfold made him bolder, so too did his lack of sight make Loki feel less anxious about how he looked. It did not matter now, for there were none to see but Steve, and Loki could let his own face turn heavenward, and he allowed himself to shake, and react. He held his hips still, refusing to thrust, to scare him.

But Steve could not see the pleasure he was bringing, and so Loki knew he had to tell him, instead.

“You have such a talented tongue, sweetness.” He began, his words stumbling as he forced himself to relearn how his own tongue worked. “You’ve no idea what it does to me, seeing you like this. Feeling you like this,” He drew in a shaky breath, loud against the backdrop of silence in the room. “You’re driving me mad. So beautiful, so good-- so good for me.” He brushed the fingers of his free hand gently over the corner of Steve’s lips, feeling where his tongue pressed against the pink skin there, and then upwards, across his cheekbone, and into his hair, before sliding back around to take hold of the back of his head.

“You tease me so well, pet. Open your mouth for me, and take just the head in. That’s my boy.” He remembered Steve saying he enjoyed being called things other than his name, and he had meant to experiment with them, but arousal was playing tricks upon his mind already, and he was using them more often and in more rapid succession than he’d intended, which would only make it harder for him to know which ones were best for Steve, which ones he enjoyed.

He resolved to be more sparing. But it was difficult. Steve had such beautiful lips, and employed as they were, he did not know how he would ever be able to close his eyes again without seeing the image of Steve on his knees, his mouth wrapped around him in supplication.

Loki’s own knees felt weak and they had but barely begun. He was afraid now that he wouldn’t last, one of the first times he had had to fear that in years, decades or longer, but he knew that even if he finished too quickly, he could bring this tableau to an end that would have Steve shaking and boneless in his bed.

He mightn’t be sure of his own body, save when Steve’s eyes were covered thus, but he was certain of his abilities. And they were not lacking in the least.

  


Steve groaned with his lips pressed against Loki’s tip in response to the praise Loki stuttered, the lust in his partner’s voice contributing to Steve’s own heady arousal. Knowing he was doing well -- knowing Loki was happy, that he felt _good_ \-- was deeply gratifying. Steve was doing good. He hummed happily as Loki’s fingers brushed over his face, resisting the urge to pull away from his ministrations to lean into the touch.

Sweetness. Pet. Boy.

_Astin Min._

Loki had remembered, and it was having an effect.

The words, the touches, the sounds Loki made and the heat of his cock against Steve’s lips and the weight of his hand on the back of Steve’s skull, strong and reassuring and in control -- all of it had his own cock heavy between his legs where he knelt. He kneaded his fingers lightly into the muscles of Loki’s thighs to distract himself from the thought of taking himself in hand.

He pulled his mouth away, taking a few deep and ragged breaths -- then moved back and wrapped his lips around the tip. Leaning in slightly, he let his lips push back the rest of the partially-retracted foreskin, swirling his tongue once fully around the head, before tilting his face upward, the motion pressing Loki firmly down against his tongue. He made a small, inquiring noise and stilled, waiting for his next instruction.

  


The hum that Steve gave to tell him he was ready made its way straight into the liquid pool of arousal, sitting low in his stomach.

Damn, but he had no idea what he was doing. What he was doing _to Loki_.

Loki let out a moan, unashamed and loud, now that he could be. Now that he did not have to worry about looking like an idiot, or being overheard, or whatever else had held him back before.

The heat around him felt like it should scorch his flesh, but instead all it did was serve to make it feel more sensitive, readier to respond. And he was ready to.

“Lean in, only just a little.” His words sounded panted and breathless, and he did not try to correct it. Let Steve hear him, let him hear the way his control was wavering. The way Steve made him feel.

“I want to feel your lips around me, dragging backwards and forth, want to feel your cheeks hollow against me, and the suction of it, the pressure that creates. Will you let me guide you, let me move you on my cock, show you how fast to go, how slow, how soon? It would be like this.”

He used his hand to put gentle pressure at the back of Steve’s head, the way he intended to, in guiding him into it, but stopping him after he’d gone only a fraction of the way up his shaft, no where near the back of Steve’s mouth.

“I won’t hurt you, won’t do anything that would even verge on being too much for you now. But I would love for you to let me take control of this. All you need do is feel, remember the way it feels, taking me in. You can say no-- you can always say no, and if you do, I will let you take charge of this, let you show me what you learned from last time, and then I will take you to bed, lay you out, and begin working on you. Either way, I am going to delight in tasting you, in taking you inside of my mouth, and I will find my end either across your lips or against your thigh. So you needn’t concern yourself with that.”

He held his breath and waited, though the sudden cessation of movement was nigh on torturous. He let his hand drift up to the top of Steve’s head, not taking it away, but not putting any pressure on it, either. He wanted him to have the room to make his choice, and to vocalize it or demonstrate it however he chose.

  


The moan Loki let out was beautiful, and for a moment, Steve regretted the blindfold. He wanted to see how gorgeous Loki looked, letting go, throwing back his head and baring the column of his neck, adam’s apple bobbing and lashes fluttering shut... Steve could picture it all, and he felt it in his groin, his cock growing even thicker.

When told to lean in, he did, taking a bit more of Loki’s cock, until his mouth was full, but his throat plenty untouched. He obeyed commands as they were given, pulling back a little and tightening his lips, sucking in his cheeks and sucking hard on just the head before letting some of the pressure go. He would have kept going, but he stilled at Loki’s next request. He relaxed though, loosening his jaw and letting Loki guide him down his shaft.

His heart began to pound so hard he wondered if Loki could feel it through Steve’s mouth. He felt that Loki had stopped -- that he was letting Steve think about it, making it his choice. But, if he agreed -- he’d be putting things fully in Loki’s hands.

Part of him balked at that. At being so entirely passive, like a doll or an instrument, simply to be used. Part of him felt a pang of-- not fear, he didn’t fear Loki -- but anxiety all the same. It trickled down his spine like cold water.

But another part of him liked it. Because his cock was rock-hard where it jutted outward now, and damn did he want to touch it. His grip on Loki’s hips tightened for a few seconds, until he realized he might bruise him, at which point he let go. He took a few deep breaths through his nose, mouth still full of Loki, then made a choice.

Letting go with his left hand, he reached back and took Loki’s fingers on the back of his skull and adjusted the grip slightly, before returning his hand and nodding his head slightly in assent. A clear enough signal, he hoped, for Loki to run the show.

  


“Thank you, St-- my beautiful love.” He nearly breathed the words, they were that reverent, and he had to stop himself calling Steve by name. Norns, but the way his mind fell to pieces with Steve like this.

He moved it so that one hand lay under Steve’s jaw and the other on the back of his head, and he began, slowly at first, the process of bobbing Steve forward and back, feeling exactly as he’d described; Steve’s mouth, Steve’s lips and tongue, the breaths that he blew out of his nose tingling where they touched newly wet skin on his dick.

He kept the motions and pressures small, in the hope that Steve would-- not take over, or take up a rhythm, but that he would get a sense of the movement. Loki did not plan to use Steve’s mouth as a replacement for his own fist, but he did want to end this part quickly-- to see his pleasure out, that he could move on to bringing it to his partner instead.

“Tilt your head to the side a tad.” He instructed. He brought the hand on Steve’s chin up to brush at the moisture around his lips, trailing it back down to its original position. He used his hand on Steve’s head to hold him still, then told him, “Try not to move. I’m going to move my hips now.”

There was something rewarding about being the one to slide his hips, the one to have the motion come from him. He daren’t go very deep, for fear of finding the top of Steve’s throat, of gagging him. But after a few thrusts, when he began developing speed, he stroked at the hair on the back of Steve’s head.

“C’n you feel what you are doing to me?” He asked. “I see how hard you are, I see you kneeling there, just taking it. You are _incredible_. So sweet…So… so close now. Sit up, I’m gonna...” He trailed off and pulled away, as the feeling of arousal built to a near-peak.

He pulled away from Steve’s mouth with an almost obscene noise from the saliva, and aimed himself at his chest. He dropped his hand from Steve’s head to his shoulder, but did not let go. He still couldn’t see, and Loki didn’t want to abandon him. He wondered what he must be feeling, wondered what senses he strained to make up for the lack.

His eye traveled down, taking in this ridiculous sight, and he felt so lucky, and so grateful, and so near to completion.

The thought of his seed painting all of the planes of his body was what finished him, along with his hand skating rapidly up and down his shaft, and the groan he let out was stuttered while he watched the imagined sight become a reality.

He dropped to his knees before his partner and gently smoothed at the mess on Steve’s face with his clean fingers.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

  


The breathy quality of Loki’s voice made Steve almost smile around his mouthful. Loki was enjoying this; he was enjoying it and wanted it and wanted _Steve_ and all of that... All of it was good. He loosened the muscles in his neck, allowing Loki to move him at his own pace, making himself pliable. He hollowed his cheeks and pressed his tongue to the underside of Loki’s cock, creating suction and pressure as he’d asked.

Steve was rarely any good at following orders. But this-- he’d follow to a tee. Relinquishing control, letting Loki lead him; there was a relief to it. There was no pressure to make the right choice, no fear of choosing wrong, of leading anyone into a crisis or trap. He wasn’t a commander anymore. Not here. Not now. He was free to think of his senses, heightened by the lack of sight -- the taste, smell, feel, and _sounds_ of his lover.

And not to mention the wet sounds of his own mouth as it slid up and down Loki’s length, occasionally punctuated by small gulps and breaths. He wondered if he ought to try humming again, since Loki had liked that before -- but no. Loki hadn’t told him to do that yet. Steve wasn’t going to try to think or anticipate; just clear his mind and react.

He tilted his head when told, then held still. The movement and sensation changed, and while it was similar enough, the difference of having his head still while Loki moved, rather than Loki moving him, made him all the more aware of his vulnerable position. Steve had the strength to pull away when Loki moved him if he wished. But blind and on his knees, there was no way to control Loki, or pull away in time if he chose to thrust deeper.

Only -- he wouldn’t. Steve knew he wouldn’t. So he held still, eyes closed beneath the blindfold, brow furrowed, and let Loki thrust into his mouth. His hand in Steve’s hair was firm but tender, and his voice as he spoke was low and throaty, and Steve almost groaned in desire at the sound of it. He wondered briefly if Loki would finish in his mouth again; he would be prepared for the taste this time, and make no faces. He could get used to it, he was sure--

But Loki pulled out of his mouth with a wet pop; the loss was abrupt and surprising, but Loki’s hand on his shoulder confirmed his continued presence, kept them connected. Then, a moment later, Steve felt hot liquid streaking across his chest. He drew in a long and ragged breath, sitting up and letting Loki cover him. The moan he uttered found an echo in Steve’s throat, though he bit down on his lip to stifle it. Damn, he was so hard it verged on an ache. And Loki... Loki had marked him, warm and wet and _his._

“I’m good,” he said, realizing belatedly that Loki had asked him a question, having been too focused on the sensations -- cooling come dripping down his chest and stomach, Loki’s fingers smoothing saliva from his face, the heat coiling in his lower abdomen -- to hear at first. “I’m... yeah. You?”

Of course, the evidence of how Loki was doing was smeared across Steve’s body. He smiled, recovering his breath. “Love you,” he murmured.

  


“And I, you.” Loki told him instantly. He moved in and kissed Steve, privately pleased about being able to surprise him like this, being able to take his lips while he was unaware what was coming.

Loki was getting his breath back, but he could hardly imagine taking to his feet just yet. Another moment, he would give himself that.

“Now, then.” He spoke firmly, “You seem to have a problem here.” He slid his hand down Steve’s chest, fingertips scratching lightly over his skin until his fingers slid through his own cum, and then it trailed after him, until he reached the base of Steve’s cock.

He tucked the rest away and used just one finger to trace across it, maddeningly gentle and taking care not to give Steve any of the friction he was no doubt craving.

“What do you suppose we should do with this?” He asked lightly, teasing. “Should I just--” He gripped it softly and twisted his wrist, giving only the slightest relief, only enough to tease and be not enough at all.

“I can give you anything you want, Steve. What do you think? What should I do to you?” He pulled his hands away and stood, careful not to make any sounds if he could help it.

He stooped and scooped Steve up, certain that he would be surprised by this, too.

Loki had caught his breath.

Standing, he held Steve to his chest.

“You do so much carrying me,” He whispered. “I didn’t want you to think I was incapable of returning the favor.”

He laid him out on the bed, arranging him with care. His cum had been moved between them from the brief time he had had Steve in his arms, but thanks to the heat they both gave off, it was still warm.

He straddled his lover and looked down at his prone form, smiling at the expression he wore beneath the blindfold.

“I’m just going to clean up the mess I made of you now.” He told him casually. And with that he lowered his head to lave his tongue over Steve’s chest, set on licking every inch of him, whether semen splattered or not.

  


The kiss was a surprise, but Steve leaned into it once the initial second of shock wore off. His lips felt swollen and a little stretched, and Loki’s mouth on them was like a balm. A sweet and loving balm with intoxicating, addictive properties. The feeling of Loki’s fingers on his skin was electric, and he wanted more, wanted it everywhere--

And then Loki’s hand touched him. Steve bit down on a groan, brows knitting together, breaths coming in hard, fast pants through his nose. He wanted-- _needed_ \-- friction. Relief. _Release._ Needed his own climax to paint his stomach along with Loki’s. But Loki’s tantalizingly light touch cruelly gave him no such thing.

He gave a squeeze -- a taste of what Steve craved, but nowhere near enough -- and Steve made a small noise, eyes screwing shut tighter under the blindfold. “Please,” he breathed, fighting to keep his voice from devolving into embarrassing begging, and doubting his success. “Anything, something...” He just needed to be touched; he was past the point of pickiness. “Please, do whatever you want!” he gasped, desperate, then yelped as he was lifted off the ground unexpectedly, arms flailing for purchase and finding Loki’s shoulders. His heart hammered against his ribs, the adrenaline heightening his senses almost painfully.

Almost.

It was easy to forget sometimes, having seen Loki caged, defeated, and wounded, how strong he was; that in spite of his willowy and narrow build, he was taller than Steve and surpassed him in pure physical power. Being lifted and carried now served as a reminder, and Steve held tight to him until he felt the sheets beneath his back, his weight lowered on to the mattress.

He listened to the rustle of the sheets and the muffled groan of the springs, feeling the bed dip around him as Loki climbed up, then the warmth of his partner’s thighs as he straddled him. Steve’s breath caught, come-covered chest riding and falling rapidly. “Loki,” he groaned, hoping he would be touched, or told what to do next.

Loki’s tongue was wet and velvety, lapping at his chest. It felt good; Steve moaned. He could think of where it would _definitely_ feel better. He fisted his hands in the sheets and squirmed against them, hips lifting unconsciously in search of something to rut against as Loki’s tongue scoured his belly clean of come.

  


He watched his lover coming undone beneath him and his lips twisted in a way that, as little as a year ago, could only have been called cruel. Not here, though. Amused, controlled, yes. But not cruel. Not to Steve.

He licked and kissed his way down to Steve’s hips, then lifted himself away and moved his body lower.

With a final grin of self congratulation, he lowered his mouth and took Steve it-- only the first few inches of him, at first. Enough that he could close his mouth and hollow his cheeks around him, and still pull back if he bucked from the initial surprise.

He sucked as he pulled his head back, resulting in a pop when the head of Steve’s prick fell free of his lips. Loki caught it with his hand, unwilling to allow it to fall away from where he would need it again soon enough.

“I can hardly decide which of us tastes better, Astin Min. I think I will need more of your flavor to properly compare.” He spoke as if remarking on the weather, but even so the amusement seeped into his words.

He lowered his head again and ran his nails softly downward, barely touching the skin of Steve’s lower stomach, the hairs on his pubis. He delighted in the texture of them while his tongue ran in circles around the head of Steve’s shaft.

Finally, he pulled away, licked his lips in preparation, and cleared his throat.

“Remember that I do not expect this of you,” He said softly, then sank his face down, until his nose was all but buried in the hair he’d just been admiring.

Silently, he worked his throat around his mouthful. It took a little more effort, once he had it swallowed, to remove it only a little, then take him back to his root again. It was the exact reverse of where Loki had begun, with only the tip, and yet it felt so incredibly perfect to him.

He reached up and pressed his fingers against the bulging above his Adam’s apple, in the underside of his jaw.

He pulled away and gasped in air.

“You can touch me if you like, beautiful-- or you can take those nipples of yours in hand, give them the attention I’ve neglected to. You could put your fingers in your mouth and suck them, pretend that they are me. Or, if you’d rather, you can take hold of me, and use my mouth, my throat, they way I did with you. Take your time, decide what you want. I want to give it to you.” There was a touch of croak to his voice, and to compensate he turned the words lower, a hissed whisper emerging that again, would likely have been sinister had he not been talking to the man that he loved, the man who loved him.

He dropped a kiss onto the tip of Steve’s cock, following it with a long lick up the underside with the broad flat of his tongue.

“Tell me, elskan, tell me what you want. Tell me how you want me to let you come.”

  


The feeling of Loki’s mouth on him at last was so good, Steve nearly cried out, his hips twitching with the effort of not thrusting into that warm and smooth heat. He had just enough presence of mind not to choke his partner; Loki, after all, had been so kind and careful in his handling of Steve. The hot squeeze of Loki sucking on the tip had Steve seeing stars in the blackness of the blindfold, but it was gone all too quickly, and he bit down on his lip to stifle a whimper, hard enough to taste a trace of copper this time.

He breathed raggedly, and wondered how Loki could sound so collected. The light tracing of his nails had Steve’s nerves on fire, his entire body sensitized and alight with sensation.

Then Loki was taking him in again -- deeper, all the way--

Steve’s face contorted and he threw his head back into the pillow, moaning through closed lips and breathing frantically through his nose. “God,” he croaked after Loki let up for a moment and then bobbed back down, the tight channel of his throat squeezing about the whole length of him. It felt phenomenal; he could only imagine what Loki looked like -- if his eyes were shut, black lashes an elegant smudge against his pale skin, or if they were open, staring up at him. Either way, he must be beautiful.

When Loki pulled off of him for air and to speak -- sounding less collected this time -- Steve could feel himself shaking. He was near, he knew. In part, he wanted to hold off, to make this last as long as he could -- but he was also practically out of his mind in want of climax. He reached down and gently felt for Loki’s face, tracing his fingertips over the familiar arches of his cheekbones; the slick curve of his lower lip; the silky strands of his black hair. “So good,” he breathed. “You’re so amazing. I...” he swallowed, licking his own lips, letting his hand fall away. “You’re perfect. Please...”

Please, take him in his throat again. Please touch him. Please do something--

“I’m getting close,” he whispered, bringing a hand up to his face in a fist and biting on his knuckle. “I’ll take anything. Anything you want, please, just--”

  


He chuckled, taking Steve back into his mouth to let the rolling vibration of his laugh move up through him and down Steve’s flesh. He used his hand to chase his mouth up and off the top of Steve’s cock again and swallowed, just giving himself enough time to take a breath and promise lowly, “Sweet boy, I am going to _devour_ you.”

And almost immediately following that, he made good on the promise, swallowing Steve again up to his root and sliding nearly all the way back off before repeating the motion. He’d have loved to touch him, to run his hands all down Steve’s body, but he needed his hands to balance, particularly as he began to twist his head from side to side as he withdrew.

So he planted his hands on Steve’s upper thighs, holding to them while he worked him over, until a thought came to him that had him smiling around Steve.

Wordlessly, the next time he lifted himself so that only Steve’s tip was in his mouth, he raised his hand and pulled the blindfold back into himself, dissolving the seidhr while it unwound. He made a small noise, hoping to alert Steve to the change, and waited until his eyes opened. He stared into them for a moment, then let his eyelids fall shut, a long moan bubbling up from his chest, while he took Steve back into himself, fast and hard.

  


Steve’s head slammed back into the pillow and his back arched when the vibrations of Loki’s laughter ran through his cock. _Devour._ He felt devoured. He felt taken apart, and what hadn’t been dismantled yet was sure to shake apart soon from the way his muscles were twitching and trembling.

He could feel his eyes beginning to water, a moan escaping his throat as Loki took him to the root again. It felt so very, very good. A tiny voice at the back of his mind hissed that it would be even better if Steve could give it in return, but pleasure drowned it out, at least for now. He was gasping for breath now, reaching up and grabbing on to the underside of the headboard as his toes curled into the sheets. “Loki,” he choked, as the god between his legs did something -- a kind of twisting motion -- that felt new and different and blissful.

He was close. He could feel the edge approaching.

Then he could feel the absence of something else. The slight pressure of the blindfold dissipated, and when Loki made a sound, Steve blinked. Light flooded his vision, and for a second he was blinding by it, his already watering eyes tearing further, spilling at the corners. Blinking furiously he looked down--

To see Loki, naked with tousled hair, red lips wrapped around the head of Steve’s flushed and leaking cock, looking him right in the eyes.

Beautiful.

Then Loki closed his eyes, let out a moan that went right to the tight pool of searing heat in Steve’s belly, and took him all the way again.

Steve cried out, hips jerking as he felt himself reach the precipice, balls tightening. “Loki!” he gasped. “I’m, I’m gonna--”

And for a moment, his vision went white.

  


Loki suckled Steve through his orgasm, only releasing him when he became worried that he might be too sensitive to want continued touches on him. He released him gently, running soothing soft touches along his inner thighs. When the small twitches stopped, he moved upwards and laid himself out alongside Steve.

He didn’t say anything, wanting to let Steve soak in his finish, and instead he drew gentle circles over Steve’s chest, delighting just in touching him, in being near to him.

He watched Steve’s face, trying to be sure that he hadn’t overwhelmed him. There were red marks on his lip and Loki frowned, his hand drifting upwards to run over them.

“The good news,” he said to break his silence, “Is that I think we can safely say that you taste better. The bad news is that you seem to have hurt yourself in the process. I didn’t tell you to do that.” It was such a small hurt, and such an accidental sort of thing, that he wasn’t truly upset. Not like when Steve had tried to force himself to swallow Loki down.

He rubbed his fingers across them, quietly patching the tiny wounds up, so that they smoothed away.

“There.” He said. “Other than that, how do you feel?”

Steve hadn’t seemed upset by being blindfolded, but it was better to ask, to know, so that if there was to be a next time with that particular addition, he would have a better idea of what he should do, and what he shouldn’t.

  


When the force of his orgasm passed, and the aftershocks began to fade, Steve felt like he’d been wrung out of every ounce of energy and doubted he could move if he tried.

For long seconds (minutes?) he lay there, listening to his ragged breathing gradually slowing and evening out, and closing his eyes while Loki’s fingers traced patterns along his cooling skin.

He chuffed in amusement when Loki informed him he tasted better, doubting his own palate would note the difference. Fingers skimmed over the broken skin of his lower lip where he’d bit through, and he winced. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to. I guess I was trying not to be loud,” he said. Or, he thought, embarrass himself by keening and whimpering like an absolute wreck.

Loki’s touch soothed the faint ache, and when he traced over it with his tongue a moment, later, he found the skin unmarred and intact. “Thanks.”

He turned to look at Loki, sprawled out on the bed beside him, pale and lovely. He was... he was everything Steve could have ever wanted and never dreamed he’d ever have. For long seconds, he just took in the sight of him, looking over every arch and dip and line before finding the pale green of his eyes.

Steve smiled. “I’m... I’m amazing. That was... I’m not even sure, but I... It was really good,” he managed, stumbling over his words.

He scooted closer so he could nuzzle in against Loki, pressing against him and breathing him in. “That was better than waffles.”

  


Loki laughed and made a face, though he rolled to push them closer together.

“While I agree,” He said, “Do not suppose that lets you off the hook of providing a waffle substitute. They looked delicious.”

He pressed a chaste little kiss to Steve’s cheek and draped his arm over his shoulder, then let himself fall still, relaxing into the touch of Steve against him. Relishing in the comfort of the moment.

It was purely happy, and he had no room in him to worry or be upset now. He was just full of love.

“I enjoyed myself as well.” He said, realizing that the comparison to waffles had derailed him a little from his intent. “But… was there anything you liked in particular? Or didn’t like? It is… the more I know, the better it will get. The better I can make things for you. My favorite part was watching you, when you couldn’t see me. The sounds you make, the way your muscles shake when you try to hold yourself back, it is… enchanting. Seeing you give yourself to me, your submission… I do not think I will ever have words, in any language, for what that did to me.” Leading by example was a good start, he thought.

“Not that I need you to submit to me always, or need to only ever spill myself on your chest… I like these things, they are good options for me. How did you feel about them, though?”

  


Steve chuckled. “And here I thought _I_ was sweet and delicious,” he teased, nestling in against Loki’s skin, seeking out his warmth as the sweat that had formed a sheen across Steve’s body cooled without the heat of exertion.

They were safe and among friends; Loki was hale and hearty; their fight was behind them, and they were together and utterly, devastatingly in love. Everything in that moment was perfect.

He frowned slightly in thought, when Loki asked him about what he liked and didn’t like. Not that he could think of much in the latter category. But it was... challenging to put into words. He owed Loki something a bit more articulate than ‘it was good,’ especially now that they’d been intimate several times.

“I think...” He pressed his lips together. “I liked not being in control. At all. So much of the time-- So often I’m in command, and expected to give the orders. I have to protect everyone and keep everyone safe and come up with plans and lead. And I don’t mind all of that, I mean -- it’s who I am. It’s what I do. It’s just... It’s nice to have a chance to not need to.” To submit and surrender and let himself be directed. It had been paradoxically freeing.

“Ever since I came out of the ice-- Everyone knew who Captain America was. Everyone who knew me as Steve was gone. But Captain America’s shoes were there waiting for me to step back into, and even if Steve Rogers wasn’t anyone anybody remembered, they all remembered Cap. So that’s who I had to be. What everyone expects me to be.” He huffed out a breath and looked up. “I like not having to be Captain America for a little while when I’m with you.” Together they could both escape the masks the world saw them in for a time -- hero or villain -- and be people. With all the vulnerability that entailed.

  


He nodded his understanding, eager to let Steve know that he didn’t find that strange or upsetting. He knew so much with Steve about his sexuality was a worry, and he wanted to allay that before it could fully begin. But he also wanted to be sure that Steve was safe about that desire. He had heard and seen too many mishaps from those who trusted too easily or too completely, or did not speak up when they should.

“That is not at all uncommon. I think it is actually good for you, having this… relief. As an option I mean. Again, it is not something I would ask of you always. I am sure it could become grating, to have demands made of you in bed as well as out of it, even when your role differs. So if ever there is a time you do not want that, you need only let me know. I promise not to be upset no matter how it is to be.” He kissed him again, sealing the promise thus.

“And at some point, not now or even right away, I would like you to think about the things that you think would… upset you. For example, the idea of waking up alone in a place you are unfamiliar with. In the same way I would ask never to be… like when you cut my hair, back at SHIELD. And you cannot always know how you will react, but if it is avoidable, I want not to upset you. And if there ever is something that does, some unexpected bad reaction, I want you to promise to tell me immediately. Don’t bite your lip or keep your silence because you think you should. Yes?”

He stroked Steve’s face, trying to impart the care he had, the worry he felt, but also the love, the pride. Steve was his, and Steve was not going any where. And it was good. They were beginning to find what Steve liked, what he wanted from Loki in bed… and that was exciting in its own right.

Loki had experience in lording over his partners, at their request and without it, of tying them up or down, of riding them, in either sense, and of helping to make them feel small, to mixed effect. He wondered where Steve would fall, where his preferences would lie.

He’d noticed that Steve often ended up hurting himself, but he could not tell whether that was merely inexperience, or if it was something Steve might enjoy to some degree. It was not something he felt he should ask, now. Not when it was all so new to him, and frightening enough already. But he resolved to continue watching, to continue reading between the lines.

“I also want you to think what I might do to you to help you feel less in control. Anything you want, you can ask me for and I will not think less of you for it. If it is easier to write down than say, that is fine as well. And again, at your leisure.” It was not in the midst of bed play now, and he felt a bit like a tutor, assigning studies, but these things were good, would be good, and lead to good. He had high hopes for all of this.

  


It sounded a little perverse when Steve said it out loud, and he braced for -- not ridicule, because Loki wouldn’t do that. Confusion, perhaps? Perhaps concern, and a slightly dubious eyebrow. But instead, he got assurances that this was... well, normal. Or at least, not uncommon. Not that he seemed to have as good a grip of what did and didn’t count as perverse these days. He relaxed a bit more, melting further into Loki’s side. “Not all the time,” he agreed. Sometimes he thought a more playful, teasing approach would be nice. Or... or perhaps some of the rough desperation that had colored their first kiss.

“I’m not... I’m not crazy about waking up alone in strange places, but I’m used to it enough I can handle it.” There was always just a bonechilling few seconds of utter horror to start his morning off with. Though he supposed it did a better job than coffee of shocking him awake. “But, waking like this would definitely be preferable,” he added, pressing a kiss to Loki’s collarbone. “Other things...”

He grew pensive. “I don’t... I don’t think I’d ever want to hurt you. Beyond just scratches or bites.” There was nothing he could do with nails or teeth that Loki wouldn’t be able to shake all visible signs of within a day or less. “If... If that was ever something you wanted.” Loki had mentioned pain a few times as he remembered, and it was an idea that sat a little uneasy with him -- although, recalling the spike of arousal and apprehension he’d had when blindfolded, and the way the adrenaline heightened his senses, he supposed he might understand some of the appeal. All that being said;

“I appreciate that you’ve been taking it slow and being really gentle with me,” he began, cautiously, moving back a bit so he could look Loki in the face. “You’ve been amazing. And just now, with the blindfold, it was perfect. I know I can trust you completely. But -- when we’re not doing something where I’m, um, as vulnerable. You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass.” He smiled, in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “I’ll let you know if something is too much, or if I don’t like it. I know I haven’t really, so far, but that’s mainly because so far there hasn’t been anything I’ve really disliked. Okay, okay, so, I’m crap at swallowing,” he added quickly, wincing. “And I’m not crazy about the taste, but that’s something I can adjust to if you want me to. It’s not a dealbreaker.” He shrugged, then flushed a bit. “And if I’m biting my lip, it’s probably just because I’m pretty sure the noise I’d make otherwise would be really embarrassing.”

Whimpering like a hurt animal was probably not the most appealing thing in the world, after all. Right?

He licked his lips, then leaned in to kiss Loki, slowly and gently. “I can’t believe how lucky I am that I have you,” he murmured, feeling content. “All your lovers back in Asgard must’ve been insane to let you go.”

  


“Nothing about you is embarrassing.” Loki hastened to assure him, once their kiss had broken, slow and sweet, and so nearly disarming as it was, but there were important things to be said. “Particularly not the sounds you make. You must have seen what they do to me; If I could request any one thing of you at this moment, it would be that you do not seek to hold back. The more honest your reaction, the easier it will be for me to know if you want more, if I can… part of treating you delicately is feeling out where your areas of comfort are.” He wasn’t sure if he was expressing this correctly. But he was trying, at least, and they could always have further talks on the subject. “I do not want to push you into the area of discomfort, nor do I want you to feel, for lack of other words, bored, or unchallenged. So, if, in the midst of everything, you find yourself thinking that… I know that it is sometimes difficult for you, but… if you can find a way to tell me, I would be happy to give you… oh, _everything_.” He could not help the eagerness, the lust he felt, even thinking it.

“And if verbalizing, if making sounds or speaking is a problem, you and I could… like the stop signal, we could figure out something that would work to communicate what you want without you having to say it. Though…” He trailed off, feeling like he might be being manipulative, and hating that feeling. But they were being honest right now, about likes and wants. “I do love hearing you speak, through the lust. It is very attractive. As is all of you.”

Loki pursed his lips while he thought on the rest of what Steve had said, and he knew there were three other points he needed to address:

“I will not say I am not disappointed, that you do not feel comfortable employing small pains in our bed play, but I am also unsurprised. Particularly so soon after… well. So soon after seeing me so injured. I do not require such things, or at least, not with you. And I can be happy without them, so long as I have you.” He smiled reassuringly and stroked a single finger down his nose.

“I do not care whether you feel you are accustomed to something or not; if it upsets you and it is within my ability to change it, I wish to know. And if it is not able to be changed, then I still wish to know, to be able to care for you, afterwards. Again, this relies on communication. And I believe it is something we are fully capable of. And finally, I want you to stop with your self flagellations about being unable to swallow, and uncomfortable with taste. These are learned things, things that take time. And practice. And if you want to practice, well.” His grin turned predatory again, and his eyes sparked playfully despite his prone and relaxed pose. “Far be it from me to argue.”

He chose not to comment on Steve’s determination that his past lovers had been insane to let him go. _He’d_ been insane. That was why they had. Insane, and not worth loving. But that was hardly to the mood that they had now, hardly to the point.

  


Steve flushed a little when Loki insisted he wanted to hear the sounds he made -- he still felt embarrassed -- but he made himself nod anyway. “Okay,” he said, a bit wary. “I’ll... I’ll work on it.” The impulse to bite down on a whine, whimper, or other sound of weakness beyond a grunt or groan was something he’d learned at an early age, so it could take a while to fully dismantle. But if that was what Loki wanted, he could certainly make an effort. “Signals might be good, too. Mostly ‘cause I sort of forget how words are supposed to work when you do that thing with your mouth,” he added with a wry grin. “No guarantees about being articulate or coherent.” He felt awkward vocalizing some of the things he wanted and needed -- even now, when they were no longer in the thick of it and simply having a conversation, it felt strange and taboo. Which was stupid. But still hard to get past.

He glanced down when Loki expressed disappointment, feeling guilty. He hoped... he hoped Loki would be all right with not having that. If he really needed it, Steve could, could maybe stifle his objections for Loki’s sake, or try... He swallowed, forcing down the sudden surge of anxiety that he _wouldn’t be enough,_ pinning on a smile he didn’t quite feel as Loki ran a finger playfully down his nose.

Loki had made so many sacrifices already. Steve had to try to give him as much as he could in this.

So he chuckled at Loki’s comment about practicing, raising his eyebrows. “You know... I think, on account of not having much experience, I’m gonna need to practice everything. A lot.” And maybe skip the notion of breakfast and stay in here in bed until lunch. Or dinner. Maybe not leave at all...

A thought struck him, and he rolled over into Loki, rolling Loki on to his back and shifting over him, propped up on his elbows. “You know, you promised me I’d get to look at you as much as I wanted after,” he pointed out with a grin. “I think--” he leaned in to kiss Loki’s throat, “--You should let me draw you like this.”

  


As free as Loki had felt, when he knew Steve’s eyes were covered, as much as he had felt able to exist without self consciousness, that had fallen away. It was one thing, in the action and arousal of the moment to exist outside of the awareness of who you were, how you looked… this was different.

And he’d liked the blindfold, too, because Steve wasn’t constantly telling him how beautiful he was. Which he appreciated, in theory, he loved that Steve thought to say it, but it always felt a little like something he said out of duty. He loved Loki, and so had to find him lovely, in the same way that he loved Steve and would live without things he enjoyed, like some roughness in bed, or mocking Tony. More.

Steve finding him beautiful always felt a little like a lie, but not the kind he could be attracted to, or the kind he could be angry at, just… the sort that left him mildly uncomfortable.

But he had said that Steve could look at him, and he had said that he could draw him, before they had even arrived here. He remembered that. So while he felt… apprehensive, at best, allowing him to put the lines of his body down on paper, he nodded, mouth going a little dry.

“I-- just like this? Or do you want--?” He cut himself off, not wanting to prompt Steve into asking him to change, but aware that Steve had wanted that as well. He’d been practicing. Alone and in the bathroom, he had tried looking at himself, at his true self. It was jarring. Unpleasant. He swallowed.

But Steve had spoken of trust, of how he knew Loki would not hurt him at his most vulnerable.

And so of course, in asking for Loki to make himself vulnerable in return, he was asking that his trust be returned.

“Of course you can draw me. However you like.” He gave him a smile and if it was strained, it couldn’t have been very much. It probably looked much more confident than he felt.  
He hoped.

  
Steve beamed, darting his head down to deliver a quick, chaste kiss to Loki’s mouth. “I’ll get my sketchbook,” he said, then rolled off of Loki , untangling his ankles from the sheets and sliding out of the bed.

  



	35. Thirty-Five

His drawing materials had found their way into the top drawer of the dresser, whose contents remained spartan, occupied only by the clothes he’d brought with him from DC. He reached for a pair of pants while he was going through the drawers, but then stopped himself. He knew Loki wasn’t a huge fan of being exposed or under dressed. Of course, it was a bit different when they were along -- but it might be rude of him to be dressed when Loki remained nude. It would be fairer if he stayed naked, he decided, sliding the drawer back shut, having only removed his newer sketchpad, an eraser, and a few pencils.

“However you want is fine,” he told Loki. “On your side or your back, arms over your head or not-- whatever feels comfortable and like it isn’t going to get sore if you hold it for a while.”

Steve had worked with models before, way back in art school, had even modeled a few times himself (albeit fully clothed) for quick cash, since it was money for something that put no exertion on his asthma. And he knew how quickly a seemingly easy position could turn painful when it had to be held for extended periods. Not that he planned on this being too lengthy and involved of a drawing -- but it would be nice to have something that was more than just a gesture sketch.

Flipping past recent pages he’d filled with small drawings from life in the Tower -- a simple portrait of Pepper smiling; a sketch of Bruce and Tony talking, with Tony’s hands raised animatedly as he described something technical; a few stylized cartoons of Loki in a wheelchair terrorizing Tony -- he found a blank page and oriented it over his lap as he dropped down into the chair in the corner. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

  


Loki wanted to make a joke about Steve drawing his ‘true essence’, curl in on himself, and maybe fall asleep until Steve finished, but he knew it would be better that he didn’t. It would only make both he and Steve feel badly.

Instead he brought his arms up, angled himself slightly towards Steve and arranged the pillows behind and under him to help support the pose, so all that he had to do was lie there.

“Is this…?” He asked, not entirely certain that it was what Steve had in mind.

“You can move me, if you like. Rearrange me.” He offered, the words coming almost as soon as the thought had formed. “However you want me.” He purred, trying to find a way to feel like he was still in charge in this situation, though the tables had clearly turned.

He wondered that Steve wanted things this way, wanted him exposed and bare and without any of his flaws and imperfections hidden. The lines of his suits did so much to make him look like he was… at least shaped like the men of Asgard, though he knew Steve did not have the same sort of standards.

Loki had seen the men of Midgard, while they had been out and about. He was not entirely impressed. But even still, that did not make him impressive by contrast. It merely made him… a different form of unimpressive. Still the sorry, sad excuse for a man that his peers had called him. Still the runty dark Asgardian Prince. Though… not truly either of the last.

Why Steve should want it to be he that was put to paper, and not himself, with the glory of his body and the beauty of his face, and the goodness that was all but visible in his being… Loki wouldn’t really ever understand.

But Steve wanted him to show his vulnerability, to trust him. What better way to become vulnerable than to lie here, hands over his head as though chained there, cock soft between his thighs, and the slightest trace of cum on his chest, from carrying Steve to the bed.

He would pose for his partner as best he could, but he felt anything but beautiful.

  


Steve looked up at Loki and smiled.

Propped up on the pillows, he’d given Steve a better angle to work with, and the position of his arms lengthened the lines of his torso, revealing the muscles along his ribs and emphasizing his length and leanness. “You’re perfect,” he told him. And then, in a moment of cheekiness, he let his grin widen: “The pose isn’t bad either.”

Sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration, he looked back and forth from Loki to the page several times in quick succession, pencil skimming over the page and creating pale, ghostly lines in the general, rough shape of Loki’s body, capturing the curve of his spine, the oval of his skull, and the axes of his hips and shoulders. It was rough, but gave him a framework to start off with. “Great. Now, all you have to do is hold still. If you need to move-- scratch your nose, or whatever -- that’s fine, just warn me first and try to remember your position after. If you get tired or at all sore, let me know and we’ll call it a wrap. Oh, and feel free to talk; I’ll let you know when I get to drawing your mouth.” Loki had been very aware of Steve’s body and his comfort when he had been in charge; now that Steve was the one issuing directions, he wanted to make sure he did a good job as well of covering the bases.

The drawing began to fill out and take shape as he blocked in the shapes of Loki’s body, the planes of his abdomen, and the subtle curves of his muscles. Where back in Central Park, he’d drawn Loki’s female form in soft curves and arcs, capturing her body in ovals and gently sloping lines, the framework he put down for Loki’s current form was largely composed of straight lines and angles, edges and planes.

He exhaled, looking up to check his work against the original. “You have fantastic proportions,” he murmured.

  


Loki smiled.

“I like that sort of compliment.” He said. “It sounds more… real, I suppose. Something more defined than ‘lovely’ or ‘beautiful’. Fantastic proportions. Hm.” He mused on that for a moment. Fantastic could be unbelievable, inhuman-- he was both, to be fair; his proportions were, equally, a little alien. Too thin, too undefined. It was a compliment, clearly. But it was one that smacked of truth. His proportions were not what humans usually had, which made them unique to him. But fantastic, as he understood it, was also something like approval and appreciation. So Steve liked his proportions. That was nice. There was nothing untrue here, nothing that he could object to.

“Your proportions are equally fantastic,” he said, pleased that it was also true. He had, in fact, fantasized about the proportions of Steve’s lips to the rest of his face, his shoulders’ broadness and his waist’s narrowness.

Loki found that, though he usually considered himself a still person, someone capable of holding his pose and composure, being told that he couldn’t move made him want to. Made him want to twitch and rearrange the sheets, the pillows, his hair…

He huffed a little, amused at himself, but he did not put it to words, did not complain. It was like when he stretched to uncurl himself after spending long hours reading… but it was the motion of stretching combined with the unmoving hours. Which still meant it should be something he was accustomed to.

He thought, though, that it might simply be the lack of words to distract him.

And despite Steve saying that he could talk, he seemed so focused that Loki was loathe to interrupt him.

Besides, speaking just to speak, making childish demands for entertainment, were both disdainful things that he would look down upon in others.

He had a good mind. He just needed to employ it properly.

He looked to Steve, but thought that trouble would come of focusing overlong on the way his tongue just peeked out, the color sharp against the paler pink of Steve’s lips. He had no way of covering himself, nothing to hide behind. Steve would see instantly if he reacted to him. And while that would not necessarily be bad, it would almost certainly be disruptive. Which would be rude to his partner, the artist.

So instead he turned his thoughts to Thanos, to what it was he was possibly planning that would require Loki’s-- what? Help? Presence? Knowledge? He wasn’t sure. But it bore reflecting on. And there was no time like the present.

  


Steve’s forehead creased in concentration as he worked. “They’re all real,” he pointed out, perplexed by Loki’s words. He couldn’t possibly still think Steve found him anything but gorgeous by this point, could he? Though he supposed he must mean the specificity; Steve would have to make a point to concentrate more on individual aspects of Loki’s looks when he complimented him in the future, he determined.

And each individual part of him was lovely too, he noted, beginning to block out areas of shadow to define the depth and mass of the form on the page. Long legs, slim frame, toned muscles... He pulled out his kneaded eraser to rub out the left elbow, whose position he’d got wrong, carefully redrawing it while stealing frequent glances at his subject. Already, he could render Loki quickly and with the greater ease of familiarity than he could most anyone else in his life these days.

He couldn’t help but snort, though, when Loki complimented his own proportions. “They’re a little... well. Extreme,” he admitted. He remembered how in his first fitting, the tailors who had worked on his uniform had stared at the numbers they recorded for his shoulder and waist measurements in awe until he’d grown embarrassed. “The serum made my shoulders about three times as wide as they used to be, but my hips didn’t grow as much. For about a week after the procedure I kept walking into door frames because I wasn’t used to taking up so much more space laterally. The docs wanted to check my vision because they thought there was something wrong with my ability to see peripherally.”

Fortunately, his vision had dramatically improved with the serum’s effects, increasing his depth perception and removing his color blindness. Not that he’d had much time to experiment artistically with color after that; on the road with the showgirls selling bonds, he hadn’t had room to pack many art supplies, and he was hardly able to find more than a pen and pencil on the front. He’d always worked in black and white before, to work around his difficulty perceiving color, and the habit largely persisted, even now.

Maybe some day Loki would let him draw him -- or maybe even _paint_ him -- in color. He’d have to acquire paints first, of course. But that probably wouldn’t be hard. He’s ask JARVIS to search for nearby art supply stores.

The drawing took more form as he continued to sketch, going back and refining contours, cleaning up his scaffolding lines and adding greater detail, blending his shading with the pad of his finger, and using the eraser to pick out small areas of highlight. He smudged some of the lines he’d put down initially, softening the hard angles of Loki’s form to something still geometric and sculpted, but less rigid; more inviting.

He worked out the details of Loki’s chest; his shoulders; arms; throat. It was only when he got to the face that he realized Loki’s expression was a million miles away, and that he’d been holding still for quite a while now, Steve having lost track of the time in his work. “How’re you holding up?” he asked, breaking the silence that had fallen.

  


Thoughts of Thanos had had to wait.

“You don’t look extreme to me. You look like a good many of the people-- the majority of the people whom I grew up around.” He could not shrug, but he could do so with his mouth instead, a half smile that was there and then gone. “It is why it is difficult to see my proportions as appealing. When all there was to compare myself to was men shaped more or less like you, I felt very much like I did not belong. Which as it turns out…” He trailed off.

That was a bit of why he thought he and Steve would have been friends, though of a different sort, had he known he existed, back when he was but a slip of a man. Loki understood all too well what it was to be sickly looking and dwarfed by the world around him. He wondered-- he’d have been able to heal him, he was certain, of the majority of what ailed him at least. But how would that have changed the man he loved? Would he have grown to love him at all? Would he still have received the serum?

Would he have grown the will that Thanos had found so intriguing? Would he be in any danger at all now?

Loki blinked, coming back to the room, the drawing. He almost stretched, almost moved, but caught himself in time.

“I am… fine.” He said simply. “It is very easy to let one’s mind wander, when the body isn’t doing anything.” He smiled, able to give Steve something sincere in this moment where his mind was divided, though he felt himself crashing back into the world of his modesty, such as it was, and the emotional discomfort of the situation.

“I’m sorry; did you need me to do something? I wasn’t really… I haven’t been paying attention.” He admitted it sheepishly, a little embarrassed that in this moment meant to be about being open and available for Steve, he hadn’t even properly been there.

"Did I move?” He asked, worried that his lack of concentration had caused him to shift, to ruin things.

  


Steve shook his head, trying to imagine a world where everyone looked the way he did now. His present self would blend in well, he supposed; his past self would have probably been reduced to a bloody smear on the wall.

Not that Loki was so different in shape to him, though -- he was taller by an inch or so, albeit narrower in the shoulders. But he had muscle tone, and moved with cat-like grace. It was hard to conceive of him being so very different simply for having a slimmer build. Although, he supposed compared to Thor, who even put Steve’s physique to shame, anyone would be hard-pressed to measure up.

His mind drifted along with the tip of his pencil as it scratched lightly across the page, whispering in short strokes as he deepened his shadows, upping the contrast.

“You’re fine,” he assured Loki with a smile. “You’ve been great.” Loki had held remarkably still, allowing Steve to get a consistent and accurate rendering. He checked back and forth, adjusting a few lines, adding a few more, and dabbing his eraser in a few spots, laying down a few loose and free-flowing strokes to capture the contours of Loki’s hair. “I’m just about done, if you need to move,” he let him know. “I’m mostly polishing it up now.” In a bit, he might go back and work up the detail on the folds of the sheets, or add in more shadow on the wall and the headboard, but neither of those required Loki to be motionless, or even to be present. He pressed his graphite-covered index finger to the page over Loki’s cheek, the smudge it left forming the shadow under Loki’s cheekbone, then set his pencil down and held the drawing out at arm’s length to inspect it.

All in all, it wasn’t bad. Not perfect; there was forever room for improvement. But not bad. He smiled at it, then lowered it so he could direct the smile at Loki.

  


Loki sat up and rotated his shoulders, feeling the clicks that told him he should pop them. He reached across with his opposite arm and did so, then arched his chest so that his shoulder blades touched, arms swooping grandly outwards.

He moved a bit closer to Steve, holding back from coming too close, in case he did not want him to see his creation, just yet.

“How does it look?” He asked cautiously.

It was true he did not enjoy looking at himself, but Steve made art, made everything beautiful. Found and brought out the beauty in the things and people he drew. And so perhaps Loki’s vanity was desperate for something to cling to, something that would let him think that there was some good to him. And perhaps he was just eager to see what Steve’s talented hands could make of him.

The fact that Stark had not even known that Steve drew made Loki feel like this was another secret between them-- but of the good kind, the kind that was shared like a whisper in bed, a soft touch. He did not need Steve’s art to be a secret. But that it had been shared so primarily with him felt like an honor.

“I cannot help but wish that I could draw, that I could show you what you look like when you are focusing on the paper in your hands.” He stuck his tongue out between his lips and frowned, the lines across his forehead much more pronounced than Steve’s were, everything exaggerated to poke fun.

He mimed furtive scribbling and looked up and down rapidly, feeling like the fool he had once played before his fa-- Odin’s court. But this did not sting him at all. And it did not feel malicious the way he had then. This was done only to tease, and entirely out of love.

He stopped his charade and smiled, propping his chin on his hand.

“Have you not ever drawn yourself?”

  


“Not as good as you,” Steve remarked, picking his pencil back up and making one more minor adjustment before regarding his handiwork with satisfaction. Loki was more beautiful, but Steve hoped he’d done a good job of approximating his good looks -- at least enough to not be insulting.

He looked up to see Loki’s imitation of him, tongue out, brows knit, sketching frenetically, and burst out into laughter. “Oh god, do I really look like that?” he asked through his mirth, knowing already that the answer was probably yes. Bucky had teased him on more than one occasion about the intense look he got on his face when he was focused. Also about the way he went oblivious to everything else around him, to the point that he’d sometimes flick bits of paper at Steve until he noticed.

Standing, he stretched as Loki had, loosening his shoulders and rolling his neck. He put his pencils back on the dresser, sketchbook tucked under his arm. “A couple of times. Not closely, though. Usually just for studies, when I didn’t have another model,” he answered with a shrug when Loki asked if he drew himself. At first it had been depressing, staring at his own face, his own figure for too long. And then after -- after there was still a disconnect, and it felt strange. “Usually I just got Bucky to sit for me.”

He’d crossed toward the bed, and now dropped down on to the edge beside Loki. “Do you wanna see?” he asked, holding out the sketchbook and doing his best to mask his apprehension. Drawing, he loved. Sharing his drawings, less so. Though he’d shared more of his work with Loki than anyone else so far.

  


"No, you don’t look at all as miserly. But it is such an odd thing, I do not think I have seen you that focused on anything save your art, and the way you looked at Scofield when you returned from the mission that saw your ribs broken.” And that focus had been intense and angry and beautiful. Loki loved it.

He reached out with careful hands to take up Steve’s sketchbook, and took in what he had drawn.

On the page, Loki did not look half so smooth as he was, his torso and arms riddled with suggestions of muscle. Thin muscle, hardly there, but still… he was not so much pale blank space, this way. He appeared to have some shape to him, beyond what he was used to seeing. And that went a long way toward making his body palatable.

Made him look less like he spent his days poring over books and more like he put at least some effort into becoming as muscular as Thor and his friends. Though he knew that even when he did, he never gained bulk. His body was simply not shaped to bear such a form.

But this...

“I look… good.” He said, sounding surprised. Artistic liberty being as it was, and the unusual pose probably helping to push him into a shape, it was still something worth thinking on. Besides, if this was what Steve saw, each time he looked at him… Love and insanity were not so far removed from one another.

It did make him feel better about being naked, just the same, though.

He moved his body closer to Steve’s and draped an arm around his neck to pull him closer.

“I really like this one.” He said softly, then kissed him.

Proportions and unease be damned. Steve made him happy.

  


Steve chuckled at Loki’s assessment, though he flinched internally at the reminder of Scofield. He’d almost forgotten the bastard. Perhaps... perhaps the next time he spoke to Natasha, he could try to figure out what the man had spread and who at SHIELD knew, or thought they knew, about Steve.

At any rate, the anxieties surrounding that were far away, miles and miles south; there were more pressing anxieties right now sitting on the bed before him. Steve watched carefully, monitoring Loki’s expression for a reaction to see if he was pleased, or less-than-pleased, with Steve’s rendering.

Pleased, it turned out.

He smiled in relief, kissing Loki back. “Yeah, well. I draw what I see,” he pointed out, trying not to think too hard on how surprised Loki sounded, “and I happen to have a very good looking model.”

He didn’t think it much of a stylization; it was a straight study, for the most part. And good practice too, as it had been a long time since he’d done an in-depth figure drawing. “Thank you,” he said to Loki, a bit more seriously. “For letting me. Here--” He carefully tore the page out of the binding along the perforation, handing the paper to Loki. “--It’s yours.”

  


Loki had to resist the urge to press it to his chest. If it would not damage it, he would keep it always upon his person. Although…

"I think today I should remove all of the contents of my ‘pocket’ and take stock, as well as cleaning and organizing. Once that is seen to… I will never be without this image again. To remind me what you see, when you look at me.” He felt so love sodden, felt as though he were overflowing with it, and he was certain it must show. Not that he minded in the least.

"I wish we were on Asgard. There is a tradition there of portraiture of families, having paintings done of… well, at any rate. We aren’t on Asgard.” He couldn’t help but feel a tiny twist of sadness at that, though. Were they not men, and were he any but himself, no doubt they could call someone in to the tower, or go to some artist’s workspace, and commission a rendering of them together. Even if it would not be as good as Steve’s own art.

"There is something magical about art, giving you the view of what others see. It is as if you have become untethered from your body, unrestrained by the fixed point of yourself as the center of your universe. I wonder what you see when you look at me, and I have this. I wonder what your friends see when they look at us together…” He shrugged.

It was not pressing, and he told himself he didn’t really care. He’d had to make himself care, in order to gain their respect and their trust, as well as their favor. But now it seemed he had it… enough at least that they were not being driven out, and were instead allowed to do this, to spend the morning together and intimate and uninterrupted. True that he would have to maintain the behavior that had garnered the reactions which allowed it in the first place, but… he would not have to be so on edge as he had been, so careful.

And they were his friends too, he reminded himself, too late for the words that had already left his mouth, but it was good to remember. Friends. Someone who loved him. This realm was already more his home than Asgard. He just didn’t know why he missed it so much, suddenly. Nothing about that morning should have contributed to any real sense of nostalgia.

“When do you want to go see your Brooklyn?” He asked, moving his thoughts from his unreachable past.

  


Steve felt his cheeks heat, embarrassed, but also secretly glad of Loki’s enthusiastic reaction. After how he’d reacted the first time Steve had shown him drawings of himself -- the fury and pain that had come of the portrait of him in his frost giant skin -- this happiness and high praise (misplaced as the latter might be) filled him with joy.

And it was good, for Loki to see himself how Steve saw him. How lovely he was. Whatever it was that Loki saw in the mirror, Steve doubted it measured up to the reality; he wanted to help. And if this did the trick -- Steve would draw Loki a portrait every day for the rest of his life.

“We ah, we could ask someone to take a photo of us sometime, if you wanted,” he offered. Commissioning a portrait wasn’t exactly low profile or within his budget, but someone in the tower had to have a camera. “It’s not as-- I mean, it would probably just be a snapshot, but if you wanted a picture of the two of us to hang on to, we could get one.” He wasn’t sure if it was what Loki really wanted or meant, but that much at least was within his power to acquire.

“As for Brooklyn...” he paused. “Maybe later this week. It’s a bit further out from our current position. I was thinking that tomorrow, if you’d like, we could spend the day out in Manhattan and go Uptown.” He shrugged. “There’s a lot there I’d love to show you, and it’s also close enough to the tower that if anyone jumps us again, Tony and Bruce will be able to get on scene quickly. Not that I’m expecting trouble,” he added. But after what happened in Bryant Park, he wanted to be careful. If a day out in Manhattan went well, without incident, then they could venture into the other boroughs in subsequent outings. “You may want to take Pepper up on her offer about clothes, though. I don’t really know anything about ladies’ clothes.” The simple dress they’d got Loki for their initial arrival in the tower had been more summery, and with the November weather now cold and blustery, something a bit more suited to the season would probably be wiser.

He inhaled, pulling some of the sheets over his legs, more for warmth than for modesty. “I owe you an apology, by the way,” he said, glancing down. “I... I misjudged. I let myself be so paranoid that I expected the worst of my-- of _our_ friends. I didn’t think they’d be-- anyway. I made a mistake and probably don’t deserve to have as good of friends as I do, but because of that I pushed my paranoia on you and made you lie about us with me and hide when you shouldn’t have had to. And I’m sorry.”

  


Being reminded of Pepper and her offer of shopping, he was also reminded of his dare, his somewhat inebriated request that she find him work. He would need money to purchase clothing, after all, unless he wanted to go on taking Steve’s and Tony’s. He was well enough now; he should be attempting to contribute to his own upkeep.

But the frown line between his eyebrows left instantly when Steve spoke of having made Loki lie.

“No, Steve.” He said consolingly, reaching out to touch him. “No, you never made me lie, or hide… and it was not paranoia. You forget I have seen others’ reactions when they merely suspected us of being close. Especially given my past, I do not blame you for being cautious about whom you tell and when. And I respect your judgement of the situation much more than my own, given I do not know much of your Midgardian societal impetus.” He shrugged. “I had expected that they may never know, until Thanos came or it was impossible to hide it for other reasons.” He paused, not wanting to give Steve the time to think this over too thoroughly, or to realize that meant that Loki had somewhat assumed he would never be considered good enough to be accepted.

Being hurt did wonders for that, it seemed.

“Besides, if you really think that you, who cannot even come up with a false name, could make _me_ lie…” He spoke teasingly, but it was true; if anyone was going to be in danger of corrupting the other it would be he to Steve, and not the other way around. He grinned widely.

“Have I mentioned to you, though, how oddly arousing it is when you lie with conviction?”

And, quick to move on, in the event that that was neither distraction enough, nor palatable, Loki seized eagerly to Steve’s planned outing.

“I would like to see whatever it is you wish to show me.” He told him. “And it was silly of me to forget photos. I think my mind became stuck on Asgard for some reason, but I am sure if we asked, even JARVIS could take such an image. It oversees the cameras of the house, correct?”

  


“Not sure what quality the video surveillance is, but I’m sure JARVIS or Bruce or someone wouldn’t mind taking one,” Steve said with a smile. Though there was something bittersweet about the idea of taking a picture with Loki -- like he might be tempting fate. The pictures of his friends before the ice were all he had left of them now: faded black and white photographs and crinkled yellow newspaper clippings.

He never wanted to _need_ a photo of Loki. Because he wanted Loki right there at his side to look at.

Knowing Loki didn’t fault him or begrudge him his miscalculation of his friends’ reactions was a load off his shoulders. It had been gnawing at him since he’d come out the other night, but had gotten buried in everything else they’d wound up discussing and fighting over. But it was all out on the table now, and they didn’t have to sneak around or cover their tracks while in the tower (though Steve still intended to be reasonably discreet, and to keep it under wraps in public).

“I know I’m a terrible liar,” he added grimly. “Trust me, I get told a lot. Natasha thinks it’s hilarious I still manage -- managed -- to work for SHIELD.” It was, perhaps, for the best that he was no longer working directly within the organization, given subterfuge and secrecy were not among his strong suits. But it was funny to think Loki found his inept attempts at lying to be... appealing. He wondered if there was a way to incorporate that into their flirtation, though he couldn’t think of anything off the top of his head.

Not that he ought to continue flirting _now_ anyway. If he let himself, he’d probably want to stay in bed, kissing and talking and dozing with Loki all day long. But he had a date to plan, and he’d promised Tony the day before that he’d help him test some of the reflex capabilities of his most recent suit upgrade. Groaning, he stretched and got back to his feet. “We should probably get cleaned up,” he said, with a sigh. “Do you want first shower?” He’d already showered that morning, but given he smelled potently of sex, he suspected he could use with a second soaping down.

  


Loki looked ruefully down at his chest and the now invisible proof of their activities.

“I do, but I suspect you need to shower as well. And in the interest of not putting us in danger of never leaving your room, perhaps I should shower in my own.” He looked down at Steve’s bed, and its current state of disarray.

“And if you need me to clean your sheets later, I would be happy to.” He added as an afterthought.

He wondered how angry Stark would be if he modified the bathroom in his room the way he had with the one in the hotel. It was maybe worth risking, for the chance to soak himself, sometime.

And also for the expression that would no doubt follow on Stark’s face, when he discovered it.

Perhaps not right then, though. He had been expending large amounts of seidhr of late, and it would do him good to show some restraint, once in a while.

So he stood and moved the drawing to the top of the clothing pile, where Steve had folded it, and stooped to pick up his pants, where he had dropped them on the floor.

“I do not think I said it, before, but thank you for my suits. The look and feel wonderful, and I feel much better for having them.” He mentally added that one day soon he intended to get Steve in one, but that would have to wait until he made some money… which meant he needed to speak to Pepper.

He looked around, feeling for some reason like he had forgotten something.

He had only come in with his clothing… shirt. vest, and pants.

He shrugged, then realized that it was likely he was forgetting that he should kiss Steve again.

Something he reminded himself that he should never forget or take for granted.

So he returned to the bed.

“And thank you for the portrait. As I said, I will treasure it.” He bent to press their lips together, keeping it short and sweet and innocent, lest he end up merely tumbling back into bed… and damaging the drawing in the process.

  


“I can take care of my own laundry,” Steve insisted. JARVIS, he was sure, would walk him through wherever the washing facilities in the tower were. And at least now dirty sheets weren’t something he had to be fearful about anyone discovering. But he appreciated the offer all the same.

As for the suits -- he grinned. “Hey, money well spent. You look fantastic in them; last night I thought Tony was going to have to call in one of his bots to scrape my jaw up off the floor after you walked in.”

He leaned in for the quick kiss, resisting the urge to pull Loki in for more. They both had things to do. “I’ll see you later. I may have to run out for some errands later, but I’ll have my phone on me if JARVIS can’t find me in the tower,” he told him.

And he had plenty to do. Already the mental checklist was beginning to form. He’d be busy if he wanted to get it all done by tomorrow.

He paused in his mental planning to look Loki over, standing with his belongings and his drawing in his arms, but still completely nude. “Um.” He frowned. “Are you going to turn invisible when you sneak back to your room? ‘Cause you may wanna put the pants on otherwise...”

As much as Steve enjoyed Loki naked, he doubted he’d hear the end of it if Bruce or Tony wandered into the hall at the same time and caught an eyeful.

  


Loki looked down at himself, then sighed.

“Yes, I suppose it would be for the best, wouldn’t it?”

He grinned at Steve, then winked out of view, still close enough that he could reach out and touch, ghosting his fingers with the slightest of pressure over Steve’s lips.

“Perhaps next time.” He said lowly, then left, careful to open and close the door so that Steve would know he was gone, rather than just walking through a wall, as he would have if he were traveling.

Back in his own room, he put his shirt and vest and jacket onto three hangers and took them into the bathroom to steam while he washed.

The heat of the water here was wonderful, superior to any he’d yet experienced on Midgard, and warm enough that he wondered, if he turned to his Frost Giant form, it might melt him away to nothing. Just another sad pool of being.

It was a silly thought, and a better one would have been if he could summon the belief that it might melt away his monstrosity and reveal the “true” him beneath. But such was not to be.

Instead, he got himself clean and let the water run until his skin glowed with the red of someone who was more than glad to enjoy the heat, then got out and wiped the mirror clear of the fog that had gathered, despite the automatic fan ventilation that turned on anytime it grew too warm inside the room.

Staring into the mirror, he forced himself not to look away as the blue overtook his face, his neck and chest and arms…

He had yet to allow it to form all the way to his feet, lest he damage the floor, and also because he could only bear to stare at it for so long, a few moments at most, before it felt too uncomfortable, too stiflingly warm for him in the little room in his frozen skin, and his chest felt too devoid of comfort, knowing that it _was_ his skin.

But this time, he found his eyes drawn to his chest, and the way the dark lines that traced downwards from his face served the same purpose as Steve’s pencil work had, creating the appearance of definition on him.

It was an odd thought, and he slammed his skin back into place in reaction to it, but it was a thought that stayed with him as he dressed and made himself ready to interact with humanity again. Or at least, the residents of the tower.

Pepper, most pressingly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Virginia Potts was used to adapting to... unusual events.

Being CEO of Stark Industries came with a lot of varied responsibilities, as did the task of being Tony Stark’s personal assistant before. She’d been asked to do everything from kicking out one-night stands and picking up the laundry, to holding press conferences and drafting up a ten year plan for the board.

So, in the end, taking a fallen god on a shopping trip was far from the strangest thing she’d had to do with the company credit card.

In fact, she was actually looking forward to the prospect. There was something wonderfully indulgent and satisfying about retail therapy, but with the fullness of her closet, she didn’t often have a valid excuse to justify buying new things. Most of her shopping for others consisted of suits and other formal wear for Tony, so it would be a fresh experience to shop for Loki as a woman.

And Loki as a woman was definitely something new. She hadn’t recognized her right away when she’d first walked into the lounge area, and had spent several seconds blinking at the strange woman in the penthouse before her mind made the connection. Black hair; green eyes; pale skin; loosely-hanging men’s wear draping over her frame. The ‘boyfriend-clothes’ look actually worked pretty well on her, Pepper had to admit -- but it wouldn’t be appropriate for the date Steve had discussed his plan for with her.

And while it was possible something in Pepper’s closet could fit her, their proportions were just different enough they had a perfect excuse to go out and get something new.

Of course, getting Steve to calm down and stop fretting about them going out without him took a bit of effort and Pepper’s most calm and rational reasoning. In the end, she’d reminded him that he had _plenty_ to get done that he wouldn’t be able to manage if he insisted on tagging along. And besides; this was girl time. Now that Loki was, however temporarily, a girl. But by early afternoon, they’d successfully shaken Rogers, wrapped Loki up in one of Pepper’s spare coats, and made their way out the door where Happy picked them up in the car to take them to the boutiques.

“See anything you want to try?” she asked, standing a pace behind Loki as she looked at items on a rack. Pepper had a few ideas, but if Loki had preferences, that would help guide her selections.

  


Loki was running her fingers through the clothing on the rack, the textures only sometimes familiar.

“I have no idea.” She answered, honestly baffled. “Where I’m from, things… drape a good deal more?” Or were covered by armor. Or both. Even just eyeing the shoppers around them, she had little idea of the thought that went behind putting together an outfit.

“Is there some guideline I should be aware of, or…?” She felt like she was floundering in the differing necklines, hemlines, skirts, shirts, vests, coats, jackets, buttons, zippers, hooks-- there were too many things.

“What is considered the basics of clothing for women here?”

She turned to Pepper, in the hope of using her as something to pattern herself off of. But she did know enough to understand that her hips were wider, her thighs curvier… and perhaps the close fitting narrow skirt would not work so well for her.

“I’ve a… sundress, I think it’s called?” She had never had to dress herself for Midgard as a woman, preferring to travel here as a man, due to the comfort she had in that skin, and the way a man moving alone could go unquestioned. “But I believe it is becoming too chill outside for that to be practical.”

Silk felt good under her fingers, but the thinness of the material suggested that it would not shield her against the weather. But it was warm indoors… did Steve intend to keep them in or out?

“Perhaps, is there wool available here?” She asked, thinking that she might wear her suit shirts beneath it to keep the wool from rubbing her raw. “And leather for… pants, or long skirts, or…?”

Nothing around them looked all that warm. Which begged the question of how humans lasted through the winter these days. Before, they had wrapped themselves in furs and cloaks and capes and many layers of cloth. But now, everything seemed so much smaller, so much thinner.

And looking around, other than the coats that the others in the store held over their arms, or had someone else holding for them, there was no sign of warmth giving garments.

“How do you keep your legs warm?” She asked, a little aghast.

  


Pepper chuckled. “Mostly, if you’re a woman, you get used to chilly legs,” she said. “Nobody stands around outside in the winter in a skirt for terribly long if they can help it, and we’ll get you two a car so you don’t have to take the subway, so don’t worry about it too much. I think Steve is planning for you to be inside for most of the time.” The parts of the plan Steve had discussed with her, anyhow, involved being indoors. She’d probably need to remind him that Loki would be in less warm attire, in case he felt the need to suggest an impromptu walk. “If you’re uncomfortable, though, we can get you some tights or leggings to wear under a skirt or dress. And maybe some tall boots...” Tall boots were, from what she’d seen of Thor and Loki, common enough for Asgardian men, so that would be a safe bet. Though she wasn’t sure if Loki knew how to walk in heels.

“Wool, we can do. Leather is a bit trickier to pull off, so I might steer us away from that for now.” Not that Loki couldn’t pull off leather pants, but Pepper didn’t want to break Steve. “And you’re right about the sundress being out of season. As for the guidelines...” She smiled regretfully. “Men have it easy. A good, well-tailored suit can be worn many times, for nearly all occasions, and doesn’t go out of style. Women’s fashion, on the other hand, is utter chaos and the rules are half made up as you go. Fortunately--” and here her smile brightened as she put a hand on Loki’s shoulder, “--you have me.” And Pepper knew the rules, and which ones could be broken and ignored.

She moved over to the rack, gently guiding Loki aside as she began sifting through. “Now. Let’s start with a dress. Women wear pants and suits very often, but you’re going on a date with Steve, and he’s a bit more used to a time when women wore skirts and dresses, so that will resonate well. Once we have a skirt or dress to start with, we can work from there for accessories and whatnot.”

She turned and looked her over appraisingly. “You have a cool complexion, very winter -- so we’ll probably want to stick to jewel tones.” Pepper loved whites and creams, but those would just wash Loki out. She moved through the shop, looking over the displays, until something caught her eye.

Over the next few minutes, she selected a few different dresses. One was a loose, knee-length dark red dress with elbow-length sleeves and a thin, gold-braided chain belt. The next, a rich, hunter green sheath with a lace over-layer and a high collar. A tight, black wool sweater-dress with a plunging cowl neck joined them over her arm, along with a royal blue wrap-around belted number with an asymmetric hemline. As an afterthought, she picked out a deep plum-colored dress with a high waist, cowl neck, and flaring skirt that would accentuate Loki’s waist. “Take a look at these,” she said, holding them out for Loki to inspect. “If you want to try any of them on, there’s a fitting room in the back where you can check them out and look in a mirror.”

  


Loki cast a dubious eye over the clothing on offer. It should not surprise her that her complexion was cool and winter, nor that rich colors would show her to the best advantage. The idea that women here were such peacocks as to sacrifice comfort in favor of being good looking made her want to snort and roll her eyes.

She nearly said something about how perhaps their life spans were made to reflect the intelligence of their choices, but she bit her tongue. She liked Pepper. Humans could not help what they were. And she should be more worried about looking good for Steve than she was about mocking those around her.

It was _so_ hard to remember sometimes.

“Will you show me how they are worn? I am very much… unfamiliar. And I do not know my sizes, so it is likely for the best to don the garments.”

Being unfamiliar was, of course, a vast understatement. There were no buttons, no laces, and she could not even fathom the processes by which some of these fabrics were created, being woven but of extremely small knotwork. Very delicate.

But even more than the fabrics, and the worry that she may destroy them by accident, there were the shapes to worry about. As she said, she did not know her size, but it did seem that she may be a little…. larger, all around, than a few of the pieces Pepper had selected.

Interesting how the people of this realm came in such varied shapes.

And how some of these dresses around them seemed ready to accommodate extra limbs or… fins, perhaps, at the waist. Loki had yet to see anyone who would require such modifications, but she supposed it was possible.

“The dressing rooms are…?” She pointed at a curtained area, the rooms certainly large enough to fit the two of them comfortably.

“If you show me how to wear them the once, I promise to remember, so that you need not show me again. I do learn reasonably quickly.” She told Pepper, trying to make a bargain of it.

“And… so far as the purchase of these items. If you will record the cost, I will make good on it, once we have spoken of employment, and I have earned some of the money of this realm. I give you my word.”

She hated having to do that, though. Hated being forced to continue relying on the others, for the things she needed.

  


“Of course I can show you,” Pepper assured her with a gentle smile. “And if you want to pay me back, you can, but even once we set you up, there’s no hurry.” She was perfectly happy to eat the cost of the clothes; it wasn’t as if they put a noticeable dent in her budget, and they were picking out an outfit, not an entire wardrobe (she and Tony had seen to the basics of that for Loki’s male form earlier). But she suspected Loki’s pride was bruised enough from recent events that she wouldn’t force charity on her (though if one or two items they purchased today weren’t recorded, well, she’d just claim they slipped her mind.)

“I think most of these should be roughly in your size, but there’s a sales girl by the dressing rooms who ought to be able to help us if we need to go larger or smaller,” she added. “I’ve shopped here before, and the fitting rooms are quite roomy if you’d like me to go in with you to help...”

She paused, realizing that the offer might seem untoward. For all that Loki was presently quite feminine, she had, just that morning, been a man. And where Pepper wouldn’t hesitate to help a girlfriend navigate zippers and buttons in the process of getting dressed, the same offer to a man was a bit out of line.

“I’m sorry -- you’ll have to forgive me if this is insensitive or rude, but, when you change shape, do you still consider yourself a man, only in a female body, or does your perception of your gender change as well?” She’d been mentally labeling Loki a ‘she’ in this form, but realized that might be a faulty assumption, simply because Loki now had hips and breasts.

  


Loki nodded along to Pepper’s offer, glad that she would not have to cajole her into joining her in the dressing room. Midgardian clothes were intimidating, and she would hate to purchase an item, get back to the tower, put it on for Steve, and _then_ discover she’d been wearing it wrong.

She might die from the embarrassment alone, given that clothing was something so basic that even Midgardian children would have grasped it.

But then Pepper asked her about being a woman, and she smiled easily.

“Not at all.” She assured her. “I am female so long as I wear this body, and in my other I am male.” She shrugged. “It is a physical change, a full shift, unlike the illusions I can do, wherein the surface changes, but what lies beneath is just as it always has been. If I were in my male form, wearing the illusion of a female, I would consider myself male then. If, in this form, I were to illusorily make a man of myself, without enacting the physical change, I would be yet a woman. But that is merely my feeling on the subject. There are some who can change forms, but cling to their knowledge of self from the original.”

She pursed her lips and considered.

“I think it is that your mind remains somewhat the same, and so your experiences which build who you are try to tell you _what_ you are. And some fear to relinquish that understanding, as it is literally the foundation of all of your personal knowledge. As it turns out, the form I learned was my default, my “true” form, was not at all either, and so I think being always removed from the truth of my origin, it may have made it easier for me to think, ‘this is myself as a woman, myself as a man, myself as a male hawk’, and so on. It isn’t even so much a conscious knowledge, for me, I suppose. I merely am.”

She felt like she wasn’t making any sense, and especially not to someone so unfamiliar with magic as Pepper.

“I suppose the short answer is, yes, I am a woman. And yes, I would appreciate your help in the dressing room.” She tried to sound grateful, and just to be certain that Pepper understood, she added, “This has all been very kind of you, I appreciate it very much.”

  


Pepper considered it. It was a bit abstract of a concept, and she considered herself a fairly concrete person, but it did make sense, in its own strange way. “I think I would have a hard time thinking of myself as anyone or anything other than me as I am,” she mused, “but then again I’ve never experienced anything else to compare it to.”

Her experiences as a woman -- particularly a woman in business, and a woman dealing with (and loving) Tony Stark -- were so integral to the way she viewed the world and approached it, that she doubted she’d recognize herself as a man. The same mind, in a man’s body, would still be Virginia Potts. Just in a slightly less form-fitted suit and much lower heels.

“And you’re very welcome,” she added, smiling. “You’re actually doing me a favor. This gives me an excuse to look at clothes and escape the sausagefest back in the tower. I don’t get to spend much time in... well, fellow female company.” Because even if Loki was a man the majority of the time, she was a woman now, which made this girl time. And that was something Pepper got precious little of. And Loki was surprisingly good company. She was a bit unsure, a bit hesitant, of course, which would hopefully abate as she got more used to spending time with Pepper and the others, but it was frankly a breath of fresh air compared to Tony’s blustery displays of confidence that often had her rolling her eyes (fondly).

As she led the way back to the dressing rooms, she paused, something that Loki had said sticking in her mind. “Wait, you said your default form wasn’t your true form?” she asked, handing the clothes over her arm to the attendant to count. The woman wrote something down in a ledger, then led them to a stall and unlocked it for them. “Does that mean that the way we’ve all seen you isn’t how you initially looked?” she asked, puzzled.

  


Loki was glad to be going into a room that, if not soundproofed, was at least hidden from the rest of the room.

It was one thing to discuss genders, which was something most every realm had, but monsters, well…

Loki raised an eyebrow at Pepper, then nodded that they should follow the woman who led them to an unused room.

When the door closed behind them, Loki let out a breath.

“I… no. The form you are accustomed to is a shift away from my natural form. I am… somewhat surprised, I suppose, that either Bruce or Steve has not said anything of it to you, though I suppose I am grateful for their… discretion.”

She removed her coat and began unbuttoning her shirt, to give her hands some occupation and give her an excuse not to have to look Pepper in the eyes.

“I am an entirely different race from Thor and the other Asgardians. I did not learn until lately, but it is… shameful, at best. Horrific at worst.” She kept her voice light and unaffected. “The realm I was stolen from is one of monsters, and they-- we, I suppose-- are not. Not pleasant to look at, speak to, or be around. I think… and I do not know, for I have not had opportunity to research on the matter, nor do I think it likely there will be other instances like mine, but. I think my mind has advanced beyond that of my kin, because I have spent so long in the shape of an Aesir.”

She hoped that, like the men who remembered themselves as men, despite the shift of form, she would always remember herself as Aesir, no matter what shape she might take.

Pulling the shirt from her shoulders, she finally looked up at Pepper, smiling reassuringly.

“You needn’t worry, though. I avoid taking that form. I find it… demeaning.” She shrugged, the feeling different now without any shirt, and with her chest moving from the action.

She moved her hands to the fly of her pants.

“You are perfectly safe with me, I promise, regardless of my form.” She added, just to be sure that Pepper would not be concerned. “I enjoy having time with another female as well.” She just hoped that Pepper would not fear her, now. She’d never experienced fear from her, and she thought, perhaps when they first met, it would have been fine, expected even, but now… now she did not know that she could stand it.

  


Pepper frowned. She didn’t know as much about Loki as the others, having missed out on her first week at the Tower, and she’d only watched portions of the security footage with Tony. Steve, she’d spoken to some, but didn’t want to pry too much when she’d developed suspicions about the nature of his and Loki’s relationship after reviewing the footage (alongside a willfully-obtuse Tony) of Loki giving him a massage. And Tony, of course, seemed reluctant to talk about Loki much -- she suspected he was still processing everything, from the invasion to what had happened in the park, and knew him well enough to let him broach the subject in his own time. And Bruce was a quiet and private enough soul that he probably didn’t see it as any of his business. Which all in all left her with some slightly disquieting gaps in her knowledge.

Like the fact that Loki was a different species from Thor, presumably. She’d picked up on the adopted bit already, and Loki’s reaction to Steve suggesting adoption the other night had been vehement enough to make it clear the topic was a sore one -- and now she had a better idea of why.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “That must have been difficult to find out...” She trailed off, eyes widening as something _else_ she hadn’t realized was revealed.

Namely, that no one had filled Loki in on the concept of underwear yet.

She quickly turned, busying herself with the dresses and hanging them on the pegs on the wall. “Here,” she said, pulling the black sweater-dress off the hanger and holding it back for Loki to take. “Slip this on. Pull it over your head -- the side with the tag on the inside of the collar goes in the back.”

Mentally, she added bra and underwear to the list of things to pick up on this excursion. And possible boxers, since she doubted any of the others had thought to acquire them for Loki in male form.

_Men._

“You know,” she said, inspecting the other dresses while she waited for Loki, “if someone had asked me a year ago if you were a monster, I probably would have said yes. You were the bogeyman who masterminded the invasion and almost got Tony killed, so all I saw of you was the aftermath of what everyone said you were responsible for. But I have to say, since meeting you...” she shrugged. “You’re nothing like what I would have expected.”

From Tony’s ranting after the fact, she’d expected a megalomaniacal diva -- a sort of evil Tony -- with an ego the size of the tower and a total lack of compassion. The wounded man she’d met on her return to the Tower, however, had been completely unrecognizable from everything she’d heard. “I don’t think you’re a monster,” she continued, choosing her words carefully, “and I don’t know if that’s because you’ve honestly been able to change into something different -- if your shapeshifting is just that complete -- or if the core of who you are isn’t affected by race or species or anything else about the form you’re in, monstrous or not. I don’t know anything about the realm you were born on, obviously -- but we try to judge people by their character and not their origins here.”

She turned around to see how the dress looked. “Now. What do you think?”

  


This dress was an easy enough fit, though the wool of it did present a not entirely wonderful texture against bare skin.

“It feels… harsh. Grating, almost.” She was certain that it would not be half so bad, with softer fabric worn beneath, and the skirt at least was lined with something slick and silky, but especially where it rested on her neck and upper arms, it was unpleasant.

She rubbed at the area just below her shoulder, and then wriggled.

“I do not think I could stand it against my skin for any amount of time. Your peoples’ wool is so… I do not know what is done differently, but whatever it is, Asgard retains the upper hand here. Though the shape of this is… appreciably better than that of other clothing I have worn.”

Still, the texture was diverting enough to be potentially disastrous, and she pulled it back off again nearly as quickly as it had gone on, and handed it back to Pepper while standing unselfconsciously nude.

“I appreciate that you do not think me monstrous, but there are two kinds. There are monsters who do monstrous things, and monsters who are monstrous things. I have been both. I may seek to make reparations for my deeds and I may hide my origins behind the years of thought and the masks of transformed skin that tells me otherwise, but neither ever truly goes away. I know Steve does not like me to speak of it, though. So I am attempting to learn not to. But no doubt, whatever it is you were expecting, likely I was, and possibly worse, when Steve met me. He has… helped me to see differently. Changed my mind. I do not know how Asgard would view me now, but… all things considered, I do not think it would matter. I feel as though I am beginning to do things correctly, for the first time in my considerably long life.”

She tried not to sound too besotted when she spoke of Steve, though it was a difficult, close thing.

She gestured that Pepper should hand her the next while she spoke, though, and began tugging it on, the trick of the tag going in the back helpful as the red fabric dragged across her face.

She settled it onto herself, the loose cut comfortable, though not doing much to highlight her shape, the way the other had done.

“I think I like the sort which clings to my curves. The other looked a good deal more appealing. Don’t you agree?” She held up her arms to demonstrate the way this one hung. “Besides, the color is a little reminiscent of my erstwhile brother, a reminder I do not need. Particularly on an outing with Steve.”

  


Pepper took back the wool dress and placed it back on the hanger, putting it on a separate peg from the others while not observing Loki’s nudity directly -- she didn’t seem self-conscious about it, of course, but it still seemed the polite course of action. Though it wasn’t as if being Tony Stark’s assistant hadn’t resulted in her getting an eyeful of many of Tony’s conquests over the years.

She briefly considered the green dress, then hung it up on the “discard” peg along with the black dress. The color was lovely, as was the style, but the close-fitting lace was slightly abrasive -- if Loki was sensitive to texture, it might not be the right call. “We’ll stick to gentler fabrics then. We want you to be comfortable. And if red isn’t your favorite...” She picked up the blue dress and handed it to Loki. “This one’s a bit more complicated -- here, let me help you.”

She guided Loki in to the dress, showing where it tied on the inside with a small tie at the hip, and how it wrapped around the side, long strips of fabric circling the waist twice before trying off just above her other hip. “Well, I appreciate the change you’ve been making,” Pepper said as she worked.

“I know reinventing yourself takes a lot of work -- I watched Tony go through it after Afghanistan -- and that it isn’t easy emotionally. But you helped save civilians and Bruce in that park, and Tony showed me the tapes of you helping that poor sick woman, and you’re honestly quite pleasant company,” she noted, tying off the dress in a bow at the hip, then added with a smile, “not to mention it’s obvious you care about Steve very much.” She’d seen the way Loki looked at Steve -- and the way she (or he, whichever form she was in at the time) -- looked at him when he wasn’t looking back. She didn’t care how talented a liar Loki was, that wasn’t something Pepper had ever seen successfully faked.

“I’m glad you and Steve seem to be so good for each other,” she remarked as she stepped back to look Loki over. “Hmmm... Might be a bit big, though I like the hemline.”

  


Loki could feel the dress moving around her body, swishing like a whisper. It was, as Pepper pointed out, a little large. And she also didn’t love the idea of taking apart the ties-- so many ties-- in the process of taking it off. Particularly if she had a good reason to want out of it. She knew herself, and how quickly she could become frustrated. The dress would not survive a fit of Loki’s frustration.

“I do like the hemline, yes. But I also feel that as large as it is, there is every chance I will come spilling forth from the neckline.”

Which she would not be too horrified at, honestly, given that her breasts were modelled after the best she had ever seen, and yet humans seemed to prefer remaining as modest and covered as possible. Even Pepper, alone in this small private area with her, did not seem comfortable with Loki’s nudity.

Though it was part of donning and removing clothes, so she couldn’t very well apologize for it. Another mystery of Midgardian interaction.

But something Pepper had said stuck with her, and she couldn’t help but be curious.

“So is it a common thing then? I mean, men reforming themselves for those they love? I assume Tony had a much longer way to go before, and that you have been equally good for him. Is it a common theme in Midgardian relationships, where one person is particularly good for the other, and the other partner is… lesser?” It was an honest question, and she knew her voice lacked the self deprecation necessary to make that sound as pitying as she could have. But she hoped Pepper would not be offended for Tony’s sake.

“I don’t mean to be rude. I only mean-- it is difficult to imagine how you might have found yourself coming to love a man such as he. You seem at odds with one another more often than not.”

Something like Loki and Steve, when Loki had felt the urge to voice all of her opinions, rather than allowing them to fester silently within her.

But the theory seemed good. Even Thor’s mortal, though Loki had never met her, sounded like a complimentary lesser. Why did good people seem drawn to such unworthy counterparts? Like her pa-- Frigga and Odin.

“Is it a matter of pity, or… charity?” She felt no panic speaking thus, because the question was not necessarily about herself and Steve, but it did address the fears she felt about him, about why he should have gone so long no doubt offered closeness, and turning it down, until Loki had appeared and become the exception.

Could it be that, contrary to Steve’s claims, there was no project, no person who was as wicked and broken as Loki, no one to present the proper challenge?

Her thoughts felt dark and almost spiteful, but her mood was very far from it. It was a strange mindset, one that was oddly comfortable.

But she had probably already said too much.

She averted her eyes and began the process of unwrapping the long ties from around her waist.

She wondered what Pepper must think of her, with her disquieting conversation and ungrateful seeming dismissal of the clothes she was offered.

She wanted to like them, she wanted to be comfortable and to look good, but she did not want to try Pepper’s kindness and charity.

  


Pepper’s brow furrowed faintly. She suspected that they weren’t really talking about her and Tony. Though it was probably for the best that she kept up the pretense. “Tony didn’t change for me, much as I’d like to claim the credit for that,” she said, straightening out the dresses on the racks. The blue dress was cute, but Loki was right -- a different size would simply lead to problems in different places when paired with her figure.

“And I wouldn’t say either of us is _lesser_ . I’ve had people tell me Tony isn’t good enough for me, and I’ve heard people say that he settled for someone beneath him,” she remarked with a shrug, trying not to think about how much both sentiments irked her. “He’s a celebrity genius, a billionaire, and very handsome, whereas up until he gave me the company, I spent years as a secretary. So, it’s a matter of your point of view,” she continued carefully. Curious though, that Loki seemed to think Tony was the ‘lesser’ -- the one she seemed to identify with. “He’s also been good for _me_ ,” she pointed out. “Tony might be an overgrown child sometimes, but he’s very good at reminding you to relax and enjoy life a little because of that. I’ve mellowed out over a lot of things since we’ve been together. Not to mention for all his flaws, he’s very loving and very intent on providing for and taking care of the people he cares about.”

“As for how he’s changed...” She breathed out, thinking of the _old_ Tony. “He used to be insufferable. And I still-- well.” She’d still been in love with her impossible, idiot boss. Even when she wanted to throttle him. “I cared about him a lot. Mostly because I knew he wasn’t as much of an ass as he spent all his time convincing everyone, including himself, that he was. But it took... special circumstances for him to realize that.” She swallowed. “After that, he started changing. I think he took a look at himself and realized he wasn’t the man he wanted to be, and set out to fix that. And the man he became was the kind of guy I always suspected he had the potential to be.” Not Iron Man, specifically -- the whole super-hero part had come as a bit of a surprise. But a man who took responsibility for the world he helped shape, and for the lives he affected -- who cared and who worked proactively to help and be a _good man._

“Things between us... well, they picked up after that,” she explained with a smile. “And he’s made some more changes on my behalf, because that’s part of a relationship. You compromise and adapt to meet each other’s needs, and you also learn to accept the things about each other that aren’t going to change -- if Tony weren’t a cocky, brilliant pain in the neck, he wouldn’t be Tony,” she mused, fondly, then shrugged. “I love him for the potential he has to be kind and heroic and great. And I also love him for the times he’s an insufferable brat. Because it’s all _him_.”

Feeling she’d probably said enough on the specifics of her and Tony’s relationship, she decided to start steering the conversation back toward more general terms. Plucking the purple dress -- the only one left -- from the hanger, she unzipped it and handed it to Loki to hold on to while she hung up the blue dress. “As far as more general relationships on Earth -- Midgard -- a  lot of guys clean up their acts when they get into serious relationships, in terms of being more responsible, but I don’t think it’s quite the same level that you’re talking about. Sometimes a person can inspire you to make a major change and be better, but it doesn’t have to be a partner. Some people better themselves for the sake of their children, for example, or to honor the memory of someone they lost.” Like Tony with Yinsin.

“I think in a healthy relationship, both people are both aware of each others’ flaws, and their strengths and flaws complement one another. That’s what makes it an effective and equal partnership. I’m organized where Tony is a mess, and Tony has a lot of strength and caring for when I need it. I make him shape up, he makes me loosen up -- it all balances out. Here, let me take that and hold it so you can step into it.” She took the purple dress -- more of a deep, cool plum, really -- and held it out for Loki, sliding it up, with a little shimmy to get it over her hips, then guiding her arms through the holes. “With you and Steve -- I don’t think there’s any charity or pity involved,” she said, treading carefully now that she was directly addressing the heart of the matter.

“From what I’ve seen, and what Tony and Bruce have both said about how Steve was before... I think you’re very good for him too.” She took hold of the zipper and slid it up Loki’s back, holding her hair out of the way as she reached the top. Stepping back, she looked her over, then smiled. “I think we may have a winner.”

  


Her lips twitched, listening to Pepper’s story, first into a frown, when she explained how and why some people should think her the less desirable member of the pair, and then upwards, a faint smirk in place at the way she spoke, the way she looked when she spoke of Tony.

“Your face lights up so, speaking of it. And, you speak as if secretary is a low position. But I would think, given that it allowed you to grow into a higher position, it would be one that is sought after. Perhaps it is merely the speech of people envious of the opportunities you had?” She suggested.

Of course, being called out, having her play seen through, made her feel slightly horrible. She’d meant it to look like she was interested in Pepper as a person; and she was, she merely was awful at finding out about people. She had a hard time with knowing what to ask to learn about where they had come from, who they were beneath and behind the people she knew.

“But what of before you met Tony? I cannot imagine that you planned to encounter and grow to love him. What plans did you have for yourself before that?” She had no idea what her own future might hold, but she did know that, aside from needing to speed the process of convincing SHIELD of Thanos’s existence and putting his plans, whatever they may be, on hold, she would need to try to gain some form of employment. Whatever Pepper had wanted for herself before her life took the turns it did, perhaps it would be a good fit for Loki’s ambitions, while on Midgard.

Once Pepper had her in the dress, she rotated her arms and bent and flexed at the waist, testing for freedom of motion in the dress. It was comfortable, and she did like the color.

She turned to look at herself in the mirror.

She looked over herself, down her form almost detachedly. She was beautiful and she knew that; she had created this form specifically to be. And it was merely a fact which relieved her of having to worry about body consciousness. Which she supposed should be freeing, but resulted in tradeoffs. Attention for one, a shift in the expectations towards her behaviors. But Frigga had taught her that if one was to assume a form, one should respect that form and learn from those who wore it habitually.

And so looking at herself in the mirror, she was beautiful. A beautiful woman. She liked that. And she liked the way the dress accentuated that, drawing eyes where they should be on this form. Still, the differences in Midgardian clothing from Asgard's fashions made her feel... Not necessarily vulnerable, but almost a sense of being too light.

“I do like this.” She said finally. “But… is there something that one might wear… over it?” The coat, she supposed, would help to make her feel more comfortable, better covered.

  


“Of course, we can get a sweater or wrap to go over it,” Pepper assured her, inspecting the dress. It hung loose around the neck and shoulders, showing off Loki’s collarbones, then hugged her figure from breasts to waist before flaring out into a skirt, highlighting her hourglass shape. The color was deep and rich, complementing her complexion well. “Give me a moment.” She opened the door, and waved down the attendant, tugging Loki to the doorway by the elbow.

“Excuse me. We were wondering if you have any sweaters that might go with this? Preferably something that drapes a bit, in a gentle fabric.”

The woman assured her they had a few items she could recommend, and offered to collect them and bring them over for Loki to try on. Pepper thanked her, and waited for her to leave the fitting area before returning her attention to their conversation.

“Before I met Tony...” She shrugged. “I didn’t have a lot of ambition. I certainly didn’t have any intention of being a CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation.” She’d wanted to be reasonably successful, of course; enough for some creature comforts and to have her independence. But so many of the responsibilities she wound up inheriting fell into her lap more by chance than design. “I started off in the secretarial pool low on the ladder at Stark Industries while I was still putting myself through a business degree, mainly because I needed a job and the company was doing well and hiring,” she explained. “And secretarial work isn’t all that glamorous, trust me. It can open doors, and it’s got more room for advancement now than it did twenty years ago, that’s for sure, but it’s not the route most people take to get to the top.”

She shook her head, thinking back on it. “I only wound up as Tony’s assistant through a bit of a fluke. I’d been moved into assisting in the accounting department and ended up uncovering a major accounting error, which in turn revealed that a board member had been embezzling from the company. Obadiah -- er, the man who used to help Tony run the company -- had me promoted to Tony’s personal assistant after that, since the matter was able to be resolved internally without the press getting wind of it, and the company saved face along with several million. After that...” She shrugged again, indicating that the rest was fairly self-explanatory. After that had come years of being Tony’s nanny more than his secretary. And a lot of it had been rather demeaning, though the perks had certainly been nothing to scoff at.

“Then a couple years ago, when Tony thought he was dying, he made me the head of the company. Which ruffled a _lot_ of feathers, especially with the board.” It had been a bit of a scandal in the business papers, though enough people in the know had been aware that Pepper basically did Tony’s job for him that things weren’t too much of a mess to sort out.

  


“And what is…” Loki thought back, trying to untwist the words and ideas she was unfamiliar with. “What is a business degree?”

So secretaries did not equate well with ambition, but as she said, it had been near-accident that she was in that role.

“If I were ambitious enough to wish to be able to support myself, comfortably, as well as ensure that Steve have a backup plan should our treatings with SHIELD fall through, what would you advise that I look for, in employment?” She did not know fully what the weight of money bore here, what a dollar was worth verses ten, twenty, a thousand dollars. She only knew that she wanted enough that they needn’t worry for it.

She supposed, too, that she might simply… get money, and then duplicate it as needed, but that, as she had learned centuries ago, could flood the marketplace, and cause gold to lose its value. She assumed the same would be true, even with their plastic cards and sheafs of paper.

“I am afraid I know very little of the Midgardian markets, or even what is considered an occupation here. I assume you do not need barrels made, when there are plastic boxes to use in their stead. I am no chef, and though I suppose I could serve food, I think the practice of the position would chafe at my pride.” She contrived at sounding apologetic, but likely fell short.

“But if there is anything I can do, or that you think I might learn to do in reasonably short order, I would appreciate the insight.”

The woman knocked at the door, and Loki opened it to accept the few hangers bearing thin cloth that hung in twists, even on the wooden rods.

She discounted instantly the stark white offering; it would show all too well any mishap she may experience, and worse, it would make her skin seem sallow in comparison.

The dark grey she selected as a possibility, short as it was in the front and longer in the back, to become reminiscent of a cape, but she knew instantly upon sliding it on that it would not work for her. The sleeves were too short when they were intended to reach her wrists, giving the impression that she had outgrown the thing before she left the shop, and the end of the front vest part stopped in a place that was at odds with the waistline of the dress. She wrinkled her nose, but turned to Pepper to be certain.

“This is not the height of Midgardian fashion, I trust?”

  


“A business degree is -- on Earth, if you complete a certain amount of education at a certain level and meet requirements at a particular institution, they give you a degree. It’s a sort of academic certification. Bruce, for instance, has a doctorate-level education in physics, which is why he’s called Doctor Banner, even though he isn’t a physician,” she summarized, weighing her words carefully to try not to spawn fresh confusion. She’d watched as Steve and Loki had often had sidebars wherein Steve explained, sotto voce, what particular customs and words meant, using concepts Loki was more familiar with. Sometimes the others politely ignored these explanations until the two of them were ready to rejoin the conversation, and other times they jumped in to help clarify or elaborate.

Having to frame explanations about mundane aspects of human life, however, was... eye opening. It made her think about what she could and couldn’t assume Loki already knew, and appreciate just how much culture shock she must have experienced since coming to Earth. She wondered if it came easier to Steve, where he’d also had dramatic culture shock from waking in a drastically-changed world. Though at least he’d been within a century of his time, in the same country, on the same planet.

Pepper chuckled at Loki’s question as she tried on the first two unsatisfactory sweaters. “No. Here, try this one,” she said, selecting a black sweater from the selections the attendant offered them. The fabric was soft and sheer, the hemline nearly the length of Loki’s skirt. She held it out for Loki to slide on, then stepped back to inspect it. “Hmm. I think this is a keeper. Thank you,” she said, addressing the last part to the attendant, who left the remaining sweaters and disappeared to re-rack the unchosen dresses that Pepper handed back to her.

“I’ll have JARVIS download you some books on Economics to check out, if you want to learn more about how our markets work. If you’re interested, there may be an online course or two we could enroll you in too,” she commented, closing the door in anticipation of Loki stripping out of the outfit. “I haven’t had much of a chance to look into it since last night, but given what you know about magic and healing and the fresh perspective those give you, I think we could really use you as a consultant in Stark Industries R&D,” she told Loki, watching her for a reaction. “That’s Research and Development. So, testing out solutions to problems, trying to figure out the theory and application of technology and scientific -- or maybe in your case magical -- advancements in various fields. Tony mostly sticks to engineering; used to be weapons, but he’s largely changed over to information technology, robotics, and communications these days. Bruce has a lab that contributes to our biochemistry and particle studies programs. You already know Dr. Cameron and Dr. Ortega from the medical research team. If there’s any particular field of study you’d like to jump in on, let me know, and I can see about making it happen.”

It was likely, of course, that many employees would have... _reservations_ about working with Loki. But she felt that once Loki’s intelligence and unique skill set were demonstrated, she could probably rely on the researchers’ passions for advancing their fields to overcome their misgivings.

“We can make sure that you’re compensated fairly for your time and contributions, of course.” Not that Pepper would have had much problem with letting Steve and Loki stay in the tower for free indefinitely -- they weren’t an extravagant burden, and even if they were, having other people around to help entertain and manage Tony was a blessing, especially with Rhodey so busy these days with military operations.

  


“I do have _so much_ I would love to speak with people from your medicinal fields about. I was preparing to do so at SHIELD before Steve got hurt, and I had to… well. Before everything happened. And so here we are.”

She shrugged, not intending to imply she was unhappy, but she did feel guilty for having taken Steve away from the life he knew. And she felt guilty that not only had she not helped others, but also that they had not even begun to approach the problem of Thanos. In all their running and life ruining, they had, so far, accomplished very little, and she was to blame for such a great deal of that.

“I find it horrific that your people, with so short of lifespans, are having them cut down drastically, merely because once long ago, your people hunted down magic users who could be healing them now.” She felt the anger at that fact bubbling back to the surface and had to force herself to make it subside.

Pepper was not personally responsible for the loss of the magic users of Midgard.

“I would work with your doctors and heal those that I could, but I do not know how to teach them if none of the Midgardians show aptitude for using seidhr. Without the seidhr and the ability to control it, you cannot manipulate the krellr, and without that… all I have are herbs, poultices and potions. Hardly anything your people do not already have and know. So it is possible that though I may speak to your doctors, I will need mainly to focus upon finding seidhr, if it exists within any of the people here, and pray that it has not been completely bred out by years and disbelief.”

She took off the clothes that she had just donned, the process of removal so much quicker than the act of putting them on, and began redressing in what she had arrived in.

“If that is the case, at the very least, perhaps in allowing your scientists to monitor the work I do in healing via their machines, they will be able to begin work in creating a synthesized means of interacting with krellr.”

She did not hold out any real hope on that front, but she supposed that the humans had surprised her enough so far.

“And, again, if that fails, I am not adverse to learning whatever I need know to become useful.”

A truly contemptible thought came to mind, and she realized that having access to the humans in charge of researching and developing technology would put her in a much better place when it came to being in easy reach of whatever she might need to use against Thanos, in the event that all else went awry. Since, despite their best laid plans, all that they had planned thus far _had_ gone as poorly as possible… she knew it was best to prepare for the worst.

“I would be interested to learn about the technology of your world… JARVIS, for example, can still be disconcerting at times, and I feel as if that is the closest I might get to studies in sorcery whilst I am here.”

Fully clothed, she looked at the pieces they had chosen.

“I think-- at least, I hope-- Steve will be as grateful as I am for your helping me in selecting the proper clothing for this. I do appreciate all you have done for us, and today has been… I love Steve, but I spend very little time away from him, and experiencing others. I hope that we might do this again, or something… similar, or at least together.” It came out far more awkwardly than intended, almost stilted. But she really did enjoy this.

  


Pepper blinked in surprise, then felt her face splitting into a smile so wide, it almost hurt her cheeks; even wider than her press-conference smile, and certainly more sincere. She’d been quietly thrilled when Loki had sought her out and asked for her help in this endeavor, though she’d known that had mainly been a result of her offer early that morning, and out of necessity.

But for Loki to continue to seek out friendships and contact -- this was good. Healthy. Pepper had been on board with the idea of rehabilitating Loki since she’d seen the tapes with Tony, and watched Steve at his bedside, and she’d come to the decision that they needed to form a support network that expanded beyond Steve. Getting Loki to hang out in groups was a start. Getting Loki to form individual friendships, to anchor her and give her support when Steve was unavailable or unable, was a major second step; one Pepper was happy to help with, for Steve’s sake, for the world’s sake, and also very much for Loki’s sake as well.

“I would like that too, Loki. Any time I’m free and you’d like to spend some time together, let me know,” she said, reaching out and giving her upper arm a gentle squeeze before picking up the clothes and draping them over her arm, leading them out of the fitting room.

The peppy young woman at the cashier’s counter rang up their items, which Pepper paid for with her credit card, not paying much attention to the total; whatever it came to, she’d decided was already well worth it. She handed the paper bag containing her folded purchases to Loki, smiling as they headed out the door. “We’ll need to get you some shoes to go with that. And some, ah, undergarments,” she added. “There’s a store I love just up the block that sells shoes, and then a lingerie shop down the corner a ways, if I remember right.”

She led the way, occasionally taking Loki’s elbow to guide her through the Manhattan crowds. “Ortega and Cameron will be thrilled that you want to work in medical research. They were both a little beside themselves that you were performing medical miracles under their noses and Steve banned them from running any additional tests or scans,” she mused. Pepper herself was quite happy about Loki’s choice too, having contemplated Loki’s potential contributions to human medical science since she’d reviewed the medically-relevant footage over Tony’s shoulder. It would be a good fit, with doctors Loki already had a rapport with, and a chance to help save lives and tip the cosmic scales (if you believed in that sort of thing) back into balance after the events of over a year ago.

  


Loki was happy to let Pepper lead, pleased that the looks that sometimes lingered on them in the crowd seemed only assessing and admiring. No doubt they made a striking pair, opposites in appearance such as they were, and each with a stride that spoke of power, though of course the strengths they wielded differed radically. Still, there was a comfort about moving around as someone seen as attractive and strong, that was infinitely alluring.

She wondered if her body language as a man was less certain of herself, now; it had not occurred to her to monitor such things, relying on her upbringing to keep her spine straight and head high, but the difference in awareness of her body while in a public space… she would be honestly surprised if there weren’t at least some difference.

She did not speak in the street, her voice softer from the change and harder to hear through the crowd, which would require her to put more force into it… and she knew from experience that sore throats could not be relieved just by switching back to manhood. But she could still communicate her pleasure, in the tilt of her lips and the spring in her step.

Besides, raising her voice would heighten the likelihood that others would hear what they spoke of, and she had only a passing understanding of what should and should not be said around the main body of society.

The shoe store was near by, as promised, and did not look any different than any of the other brick buildings of the block, until they stepped inside.

Then it was bright, almost blindingly so because she hadn’t expected it.

The decor inside was clean and crisp and so very white-- she was not used to luxury being displayed thus, but clearly that was the impression they wished to make. She supposed one had to be wealthy to keep an establishment that supplied shoes-- easily one of the dirties aspects of clothing-- as clean as this.

And once the door had closed behind them, the hubbub of the street died down.

She cleared her throat, almost to check that she could be heard, then nodded to herself.

“I will be happy to show them anything I can,” she told Pepper shortly, “but I cannot volunteer myself as a… test patient. I’m afraid I’ve too much to do, and the contents of my blood… there is much I do not know of my shifts and changes, but I do know that touching a frost giant while it is distressed will cause other species’ skin to blacken and burn with cold. Before I begin working with them, I would appreciate if they might be briefed in the potential danger of toying with any part of me that is not under my direct control. Which includes any samples they may have acquired whilst I was incapacitated.”

She could not pretend to believe that they had not been taken. She had been similarly tempted, when Steve had been at her mercy, to bottle just the tiniest bit of his krellr, and all that had stopped her then was the debt she owed him. Stark’s doctors held no such debt to Loki.

She stopped speaking, though, when a man in a button down and a vest hurried toward them, clearly with the intent to aid them in their shopping.

Loki looked to Pepper.

“I know nothing of what is preferred in footwear, nor what will suit the clothing we have selected. I bow to your knowledge of the subject,” Her eyes darted toward the man as he drew even with them, and she hoped that had made it clear enough that Pepper would need to take the lead again, at least until she had had a chance to make sense of this new subject of learning.

  


“I’ll make sure anyone working with you is briefed about potential... biohazards.” The freezing tissue was news to her, and she hadn’t heard anything usual from the medical department (though Bruce had been _very insistent_ about adhering to Steve’s requests in his conversations with the doctors, which undoubtedly discouraged any unsanctioned testing or sampling). “But no one will ask you to submit to any testing you don’t want,” Pepper assured her. “If they try, let me know, and Tony or I will talk to them.”

Tony hadn’t been Loki’s biggest fan, but ever since Afghanistan, he’d been deeply committed to Stark Industries’ adherence to certain ethical ideals. Ideals that weren’t limited to weapons development (since largely shut down), but to every branch of the company. And now... She suspected he’d come to like Loki more than he’d admit. Both of them -- all of them -- would look out for her.

She took a deep breath of the air in the store, savoring the smell of perfume and leather. She then looked to the man approaching them and smiled. “Hello, Marcus.”

“Ms. Potts! How can I help you today?” he asked genially.

“My friend here needs some shoes to go with a dress we just bought,” Pepper explained. “I’m thinking boots, black; something elegant, but also practical, with a somewhat sensible heel.” Loki wore her Asgardian boots when she wasn’t barefoot, and while they were far too clunky to be paired with the dress, Pepper suspected that something that covered more of her leg than a sandal or flat would appeal more to Loki’s sensibilities. But where Loki spent the majority of her time as a man, she wasn’t going to assume that she had any experience with walking in stiletto heels. “We’re also going to need to measure her for American shoe sizes,” she quickly added, before Marcus could ask. In truth, she had no idea what size Loki was, and neither did Loki, but her English-sounding accent would help them there.

“Of course!” Marcus said, clapping his hands together. “I think I know just the thing. Right this way,” he indicated, leading them to a cushioned bench further in the store. “Now, miss, if I could just see your foot?” he asked Loki, holding up the metal measuring instrument.

  


Despite the contraption in the man’s hand looking a good deal like some instrument of torture, and Loki having practical knowledge of exactly how sensitive the sole of one’s foot could be, she managed to sit down gracefully and offer her foot to Marcus without looking to Pepper for reassurance.

She wouldn’t have brought her to this place if she thought there to be any danger. And she knew this man, at the very least, and seemed friendly with him at best. And so Loki tried not to feel threatened.

She watched him work the slide, and did not even grimace… but instead of her toes being crushed, there was the lightest brush of cool metal against the very tip of her big toe, and then he backed it away again.

“Alright, you seem to be a seven and a half in our sizes.” He told her, sounding cheery. She did look up at Pepper, then, unsure what that meant, but she supposed that Marcus would explain.

“And you said you had something in mind, for the purpose?” Loki prompted him instead, and he seemed like his face might split in half from his enthusiasm.

“I do! Just a moment.” He all but leapt to his feet, and Loki could not help but be taken aback by the energy he showed.

“Your friend Marcus must sleep incredibly well each night.” She told Pepper dryly, and one of the other employees chuckled, overhearing.

He made his way back to them quickly, bearing two boxes in his hands. They were both an understated matte brown, though the top box was lined in a white border. He removed the lid and tilted it downwards, that both Loki and Pepper could see into it, though there was a thin paper hiding the contents from view.

Loki carefully pushed it aside and lifted the shoe closest to her.

“These are by Michael Kors. Comfortable, a nice wedge, good lift, suede.” Marcus explained while Loki explored it with her hands.

It was short for a boot, was her first impression, and the material more like velvet than leather, but a very dark and plush black, which grew only darker when her fingers brushed over it. The bottom was flat and solid, but the heel of the foot would have to sit at least a fingerspan off of the ground in it. Twin bands wound above where the ankle would have to sit, and on the inside of the ankle was a vertical zip, not unlike the one in her suit pants.

She had never seen the attraction that some held for feet and toes, but there was something oddly sensual about this shoe.

“May I put it on?” She asked, almost reverently, and Marcus cut the moment by chortling.

“Yes of course! I would recommend you try them both, though, standing in but one is quite the challenge.” He seemed like he might be mocking her, so she gave him a close lipped smile, just in case, and set about putting them on.

Standing, she understood what Pepper had meant by asking for a sensible heel. If this was that, it was a good thing he had not brought her something nonsensical.

She did not wobble, but she could feel the way her shoulders wanted to droop inward, trying to shrink her down to compensate for the extra height that she was not used to being.

She could not have been as tall as her male size, but it felt odd in this shape to be even the small bit more that the shoes granted her.

“Well?” She asked Pepper. “What do you think?”

  


Marcus was part of the reason Pepper enjoyed frequenting this shop; they had an excellent selection, of course, but the man had great taste and a gift for finding the right shoes, and she’d been quite pleased to see him working today. As usual, he didn’t disappoint.

“Very nice,” she told Loki, inspecting the boots. They were _cute,_ and she briefly regretted that she’d resolved to make this a Loki-only shopping trip, since part of her now wanted a pair too. The wedge heel would be good, since the last thing Loki needed on a date was the trauma of accidentally breaking a stiletto. The buckles had a certain Asgardian flair to them, while remaining understated and elegant.

“You should try walking around,” she recommended. “Maybe do a circuit around the store, to make sure they don’t pinch in the toes when you move. If you end up having to walk a bit, we want you to be comfortable.”

A little discomfort, of course, was normal with new shoes and with high-heels for those unaccustomed to them, but if these were going to be painful, it was better to find out now.

“We can also include some inserts to cushion the ball of your foot,” Marcus recommended. Pepper nodded her thanks to him.

“Here,” she said gently, standing up beside Loki. “Now, don’t over-extend. Take small steps, and go heel-to-toe,” she guided. “Make sure you put one foot in front of the other, like you’re walking along a narrow line. Let your hips swing, but keep your core muscles tight. And shoulders back, chin up.” She pivoted to step in front of Loki, reaching out to adjust her posture. “Don’t try to shrink down -- you look fantastic. Own it and be confident. Walk like you own the street,” she told her with a conspiratorial wink.

  


Loki couldn’t help but smile incredulously.

She would not have expected Pepper to be so comfortable with her as to not be double thinking her every word; that could easily have been a jab at her bid for dominance over this world. And she was glad that Tony had not come to a point where he felt he could make jokes about it yet. She shuddered to think how difficult he would be to live with when that happened.

The angle of the shoes was odd, akin to walking downhill, and it took a few steps to get used to. By the time she was a few feet away, though, she had the gist of it, and by the time she made her way back to where Marcus and Pepper were waiting for her decision, she was beaming and felt confident that she could make her way around in these.

“I am not used to so much of my weight being shifted so forward, but they are not causing harm. And they are very sleek. I like them.” She sank back down onto the bench, though it was a considerably lower seat, now, and she removed the shoes just as carefully as she had put them on.

“Thank you very much,” Marcus said, accepting them back and returning them to the box. “Would you like to see the others I pulled for you?”

Loki shrugged, not in any particular hurry.

“Yes, thank you.” She said instead, and she couldn’t help but be amused when Marcus nearly clapped with glee.

“These are Christian Louboutins, you’ll note the signature red sole-- Louis the fourteenth of France proclaimed that only royalty might wear the red bottomed shoes, which was said to be a sign that they were ready at any time to crush the enemy of the state beneath their heels.” He lifted these boots out for her, and handed one over for Loki’s examination and approval.

These were gorgeous things of clearly leather craftsmanship, the black of the shoe polished but not reflective, the front panel of it gathered and ruched, so that the top of it came up higher than the rest, in a decorative shape not dissimilar from a fan. There were nine buttons on either side of this front panel, and thin cords went back and forth over each set of two, creating an almost corseted look.

Loki was instantly fond of them, though she frowned at the red bottoms.

“Unfortunately, historically wonderful as the soles are, I think they would clash with my dress color.” She told him, handing them back regretfully. “Though I will keep these in mind for the next time I am in need of a good shoe.”

If he was disappointed, he did not show it.

“Well clearly you have magnificent taste.” He said instead, and she inclined her head at the compliment.

“Did you want to look around any more, perhaps try on other styles?”

Loki looked up at Pepper.

“I rather think my heart is set on those. What do you think?”

  


While Pepper would have been happy to let Loki try on every shoe in the store, she suspected that doing so would result in her being a little overwhelmed, and they still had other errands to run. Not to mention Loki still had a full day planned. “I think they’re lovely,” she told her. “Marcus?”

“I’ll wrap them up and bring them to the front for you!” He placed the shoes carefully back in the box and hurried off to the counter. They met him there, and Pepper paid for the shoes, offering to carry the bag this time.

“Thank you again, Marcus,” she called over her shoulder.

“Enjoy the shoes, ladies! See you again soon, Ms. Potts!”

Pepper smiled sheepishly at Loki once they were out the door. “I... I like shoes. They’re a bit of a guilty pleasure,” she admitted, then guided them around the corner on to the street where the lingerie store was located. “Now. I should probably give you a rundown on human underwear...”

There were a few more stops on their shopping trip. They got Loki fitted for a nice, dark satin bra with matching panties, and grabbed a few spare pairs, and some pantyhose. There was a jewelry boutique next door that caught their eye as well, resulting in the acquisition of a golden necklace with an interweaving pattern.

They looked at the earrings on display, but when nothing stood out, Pepper insisted she had a pair of gold and amethyst earrings back home that Loki could borrow, as well as an array of perfumes she was welcome to sample. Pepper called Happy back at the lingerie store and requested that he stop at a department store to pick up men’s briefs in Loki’s size before coming to pick them up, and he was idling outside the boutique when they emerged.

“You’re going to look terrific,” Pepper said, sliding into the back seat when Happy got out to hold the door open for them. “Steve’s going to count himself very lucky.”

  


There was something that felt delightfully clandestine about bringing in boxes and bags and refusing to let Steve see the contents, but Loki was glad she hadn’t, when she emerged from her room that evening in all of her new finery.

She had used old tricks she’d learned from Asgardian women for hire, when she’d hired them to help her with the form, to do her hair and make her face look brighter. Hot and cold water were wonders, and the usually straight or slightly waved black strands now slunk gracefully down her back in curling segments that would shine.

She felt very put together, very tailored, much like she did in her male form and wearing a suit.

She had had to fight with only a few things; getting the necklace to clasp had been irritating and her hands were not up to the task of clasping it behind her head, plus being unable to see meant trying to get the tiny loop through the even tinier opening… in the end, she had used magic and called it done. The underwear was also strange, the bra… not necessarily constricting but certainly uncomfortable when she was so unused to it. But even she could admit the difference it made when her breasts were lifted up and put on display. She would admit to having spent some time playing with the added wiggle that was created on her chest by the bra. She would have to convince Steve to try his hand at it later, before she changed back.

The shoes with the inserts made her feel as if she were walking downhill on soft, springy ground… and it was oddly likable. Equally, she liked the sound they made against the hard floor of the halls of the tower. Even the short few steps between her room and Steve’s made a nice echoing noise, and when he did not answer the door, she squared her shoulders and walked as she had practiced into the den, certain that she would find him there.

She did, as it happened, and Pepper was there too, which she was glad for. She wanted her to see the fruit of their labors, even if it was only briefly.  
She cleared her throat daintily, just to let them know that she was there, not sure what she should say.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Loki's new outfit](http://www.polyvore.com/outfit/set?id=142220074), for anyone interested.
> 
> The art in this chapter is by Lena, and can be found on tumblr [here](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/post/113456680049/loki-from-chapter-35-of-little-talks)!


	36. Thirty-Six

Steve wasn’t nervous.

He wasn’t. Or, he kept telling himself that, each time he caught himself fiddling with the narrow, silver-colored tie Tony had lent him, to go with the grey slacks and dark blue button-down he’d put on half an hour ago, but kept picking at and checking in the mirror, for no discernable reason.

Alright, he conceded. A _bit_ nervous. He and Loki didn’t exactly have a good track record with dates; shawarma had ended in fighting, the picnic by the brook had shortly been followed by them fleeing the town, and suit shopping and lunch in the park had nearly wound up with Loki dead. Not to mention this was their first, fancy, _proper_ date. With nice clothes and a plan and _dinner reservations._ And he really didn’t want to screw this one up, or have it end in tears or disaster. Everything was finally looking up for the two of them, and he was terrified of their lucky streak coming to a close.

He winced, hoping that by thinking it, he hadn’t jinxed it. He’d programmed JARVIS to know their itinerary, had Tony and Bruce on speed-dial in case anything went wrong, and Tony had volunteered a driver to take them wherever they wished to go so they wouldn’t be at the mercy of taxi cabs and public transit. He’d double checked everything, and now, all he had to do was wait for Loki to be ready.

It took him a second to realize that Pepper, who he’d been talking to-- well, listening to -- okay, not-listening-very-well-to -- had stopped in mid-sentence, staring over Steve’s shoulder. He tensed, then turned...

“Oh.”

Loki looked radiant. Steve had always been fond of the way his partner’s hair tended to curl at the ends when left to his own devices, but now it fell in raven ringlets down over her shoulders, spiraling intricately. Gold gleamed at her throat and ears, and her outfit was sophisticated and lovely, hugging her curves while leaving quite enough to the imagination.

Steve opened his mouth, then shut it again, swallowing. “You... you look really nice,” he said, cringing inwardly at his own awkwardness. He stepped forward and offered her his arm, licking his lips nervously. “Shall we?”

 

The bare look of appreciation on Steve’s face was all the reward she could have imagined, and she lay her arm on his, fingers splaying delicately for show, the way a lady would for procession.

“Hang on,” Pepper called out to them, sounding fond and exasperated. “You got all dressed up for this, let me get a picture.” She unfolded herself from the couch and Loki smiled, grateful that she had thought of it.

She wrapped both hands around Steve’s arm and looked across at him, only a tiny bit shorter than he, now, with her heels.

“Yes, let’s have a photo.” She curled in close to him. “You look good like this. So clean cut,” She murmured as Pepper navigated around the furniture and withdrew her own Starkphone from her pocket to take the photos with. “I want you to have an image of this, so if we ever get separated, you can show people who the person you love looks like. Some of the time, at least.” She was mostly teasing, but glad that the photo she’d wanted would be taken this way, in this guise. Steve would not have to feel any shame or worry at carrying it with him, would not need to fear that someone who oughtn’t would see it.

Taking a photo was not entirely dissimilar from posing for a portrait, save that it was over in moments, and the flash that preceded the shot was nothing short of blinding. She had to laugh at that, as well as the clearly extraneous snapping noise that came with it.

“Thank you.” She remembered to say to Pepper, infusing it with real warmth.

“I’ll send both of you a copy to your phone.” She responded. “Now get out of here, go have some fun!” If she grinned any harder, Loki thought it might become contagious. As it was, her heart was fluttering.

There was this cloud of expectation and nerves hanging over the outing, and she understood; she’d been injured the last time. This time though… this time she was not on such uncertain ground. If need be she felt she could kill someone, and the Avengers would respect that it was necessary.

And frankly, if anyone interrupted tonight, she probably would kill them out of the sheer indignity at the unfairness of it all. Steve deserved to be happy, and he wanted to do this. They deserved this, after all they had been through lately.

She turned Steve to face her, subtly correcting the fold of his shirt collar. Then she made eye contact and slid the silky fabric of his tie between her fingers, still standing close enough to him that she could hear his breathing.

“Don’t tell me where we are going.” She instructed breathily, feeling playful. “I want to be surprised.” She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth and took half a step backwards, then repeated his earlier words.

“Shall we?” She turned to face the elevator and lifted a brow, her attitude all but daring something to go wrong, though she daren’t say it.

 

Steve beamed as Pepper took the photo, sure it was probably the best picture of him -- or the happiest, anyway -- since the grainy old pictures in the museums. And now they had the photo Loki wanted from that morning, of the both of them. “Thanks, Pepper,” he said, and meant it from the bottom of his heart. He had no idea how Tony had managed to find such an incredibly patient and gracious woman, let alone how he’d managed to keep her, but he was deeply grateful for her presence, and was pretty sure she deserved to be revered a saint.

His smile turned more impish as Loki played with his tie and asked to be kept in the dark; which was good, since Steve hadn’t planned on telling her anyway. “Deal,” he said, leaning in for a quick kiss and noting that with her high heels, this Loki was much closer to her male iteration’s height.

Steve led her to the elevators, eager to go before Tony or Bruce or anyone else turned up to detain them. They made it to the ground floor without interruptions, and Tony’s driver met them outside in a very nice town car; Steve held the door open for Loki before climbing in after her.

“Where to?” the driver asked. Steve reached into his pocket and withdrew a piece of paper with a few times and addresses scribbled on it, the paper heavily creased from all his fidgeting. The driver looked it over, then nodded. “You’ve got it.”

The car pulled out into traffic with a gentle purr of the engine, and Steve sat back on the fine leather seats. He’d initially planned on taking the train or a cab, as he wasn’t typically all that picky with transit, but even he had to admit this was nicer; it’d be quicker and less stressful than the subway, and it smelled far better than any cab he’d ever taken.

“I take it you and Pepper had a good time out?” he asked. Their outing had certainly yielded successful fruits; Loki looked so well put together, Steve found himself fidgeting with his tie again -- this time out of self-consciousness more than nerves.

 

Loki’s gaze was distracted by the way Steve’s beautiful artists’ hands seemed incapable of stilling. As such, it took her mind a few seconds to catch up.

“We did, yes. She does not have much female company, and I do not spend much time as a female, so it seemed a good trade off. We visited several shops, and I learned how to walk in shoes such as these. And she educated me on several interesting things about Midgardian fashion.” She leaned in closer and whispered, just loudly enough that no doubt the driver would hear, “When we get back, I _have_ to show you this bra. It does such amazing things to the way my chest moves…” She spoke suggestively and trailed a hand over her collarbone, but the hand that she lay on his was nothing but caring, stopping his fiddling rather than seeking to titillate.

She did not wish to bring up Thanos, despite the pressing urgency she felt about the situation. This night was about them, and about celebrating and about… about anything that wasn’t horrible and involving the likelihood of their imminent deaths.

So instead she brought up something quite the opposite.

“I spoke with Pepper about wanting to use my healing abilities, and it seems I will be able to work with the doctors from R&D to develop similar technology to what I would have done back at SHIELD, had we stayed. I get to start helping people again, soon, and making money to contribute to… our various expenditures.” She needed to figure out exactly what that meant, but Pepper had said that she would have JARVIS give Loki books on the subject. That would help.

“How was your day?” She asked, hoping that even the idle chat would get his mind off of whatever was making him so uncomfortable.

No doubt the longer they went on without something horrible happening, the better that he would feel, and the more relaxed he would become.

That would be good for them both, really. They both needed this relaxation and relief. Though she did feel a little bad that she had left the tower without him. They had both been equally restrained within its walls for so long now. But they were out together again, that was the important thing.

 

Steve felt himself flush when Loki mentioned her bra. He sincerely _did_ hope he got to see it at some point, but now was probably not the best time; they had things planned, and he doubted Tony would approve of them defiling the back of one of his cars. He swallowed, cleared his mind, and listened avidly when Loki changed to topic to that of her conversation with Pepper.

“That’s fantastic!” Steve told her. “I mean, I’m really glad you have that opportunity. You seemed pretty enthused by the idea back at SHIELD.” It would be amazing to have Loki’s gifts applied once again toward saving others. Not to mention that it might help assuage Loki’s guilt over the lives she’d taken -- not erase it, of course, it would always be there and never be right -- but make it more bearable. And it would help others to see Loki as something more than a force of destruction and madness. Loki having a job, a sense of purpose, would hopefully be good for them both.

“My day was alright,” he said with a shrug. “Plans were made. Dress pants were acquired. Tony lent me this tie, so I have to be careful not to spill anything on it.” He was pretty sure it was made of silk. Because why wouldn’t Tony have all silk ties?

Small talk felt a bit odd, when so much of their conversations had been deep and provoking, but it made it feel more like a date, he supposed. All the dates he’d been on -- usually as Bucky’s wingman for a double-date -- had been more awkward than this, so he supposed they were off to a good start.

Then the car came to a stop. “We’re here,” the driver announced, and Steve immediately slid toward the door, opening it and holding his arm out for Loki as she stepped out.

The November sun was low in the sky, though it was early still in the evening, or perhaps late in the afternoon. It gleamed golden off of the stone arches and columns adorning the large, classical edifice of the building the steps before them led up to. Students, tourists, and a small group of buskers all milled around the steps, and Steve felt a small thrill of excitement as he climbed them, then opened the doors and made for the desk to the right. He quickly paid for their entry, then turned around to fix a small and colorful clip-pin with a stylized letter “M” to the lapel of Loki’s sweater, before clipping another to his shirt. Task complete, he looked at Loki with a grin of childlike glee.

“Welcome to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

 

This building was not another brick faced storefront, not another tall building filled with smaller shops. This had the look of something far grander, something revered. She would have taken it for a way to house the Midgardian dead, or perhaps a place of worship, but she didn’t ask.

When Steve explained what it was, though, she understood, and her lips turned upwards.

“I am glad to see your people do treat some art, at least, with the respect due to it.” She drifted closer to him, standing so that her shoulder brushed against his, merely because she could. As much as she hated that she could not do this as a man, she was at least glad that there was a form available to her that this was acceptable in.

Looking around at the people in this small entrance area, it was apparent to her that they were overdressed. There were a good many people in jeans. So this was not the destination which required the formality of their attire. Good to know.

Not that she minded in the least. She had a feeling that, in those pants, she was going to have a very difficult time ignoring Steve in favor of the art.

Still, the building itself was huge and lovely and demanded care and attention be given to it. She could not imagine the art housed here would do otherwise. Another thing it had in its favor was the way that Steve’s nerves seemed to have taken flight; he looked like he’d just been gifted with something rare and valuable, and like he was slightly giddy with it. She could not help but be excited, and she could not tell if it was because he was or because of the prospect of finally seeing what it was that Steve was comparing himself to, all the time, to find himself so lacking.

“This is much larger than I had expected, and, coming from a land that delights in its edifices, that’s a strong statement.” She lowered her voice to a murmur to match that of other visitors’. “Where would you recommend we start?”

 

The sound of footsteps on the marble tiles and murmuring voices rose to echo along the vaulted ceilings on the grand hall. Steve was always reminded of a cathedral; both from the architecture and the weight of the place, and from the joyful reverence he felt when walking these halls.

“It’s bigger than I remember it being,” he admitted. “Well. I suppose it _is_ bigger... they’ve expanded the collection a lot since the 40’s. The Met is the largest museum in the country. One of the top ten largest in the world.” Even in his day, it had been impressive, and he’d gone into the city many times as a teenager when he could afford it to stare at and sketch the paintings in the galleries, until Bucky had snuck in to find him and dragged him out into the sunshine.

“They don’t even have a lot of the collection on display, and most of the medieval art is in a different building called the Cloisters, he continued to explain, as they milled past a few sculptured toward the main staircase. A guard checked for their pins, and nodded at them. “It would take forever to see it all, so we’ll probably just pick one wing to check out today. If you like it,” he paused, “if you like we could always come back. But let me know if I start to bore you.” Bucky had always humored him when Steve started rambling about art, but his eyes had tended to glaze over as he nodded his head; Steve didn’t want to subject Loki to that. He could always return on his own -- after all, he could just take the green line from right under the tower to just around the corner from the museum, any time he chose.

“I was thinking,” he said, as he led Loki up the stairs, past the information desk to a room with the sign ‘600’ by the door, “we could start with the [European paintings](http://www.metmuseum.org/about-the-museum/museum-departments/curatorial-departments/european-paintings). But if there’s anything else you want to see -- sculptures, different eras or cultures -- let me know.”

 

Loki shook her head, because she didn’t know enough of the world’s art to wish to derail Steve’s plans, not that she even knew what she would have asked to see. She didn’t know the difference, let alone the words, save that paintings and sculptures were self explanatory.

And judging even by the paintings outside of the room, this was going to be a beautiful area to walk through.

These first paintings were huge, as tall as a man, surely, and they depicted battles--and the victorious aftermath of them. But interesting, beyond the content (for Loki was used to art that depicted violence; there was no surprise to that) was the skill behind it, the way that the figures seemed to have movement, despite standing still, the way the colors stood out from one another without any one shade being so vibrant as to overthrow the others. And even the surfaces on which the paint was laid were fascinating, domed at the top and dipping upwards at the bottom, though squared down the sides.

It was so unlike the carved or painted art of Asgard, so much… smoother, somehow, and yet rougher as well.Things were not defined, the shapes were not so flat…

“Is there a word for this style, beyond European paintings?” She asked, directing Steve’s attention to the three outside the doors.

A small, stark white sign on the wall read ‘The Triumph of Marius, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, (Italian, Venice 1969-1700, Madrid)’, which, other than ‘triumph’, meant very little to Loki, though it was followed by, ‘Date: 1729 Medium: Oil on canvas Dimensions: Irregular painted surface, 220 x 128 5/8 in.’

“Our art tends to be much less… human looking, for lack of a better word. The characters in ours are heavily limited by the artists’ bounds of… well, I don’t know, really. I don’t know why they should not produce this sort of artwork.” She was at a loss for words for this, and turned to Steve, imploring him to understand despite it. “Beside your art, the art of … the art I am used to is like crude childrens’ drawings, but beside this…” She shook her head and turned her eyes upwards.

“How is it that man can make such a thing?”

 

Steve found himself torn between looking at the art, and looking at Loki’s face as she stared up at the massive canvases; both were beautiful. And he also couldn’t help but smile just a touch smugly at her wonderment:

Human beings -- ordinary men, armed only with paintbrushes, a hundred years past -- had created something that could awe a god.

“Our art looks different throughout our history,” he admitted. “It probably looked more like yours a long time back.” What Loki had described sounded a lot like anglo-saxon and celtic designs from the middle ages. “And different eras and different societies have all got different aesthetics. Some stuff is a lot more simplified or stylized. And even this is disproportionate in a certain way,” he remarked. “This is from a period called Baroque -- well, _high_ Baroque -- actually, a lot of Tiepolo’s stuff would count as Rococo.” His mind flitted back toward Art History courses he’d taken, oh, years ago. Well, more years for everyone else in the class, he reminded himself; most of his classmates he’d sat exams with were dead now. But it was less than a decade for him, and he could recall the descriptions he’d studied, for the different periods of western art.

“It’s very decorative, see? Lots of pale colors, high contrast, and if you look up here--” he pointed to a more ovoid canvas, in an elaborate golden frame, labelled ‘The Glorification of the Barbaro Family’, “--you can see cherubs and angels and figures in the clouds. That’s more Rococo style.” He grinned, proud of himself for remembering. His old art professor would have been proud. Or at least, given him a passing grade.

“I’ll admit though, I like Tiepolo better as a draftsman,” he said, lowering his voice despite the lack of other people in the gallery. “His drawings and linework have more realism than his paintings. His ink wash drawings in particular. You can see his grayscale style in the grisaille frescos here--” he indicated the gray paintings meant to simulate wall carvings. “Though,” he mused, “I’m probably a little biased toward the black and white stuff and drawings since I was colorblind for so long.”

 

“I see what you mean about the proportions. Never have I sat a horse so staunchly muscled, nor seen a man with such…” She drew lines around her chest, trying to express the barrel like shape of the figures. “Though I suppose some of that is their armor.” All of which seemed ill fitting, she did not add; let him maintain the pride he felt in these paintings.

“And you speak of your preference of his drawings over his paintings as though you think it might offend. You needn’t, you know. I shan’t be offended by your educating me, and I doubt anyone else much cares. Guessing from the numbers on the plaque, I should imagine this artist is long since dead.” She was teasing him, trying to get him to feel at ease. She wondered if it was that he was not as used to her in this form, rather than that they were in public, which was making him feel that he must tread carefully.

But the bit about him caught her attention, again.

“You have mentioned this before, this color blindness. Do you mean that to you everything looked like--” She gestured at the image labelled as ‘America’. “Without any shade to it but the grays of your pencils?” The thought was simultaneously sad and a little surprising in how much it made sense. Why would he not be interested in her Jotun skin, with its colors, if he had spent so long so deprived of them?

The thought was new and startling and she turned her attention back to the paintings, trying to find something more to ask about, so that he would not feel scrutinized.

“And these,” She gestured upwards, at the subjects of a squat, oval shaped painting labelled ‘The Glorification of the Barbaro Family’. “Who are these, with the wings on their backs?” It seemed another race, humanoid but winged, as she’d noted, and not a singular specimen either, but several androgynous adults and perhaps a dozen small children with their tinier wings, not yet grown just as their small statures hadn’t. “Were they hunted out by humans, the way they hunted out sorcerers?” Even in her time visiting in the past, they had not existed. How old were these paintings? And could it be that these were some other form of creature from elsewhere in the world tree, as yet undiscovered by the Aesir, but known, like this style of art, to the Midgardians?

It was a wonder, all the things that mankind had hidden in their seemingly simplistic world. She almost wished that she might go back to Asgard, call Frigga to her, and bring her here to learn from the Captain. No doubt she, not alone, but perhaps more than any other that Loki knew on Asgard, would appreciate the gems that sprawled out before them.

 

Steve shook his head. “I could see colors, just not all of them. Yellow, and blue... but no red or green. Which was a bit difficult when trying to be an artist.” He grimaced. “I stuck to black and white for the most part because I knew what I was looking at, and that I didn’t have to worry about colors or using the wrong ones.” There had been enough embarrassing drawings in his childhood where he’d unknowingly produced pictures of parks with bright red grass that he’d learned young to stay away from coloring implements.

“Made art school pretty hard too. I was able to get away with pencil, ink, and charcoal most of the time -- sometimes if I had to use color, I could work in monochrome, or just two colors, but at one point I needed to pass a painting class.” He winced. “The paint came in labelled tubes, but you can’t really get away with using the paint right out of the tube without it looking... well...” A shrug. “Bucky ended up saving my bacon. He could see color just fine so he would help match colors I couldn’t see. He and I ended up making a list, with the proportions of different paints needed to make certain colors. Like how much cadmium red, china blue, and titanium white you have to mix to get lavender. And what shade of blue that I perceived was supposed to be lavender, since I couldn’t see purple at all.” His color work hadn’t been strong, but with Bucky’s help, and the meticulous measuring of paint in colors he couldn’t sense, he’d managed to do well enough to at least pass his painting class.

He wondered if he’d be better at it now. He’d tried watercolor, and that’d had... mixed results.

“I didn’t see the full spectrum until after the serum.” He explained, walking slowly around the other paintings. “Looking at trees and seeing _green_ for the very first time was surreal. And red -- I never knew anything could look that bright.” It had been one thing knowing there were colors he didn’t see; it was another finally having the shock of looking at them. “I had a performance to sell bonds in New York right before I shipped out to Europe on the USO tour, and I snuck out to the museum when they didn’t need me on a stage. Came here and...” He shook his head. “Looking at the art here and seeing the colors for the first time was amazing.”  It had been a little bittersweet, seeing the hues and pigments properly for the first time, and also realizing what he’d been missing for so many years.

He blinked, jarred out of his reverie by Loki’s question. It took him a moment to realize what she was asking. “What-- Angels?” He looked up at the figures in the painting. “They don’t exist on Earth. At least--” he frowned, “--I don’t think they ever did.” He wouldn’t have thought figures of norse myth ever existed either, but he’d been wrong there. Maybe there were winged aliens that had visited earth thousands of years ago to inspire the notion of angels as well?

“They’re heavenly beings -- messengers of God. They appear in a lot of the art here, since much of it is based on stories from the Bible -- one of our holy books,” he clarified. “The Church was responsible for commissioning a lot of art through the centuries, so you’ll see a lot of paintings here depicting religious stories.” He held open the door to the next gallery, guiding her through.

 

Indeed, one of the first images her eyes lit on upon entering the next room was a man in robes seemingly attempting to cajole a grown angel, whilst overhead the children of the species flitted bearing fabric and instruments.

“The figures look a good deal alike for all that these many differing people have painted the same creatures. Not a lot of variation.” She pointed out. “I have never heard of humanoids with wings, I do not think. And when we depict gods with wings, they are in sensible places, like on helms or boots… not growing from one’s back. Would they not take the place of arms, if humans had them?” The design seemed flawed, to her, somehow. But she did not wish to be argumentative. She moved to the side to look at the next ones.

There was not a good deal of red in these images, but she still tried to imagine what it would look like without them, what even the flesh of these people would seem… if not flushed with their blood, would they look cold and lifeless? Or simply… other. Somehow alien.

Which only made her wonder…

“I suppose, had I grown in the skin I inhabited at birth, I would have missed many colors as well. Between the red and the krellr…” She had no urge to attempt to turn her eyes, to look through them, nor could she have risked it if she had, but the realization was a surprise just the same.

She turned her attention to the faces, much larger here, much more the focus rather than the crowds, the lines a little smoother, but it was still… slightly bizarre, slightly discomforting, the difference between what appeared before them and what existed in reality.

“The planes of these faces appear so waxen.” She finally said, trying to explain the wrongness. “They come so close to seeming human, and yet…” she gestured at the top of her cheekbone, under her eye. “The shapes are so exaggerated, almost… the light is too sharp, perhaps, or…” She wrinkled her nose, frustrated. This was outside of her realm of vocabulary. She sighed.

“Your faces look more real, for all that they are only in grays. They don’t have the lumps of these paintings.” It was a fair point, she felt, and she was proud of it; he kept insisting that once she had seen art, real art, she would feel otherwise, but that wasn’t the case. He was madly talented and she thought this might be a good way of proving it to him.

As she walked past an image, she had to double take, then laugh. ‘The Lamentation’ it declared itself, by someone named ‘Ludovico Carracci’.

“And _these_ faces bear a resemblance to some of Asgard’s finest root vegetables. I see what you mean about the colors, though, these are quite old are they not? And yet still so vibrant, so dark… how is that done? Do your historians return to add more color atop?” She looked around herself, then, realizing that there was a lack of windows.

“Or does the sun never touching them preserve it from being leached away?”

 

“Huh.” Steve hadn’t thought about it, but Loki made a good point about the wings taking place of arms. It did make more sense. Though putting them on helms and boots seemed even odder than having them sprout out of people’s backs. Though he supposed the Anunciation would look a lot less dignified if the archangel was flapping his arms about while talking to the virgin. The thought was borderline blasphemous, but brought a smirk to his lips all the same.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Loki’s hair. “I’m glad I can see green and red now,” he murmured, “since I can see how pretty your eyes look now.”

Carefully, he omitted mentioning whether it was the green or the red he was glad to see. Though he treasured both.

He blushed a little at her praise, and, unsure how to acknowledge it, skipped past it altogether. “If you think this is unrealistic, you should see the art from two hundred years earlier or so,” he told her. “Much flatter, less three-dimensional, way less proportionate, no linear perspective, and I swear everyone is making the same face.” He’d had to take Loki to the medieval gallery at some point, he decided, if only for the amusement of her reactions. “Style and realism evolved a lot over time. And so did standards of beauty.” He shrugged. “A lot of the figures here are depicted as the ideal for that period.” Thicker, curvier, the men built solidly with rippling muscles and the women sporting rounded faces and weak chins. Funny, how those ideals had changed over the centuries. Hell, all the models he was supposed to find sexy now looked underfed compared to the dames everyone thought of as gorgeous in his day.

“Like over here. Apollo, see?” He indicated a painting of Apollo placing a laurel on a young man’s brow. The god in question was nude save for his sandals, and unlike the exaggerated and densely slabbed musculature of some of the other paintings, his physique was slimmer and less chiselled -- more smooth, white skin, which reminded Steve of Loki’s form... Well, her _other_ form. “Different standard of male beauty here than in some of the other eras.”

“The colors... I guess keeping them indoors in the conditions of the museum helps preserve them for the most part. I know they have specialists who work on restoring them and removing grime that builds up so they stay as authentic to the original as possible. But I don’t know as much about it; figured it was never something I’d pursue, with my color vision being what it was.” He shrugged. “There’s a lot of art that was lost or destroyed over time. We’re lucky to have as much survive as we do.”

 

“Hm.” Loki said thoughtfully, her eyes catching on Apollo’s torso and the way it was unlined, muscles barely there. But then, he was nude, bearing leaves and fabric and instruments of music. Not a warrior, then. He seemed to be bequeathing the greenery to the man who was, Loki assumed, the victor, while his enemy lay tied in the background, the defeated man’s skin a different color, vilifying him. Not a solely Asgardian pastime, then, that. Loki grimaced slightly.

“And this was ideal?” She asked, surprised. The nude man was painted in a way that Asgard would have seen as weak, his role as the one giving the reward similar to that of maidens at festivals, and more than that, he went undressed, as if he were not even a servant. She found it distasteful, but did not comment on that part, instead nodding at the item that the clothed man was playing.

“Why have they chosen to bring so cumbersome an instrument to an area where a man is tied up, if the main focus of the image is the crowning?”  
For the title of the piece, as the plaque informed her, was ‘Marcantonio Pasqualini (1614-1691) Crowned by Apollo’. It seemed silly, undignified and pointless, to her. The crown was not even one of a realm. Merely a collection of leaves, like lovers on Asgard might award one another.

Though, that was a thought…

“Are the two of them lovers?” She asked, surprised at the thought given that Steve seemed so sure that men were so against the thought in times before this. Loki had experienced a time, perhaps before they were against it… but these had to have come after that time, didn’t they? Given the leaps and bounds of improvement in art from when she’d seen examples of it on Midgard. So at what point did such things become less than approved of?

It was something she would need to examine further, perhaps have JARVIS look up for her and with her. Something for her to learn more about, that she might have more to use to disarm Steve’s conviction that he would be always hated by those who learned the truth. At least she knew enough now to be capable of that sort of research.

She turned her gaze to one of the darker images in the room, a man who appeared to be very poor indeed, his belt of rope tied atop uncolored broadcloth, his hair patchy and as though it had fallen out in wide swaths. On his palm was a dark spot, and he looked to be pleading with the sky, a book open before him while nearby a man seemed to be being tortured.

“Is he sick?” She asked, the hair and spot looking like signs of disease to her eye, though not one she was familiar with. She liked his eyes, and how they shone in the darkness of the hewn rock walls that he stood near. His world seemed colder than the others, she supposed because of the blues around him, the lack of warm reds and yellows that the other paintings boasted, despite their similarly dark backgrounds of browns and grays.

 

Steve blushed slightly when Loki asked if the men were lovers. “Ah, no. There’s a lot of nudity in classical art, but it’s purely aesthetic. You know, celebrating the human form. But not romantically or sexually.” If it was _art_ , then it wasn’t obscene. Or that was at least how he learned it, though he recalled as a young man being a little confused as to where the line got drawn. “Apollo is a god, from Greek mythology -- one of the twelve bigshot ones from Olympus. God of light and music, I think. So he’s usually presented very idealized.”

It wasn’t an area he knew a lot about (though it was slightly better than his ironically near-nonexistent knowledge of norse mythology) -- if there had been any formal coverage of greek mythology and classics in his school’s curriculum, it had happened at a time when he’d been out sick. What he did know came from a book Buck had brought him one time when he’d been laid up with pneumonia and bored out of his skull. He narrowed his eyes, trying to remember.

“The laurel tree and laurel crown were symbols of his, used to indicate his favor, usually for some kind of achievement. It’s used as a symbol for awards and trophies a lot, because of that. There’s some myth about a satyr losing in a music contest to Apollo, I think, so the background figure is a reference to that. I don’t know who the man in the front is, but my guess is he was probably involved in music somehow, what with his portrait featuring him crowned by Apollo. It wasn’t uncommon in this period for people to have themselves painted as characters in mythology, or painted into stories.”

Loki’s attention had been caught by another painting, though, featuring the dark and moody atmosphere of Italian Baroque. “Yeah, That’s St. Francis,” Steve supplied, suddenly on more solid footing. He remembered this much from Sunday school and church. “He’s got stigmata on his palm there, see? And he died pretty soon after he got it. He was canonized as a saint shortly afterward. See, you can see the really thin line of gold here above his head where there’s a halo, which lets you know he’s holy. And his injuries match those of Christ on the cross there in the background...”

He launched into an explanation of the iconography of religious artwork, and how so much of it was code -- certain gestures or symbols or props would indicate the identities of various biblical figures and saints, like John the Baptist’s hair shirt or St. Peter holding a key -- and the conversation carried on through the next gallery, with occasional pauses to simply revere the art in silent contemplation.

Standing in front of a painting of Diana and Cupid in the next gallery, Steve reached out and let his fingers intertwine with Loki’s.

 

She took his hand gladly and looked over at him, then back at the painting. She was afraid that what he saw was a child who glowed with promise, and that it reminded him of the child she could not bear him, of the child she did not want to adopt. She swallowed, seeking to head off that conversation before it could begin. She knew it would only end poorly, and that was not going to happen. Not on this date. She would not allow her doubts to overshadow the good time they were having.

She turned her attentions back to the picture, really looking at it.

The woman and child in it were ethereal, far too warm for their landscape, and for the first time, she understood these to be holier figures. There were not even lesser humans to compare them to, but one hardly needed them.

“They almost seem to glow,” She whispered, a little awed. “Like you, like your krellr. So bright.” It was not exactly what she saw, but she thought he might appreciate the comparison just the same.

She lifted their joined hands to her mouth and pressed a kiss on the back of his palm.

“That you are not the subject of many such paintings feels like a waste. If I could, I would render you like a thousand, a million points of light in a dark world.” Flowery, romantic words, but she meant them. If only she had ever shown even the thinnest glimmer of Steve’s aptitude in describing a face with a pen. But no, it would instead be him drawing and her healing others, as means of relaxing from fighting Thanos.

But better not to think of that, either. She turned her eyes back to the picture.

The woman’s face, looking down at the child, was kindly despite her denying him his weapon.

“Why does the mother withhold the boy’s bow?” She asked instead. “Is there a story of that as well?”

But even in requesting information, she still let her eye wander to the next paintings in the room, before lighting back on Steve’s face. In case the story was one that was too close to their own, in case the woman refused to relinquish the bow because the child was not her own, or something that would cause Loki’s cheeks to go equally aflame, she readied herself to speak of the woman bathing with her attendants, instead.

 

Steve ducked his head at Loki’s compliments, her wish to paint him. He felt a small ripple of embarrassment, but also felt flattered by the sentiment. “Well, now you know why I want to draw _you_ all the time,” he said, leaning in to murmur in her ear, though the gallery was all but empty. “You’re... you’re like my muse.”

And now that he thought about it, a large number of the drawings he’d done in the past months had been of Loki. There were a few sketches of his friends, and of other subjects, but Loki dominated the pages of his sketchbook these days.

Maybe he could get some paints. There was an art supply store he’d seen a while back that he’d been meaning to stop by. He’d done nothing but sketch since the serum, even with his full range of color vision, and it almost seemed a waste. He wondered if he could capture the luminescent ivory of Loki’s skin; the way the light reflected almost blue off her curling hair; the gentle rosiness of her lips.

“I don’t think it’s his mother,” Steve said, considering the image. “Diana is Cupid’s aunt, I think. Not entirely sure -- but she’s probably just playing around with him.” The painting was too warm, too gentle, to be anything other than playful. “They’re both usually depicted as archers, so the bow is common ground for them.”

He could have stood there and stared at the brilliant pinks and golds and reds for hours, soaking in the warmth of the reds he’d missed out on for much of his life and reveling in the fact that color alone could make a guy feel like the sun was shining on his face -- but they were on a schedule and had plenty more to see. Briefly, he stole a surreptitious glance at his watch to check the time, so make sure they had time before their reservation.

Seeing Loki’s gaze track over to another painting, he slowly crossed over to it. _Bathsheba at her Bath,_ the placard read. And beside it, a portrait by Mengs, depicting a man whose high cheekbones and high forehead put Steve in mind of Loki’s usual face.

 

She understood muses. That was flattering, Incredibly so, really, but also a bit… not scary. Disquieting, maybe. She would have to try to get him to draw her in other forms, if that was how he felt… though she knew he loved the one she normally wore, and he could make even that skin look good, or at least better... well. Thoughts for another time.

She followed along after him, silently glad that he had continued on without the subject of children coming to the fore.

“This woman is shaped like a man.” She pointed out, gesturing toward the nude one. “Her body… the muscles are shaped strangely for a woman. And all of their hands are so round, when the rest of their bodies seem oddly squared.” She frowned, confused. “Was this another ideal? How could women achieve that?” She looked down her own body, at the areas that it flared out and tucked inwards, then at the painting again.

She could achieve it, she could make herself look that way, but she did not find it as appealing as, say, the man who leaned on his balcony behind the women, watching them.

The fabric was gloriously detailed, almost enough to draw the eye away from the woman’s odd torso, and the colors… Loki was glad again that Steve could see them all now. Though she found that her eye in a good many of these paintings was drawn to the vivid shades of blue. Hardly a color she favored on the best of days, but now… here, in this context, it was beautiful.

And she wondered if that was why Steve liked that form so much, if his mind was translating her skin into art for him. If he thought in terms of this, in terms of how he might render something… it was a distant sort of understanding, but she thought she might see the appeal.

The women did not hold her attentions overly long, though, and she turned next to the portrait of a man with a book. He too had fabric draped over him, and just visible picked out in white against white on his collar was detail of needlework, the particulars of it long since lost to time. That was such an odd thought; this portrait had in it the work of so many people. The parents who bore the child who had grown into the man, the author and the scribes and the binder to create the book he held… and some unknown seamstress to have created delicate winding knotwork, captured forever by… by ‘Anton Raphael Mengs’. And all of those people were dead and gone.

She didn’t know how to put that thought to words.

“There is something about the way these paintings immortalize things. Not just the subjects,” she hurried to add, “But details of their worlds. Like his collar. Someone had to have made that.” She stopped, for fear of sounding mad.

Quietly, she moved in closer to him. “Steve? Is this how people made themselves unafraid of death? By knowing their likenesses would live on?” It was a chilling thought. And if so… if so she needed to learn to paint, that she could put down Steve’s face, his kind eyes and beautiful smile, the way his hair was so orderly until it became tousled by her fingers or a pillow…

She could not help herself and pulled his arm up to tuck over her shoulder, so that she could curl in against his body.

Here, everything died. That was the way of it. But in these images, they all seemed so alive, so peaceful or happy or proud.

She’d much rather have Steve with her, alive, being all of those things. She’d much rather that all those whom she knew would remain that way.

She felt a chill and thought of Thanos, of his floating throne atop a piece of his destroyed world. Not Midgard, she vowed. Not her friends.

She turned them away from the man, and on to pictures of the insides of massive buildings, carved of stone and draped in finery while the people in the scene went about their lives. Paintings littered the walls- much as they did here- and Loki tilted her head to the side.

“If these works are old, are the works on their walls that of your ancients?” It seemed an odd thought, how a culture would cling so hard to the past, especially given the way that years eroded here, the way that the past fell so fully away. That was why Steve had such a difficult time, wasn’t it? Because the past had a way of disappearing when you weren’t looking.

Or perhaps that was part of why he loved this place so much. Because here, the past thrived.

 

Steve chuckled at Loki’s assessment of the woman’s sturdy figure. He would have to show her some Michelangelo at some point. He remembered showing a textbook image of the Sistine Chapel ceiling to a disbelieving Bucky; _that ain’t a dame,_ he’d said, shaking his head -- _that’s a fella with two halves of an orange on his chest._ “‘Ideal’ doesn’t mean realistic,” he remarked. “Seems like today especially, you’ve got magazines full of pictures of women that haven’t got any pores, or body fat, or ribs in places where ribs oughta be.” Natasha had snorted once, when Steve asked about how women looked in the subway ads and glossy prints, pointing out that not even the women in the magazines looked like the women in the magazines.

At least the woman in the painting looked like she had all her bones where they belonged...

He sobered, though, as the conversation veered somewhere deeper. While the man in the painting looked vibrant and alive in his likeness, he’d been dead for 150 years, according to the dates listed, before Steve had even been born.

“There’s a saying,” he began after a moment’s pause, “that everyone dies twice. Once when you stop breathing, and once when someone says your name for the very last time.”

Steve had spent a lot of time thinking about that. Thinking about the names on the monuments to the dead, and to the tombs dedicated to the unknown soldiers -- the massive lists of those missing in action, never identified, never buried, never returned home. How they’d never found Bucky’s body, and Steve was the only person left to still remember him.

It was why he kept drawing his team. The commandos; Bucky; Peggy; Colonel Phillips and Erskine and Howard... If he could remember their faces well enough to draw, could commit every line and detail and replicate it over and over, he could hold on hope that they weren’t completely gone; they hadn’t died twice. And if he put their likenesses down on paper enough times, one of those drawings might survive past his own death and memory.

It was the closest they could get to a scrap of immortality. And it was the best he could do for them now (the least that he owed them).

He let Loki wrap his arm around her, and pulled her in close; she was older than anything in this wing, but she was still warm and alive, and as far as Steve was concerned, more precious than any of the masterworks contained in these halls. But that being said...

“There’s something comforting about this place. The way it hasn’t changed.” Of course, there had been renovations and acquisitions, the contents of the walls changing over time, but there were still paintings he remembered coming to see seventy years ago. They had been old then; they were still old now, but unlike everything else, they endured. There was a stability and permanency here, compared to the rest of the city, so much of which seemed ephemeral.

But the old masters were unchanging, a fixture in time, preserved here. If he managed to get himself frozen tomorrow, and didn’t thaw out for another seventy years, he could still find something familiar in these halls; the art would be here.

_And Loki._

He smiled and gave her shoulders a light squeeze.

 

She could not have kept the adoration she felt for him off of her face if she had tried, and so it was for the best that she did not bother. She just pulled him after her, or more like guided him along with her through the doorway and into the next room.

She stopped, a little surprised by the images in the frames.

She had thought some of the others to be dark, but save for one of them, there was none of the bright blue to be seen, and even then it was clothing, not the sky or the waters of the other paintings.

These paintings were primarily in dark browns and reds and yellows and blacks...the backgrounds fading into themselves, clearly unimportant. And the faces…

The eyes of a young man, central among his group of friends, seemed to be staring right at her, and for a jarring moment she thought he might see her, strange though the young man’s chin might be, stylized as his rounded face muscles were...He looked languid, almost like he might be on the verge of falling asleep, despite his upright pose.

Beside the musicians, a woman whose face was partially in shadow, was between two men, also half hidden by darkness and positioning. But the man to the right had a face lined and weathered in such a way that Loki almost wished she could reach out and touch the flat surface of the painting, half believing that she would feel the rolls of skin under her fingertips.

Those two stood out from the others for her, though it all did feel like variations on a theme, those two images seemed the crispest, or… the most enthralling. At closer inspection, they both bore the same artist’s name- ‘Caravaggio’. Beautiful, she thought, in spite of their darkness. Or maybe because of it.

“These are very different from the others.” She managed. “Why have they suddenly gotten so dark? And why are the young faces so… curiously empty? Like they’ve no burdens. But the elders…” She looked around, trying in vain to take all of the room in at once.

“And this--” she gestured at the sole bright portrait, awash in blue and with gold draping around her. The woman had her face lifted skyward, and her features seemed set too far back in her head but… “Why is this one so different?”

These were wondrous, and despite their sometimes glaringly obvious flaws and wrongnesses, she liked them.

  


Steve watched Loki and the way her mannerisms shifted subtly, eyes alighting with something as she took in the next gallery.

“That one there, with the musicians is by an artist called Caravaggio,” he explained. He didn’t even have to look at the plaque to recognize it, or the artist’s style. Caravaggio may not have been his favorite -- some of the blank, lidded expressions of his subjects had unnerved him a bit -- but Steve had loved the way he relied on bold contrast and areas of light and dark. It meant that even without being able to perceive bright colors, Steve could appreciate the vivid intensity of his works. “We’re going back earlier with these. Caravaggio came out of a period in art called Mannerism, and he’s credited with really kicking off the Baroque period of painting. At the time, this was much more realistic than anyone else was doing.”

The faces, though placid in places, were more involved in others -- the Denial of St. Peter on the far wall had religious subjects with expressions of consternation, rather than the typical renaissance portrayal of peaceful contemplation. It was more human, in some ways. More visceral.

“The other artists in this gallery I think are mainly fellow Italian ones who were inspired by him around the same time,” he explained with a shrug. “But Caravaggio... he had a certain something. I’m not sure why the St. Catherine one is in here since it doesn’t quite fit.” The blue and yellow of the martyr’s clothing was too bright amid the more rustic hues of everything else, though the high contrast lighting was at least consistent. But it wasn’t up to Steve to curate the gallery.

“If you like Caravaggio, you might like Rembrandt,” Steve mused. “He came a little later, from further north, but he was another incredible painter that built off of Caravaggio’s framework -- lots of dark, atmospheric stuff, and realistic portraits.”

And didn’t he sound like one of the museum catalogues now, or the art history textbooks he’d dutifully studied when he’d been at school. He hadn’t even realized how much of this stuff he’d retained -- it seemed so superfluous compared to remembering battle stratagems that could save lives and fighting techniques that could take down a threat, but he felt an odd surge of pride in himself all the same. _Not just a soldier_ \-- despite how some seemed inclined to see him.

 

“I just am very fond of how… withdrawn isn’t quite right. _Complacent_ the young people look. As if they are house pets, and any concerns they may have will manifest as wrinkles, like these--” she gestured at the image of the old woman, though her eyes stayed fixed on the musicians.

“Caravaggio. Yes, I like his paintings.” She grinned at him, excited to have found something that was more than just awe inspiring, more than just beautiful. Something that she genuinely enjoyed, for whatever reason. And she daren’t think on the particular whys too hard, other than that this seemed as far from Asgardian artwork as she could imagine.

“Will you remind me, when we’ve returned to the tower? I should like to see more Caravaggio. And Rembrandt as well, if they haven’t got his art here.” She nodded her thanks for the recommendation.

She pursed her lips then, and surveyed the room.

“You know so much about all of these-- whose art do you like best?” She did not imagine these works appealing to him in the same way, did not imagine that Steve was overly fond of the dark, moody nature of them. Then again, he was attracted to her, so perhaps she would be surprised, but…

“What artist is it that you are thinking of, whenever I tell you that you are good and you insist that if I had seen more of Midgard’s art, you would be passable at best? Or is it more than one?” She wanted to see what it was that Steve found lacking in his own art, wanted to make him see that he deserved to be hanging on these walls as well, both as artist and model. Not, perhaps, amongst the deer eyed Caravaggios but perhaps with the glowing gods from before.

 

He’d been worried Loki would be bored, or would merely feign polite interest if the art proved not to be her thing. It made Steve’s night just to see her so engaged and transfixed by the works, clearly enjoying them.

(And the night was still young.)

He gave a small snort of disbelief at her question. “All of them?” He couldn’t fathom that Loki, after finally seeing the art of the masters, the brilliant painters of history whose works endured and enchanted over centuries, could regard his crude sketching as worthy of the barest comparison.

“Really, there’s so many... And there’s so many styles and periods. I love the impressionists. Um. And the Neoclassicists; Delacroix and David are great. And there’s the Romantics... Turner. I love Turner’s seascapes,” he determined after a moment’s thought. “I remember there was a Turner exhibit when I came back here after the serum, and I couldn’t get over the explosions of color in his skies.” He shook his head. “There’s a lot of really good art. I wish I could show you all of it, but...”

He checked his watch and made a regretful face. “We’ve got dinner reservations and we shouldn’t be late. If you want, though, we can come back. It’s close to home, and we can see the Rembrandts and the Turners, and as much of the rest as we can stand.”

The thought of spending days just wandering these halls, regarding the paintings and sculptures and discussing them with Loki, held more appeal than it probably ought to. Though he was going to have to brush up on his art history and his mythology, to better answer all of Loki’s questions.

“I should probably learn more about modern art,” he said as they made their way back toward the grand hall and down the central staircase. “I know I missed a lot. Some of it I’ve taken a gander at, and I like the surrealists, but a lot of it just gets.... weird.” He’d gotten lost somewhere around Abstract Expressionism and hadn’t been able to really comprehend a lot of what was deemed fine art since.

As they stepped out the door, they were just in time to see the driver pulling up to the curb at the base of the steps. Steve hurried them down, offering Loki his arm so she wouldn’t trip in her heels, then held the door open.

“Right on schedule,” the driver commented as they got in, then pulled into traffic.

 

Steve’s speaking of the colors of the skies from the paintings that he loved made her smile softly, overwhelmed as she was with how she loved his face when it lit like this, almost from within, his passion blazing inside of him beautifully. Not one of a thousand painted sunsets could ever hope to compare.

That thought saw them all the way back to the car.

“That was very enjoyable. Thank you.” She was more reserved in front of their driver who was, admittedly, a stranger, but the warmth and sincerity of her words was still apparent.

“I would love to come back sometime. And we can learn about whatever you do not know together.” She offered, though she knew she lacked his base understanding of… geography, time, styles, names… all of it, really. But even so. This was an aspect of Steve’s world that he loved, which was infinitely accessible to her, and she intended to make the most of that.

However, that was a worry for another time. Now, there was something much more pressing for her to consider.

“I know I asked that you not tell me where we are going, but… perhaps, if we are going to eat, you should coach me on how I am to order, so I don’t…” She trailed off, her cheeks pinking as the memory of asking for well done stew meat came to mind, and the horror she’d experienced at that meal; how every aspect of her order had been done wrong.

They were dressed so nicely and in such a good mood, and the night was going so well. She did not want to ruin that with another dining faux pas.

“I realize that it is unlikely that you would know all of what is on the menu, but… any suggestions you might have…” She exhaled, sticking out her lower lips so that the air blew straight up over her face, disturbing the small hairs which had slumped there. She pushed them back out of the way, lest she seem to be trying to hide. Not that she would hide from Steve.

“I suppose it would be even more suspicious to ask you to order for me, wouldn’t it?” She asked ruefully, well aware how selfish it made her sound.

She needed to learn, she knew that. But… perhaps not at a place which demanded your arrival at a set time, in clothes such as these.

 

“Actually,” he said, lowering his voice, though he was sure the driver didn’t care all that much, “where you’re my date, and we’re going somewhere fancy... We can probably get away with me ordering for the both of us, if you’d prefer.” In his experience, the fancier the place, the fewer the options on the menu anyhow. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

He intertwined their fingers and gave her hand a squeeze. So far, the evening was going wonderfully, and he found his apprehension melting away into optimism.

The restaurant proved not to be too far from the museum -- if it had been warmer, Steve would have opted to walk -- and it was only a few minutes’ drive before they were being dropped off in front of a very posh looking little bistro on the upper east side. Pepper had recommended the place, assuring him the food was good, but Steve swallowed when he looked at it. It was _nice._

Nicer than Steve knew quite what to do with. It seemed Loki wasn’t the only one in danger of looking a bit uncouth.

He held the car door open for Loki, but when the got to the front door, the maitre’d held it for them both. “May I have the name of your party?” He asked.

“Rogers,” Steve said, recalling that he’d made the reservation under his own name.

“Right this way...”

They were led through the dining room, which was dimly but warmly lit, filled with the soft chords of piano music, dull chatter, and the occasional tinkling of glassware. A table in the back corner, with a white starched tablecloth and a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, awaited them, and the maitre’d pulled out Loki’s chair for her.

“Would you care for some complimentary champagne?”

Steve blinked. “Um. Sure. Yes, I mean,” he quickly amended.

He flinched at the popping of the cork, loud like a gunshot over the quiet hum of noise, but the soft hissing of the champagne bubbles as the glasses were filled was a balm to his nerves. “Your waiter will be with you shortly,” the man informed them, passing them each a leather-bound menu with a single sheet of the night’s selections.

Steve looked up at Loki from across the table as soon as he departed, eyebrows raised. He reached for his glass and lifted it. “Cheers.”

 

Loki lifted her own glass and raised a brow, a little uncertain in the oddly restrained air of the place.

“Cheers?” She echoed, somewhat doubtfully and took a drink.

It was not what she had expected, more like wine than like the soda from the tower, but sweeter than she was used to wine being. Despite her initial surprise, she was thrilled.

“Delicious.” She commented, before setting the glass carefully on the table, her smallest finger used to gentle the noise of its deposit, despite the tablecloth to help with matters.

“Champagne, was it?”

The soldiers he’d commanded had made jokes about the stuff in Stuttgart, but actually experiencing it and causing people to drop it on the ground were two very different matters.

And then, of course, there was the matter of Steve’s reaction to the noise. Not something she would call attention to in public, but something that she filed away for later examination.  
Eager to see this through to the part where the wait staff were comfortably convinced they had done their duties, she flipped open the menu.

“You remember what I said before, of how the other restaurant had too many options?” She asked, jokingly, when her eyes fell on the eight on the page. “I believe this one has found the answer to that problem.”

She read through the options, skimming across the words and unable to make sense of about half of them. The various sorts of meats, she understood; duck and lamb, lobster and beef and something without any meat at all. But what they intended to do to the dishes was… even with as many languages as she knew, this was confusing.

“What do you think?” She asked. “What sounds good?”

 

Steve looked at the menu and felt his eyes widen.

Well, damn.

It seemed he’d shot himself in the foot by asking for a fancy restaurant. All he’d been thinking was that Loki had been a prince, was royalty, and deserved something nicer than sausages from a street vendor or pub stew. What he’d entirely failed to take into account was his own lack of familiarity with high-class dining. He didn’t even recognize half of the words on the menu. “I’m... not sure,” he confessed. “All of it, I imagine.” There were a few first courses listed, and then a small section of second courses. There was also a wine list, though he wasn’t sure if the champagne exempted them from that.

“The, uh, ravioli with fresh ricotta and prosciutto looks good, for the first course,” he offered. Mainly because it was something he recognized. “But I’m sure you can’t go wrong, everything here ought to be fantastic. And there shouldn’t be any specifications you have to worry about, at least.” There would be no asking for dressing, thankfully. “I think we order one from each category.”

A moment later, a busboy came over and filled their glasses with ice water, and for a moment Steve panicked that he’d be asked to order, but the young man disappeared a moment later without a word.

Looking at the menu, Steve noticed with a pang that the prices of each plate weren’t even listed. And the place setting had far more forks than seemed strictly necessary.

For a moment, he debated internally whether to keep up a charade of confidence, or to confess how unfamiliar this territory was. Honesty won out, and he leaned forward, dropping his voice. “As a disclaimer, this is... a bit fancier than I’m used to. By which I mean this is the swankiest place I’ve ever been in,” he said.

 

Loki couldn’t keep the smile off of her face, utterly enchanted by Steve, that he should be so charmingly lost, but trying so hard.

“Well why don’t you and I each pick different ones, and we can share. And if we are equally disarmed by this level of... “ she gestured around them, taking in all of it, “You should know that, in the future, I have no objection to a dinner that consists of you and I and our own weights in bacon.” She grinned at him, hoping the sentiment was reassuring.

“That said, I am sure this will be wonderful. If all else fails, just remember: I’m foreign.” She winked.

There was something about seeing Steve at a loss that made her own spine stiffen, made her feel like she ought to be able to take charge. Even if she was poorly suited for it. Or, in this case, perhaps _because_ she was poorly suited for it.

“And seeing as I am foreign and do not know any better-- it may be that it is I who should order for you, no?” She asked, really warming to the idea now, her posture even changing to reflect this new role. She took up the glass, the bowl of it cradled in her fingers while the stem dripped from between them. She slouched elegantly in her chair, seating herself nearly diagonally that she might look outwards- into the restaurant, rather than trying to hide from it.

She wanted people to think she thought she belonged here. That way, if she made any mistakes, it would be with the aplomb of someone who did not know better, as opposed to the wincing horror of someone terrified of doing things wrong.

“They will not think it strange, I think, if I make a mistake and you must correct me, either. I’ve an accent, it’s no doubt expected that I may be wrong.” And, sure, she would feel a bit ashamed for having had to be corrected. But if this was to be a farce… far better that they correct this persona than her true, doubt filled self. It was nothing to bruise false confidence, but any injury to a lack of confidence entirely was a very different matter.

“And so- the ravioli and… a salad, I think? And then… I think I might have the duck. It says it comes rosemary smoked, with a kumquat confit-- I do not know either of these words, but that makes it exciting, don’t you think?-- and pickled endives. So it should be an experience! Did you have a preference for the entree?” It couldn’t be all that hard, there were not that many choices. She could do this. “And to the desserts, I leave it in your entirely educated hands. You’ve yet to steer me wrong, and I have yet to find something sweet here that I dislike.” She spoke evenly and calmly, the self assured mask firmly in place, comfortable and familiar, despite being something she had not used in some time. It was like donning well worn boots, or greeting an old friend.

“Are there any options there that you are familiar with?”

 

It was like watching Loki shift into another person for the second time that evening; the timidity she’d exhibited before -- which had categorized much of her demeanor since the entire Scofield incident -- vanished, and in its place she donned a confident, saucy attitude. He wasn’t sure how much of it was a mask, like the illusions Loki sometimes wore, or how much of it was just another of her faces that she could shift into, only in personality rather than in flesh.

Either way, it was... appealing.

Steve felt a little guilty. After all, this was supposed to be him treating Loki out to a proper date; making her do the work at this point almost felt like cheating. But at the same time, her readiness to take care and sudden devil-may-care approach looked like it would be a lot more fun than Steve tripping over his tongue trying to pronounce fancy french culinary terms (most of the French Steve knew referred to military terminology; he knew ‘mitrailleuse’ was the word for machine gun, but he couldn’t pronounce bouillabaisse to save his life). And where Steve had been in his element in the museum, calling up the knowledge from a life he hadn’t led in years, he remembered now that this -- the self-assured and indulgent world of the elite -- had been Loki’s life before... before everything. She’d been a prince, in her respective former life.

“Be my guest,” he told her, grinning and taking a gulp of champagne. He realized belatedly, as the fizz stung his sinuses, that Champagne wasn’t a gulping sort of drink.

Whoops.

“Um. The lamb looks good,” he offered, reading the description for the _braised rosemary lamb with a white wine and truffle au jus, and a potato gratin_. He’d had lamb once, he was pretty sure, when they’d been camping in northern Italy. He’d liked it then; of course, he liked everything that was food and not emergency rations, so, his standards weren’t the highest. But it meant he was generally happy with whatever got put in front of him.

The dessert menu, listed on a separate card, got into a bit more familiar territory. “We’ll have to save room for the flourless chocolate cake with raspberry sauce,” he remarked, just as their server arrived to take their order.

 

“Wonderful.” She praised Steve, careful to do so before she looked at or addressed the waiter, and just because she could, she leaned in and placed her hand over his. Only then did she turn her face toward the man in his black and white formal wear, standing beside them. She squeezed Steve’s hand for good luck.

“Good evening. Have you any questions about tonight’s menu, or have you made your choices?”

“Yes, thank you, I will have the salad for myself with the ravioli for my partner, and to follow, I think he will have the lamb, and I will have the duck.” She reached across with her free hand and offered the leather folder back to the waiter. “And once those plates have been cleared, we would like your chocolate cake with raspberry, if you please.”

She was being ever so careful to balance her usually snide, clipped speech, with the way Steve preferred that she treat even the serva-- serving staff-- with politeness. Usually she would employ her shortness to make herself seem above those around her, but she knew that made Steve… uncomfortable, at best, and she didn’t want that. So she had to settle with something that took charge but still exhibited some signs of kindness. It was an odd feeling, but, she thought, not wholly unlike the way she had treated Murray while she had seen to healing Steve and Ferra.

Briefly, with a flash of surprise, she wondered what would have happened to Murray, if he was perhaps one of the men who had been sent looking for them. If Ferra had returned to work yet, and if she was, perhaps, also tasked with the search. What they must think of her, now...

That thought, which could have led her off, far from their starkly white table and lovely date, was interrupted by the waiter.

“Yes of course.” He said, taking the menus and making as if to leave, stilted and professional, and not at all different than the servants in Odin’s hall. The memory rankled, now, through the lens of Steve’s sense of right.

“I’m sorry,” She spoke again, surprising herself in the sudden switch of character. “I don’t believe I got your name?” She smiled sweetly at him, unsure why it was important, other than that she thought Steve would be glad for it.

“My apologies;” he said smoothly, though it was obvious he was a little surprised as well. She wondered if it was simply that here they did not deal in such familiarity.

“How rude of me. My name is Jacob.” He told her, nodding, and she let her smile widen.

“Thank you, Jacob.” She let him go, then turned back to look at Steve again, and let out a soft breath, releasing his hand.

“I do not think I did as poorly with that as I did when I first ordered.” She remarked steadily, though her hand shook a little as she lifted her champagne glass. She took a small swallow.

“You see, I have managed to learn something after all!” She made light of it, but she was aware of how little she had actually achieved, since becoming freed of the SHIELD holdings. And she became more acutely aware of it the longer she was around other humans, besides her friends. Despite her assuring Steve that she would work to become better, less of a liability. She would have to add that to the things she needed to work on, the priorities she needed to organize.

 

“That was fantastic,” Steve assured her, smiling broadly as he squeezed back. And it had been; she hadn’t faltered or said anything odd, from what he could tell. The sense of authority she exuded had been tempered by humanity, also, when she’d asked their waiter’s name and thanked him.

It all made Steve glow with pride. Loki _had_ learned so much, whether she realized it or not. Human manners and ordering customs were part of it, of course. But she treated strangers now as _people,_ whether they were doctors or waitstaff or anonymous mourners at a wall. And that was a lesson some people sadly never seemed to get.

Her easy command and her poise reminded him of Peggy, he abruptly realized, halting with his water glass halfway to his lips.

And where had _that_ thought come from?

It was slightly disconcerting, now that it occurred to him. Maybe it was the way she was dressed, or the curling of her hair... the dark locks and pale skin, with the posture and the lilting accent... While normally any reminder of Peggy brought a bittersweet smile to his lips, he wasn’t sure he wanted to think of her now. Because Loki wasn’t Peggy. Loki was Loki, and to compare her to anyone else wasn’t fair. And yet, now that it had crossed his mind, he had a hard time shaking the notion.

He was fortunately distracted, however, by the rapid return of Jacob the waiter, carrying two small plates. Steve was about to comment on how quick that had been -- less than a minute -- then felt his eyes widen at just how _tiny_ the contents of the plates were.

“An amuse-bouche, courtesy of the kitchen, for while you wait,” Jacob announced, lowering the plates on to their settings. “We have a seared scallop with beurre blanc, served with a strip of cured pancetta.

Steve looked down at the single mouthful on the plate, which contained a scallop in white sauce, with what appeared to be a coiled strip of bacon on top. It smelled lovely, but he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to cut it up into tiny nibbles, or eat it all in one bite. “Thank you,” he said, still contemplating the tin, artistic arrangement.

“May I interest you in a pairing from our wine list to accompany your meal?”

Steve looked at the champagne. There was still a fair amount left in the bottle; he knew you were supposed to drink good wine with good food, though, and this place would have a great selection, though he wasn’t sure of his ability to fully appreciate it.

And then there had been the results of the _last_ time he’d drank. Steve winced; for all that champagne and wine were hardly likely to have the same effect on him as chugging Everclear (or any effect at all), he was loathe to spoil the evening with even so much as a reminder of that fight. “I think we’re all right,” he quickly answered, smiling. Jacob nodded and left, and Steve picked up his fork, peeling a tiny bit of scallop off with the tines and sticking it in his mouth.

It was good -- buttery and somewhere between salty and sweet. “Mmm,” he hummed in appreciation. That certainly boded well.

Then, his phone went off.

Fortunately, he’d had the good sense to set it to vibrate before heading out, not wanting to cause a disruption. But he still jumped at the feeling of it buzzing in his pocket. He hadn’t expected anyone to contact him. Everyone at the tower knew he was on a date, and the main reason he carried it was so Loki could get in touch. Other than them, the only person who even had this number was--

“Sorry, just a sec--” He reached down and pulled the phone out of his pocket, glancing at it under the table.

 

**NATASHA:**

_Need 2 talk. Will come by tower tomorrow._

 

Steve frowned. That was... ominous.

Apparently, wherever Natasha was texting him from, she realized the same, because a new message flashed as his phone buzzed again.

 

**NATASHA:**

_not an emergency. no panicking._

_Later._

 

Exhaling, he tucked the phone back into his pocket. “Sorry. Looks like Natasha will be swinging by tomorrow,” he explained, giving Loki an apologetic smile.

 

She nodded her thanks to the waiter as he departed and occupied herself with taking a dainty bite of the scallop she'd had placed before her, while Steve tended to his phone and its demands.

"You've nothing to apologize for." She assured him. "But I admit I am glad that at least some of the wait is over."

She smiled despite the worry she felt.

That was a worry for tomorrow. For tonight, though, there was she and Steve and…

“What manner of food is this?” She asked, surprised by the flavor and texture alike. “It is good, but not, I think, something that we are familiar with, or if we are we do not prepare it in the same way.”

The bulk of the dish all but melted on her tongue, and she could detect wine in its flavoring, but it was so light and dry a taste that she almost doubted that that was truly what it was.

There was very little of it, enough only for her to form an impression of the food, before the small plate was emptied.

“I appreciate their intent with the small portions, but perhaps at the tower at some point, we might convince JARVIS to instruct us on how to recreate this dish-- I feel as though we might benefit from eating several more.” Her lips twitched upwards on one side, a smile that was rakish and uneven, to offset the words which no doubt sounded greedy.

The plate did not sit there over-long, however; Jacob returned to them to carry them away.

“I will be back with your soup in just a moment.” He promised, and Loki could not help but laughing quietly, once he had turned away.

“It seems they are bringing us everything save what we ordered.” She told Steve, in explanation for her mirth.

She was hardly complaining, though. When the soup arrived it was a pale yellow color which came alongside a slice of bread that rested on the saucer beneath the strangely shaped but simple white bowl. Both soup and bread smelled amazing, and the heat that they gave off when she brought her hands nearby made her realize that at some point her fingers had gone a little chilly.

“This is an onion bisque, prepared from Vidalia onions and sherry wine, finished with cream.” Jacob explained.

“It smells wonderful, thank you.” She told him, and let him retreat again.

She raised a brow at Steve.

“I suppose we must be grateful that these were not yet more choices for us to sort through, earlier.” She said, lifting her spoon and pausing to wait for him to follow suit, just to be sure she wouldn’t be the only one eating it.

 

The scallop, while delicious, was gone all too quickly despite Steve’s attempts to carve it into smaller bites, and instead of sating, mainly served to remind him of how hungry he was. He’d been too nervous earlier in the day to eat much, and he found himself regretting it when Jacob whisked the plates away. The summary arrival of the soup had him salivating in anticipation; the aroma was heavenly.

“Scallops are a kind of... fish... thing,” he offered lamely, picking up one of the spoons -- the wider one that logically seemed better suited to soup. “I don’t really know. But if you want, I’m sure we can try to cook them.” If Loki wanted, Steve would track down just about anything -- hell, he was half-ready to ask how SHIELD was coming along with that portal technology so he could stomp on up to Asgard and fetch some of those magic apples Loki’d talked about, if it would make her happy.

He took a careful sip of the soup. There was an undercurrent of sweetness to it, but the flavor was also so rich, despite the lightness of the texture, that he was a little glad they had such a variety of courses. He wanted the chance to sample all of it.

And the chance to watch Loki’s face as she took the first curious bite of each dish and reacted.

“I guess we know now why there’s so much silverware,” he joked. If there were any more courses, they’d probably need every utensil. His expression fell slightly, though, as he moved and felt the shape of his phone in his pocket, oddly heavy now. “Look, Natasha will probably just want to compare notes on Schultz and fill us in on anything SHIELD has found out. But when I talk with her about... about Thanos...” he frowned. “Should we both be there for that?”

Loki was the expert, after all, having had greater interaction with the entity in question. But at the same time, a request for access to the scepter might go over better coming from Steve alone, given he and Natasha had a less contentious history than she and Loki.

(Which raised the question of whether Steve even actually _wanted_ SHIELD to grant the request. The nightmares were coming every night now.)

He broke off a piece of bread, dunking it in the soup.

 

Loki curled her lips into a frown.

"Perhaps you should speak to her first, alone, and then I may join you if you think my presence will be at all constructive?" She answered softly.

Steve's trust often went so far now in making her feel like her words had weight and meaning that the idea of speaking to people who might not give her the same respect and consideration was an uncomfortable prospect. Even those who lived at the tower did a good job of humoring her most of the time. It was a good feeling. Something that even Asgard had not given her, despite her supposed royalty.

The reminder of how very far she had yet to come in proving herself was sobering.

And that was not at all what this night was meant to be.

"But Natasha and her concerns are a worry for tomorrow. For tonight," she said, lifting a spoonful of the soup to her lips, "let us focus on us. On this."

She paused with the soup spoon on its way to her lips.

"I am very glad that we came out tonight. I know we both must have had our hesitations but... It has been very nice."

She took the cooled mouthful, then sent a surprised look down at her bowl.

"I thought-- these are very sweet for onions." She explained, certain she looked like a fool in her expression of shock. "I am accustomed to them being much more stringent."

The soup was warming and rich and flavorful and wonderful, and the bread was light and soft.

Loki was utterly enchanted by this course, and if it had been a less fancy place, she might have been less reserved and just consumed it unthinkingly. Instead she followed Steve's lead and dipped her bread into the soup. It only made it better.

 

Steve nodded. “Okay.” He’d talk to Natasha. And if... If he couldn’t provide information she or SHIELD needed, they could consult Loki. After all, they wouldn’t be far; Steve didn’t plan on dwelling too far from Loki’s side with SHIELD in town, even if he did trust Natasha well enough. “If there’s anything you want me to ask her beyond the scepter, let me know.”

He slurped a spoonful of soup, then glanced around in embarrassment, realizing he was probably being a little uncouth. He took his next sip much more quietly, and smiled at Loki’s obvious enjoyment. Tomorrow, he’d have to find some way to thank Pepper for the recommendation -- so far, it seemed that the restaurant was winning Loki’s approval.

“The last time I had onion soup was in this little village in northern France,” he remarked, tearing off another piece of bread. “Nothing this fancy -- it was chunkier and had bits of fat floating on the top, and the broth was a bit watery, but it was hot and we’d been marching in the rain for two days -- me and the commandos, I mean. This family of farmers let us stay in their barn, and invited us in for supper.” He smiled at the memory. “They barely had enough for themselves with the war stifling commerce, but they let the lot of us in and made sure we all had a hot meal, even if the Nazis could have had them all killed for it. It... They were good people.”

He wondered what had happened to them after the war; if they kept the farm and got through unscathed, if the young daughter who seemed to fancy Bucky and kept trying to bring him extra soup was still alive somewhere today, and remembered the time soldiers had camped out in her family barn.

He took another spoonful, swallowing it down. “It was good soup too. But this is definitely better.”

 

Loki found herself listening to Steve, entranced by his words.

"Well I am glad that this is better... But I am equally glad that they fed you and saw to your care, even back before I knew that you...were." And how odd it was, each time she acknowledged it. That she hadn't considered humans to be people, really, until recently, made thinking about the time that Steve had been alive without Loki knowing, or worse, caring...

She finished her soup, glad that it had been at least a tad bit more filling than the previous courses. But she was pensive.

It was almost terrifying, all of the times she might have lost Steve, before she even met him. His tales of daring and heroism, his talk of being sick, of being less than well fed…

She looked down at the dishes that were before them and bit her lip, considering them.

“And this food has been wonderful and very tasty, but if after this you are still hungry… I only mean, the servings thus far have been very small, and…” She shrugged.

“It is a strange thought that I cannot help but have, at times, how different our lives would be had we known one another before… how different they would be had I not chosen to impersonate you. Had I had enough power to phase in and out of the holdings without being caught. Where we might be now, if our paths had not crossed exactly as they did.”

What she meant to say, but didn’t, what she wondered and feared, was whether or not she might have killed him, accidentally or otherwise, had things happened differently.

“At any rate, I leave it to your judgment to ask or not ask Natasha about the sceptre as you see fit. You know her a good deal better than I, and you know what is right and what the situation will call for better than I would, whether I were there or not. I would say that you ought to tell her whatever you know, whatever you can. And beyond that… we will discuss whatever we may need to, either with her or after she’s gone or both.”

This time the dishes were cleared by a busboy, whom Jacob had brought in tow with him, when he bore down on the table bearing their selected firsts, the ravioli for Steve and the salad for Loki.

Loki was more than a little pleased to note that these dishes were the largest yet, and could only hope that the next followed suit; but even if not, there was a good bit of food before them now. Not necessarily a generous amount, nothing that could be called large in portion, but certainly what she would consider ‘enough’. But that was for her own body, and not Steve’s overly demanding one.

Her concern remained.

 

Steve chuckled. “You know, I seem to remember it not being all that long ago that _I_ was the one worrying about _you_ eating enough,” he remarked, teasingly.

It was rather funny though, how the tables had turned. Steve had put himself personally in charge of Loki’s welfare when Loki had been in SHIELD’s cells. And now, Loki seemed determined to mother him even worse than Bucky had -- and Steve could remember how Bucky had always sought to sneak him extra food, whether it was scrounging rations in the war, or insisting Steve finish his sandwich because he ‘weren’t that hungry’ back in Brooklyn.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “We haven’t even had the main course.” The first plate had been tiny, yes, and the soup was small, but there were enough dishes that it wasn’t like he’d leave famished.

The ravioli, when placed in front of him though, were a bit less plentiful than he’d hoped. While there was more food than there had been, he still counted merely six little pockets of pasta, artfully arranged in a plate that contained more decoratively-dribbled sauce and leaves of garnish than food.

But when he cut the first ravioli in half with the side of his fork and speared it, plopping it into his mouth, the flavor was rich and complex on his tongue; where the course may have disappointed in quantity, it excelled in quality. He washed it down with a sip of champagne -- the sharpness of the drink cutting through the rich and earthy taste of the pasta in a delightful way -- and looked over to see how Loki was doing.

“For what it’s worth... I’m glad things worked out as they did. For the most part.” He winced. “I could have done without the more painful bits you had to go through. But I’m glad that we... I’m glad we met again, under different circumstances. That I got to know you.”

It was incredible, how easily none of this could have come to happen. If Steve hadn’t been on duty that day and Hill hadn’t had an eye on the monitors; if Fury had banned him from seeing Loki after that first visit, or sent him on a mission overseas; if Loki had never let his walls down, or if Steve had been less patient or persistent; even if he’d never grabbed the scepter, and Loki had never whisked him off in a series of events that had led to them revealing their feelings. And if Fury had allowed Loki back into SHIELD custody, would he and Steve had ever reached this point, visiting museums and going out and acting like an actual _couple?_

It was a lot of absorb. Steve distracted himself with another bite of his meal. “How’s your salad?”

 

“Yes, well, things have changed. This was before I knew that you require more than I-- which you must admit is an odd thought, given our relative ages and strengths.” A wicked smile came across her face.

“One of these days, I would love to try you out and see which of us is the greater force. Though based on what I know, I would guess that we are as matched there as we are elsewhere.”

There was an odd effect, wherein despite the sounds she could hear in the restaurant-- murmured conversations and the gently touch of tableware on ceramic and classes against plates, she could also hear everything around them, down to the crunch of the salad’s leaves beneath the tines of her fork.

It had a surprisingly sharp flavor, the result of the tiny leaves that they used instead of the big, water rich ones of past salads. And each color of it, every size and texture difference created a different flavor. It was good, in a surprising way, and the crumbles of white cheese that was so light in flavor stood in stark contrast to it. The sauce spilled over the creation, too, was a sweetly tangy thing, and Loki thought she might have disliked it a few months ago, but now, having been introduced to other seasonings on Midgard, she was not so confused by the flavors, and was instead simply interested in them.

“Curious,” She said, in response to his question. “But good. It is very much a more flavorful salad than I am used to. Please, try some!” Sharing food was always a good way to feel closer, for her, and what’s more, she knew that the act of leaning over the table, as she was now, fork laden with a taste and pointed toward his lips, only created the best of lines over her chest, in the way that it pressed her breasts together and made them seem all the more plush for it. She smiled for him, well aware of the tease, and tilted her head to the side just a little, curious to see how he would react.

There was no waitress to make jealous this time, no gendered misconduct taking place. She was here, with her partner, and she was going to feed him off of his fork. She wondered if he was even thinking twice about it, the way he had before.

And if that was the case, why he did not merely ask that she exist in this guise at all times. She could. It would be very easy, for her, and it would erase so much worry from him, it would make it even harder for the people of Midgard to equate the damage she had done before to the person she was now. It was a thought. An interesting one.

After all, she was not even Aesir, and yet she wore the illusion each day quite comfortably. Why should she object to a simple change in gender, atop the change she created on her species.

They had not spoken of it since their first date, but perhaps it was a topic that bore more consideration. She would have to see, as the night went on, whether he reacted any differently to her, in this form. Not to her, personally, but if he behaved with less.. restraint. If he could interact with her without looking over his shoulder. That would make all the difference.

 

Steve raised an eyebrow at Loki’s suggestion that go up against one another. “Is that a challenge?” he asked with a quirk of his lips. The last time he and Loki had gone head to head back in Germany, Steve had taken a bit of a beating, but he’d held his own. But Loki still had magic, which gave him a leg up, unless they set up ground rules to exclude it. Perhaps, some time, they could go downstairs to the gym and spar; it would be nice, he mused, to have a sparring partner who was more durable, that he was less concerned about overpowering immediately. And he could certainly use the practice.

The problem would be staying focused, and not allowing their time spent writhing on the mats to devolve into... other activities (which would still provide a workout, at least)...

He was roused from a daydream of Loki pinning him, sweaty and panting, into a wrestling mat, by her offering him a forkful of something green. His eyes flickered down to the suddenly altered view, then quickly back up to her face, with just a touch of red coloring his cheeks.

He hesitated for a moment; he remembered how he’d had to turn down this same gesture back in Pennsylvania, how it hadn’t been proper. But here -- well, it probably still wasn’t the best table manners at a place this nice, but as a nice young couple, they’d probably be forgiven. And right now they were a normal, socially-appropriate couple by anyone’s standards.

So after a half-second’s pause, he smiled and leaned in, gingerly taking a bite from Loki’s fork.

The salad was good, though some of the greens were just a tad tart for his taste. And Steve wasn’t familiar enough with salads in general to articulate much more on it. He nodded appreciatively. “It’s a nice dressing!” he offered. Then, deciding to return the favor; “here, your turn...”

He cut a ravioli in half and got it on his fork, holding it out for Loki to take.

 

She was tickled, positively delighted, by not only his allowing the sharing, but by his reciprocation.

She tilted her head to take it, the movement intentionally flirtatious, and she flicked her eyelids down, as though she shared his embarrassment, though it was more amusement on her part, primarily at the flush that tinted his face.

Hey eyebrows rose, though, and her amusement faded (though it did not disappear altogether) in light of the appreciation she had for the taste. Until her eyes slid downwards and she saw how very little he had had left, before he gave her some of it.

She chewed slowly, attempting to savor it, before she eventually swallowed.

“It’s good,” she said simply, and it was. But better was the way he looked, watching her. She almost wished that all of the courses had come at once; no doubt they could be done with them by now and on their way back to the tower, perhaps even stripped down…

She cleared her throat softly and did actually flush a little, aware that they had to wait, had to make it through this first. Aware that such thoughts would be nothing but a plague until then.

She helped herself to more of the champagne, then returned to her salad, disappointed to find it gone so soon.

But again, the empty dishes did not linger. They were swept up, by Jacob alone this time, and replaced with their main dishes, and Loki felt a swelling worry at the portions of that as well.

Again, it was a small serving, for the both of them. Highly decorative, but hardly enough to be filling for Steve. His plate had a small pile of what appeared to be potato, and then only three of the small rounds of meat, tilted up on their sides and supporting one another with the bones, creating something picturesque, but not at all filling.

And Loki’s… well she would be fine. She had gone through long stints of eating far less. And even so, it looked to her like more than Steve had on his plate. She bit her lip and looked at him, unsure if they ought to say something, order more, perhaps… but she got the impression this was the sort of restaurant where that was just not done. So instead she waited to see what he wanted to do.

She met his eyes and flicked them downwards to his plate and then back up and raised an eyebrow.

 

Loki’s lips closing around his fork and taking the morsel made for a fascinating sight that had Steve’s breath catching in his chest. And the slow, rapturous way she chewed proved mesmerizing. He was so caught up in the sight, he hadn’t realized he’d finished the rest of his food until the plate was taken away.

Steve had planned on the date consisting of art, and _then_ food, but the presentation of the dishes seemed to be carrying the art over into the food; the little lamb chops on his plate were arranged almost sculpturally over a bed of what had to be the creamiest mashed-potatoes he’d ever seen. Loki’s plate had small dark circlets of duck, alternated with something green, and an orange-colored sauce dribbled in a lattice pattern over the whole affair. Both looked lovely.

He began to reach for one of the bones on his dish with his fingers, then stopped himself just in time, realizing that would probably be frowned-upon. So instead he went for his fork and knife and delicately tipped over the first chop, slicing away a piece and cutting as close to the bone as possible, to avoid wasting good meat. The lamb was far more tender than he was used to, though that was probably because he grew up on cuts of meat that had to be boiled into edibility -- and it was full of flavor, rich and savory.

It was only when he swallowed it down that he realized Loki hadn’t touched hers yet.

He frowned. “Everything okay with your duck?”

 

Seeing her opportunity, she contrived to look embarrassed.

“It’s the, ah… the smell of the sauce. It’s churning my stomach, a bit.” It actually smelled a bit like the orange chicken had, but she would never admit to that; that implied heavily that she would like it.

She pushed her plate toward him with a single finger and smiled ruefully.

“Perhaps that is the kumquat that I was so uncertain of.” She shrugged, to illustrate how unconcerned she was with this development. “Ah well. Not every gamble is one that we win. But please, do not let it go to waste.”

She wondered if she could trick him into eating all of it, on the pretense that her stomach had been put off by the smell alone. It would, of course, mean also giving up the potential for dessert, and sweets here were such a weak point for her, and yet… it was worth it, she decided firmly.

Even though she could see from here the individual cakes on the plates of other diners, even the decor very appetizing, to the point she wasn’t sure what was and wasn’t edible on them. She wanted to consume all of it, it was so lovely, and no doubt as delicious in its own field as the rest of the meal had been.

But there would be other cakes. There was only one Steve. And he was hers.

 

Steve frowned. “Gosh, I’m sorry. Here--” He picked up his plate and maneuvered it over to Loki’s place setting, barely missing setting his shirt-cuff on fire over the mood-lighting candle as he switched the dishes. “Take mine. I only took a bite, and the sauce is really mild.”

He could, of course, wave down the waiter and ask if they could fix Loki something else, but he’d feel badly about making her wait while Steve either ate or let his own food get cold, and there wasn’t any sense in wasting or being a bother when there was a simple solution in swapping. He placed the duck in front of him, and smiled back at her. “I don’t even know what kumquat is, to be honest, but I’ve got a pretty cast-iron stomach,” he said, picking his fork back up and this time sampling one of the little slices of duck.

It was so tender, it all but melted in his mouth like butter. The sauce tasted citrus-like, almost of oranges, but wasn’t overly tart. He let his eyes close briefly. “Mmm.” He swallowed. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had duck before. It’s good.”

The green things -- endives? -- were less impressive, but he dutifully munched on them anyhow. He’d never been the sort not to clean his plate, after all. Pausing, he glanced back at Loki. “How’s the lamb?” he asked. “Is your stomach doing better? Cause if you feel sick, we could ask for the check and go home...” As much as he wanted to finish the meal, he belatedly realized that forcing Loki to sit at the table when she felt off would be very uncharitable of him.

 

She accepted the plate gratefully and gave him hers, less than pleased that they should be trading rather than him merely eating it, but at least he had ended up with the majority of the food, this way.

And she might still have her cake.

“The lamb is wonderful.” She told him quickly. “Thank you; I’m glad it is just me who disliked the duck. That might have been a real tragedy.” She smiled at him, and took a bite of the meat to reassure him.

It _was_ good, the distinct flavor of lamb not overpowered by the herbs, but helped along, perhaps even coaxed out by it.

She spotted a sprig of the stuff on the plate and lifted it to her nose to sniff delicately at it.

“You know, I do not believe that we use this plant in cooking. Rósmarín is used for joint aches as a cream, and to calm upset stomachs as a tea, and for scent in soaps, but I have never eaten it on meat before. It is so pungent I would expect it to be a poor meal partner, and yet…” She gestured at the meat with her fork. “Perhaps it is the plant which helped to calm my protesting gut.”

There was also the flavor of wine in this dish, but it was, as Steve had said, quite mild. Wonderfully so. She hadn’t tasted the duck, but she had a feeling that though the portion was smaller, she probably had come out on top in terms of the flavor of the dish. Magnificent.

The potatoes, too, were delightful, the sensation of them on the tongue like heavy clouds. They tasted as if they had as much cream in them as could possibly be coaxed into it, and the texture was surprising, smooth with only the natural grit of the starch.

“I fear I’ve robbed you of the best meal I may ever have tasted, though,” She confided in him. “Are you at least satisfied with what you’ve gotten in exchange?” She spoke smoothly, aware that there was yet an untouched third tiny lamb medallion. She wondered if there was any way he would allow her to maneuver it onto his plate.

 

“Worked out for the best, then,” Steve said, grinning in relief; the dinner had been salvaged after all. “And mine is great -- the meat’s incredibly smooth, and the tastes are all really interesting.” Potent, though. He could understand where Loki’s more sensitive palate would do better with something less aggressively flavorful (though the kumquat sauce reminded him a bit of orange chicken, surprisingly enough). But he was quite happy with everything he’d tasted that night; the restaurant had been a pretty thorough success all around. The courses had been delicious (if small), the ambiance was pleasant, and the service had been timely and attentive, without being stifling.

He was finally having a normal, _nice_ date with Loki, and it was going _well,_ he realized with a frisson of delight. As well as a thrill of apprehension that just by thinking it, he could jinx it.

“That’s interesting about the rosemary,” he remarked. “We even have nearly the same name for it. I think we mostly use it in cooking... Mediterranean dishes especially.” He recalled seeing a lot of it growing wild in Italy when he’d been stationed there, though it seemed to thrive well enough all over. A memory occurred to him then, and he chuckled softly. “Although -- and I forgot about this until just now -- my mother sometimes stuck a sprig of it under my pillow when I was a kid. Apparently her mother swore it was an old folk remedy for banishing nightmares. She was usually pretty dedicated to modern medicine, but now and then she pulled out the old folk remedies like that; said it couldn’t hurt.”

Perhaps, a rueful part of him mused, he’d do well to smuggle the bit of it on Loki’s plate home with them. Even if it was silly old superstition. And who knew? If Asgardians used old herbal techniques in their treatments, there could be something of substance there. He finished off his champagne, and polished off the endives, leaving one last slice of duck for last, savoring it as it went down.

Jacob came by the moment they were both finished, spiriting their plates away, and returning with delicate silver dessert forks for each of them -- a reminder of their fast-approaching cake.

 

“It is a calming plant; we also put it in baths, when we cannot sleep. Your mother was a smart woman, placing it beneath your pillows. I wonder whether or not mothers where I am from do the same. I didn’t have any under mine, for obvious reasons.” Like that her mother seldom entered her rooms, and never, save when she was ill, spent time in her sleeping chamber.  
And the maids would hardly care if she had nightmares, let alone do anything about them. She had never been well-loved by those around her, and little reminders which used to bring her distress, such as this, paled in the joy of hearing that Steve had been cared for. But it also made her aware that she had little understanding, from personal experience, what small expressions of love might look like. It made her worry that he might see her oversights as signs that she didn’t care. She took a deep breath and tried to calm those thoughts; Steve did not think ill of her. Tonight did nothing but prove that, again and again. He would never have taken her to these places if he didn’t truly want her with him, and know that she felt the same.

“Perhaps we should acquire some for your bed, when we’ve returned. As your mother said, it couldn’t hurt.” She smiled softly, warmth in her gaze as she folded her hands over one another to rest on the table in the empty place where dessert would soon rest.

“How have you been sleeping of late, while we are on the subject? You haven’t spoken of it, and it did not occur to me until just now that I have been remiss in asking.”

To be honest, she missed waking beside him. And they had had other things to be preoccupied with. And with his altered body, he rarely ever _looked_ tired. If he chose to act as though he weren’t, she doubted she would ever know. And atop all the rest, he rose so early that by the time she was waking, he had been up for several hours.

She wondered if she might train herself to rise when he did… and learn to cook. Then at least she might be certain that he would have a full breakfast to start off… one more meal to fill him and keep him fed throughout the day. She would begin a program of helping him to be in the top of shapes, because Thanos was coming, and she wanted him to last through the conflict.

Sparring, in that light, would not be a terrible idea. She made a mental note to ask JARVIS to find her videos to instruct her on the operations of the tower’s appliances, as well as to give her point by point lessons on preparing meals.

 

He wondered what his mother would have made of Loki. He cringed internally at the thought of revealing the nature of his relationship with -- most of the time -- another man, but at the same time, his mother had been loving enough and practical enough that he didn’t think she’d condemn him for it; and she’d staunchly approve of anyone who looked out for Steve and fussed over him when she couldn’t. She’d adored Bucky, enough to treat him as a second son.

Not that she would ever meet or know about Loki, being long gone as she was. At least, not in this life. Though Loki’s mother still lived, which made Steve wonder if he’d ever have to meet her and win her approval...

At Loki’s question, Steve grimaced. “I’ve ah, well... I’ve slept. Some.” He shrugged. He didn’t want to make a fuss, but he also didn’t want to lie. It was true, he had slept a bit; just not very well. And where it was just a matter of time before Loki picked up on that, it was better to be somewhat transparent, or he’d have to endure even worse mother-henning down the road. “Lot of... vivid dreams. But I usually get three or four solid hours, and I need less than most people, so that’s enough.”

He shrugged, hoping to give off an air of nonchalance, that she wouldn’t worry over it too much, then added: “Honestly, it helps just waking up next to you.” The instant reassurance that he was in the right place and time, not alone, and that Loki was warm and alive beside him, all helped soothe his nerves in the moments after waking.

Dessert arrived then -- two narrow, dense, almost fudge-like slices of chocolate cake with a dark chocolate layer of topping, drizzled in a rich red sauce with cocoa powder, confectioner’s sugar, and raspberries scattered across the top. It looked absolutely _sinful._

 

She might have said more, but that Jacob had appeared again, this time bearing the much anticipated dessert course.

It was beautiful, dark and promising a richness that she thought would make Volstagg weep.

She gave Jacob an excited thanks, at which even the stoic waiter had to show amusement, and then he left, and she turned back to Steve and the plate.

“I am so glad that you chose to do as you did, that we might share a bed again. I had missed it terribly, and it if it means that you sleep better, I will never again sleep anywhere else.”

She reached across the table, ignoring the chocolate cake and its siren call, to instead trace her fingers over Steve’s hand.

“I love you.” She told him quietly, basking in having the ability to do so.

It was one thing to say it in the tower, surrounded by friends; another to say it here, where  anyone might overhear, though the tables were far enough apart that it seemed unlikely. It was freeing, saying it, and it warmed her from within.

The only cold spot was the tiny part of her mind that reminded her that if she were a man, she would not be touching him now, looking into his eyes, would not be in this restaurant. Would not be able to let the word ‘love’ fall from her lips. For his sake.

She took her hand away and looked down at the cake, allowing her preoccupation with that to hide what troubled her.

“This is so pretty, I hardly know where to start.” She said, though it was obvious from the way it was placed that she ought to start with the thin tip and work her way up. She lifted the brand new dessert fork and looked to Steve, unwilling to start without him.

 

Steve was glad that at least his lack of sleep didn’t seem to be disrupting Loki’s rest, if she still enjoyed sharing a bed with him. And truth be told, he was thrilled (even if still a bit shell-shocked) that he’d come out to the others in the tower. The reaction was the best he could hope for, and none of this date would have happened without Pepper’s help. Well, okay, the museum bit he’d have managed, but they’d probably be grabbing hot dogs right now, instead of scallops and duck and cake. He’d be too anxious and paranoid to enjoy himself or allow himself to be open and affectionate with Loki, and this... this was better.

Of course, they still had to be careful in public when Loki was a man, and cautious about who found out. But this way, they had a safe place where they would retreat and escape the pretenses. They had confidants, and the pressure of the secret was less now that there were others to share it with.

He blinked in surprise, then smiled, at her stark declaration of love. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but it was nice all the same.

Real nice.

“I love you too,” he told her softly, then reached down and picked up one of the raspberries on his plate, popping it into his mouth. It was sweet and sour and juicy; he swallowed, then reached out and plucked another one, holding this one out Loki’s lips.

“Take this, then a bite of the chocolate with it,” he instructed, reaching for his fork with his other hand so he could do the same, chasing the tartness of the berry with the rich and bitter sweetness of the cake.

 

This was more intimate yet, the proclamations of love followed by feeding her from his fingers, and he had taken the prerogative and initiated it, this time. She couldn’t have been more pleased as she leaned in to accept the treat, careful not to bite his fingers in taking it, and careful to brush the juices from them with her tongue before pulling away.

Her mouth twisted upwards and her eyebrow climbed, challenging him to do or say something about her teasing, until the juices of the berry washed over her taste buds.

Berries were something she was familiar with, but the idea of combining their flavor with that of this cake…

She hurried to do as he had instructed, scooping a small piece of the chocolate cake into her mouth and--

She closed her eyes and had to work very hard not to make sounds that were completely unsuited for any public space, let alone this restaurant.

It was sticky, the top of the cake, and it took her several long moments to be sure she had cleared it from her mouth before she could attempt to speak again.

When she did though, she could only hum her pleasure while she sifted for words.

“While I assume humans cannot live on this, if this was the only food left on the realm…” She paused, reconsidering. “This and bacon.” She amended. “I think one might live quite happily.”

And honestly, why was there fighting between any here? Simply cart out a large number of slices of this cake, and it would be done with.

“I think you made the best choice imaginable, both in coming here, and in picking this.” She could hardly hide her excitement in taking her next bite, but she chewed and swallowed it quickly, washing the chocolate down with a touch of the (now less sweet tasting) champagne.

“I’m sorry; I took one of your berries, I should offer you one of mine in return.” She lifted the brightly colored thing and held it out for Steve.

 

Steve’s pulse ratcheted up a notch as Loki’s tongue darted over his fingers as she took the raspberry, if only because it called to mind the many other skills her tongue had. Then the look on her face -- utterly rapturous -- made Steve glad the public portion of the night was coming to a close, and that soon enough they’d be back home. With luck, he could get Loki to make that face again...

“You know, I think I saw chocolate-covered bacon one time,” he remarked with a grin. “Could be worth investigating.”

He drew the line, though, at offering to put it on pizza.

When Loki held out one of her berries, Steve managed to avoid hesitation for once. They weren’t being a nuisance or making a mess; surely no one would object. And if they did -- well, the hell with them. He lightly took the offered morsel, sucking lightly at the very tip of Loki’s finger as he drew back. He scooped up a piece of cake, then took a bite and let the flavors mingle. It was dense and heavenly.

“I think,” he said after a moment, “that my best choice wasn’t the restaurant or the food, but the company.” He smirked a little, teasingly (though not disingenuously) at Loki.

He took another bite of cake, then set his fork down, washed it back with a drink of water, and then reached into his pocket. “So, there’s something I want to give you. It’s, um. It’s a bit of a tradition, with soldiers...”

He retracted his hand, the silver gleam of his dogtags shining in the candlelight between his fingers. He stood slightly, so he could lean over and loop the ball-chain over Loki’s head, gently pulling her hair out of the way so the chain could lie against her neck, then sat back down. “They’re my military ID tags,” he explained, observing her puzzled look. “My original ones -- I still had them on when they dug me out of the ice.”

 

She felt her eyes widen and looked down, catching the flat silver almost-discs in her fingers.

The weight of them was surprising, but she wasn’t sure whether she expected them to be heavier or lighter. All she knew was that this was… this was a token, a gesture, like wearing favors. But it was somewhat more personal than a lock of hair. This had been worn into battle by Steve. These had been on him when he… when he came so close to never being a part of her life.

She didn’t need photos of them, if she had this. This was… she swallowed and reached for her champagne, her hand jittering as the understanding sunk in.

She pressed a smile to her lips as she lowered the glass.

“I am… so touched, really Steve, thank you.” Her words and voice were restrained, afraid to make too much of a fuss in public. “I wish-- I don’t have anything similar that I could give you, I don’t think…” She frantically searched her mind for something equivalent. Perhaps a piece of her armor, repurposed to be worn decoratively? But then, her armor did not have the same meaning. What he’d done in that war had been honorable. Her war on the other hand… She shivered.

No, that armor… she would not wear it again. Not ever. And it would certainly never see Steve’s skin, never rest upon it intimately as Steve’s tags did, when she lay them back down. They hung next to her heart.

She looked down at the cake then up again at the man she loved, and cleared her throat softly.

“I think…” she said, speaking carefully and clearly so that her intent could not be mistaken. “I think we should finish here and return home, that I might show you exactly how happy I am, how grateful, how… _appreciative._ ” She made the last word husky and strong, and let her eyes slip down his face pointedly.

She could feel the tags against her skin with a sort of hyper awareness, the shifting of the tiny ball chain against her neck, the way the metal, warm from Steve’s body, slid over the neckline of her dress, and down. It felt like his arm around her, felt like she’d been claimed and marked as his. And though that had happened long before this, it still made her shiver with delight.

She wore his name around her neck. He was as much hers as she was his. It felt altogether perfect.

 

Steve flushed. “I know it’s not anything fancy, not like real jewelry or anything, but...” But buying diamonds or gold or, or emeralds, didn’t seem right when Loki would only wear lady’s jewelry part of the time, when she was in this shape, and not the rest of the time. This was something that would fit in any shape or form, and while it had little value in terms of the metal it was stamped on -- it meant a lot to him.

And, from the look on her face, it meant a lot to her too, he noted with relief and gratitude. Not that he should have doubted; Loki understood him better than anyone else. “Hey,” he said, reaching across the table. “You’ve already given me more than you’ll ever know. And, ah...” He pinked and smiled, squeezing her fingers. “I like the sound of that plan.”

And he didn’t miss that Loki called it _home._

He waved to Jacob when he caught their server’s eye from across the room, and he hurried over to their table.

“Is everything to your satisfaction?” he asked.

“Everything was terrific,” Steve told him. “I think we’re ready for the check, though. And thank you.”

Jacob smiled and bowed his head. “I’ll bring it right over. And you are most welcome.”

It was minutes later that Steve was sliding his card into the leather--bound booklet containing the check. They polished off their cake, Steve signed the receipt when it arrived (leaving Jacob a generous tip), and with their dinner happily concluded, he offered Loki his arm as they headed back for the door, texting the driver as they walked to let him know they were ready to be picked up.

The host moved to open the door for them, but Steve hadn’t so much as crossed the threshold when a bright light flashed in his face, blinding him momentarily. He instinctively pushed Loki protectively behind him, blinking through his disorientation at the sudden shouting around him…

 

The light and sound and Steve pulling her behind him all made her stomach drop, and she gathered her magic in the moment before everything began making sense again.

“Cap! Captain America! Look over here for me!”

“Miss, what’s your name? Come on out!”

“Let me get a picture of the two of you?”

The flashing was not an attack, or at least not the violent sort. She peered over his shoulder, able to see that it was no more than three or four men, and all men, each bearing a camera. But two of them flashed as soon as she raised her head. Quickly she ducked down again and pulled at Steve’s arm, tugging him back into the entrance of the restaurant, trying to away from the men who were beginning to warm to the game, asking questions to her; about her.

“How was dinner? Who footed the bill? Is it paid for by the taxpayers?”

“What do you do sweetheart? How did you get to know Cap here?”

“C’mon Cap she’s a looker, show her off a little, let us get to know her.”

“America’s Sweetheart; _Captain America’s Sweetheart_ , nice ring to it, come on, your face will be everywhere.”

She wanted to disengage, to get away or hurry to the car. But she didn’t know-- where was the car? And if they went back into the restaurant, they would only have to come out again, and they would have to upset the people inside in the process.

The door swung closed behind them, and Loki couldn’t help but wonder if the staff there were used to this sort of reaction to the diners… or if one of them had perhaps been the ones to call these men in.

Meanwhile, one of the camera wielding men had broken off from the others and circled around, clearly aiming to get a good shot of her face.

She kept her head tilted away from him.

“What should we do?” She asked Steve, moving so that her hair covered her face and she could speak into his ear. “I could move us, but it’s too public. Do we know where the driver is?”

She didn’t think she could run, very well, in these shoes. But if he was nearby she could make an attempt.

But her plan making was interrupted by when the man she had turned away from made a grab for her, taking her by the arm and spinning her to face him, so that he could get the photo.

She moved to fight back, then froze. He was just a human, and not like Steve. The kind where if she wasn’t careful she would hurt him very easily. She couldn’t risk that. Wouldn’t.

Instead, she pulled herself out of his grip, raised her hands, turned her face away and looked through her fingers, trying to understand what was going on and trying to keep from doing any damage.

“Steve?” She asked, a little louder now and more uncertain. She shuffled backwards so that her back was against his.

 

Steve froze, trying to figure out what was happening. For a few horrible seconds he was completely at a loss -- and then his mind caught up to what he was seeing. Cameras. _Press?_

Steve’d had plenty of interaction with reporters before, during press conferences and at major events where he appeared as Captain America. But that had been -- well, there had been some sense of order and sanity to it, even in the press of bodies and shouting voices, mainly because he’d known it was coming. This? This was an ambush. And he wasn’t Captain America right now...

The confusion faded, and in its place he felt anger.

Loki’s suggestion was tempting, but fleeing by means of magic would only lead to more of this -- more questions, more pursuit, more curiosity. He gritted his teeth. They needed to get out of this with as little fuss as possible.

Of course, it was hard to remember that when one of the cameramen _grabbed_ Loki. Steve’s hand balled into a fist, and he just barely held back from taking a swing at the guy. “Hey!” He shouted. “Knock it off!”

Unfortunately, speaking only seemed to work them up into a further frenzy.

“You permanently relocated to New York City?”

“How long have you been an item?”

“Does this mean you’re off the market?”

Steve ground his teeth together, then pulled himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders. “What are you doing?” he demanded, in a loud and clear voice.

One photographer lunged in front of him, and Steve nearly flinched at the flash that went off right in his eyes. Even with the press back in the day with their huge flash-bulbs on their cameras, he hated that bright gleam of light. “Aw, yeah, that’s great, hold that pose--”

“Just taking photos, Cap! Power of the press...”

Steve shook his head. “I knew reporters back in the day. War correspondents, willing to risk their lives covering what was happening so people would know, so they could see how their loved ones were faring on the front and what was happening in Europe. They were the press. This?” He looked the man in the eyes. “I don’t even know what this is. So please, tell me. What are you doing?”

 

The thrill that she felt at Steve’s steely spine and take charge attitude sank in her stomach when the man backed up and held his hands-- camera included-- up.

“Look man,” he said, “We’re just tryinna make a livin, same as anybody else. You’re on the popular lists, and rumor mags will pay good money for a clear shot of you and uh--” he gestured at Loki, and then, seeing that she was looking, took a photo with the camera that was up high enough to get the shot.

No doubt that one would come out well, Captain America looking proud and strong and her cowering behind him.

She firmed her lips into a thin line and pulled herself up straight as well, but she didn’t know how to do this, what Steve wanted her to do, how she should be reacting.

Still, if they were going to speak to these people, it would hardly do for her to continue hiding.

“And you feel that you are entitled to these photos?” She asked pointedly. She knew as well as the next person, and perhaps even better than some, the power of proof. The value of it. “If you are being paid to supply them, what do we get for the trouble you are causing? We would like to leave now.” She tried to match her tone to Steve’s, while simultaneously trying to keep her eye on him, make sure she was not angering him or… acting against his wishes somehow. But how could she know? Clearly even he was taken aback by this.

“Not from around here are you?” One of the other guys spoke up, and her eyes moved to look at the speaker, only to be blinded by another rain of flashes. She scowled through the cold spike of fear she felt.

Somehow she had revealed too much in just a few short sentences. The discomfort she felt, the alienness, took firm grasp of her throat and stopped her tongue before she could make things worse. She wondered if they would immediately assume there was something suspicious and wrong with her, because of Steve’s unwillingness to divulge, or if they would just spend time trying to hunt down information. Either option was unsettling. What if they discovered who she was? What would they _do_?

“Yeah, nice accent. Where’re you from, cutie?” The jeers were disquieting and she hated them for it. She wanted nothing more right now than to be rid of them.

“Steve, they can’t stop us. Let’s just go.” She meant that they could push through them, but apparently they took it as something else-- an invitation to spread out, to let them through.

“Where’d you find her, Steve?”

“You got a sister Sweetheart?”

Taking the chance, she grabbed Steve’s arm, pulling him forward with her between them and ignoring their words.

“Where you going?”

“What’s next on the docket, you going dancing? Drinks? Movie?”

“Can you call the driver?” She asked him, speaking low and close, under her breath. If he could get close enough, if they could just get inside, they would be able to be away from these men, and the sinking feeling in her stomach, like the one she’d had from ordering her stew well done, but worse.

She didn’t know what she’d done, but fixing it would no doubt be much more work than it was worth.

 

Steve seethed with fury. In another life, as his old self, he’d have taken a swing. At all of them. They all would have had it coming for the way they were talking, acting, treating his gal.

And he’d have gotten his ass kicked.

That was what stopped him; because now, he’d win. And none of these guys had even called him out for a fight. He’d be beating them up because he had more power than they did, and that would make _him_ a bully. Make _Captain America_ a bully. He owed the people who looked up to him better than that. And after all he’d told Loki about not hurting people, he definitely owed her better than to act like a hypocrite -- no matter how much he wanted to break that guy’s nose for the way he was talking to her.

So far though, barring the aborted grab at Loki’s arm, talk was all they’d done. And if Steve didn’t want to escalate things, then talk was the only weapon available to him.

“I already texted,” he murmured to Loki out of the corner of his mouth. “He’s on his way. Keep an eye out and hang in there...” If they tried to outpace them on foot, they’d just be followed. Steve had no illusions about how fast Loki would be able to run in those boots. He just needed to stall.

“And this is how you choose to make a living?” he demanded after taking a breath. “Harassing war veterans and innocent dames?” If they wanted Captain America, then dammit, they were getting the full force of 1940’s era Captain Goddamn America. “I’m sorry, fellas, but I’m real disappointed in you.”

One of the men shifted a little uneasily, though he didn’t put his camera down. “Hey, it’s nothing personal--”

“Feels a bit personal,” Steve interjected. “On account of this being my personal life. Isn’t anyone’s business and doesn’t do anyone any good to know.” He paused, a flicker of inspiration igniting in his mind. “You fellas want a real story?”

Two of the reporters elbowed one another in excitement, a third never stopped snapping off pictures, and the fourth looked skeptical. “Is it about Stark? Because right now he’s old news, unless Potts has got a baby bump-- hey!” He startled as Steve snatched pen and paper out of his hands, but he was already scribbling away.

“Here,” he said, handing the paper back. “Go to this address. Report on what you see.”

A pair of them murmured, looking it over, but another of their number scowled. “What the fuck, man? I know this place -- it’s just a bridge with a bunch of fucking homeless bums living under it, there’s no story there.”

“Isn’t there?” Steve arched an eyebrow. “You’re living in one of the most glamorous and prosperous cities in one of the wealthiest countries in the world, and that bridge hasn’t stopped sheltering the homeless of this city since the Great Depression. I think that’s worth talking about.”

“Hey man, no one wants to look at a bunch of hobos.”

“They may not want to, but that’s exactly why they _should,”_ Steve snapped. “You have cameras. You have power. You can photograph the things people look away from, the problems they want to ignore, and you can _make_ them see. Make them acknowledge it so they’re forced to do something about it. Yeah, you can take photos of me and my-- take photos of us like we’re just meat, or dancing monkeys or something for your amusement -- or you can take photos of people who need to be seen and make people understand what they’re going through. You can actually do something _good.”_ He shook his head. “It’s your choice. But you can choose better than acting like a bunch of vampires.”

 

One of the guys scoffed.

“Buddy, you don’t know the first thing about--”

“The car is here.” Loki said, relief coloring her tone. “Steve, let’s--” She started walking, and they parted their ranks again, allowing her through. She wondered if there was some law about it, if there was something keeping them from being in their way.

She managed not to run-- not that she thought she could-- but she walked calmly and collectedly to the car, content with hoping that Steve was following and that she would at the very least not mess anything up further by lingering, if he wasn’t.

She slid into the car and left the door open behind her, moving all the way across the seat that he could just follow her in, through the closer door for a more ready escape.   
“When we leave, will you please see to it that we aren’t… well. Followed.?” She felt foolish asking, because she could not imagine anywhere safer than the tower. But just the same, she was sure that Stark would appreciate if they did not unleash these men upon his home.

Old news, they had said, and the very petty part of Loki was certain that must rankle him.

“No worries. I’ll take care of you.” The driver said, and Loki realized she hadn’t bothered to learn his name, either. It felt impolite to ask now, after he’d driven them around all evening, though. Perhaps Steve would know. And more, she had other things to worry about at just this moment. More pressing matters than drivers and whether Stark’s pride was wounded by being relegated to the realm of the temporarily uninteresting.

Things like getting them away from these men.

 

Steve followed Loki, and was half-surprised they weren’t accosted, though a barrage of flashes went off as they clambered into the car. Steve mumbled a curse under his breath. He hoped that maybe, he could have got through to at least one of them, but he didn’t hold too much optimism on that front.

The car peeled out into traffic. Steve winced, then reached for his seatbelt. “Will they actually follow us?” he asked.

The driver snorted. “They can try. I might not be Happy Hogan, but I’ve worked for Stark for five years now, and you don’t hold down this gig without learning to shake the paparazzi.”

As if to illustrate, he took a hard left turn, then a right, zig-zagging through cross streets and cutting through an underground parking garage at one point. Steve reached out and took Loki’s hand, partly to reassure her, and partly to distract himself from his own mounting carsickness, when their route finally evened out. He let out a long, deep breath, and grimaced. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I have no idea where they came from.”

“Just let Ms. Potts know when you get back to the Tower,” the driver piped up. “She’s got a whole team for this sort of thing. She’ll get it sorted out.”

Steve forced a smile. “Thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. Sorry you were waiting-- Paps are vultures, man. Here we are...”

They pulled into the underground entrance of the Tower, the driver flashing his permit to the security kiosk as they passed. Deep in the bowels of the building they now lived in, behind Tony’s security failsafes, Steve relaxed a bit. When the car came to a halt, he climbed out and held the door open for Loki.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked the driver.

The man shook his head. “I’m on retainer with Stark Industries. Don’t worry about it, it’s covered.”

All the same, Steve reached into his wallet and pulled out a large bill, handing it over to the man. “At least let me tip you.”

He hesitated, then took the money and gave him a sloppy salute. “Much obliged, Cap. You two have a lovely night, now.”

They’d been dropped off next to the executive elevator, and Steve led the way over, hitting the button and breathing out. “Well. That was an eventful end to the evening,” he said, a touch bitterly. His shoulders sagged.

 

“But only the end.” Loki told him softly, reaching out to rest her hand on his shoulder. “It was a lovely evening… I’m sorry if I. I wasn’t sure what I should do in that situation. I hope I didn’t say anything that will cause problems later.” She very much doubted that she hadn’t, but maybe… maybe by some stroke of luck, they would escape it without issue.

“You were marvelous, though,” she told him, her pride coming through in her voice. “You’re very attractive when you’re angry, and it’s not me you’re upset with.” She grinned suddenly, a tease playing across her lips and sparkling in her eyes as the doors opened with a ding.

She backed into the elevator, her thumbs hooked in the chain around her neck so that the tags were lifted into being prominent.

“I believe, before we were so rudely interrupted, that we were discussing how grateful I am for you, and your token. And the ways that I was going to show you my appreciation.”

She slouched against the back wall of the elevator, contriving to look as sultry as possible.

“We’ve unfinished business to attend to on that front before we begin to worry about idiot men with cameras and loud mouths.” She cringed inwardly, recalling some of their questions and the way they had instantly known her to be an outsider, but pouted at him, reaching out to him.

“Let’s not let the others detain us for too long. I cannot wait to show you what this body looks like outside of some of these clothes, and I cannot wait to get you out of your own, and follow your blush…” She moved in closer to him while she spoke, so that she could take hold of the tie, borrowed as it was, the way she had been wanting to all night. She slid her fingers over the silk slowly and with a wicked look up at him from under her lashes. “I want to taste the heat on your skin all. the. way. down.”

She let the tie fall against his chest, and smoothed it where it lie, before stepping back, with every pretense of propriety.

“So of course, we should let them know we’ve arrived back, and tell them of the complications, but. After that you’re mine.” She managed to sound almost innocent as she said that, and was very pleased with herself for it.

 

Steve swallowed, his anger and bitterness washing away in the rising tide of arousal. Anything and everything that wasn’t _Loki_ abruptly seemed far less important.  
Well, except for one more thing.

“We can tell them in the morning,” he said, voice husky and low. And he _was_ blushing, but his cheeks weren’t the only place that blood was flowing. “I... I have one more surprise for you, actually.”

The bulk of his fretting and work had gone into this, after all. Reservations had been easy enough to acquire, and Pepper had arranged for transit, but this... This had been Steve’s primary brainchild for the last day, with Bruce and Tony pitching in significantly. He cleared his throat. “JARVIS?”

" _Yes, Captain Rogers?”_

“Initiate Homecoming Protocol.”

“ _Certainly.”_

“And when she’s not indisposed, please let Miss Potts know we had a run in with the... the paparazzi.”

“ _Consider it done.”_

Steve exhaled. That was about as much as he wanted to dedicate to that subject for tonight. As for the rest--

The doors dinged open. Steve grinned, then stepped out, taking Loki’s hand and gently pulling her out into the new, freshly-painted corridor, then through a door and into another hall. As soon as the door closed behind her, he leaned in and kissed her, savoring the faint traces of fruit and chocolate clinging to her lips. “Welcome home,” he whispered. “ _Our_ home.”

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To take an online tour of the Met and see all the paintings discussed, you can check out their [website!](http://www.metmuseum.org/about-the-museum/museum-departments/curatorial-departments/european-paintings) You can browse [gallery by gallery](http://www.metmuseum.org/visit/museum-map/galleries/european-paintings/600) and check out the interactive map.


	37. Thirty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh happy day! This chapter is basically just emotions and porn! Also, there is some choking/ breathplay involved. So if that's not your cuppa tea, tread carefully!

Loki felt the air rush out of her like she had been punched.

“...Ours?” She felt stupid, suddenly, all of her seductive posturing abandoned in her surprise.

This was not the floor they had spent the majority of their time on, and she had never quite worked up the nerve to ask if she might see any of the others. She hadn’t wandered much outside of their rooms and shared living areas, in fact, to the point that she’d been nigh on blind to the other numbers in the elevator.

But now--

“This is… it’s all ours? For us?” She asked again, her voice now a reverent whisper. “Home?”

She turned her gaze from where it was trailing along the walls, trying already to memorize the layout, and absorb all of it at once, and looked to Steve.

She could feel the tears welling there, but they were not the frustrated, sad, angry tears that she was accustomed to, nor the tears of guilt that she was learning to expect. No this was.

“Did you…?” She didn’t know what to ask, what to say. So many fragments of questions ran through her head. Her first thought was that the others had tired of them and relegated them here, but she was able, at last, to dismiss that thought; they were going to be helping them more, they had done so much already… this was not how things would have gone, if they had decided they hated her.

“You know you didn’t have to-- I appreciate this, I do, this is wonderful, but I’m. Wherever you are, that’s enough for me, being there. Anywhere that is.”

She wanted to ask if he had wanted the space to themselves for any special reason, or if it was just in case… in case they were noisy, or in case they wanted to have more whipped cream fights. In case Loki did ever feel the need to walk down the hall in the nude.

“Will you show me our new bedroom?” She asked instead, trying to regain her breath and her bearings.

  


Steve smiled so widely his face hurt. Loki seemed stunned. Happy-stunned, from what he could tell. Her eyes were glittering, vivid green refracted by welling tears, but they didn’t seem to be tears of distress. It was the only time Steve hadn’t felt pained by the sight of Loki tearing up.

“It’s not _all_ ours,” he corrected. “There’s several apartments on this floor. Apparently when Tony renovated the tower after the attack, he modified the top few floors under the penthouse to be living areas -- he wanted a potential base of operations for the Avengers, and he’s been harassing Bruce to move into one of the suites here. There’s room enough for the whole team and then some. He and I talked, and he let me pick this one out for me. For _us_ ,” he quickly corrected.

Because this... This was a home for the both of them. With their relationship out in the open with those they lived with, there was no need to pretend they didn’t want to cohabitate. No need to force distance for the sake of appearance -- not here. Tony and Bruce trusted Loki enough now not to object to her leaving the main floor, and Steve was certain enough of his place here to know they were welcome.

“Here, let me show you around,” he said, giving Loki’s hand a squeeze.

A door to the left in the front hallway opened into an empty room, with a small closet attached. “Could be a guest room, or an office. Or an art studio,” Steve suggested with a shrug. Off the right-hand side of the front hall, two more doors led to a hallway closet, and a small bathroom.

The hallway then opened into a main living area, with a large kitchen to the left, all appliances shiny and new, and a living space to the right, with a counter/bar area separating the two. The right wall of the living room was covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, leading out on to a wide balcony overlooking the city. Currently, there were no furnishings or decorations of any kind. “I figure we can pick some stuff out, together. Tony said he’d get us some catalogs to look through to decide what furniture and all we’d like.”

One or two of the other apartments had already been furnished and decorated, but Steve liked the idea of choosing everything themselves. With the end product being a combination of both their tastes, they’d make this place theirs. They’d slowly acquire books and art and hints of 1940 mixed with hints of Asgard, mixing it all together into a place that felt like a real shared home, and not just a nice hotel.

A door on the opposing wall led into the master bedroom. “I did take some liberties with the bedroom,” Steve warned, opening it. Inside, a large bed with a mahogany cannonball frame dominated the room, plush white pillows stacked high and the linens trimmed in sage green and burgundy; it had taken most of Steve’s day, getting the damn thing delivered, moved, put together, and made up, but it was about to be worth it now. A large mirror hung on the wall, and beneath it, a matching set of mahogany dressers, already filled with Steve and Loki’s things, the latter transported down here by Tony and Pepper while Steve and Loki had been out. Two doors lay to the left, one leading into a walk-in closet, the other the master bathroom.

“There isn’t a waterfall or a hot spring in the bath, but I figure we can always renovate that if we need,” Steve said, wrapping an arm gently around Loki. “What do you think?”

  


She couldn’t keep the tears from leaving her eyes now, and they rolled down her cheeks while she looked around at their room-- their home.

“I think-- I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life running away. I didn’t think my life would be even this long, but... I didn’t think I would ever have a home again. Much less _this_ , with _you_.”

She’d done nothing to deserve this level of good things in her life, and yet here it was-- so much of it. So much more than she would have expected.

It was overwhelming, and she laughed and dashed the tears from her cheeks with the sleeves of her sweater, shaking her head.

“That’s silly. Who-- who cries from being happy?” She asked rhetorically, then curled in to throw her arms around Steve’s neck. “I love it.” She told him. “Thank you.”

She kissed him, slow and sweet and grateful. Even this close to him, even with her eyes shut for the kiss, she couldn’t stop her hands moving, mapping him out. Reminding herself of all of the shapes of him, every line and plane that she had already memorized.

She ended the kiss and sighed, then rested her head on his shoulder, uncaring of the way her hair spilled across her face and interfered with her vision.

“You’re so wonderful. Everything about tonight has been so wonderful.” She didn’t put words to her doubts, the question of how she could possibly pay him back, of what she had done to deserve him.

Instead, she let her fingers slide across the slick fabric of his tie again, tracing shapes there that only she could see.

“And you? What do you think of it?” She asked instead, sure that he wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t like it, didn’t want this with her. But just the same… it didn’t hurt to be certain.

Her eye fell on the bed, large and heavy and obviously the focal point of the room, dark and sturdy and solid looking as it was. “And, how do you think that we should christen the bed? You still do that do you not, christenings?” A wry thread of remembered arousal spiraled upwards through her affection. “I can think of a good many things that bed will be perfect for… but what do you want? You have done so much for me tonight. Let me treat you, similarly. Anything you want.” She would never have thought herself comfortable enough to make that offer to anyone. But there was so much she would never have believed, had she been told that this would be her life now.

  


Steve wanted to kiss the tears off her face and make sure she was happy to the point of weeping forever. He gently kissed her back, then stroked her hair as she lay her head against his shoulder, letting his fingers tangle in her curls. Male or female, she still smelled of Loki -- that hint of musk and leather and something crisp and sharp...

“You can’t go back to Asgard,” he murmured, “and I can’t go back to 1945. But I figure... just ‘cause we can’t go back home doesn’t mean we can’t make home somewhere else.” He’d been a little worried that Loki might object to that home being under the same roof as the Avengers. That it would be too much too soon; they’d sped through most of the normal stages of a relationship, or done them out of order, or skipped them altogether -- not that Steve had much past experience to compare it to.

But Loki loved it; and that made it perfect. “If you love it, I love it,” he declared. A lot of the time he felt like he misstepped or misspoke or screwed up in one way or another, but tonight? He was batting a pretty good game. The museum was a hit, the restaurant had been lovely, the dogtags had gone over well.... the men with the cameras had been a brief upset, but the apartment overshadowed all memory of them.

He smiled as she mentioned christenings. “As far as I know, I think we still do...” Though there wouldn’t be much Christian about what they’d likely end up doing. Not that he minded; after the amount of sweat and frustration that had gone into assembling the bed (he should have let the delivery guys put it together, but his pride had outweighed his sense), he was ready to reap the fruits of his labor.

He leaned down and lightly brushed his fingers under Loki’s chin, tilting her head up so he could claim her mouth; softly and tenderly at first, then deeper, with growing fervor. His tongue slid over hers, exploring her mouth and tasting her, and his hands traveled to her shoulders, lightly taking the edges of her sweater and pushing them back, sliding the garment off her shoulders and down her arms. It was a bit bolder than he’d ever been before, and he felt slightly galled at himself, where Loki was presently a _lady,_ but... well, she was still Loki, and they both wanted this. Wanted each other. He couldn’t think right now of any specific act he desired more than just Loki’s skin against his, lips against his, bodies holding, touching, moving, entangling...

“ _You_ ,” he breathed. “I just want you.”

  


Loki responded to the kiss, thrilling at the feeling of being smaller, at the change in angle from their usual positioning. She wondered how much would differ this way; how much she wanted to be different. Wondered when he said “you”, which “you” it was that he wanted.

But at the very least, she wanted him to see the options. To see that he could have her, in any form. He hadn’t asked yet for her to be anything but herself, save for that she maybe be… her other self. And she had been practicing. Attempting to learn that self.

She set the thought aside, the same way she tossed aside her wrapping. She followed it with the belt, taking care to keep her eyes on his face, to watch him watching her as she disrobed, in an attempt to see where his eyes lingered, to see what parts of her he might like. In this form, she didn’t mind being the lesser clothed member.

“I know this is different.” She told him, speaking softly so as to keep it intimate, to maintain the mood. “If you don’t like it, I can change anything you want. I can make myself look as unlike me as you like. You know that it doesn’t matter-- I just… I want you to know you have me, you will always have me, the very core of me. But you can have me however you want me, too.” She knew she was beautiful this way, and it made her feel bolder. Made her willing to suggest to him things that she might not have, otherwise.

She pulled her dress off and moved back in close to him, her skin warm and the fabric of his clothing cold in contrast, but her breasts were soft, and she could push them against him like this, which was oddly satisfying, even from her point of view. More satisfying still was the sight of the ball chain draped between them, and the feel of the cold metal against her skin. She belonged to him, like this apartment belonged to them. She wanted him to touch her, suddenly, wanted him everywhere.

She reached for his hands and guided them up to her chest, to settle on the soft mounds between them.

“If you want me to make them larger, I can. Though I would suggest you take the bra off first.” She told him, turning it into a sultry suggestion.

  


Steve’s hands automatically itched to touch Loki’s exposed and luminous skin, once she peeled off her dress. She was genuinely lovely; all soft curves and arcs, convex and concave, proportioned like an hourglass. And apparently she divined what he wanted, because a moment later she took him by the wrists and pressed him to her body.

Her flesh was like silk under his touch, smooth and giving, and he found himself running his hands over the swell of her breasts, in to her waist, down over her hips then up her back and her chest, back to her shoulders.

He moved backward toward the bed, sitting on it when he hit the mattress with the backs of his thighs, though the box spring had it high enough that even sitting, he wasn’t much shorter than Loki at present. He reached behind her neck and gently unclasped the golden necklace there, letting it slide free into his hand. Leaning up and pulling her down on to his lap, he laid a kiss against her neck, then traced his way up to her jaw. When he reached her ear, he carefully removed the earring there, and then its twin, setting aside the jewelry on the bedside table where it wouldn’t catch or get in the way.

He left the tags, though.

“I like it. I like everything about you,” he said, returning to exploring this version of Loki’s body, aware of how close they were pressed now together. “All of you. Every you. You’re always beautiful.” His hands roved back down, tracing over the delicate fabric of the lingerie, the full curve of each breast. He worked one hand under the cloth, then slid around to undo the clasp in the back, letting the bra fall away as he swallowed hard.

She made one hell of a lady. And he was attracted to her, he was, only...

Only the Loki that kissed him in his dreams was all hard lines and taut planes, not soft curves and full bosoms. The heart, the mind, the clever wit and passion and strength he adored were all there, but there was something off.

“I...” he bit his lip and frowned. “I love you. And you’re beautiful. You’re amazing. But... I’d love to see you... the way you usually are. If that’s something you’re alright with.”

  


She took a step back and kicked her shoes off, frowning slightly, but did as he asked, allowing him to see as the change took shape.

It was always an interesting feeling as parts of her form changed and elongated, shrank and vanished, until he stood there, a small furrow between his brows.

“Of course I am alright with it. I want you to be happy.” He said, puzzled still, and he looked down upon his body. “Only… It is strange to me, that’s all. This body was not made to be beautiful, not the way the other was. Not the way I am, when I’m--” he gestured, miming the curves he had had until recently. But he smoothed the frown from his face.

“I suppose if it makes you happy, that is all that matters, though.” He only wished that Steve was crass enough to let his eyes linger elsewhere, that Loki might have some idea of what he was drawn to when he wasn’t in love with the person inside the body. There was, of course, his drawings of those he had lost, his Bucky, his Peggy… but that seemed like it would be cruel, becoming too close to either. Only a reminder of their loss. And an unwelcome one, at that. Especially at times like this, times when they were so close, when they could fall into bed any moment now. Better that he stay in the skin Steve was familiar with, he supposed.

He stepped in closer, then shuddered as the silky fabric of the underwear that Pepper had helped him to pick out for his other form slid over his hardening erection. The skin was sensitive and the fabric was… honestly, _delightful_. An unintended bonus to changing. Almost unconsciously, he slid his fingers over the waistband, and his other hand came up to trace the shape of Steve’s tags, where they lay on his chest.

He moaned softly.

“I don’t have words to tell you how these feel, on me.” He said, trying to drag Steve’s attention back to the reason he had made them leave the restaurant, the reason they were here, now.

Steve was still dressed, still handsome-- always handsome, but, in his nice clothing he was so strong and beautiful and… Loki was going to undress him, unwrap him like the genuine gift that he was. One button at a time. He was himself now, and he wanted Steve as nude as he was. Perhaps even more so.

“You’ve no idea what it does to me, seeing you like this. On our bed, in our home, with me wearing your token… I have not felt so wanted, ever, in all of my years. And that it should be you who wants _me_ …” He had to stop and swallow. His throat felt tight.

All of this that Steve had done, the perfection that he was and wrought, and all he wanted, all he asked for was Loki, Loki in his skin that was the Alfather’s joke. It felt like too much, and he too little, but he wouldn’t deny Steve what he asked. Not now. Not ever, but particularly not in this moment.

  


Realizing belatedly that he was entirely too dressed, Steve kicked off his shoes as Loki did the same, nudging them under the bed with his foot where they could be forgotten until tomorrow.

The slight shimmer as Loki changed became less disconcerting the more Steve saw it happen, until he didn’t so much as bat an eye as her body changed into his body.

Well, he didn’t bat an eye until _after_ , at least;

Because after, Loki stood there, tall and slim and familiar, naked but for Steve’s tags and the silk underpants that now stretched over a bulge they hadn’t been designed to accommodate. Later, Steve wouldn’t be able to put his finger on why, but his mouth went dry and his heart quickened at the sight. His fingers itched with the wish to touch that silk, to feel it against hard, firm flesh. And when Loki moaned, Steve very nearly echoed the sound. His tie abruptly felt too tight, and he reached up to loosen it, only to yank the whole thing off and toss it aside.

And yet, for as incredibly arousing a vision as Loki made, something he’d said struck a dissonant note in Steve’s mind, and he frowned.

“C’mere,” he invited, holding a hand out to pull Loki up on to the bed, swinging his own legs and stocking feet up so he could kneel on it, knees sinking into the plush, down duvet. With Loki kneeling opposite him, Steve reached up and caressed the side of his face.

“‘If it makes me happy’ is not the only thing that matters, okay?” he said, looking at Loki, not with anger, but concern. “I want you to be happy. If you’d rather be a gal, well, I like you no matter what. If you’re happier that way and wanna do it that way _for you,_ then I’m all right with that.” Steve hadn’t had sex with a woman and would require some more coaching, of course, but he didn’t doubt Loki’s teaching skills. That wasn’t the issue, and neither was his attraction to the female form. Or Loki’s female form in particular.

“What I don’t want is for you to feel like you have to change into something or someone that feels like... like a costume or, or _not you,_ just because you think you need to for me to find you appealing. Because honestly, this you? This form?” He gestured to all of him, swallowing hard when his eyes traced over the silk and lace at his groin. “ _This_ is the guy I fell in love with. You don’t have to... have to be ‘made to be beautiful,’ okay? ‘Cause you already are. Hell, I wanted you before I could even wrap my head around the idea of wanting you. Or even admitting that part of myself.” His fingers traced back from Loki’s cheek to his temple, into his hair, which was shorter now, but retained much of the wild curling of his locks earlier in the evening.

“You’re the most handsome guy I’ve ever met. So don’t think you gotta change how you look for me, because you don’t. If you want to for you, that’s fine, I’ll still love you no matter what. But... I want to know you love yourself too.”

  


Loki felt like he could not get air into his lungs, felt that his chest was too tight and his throat blocked by tears that were rising again at Steve’s words.

He turned his head to the side, ashamed all over again. Ashamed of his body, of his reactions to Steve’s words, ashamed that he was so self possessed as to make Steve feel that he should have to comfort him, when he was meant to be giving him pleasure akin to what Loki felt, being with him, being around him. But he’d made his promise not to lie. He’d been honest with Steve. And he felt as though he needed to be honest now, despite the failure that it made him feel.

“I don’t. I don’t think myself capable of it.” He confided. “There is no skin that doesn’t seem a costume, no form that does not now feel wrong in some way. Or… not wrong. But not enough.” He laughed sharply and looked back at his partner, the pain on his face as naked as he was.

“I have never been enough, and I doubt I ever will be.” He said it frankly, matter of fact and casual, like the simple truth that it was. And then, because he had already ruined the jovial mood, ruined the celebration of their love and their night and their home, he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter though. It is a feeling I am accustomed to. I have felt it for so long now, I cannot remember a time living without that pain, that… discomfort. Knowing why was more recent. But understanding does not better it. Only time will do that, and I have already had so long… I am fine. I will be fine.” There was the word, _that word_ again.

“Really, it does not matter. All of my forms feel equally… well.” He glanced down at himself, seeing only sallow skin and gauntness, where Steve was strong and whole and warm. “You make me happy, in a way I cannot make myself happy. When I am with you, I can ignore… I can accept… so it is what you prefer. It is you who has to look at me. I only have to look out of my eyes. The rest of the time… maybe I will be able to learn to ignore what lies outside of my mind.” But he was vain, even despite his… inadequacies. Or perhaps because of them.

“The only way in which I will ever love myself, Steve, is loving whatever it is that made you love me. No matter how poorly I feel suited to loving you. I still do. I still want to. And I will try, I will always try--” here his voice caught again but he forced himself to speak through it, though the tears were again unable to be contained. “I will try to be worthy of you.”

  


Steve felt his own throat growing tight. Part of him wanted to hug Loki and hold him and smother him with love until he couldn’t conceive of anything else, and part of him wanted to grab him and shake him to rattle free those toxic ideas about himself he seemed to cling to.

“You’re enough,” he said, roughly. He reached out and placed both hands on Loki’s shoulders, giving him a very slight shake so Loki would look back up at him. “You are _more_ than enough. You’re...” He trailed off in frustration, trying to find the words.

“I was born and raised in New York. It’s always been home. But after I got unfrozen, there was... it was like, even with millions more people in the city, it was somehow empty. There was this great big hole missing, of all the stuff that had made it feel like home.” He shook his head, recalling that disconnect -- the nagging feeling that he knew this borough, but was lost in it all the same, or the moments of deja vu and familiarity that vanished into the cold realization that the scene he was recalling was seventy years old. “After a while, it started to make me nuts. That’s why I let Fury talk me into relocating to Washington; it wasn’t home, and it never had been, so I wouldn’t keep wanting for it to be.”

It was why leaving behind his place in DC had been relatively easy. It was just a place to live; just like Camp Lehigh or any of the various bunkers and barracks he’d lived in. They’d been a home base of sorts, but nothing more.

“But now? I’m back in New York, and...” he licked his lips. “It feels like home again. The hole’s all filled in. Maybe not in the same way it used to be, sure, but it’s good all the same. And it’s because I’ve got friends and I’ve got _you,_ and being here with you? Being _us?_ That’s home. You gave me that back, apartment or no.”

He needed Loki to understand that this wasn’t one-sided. That he wasn’t in Steve’s debt; that he’d paid him back twice over in ways he didn’t even know. That he’d anchored him, given him a purpose and a friend and a lover and a partner and everything he thought he’d lost to time forever. That he was everything Steve wanted. But he worried that the words, no matter how many times he said them, wouldn’t sink in and have the needed effect. If only he could make him _see_...

See.

Steve blinked, pulling back. “I... I wanna show you something,” he began, cautiously, the seed of an idea germinating in his mind. “Do you trust me?” He began to reach for his shirt buttons, undoing the top and working his way down.

  


Loki sniffled, hating himself for the way his body chose to react to all that he was feeling. What had happened to him? He used to be able to hide it so well, to keep his face blank and his mind… his mind was anything but serene, but no one used to be able to tell.

He thought it was _because_ he trusted Steve. Because he didn’t want to hide from him.

“Of course I trust you, Astin min. I love you-- only.” He took a deep breath, remembering the last time Steve had asked that of him. “Only don’t ask me to become Jotun right this moment, if you please. That’s… beyond the scope of what I am prepared for right now. I know-- I’ve been trying. Trying to become comfortable like that for you, but it will take me more time…” He trailed off. He remembered what Steve had told him after his dream, the word he had assigned to mean that Loki was shattering under the strain of his demands. But he didn’t want to use it.

He didn’t want to deny him that, if that was what he was after. He’d done so much, and he was here now, though Loki had… had ruined this, somehow. And all he asked for was trust, and Loki was scared.

“I don’t want to damage all this that you have worked so hard on. Damage our home.” The concept was so important to them both, the idea of this being home, of _having_ a home. Of them being home for one another. The idea of him wrecking it, ruining any part of it… he felt like he was being manipulative, though, and stopped himself before he could take it further.

It was a horrible thought, but one that paled as he imagined the look of disappointment that might come to Steve’s face.

“But if. If that is what you want to show me…” He’d been facing himself as often as he could. If Steve wanted to look on, observe his humiliation, his disgust… He would let him.

Because Steve was undressing himself. And Loki realized with a start that the idea had never crossed his mind that Steve may mean to show Loki something about him, that Steve might attempt to point out some imagined flaw in _his_ being.

But that was ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with Steve. Loki might be self centered, might be biased and the most nonobjective opinion in the world, but there was nothing that Steve could remove his clothing to show him that would change his mind about his own body. If anything he could only make matters worse by giving Loki the sight for comparison. But he would humor him. Let him think that Loki’s self loathing was abated by whatever it was. He’d not speak of it again, he could-- he could hide his fear of disappointing, his feelings of inadequacy. Steve didn’t like them. That should be enough cause for it.

Loki licked his lips.

“I trust you. Tell me what you want. Anything.” He repeated his offer from before, less certain of it now, but still with every intention of fulfilling the promise.

  


Steve winced, remembering the time in the cell, when he’d pushed Loki to change, and had made the wrong call. He didn’t think Loki would actually lose control or was in the frame of mind to cause harm to him or anything in the room. But that wasn’t the point; the point was that this needed to be a _good_ night.

“I won’t,” he promised. “I-- I think you’re gorgeous like that too,” he clarified. “But I won’t push. If someday you’re ready, let me know. But that’s your call to make.” He knew it had been traumatic enough before, and he didn’t want to hurt Loki or force him to associate anything more negative with that form than he already had. He meant what he’d said on the park bench after Loki’s nightmare that night in Pennsylvania; he’d crossed a line before, and he cared more about Loki feeling comfortable and safe than he did about Loki’s form.

“That said...” He finished undoing the buttons and shucked his shirt, letting it fall haphazardly to the floor, then reached out and tucked Loki’s hair behind his ear. “Remember. If I do make you uncomfortable, or... or I ask too much or push too hard... say ‘cinnamon.’”

It was their failsafe. A quick and easy word, with meaning for the both of them, that would take them back to someplace secure in an instant. And Steve hoped they wouldn’t need it for what he was about to ask, about to try, but better that they remembered the option just in case.

Pulling back again, he reached down to pull off his socks, then began undoing the buckle of his belt. He licked his lips nervously, but when he spoke, his voice managed to emerge with some semblance of command -- firm and low and even:

“I need you to kneel over near the edge of the bed, facing the mirror.”

As he waited for Loki to position himself, Steve pulled off his belt and trousers, leaving him in his undershirt and boxer-briefs. Not as naked as Loki -- not a distraction or something to compare to -- but hopefully not so much less naked that Loki would feel vulnerable. Stripped sufficiently down, he moved to kneel directly behind Loki, chest flush to Loki’s back, able to look at their reflection over Loki’s shoulder.

  


Loki did as he’d been bid, though he kept his eyes averted. His mind whirled in attempts to think of what Steve might intend, and he felt awful about how easily he could imagine this turning to cruelty, though he knew in his heart that Steve didn’t-- wouldn’t--

He took a deep breath and tried to push those thoughts away, tried to relax, though he felt awful and ugly for the way he’d spoken carelessly and destroyed everything. His erection had wilted in the soft fabric of the panties and there was no safe place for him to look. His body lay beneath him and before him was a mirror with yet more of him.

But maybe that was Steve’s intent, that he should be unable to look away from himself, forced to see himself. It was reassuring that he would not be forced to see himself as a monster right now; he could barely face this skin. That would be too much, while he felt this raw, this vulnerable and this close to being overwhelmed.

He knew what he looked like. But Steve was sweet, and kind, and cared for him. He trusted him. And even if it didn’t help… he could let him think it had. He wouldn’t bring it up again. The look that such words brought to Steve’s face was devastating. He wouldn’t do this again.

Not after tonight.

Steve was warm and solid at his back and he found himself leaning into him.

“I’m sorry.” He told him. “You don’t have to-- I know that you love me. We can just go back to--I just want you to be happy, want to make you feel good.” He bit down on his lip and lifted his eyes, seeking to meet Steve’s in the mirror. But the process of raising his gaze meant that he could see, there in stark contrast on his chest, Steve’s tags, the tokens of how very much he loved him.

Loki thought that was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen on himself, and he found himself staring, uncaring about the size and relative lack of muscles on the chest below them, uncaring of how pale he looked, so bright in the darkness, like the eyes of some dead thing.

Perhaps not so uncaring, but he could shove that knowledge aside. Steve’s tags meant that he loved him. That was all that he could ever want, all that he never would have known to ask for. And the way his emotions were swinging so wildly, back and forth between love and gratitude and horror and loathing… it left him reeling under the weight of it all.

He was glad for Steve’s presence behind him. It was steadying. _He_ was steadying.

  


Loki was beautiful.

Like this, Steve could see him and feel him all at once -- the warmth of his skin and the length of his body, the gentle arch of the back of his neck, as well as his face and chest and thighs. Reaching around, Steve looped his arms around Loki’s waist, pulling his close and then kissing the flesh along the top of his shoulder. “Don’t be sorry,” he told him, nuzzling the back of Loki’s neck. “You’re perfect.”

And he was. God, he was. Everything was perfect and Steve felt a strange peace, unlike anything he could remember.

“I need you to look and see how beautiful you are,” he rumbled, voice pitched low and quiet. “Remember how I drew you? You’re all long and subtle lines...” he let his hands trace those lines, up Loki’s abdomen, over his chest and back down his sides. “Just enough muscle. Graceful, sleek... like a dancer or a fencer. Something beautiful and quick.”

His hands found Loki’s hips, and he peered over Loki’s shoulder to watch his own thumbs exploring the grooves of Loki’s groin muscles, down to the hem of his lace panties. “Slim and lovely and strong... like, um. Like a Toledo steel rapier,” he said abruptly, pulling forward the first appropriate simile to come to mind. Loki was like the delicately-wrought swords from the swashbuckling Errol Flynn movies he and Bucky sometimes snuck in to see -- “Lighter and sleeker than iron, but much more flexible and more tempered. The steel’s been through more, folded in the fire over and over, and it only makes it stronger. Brighter.”

One hand reached up to lie flat over Loki’s heart, so Steve could feel it beating under his palm. “You’re like Apollo,” he murmured, watching Loki’s reflection and taking in every subtle change of expression. “You’re... you’re a work of art....”

The other hand ventured lower, caressing the line of Loki’s bulge through the silk. Steve could feel his own heart rate picking up, the feel of the cloth beneath his fingers almost electric. “You’re so beautiful like this. So good,” he breathed.

  


His breath caught, the combined sensations of Steve’s hands on him and his words in his ears pulling him in a thousand different directions.

His body responded to Steve; it always had and it always would, and the tease of his fingers so gentle across his body and his breath against the side of his face, his lips on his shoulder… it was all good, good like Steve was good. It felt good, it made him feel good…

But the bald honesty in Steve’s words, the way he spoke, with the same sort of awe and appreciation that he had spoken of the paintings that he so looked up to… it squeezed at his chest, because Steve would never lie to him. But Steve’s truths were so similar to the lies Loki had spent so long trying to tell himself and failing to convince himself of…

He tried. He tried looking at himself the way Steve wanted him to. Not objectively, but through Steve’s eyes, while Steve’s words lapped against the loathing he harbored at the center of his being. They were trying to wear away at it, like water against stone, and he didn’t rightly know if it was working. All he knew was that when he watched his eyes focused on Steve’s hands, on the way Steve was touching him. The way he mapped out lines and all but drew Loki, on Loki’s own skin.

When Steve rested his hand over his heart, he brought his own hands to fold over it, catching the tags up between them, to hold it all in place while he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see, didn’t want to look at himself, not when Steve was so near. He’d rather be staring at him. As would anyone with any sense. He didn’t want to be faced with the contrast of them. With yet more proof of how little he fit in this role, in this relationship. Steve was everything and he was so very little, now. Nothing. Loki who had no crown, no family, Loki of nowhere, god of nothing. Perfect, he called him. Loki was inclined to agree. A perfect disaster, a perfect tragedy.

But Steve believed this of him, believed him to be beautiful and good, perfect. Like art. Loki took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs as Steve’s hand moved lower, and his breath hitched at the feeling of his palm, warm and strong, rubbing over him through the fabric. It felt so strange, so good, almost intoxicating. The touch was like a balm against the confusion and conflict that his words brought on, and Loki could not help but open his eyes, drawn first to the image of Steve’s hand on him, petting him through the silken underthings, before he let his look move upwards, to take in Steve’s face.

And what he saw there was a blow to his perceptions of himself, because Steve _liked_ this. Was genuinely aroused by his body, by him. Loki shivered, feeling powerful and desirable, and not sure why. But who was he to argue? Especially with the way his own cock was responding to Steve’s stroking.

“I love you.” He told him suddenly, the words no less true for how they spilled from him unexpectedly. “I could say it every moment of the rest of my life and never have said it enough. I love you, Steve. Astin min, my darling.” It was a warm bubble growing in him, pushing aside the hurt and the cold. He loved him. And it was a love returned. It was the closest thing to perfect he had ever felt. And it was as he’d said… all of the beauty he saw in himself were the parts of him that Steve loved. It just seemed that he had not been fully receptive to how much of him Steve was capable of loving.

  


“I love _you_ ,” Steve echoed, rising up on his knees so he could lean over Loki’s shoulder and, somewhat awkwardly, catch his mouth in a kiss. “I love every part of you,” he continued, sliding back to his previous position and gently nudging Loki to urge him to keep looking at himself.

“I love your hands; the length and shape of your fingers and how nimble they are, and how you move them when you’re manipulating krellr, or when you’re using seidhr,” he explained, taking the hand Loki had placed over his and lifting it to his mouth so he could press a kiss to his knuckles. “I love your build. I love the shape of you, tall and lean and strong...” He let go of Loki’s hand to knead his shoulder, nibbling lightly at the flesh there, teasing with his teeth. “I love your shoulders, and your chest, and your muscles and your hips,” he groaned, pressing his whole body against Loki’s back, his own cock growing harder within his briefs.

“I love your legs and how they go on forever. How damn elegant you look. I love the way you move...” He rolled his hips slightly, relishing the feeling of friction between their bodies and increasing his grip with his other hand, the one cupping Loki’s cock. “I love... Mmm.” He dragged his fingers over the silk. “I love your voice. The way you can be all commanding and threatening or all seductive, or gentle and sweet or just pensive. How everything you say, you manage to make sound like poetry.”

His other hand he dragged over Loki’s chest, watching in the mirror as various muscles tightened or relaxed, the subtle movements as Loki’s body responded to his ministrations, all reflected there for Steve to see and drink in. He almost seemed to glow, like the figures in the paintings -- luminous and more alive than reality. “I love your skin,” he continued, swallowing hard. His fingers found Loki’s nipple and he began lightly massaging it, recalling how responsive Loki had been to that before. “You’re like porcelain. Or ivory. Smooth and pale and... and you know how I wake up in the night?” His other hand teased at the hem of Loki’s underwear. “I look over at you, and the way the moonlight pours over you, you’re radiant. I’m almost afraid to touch you, like you’ll disappear and it’ll all be a dream, ‘cept you’re warm when I do and solid and _still here...”_

His mouth found the side of Loki’s throat and he stopped talking for long enough to kiss the skin there, sucking on it just hard enough to leave a mark while simultaneously giving the hardened nub of Loki’s nipple a slight twist. Looking up into the mirror through his lashes, Steve watched the product of his handiwork.

  


Loki’s breathing was going shallow, and he leaned into Steve’s touches, delighted by them, but wanting more, needing more.

Needing to move, to do something.

The tiny pains he inflicted, the suction on his neck and the pressure on his nipple, were enough to tease. The pressure of his hand through the silk was _so_ good.

It wasn’t even about the mirror now.

“Can I-- I just want to hold you back, to touch you.” He didn’t want Steve to think that he didn’t appreciate this, didn’t understand what it was he was doing, but… “As much as you enjoy looking at me… I love that you love me. I do. But I’m not in love with me. I’m in love with you, and all I want now is you. I want you and the love that you have for me, and the love I have for you and I want…” He gestured with his hands, his mind not up to making the words, his motions entirely too vague.

He reached up and back, curling backwards so that he could pull his body taut and run his fingers through the hair on the back of Steve’s head. If Steve loved the lines of him, Loki could work with that, could make them more.

“I love your arms. I love how safe I can feel in them. I love your face, the way you smile when you’re pleased or proud, and even the way you smile when you’re sad. I love. I love your lips. How kissing you feels like apologizing and thanking you and telling you how wonderful you are, every time. I love how happy you make me and how you make me feel like… I. I know you don’t like it when I’m. When I feel poorly about myself. But… I don’t either. It’s… I’m getting better. You’re making me better, making me want to _be_ better. I want to be someone who is everything that you deserve. And. And I know that takes time. That’s fine. It can. But Steve,” He took a deep breath and turned as much as he could, trying to face him without upsetting their balance. “If I don’t get my hands on you now, I think I might just… shake all to pieces.” He tried to smile, though the strain that the lust put in his voice, he imagined, only made the attempt into something borderline comedic.

“I want to kiss and lick and suck and tease every inch of you, every part of you that I love. Which is all of you. And I can’t do that with my back you you.” He lowered his voice. “I want to rub this silky cloth all over your cock. Can you imagine how that will feel? You and I, both hard, and that between, and the way it will slide…” Steve liked his body, his voice, his words, Loki would use every part of himself to show Steve how much he loved him. And neither of them could dislike something that was making them happy, right?

  


Steve groaned. When Loki arched over backward and twisted, the view was sublime. The new angles formed by his turning ribcage, the rippling interplay of muscles beneath his skin--

He shifted his hips, trying to reposition himself without the use of his hands, so the bulge in his underwear lined up with the cleft of Loki’s backside. Loki’s fingers in his hair felt good, and for a moment, Steve almost relented. He wanted all those things -- Loki’s silken underwear against him in all the most intimate places, Loki’s mouth against his body, Loki...

But there was something else he also wanted. Something he wanted -- needed -- to give Loki. He grabbed his lover’s jaw and kissed him deeply, letting their tongues roll against one another and then dragging his teeth over Loki’s lower lip as he pulled away. Then his arm snaked down and wrapped across Loki’s chest, pulling him back so he was flush against Steve once again, supported and held in place by Steve’s grip. “Not yet,” he managed, hoarsely, voice rough with lust. “Soon. But...”

He rolled his hips again, rutting into Loki with an aborted breath. In the mirror, Loki’s pale body was taut and lovely, almost laying backward into Steve. “But first, I need you to see something.”

Deftly, he slid his fingers into Loki’s underwear, slipping under the silk to take hold of the hot and hardened flesh within. “I love this too,” he whispered, rubbing a thumb over the slit and spreading the pre-cum that began to bead there. “I love the way you feel. The sounds you make...” He tugged downward to free Loki’s cock from the confines of the silk, sliding the fabric down so it would rub against the tender flesh of his balls, before taking Loki back in hand. “I love...” He paused, breathing heavily. “I love how strong you are. How powerful you are and how easily you could probably break me, only you don’t. I love how... how gentle and careful you are....” In truth, he wouldn’t mind so much if Loki were a bit less gentle. But he loved him for it anyway.

He began to stroke Loki, spitting in his hand for lubricant and carefully rolling back the foreskin to expose the rosy, velvety head of him. “You’re so... You’re so gorgeous,” he murmured, moving his hand up and down, while still keeping a firm hold across Loki’s chest with his other arm. “I need you to see yourself. I want you to see how beautiful you look when you come...”

He might have been self-conscious uttering those words in any of their other lovemaking, but he’d worked into a pattern of speech and praise and florid declarations of love. It fell naturally from his lips now, where it may not have before -- and god, did he want to see it, and watch Loki take in how incredible he was when his climax hit.

“So amazing, Loki,” he murmured, kissing Loki’s ear and letting his hand pick up speed. “I’ve got you.” If Loki was indeed going to shake to pieces, then Steve would hold him tight and put him back together.

  


The elastic of the underwear was tight against his balls and he couldn’t help but moan, not bothering to keep the sound down. He couldn’t be bothered.

Steve was so hot and hard against him and he was pressed so fully against Loki’s back that he didn’t think he could get his hand in between them, and he didn’t think, even if he could touch him, that he had the dexterity to do much at this angle.

“Steve.” It was a whine, and he didn’t want to come, he didn’t want to watch himself come, he wanted Steve to, wanted to make _him_ come, wanted to see him finish, with his lips open and his breath coming heavy and the color high on his face and spilling down his neck.

Loki would never live up to that. He couldn’t. And now, watching Steve’s hand on him, he was stuck. Because he loved Steve’s hands. He had nothing in particular against his cock; it felt good, it was capable of making others-- making _Steve_ feel good. And this felt good, but he didn’t--

 _He_ was not arousing. To himself. He was something that he could accept as useful as a tool, as something to-- he could gain pleasure with his body, could gain joy from making Steve feel pleasure, but Steve was… what was he getting out of this? He liked the way Loki looked, but if Loki disappointed him, what would-- if Loki couldn’t make himself come this way, would he be disappointed?

Loki shifted his eyes away from where Steve’s hand was working on him, tilted his head back against Steve’s shoulder so that his face turned up towards the ceiling. This way he could just feel, didn’t have to look at himself, didn’t have to feel that distance between his eyes and the reflection that he knew was his.

He thrust his hips into Steve’s hand, groaning raggedly.

Steve wanted him to look. He wanted Loki to see what he looked like, was willing Loki to see what it was Steve saw in him, what he loved about him, with every ounce of willpower that he had. And Loki was ungrateful.

He shook now, muscles clenching from Steve’s attentions, and he wanted to squeeze his eyelids together until the pricking feeling he felt under them manifested itself as tears, so that at least one of the pressures inside of him would find relief.

But his body’s arousal was coiling ever tighter in him, knotting itself up, and Loki gasped. There was a pressure building in his mind as well, and one in his chest, pressures that were understanding and loathing circling one another and he couldn’t begin to make sense of it, because what Steve was doing to him was madness. It was driving him mad, making him unable to think.

All that he wanted was to come now, wanted to stop caring, to stop having feelings about himself, and come. He reached up, hands pressing into Steve’s arm across his chest, wordlessly begging him to hold him tighter. He wanted to feel his ribs creak, so they didn’t feel like they would fly outwards when whatever his heart was trying to make sense of came to its conclusion. He wanted to wrap himself in Steve, and never have to see or be anything else outside of him again.

Feeling his end coming close, he leveled his head, opened his eyes and looked straight into his own face in the mirror, challenging, aroused and almost annoyed. Like he was daring himself to ruin this.

But it was just his face, no different than ever. Thin lips gone thinner, pressed together as they were, his nose flaring as he exhaled. He was clinging to Steve like he might fall without him, and he looked like an idiot.

But he was so close. He met Steve’s eye in the mirror and his annoyance, his anger, his pain, it all fell away. He could see, though he did not want to, see the way his face softened and the way he looked at Steve.

“Steve, I--” he had no words left, nothing that he could give. Not held this way. “Please Steve, I--” he could see the distress on his face too, and he could see, suddenly, how similar that really did make him look to some of the images from the museum.

“I’m going to, Steve--” Steve was so hard behind him now and tilting his hips forward and back brought him friction, friction between his legs and friction behind him, and he could see, in the mirror, Steve’s face, see him reacting. But that wasn’t what he was meant to be looking at and he could feel it coming so close now. He had to fight to keep his eyes open, fight to aim his face in the correct direction as he let go, let himself spill over the warm blunt fingers of Steve’s hand.

He heard a sound like a sob and bent at the waist, doubling over Steve’s arm and making him lean over his back, Loki’s hand coming down to brace against the bed lest they topple off.

He’d done it. He’d seen what Steve wanted to show him. He wasn’t sure he understood yet, but he… would have to think on it. When he could think again.

  


Steve held Loki tight, babbling whispered praises into his ear as he felt the tension in his body mount. Felt Loki’s muscles coil, felt the tremors running through him, felt the rapid rise and fall of his chest under Steve’s arm and the fluttering of his heart. His hips had begun to rock, and Steve moved with him, their bodies undulating in tandem, pressed so wonderfully close together. The flush that crept across Loki’s skin, the way his face contorted, the brightness in his eyes--

Steve tried to commit it all to memory so he could hold on to it forever. Hold on to Loki forever.

_So beautiful..._

“I love you,” he growled, “I love you so much, so, so much...”

As Loki begged, Steve picked up the speed and intensity of his strokes, smearing more of the leaking fluid along the shaft, pressing his fingers in a now-familiar way to the spot beneath the head. “I love you. I’ve got you.” Steve’s own eyes were dark with arousal, his cock hard where it lay pinned between their bodies. But none of it mattered but Loki -- Loki, looking like a piece of baroque art, looking like a muse, like a vision, like...

Like a god.

His body bent like a bow, and then Steve felt the shudder all the way through to his own spine as Loki came, spilling hot on Steve’s hand as he slowed his strokes, pulling Loki through his orgasm. In the mirror, he could see his face, and the moment he came utterly undone; open and vulnerable and raw and so very, very perfect.

Then Loki doubled over, pulling Steve with him, folding up with a small sound of distress.

“Shhhh,” Steve gently hushed, still holding him, gently kissing Loki’s hair. “I love you. That was so good. You’re so wonderful, Loki. You look so beautiful,” he whispered. “Thank you. Thank you. I’ve got you. Here...” He leaned heavily to the side, arm still wrapped around Loki, pulling him over and down so they fell over sideways on to the bed, lying on their sides with Steve still pressed fully against him. He could feel every shiver and aftershock running through Loki, and for a horrible moment, he wondered if he’d pushed too hard again. If it had been too much. Loki hadn’t said cinnamon, hadn’t said stop, but it had been... intense. And he’d looked so very incredibly ruined at the end.

“I know it might be hard for you to see it,” he said softly after several seconds had passed, breathing against Loki’s neck. “But to me, you’re perfect. And I hope... I hope someday you love yourself even a fraction of the amount I love you. Because...” He squirmed, cock still hard, but not demanding too much attention, wrapping a leg around Loki’s calf to intertwine them further, to protectively entangle himself with Loki as much as he could, “because you deserve love.”

  


In the same way that some orgasms were triggered by a key defining moment, one small final thing to put you over the edge, that last was all it took for Loki. He’d gone through so many ups and downs, delight and wonder and surprise and fear and pride and shame… loathing and pleasure and confusion, and that was the last of it. He turned around and buried his face in Steve’s chest or shoulder-- he couldn’t tell and didn’t know that it mattered.

He felt wrung so emotionally raw, he didn’t know what he was meant to do or say. He just lay there, safe in his bed with his partner, safe in his arms in their home, and he cried. He cried for all the times he should have, but was too proud, too afraid, for all the times he needed to but couldn’t. For all the times that he had turned aside his feelings to do what he wanted to, needed to-- There was something cleansing about this, something that felt like it was lightening his load, and yet.

Yet this had been a night for _them_. He’d lured Steve home with the promise of doting on him, and right now, Loki didn’t know that he had the energy to raise his head. His sobs had slowed and he felt the odd sort of empty peace that always followed in their wake, but he felt horrible, too. Because even once he could accept that he deserved love, he would still have to acknowledge that Steve deserved far better than he could give. And he knew that saying so, saying anything like it, would only lead to something else, some other thing where Steve felt that he needed to protect and help him.

Loki wished there were something he could do for Steve that wouldn’t feel like too much, right now, wished, for just this moment, that Steve were one of his partners of the past, satisfied to take what they needed from him with little enough effort on his part.

But that was a shallow, stupid, selfish wish. And one he did not truly mean.

He took another few moments to compose himself, then moved backwards a bit, enough that he could look up at Steve-- and down at him.

“After all of that,” He said, wincing slightly at the roughness of his voice following his tears, “Not only did I neglect you, but now I have managed to soak through your shirt as well.”

His attempt at disparaging humor was capped off with a wavering smile, and he hoped-- just this once, he hoped that he would be allowed not to speak of it. He didn’t quite know what he thought, yet.

His one saving grace, as near as he could tell, was the fact that Steve did not seem to have found his own completion.

He stroked slow fingers up and down Steve’s chest.

“Will you let me see to you now? Can I care for you, touch you, make you feel as wonderfully as you’ve made me feel?”

  


He hadn’t expected Loki to cry. But at the same time, Steve realized, he wasn’t wholly surprised; he didn’t feel panic or horror, in the way he would if he’d been truly caught off guard. He’d laid Loki bare and made him look, after all. He’d pushed and he’d pulled and he’d gone after Loki’s demons with impassioned ferocity.

Guilt crept up his spine, but he couldn’t take it back now. All he could do was hold Loki, and let him cry it out, rubbing light circles over his back and keeping his embrace firm and close.

He breathed deeply and slowly as Loki sobbed, hoping that this wasn’t so much the pain of a fresh wound, as the ache of an old infection finally cleaned and debrided so it could heal. Lord only knew Loki had been wounded enough, over and over in his lifetime.

It was Steve’s job to help him heal; whether he was giving him krellr or simply holding him. This was his place. His mission.

Finally, Loki’s breathing began to even out, the sobs abating and his frame relaxing in Steve’s arms. When he pulled back, Steve let him go, releasing his hold and smiling carefully at Loki, reaching up to thumb away a small track of moisture remaining on his cheek.

Part of him wanted to object -- to point out that he didn’t need to be brought off, that Loki didn’t owe him anything, and they could just rest if he wanted. But after all that... Steve suspected Loki needed some control back, just as Steve often needed to relinquish it. He reached down and grabbed the hem of his undershirt, yanking it up over his head and tossing it aside. “There. Wet shirt problem solved,” he announced, grinning up at Loki. Loki was smiling, and didn’t seem to be too upset with Steve -- not the way he had after the incident in the cell with his change -- so that boded well, and Steve was willing to give him whatever he wanted or needed to keep him happy and soothe away the tears.

He squirmed slightly as Loki ran his hands up Steve’s chest, then captured one of those long and delicate hands and brought it to his lips so he could kiss those talented fingers he’d declared his love for. “Whatever you want. Anything you want. Just tell me.”

  


Loki hesitated, mindful of how uneven he felt, how… compromised. But then, they had been close enough to it before, with Steve’s prick pressed against his ass through their respective undergarments.

And the undergarments were an unexpected bonus, a good surprise, but for all that he had spoken earlier of the potential of their use in aiding in making something they had already done more interesting, he thought that maybe, just maybe, given what today had been for, what it had entailed… maybe he could risk suggesting something different.

It wouldn’t be difficult. It had been some time, but he did have tricks for preparation, for cleaning and stretching, and he did have the salve for lubrication. And he wanted Steve, wanted to give that to him, to let him feel that. He could make it so good for them both.

“I want you to feel so good, pet. I want-- earlier, when you were behind me, I couldn’t stop thinking about-- would you like-- and if it is too soon for you, I understand completely, but. Would you like to be… inside of me?” He felt like he was misstepping, even as he said it, but the words were there, poised on the tip of his tongue. And saying them did not hurt, would do no real harm. If nothing else it would get Steve thinking of it, considering the option.

“I don’t want you to feel as if. You do not owe me anything either, but I thought, since today has been full of so many meaningful things. Someday soon, I would love to have you feel-- if you think my throat is tight and good, you’ve no idea what else I have to give, what new wonders I can show you.”

He sat up and moved in closer.

“You could take these panties off of me, and I can make myself ready for you… or I can do as I said before, rut against you and bring us both to completion, my hardness through the silk against your skin. Or I could suck you. Or, if you’d like, we might try what I had suggested before. I could make myself invisible, and you would not see me, would not know where I was coming from, where I would touch you next.”

Honestly, after what they had just done, being invisible sounded amazingly tempting. Though he thought Steve might object to it for the same reasons he liked the proposal.

“Or I could give you another blindfold, if you enjoyed that. Only tell me, how do you want me to give you this, how can I love you tonight that will make your day as… as wonderful as mine has been?”

Even if he wasn’t sure how he felt about that last part, it had been a good day, a wonderful one. And if nothing else, what Steve had done for him made him all too eager to please.

  


Steve’s mind went blank, his breath hitching. _God._

He wanted... all of it. The blindfold and the hands and the silk and the touching and kissing and holding and rubbing and _everything_ , so long as it was Loki, Loki’s body and his and the rest of the world would just melt away, because their two forms and this bed assembled by the strength of his own two hands were all that mattered now.

“Already wonderful,” he murmured, leaning into Loki. “Everything is already perfect. But I...”

The full implications of Loki’s suggestion, for Steve to take him, to be _inside_ him, were sinking in, beyond just the immediate response of arousal. Steve frowned, biting his lip. “I.. I’d like that. But, um.”

But _he didn’t know what he was doing_. So far, every advance, every new exploration and step forward in their intimacy, had been led by Loki, with Steve adopting the passive, receptive role. Loki had held him and their cocks in hand the first time they made love; Loki had been the first to take him in his mouth. And Steve had just assumed, that when they reached this point, Loki would be the one to show him how it was meant to feel.

He himself had only the most minimal anatomical understanding of how the parts fit together in this. It hadn’t been something he’d thought of much; until recently, just the thought of _kissing_ another man had been in the realm of fantasy and impossible daydreams. He wouldn’t know what he was doing -- wouldn’t know what hurt or felt good, wouldn’t know how to bring Loki pleasure or what would inadvertently cause him pain. He wanted -- _needed_ \-- this night to end on a high note. Not on him ruining everything with his stupidity and inexperience.

He drew a deep breath, then let it out. “I thought we might do it the other way around, first,” he explained. “Since I... You’d know better than me, how it oughta work.”

And he knew that it was something Loki wanted too. He’d mentioned as much, letting slip the desire in his babbling back when they’d first made love, hadn’t he? And Steve had absolutely no doubts as to Loki’s ability to make if feel amazing for them both; to keep Steve comfortable and guide him, show him. In time he would be able to return the favor, but right now, the anxiety he felt at the idea of flying blind with this eclipsed all other times he’d charged headfirst into the unknown.

  


Loki shook his head, a fond smile on his face.

"I want to take care of you, love. I'll show you. I thought it better that I take you first because, like my throat, I am at least experienced, if not accustomed to the act. It takes some preparation,  and I just thought... If I were to take you, to ride you, it would be me to set the pace. It would be me to take charge. You need only feel." He realized he was speaking blandly, trying not to influence Steve's choice, but he did not feel he was making his intent clear.

"What I propose," he said slowly, dragging his fingertips up Steve's arm, "Is that you let me strip you down and lay you out, and I will ready myself with fingers and salve, slick you up, and lower myself over you--onto you. Then I will be able to ride you. Imagine that-- how it could feel. I can make it so good, for the both of us, and so easy for you. But," he added, taking his hand away, realizing that could also be read as manipulative, "I just want to make sure... We don't have to do that, at all, if you don't..."

He knew how Steve preferred that he lead, but having just come from a point of vulnerability, he wasn't sure he sounded the part. He didn't much feel the part either. He came off as too desperate to dominate. He needed to ground himself further.

Balance himself.

"I'm sorry, this is. I'm still reeling a bit. Maybe it's a bad idea. Should I just-- would you rather I gave you my throat? I'd be happy to give you whatever you like, sweet. Whatever you are most comfortable with doing. Whatever will make you happiest."

  


Steve chewed his lip, shivering slightly as Loki’s fingers trailing up his arm left goosebumps in their wake. If Loki were on top, in charge... Maybe that would be okay. He certainly seemed to want it. And damn if Steve didn’t want it too; he felt entranced by the thought of being _inside_ Loki, of being surrounded by him, their bodies joined in the closest way possible. Slowly, his arousal began to tilt the scales against his apprehension.

There was still apprehension, of course. This was a big step. Or it felt like one, anyway. Another milestone for them both, a deeper intimacy. And Loki was in a fragile state, now, thanks to Steve.

What if this was a bad idea? What if Loki was too wrecked, too raw... should he just ask for them to hold each other again and sleep? That would be the safest course, probably.

But what would it say -- what would Loki hear -- if Steve turned him down so soon after claiming he wanted him? And he’d promised anything Loki wanted.

If _this_ was what he wanted... Steve wouldn’t deny him. He trusted him.

“ _You_ make me happiest,” he said, forcing a smile as he reached up and ran a hand back over Loki’s cheekbone, tucking hair behind his ear. Then he leaned forward and pulled Loki into a kiss -- slow and soft and lingering. When their lips parted, he drew in a long breath and swallowed. “Okay. Let’s... let’s do it.” He looked into Loki’s eyes. “Let’s-- is there anything you need me to do?”

  


Loki felt his own pulse fluttering in his neck when Steve agreed, when he gave him the okay. They were really going to do this. Loki took a deep breath.

"Just keep yourself interested, if you can. I have to ah--" he gestured down at himself, then swallowed, realizing he should explain, because Steve would need to know for his own benefit.

"The muscles are tight, and so you have to use your fingers to loosen yourself, lest the effort of entering cause... Pain. Or tearing. I don't want you to worry because we aren't going to have either of those. It won't take me all that long to prepare, but... Some find it distasteful." He tried to think what else he might say. "You um. Needn't worry about anything overly disgusting either. I can just..." He moved his hand to demonstrate what he meant, replicating the motion he used to clean out messes from fabric, though the process differed slightly for this. Still, he thought he made his point.

"It will be clean and quick and easy, and if you find it disgusts you, I can see to it ahead of time in the future, and help you become aroused again after, for today."

He had been one such person, disconcerted by the process, and he had never developed a fondness for anything that he encountered in an out house. Hence his seeking out a spell to dispose of waste. And his hesitance to expose Steve to the reality of it.

"Or.. If you would prefer, I could go into the bathroom, I don't... Um. Would you rather learn, would you rather I show you, or... I could just take care of it?"

This was different, odd, and he used to, when he was with others, simply ensure he was ready when his lover arrived, or he would prepare them himself, often as part of his foreplay. He had never cared, before, if they knew better. He had never worried if they would care for themselves, outside of his bed. But this was Steve and it was _their_ bed. Care made things different.

  


Steve felt himself immediately begin to redden. _Oh._ Well, of course, that... made sense. Now that he thought about it. Which he hadn’t before. Mainly because of... well, exactly the reasons that needed to be addressed now. Though he was glad that Loki had a spell to address the issue of sanitation, as he might have felt terrible about asking about it otherwise, not knowing what was expected to be unpleasant and what he was simply being foolishly squeamish over.

And really, he had no business being squeamish. He’d seen enough on the battlefields that it shouldn’t faze him in the least; hell, he’d seen Loki black and blue and broken into bits with his limbs like putty, and none of that had turned his stomach. It was likely more the novelty and his own naivety exacerbating his present discomfort.

But Loki was also talking about preparing himself so it wouldn’t hurt, and that was good. It meant Loki was taking his own comfort well in mind, and reassured Steve that his lover wouldn’t use him as an instrument to inflict the pain Loki occasionally craved without Steve’s knowledge or assent. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him, and knowing how to prepare, how to ease the way, would be important for him to learn to that end.

“You don’t have to go,” he told Loki, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. His erection had begun to flag a little, but he wasn’t overly concerned; all it would take was a kiss, a touch of Loki’s fingers, the sound of Loki’s voice rough with want, and that problem would be quickly remedied.

“I should learn. So I can help you in the future, or do it for myself when we change it up,” he elaborated with a smile.

  


“I imagine, the first time, I will do it for you, as well… partially to show you how it should feel, to show you how even that part may be enjoyable, and partially to be certain that your first time is correct, is done properly and well and feels as it should.” He gave him a half smile, his stomach oddly knotted up at the prospect of opening himself for Steve.

He’d done it before, a time or two, as almost a performance, for a lover who had enjoyed watching, but… having Steve watch, having him make decisions about what he thought of the entire act based on what Loki did or said… it was a little nerve wracking.

He needed it to be well received, so that Steve would want this with him again.

Getting an idea of what he might do, of what might work, he quickly did the unfortunate necessity and, with his hand behind his back, made a series of small twitches with his fingers, experiencing the temporary dizziness and lightening feeling that always was associated with that spell. That out of the way, however, he reached down and removed the silken underwear.

“Do us a favor, and hold these for me?” He handed them to Steve as if they were delicate, breakable.

“However you want.” he expounded, then teasingly, “Maybe around your cock.”

He tossed a smile off at Steve, then summoned out his salve.

This was the part he was not at all certain of; did he hide his work with his body and describe it, or... But Steve wanted to know; wanted to learn.

Loki raised himself up onto his knees and opened the jar, laying the lid out beside himself carefully so that he could put it away later, but also as just one more way to hesitate. One more way of procrastinating.

But with that done all he had left to do was make the choice... He lay back on the bed, glad of its size, and raised his head so that he could see Steve between his legs.

"I try and start slowly... It has been some time since I... One finger and ample moisture, and slow, slow to start is so important." While he spoke, he traced around the furled muscle of his asshole. "Rub round the head of yourself, same as I do. And once I--" he dipped his fingertip forward, not quite breaching himself yet, not ready to, but at least certain that his meaning was clear, "will you stroke yourself in time with me? It isn't the same, but I want you to feel it, and watching you watch me... It's better than any mirror."

And being able to see Steve's face would let him judge whether or not this was working. Whether he was right to try and be intentionally lewd, or if he ought to back off and attempt to be more distant with it. More clinical.

  


Steve took the panties with something approaching reverence, a soft smile on his face. Bless Pepper for introducing Loki to underwear -- among many other things, obviously. Running the silk between his fingers, he looked at it for a moment, then, in an instant of curiosity, lifted the cloth up toward his face and inhaled through his nose.

The fabric smelled intoxicatingly of Loki -- male and female -- the rich, musky scent of sex a contrast to the softness of the texture. Steve let his eyes flutter briefly closed, savoring it, but then opened them again, as he was meant to be watching Loki.

The familiar salve had made its reappearance. Steve wondered if he should offer to acquire regular lubricant next time, so they wouldn’t need to waste Loki’s supply, though he supposed if there was any chance of injury, having the magical, tingling salve inside of Loki would be ideal. Steve thought of how good it had felt on his own muscles when Loki had massaged him in the bath-turned-grotto in the motel, and how comfortable and relaxed he’d been; knowing Loki would be feeling that helped assuage some of his anxiety.

Loki laid back on the bed, spreading his legs and offering Steve an unencumbered view; his gaze gravitated toward the clean pink asterisk where Loki’s fingers ventured. His breath caught as Loki invited him to touch himself to the sight; to Loki preparing himself, tenderly touching himself in anticipation of Steve.

His cock filled slightly in fresh interest, and Steve swallowed. “Okay,” he simply replied. “I can... yeah...” He tugged down his briefs enough to free his length, then reached out and scooped up a dollop of salve from the jar, slicking his hand with it. As Loki traced a finger over his anus, Steve traced his fingers around his head at a synchronized pace. He wondered how it would feel when Loki did this for him -- when those fingers were languidly circling between his own legs; if Loki would still be watching him with the same expression then.

“You’re beautiful,” he sighed. Again. He’d said the words so many times now, he almost feared they’d lose their meaning, but they held true in his mind each and every time. An irrevocable truth that needed to be repeated like gospel. “What-- How does it feel?”

  


Loki sighed happily, relaxing under his own hands, seeing the way that Steve was responding. This was okay, he wasn't disgusted or impatient.

"It feels good." He assured his partner. "You are so sensitive here, and the skin is so quick to respond to touch..." He pressed his middle finger in, testing his own resistance.

It slid in, some small tightness slowing his progress, so he twisted his finger as best as he could and removed it, seeking out more of the salve before trying again. He rocked the finger back in, not hurrying because he knew that his defenses were down, his face open and honest, and he did not want Steve to think that the process was-- or should be-- painful.

“It may feel strange, at first, when you try. You are not accustomed to this, and in the beginning, even just this much will seem like an unthinkable fullness. But we will go slowly, and you’ll be comfortable before we go any further.”

He was opening up, his finger sliding in more readily and his speed increasing for it, until he knew that regardless of the angles he was using, he would not achieve any more with just the one.

“I am going to add another finger now. Compare your fingers to the thickness of your shaft… and realize that until you can readily take… usually three, sometimes four, it will not be as comfortable as it ought.”

He was glad of his ability to speak, though his face felt warm and laying as he was with a view down his body, he felt incredibly self conscious. It was all worth it, though, and worth putting those thoughts far from himself. He was getting ready for Steve, and while this could be pleasurable-- _was_ , in fact, to an extent, he needed to remain somewhat focused on the task. Needed to explain and show and be sure Steve would know.

If he ever slept with someone else, if ever it wasn’t Loki getting Steve ready… or even if it was, he wanted Steve to have an idea of what. What to expect, what to look for.

His thoughts felt like they were going spotty as he added yet more salve, until his fingers made sloppy noises going into and out of him. He kept going, his other hand lowering to stroke himself a bit, as his efforts rekindled his body’s interest in the whole situation.

He felt the strain in his wrist and he huffed out a small laugh while he scissored his fingers to open the way wider.

His eyes kept looking over Steve’s face, kept reassuring himself that he remained interested and involved. But, he realized, had there not been cameras in place, this would have been how he spent the entire time he had been in SHIELD’s care-- only the Steve watching him would have been imagined or illusory, rather than here, and real, and so in love with him.

He much preferred this way.

  


The pace Loki set to start with was slow; a tiny part of Steve yearned for it to be quicker, but he quickly quashed it, since Loki had said it was important to go slow to avoid pain, and the last thing he wanted was for Loki to hurt. He would wait forever if he had to. He focused instead on listening to Loki, on watching his movements -- the way he crooked and twisted his finger, the way he applied salve until the pucker of flesh and the surrounding skin gleamed in the soft light. He tried to memorize the way Loki touched himself, that he could replicate it later, for either of them; even if Loki chose to prepare Steve himself, there might come a time when Steve returned that favor, and he intended to recall how Loki liked to be touched.

He’d watched in fascination as the finger slid in, and it took him a few moments to recall that Loki had asked him to touch himself when he did. He moved to wrap a hand around his shaft, keeping his grip deliberately loose and biting his lip; it was enough to tease, to bring him to hardness, but a light enough touch that he wouldn’t worry about spilling before Loki was ready for him. But watching the slow way Loki’s finger sank into that impossibly small opening, he could only wonder how he himself would fit.

Loki himself looked lovely though, spread out, his cock lying over his taut stomach, white thighs fallen apart, the round halves of his backside exposed and nimble fingers hard at work, while a pinkish hue painted his cheeks. And when he explained he was prepared to add another finger, that too sunk into his body with a slick sound, despite the impossible smallness of the hole. The noises ought to have been obscene or, if not disgusting, somewhat comical, and yet all he wanted was to help spread that moisture into Loki’s skin and paint him with it like a canvas.

Steve nodded along, taking mental notes, fighting against the feeling of distraction. It took all his willpower not to speed up his strokes and tighten his palm. He wouldn’t come yet; he’d been embarrassingly quick to it the first time they laid together, and he wasn’t going to repeat that this time around. Not when Loki was taking the time and effort to teach him, the pains to share this with him...

Then he saw Loki touch himself with his other hand, and the corner of his mouth quirked upward; he had an idea for how to keep engaged without worrying about his own release arriving too quickly -- and hopefully for showing his appreciation as well.

Scooting forward, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Loki’s knee where it lay splayed to one side, then another on the tender flesh of his inner thigh. “You’re so good at all of this,” he murmured. “‘M damn lucky to have you... so damn lucky...” He let go of his own cock and reached forward to cup Loki’s balls, inches above his spreading fingers. The skin was so delightfully warm, and he carefully rolled the sack in his hand, kissing Loki’s leg again before letting his fingers trace up to the base of his shaft.

“When you twist your fingers like that, does it help?” he asked, nuzzling the side of Loki’s knee and trailing his thumb up the vein on the underside of his shaft. Then he paused. “Is... is this ok?”

  


Loki sucked in a breath, the sudden stab of arousal in his stomach so jolting, enough of a surprise to make him forget momentarily how breathing worked.

Steve’s breath and breathy words only increased what he was feeling tenfold, and while part of him was basking in the flood of sensations that made his eyes want to slip shut and his motions become languorous, he also had a part of him that wanted to push Steve away, finish this quickly and mount him like some wild, vicious thing.

That, he knew, was not the correct response, in either case. So instead he let out the breath, able to hear the way it stuttered.

“If you’re comfortable being so close, then it’s… yes, so much more than okay.”

He pressed in deeper, then hummed in reaction to both Steve’s caresses and his other question.

“It’s… partially for pleasure. It’s good, like a hand on your cock, but it’s also partially to find any… areas which resist, I suppose. The opening itself is tight, but the grip of muscles inside as well… I don’t want to be hurt, and I’m making certain that will not come to pass.” He lifted one shoulder, affecting a lack of care.

“Besides, I need to make room for this last finger… and um. Once I’ve finished with that, if you want to… to put your fingers inside of me, to feel what it will be like, I think. I’d like it if you did. If you want to.”

He looked down, almost directly into Steve’s eyes, usually so blue but now so dark from the light and the lust that Loki couldn’t help but shiver a little.

Steve’s hands were doing such wonderful things to him, and he was almost afraid he’d taught him too well.

Almost.

“Your fingers are so much wider than mine, your artists’ hands… they drive me to distraction, you know. You drive me to distraction. All I want is to get you inside of me. That is everything I want.” He did finally dip his third finger in, the stretch a reminder of how good this would be for him. He did not move these fingers as much, did not scissor them the same way, but he did curl them and pulse his hand in and out, edging himself closer to readiness and closer to coming, though he would be able to wait, at least for now.

He pulled all of his fingers out, then pushed them back in at once, and repeated the motion until they slid with some sense of ease.

“I think-- I am ready. Did you want to um, did you want to try with your fingers, or, should I just… can I fuck you now, or would you like a taste of what it will be like, before I do?”

  


Steve’s breathing was coming shakily, his mouth gone dry and his cock so very full and hot and hard between his legs, jutting out over the waistband of his briefs. Loki’s pleasure, his voice, his body’s pliancy as it stretched to accommodate his fingers -- it was all so much, and he couldn’t look away. He kept his hand moving, lightly stroking and circling Loki’s cock, though his gaze drifted lower, and he nodded as Loki explained it all. Swallowed as Loki explained that he wanted Steve in him, doing this, touching him inside.

And then Loki was pulling his fingers free, pushing them in, working them in and out in a simulation of thrusting and Steve’s cock twitched with the thought of how it would feel, how snug and slick it would be. And Loki was ready, for Steve’s fingers, or for...

No. Fingers. He didn’t want to risk hurting Loki, as he was thicker around than Loki’s narrow digits, and and the extra prep would be good. He could hold on a bit longer.

He gave Loki a final stroke, twisting slightly and pressing his thumb along the underside of the head, then mouthed at the inside of his thigh as his hand traveled lower, gathering up some of the salve where it dripped or coated Loki’s buttocks, making sure his fingers were well lubricated before pressing his index finger forward. To his surprise, the small pucker took it fairly easily, twitching slightly around his finger, hugging it and flexing around him. Steve felt his breath catch, then twisted the finger around, feeling inside of Loki. Pulling back, he went again with two fingers now, feeling the tightness of the channel -- though it didn’t afford too much resistance. He glanced up at Loki to make sure he was alright, that there was no pain on his face and Steve wasn’t doing this wrong.

“It’s so warm,” he breathed, kissing up the inside of Loki’s leg, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin. “So hot. Tight. I can feel... feel the muscles...” Like when Loki’s throat worked, only different. He wanted there to be more than his fingers there, he thought, barely suppressing a moan.

He crooked his two fingers, feeling for any resistance and gently massaging the inside of Loki’s hole, before withdrawing and slowly, carefully, adding a third, twisting the digits cautiously inside his lover. “I want you,” he said, voice thick with need. He moved the fingers slowly in and out, so slowly, not sure who he was tormenting more. “Want to... Want all of you. Want to give you all of me,” he panted, sucking on the skin over Loki’s hip, then looking up at him, meeting those brilliant green eyes.

“How... Where do you want me?” He knew he’d need Loki to guide him in the semantics of this, before he lost his mind completely to lust. He could feel pre-cum dripping from his own cock on to the sheets, even without his touch.

  


He opened his mouth to answer and only a moan came out, which made him swallow, clear his throat, then shake his head and try again. Steve’s fingers inside of him were amazing, strong and solid and stretching him more than he had, but he was taking it. He was ready, and Steve was ready, and this was really happening.

“Lay on your back, pet,” He told him, forcing his voice into its careful, caring tone. “Maybe put some pillows-- here--” He stretched his arm upwards and piled the pillows together against the headboard haphazardly. “Put your back against it and stretch out. I want to see your face, want to see how you look when you feel me all around you.”

It would be as he said, as he promised-- so good, with him on top and in charge, and all Steve would need to do was enjoy himself. He hoped.

He reached down and stroked along Steve’s face.

“I want you to remember too, if it’s too much or bad, or if you get scared... Only tell me, and I’ll stop.” He would listen. Because he wanted this to be perfect for Steve. He didn’t want to scare him off of trying, or ruin the first impression of this kind of sex for him.

Gently, carefully, he moved his hands to around Steve’s wrist and petted it.

“You can move a little faster. You won’t hurt me at all. I promise I will help make sure of that. I don’t want you to worry, alright? I am going to do this and make it right.”

He petted Steve’s hand, his fingertips brushing over Steve’s knuckles.

“Once you’re laid out, I’m just going to put a bit more of my salve over you, and make sure that there will be nothing but an easy start. And then…” He squeezed down on Steve’s fingers inside of him.

“How does that sound? Okay?”

  


Steve let out a short chuff of breath. “ _So much more than okay,”_ he echoed. And it did. It all sounded so good it almost _hurt_ \-- like even with the serum, his body couldn’t contain all the want and the need and the idea of the perfection of his and Loki’s bodies connecting--

He pulled his fingers free, ignoring the slickness of his hand but taking a moment to savor the way Loki’s hole fluttered briefly before winking shut, the muscles slowly adjusting to the sudden absence. It would be full again soon enough, he thought, and surged upward along Loki’s body to catch his mouth in a kiss. His lips were hot and moist and wonderful, and Steve couldn’t help but moan into the kiss as his cock rubbed against his lover’s thigh.

He was breathless when he pulled away, rocking back on to his knees and then crawling backward, grabbing the pillows (suddenly thankful he’d gone a bit overboard in selecting such a number of them) and piling them haphazardly so he could lay back atop them without worrying he might inadvertently brain himself on the headboard. Reaching out to take Loki’s hand, he tugged on it lightly as he fell back, bouncing on the bed as he landed prone, cock flopping over his stomach to leak against his belly. He yanked his briefs the rest of the way down and quickly wriggled out of them, freeing himself from them so he was finally fully nude.

Their positions inverted, he looked up at Loki and smiled. His heart was hammering in anticipation, adrenaline coursing and his nerves jangling with pleasure and want and a small shiver of anxiety because _this was happening. Here. Now._

“I love you,” he gasped, giving Loki’s fingers a squeeze as he drew closer. “I love you so much.” He stared at him in adoration, hoping Loki knew how much he meant it. How potently he felt it. Felt everything. His hips twitched and he bit down on his lip, shivering.

  


He found himself staring down at Steve, his body thrumming in readiness.

“And I you, Astin Min.” He responded with the same simple gravity that prefaced all of his most important truths.

He rearranged himself so that he was straddling Steve, his knees on either side of him and his hips hovering somewhere just forward of where Steve’s cock rested.

He did as he had said he would and took another few fingers full of salve, spreading it and them over Steve, pumping him a few times.

“I’m going to take you now.” He told him, only fair warning.

He braced himself with one arm on the bed and the other holding Steve’s prick, lest he miss or fall or anything else.

The pressure of his head against the loosened muscles was not uncomfortable, but it was a definite pressure just the same. His cock was wide and hot and Loki   _wanted_ it. He bore down and felt a surge of perfect friction mingled with victory as Steve slid into him, hot and huge and filling him so perfectly.

He didn’t pause for long, not really needing time to adjust.

As he began working Steve further into him, he let out a soft moan, and then, once he had managed to take him, all of him, a few strokes of lifting and falling later, he pressed his hands to Steve’s chest and shuddered.

“Ah… my darling boy, can you feel that? Feel everything that I am, all around you? Because I feel you. I feel you almost in my soul.” He shivered again.

“I’m going to-- I know you will want to move, but wait just a moment. Let your body become accustomed to the tightness. You will be able to last longer, and I intend to ride you, ah--” He had shifted and the pleasurable weight within him made him let out a noise that sounded so needy, he could hardly have imagined it coming from him. “Tell me when you are ready, and I will fuck you. I will take you in and, oh your cock, if I had my way you would never leave me again. But until we are ready to move...”

He dropped down, his face even with Steve’s.

“Tell me what you’re feeling, sweetness.” He prompted. “Tell me what it feels like. Is it good? Do you like it?”

  


For a second, as Steve’s cockhead pressed against Loki’s entrance, he feared that in spite of all the preparation, it wouldn’t fit. But then it breached and slid in, abruptly surrounded by a pressure that took Steve’s breath away. And Loki kept going, slowly sinking down and taking him inch by inch, farther than Steve’s fingers could have reached, deeper than he thought possible. The heat of it -- the intensity of the drag in spite of the lubricant -- pulled a faint whimper from Steve’s throat that he failed to restrain as he threw his head back into the cushions. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed through his nose as he fought to regain control over the heat pooling in his belly so he wouldn’t spill. (Not yet). Though the moan Loki made and the rocking of his hips as he lifted and fell, pushing down further with each drop, had him perilously close.

“It’s so good,” he groaned, opening his eyes and looking up at Loki. “So... nnnggghhh.”

He had to focus on breathing for a moment, as a slight movement of Loki’s sent his muscles clamping around Steve in a new and blissful way.

It felt fantastic. Like when Loki swallowed him, but... different. Hot and slick and tight, but the drag was changed, the sensation different, the heat more intense and the tightness clamping down all around him, and not just the head that would have fit into Loki’s throat. Not even sliding his fingers in and feeling it with his hand could have prepared him for this. And oh... oh it was perfect.

“Hot,” he managed to pant, realizing Loki was waiting for him to answer aloud. “Hot. Tight. Can feel it when you move, feel so much of you...” His hands reached up and stroked the tops of Loki’s thighs, running up to his hips. “Amazing. Feels amazing.”

And it was just beginning, as Loki was going to ride him and give him more of that amazing drag as he slid in and out. Steve nearly whined in anticipation. He took a few more deep breaths, getting himself back under control, then nodded.

“Ready,” he said. “Please...”

  


Loki stroked his own hands over Steve’s.

“You can help to move me, if you like-- you can lift from my hips and you can thrust upwards whenever you feel the need. This is not like swallowing you; I don’t need time to breathe.” He grinned rakishly as he panted out his words.

Then, carefully and slowly, so as not to dislodge him, Loki lifted himself a little ways, and dropped down again quickly, loathe to experience that emptiness for long.

He did this again, rising and falling, his breath catching each time he took all of Steve into himself, and needy little moans emerging each time he slid out of him.

“You feel so good in me, love, so perfect.” He wanted to praise him more, but he was moving, rocking his hips and swiveling them in pursuit of that perfect motion that would make white flash behind his eyes and split him near in half.

He circled his hips, feeling like he was dancing, and froze when he found it.

“Ah- there is, inside of you, there is a spot that, mmmm. A spot that feels so good when you touch it. That’s what that-- hm. was.” He shifted over Steve’s shaft, searching for it again, and made a point of squeezing down as soon as he felt the miniature shock that said he’d found it.

He made a concentrated effort to repeat that motion, rocking Steve’s cock into him over and over while he slid his hands up and down Steve’s chest, nails pressing thin red lines.

“Talk to me, sweet boy, tell me how it can be better. Tell me what you need from me. Do you like it this way? I can go slower--” He demonstrated, moving his pace to a slow crawl so that Steve was creeping out of him at a snail’s pace. “I can go faster,” he said next, tiring quickly of the tease. He demonstrated that, too, all but flying up and down on his prick. “Tell me what you want. I want to give it to you. All of it.”

  


Steve gasped and shook, the friction of Loki sliding himself up and down Steve’s cock nearly too much. It felt so overwhelmingly good it nudged the line between pleasure and pain, and once again he felt the familiar sensation of his eyes beginning to tear up.

Loki slowed and he moaned in frustration; he sped up and Steve almost whimpered at the intensity. But it still all felt _so damn good_ and he wanted _more._

And it felt good for Loki too, didn’t it? He said there was a spot, and he made the most beautiful noises when he came down of Steve _just_ so, which had to be it. And Loki with his face flushed, eyes dark, hair tousled and riding Steve was--- like an avatar of sex itself. More than human. Moving his hands to help grip Loki around the hips, taking some of the weight when Loki next lifted himself, and then bucking his hips on the drop to deepen the thrust, Steve cried out and felt stars behind his eyes and wondered if any of his ancestors had seen Loki this way when they decided he was divine. Decided he had to be a god.

_God..._

(It was a prayer and a plea and an apology all at once).

“More,” he moaned, breaths coming rough and ragged. “Loki, so good, more, please...” He punctuated his shameless begging with a roll of his hips; he knew he wasn’t giving Loki much to work with, but his mind was so flooded with desire, assembling words coherently felt beyond him. He felt like he might simply come apart, disintegrating into happy atoms as Loki rode him into oblivion. And he didn’t mind at all. The drag of his nails over Steve’s skin was an added layer of perfection and we wanted and needed more, needed everything...

But it wasn’t fair to Loki, who was doing all the work, and whose flushed and proud cock was going neglected. Steve adjusted his hold on Loki, moving his hands lower to take more of his weight and steady him, so Loki wouldn’t need both hands for balance. He pulled his knees up slightly, subtly altering the angle of his next thrust, and moaned: “ _Loki_.” He panted, open-mouthed, then licked his lips. “D’you wanna-- can you-- touch yourself?” he managed.

  


Loki shivered, both at the angle of Steve’s thrusts and at the suggestion.

“I- do you want me to? I--” He remembered that he was meant to be taking charge. And this was something Steve wanted, he wouldn’t have said anything about it otherwise.

So he moved his left hand closer to the center of Steve’s chest and reached down for himself.

It felt like a lot to do at once, his mind as impaired as it was, but obviously Steve enjoyed watching him, looking at him. If there was anything his time before the mirror had made him certain of, it was that. Steve was still hard from watching him, in various positions, watching Loki get off under his hands, watching Loki open himself up on his own fingers. Why wouldn’t he want to see Loki stroke himself, if that was what he liked?

Loki began pulling at his cock, his rhythm stuttering a little under the effort of finding angles that worked, but soon he had it figured out, and he could pull himself in a counter time to his movements, so that when he felt empty from the loss of Steve’s cock, his hand was rolling under his head.

It sent him panting until his words dried and shriveled on his tongue.

And he was left looking down into Steve’s face and only feeling warmer, more light headed, with the way that he looked, laying under him, somewhere between pleasurable agony and awe.

His mouth fell open in response and the sounds of their bodies and breaths were all that came, aside from tiny vocalizations too broken to even fully count as a noise.

Loki wanted nothing more than to be as joined with Steve as possible, in every way.  Almost without thinking he leaned in, his hand sliding upwards to take some of his weight as he did so, and he pressed his lips to Steve, carefully continuing to rock his hips and move his hand, thought this way, his knuckles grazed over Steve’s abs with every stroke.

His were not against Steve’s for long before he pulled back just a hair, and he saw that his palm was resting about on Steve’s clavicle, his fingers pressing into his neck a bit.

An idea struck and he looked up at Steve’s face again and smiled.

“Let me know if you like this.” He whispered, and shifted his hand, cradling Steve’s windpipe between his finger and thumb while he applied pressure.

He kept his face close, kept moving, maybe a little faster in his own excitement at helping Steve to experience so much now, so many things that Loki himself enjoyed.

Loki had to tighten his grip on his own cock, lest he come too soon, and he felt how he tightened his muscles on Steve’s as well, in response.

  


Steve wanted to etch the image of Loki panting and pulling himself off while he ground down on Steve’s cock permanently into his mind. It was a tableau not even his filthy fantasies had approached, and it was so, so good. The tiny sounds he made, breathless, wanton, were delicate music and made Steve’s gut tighten with heat.

He rocked his hips up into Loki, their pace increasing, and he sought to angle himself to find that sweet spot again -- the one Loki had located earlier. Steve’s pleasure fed off of Loki’s -- the knowledge that his partner felt good, that he was enjoying this, multiplying his own enjoyment tenfold.

Then Loki leaned in, and Steve felt the familiar touch of his dogtags against his chest, still warm -- they hung around Loki’s neck, but now rested against Steve’s skin, one more point of connection between their bodies amid their hands, lips, and cocks. He groaned into the kiss, moving his hips in tandem with Loki’s, their bodies rocking in unison. He pouted as Loki pulled away, but he had that look on his face he got when he’d just had some fresh notion come to mind, and Steve found himself waiting with baited breath.

He hadn’t noticed the shift of Loki’s hand up his chest, too distracted by the multitude of other sensations. But now his hand found Steve’s throat, and Steve’s hips stuttered, his rhythm briefly lost in his surprise. A cold little tendril of fear coiled in his belly, mixing with the hot desire in his groin, then creeping up his spine.

What was Loki _doing_?

For the briefest moment, the word _cinnamon_ came to mind. But, no, Loki wouldn’t hurt him. Wouldn’t harm him. He knew this. Knew it with more certainty than anything; but he still felt that frisson of fear, apprehension tempered by trust, that sent his heart racing even harder, pounding frantically against his chest. It wasn’t unlike the feeling of being blindfolded, of being carefully rendered helpless and used on his knees -- that anxiety and surrender all at once. He looked up at Loki, eyes wide, swallowing and feeling Loki’s fingers with the movement.

And surrendered.

With a whimper, Steve tilted his head back, exposing more of his throat to Loki’s grip. Already he could feel the strain on his airway, his gasps coming raggedly. His movements grew more frantic, hips thrusting erratically.

  


For a horrible instant, Loki was afraid he’d miscalculated. Steve’s eyes went wide and he flinched, and there was fear-- real fear-- stamped across his face. Then he swallowed and his eyes changed, wide but… not scared now, or less, or… something in his face changed. Whatever it was, it made Loki think that maybe it was okay.

Steve tilted his head back, and Loki relaxed, mentally, though he felt his cock jump in response. Steve was submitting to him, and this felt the same as when he had looked down to see Steve’s lips around him for the first time, the same as he had felt seeing him kneeling, seeing him blindfolded. There was a wave of victory that he experienced, but something else, too. An overwhelming sense of possession, but not quite-- it was care. It was him needing to take care of Steve.

He’d stopped moving for the space of a few fast heartbeats, but Steve hadn’t. He kept thrusting into Loki and he could feel how enthusiastic he was, how much this excited him.

“Good, good boy. You remember how to tell me if you don’t like it and can’t speak, don’t you?” He was being gentle, avoiding the crest that he could all but taste, so close now that he knew he would be spilling soon, but he needed to see this through, see to it that Steve finished first, that he was enjoying this new trick. It seemed like he was, though. Loki could only hope. And hope that, when he could speak, he wouldn’t be angry with him.

Hope, and resume his rocking, meeting Steve thrust for thrust, almost shuddering at the force behind their coupling; it was so good for him, hard and fast and perfect, not quite painful, but if it were any more, any harder it could be. And part of him wanted to chase that edge, but the ignored it in favor of carefully watching his hand, Steve’s face, listening to the sounds of his strained breaths. He didn’t want to cause harm to _him_.

His hand was all but stripping along his prick now, the speed of it just shy of enough. He needed Steve to finish, needed to tell him as much.

“Are you getting close, darling? Are you going to finish? Want to spill inside of me, coat me in your come?” He ground his hips down onto him with an extra little flourish to punctuate his words. He leaned in. “I want you to. I want to finish, dripping with you.” He confided. He fluttered his fingers over Steve’s throat a little, but didn’t change the pressure. “What do you say, astin min? Fill me up?” He was cajoling, nearly begging for it, and watching Steve’s face for any sign that he was wrong.

  


_Good boy._ Steve whined at the words, feeling the vibrations in his throat where Loki’s fingers pressed against it. And they were _moving_ again, the both of them, and there was nothing but Loki -- Loki wrapped around his throat, around his cock, surrounding him and claiming him and flooding his mind and senses with no other thought. “‘ki,” he keened weakly, rolling his hips and pulling Loki down on him with greater force.

He was close. He could feel the tightening in his balls. Could feel the dizzying sense of running toward the edge--

Or was he already falling?

He couldn’t draw enough air, and his vision began to spot and go dark at the edges, tunneling so all he could see was that flushed porcelain face, dark hair, and green eyes. His head was growing lighter, the sound of Loki’s voice dripping incredible filth, urging him to come, nearly drowned out by the roaring in his ears.

It felt like freefall. Like the moment of exhilaration and terror and being _alive_ when he leapt into a fight or jumped off a roof or out of a plane without a chute-- the roar of wind in his ears and the weightlessness as the world melted away and he was gasping and _falling,_ every nerve screaming and every muscle tightening as he convulsed with a choked cry---

Steve’s body tensed, then shuddered violently as tears ran down from the edges of his eyes and he spilled into Loki’s body.

For a moments his vision went white. Then dark. And for a few seconds, he felt suspended, unreal, unable to feel anything but waves and waves of pleasure. But a few stuttering heartbeats later, he gulped in a deep breath, oxygen hitting his mind with dizzying force.

“ _Loki_...”

  


He let go of Steve’s throat the moment he felt him stiffen, felt the way his body knotted up and the way his hands went tight around Loki’s hips. Loki squeezed himself tighter and brought himself to the edge and over, spilling over his hand and onto Steve’s lower stomach. He leaned forward, carefully keeping Steve within him, loosening and tightening his muscles to milk all of his orgasm out, to see him through it, but Loki brought his hands to Steve’s shoulders and bent to kiss Steve again, on his forehead, so that he did not get in the way of his returning air to his lungs.

Loki let the tide of his own completion diminish before he wiped his hand on his own thigh and chased the tears off of Steve’s face. He stayed where he was, unsure if Steve would rather that he climb off or stay close, but judging from the utterly wrecked way that Loki’s name came from him a moment later, he thought he might have made the right choice. Miraculously.

“Steve,” he responded, softly and carefully. “How are you feeling, love?”

He’d done something they hadn’t agreed upon, beforehand, and he had to be sure he hadn’t hurt or scared him unduly, had to be certain he hadn’t overstepped some undefined boundary.

He’d been tired before they started, and all he wanted to do now was roll off to the side, magic away all of their messes, curl in beside Steve to sleep, and let the day sink fully into his bones.

He would worry about himself and his mind and the mirror later. That didn’t matter for now. But Steve did. Steve and how frightened he’d looked. Loki swallowed and hoped that expression would not follow him into his dreams.

His hips felt a little sore, as did his wrist, but his ass had none of the telltale burning that would come of something being drastically wrong. So he had to conclude at least he’d done that right-- unless Steve hated it. He hadn’t seemed to, though. Still.

Best to check in.

  


It took Steve a few moments to come fully back to himself. He could feel the tremors of his climax abating, quivering through limbs that felt limp and weak now, with all his strength sapped by the force with which he’d come. He could feel Loki, still, around him, touching him, wiping at his face with familiar tenderness.

He could feel hot spend on his belly, and he smiled, realizing Loki must have finished as well, more or less at the same time.

And he could also feel a slight ache around his throat; he swallowed experimentally, but it didn’t hurt enough that he thought there would be any bruising. Loki had been careful. Any soreness would, he figured, be gone in a matter of minutes.

The press of Loki’s lips against his forehead, and Loki’s fingers on his face, brought Steve’s attention back to his partner. He reached up with a hand that felt impossibly heavy, and brushed Loki’s hair back, smiling up at him with a dazed and happy look.

“I’m good,” he croaked, then swallowed again. “Really... really good.”

Like he’d been pulled out of his body and cleansed and put back in. Like he’d been melded into one with something beautiful. Like... He wasn’t even sure what it was like. Nothing really compared.

And there were of course, parts that had been... odd. The fact that he’d come from being choked was something he’d think about later, as it had been strange, and the fact he’d responded to it vaguely troubling, but he didn’t want to think about it now. He was worn out completely, mind and body, and the day had been long enough. If they ended it now, then it would end well. Before anything else could ruin it.

Sliding his hand to the back of Loki’s neck, he pulled him in for a kiss -- slow and soft and gentle. “Love you,” he whispered when their lips came apart. “You... you’re okay?”

  


Loki breathed out, relieved so deeply that he could feel the tension leaving on that sigh, his body slumping in its wake.

“I’m perfect. You’re perfect.” He stroked his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone again, and took a deep breath. “I need to get off of you and go clean up, in a moment.” He warned lightly, already trying to work up the will to do so.

He pecked lightly at Steve’s lips again and lowered his head to rest against his.

“This has been… all of it. So wonderful. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but… I am so grateful. So lucky.” He reached up with his other hand and took hold of the dog tags, so that they would not swing when he sat up. And also because the novelty of their weight around his neck was so wonderful, so new still.

“Alright.” He groaned, careful to disengage gently before rolling to the empty side of the bed and off, towards the bathroom.

Moving, once he was doing it, was easy. His hole ached, but not with pain; rather with a feeling of being stretched and left empty.

Once in the restroom, rather than bothering with any other means of cleaning up, he just extracted the semen magically and placed it into a bundle of toilet paper, then flushed it away. He wet a hand towel with warm water and brought it back out for Steve, though, and climbing back into the bed was the last physical feat he thought himself capable of for a time.

He stretched out beside his partner and mopped at his spent prick, then up his stomach and to his chest, where Loki frowned.

“I left some marks, I’m afraid…” He told him, tracing down the lines left by his nails. His eyes flicked up to Steve’s throat, searching for any sign that he’d left so much as a shadow of a bruise, but he didn’t see anything. Glad of that at least, he threw the washcloth and used magic to get it the rest of the way into the bathroom before letting it fall in the sink.

That done, he finally let himself lay down, finally relaxed a bit more and huffed out a laugh.

“This is our life now.” He marveled. “Our home, our bed… we live here.” If he wasn’t so exhausted, he thought he might have teared up again. “I love it. I love you.” He moved in closer and ran his fingers over Steve’s arm, needing to touch him, to be connected to him again, even if he wasn’t inside of Loki any longer.

  


Steve hummed happily as Loki kissed him and pressed their heads together, content to stay like that forever. The hum turned to a small moan of protest as Loki got up, Steve’s softening length sliding free of him into the cooler air. He sighed, squirming slightly against the comforter, as if seeking some kind of replacement tactile sensation to make up for the sudden loss, then turned his head to watch Loki retreat into the bathroom, admiring the long line of his spine and the reddened curve of his backside, Steve’s fingerprints outlined in pink on his hips.

 _Perfect,_ Loki had said. Steve sighed again, happily, and felt inclined to agree.

He closed his eyes and listened to the flush of the plumbing, the whir of the faucet, and then the soft padding of Loki’s footsteps. He made a low noise of appreciation when the bed dipped with Loki’s added weight, and opened his eyes again as Loki dropped beside him and began to clean him up, the washcloth warm and fluffy.

Glancing down at Loki’s comment, he raised an eyebrow. “Well darn,” he said dryly. “And here I was planning on prancing through the tower shirtless after this.” The marks themselves were negligible, really -- they’d fade before dawn, and Steve wasn’t planning on letting anyone but Loki see him bare. He turned to smile at him. “Don’t worry about it. Though I may return the favor at some point...” He knew Loki liked it when he added teeth and nails, and now, having been on the receiving end and knowing how little the scratches hurt, he felt a bit less ill at ease over it.

Cleaning done, Loki lay back beside him. Steve looked up at the ceiling of their bedroom -- their _home --_ and felt content. “Here, under the blankets,” he commanded, scooting up on to the pillows so he could free the covers and then wriggle back under them, pulling the thick heap of blankets and comforter down over their cooling bodies, no longer heated by exertion.

“I love you too,” he replied in a murmur, nestling in next to Loki and wrapping an arm around him. The bed was plenty big enough for them both to have their own space, but right here, holding Loki, was the only place Steve wanted to be. “Good night.”

  


“Mm.” Loki mumbled, unable to commit to words but in full agreement.

He liked the idea of Steve returning the favor, and drifted off with Steve’s arm against his chest, one of his hands petting over the marks he’d left while the other clutched at the dog tags, silently comparing the claims they’d staked on each other. It was all so… perfect.

His mind was too tired to do as it did so often, too tired to sort through the day and berate him for each wrong turn, each misstep in etiquette, each poorly spoken turn of phrase.

Instead all he felt was a pleasantly numb sort of warmth. He drifted off with no hesitation.

 


	38. Thirty-Eight

He did not wake until what he judged to be an early hour, for him, though he suspected it was at least late morning. He wondered if Steve had woken the night prior and returned, or if he had also been tired out by the evening, wondered if he’d awakened early to go for a run, then come back to bed, or if, by some small miracle, Loki had woken before him.

Loathe to move too much, lest he disturb his bedmate, he tilted the metal of the tags in his hands, able to make out the letter shapes by the weak light coming through the window, with the aid of his fingers tracing the shapes.

He wondered what they meant, the small ‘P’ in the corner and the line of numbers below his name-- and the G in the middle of it.

A puzzle, he thought, worth mulling over, but easier to ask about.

He set that aside for the time being and began worrying about what had happened the previous night. Not the part before they had slept; that had been wonderful, but before that.

Steve asking Loki to look at himself, to watch himself coming. It was, he knew, more of Steve trying to convince him that he was as beautiful as Steve seemed to find him, and, yes, he had, he supposed, seen a certain similarity between himself and some paintings. Perhaps, by human standards, he was, as Steve said, a beautiful person.

It was a small step of acknowledgment, he knew, but one just the same; Steve found him to be a lovely thing to look at, and, he supposed, in comparison to many of the humans he had seen, yes. He was.

He was not human, though… and, despite this form, not Aesir either. Perhaps that was the more troubling thing, in his mind, that he should think himself so small, so weak, that he should find his physique so wanting, because of being raised by a people who had told him that was the truth of his body. But they, to a man, had not known that he was not one of them. How could they? And, in turn, why should he continue thinking of himself in that way, when he knew it was not so?

The crux of that, though, was that he knew that even in his true form, he was a runt, unwanted and deemed physically unworthy of life, let alone attentions. Not that he would want attention from any of that breed, but… there were layers and layers of his being physically unworthy of Steve. That Steve found him so outside of those limitations was bewildering and wonderful. But likely because he was now being judged as a human, because he was among them.

His fingers rubbed over the pressed letters, over and over as he turned his thoughts around in his mind. His concentration occupied his senses so greatly that he only registered belatedly the change in sound when Steve’s breathing shifted.

 

The light streaming in the widows was a strange thing for Steve, so used to waking before dawn. But the sun was well up, the light seeping through his eyelids before he even opened them. For a heartbeat he tensed, but his typical bout of morning anxiety abated once he blinked sand from his eyes and recognized the source of the warmth beside him.

Loki. Hair mussed, skin pearlescent in the morning light, still smelling faintly of sweat and sex as he inspected Steve’s dog tags, running them between his fingers.

Steve smiled, watching him, and relaxed back into the pillows, stretching out with a small sigh, lengthening his legs and curling his toes into the sheets. It felt good, dislodging all the stiffness that had settled in while he slept, shifting into a fresh position and savoring the warmth of their shared bed. Yawning, he nudged Loki’s leg with his knee, playfully bumping his toes against his partner’s foot.

“Good morning,” he said, wondering just how late in the morning it was. Definitely later than he could remember getting up since before he enlisted, save for that one time in the motel. He’d always been a morning person, never sleeping past noon save for one memorable occasion where he and Bucky had got their hands on a bottle of bourbon and had stumbled home and passed out around dawn. But he was typically an early riser, and even more so, since...

Well, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t slept through anything important, and Loki’s presence seemed to dramatically improve his sleep. He hadn’t even been plagued by nightmares the night before, or if he had, he at least couldn’t remember them now. “What’re you thinking about?” he asked, resting his head against Loki’s shoulder and eyeing his contemplative expression.

 

“‘Morning.” Loki returned, his face easing out of the lines it had been furled into as he looked down at Steve.

Steve, he hoped, would always have that effect on him, whether his hair was mussed from sex and sleep and his warmth smelled of their bodies, or if they were just… somewhere, together, and Steve was himself and Loki was… herself, likely, if they were out but, in any circumstance. Steve would always make him feel like he was safe and loved, and like this moment and those like it might last forever, despite an extensive track record that told him he was probably wrong.

“How are you feeling? I hope I didn’t wake you?” He made it a question, shifting the tags between his fingers and forcing himself to be aware of the clinking noises that they made. He might have. He _had_ been a little self absorbed. But it was late enough that he couldn’t bring himself to feel too terribly. Any sleep that Steve may have been missing out on, he’d gone a long way towards making up for, the night prior.

“I was just wondering what all of the letters and numbers on these were for. Everything other than ‘Steven Rogers’ makes no sense to me.” He held up the tags, though he was certain Steve wouldn’t need to see them, wouldn’t need any help remembering what they said.

These were important to him. Meaningful. Which meant that Loki felt the same about them, though knowing the context of them would go a long way toward helping, he thought.

 

“Not at all,” Steve yawned, on being asked if Loki had woken him. And Loki hadn’t, at least not in any way Steve could tell. He had the well-rested feeling of waking naturally, and none of the alarm of being jolted awake by outside forces.

He hummed when Loki asked about the tags, propping himself up on his elbows and pushing himself up into a seated position against the headboard. The blankets slid down his bare chest, and a quick glimpse downward confirmed what he’d suspected would happen the night before -- the marks left by Loki’s nails were all gone, with no trace that they were ever there.

“Well, top part’s my name, Steven G. Rogers,” he said, sliding up against Loki so he could point to the tags. “Long part there is my military serial number. 987654320,” he recited without looking, then smiled crookedly. “Real easy to remember, since it just counts down an’ skips the one. Which is good, since if you get captured, all you gotta remember to give is your name, rank, and serial.” Steve had managed to avoid being taken as a POW, but memories of Bucky reciting his name, rank, and number in the dark floated through the back of his mind.

He shook them away, returning his attention to the tags.

“T42 there is to confirm I got my tetanus shot. And the O next to it is my blood type,  which they put down so if you need a transfusion or anything they can give you the right type and not make you sicker,” he explained, wondering if Asgardians had blood types or if it would be an unfamiliar concept. “P stands for Protestant -- that’s religion -- but really it oughta be a C since I got raised Catholic. But I fudged my enlistment forms every time I signed up since I kept trying to re-enlist, so I’d change the details to make it harder for them to figure out what I was doing. Birth year. Hometown. Religion.” He shrugged. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time, though apparently in the intervening decades, he’d given a few historians minor aneurysms with all the inconsistencies in his paperwork. “So there’s a lotta inaccurate forms out there with my name on ‘em. Never bothered to get the tags fixed after the army took me, since it didn’t matter much to me if I got a Catholic burial or a Protestant one, seeing as there wasn’t anyone left to worry about it much.”

The blank space beneath his serial would have been occupied by an address and next of kin if he had one, but the metal remained conspicuously smooth. No home and no family -- at least, not when these had been stamped.

 

“What is the difference, in the Protestant and Catholic-- do the burials differ so greatly?” Loki had not even begun to attempt understanding Midgard’s religions yet. He knew from personal experience that enough of their religions must be wrong, based solely on what he knew of those which revolved around himself and his supposed kith and kin.

“In Asgard, burials are always rites of fire, and the grandness of the pyre is only dictated by the greatness of those who die, and who they were in life. Great warriors are sailed over the edge in ships set to flame by a rain of lit arrows. Those who are less than that generally have pyres, ranging in size from just large enough to have done with the body to as wide as a field. But here…” He trailed off, reminded of the wall to those he had slain, those innocents lost to his selfishness and greed.

“I suppose you do not have an edge to your world, nor do you seem to have fires for each death that must happen, every day…” And that was odd too, the thought of just how many humans must die, their mortality ended on the whim of whatever minor threat offered. The idea of the bodies stacking up was enough to almost shake him back into his thinking of them as inconsequential.

But the thought that Steve could have been one of those bodies, had come so close to it several times over…

He snuggled into Steve’s side, huffing out a sigh.

“I am very glad you managed to wait for me, managed not to die so I could meet you, love you…” He stroked Steve’s cheek, glad of him and everything around them.

 

Steve chuckled, leaning into Loki’s touch. “Well, I’m happy I could oblige you with the whole not-being-dead thing. Can’t imagine I’d be all that enjoyable a roommate if I were,” he teased. Though it was such a strange confluence of fate that had led him to being alive here and now, rather than when he ought to have been, thus allowing him to meet Loki at this point in _his_ life. It made him wonder if maybe it hadn’t all been bad luck; if there was some sort of plan, and what had felt like being forsaken was actually everything happening for a reason he hadn’t known about yet.

He snaked his arm around Loki, slipping it behind his head so he could reach around and card his fingers through messy black hair.

“Protestantism and Catholicism are both denominations of Christianity, which is one of the major world religions,” he explained. “There's a whole lot of different ways people deal with death the world over. Some religions and cultures are more particular about how their dead are handled than others. Like if you’re Jewish, you wanna make sure you bury someone as soon as possible after they die.” He was pretty sure that was right, anyhow. “Lots of folks here burn their dead, too -- especially in places like India, but there’s also cremation here. But the way I grew up, we buried our dead. Assuming there was enough left to bury,” he amended with a grimace. Because all too often with the war, you got dog tags and folded flags and empty caskets.

“Protestants and Catholics aren’t that different in the grand scheme of things, but there’s a lot of different traditions and rituals. A lot of Catholics would wanna get buried only in a Catholic cemetery, for instance, and would want to know they’d get Catholic funeral rites. Like holding a vigil before the funeral...”

He’d held a wake for his mother, after she’d passed. It had just been him and Bucky, for most of it. A few folks from the church and from the hospital had come by, but no one wanted to stick around long, what with her dying of TB. So the two of them had spent much of the night sitting in the dark, silently passing a bottle back and forth and waiting for the dawn, occasionally breaking the silence with quiet stories of times she’d patched them up or reamed them out.

He wondered if anyone had held a wake for him after he’d gone missing. If anyone thought of it, or even knew he was Catholic. He’d never talked about it much, so it was likely that the only person to know had been Bucky, and Bucky...

Not that it mattered, since he hadn’t died. Which was probably for the best, since he hadn’t thought to pray or do any of the stuff he ought to have done to take care of his soul. But if Steve was a lousy soldier, he was an even worse Catholic -- he hadn’t even remembered to pack his rosary when he’d shipped out. And where Father Kirkland from the masses of his boyhood would have insisted that his last thoughts before crashing ought to have been of God and repentance and committing his immortal soul to Him, the truth was that all he could think of was Peggy, and how damn scared he was, and, in that last second of impact and the sudden and horrible cold, of Bucky.

He shivered slightly, tightening his hold on Loki, the warmth anchoring him and banishing memories of the cold. “Some folks feel it’s really important to get sent off right if they wanna go to heaven, or whatever afterlife they believe in. I honestly always figured it mattered more to the people left alive than the folks who were already dead, which is why I didn’t care all that much if my tags were right or not,” he concluded. “I’m... It got hard to believe in all the things I was supposed to, after a while. All the details and the rituals and the scripture.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Do you... do you have religion in Asgard?” It felt odd, thinking of entities worshiped as gods worshiping gods of their own in turn, but it seemed like such a pervasive element of culture, it was equally odd imagining they didn’t.

 

Loki hummed.

“I would not call it religion. I think. From what, admittedly little, I know of your religions, it is a means of telling stories, of explaining how things came to be and how they function, but on Asgard, we _know_. We are long lived enough that there are records to the dawn of time, if any care to seek them out. And many do, but… we do not have those we consider above ourselves. We have those who came before us, and the tales of their great deeds, and we have laws and decrees set down by the King, but…. not, I think, religion as you experience it.” Loki gave a little half shrug, unwilling to knock Steve’s hand free from where it was currently burrowing into his hair.

“I know a little of Christianity. Some of the stories that your people have come to know of the Asgardians, and of me in particular, were recorded by an ex-lover of mine, another human man, a Christian, who came to regret me, I think. In any case, he was the reason I became known here as a fool and a trickster. But I would imagine your Christianity and his differ, given that the times and everything else along with them have changed.”

He thought it may be worth asking how Steve would prefer to be seen to, in the event that he died first, but it was a conversation Loki did not want to have. One he did not want rattling in his head. So instead, he asked something close, but different.

“And what do you believe in now?” It was not a light question, he knew, but Steve had never shrunk from such things. And this, like the tags, was important, Loki knew, to Steve, and to who he was. Belief could shape a man or cripple him, and it was important to Loki that he not…. that he respect what Steve believed.

He was learning to respect his laws and his morals. He could respect whatever religion his partner clung to, as well.

 

It was.... odd. To conceive of not believing but _knowing,_ or not needing faith but simply memory, with a race long enough lived to retain knowledge of the dawn of time. Or at least, their time. Did the God that he believed in create Asgard, or was that world separate from His dominion? Was Loki wrong about something greater than himself, or did Steve overestimate the reach and power of his God? He wasn’t wholly sure how he felt about it, but it was certainly something interesting to ponder. Though, later perhaps.

“You’d be surprised how little some folks change,” he mumbled, breathing in deeply the smell of Loki’s hair as he rested his face against it. Already, Loki’s lover of early Christian times (the one who must have been responsible for the horse story, he guessed) must have had a more open mind than certain sects that persisted. And that was odd too -- how traditions and beliefs and rituals could all get passed down largely unchanged through the centuries, and on the one hand it was beautiful, a preservation of culture that connected people through generations upon generations, and on the other it was poisonous in the way it allowed people to lock their minds into the past and barricade against progress. “But I’d say it was definitely his loss.”

He leaned back into the pillows and exhaled when Loki asked him what he believed, sitting in silence for long seconds as he thought the question through.

It wasn’t an easy one.

“My mom was born in Ireland and came over to the states as a little girl. She brought her religion over with her -- Irish Catholic -- and held on to it. Irish weren’t the most popular folks in that time, since they were mostly immigrants and mostly poor, so there was a lot of prejudice, and it just made her cling to that part of her identity, that part of her home even harder. But I got born here and a lot of my friends weren’t Catholic and being less obviously Irish made it easier growing up, so... I didn’t have as much reason to hold to it as tight as she did.”

He shrugged. “I went through my first communion and everything, went to mass, but I mostly did it for her. Not that I didn’t... There were parts I really believed in. Enjoyed.” He frowned. “But there were parts... Bucky wasn’t Catholic, and I had a hard time with the idea that he wouldn’t go to heaven just on account of going to the wrong church. Or that guys, uh, guys like me, I guess, who looked at other fellas, would go to hell on account of... you know.” Glancing down, he chewed on his lower lip.

“She held to all of it so hard, but in the end, when she died anyway in spite of all the praying and all the recitations -- and some jerk had the nerve to suggest we hadn’t been devout enough--” he swallowed. “After she died, I didn’t go to mass anymore. So I guess that makes me a lapsed Catholic.” He sighed and sat up a little more, pulling his knees up under the covers and letting go of Loki’s hair. “I dunno. It was hard to believe that any one group had all the answers when everyone believed something different and they were all convinced they had it right. Or that so many people would be damned just cause they got born in the wrong place at the wrong time. Didn’t seem right. Or fair.”

Which, he realized, still didn’t answer the question. So far, he’d told Loki what he _didn’t_ believe in. Less of what he actually still did.

“I believe in God,” he said, abruptly. “I believe there’s a higher power. That there’s a soul. I want to believe we go somewhere better when we die.” His forehead creased at that. “I’m not sure what I _do_ believe for a lot of it. I know there’s a lot I _want_ to believe, a lot that I hope for -- that there’s all a plan, that there’s a reason for everything, that in the end good things happen to good people and it isn’t all random and unfair. But I don’t think hoping is the same as having faith.”

 

Loki could not help but think it sweet, the way Steve held him, the way Steve spoke of him. _His loss_ , he insisted, despite knowing that Loki had, at the time, seen humans as no better than ants. He’d taken one for his lover while thinking so little of them; what did that say of him? And how terribly he must have treated him.

But his attention was pulled away from that, away from the probably deserved thoughts of how exactly those tales of him had come to pass, and the hurts they no doubt hid.

Instead, he was pulled towards understanding, or attempting to understand, his lover now. His forehead creased.

“I know where people go when they die,” He said softly. “I have seen the souls in Hel. And yet… yet the way you speak of it tells me what you know of it differs greatly from the land I know. I have seen, too, the halls of Valhalla, the feasts to the champions and warriors and the battle slain. I have seen your soul, and you have given parts of it to me, there is a part of you in me that, as near as I can tell, will never fade. Your beliefs are not wrong, these things exist and are true. Our words, our understandings may change, but… your hope and your faith are both safe, I think, in this case. I wish that could be true always, but not everything that you hope for is a reality. Still. This, the afterlife, the soul, those are real.” He pursed his lips.

“Your higher power, your plan… the only thing like it I know of is the concept of fate, and even I do not know what it is, whether it is. I do not think that any do, and those who might dare not or cannot speak of it. But what would life be, if choices did not lay to be made, if a thought or understanding or whim could not change what and who you are? Had I flicked my wrist differently, that day, I would never have seen you, never been caught. Any number of times, all that would have had to have changed was the tiniest detail… and yet we have come to be here. And maybe that is an argument for predestination… or maybe, that is to say that we control so much of our lives that any number of pathways exist for us to travel down. And this time, this once, you and I made every choice correctly. In other worlds, in other versions of events… who knows what came of us. There is a world where you killed me, and one where I killed you. One where my initial plan worked and I took the sceptre to Thanos… but I am grateful to be in this one. To be where we are. And no matter what belief is true, whatever is in charge of that, whomever is responsible, I am grateful to them.”

Loki realized he’d grown impassioned, reacting to the way Steve curled in on himself and the way doubt had edged into his voice. He’d asked the wrong thing, and he needed to set it right.

“I have never heard of someone denied entry to the after life for loving men, or for praying incorrectly. What sort of power that would be so good, so high above us, able to create and govern us, would be so petty?” It seemed to him that any god would be pleased to be thought of, regardless of the name he was called by. And if he truly cared so highly, why should he not correct them? It would take but once, as a powerful as great and mighty as one such as he would have to be. “And if they were, what would be the complaint? If you love men you will be incapable of death? Well. I would gladly accept, on both of our behalves.”

“I wish I could show you all the things and places I speak of.” Loki told Steve, wistfully. If they survived Thanos, he still wanted to. He still would. “So that you need never hope again, or doubt what your faith tells you. In the mean time, I hope you will believe me when I say that it is truth. That my words are true. If, after-- After our business is concluded here, I will show you.”

He rubbed his thumb over Steve’s tag, pressing the promise into it.

 

Steve blinked, startled, when Loki claimed definitive knowledge of the afterlife -- almost as if it was the sort of thing just commonly known. Part of him felt his heart skip a beat; part of him, at the same time, balked -- he wanted to know, but he wasn’t sure if that was even the sort of thing that was meant to _be_ known.

And there was the question of whether he and Loki were even destined for the same afterlife -- if Asgardians went to Valhalla, and knew that to be fact, was Valhalla the same as the heaven of Steve’s belief, or would they part ways after death? Did the rules work differently for their two worlds? Or did they just have different words for the same concept? He frowned at the idea of them being parted for eternity in the next life. Though he supposed it was incentive to hold on to this one for as long as they were both able.

It was a comfort to know that, regardless of its nature, there _was_ an afterlife and a soul, and that he was not too far mistaken in the existence of those, at least. And if was even nicer that Loki was trying to offer him this comfort, this peace of mind, even if he didn’t wholly make sense when talking about it. Though the idea of how easily everything could have turned out so much worse -- how easily he could have lost Loki, or never found him in the first place, and how easily reality might have been made of the same stuff that haunted his nightmares, with him or Loki lying bloody on the ground and dying --

He blinked, shaking himself slightly to derail that train of thought. Even if there were other worlds where that had come to pass, this world was different. They were both alive and both here, and whether that was fate or a divine plan or sheer dumb luck didn’t matter. Listening to Loki, he smiled, at Loki’s assertion that God wouldn’t be so petty. Steve had often thought (hoped) the same himself, but it was good to hear it from someone else’s lips. Though the next part was a little perplexing...

“It’s, ah, not the idea that you don’t get to go to the afterlife,” he said, shifting his knees so he could face Loki a little more, picking at the bedspread. “Just the wrong one. You mentioned Hel and Valhalla... in our beliefs -- in mine -- there’s Hell and Heaven,” he explained. “Heaven is eternal paradise, and it’s the reward for the good. Though sometimes the Church has a narrow definition of ‘good.’ Hell is for everyone else, and it’s eternal punishment for the wicked.” Which, according to some doctrines, seemed to account for just about everyone. “And as for God not telling anyone himself... One of the major parts of being a Christian is having faith, and trusting in Him. Having belief in the face of doubt.”

And that was where Steve found himself wanting, lacking in the conviction that came more easily in other facets of his life. People, ideals... those were easier to believe in. God and angels and heaven and hell, on the other hand... well. Even with Loki’s assurances, that wasn’t faith so much as trust in Loki.

But, he did have plenty of trust in Loki. Plenty of belief. This discussion of faith and fate was so far a cry from the last talk they’d had about fate, back in Loki’s cell after Loki had read _The Sword in the Stone_ and asked Steve if he believed in fate and predestination. Their roles were very nearly reversed, and whatever views Loki had held then about his own fate and doom were clearly changed.

It brought a smile to Steve’s lips, and he reached out to take Loki’s hand and give it a squeeze. Because even if his faith in the next world was lacking, he had a lot of faith in the things here and now. “Maybe someday,” he conceded. “Do you really think your afterlife and ours are the same?”

 

“I believe they are; while I have been on realms where the dead intermingle with the living, do you really suppose there is a separate world for the dead of each realm? Even Yggdrasil does not have enough branches for that. Perhaps it is that we observe them differently, based upon our beliefs, or perhaps as in life, we see only what we wish to see. But I would wager that your dead and… I would wager that they all find themselves in the same place, at the end of it all. Though I will admit that I never took the time or even thought to look or ask.” And he was disappointed in himself for it. Because he’d thought to ask about the elves and the Vanir, about the other peoples that Asgardians considered people. But humans had not been among that list. Nor had Frost Giants.

“And do you really think that anyone such as you would qualify for the ranks of the wicked?” He asked, surprised and shocked by the thought. “If that were the case, what hope would the rest of humanity have? Surely no power would overlook all the good you have done and all of the good done in your name, in favor of frowning upon your preferences. But then, I suppose if you believe yourself doomed to punishment, there is little question where I should end up, in your belief system. Provided frost giants have souls.”

Made uncomfortable by the heaviness of this all, he shifted both his body and attentions.

“Enough of death, let us turn our attentions to life. What shall we have for breakfast? Have you outfitted the kitchen as well as you have this room, or…?” To be honest Loki was unsure of what the changes in their living situation meant. Were they now only to go to the other floor when invited, as guests? Was their living meant to be solely Steve’s responsibility, monetarily? If so, he really did need to follow up with Pepper in regards to the work he was meant to do with Stark’s medical researchers.

“I suppose I never thought to ask, either-- how has our moving into this apartment changed things upstairs? They do not think us unfriendly or rude, do they? And I hope that they did not offer this as a means of keeping us quieter, and the kitchen upstairs less covered in whipping cream.” He made it sound like a tease, a joke, but there was a real question to it.

And then he groaned, remembering.

“And we have yet to speak to Pepper about last night’s conflict with the men with cameras.” He reminded Steve.

It was still better than all this talk of death and fate, but only by a narrow margin.

 

Steve nodded, supposing this made sense to some degree, that perception of the afterlife might vary, but they all went somewhere similar in the end. Though oddly enough, he found Loki’s lack of certainty up to a certain point rather comforting. Leaving some mystery about what lay beyond... well, some things just weren’t meant to be known beyond a shadow of a doubt. He blushed a little at Loki’s assessment of the afterlife Steve deserved. “I’m not _better_ than anyone else,” he protested. “I just... got given the ability to do more to help than most people get. The strength and the chance to be in the right place in the right time,” he said with a shrug. “I just try to do the right thing when I can and be a good person. Balance out the bad and the people I’ve had to kill by doing good. And if that’s... if that’s the criteria...” He leaned in and kissed Loki’s cheek, “then I think we’ll both be alright.”

They had to be. If God loved them and redemption was possible and forgiveness able to be earned. That was something Steve intended to hold faith in.

But he was willing to let the topic of conversation change to breakfast, and less philosophical concerns. His stomach growled as a result of the inquiry; dinner last night had been delectable, but not particularly filling -- and then they’d gone and worked off most of it with their subsequent activities. Right now he felt like he could eat a horse. Or at least an entire plate of pancakes. “Breakfast sounds like a real good idea,” he remarked, stretching, “but I’m afraid we’ll have to go upstairs since I haven’t stocked the kitchen. At some point we’ll need to invest in some pots and pans and the like.”

It would be good to show Loki options beyond a constant stream of takeout and purchased meals, or road snacks and street food. It’d be good for him to get back into a habit of cooking and making healthy options too. “Basically, the bedroom’s all I managed to pull together in time. But we can stock the rest together and pick out what we want and what we both like. In the meantime, we’re still welcome upstairs,” he assured Loki. “We didn’t get kicked out. We’ve just got a bit more space this way. Bruce is fully moving in, he thinks, or at least letting Tony set him up with a permanent place here. This way we all get some privacy if we want it or need it and don’t have to worry about getting under eachother’s noses and driving one another crazy, but we can all still use the penthouse living room as a shared common area. Tony’s all on board with it, and the arrangement is pretty much the same otherwise.”

It was really quite ideal. They were just down the elevator, seconds away, if they wished for company or needed backup or anything else. But they also had a shared haven where they could be intimate and not worry about making anyone uncomfortable with excessive affection. They felt less like house guests this way; and Pepper and Tony got a little of their own space back.

“I think, though,” he said, tugging down the covers, “That we probably oughta shower and get dressed before heading up.” He grinned and climbed out of bed, making his way toward the master bathroom. “And don’t worry about the camera guys. I’m sure it’s nothing anyone will pay any attention to anyhow.”

 

“I’m sure you’re right,” Loki agreed easily, though he secretly wanted to push, to explain to Steve just how much better he was, how his being better was what made Loki want to be. But this wasn’t the time, and besides-- he’d forgotten to check and see if the bathroom was large enough for the two of them, or if he was going to make it into something far more exotic than whatever Tony might have worked into his floor plans.

“I would love to go shopping with you, and all the rest as well. Really I am very excited about this.” He felt almost shy saying it as he followed Steve into the bathroom.

“I love the idea of making a home with you.”

He looked around the inside of the little room and pulled a face.

“Perhaps starting with our shower?” He suggested wryly.

It would hold them both, at least, though not so comfortably as he might have liked, and there was a bath portion to it, but… he rather doubted the two of them would fit _there._

“It does not have to be a hot spring, if you do not want, but I would not be opposed to creating one. I could merely double-- perhaps quadruple the size. Then we may share whenever we like.”

He thought about the logistics of it all for a moment, then added, “I can also charm the spout so that for each drop of water provided, four fall. To help ease the burden of our resources. As in the hotel room.”

Loki rolled his arms, feeling the way his shoulders popped a bit in their settings.

A good, long, hot soak was in his future, even if it were not to be right this instant. He thought that a shower would be the likeliest candidate for their morning, if only because it would get them upstairs and to food sooner.

Provided they both managed to keep their hands to themselves in the process of getting clean.

Well. He would if Steve did.

Maybe.

 

Steve chuckled, happy that Loki’s excitement about their new home had carried over from the night before, and hadn’t disappeared in a fit of trepidation in the morning light. “You can change the shower however you want,” he told him, sure that what Tony didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him (or his tower), and that Loki would undoubtedly be able to modify it whatever way they wished, without the difficulty of contractors and funds and everything else. The hot spring in the motel had been... well, ‘magical’ was perhaps a bit obvious a term, but it was still apt in more way than one. The thought of having such a luxurious spot right here with them was nice. And also, where it would be relatively easy enough for Steve to track down antiques and other memorabilia from his own time to help make it feel more like home for him, it would be good to give Loki a chance to bring in a bit of Asgard for himself.

The shower was a bit of a tight fit, but the bathroom here was at least a good deal more spacious than the guest room’s. He turned the water on, running it hot, and climbed in, holding the door open for Loki before sliding it shut. He’d had the presence of mind to move down all his toiletries and outfit the bathroom with soap and shampoo, when he’d been moving down his things, and had asked the others to bring Loki’s as well when they’d been transporting his clothes while the two of them were out of the tower. It was tempting, while working the soap into a lather, to work it into Loki’s skin, sliding slippery hands over his entire body...

Only that would result in them getting more dirty than clean, and in all likelihood they’d wind up back in bed rather than at breakfast. And in the battle between Steve’s stomach and his cock, he knew his stomach would lose out unless his brain stepped in and prevented things from going too far. So he kept the shower functional, quickly soaping up and reaching for the shampoo, moving out of the way of the spray to give Loki a turn. It was a little awkward, shifting back and forth and maneuvering turns beneath the water, but they managed it well enough, with only a few distracting caresses (and Steve only stealing a few lingering glances at Loki’s glistening, perfect figure before tearing his gaze away and forcing himself to think of less appealing things).

Breakfast, he kept reminding himself. They needed breakfast and to check in with everyone else, and he needed to get in touch with Natasha about her text last night. And after that... well, after that, they could figure it out and do what they wished. Maybe some errands, maybe some magical decorating... It could be an easy enough afternoon.

Soon enough they were pink and clean and scoured free of any residual evidence of the night’s activities, and Steve shut off the water and reached for the towels (he hadn’t thought of them, but Pepper had, bless her heart).

“Another morning, when I’m not starving, we’re gonna have to enjoy that shower more,” he said, leaning in to kiss Loki as he handed him his towel.

 

Loki grinned back at his lover lopsidedly.

“We’ll enjoy it more once I have made it more enjoyable.” He said simply, punctuating the statement with a shrug as he began toweling the damp from his skin.

It had been wonderful to find all of his things not only present and accounted for, but organized neatly, as he’d stored them in his room upstairs. Whoever had moved them down here had clearly done so with consideration, care, and attention to detail.

Dressing, he put himself in just a pair of slacks and a button down, adding the waistcoat only as an after thought, rather than as a necessary comfort layer. He made note of that, though it was a minor change, and wondered if it was just that he was preoccupied with his hunger, or if it was that his time before the mirror, attempting to see himself through Steve’s eyes had truly done some good after all.

In either case, he folded his sleeves up and out of the way, baring his forearms, in preparation for eating, as well as to experiment with his own comfort. He felt a little exposed, and given how slender his arms looked from this vantage point… but Steve liked them. That… should be enough. He would work on making it enough.

It seemed odd, taking the elevator up to the same space they had spent so much time in. Strange how much just the short elevator ride could make it feel as if they did not belong, or at least less like the space up there was theirs.

When the doors opened and they emerged onto the open area of the shared penthouse floor, though, he could tell instantly that something was amiss. The halls were empty, but even from here they could hear the sounds of a woman reporter, her stirring voice echoing through the whole of the penthouse from the screen in the den.

“--seen stepping out with a mystery woman, and both seemed surprised and taken aback when cameras greeted them outside of the restaurant they spent over an hour dining inside of. Now, no one has been able to identify the woman yet, but she _does_ appear to be wearing Captain America’s tags, so a reward is being offered for anyone with information about who she is and how they met. If you have any leads, text the number on the screen now!”

Loki turned worried eyes to Steve, but it seemed the television was not done yet.

“And speaking of Avengers and their lady loves, Thor has been spotted in London! British officials responding to a call about a woman who had gone missing while exploring an empty building were shocked to find that though they searched high and low for her, just when they had been ready to rule it a kidnapping, she simply walked out, confused and upset and, apparently, unaware of the time that had passed. When they moved to arrest them for trespassing, though, a sudden rain descended, only to cease when Thor had lifted the lady in his arms. There is some confusion in the report about what exactly followed, but everyone can agree that the woman appears to have been spirited away by Thor on some sort of beam of light.” The woman heaved an obviously dramatic sigh. “How romantic! We’ll of course keep our eyes and ears on that story, as well, and update you, when more is known.”

Loki’s stomach knotted up, and he didn’t think he could walk the few feet to the room where the TV was. He didn’t want to see, didn’t want to have to look at what he knew was real.

There were people searching for him-- for _her_ , specifically, and meanwhile Thor had come to Midgard and not even thought to look for him. Did not care in the slightest.

 

It was funny, Steve thought, as they rode the elevator up, how different things were now than the first time he and Loki had taken the trip up to the penthouse together. How then, they’d been apprehensive and bracing themselves, and now...

Now they were home. Going up to have breakfast in the company of friends. And there were no disguises, no deceptions -- within the walls of the tower, at least, they could live honestly and openly without fear or rejection or reprisal.

They’d come a long way. Even if they were standing in the same spot as the doors dinged open.

The feeling of contentment, however, didn’t last long. Perhaps he’d jinxed it earlier. Or, perhaps, they’d just used up their good luck. Because Steve felt his stomach sinking and then clenching in anger as he realized what the others were watching on the TV. What people were saying and showing and offering a reward for--

“What is this?” He asked, voice low and a little strained.

The others jumped up, startled, expressions in varying levels of guilt.

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” Pepper said gently, “I tried making a few calls last night when JARVIS gave me your message, but there wasn’t a whole lot I could do at that point. I called the restaurant and they’re looking into any of the staff on duty who might have tipped off the press--”

“Don’t worry about it, Cap,” Tony broke in. “The paps are always after me -- you get used to it. No one worthwhile takes this sort of thing seriously, anyway, and they’ll all forget about it in a couple of days when some drunk celebutante crashes her car. I mean, if you want, I’m sure I could do something good and scandalous to take some of the heat off you--”

“Tony, no.”

“--Or we can just have you and Lokester keep your heads down for the rest of the week. Maybe invest in some sunglasses. And believe me, this is nowhere near as bad as California. When I lived in Malibu...”

Steve’s attention drifted from Tony to Bruce, who was hastily trying to tuck something papery under the couch cushions. “Bruce?” he asked.

Bruce winced. “Um. It, uh. We only turned on the TV because, well, I saw these at the news-stand when I went out for a walk this morning...” Looking shame-faced, he handed over the cheaply-printed full-color papers. Papers with photos of Steve and Loki leaving the restaurant, and absurd captions and speculation.

Steve’s expression darkened. “They’re allowed to print this garbage?”

“Freedom of the press,” Tony answered with a shrug.

“And they get to put a bounty out on Loki like -- like some kind of--” He stopped before he could say ‘criminal’ since, to some, the word was accurate. But he made his resentment clear all the same.

“If Loki avoids shifting into that shape for a while, everyone ought to forget about it soon enough when nothing more comes up,” Pepper gently assured him.

“Or...” Bruce interjected, adjusting his glasses, “if you want to create a smoke screen, you could try letting the two of you get sighted like that every now and then... If you, you know. Need to misdirect people.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d just come up here for breakfast, and now instead he got all of _this_. And what was worse, it had killed his appetite. “What about the report on Thor?” he asked, gesturing to the TV, which had switched to some story involving a fashion show. “Is... was he really here?”

 

Loki swallowed back a surge of imagined bile.

“Yeah, there’s video and everything, kind of blurry, but unless there are other hammer wielding blonde lifeguard looking guys who can control the weather, that was definitely Thor.” Tony spoke through his pretense at petulance, obviously disappointed at being denied a chance to excite the press with his own bad behavior.

Uncharitably, Loki thought he might simply be annoyed not to have been on the list of Avengers on the screen that day.

“Heimdall must have alerted him to something worrisome, unless someone has found a way to contact Asgard, he serves as the only means of seeing between worlds. The woman he took with him-- was she the same one that he spent his time with while on Midgard before?” Loki asked slowly, trying to swallow his feelings.

He could no longer hold that against Thor, the fact that he had fallen in love with a mortal. Looking sidelong at Steve, Loki realized that he and his once-brother had more in common than their differing bloodlines might lead one to believe. But the fact that Thor, who used to love him more than any other, had put her before him, continued to do so…

He was glad he had Steve, glad that he had someone who cared for him so strongly that the sudden realization of the further loss of Thor’s love for him would not send him plummeting fully into despair.

He reached for the papers in Steve’s hand and took them gently from him, eyes downcast to take in the cover, their faces in full on it, along with some further back photos and zoomed in, slightly blurred images of Steve’s dog tags.

Breathless and panicked and trying not to show it, Loki laughed a little.

“Well, I did say I wanted photos of us together.” He sounded like he was being strangled, and he needed to take a deep breath.

He wasn’t hungry now.

“What-- what do you recommend, Pepper? If there are people searching for me looking like this--” He held up the magazine. “Should I avoid taking that form? Or would it be better to establish it? Should we contact the people offering a bounty for information, and feed them something false? An identity that is not mine?” He thought that had been what Bruce meant, anyway, and it made sense.

Regardless of all of that, he trusted Pepper above the others in the advice category, if only because he knew that it was she who dealt with it most often, on the serious side of things. Bruce seemed to stay out of the eyes of most people, and with his unassuming nature, that seemed easy enough for him. Tony enjoyed the spotlight, but only insofar as the performance went. It was Pepper, no doubt, who had to do cleanup afterwards.

But, then again, and probably more importantly, “And Steve? What do you want to do?”

It didn’t bear thinking overlong on Thor. They had no way of contacting him that they knew of, and even if they did… they had nothing to say to him. Save begging for his help, for the aid of Asgard, against a threat that they had not even learned more about yet.

 

“I... don’t know...” he looked to Pepper, uncertainly.

She frowned and bit her lip. “If we were worried about Steve being outed before he’s ready, then I’d say pictures of him with a mysterious girlfriend would work to your advantage. But where I don’t think that’s an imminent worry, giving the press too much might just make you greater tabloid targets. It’s still an alright disguise to use, and we can come up with a more solid identity if you want,” she quickly added, “but it might be better if you two stayed indoors for a bit, or used Loki’s magic to change your appearances in public for the next week or so. Not to mention, crafting too detailed of a lie could make things awkward if you _do_ decide to go public.”

Steve inhaled, then nodded, considering what she said. Part of him dreaded the idea of ever making something so personal as his sexuality and his relationship with Loki public -- especially when people would latch on to it with such invasive enthusiasm -- but at the same time, he’d talked with Loki about someday reaching a point where they didn’t have to hide it all. And he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. “Let’s stay under the radar for a while and see where this goes. If we need to, we can craft an identity for Loki. Otherwise, we can hope they leave us the hell alone,” he mumbled.

It felt like such a violation, though. And a frustrating reminder of the days when he’d been little more than a performer groomed for public consumption. Though at least in those days, it had been the persona people cared about. His personal life had been his, and the press hadn’t felt like the enemy (he’d had enemies enough filling that role).

But, he reminded himself, he wasn’t the only one behind affected. Stealing a sideways look at Loki, he reached out and took his fingers, giving them a light squeeze. “At least it doesn’t look like Thor is here to take you in,” he said softly. If SHIELD had contacted Asgard to alert them of Loki’s presence, then surely Thor would have come to retrieve his brother first. Right? That he hadn’t meant he either had other things to deal with, or had no idea Loki was here. Either way, it gave them time. “I can talk to Natasha, see if he’s had any contact with SHIELD or not.”

 

“It is not that I want him to force me to come back, but that he was here and chose not to try, or care, or look for me…” He spoke under his breath, so that Steve would hear but the others wouldn’t be able to. “Whoever she is, she has become of more import to him than I.” He swallowed and lowered his eyes. “Of my family it was he who loved me best, and--” He stopped, forced himself into silence rather than be made to be so by choking on either words or tears.

“They haven’t said who she is yet.” Bruce said, in the silence, and Loki realized he must have been louder than he thought. He flushed, realizing that he had, again, shown too much vulnerability. Now everyone was uncomfortable. Including himself.

“I cannot imagine any reason for him to take a Midgardian unless she were the one he claimed as his own, his love.” He spoke a little bitterly, he knew. He did not try to hide that, at least the emotion was one he could draw strength from.

“What Odin will do with her, what he will think of Thor’s decision to bring her, I shudder to think.”

He did not want to have sympathy for her, though. He wanted only to envy and hate her.

He shrugged, attempting to hide his feeling behind action.

“We came up for breakfast. Have the rest of you eaten already?” He asked, hoping to avoid further talk of the television and what it held.

He didn’t care, didn’t want to care. Steve’s secret of his interest in the male form was safely hidden by his being seen in public romancing a woman. No one would be able to track her down. They would ignore that Thor had come and gone; with any luck he would remain where he was.

Loki would come to forget this new hurt atop the old ache, and things would return to as they should be.

And they could turn their eyes to Thanos.

Where they should have been, where they would have been if he had not been the fool, had not gotten hurt.

He wasn’t hungry, but he could eat. At least he would have the satisfaction of destroying _something_.

 

Steve squeezed Loki’s hand harder, wishing he could reassure him somehow; the most he could do was remind him that even if Thor wasn’t present for him, Steve was, and that wasn’t about to change. “The report said she’d been missing for hours,” Steve reminded him quietly. “Could be something weird is going on -- something bigger than we know about that Thor’s already involved in. We don’t know yet.” It was a meager comfort, he knew. But Steve was willing to bet that Thor’s sudden appearance heralded more than just a tryst.

It might even, he realized with a lurch in his stomach, have something to do with Thanos. Not that there was anything to point to that, but... if something cosmically large were on the move, it would stand to reason that Asgard would know first, what with Heimdall and all. They’d assumed that anything on that front would happen to Steve or Loki first, given their interaction with the Titan, but it was possible that things had moved forward without their knowledge.

The weight of his phone in his back pocket seemed to grow heavier with the reminder that he needed to talk to Natasha and share that intel, before it was too late.

“We already ate, but we have some extra chopped vegetables in the fridge from Bruce’s omelettes, and plenty of eggs still,” Pepper piped up. “And there’s some fruit in the kitchen. Oh! And I made sure to have JARVIS order extra bacon with our last grocery order.”

“We have extra bacon?” Tony frowned. “Where? And why didn’t I know about it?”

“I hid it in the bottom of the vegetable drawer, and because it isn’t for you,” she replied without skipping a beat.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Why you sneaky.... sneaky type person.”

Pepper arched an eyebrow and smiled at him. Tony finally sank back into the couch with a resigned sigh. “Ugh. Bruce, change the channel to Top Gear, will you?”

Steve could have hugged her. Bacon, he knew, could go a long way to improving the morning. “I’ll get started fixing something up,” he said. And then, because he could, leaned in and gave Loki a quick kiss on the cheek. “You wanna stay here and catch up on the news or wanna join me?”

 

“You, always.” Loki said quickly, following him, pleasantly distracted, however briefly, by his show of affection in front of his friends. It was one thing to be out with him as a woman, around strangers. It was something completely different being seen by those who knew him, those who mattered to him. It was a pleasant feeling, and only made him more certain that he wanted to be around Steve now.

Not that he would have felt unwelcome or uncomfortable if he had stayed, but given the choice between anyone else-- everyone else-- or Steve, he knew which he would choose, every time.

He followed him into the kitchen, and stopped before the refrigerator. He opened the door and removed the bacon from the vegetable drawer, crossing to lay it on the counter beside the stove top. He’d been quiet since coming into the kitchen, but only because he was thinking. It felt a bit like his thoughts were trying to shred his mind from inside, sharp and full of jagged edges as they tumbled about within his skull.

“I wonder if he-- if Thor hasn’t done precisely what I thought to do; taking away the one mortal he loves, because he knows now that Thanos is coming.”

He said it, aware that it would do little enough good. It did him little good to lay voice to the thought, and would no doubt only upset Steve, but he still felt like it was a poison to be squeezed from him. Even if it was to be pulled from his chest up through his throat to coat his tongue and leave him feeling bitter and ugly.

Defeating Thanos had always been a slim hope, but if that were the truth of things, if Thor had appeared and then disappeared with his lover because of his inability to save the rest of the realm, well. What did that say for the reality of their chances?

But Thor wasn’t Loki. He wouldn’t just abandon his friends, give up so easily. He would not run away like that.

Would he?

He knew that Thor had changed. Become more subdued, more responsible. The lessons Loki had sought once to teach him had finally made their home in his skull, as near as he could tell.

“It is one thing for him to know that I am here, to allow me to exist without seeking me out to punish me. That would be... almost a kindness, I suppose. But that he did not seek me out, that he did not-- It would be quite another thing to abandon me to, as far as he knows, die. But then… I suppose by now he has had time for Odin to tell him the truth of things, and for it to sink in. I suppose it would make sense that he has at long last given up on me. Though… though he had claimed that he never would.” Loki was holding it together well enough to try and make light of it, to keep himself from screaming or crying or lashing out at his surroundings.

He did find the bowl with the fruit that Pepper had been talking about, though, and in it was an apple-- not the golden ones of Asgard, but one that was bright and green, and, when he bit ferociously through its flesh, it crunched satisfyingly in his mouth.

Sighing, he slammed it down on the table and pressed one palm flat against the surface and the other to his face, shielding his eyes.

“I feel as if I should perhaps go back downstairs. My mind is turning in destructive circles, and I do not want to frighten--” he gestured out towards the main room. “And I don’t want to ruin--” He bit off the words, and moved in close to Steve, crowding him until he could drop his head forward to rest against the warmth of him.

“I don’t know why it bothers me so much. It feels so raw, so broken and… I know I don’t belong to that family. It’s just the only one I have known.”

 

Steve retrieved two skillets -- one for bacon and one for eggs -- from the cupboard and then set about fetching the oil so he could grease up the omelet pan for cooking. He stopped in his tracks, though, listening to Loki. While watching the report, Steve had been mostly concerned with the invasion of privacy, and any threat that re-establishing contact with Asgard might pose. It was increasingly clear, though, that this went so much deeper than worry for Loki.

He was hurting.

Setting down the spatula he’d been pulling out, Steve reached out and put a hand on Loki’s shoulder.

Only, that wasn’t enough. Not really. Not when he could do more.

Another step, and he pulled Loki into a hug, wrapping his arms around him and just holding him close for several seconds; their bodies were pressed together, not sexually this time, but in search of comfort and reassurance.

“We don’t know what’s going on yet,” he said quietly. “We have no information right now. We don’t even know who that woman was. Thor met his girlfriend in New Mexico, didn’t he? And this was London. And thinking this has anything to do with Thanos is a big leap...” A leap Steve had admittedly considered, but which was still a long shot with any luck. “If Thor knew something was coming, he’d warn us. Maybe she was hurt and he needed to bring her to Asgard’s healers. Maybe she had information Asgard needed -- we don’t know.” He rubbed slow circles over Loki’s back.

“Thor cares about you. I know... I know things were rough during the invasion. But when you were locked up on the Helicarrier and we were talking about what to do with you, he pointed out that no matter what, you were still of Asgard and you were his brother,” he recalled. “Even if you were adopted. Even with the things you’d done. Stuff between you two -- It’s strained, I get that. But I don’t think it’s irreparable.”

He needed to believe that, for the sake of his camaraderie with Thor, but mostly for Loki’s sake. Steve had lost enough family to know how precious it was.

“He wouldn’t abandon all of us to die,” he reiterated, giving Loki a small squeeze. “If he knew something bad was coming, he’d find a way to help us or warn us. That’s the sort of guy he seems to be. And I think you’ve got more in common than you’re willing to admit.” He pulled back a bit, so he could look Loki in the eyes. “And even if things were broken forever between you and your family -- and I don’t believe that’s the case, but if it were -- we make new families. And you can have one here. Have one here already as far as I’m concerned. Okay?”

 

“I doubt Asgard would treat her, if she were hurt. And why should he pick that one woman if she were not already someone he knew of? Besides, the question of how he came to be here is… it’s troubling. I do not know of any way that he might move unassisted between realms. No, there has to be some logical reason that he should need her off this world. And if it is not a threat imminent to the rest of this realm, then it is one this realm does not have means to guard her against. You may be under prepared as a whole, but that you were able to drive me off, and the army I was given along with it… no, I suspect there is something we do not know. But regardless, if he needs help, he always, _always_ in the past came to me. And he didn’t, he hasn’t… and he likely won’t. Not ever again. Because even without ever having seen it, without my changing skin before him, he knows exactly what I am now. Which is exactly the thing he hates and has sworn to slay. There is nothing to repair but an illusion that, once shattered, becomes naught but a soap bubble memory.”

He shook his head.

“I don’t like it, but I suppose you are right. And what he does, where he goes-- it has nothing to do with me. Not anymore.”

It felt like swallowing down the hurt, the poison, and he tried to silence his thoughts. It didn’t-- shouldn’t-- matter. He had turned his back on them; it should be no surprise that they did not even want him back to punish him, any longer.

And it wasn’t even as though he had any claim to this world, on the basis of his being on it. Maybe Thor had not even bothered to ask where he was. But how had Thor come to be here? The Bifrost was meant to be broken. Had they found a way of repairing it?

Did it matter, if they meant not to come after him?

Would they, if they knew the danger he was in?

“Thank you.” He said, instead of laying words to these fears. “For being something-- someone I can rely on, can count on. For being mine. My partner.” He snuggled into Steve’s chest and closed his eyes for a long minute, wishing that he could push all of the parts of him that didn’t deserve Steve, out.

“I don’t know that I am actually hungry, though.” He admitted sheepishly. “I think I have upset myself enough to have put me off of my appetite. Perhaps you should just cook for yourself.”

If nothing else, he would sit with Steve while he ate, keep him company, and see to it that Steve was truly getting enough food.

 

Steve wished he could offer more comfort. That he could ease Loki’s apprehension. But the fact was, Steve had only spent a few days with Thor as compared with Loki’s centuries with his brother, and he knew too little of him an Asgard to speak with any authority and certainty on the subject. He couldn’t tell Loki what Thor felt. Not without dismissing Loki’s own judgments and experiences with a man he knew much better.

But, he could at least point out some flaws of logic. “Thor knew you were adopted when he was on Earth last time. He mentioned as much, briefly, but didn’t say anything about you being Jotun. Like it didn’t cross his mind. And he still called you brother the whole time,” Steve carefully reminded him, lightly carding his fingers through Loki’s hair and resting his chin on his shoulder as Loki burrowed into him.

“You haven’t been in his life for a few years. He thought you were dead when you were missing with...” Steve swallowed. _With Thanos._ But he didn’t want to remind Loki of that time, not when he was already so fragile. “Anyway, you were gone a long time. Just because he adapted and his first impulse isn’t to ask for your help -- because it wasn’t an option for a while -- doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be happy to have it again.”

The way Loki had been the last time Thor had seen him, bitter and half-mad and having just attempted to subjugate Earth -- well, Steve wouldn’t have asked him for anything either, unless he was looking to maybe get a magical punch in the face and have his chain of thought twisted into a pretzel. He couldn’t blame Thor for not looking to him for help if that had been the Loki who awaited him. And Thor didn’t know how far Loki had come since then; how much he’d healed. “Just consider giving him the benefit of the doubt until we know more. No reason to go on assuming the worst just yet.”

But if Asgard could work with them now, if helping one another was possible... Steve frowned and gently pulled back, letting go. “They said in the video the woman disappeared in a beam of light. That’s what the Bifrost looks like, isn’t it?” He remembered the New Mexico reports, vaguely. He moved toward the fridge, pulling out the eggs, milk, and vegetables, balancing them all in his arms as he moved back to the counter and set them down, still keeping his attention largely on Loki. “If they’ve got the bridge fixed, that means that if we get down to the wire and need Asgard’s help -- or at the very least, Thor’s help -- against Thanos, we don’t have to worry about sacrificing your back ways and boltholes to do it.”

Steve cracked an egg thoughtfully into a bowl. Part of the main reason for _not_ wanting Asgard in the picture was that it would ruin any potential of escape for Loki. But this way, at least, he could keep his secret ways in and out secret, and they might have a chance to have their cake and eat it too, so to speak.

 

Loki leaned against the counter in silence, thoughtful.

“Were that there was some form I had they would not suspect of being me. I have not spoken of it, because I felt that it would be irrelevant, but… if the Bifrost is indeed repaired, they may well come to the aid of Midgard. But, I fear, only if I am not part of it, if I am not here. I am an enemy to Asgard, and you are harboring me.” He spoke slowly, grimly, and it saddened him that this was what their morning had become.

“You are correct that Thor knew me to be… adopted. But I do not-- _cannot_ know, cannot begin to guess what it was that Odin had told him then, what he may know now. It could well be that he did not realize I was Jotun, or that, knowing him, it had simply not yet sunken through his thick skull. He was faced with this,” He gestured at his own face, “with the brother he was accustomed to seeing. With me removed from sight, it could be he’s realized… what a lie I have always been to him. Brother, friend, Aesir. And is it easier for him to harbor the anger at our-- at _his_ parents, who did what they have done from an ostensible standpoint of kindness, of generosity, or would it, do you suppose, be easier to direct his anger at the monster who reacted to the kindness with disdain, with selfishness and betrayal and mal-intent? No,” He shook his head. “Thor has always taken the easy road that leads to conflict. I cannot imagine that having changed now, after these centuries of constancy.”

 

He sighed deeply, then looked to Steve, direct and frank and honest, and feeling tired. So tired.

“If you must choose, if it is Asgard’s help or my proximity and my… I am not strong, I do not command men. If it comes to it, you must let me make myself invisible, that I might remain with you while you reap the benefits of your alliance. If not that, I might take to one of my boltholes… but do not choose me over the force that Asgard can offer.”

If it came down to it, Steve’s life, Steve’s realm… these were important. Loki was not. His pride was even less so. He could play the weakling and the coward, if it meant that the likelihood of Steve’s survival was better.

“I suppose, though, this means that you should speak with your SHIELD, with Romanov, and find out if they have acquired a means of contacting Asgard, to begin your entreating them.”

 

“It could be,” Steve allowed, when Loki spoke of Thor, “or it could be that he’s able to look past it. If you’re living proof of anything, it’s that people can change.” He shrugged and cracked two more eggs, tossing the shells into the garbage and running his hands under the faucet to clean them off before picking up the milk and pouring some into the bowl with the eggs.

It was hard to know how much of what Loki told him of Asgard was likely to be true -- that they were honestly that cold and uncaring and cruel -- and how much came of Loki’s tendency to think and expect the worst from everyone. His frequent flinching and defensiveness, his belief he’d been doomed to death, and his expectation from the start that he had offended or would be abandoned were all probably not without some root cause, but his perceptions were distorted on many counts to a point that Steve was beginning to feel the need to take his assessments of others’ motivations with a grain of salt. Not that he didn’t trust Loki to tell him the truth; he just wasn’t sure if Loki always knew what the truth _was_.

“We have a saying here that distance makes the heart grow fonder,” he added softly, reaching for a whisk from the drawer and mixing up the eggs and milk, adding a bit of salt and pepper from the shakers on the bar-top. “Thor’s had time to think of you differently, like you said. But that could also be the time he needs to calm down over the invasion and remember how much he misses his brother.”

He looked up at Loki and gave him a crooked smile. “I know I’d miss the heck out of you.”

Tearing open the package of bacon, he pulled out several thick slices and lay them in a skillet, placing it over a burner and switching it on. Even if Loki wasn’t hungry now, the smell of cooking bacon might rekindle his appetite. Failing that, Steve would eat anything. He poured the eggs into the other skillet, placing it on a low heat, then moved to put a hand on the juncture of Loki’s shoulder and neck, cupping it reassuringly. “Whatever Asgard’s stance, we’ll do what we need to in order to defeat Thanos, save the Earth, and get us both out of this in one piece. And if Asgard wants you back, then they can get in line after Thanos for a good beat-down, ‘cause I’m not sending you away or giving you up.” He looked Loki in the eyes. “You _are_ strong, so don’t gimme any of that bull. You’re strong and smart and brave as hell, and we need you. We’ll make people understand and we’ll make it all work.”

Preferably, treating with Asgard would go directly through Thor, who already had a positive rapport with the Avengers and SHIELD. Steve briefly wondered if Natasha had known he was on Earth when she’d texted the night before -- but surely she’d have called it urgent if that had been the case?

Steve let go of Loki’s neck and pulled out his phone, firing off a quick text to Natasha, letting her know he was at the Tower and ready to talk whenever she was free. Tucking it back into his pocket, he moved to stir the now hissing and spitting bacon, smiling at Loki. “Just shot Natasha a message. She should be around in a bit, with any luck, and we can start sorting this out.”

 

“Hm.” He was noncommittal; it didn’t feel as though now would be the best of times to remind Steve that he was strong in comparison to a Midgardian, but that another Asgardian, a real Asgardian, or even the entire army that could potentially come from being allied with them, would be worth far more in a fight. And he did not want to debate with Steve how Thor felt about him. He hardly knew how he felt about Thor, or, as the night prior had gone to show, about himself, for that matter. He was in no fit state for this, and absolutely not for other people.

“Should I… do you think it would be better that I let you meet with her alone? We spoke at dinner of it, but...Especially now, in… I am not on the firmest ground, between last evening and this morning, and… I don’t want to upset any plans or opinions of us. Not when it would be so easy to avoid it.” Not at this juncture, when it could be so very important not to muck things up.

He realized suddenly how crushingly uncertain he felt about himself, how… it was a bit like the worries he’d had that Steve would not return, but directed inwards in a way that he could not lay name to. He did not know what to do with his body. He felt like he was taking up too much space, that he would be in the way no matter where he stood.

And he felt that no matter what he said or did, it was bound to be the wrong thing. Steve would forgive him that, it was safe to talk to Steve, but anyone else… perhaps not so much. They lacked the benefit of knowing him, of knowing the place his mind was in now. If that could be called a benefit.

He felt exhausted by the sheer weight of it.

“I think… maybe I should return to bed?” He was suggesting, asking for permission, not really sure… how had he started the morning so centered, so warm and safe, and come so low so quickly?

“I don’t want to abandon you to our problems, though. If you need-- if you want me with you,” Because of course Steve didn’t _need_ him for this. This was the sort of thing that Steve excelled at, people and making plans. “I’ll be here. I just don’t know how much help I will realistically be.”

 

Steve flipped the bacon with a spatula, then used it to edge under the cooked eggs, letting the runny and wet parts pour under so they could cook against the pan. He frowned, though, as Loki withdrew further, to the point of wanting to go back to bed altogether.

It wasn’t that Steve needed Loki for the meeting with Natasha; they’d discussed it before, and with it already decided that Steve would talk with her alone unless they needed to consult Loki, he’d been prepared to have that conversation without him present. But the sudden smallness in Loki’s voice, the way he seemed to shrink into himself, was troubling.

Steve put down the spatula and took a step closer to Loki, tilting his head to one side.

“You don’t have to be there; I’ll just be telling her what we already know for the most part,” he offered, “and if you need some time alone, that’s okay, but... If something’s going on here and you need to talk about it, I’m listening.”

Breakfast hissed and sizzled on the range, but it would be fine unattended for a few minutes. Steve took a step closer, reaching out hesitantly. “I’m guessing this isn’t just about Thor showing up,” he ventured. Of course, that had been the moment when everything had gone downhill, but if that had been the be all and end all of it, Steve would have expected Loki to seem bitter and maybe a bit upset, but not so... unsure.

He looked lost, in a way that made Steve feel like he’d stepped on a dog’s tail by accident.

Not on the firmest ground, Loki had said. Between last evening and this morning...

Last evening. Steve’s frown deepened and he worried his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. “Loki, last night, did I... was last night too much? Or, did I do something--?”

 

Loki immediately felt guilty for having said anything.

Steve looked so concerned and so prepared to be hurt by whatever Loki said-- it reinforced his idea that he couldn’t help but misstep now, and that left him in the horrible position of needing to make amends, but feeling doomed to fail Steve in his attempts, while his words turned ashen on his usually honeyed tongue.

“No, you-- I think I was unprepared? I didn’t know… what you wanted of me, what you were trying to do, and more, I… I haven’t taken the time to process it, yet, exactly. It was a very… my body was engaged, obviously, but mentally and emotionally, I was not… not prepared.” The words sounded lame when he said them, and he didn’t want Steve to feel badly.

“You didn’t hurt me. I just… don’t know what I feel, about the thoughts I had and the… afterwards, when we-- I just sort of pushed away the turmoil, and perhaps that was my mistake. But I wanted. You didn’t hurt me.” He reiterated. “But it did put me in a place that was… I was fine, I could… can. Can act normally. It just would take more effort than usual to be fine, and. And I think maybe having the space and the quiet to sort through all of my thoughts, my feelings about… Thor, somewhat, yes, but also that, also myself and what you see and what I see and how they can be so divorced when we see eye to eye so often everywhere else. And… what I understand about how I feel about myself. I feel as though something has changed, some small but important thing. And I don’t have words for it yet, don’t understand, yet…” He realized he was rambling and vague, and he tried to beg with his eyes for Steve to understand him, to believe him.

“During no part of it was I in pain, nor was it-- I am not damaged from it. But I am left unbalanced. Wrong footed.” He frowned, lacking the words even for his mind set.

“Was it…” He cleared his throat. “Did it work as you had envisioned? Was it what you wanted? If so, it was worth it. I just… next time, I think I need to know the rules of the game, before we play. That’s all.” He offered Steve a weak smile.

 

If Loki’s appetite was gone, then Steve’s was quickly following as his stomach flipped and dropped, the smell of food suddenly losing all its appeal.

“Apparently, I _did_ hurt you,” he said softly, voice bitter. “Even if it wasn’t physical.”

He stepped back and reached up to run a hand back through his hair as he leaned against the counter. “Damn. Loki, I...”

He’d tried to help, and instead had left Loki looking even more forlorn and unsettled than ever. He’d screwed up, and what was worse, he hadn’t even _realized_ it. And he should have. Should have when Loki had asked that they move away from looking in the mirror. Should have when Loki had cried in his arms. Should have long before now, but he’d been so caught up in the idea of making Loki see himself a certain way and saving him from his own view of himself, that he’d been willfully blind to all of it.

Selfish. He’d been selfish and stupid and now... He didn’t deserve Loki’s sweetness or understanding. Not when he’d pushed that on him. Not when he’d probably only made it worse with his own depravity, with whatever he’d done to indicate to Loki to choke him, and his perverse reaction to the act.

(God. What was _wrong_ with him?)

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, running a hand over his face. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean--” He swallowed. “I wanted to help.” It was a pathetic excuse, now that he said it aloud, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek. “If you need some space, I get that. Whatever you need.”

 

Space was the last thing Loki wanted then, seeing Steve react that way.

“No! No, I… I am not getting it right. I’m sorry. I mean it when I say you did not hurt me. Physically or otherwise. It is more… disorientation?” He stood, following Steve, pursuing him through the distance he moved away.

“You wanted to show me, wanted me to see myself through your eyes. I did. It is only justifying the differences between what you see and what I do that is… taxing. It requires mental exertion and self examination and… and Thor atop it.” He shrugged. “The timing is poor, the intent good, the experience pleasurable in its own way… I do not want you to hold it against yourself. If I were not already so deeply flawed, there would be nothing you would need to help with. And you have helped. Are helping.” He reached out to stroke along his partner’s cheek, hoping to reassure him.

“I had every opportunity to stop it, if it was… if there was any need of it. But I wanted what you had to give me, wanted to see what you wanted to show. And I do not, in the least, regret it. And all of that positive, all of the good that you have seeded into my mind, it now must combat the unhappy thoughts that, not only the self destructive thoughts that I have always but also… as I said, I did not know I would feel this way, about Thor. Could not have guessed that my reaction to news of my family would be so… I feel very. It’s… I was disoriented already. If anyone is to blame, I would say it is Thor, and not you, for creating these problems. And I realize that we had come to an agreement regarding our meeting-- your meeting-- with Romanov, but things have changed. And if you needed to change our plans… I can be here. But in the same way that I had to watch your face fall just now, because I do not know how to express…” He spread his hands. “I do not want to watch the good that could be in progress with this partnership also crumble because I cannot make my words work.”

 

Steve felt some of the horror clenching in his gut abate, though he remained uneasy as he looked up at Loki, searching his expression, hoping that he wasn’t just saying these things for Steve’s benefit.

And of course, he had to go and make Loki feel bad about _feeling bad_ with his reaction. Which hadn’t been his intention -- but there he was again, being selfish and stupid.

He’d been doing well for a while, saying the right thing at the right time. He supposed, grimly, he’d been about due to step in it.

But at least Loki seemed to understand what Steve had been after, to try to help him see himself the way Steve saw him, to change his perception -- and maybe it would have been more effective in other circumstances, and maybe it might still be effective -- but Steve still felt awful for the distress he’d contributed to.

He forced a small smile, so at least he wouldn’t add guilt on to Loki’s list of woes for that morning. “I don’t think you’d be anything but an asset,” he told him. “And if you want to be there, I’d love to have you. But if you’d rather take some time, that’s totally okay. Or I could ask Natasha if we could postpone.” They’d put off the topic of Thanos for weeks now. It wasn’t as if a few more hours of procrastination would lead to their imminent doom. Steve moved in a little closer, reaching out for Loki’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, and this time in response to... well, everything. His screw-ups, his reaction, everything with the news and the paparazzi and Thor and all of it. Sorry that he couldn’t just fix it all and make it all better and--

“Woah. Sorry. Am I interrupting a moment?”

Steve closed his eyes, breathed in through his nose, then opened them. “What do you want, Tony?”

“Bacon,” Tony answered simply, sauntering into the kitchen. “Smells amazing. And Pepper just left for a meeting so what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Also, Cap, you may wanna flip this omelet pretty soon.”

Steve sighed, letting go of Loki and grabbing the spatula, swatting at Tony’s fingers with it as he reached for the sizzling bacon. He flipped the omelet, then added the vegetables and cheese and folded it, giving it a moment for the cheese to melt as he recovered a plate from the cabinet. He snuck an apologetic look over his shoulder at Loki.

 

Loki shook his head slightly, warning Steve off from saying anything. The very last thing he needed was Tony’s commentary on his discomfort.

He was all but swimming in it and he felt like there was every chance he might slip and drown.

“I think I might go downstairs and do some work on the bathroom, while you meet with Romanov.” He said lightly, making the decision, and glad that he at least had the option of a project to go back to, rather than either ignoring his problems by delving into a book, or simply falling back into bed to think, which would only contribute to his feeling useless and worthless.

“Wait, Nat’s coming over? Steve, you have to warn a brother.” Tony looked down at himself, then grinned. “Nah I’m fine.”

Loki rolled his eyes at the other man’s bluster and confidence, but pressed the tip of his tongue to his teeth to keep from saying anything detrimental to their team or their cause.

He turned to go, running a hand across the line of Steve’s shoulders from behind, but Tony’s voice made him stop.

“You aren’t eating?” He asked. “I thought it was you who was pushing for food?” Loki turned and realized that he was looking back and forth between them, and he swallowed, unwilling to let his problems come to light, but even less willing to let Tony judge Steve for allowing him to leave foodless.

“I must admit, Thor’s appearance has gone a long way towards spoiling my appetite.” But he shrugged, returned, and picked up the apple he’d bit into. “I’ll have this for the road, though.”

He looked to Steve and patted his arm where he was working, just enjoying touching him, being allowed to, without having to second guess what every gesture, every bit of contact, would read as to an outsider.

“If you want me to come back upstairs, you can give me a call on the StarkPhone. I’ve got it charged up and in our room.” His eyes darted to Tony, half expecting a reaction to it being ‘their’ room, before he remembered that he knew, that he had helped to set it up. Abashed, he cleared his throat.

“Thank you for the apartment, Tony. And the apple.” He gestured with it, feeling awkward.

 

“Hey, no worries. See you around, Lokes.” Tony waved, then stole a piece of bacon off the stove, hissing in pain as he scorched his fingers transporting it to his mouth. “Oomph. Hot.”

“Things in boiling oil tend to be,” Steve told him dryly. His expression softened into something between affection and worry when he looked at Loki, though. “I’ll come by in a bit. Um. Feel better.”

He hoped that some time alone in the quiet to think things through would help Loki regain his footing and repair whatever damage that morning had done. But he still felt apprehensive watching Loki leave.

“So....”

Stark had both eyebrows raised, and Steve braced himself to brush off whatever unwanted inquiry was about to come.

“...You gonna eat that?”

Steve blinked, then looked down at his omelet. It was cooked to perfection. He didn’t feel nearly as hungry now, but he knew that if he put off eating, he’d just end up cranky and lightheaded later, and that was the last thing he needed. With a sigh, he switched the burners off, and slid the omelet out of the skillet and on to a waiting plate, along with a few pieces of bacon. “Yeah. But help yourself to the rest of the bacon,” he told Tony.

“You’re a stand-up guy, Cap.” Tony told him, reaching for another piece. “Loki doin’ okay?”

Steve shrugged. “I think he’s a bit thrown by Thor turning up after all this time. And it not being for him.” There was no way he was going to bring up the _other_ reason. He dealt with enough from Tony as it was.

“Aww. Bummed out he’s not the center of the universe?” Tony nibbled on another piece of bacon, then nearly recoiled at the glare Steve shot him. “Kidding! Yeesh, if looks could kill... Look, I’m sure it’s no big. And Thunderdome probably had a good reason.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I said.” The eggs were heavy in his mouth as he took a bite and made himself swallow.

“Huh.” Tony leaned back against the counter. “So... Nat?”

“Coming by so I can fill SHIELD in about Thanos, through her.”

“We still haven’t done that?”

Steve shrugged, swallowing down another bite. “We only just re-established contact.”

“Fair enough, I guess. Better you than me. Any idea when she’s coming by?”

Another bite, just as Steve’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen, swallowing hard and lowering his fork. “Says she’s in the lobby.”

Stark whistled. “And that’s my cue. Good luck, buddy.”

Steve sighed, sliding the rest of his omelet into the trash and placing the plate into the sink. “Thanks,” he said, heading toward the door.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t need it.

 

\---

 

The elevator slid smoothly into place while Natasha slid into her role. As the doors opened with a pleasant chime, she stepped out and into the home of friends, feeling as if she was spying on them. She might have had to bury some guilt for that, save that they knew. And allowed it. Though for how long…

“Steve,” She greeted, seeing him coming toward her. She expected to see Loki at his heels, or somewhere nearby, but her initial impression of the layout for this visit missed him utterly… and everyone else as well. “Did you send everyone away?” She asked, forcing her voice to be light and full of nothing but friendly teasing, though she was a little taken aback at the prospect.

Not because she would be alone with Cap; it’d happened often enough, but if she had realized her presence was a problem, they could have met somewhere else, rather than ousting the others from their home.

But more, what did he think she might say or do that would urge him to treat her as a threat? Was it because she was here as a SHIELD operative? She knew that she had been taught to differentiate, but half the reason Fury had given her the job was because she would be more useful if they didn’t consider her friendship and her work as separate in the same way that she did. That was where the quiet betrayal lie in her assignment. And if it wasn’t working…

“Or did something else happen?” She asked, aware that there were a few key changes since they had last spoken. But surely he would have called or texted if that was to be a problem?

 

“Natasha.” Steve smiled in spite of the vague sense of nerves as he crossed the room toward her. He wasn’t sure what exactly the subject of her text had been last night, but with everything else that had happened since, he suspected they were going to have a lot to talk about.

He paused at her question, though, his step hitching for a moment before he caught himself and put the smile back on. “Yeah, I chased them all off so I could hog you all to myself,” he replied in same teasing tone, but then dropped the act a moment later.

“Seriously, though, everything’s fine -- Pepper’s in a meeting and you just missed Tony; he was heading down to the lab, I think. Not sure where Bruce is.” Banner had disappeared sometime while Steve was in the kitchen, most likely to his lab or his room to meditate. He shrugged. “Uh, can I take your coat?”

It was a bit stilted and awkward, but seemed the next polite thing to do, since she did have on a jacket in concession to the chill outside. “Also, I just ate, but if I can get you anything -- I think Tony left some coffee in the pot, if not I can brew up some fresh. Or if you wanna go elsewhere, we could go out and grab something.”

 

She shrugged.

“I don’t mind. I’m looking forward to being able to talk with you frankly and privately, so I suppose wherever you think is best for that. A restaurant is not a good answer by the way, and I don’t think you really need to be spotted out with another woman so soon-- there’s some pretty unflattering photos of you looking a little murderous out this morning.” She peered at his face for a reaction.

“The woman with you-- Loki?” She guessed. She’d been briefed on him and his appearance at SHIELD, including his appearance when he had shown up, the first time. And it made sense; no doubt after time in the tower and the videos she had seen of his disguise as a blonde man when they had encountered Schultz, he’d be eager to go out, even if he had to be a woman to do so. And he was royalty where he came from, after all. So naturally it would be somewhere nice. And who would question Steve taking out a pretty lady? It all fit together, save for the dog tags, which the magazines had really focused on, and which, looking at Steve’s neck now, she realized she did not see. Interesting.

“I ate a bit ago, I think I’m okay. Do you have an office or something here that Tony hasn’t bugged?” She knew about JARVIS, of course; the AI could always be counted on for pleasant banter, as well as the occasional kernel of hilarious gossip about his creator.

Still she shrugged out of her coat and offered it up to Steve, hoping that making it more obvious that she, in turn, was not bugged, would make him more comfortable.

 

Steve felt his cheeks turn hot and knew he was going bright red the minute Natasha mentioned the restaurant. Because _of course_ she’d seen it. Even if Nat didn’t strike him as the kind of person who read gossip rags for fun, she would read whatever was relevant to her job. Hell, SHIELD probably saw the photos the moment they went public. “What can I say,” he said, voice slightly strained, “I don’t do candids very well.”

His meager attempt at humor failed utterly, however, when she brought up Loki.

Looking at her carefully, he tried to find any detail that let on how much she knew, or had figured out. He supposed that given she knew Loki was on earth, with Steve, and capable of shapeshifting, the presence of a pale, dark-haired and green-eyed woman seen in Steve’s company wouldn’t make for a huge leap of deduction. But the news had speculated that Loki was Steve’s girlfriend. Would Natasha make that same leap? Or... did she already know?

If she didn’t, should he tell her before she figured it out on her own?

(She had a much better poker face than Steve did, her expression revealing little to nothing at all.)

He chewed his lip for a second, then nodded, jerkily. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, that was... He’s downstairs, by the way. Got anxious about Thor being on the news this morning, said he wanted some time to himself., though he said to call him if we need him for anything.” He didn’t want Natasha to think he was hiding Loki away, or that he was unaccounted for in any capacity.

The question about a quiet place to talk -- one Stark didn’t have bugged -- caught him a little by surprise. He hadn’t expected anything they discussed to be outside of what she’d be willing to talk about with Bruce or Tony, as they were every bit as much a part of this now as Steve was. But he nodded all the same. “We can try the roof, if you like. Doesn’t get much more private -- though I think you may want this back,” he said, passing her back her jacket. “Shall we?”

 

The roof was good; if there were drones they would be able to see them. And it was interesting that Loki was just allowed to wander around, whether or not he was supervised by another person. She’s sort of assumed that Steve was his keeper, for the most part. She would be interested to learn more about the dynamics of him being in the tower, though she supposed that JARVIS helped there, too. She couldn’t help but wonder if his magic worked in a way that could render the AI useless against him, though. She’d have to review the tapes again, maybe ask about that, once she felt the mood out a little better.

“We can call him or anyone else you think should be present whenever you want. My only concern is that if there are records, there is the potential of hacks and leaks, and what we’re going to be talking about is enough to cause widespread hysteria if it gets out, even in part.” She pulled her jacket back on, her smile a little more grim now. She gestured back at the elevator she’d just stepped out of, then led the way back and into it, her finger hesitating over the buttons. “Do you need a jacket yourself, or do you want to just head roofwards?” She wondered if he could even feel the cold, given how his body reacted to things. She’d been allowed a glimpse at Steve’s medical records, so that if anything was off, she would have a better chance of noticing it. And speaking of things being off...

“So I take it that Loki didn’t hear from Thor, then? Any idea how long that’ll put him out of commission? Because obviously there is plenty we’d love to talk to him about, but they’re more than willing to wait til he’s feeling up to it.”

 

Widespread hysteria was... bad. He grimaced. Very bad. And alarming; he’d suspected that this wouldn’t be a happy conversation, but he figured he’d be bringing most of the alarm to the table with talk of Thanos (something he hadn’t exactly been secretive with up to this point). If Natasha had more confidential material to add to the growing mess on their plates -- well, that was already looking ominous. “No panicking anyone, got it,” he said. “JARVIS? When Ms. Romanoff and I get to the roof, could you keep anything we say off the record?”

“ _Yes, Captain.”_

“Thanks.”

Steve belatedly realized all his things were on his and Loki’s new floor, and that in retrieving them, he’d risk letting Natasha know of his and Loki’s living arrangement without easing her into the idea of the being together; something he wasn’t yet comfortable with, without first gauging some of her reactions.

Fortunately, most of Bruce’s things were still on this floor, and while he was a good bit shorter and less broadly-shouldered than Steve, he tended toward oversized and somewhat frumpy clothing, which meant his coat hanging in the hall closet next to the elevator bank would most likely fit. “Gimme just a second,” he said, moving to the closet and retrieving the worn old olive-green pea coat from a hanger and slipping it on. While Steve’s temperature ran hot enough from his metabolism that the winds on the roof probably wouldn’t bother him too much, he found he didn’t care for the cold all that much, and would rather bundle up if the option was available. “Alright, let’s head up.”

The elevator was waiting on their floor for them, and stepping in, he hit the button for roof access. He snorted quietly at Natasha’s claim that SHIELD was willing to wait on Loki’s readiness. “How charitable of them,” he mumbled, a bit more sharply than he meant to. He immediately looked down, feeling guilty; none of this was Natasha’s fault. She hadn’t even been in the country when the whole mess with Loki and SHIELD had gone down.

“I don’t know how long. It’s an emotional reaction, not a broken bone. I don’t even know how serious it really is,” he said. “He just needs some space and quiet.” And if Loki needed more time before he talked with anyone from SHIELD, Steve would figure out a way to buy it for him.

The wind on the roof was bitter and he felt glad of Bruce’s jacket, pulling it around him as they stepped into the overcast sky over New York. “So,” he said, raising his voice slightly now they were outdoors (though well out of earshot of all but the birds). “Do we wanna draw straws on who goes first with their panic-inducing news?”

 

She found a convenient outcropping to step behind, effectively halving the wind that she was exposed to. She found it interesting that he had grabbed a coat that she recognized as Bruce’s. She thought he’d had jackets in some of the images from before, but maybe she was wrong. Either way, with how they had taken off, he probably needed things from his place in DC, the contents of which had been taken into SHIELD custody, since they didn’t want anyone going through his stuff if word got out that Cap wasn’t around.

Maybe she could see about having some of it delivered here, if he was planning on sticking around for a bit. Sort of a good will present.

“Well, if we need Loki, we should go to him instead of dragging him out here. It would be terrible to finally have a good source of alien intel, only for him to go all war of the worlds from catching a cold. But as for right now, I think all of the news comes from you. Even just having Loki around is enough to cause panic. Anything that you have to add to it… better said here than there.” She shrugged. “And I get the sense you have an awful lot to add to it. So let’s get as much of it out of the way before I have to go back inside.”

As someone who had spent a lot of her life hiding any sign of her existence, she automatically preferred surveillance free areas to any other situation.

“So you can start, unless there’s anything you need from me before you do. I’m happy to answer any questions I can, or take note of any requests. And just keep in mind that, even unrecorded, the whole point of this is that I’m supposed to take the news back to SHIELD. I’ll do whatever I can to get them to listen, though, so. At least there’s that.”

She spoke casually, not trying to disarm him. If that were the case, she would never have mentioned SHIELD. She just wanted to remind him of her dual role, that she was both friend and liaison in this. That she was supposed to be neutral as possible. Despite her attachments. Despite being the first choice for this _because_ of them.

She was glad of the cold, though, and the wind. They them kept her from feeling groggy, kept her feeling alive. It was good, comforting, in its discomfort. She took a deep breath and braced herself to hear anything he needed to say, to react to it as little as possible.

 

Steve let out a long breath. It was cold up here, though Natasha had guided them into the lee of a generator or air vent or something, which at least got them out of the brunt of the wind. Even if it did limit their view of the city.

Stark’s tower might be showy and ugly as sin, but even Steve had to admit, it had a hell of a view.

Not that the view was the reason they were up here, of course. He nodded in curt appreciation of Natasha’s offer that they go back inside for the sake of Loki’s health if need be; she didn’t seem overly sympathetic towards him, but it was a small sign of care anyway. And especially after she had gone through the trouble of having him find a private place to speak... it was a concession on her part, and a kind one.

“Loki isn’t a threat,” he reminded, albeit not as belligerently as he usually had to say the words. “But he might be our best bet against someone who is.”

And so, as quickly but also as comprehensively as possible, he told her about Thanos. About how he had sent Loki to Earth in the first place and was capable of knocking Asgardians around (putting him in a higher weight class than anything they’d seen), and how he had a questionably magical gauntlet now from Asgard’s treasure vaults, and could invade minds remotely using the spear. About the threat they believed he posed to earth, and word for word, what Steve remembered him saying through the haze of pain.

He may have left out some of the circumstances surrounding those words, and the immediate aftermath. But right now, that wasn’t the priority.

It took surprisingly little time to summarize it all, and it was a bit depressing, once he was done, to realize how little information they had. Just the looming threat of a mind-bogglingly powerful being bent on killing everything, who had wiped out worlds and now had his sights on Earth, with little to no exact knowledge of his army, weapons, or timetable. Of course, if Asgard was back in the picture, it was possible they might know something more.

“So… about Thor,” he ventured. “Did you guys finally set up that communication channel with Asgard? Or has he gotten in touch with you?”

 

She listened intently and was glad again for the wind. It sent her hair lashing against her cheeks and drew the blood to the skin, effectively hiding the reactions she had no control over. Like the way she could feel her the blood draining away beneath the windburn.

Little wonder that Cap had found it more important to escape with Loki, if he didn’t think that they were going to be listened to.

“We haven’t heard a word from Thor. He just came and picked up Doctor Foster, whom he stayed with on his first visit to Earth, and then… he was gone again. We’re keeping an eye on her colleagues, but no one seems to have a means of communicating with her or them, and unless she was really good at keeping secrets, it doesn’t look like she had developed any means of contact either. So whatever brought him here, it must be something on their side. Would you ask Loki and see if there is anything he can think of that they might need an astrophysicist for?” That had been one of the things SHIELD had asked her to find out-- more specifically, they wanted to know if Loki had somehow spoken to him, but clearly if Steve was asking, that would be a no. Worrying, but a less pressing worry than Thanos.

Natasha didn’t even know what to say to that front.

“So...Do you have a plan of action against Thanos? No doubt you know how little you just gave me to go off of, and though it’s enough to outline a problem, SHIELD is going to go nuts knowing this much and not having access to more. Is there anything we can do, any way to gain intel…? You said you and Loki both communicated with him through the sceptre, right? Any way we can convince you to use it for that again?”

Though if Loki was emotionally unstable and Steve was… well he hadn’t sounded too good relaying what had happened when he’d experienced it… she wondered who else it would react to… and if they’d be allowed to let anyone else have a go. Maybe not the safest subject to bring up just then, all things considered, but it was an easy segue into the next topic she was meant to be addressing, and the primary reason that she knew Clint refused to come anywhere near anyone here. The reason he wasn’t with her on this assignment, right now.

She also knew that Steve hadn’t made that call yet, and she wasn’t pleased about that, but that was something to address when she was able to drop out of being a SHIELD liaison and back into just being Natasha.

When she wouldn’t potentially cause problems if she ended up smacking him on the back of the head for being a stubborn male who was too scared to face an equally stubborn male.

Boys.

 

Foster. Something in Steve’s mind clicked. _Oh_. Of course, the physicist SHIELD had been working with to contact Thor was Thor’s sweetheart. That would make sense, with her already probably knowing the most about Asgard of any living human. Which meant Loki was right, and it had been her that Thor had whisked away. Not that Steve planned on relaying that information to Loki right away, when it would probably only succeed in exacerbating his pessimism about Thor.

He shook his head. “We talked about it this morning, and he seemed to think it was more likely to be motivated by, uh, a sentimental connection than a necessarily practical one. Pretty sure even our most advanced astrophysics looks like cave paintings to Asgard anyhow.”

Which still left the question of _why_ Thor had taken her. He sighed. “Loki thought that Thor might be getting her to safety if he knew of some impending danger, but I honestly don’t think Thor’s the kind of guy to leave us high and dry with no warning. Or to turn his back on a fight of any kind.” He gnawed on his lip, twisting his hands in his pockets. “If you guys hear from him -- can you hold off on letting him know about Loki right off? At least until after talking with him about Thanos? I don’t want to have a repeat of SHIELD’s initial response, only with Asgard doing to ‘arrest first and ask questions later’ bit, since I’m pretty sure it’ll be harder to bust Loki out of a whole ‘nother planet.” He hoped Thor would be reasonable, but he also knew that around one another, Thor and Loki didn’t do ‘reasonable’ all that well.

But Thor right now, while perhaps the most imminent of their problems, wasn’t the biggest. Steve ran a hand back through his hair when Natasha asked him about a plan. “We don’t have much, to be honest. Hopefully with SHIELD listening instead of thinking I’m mind controlled or crazy, we can start to get some planetary defenses together. See what we can do to expand satellite reach for a kind of early warning system, develop more defensive aircraft that can operate in the upper atmosphere, see if all those weapons I know SHIELD cleaned up from all the Chitauri can be reverse-engineered in a hurry to give us an edge on whatever army Thanos is bringing with him. I think Stark’s been tinkering with something, but he’s been sort of cagey on the subject. If Thor gets in contact, we can see if he’s willing to secure Asgardian forces or intel to help us out, since someone on one of the other eight realms might know more than we do. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth pursuing.” Loki might not have much faith in Thor or Asgard, but Steve was willing to at least lay all the possible cards down on the table for Natasha.

He was surprised, though, that she mentioned the scepter. Especially since he’d been bracing for that subject, figuring she and everyone else at SHIELD would be against the idea of letting him or Loki anywhere near it again. But instead, hearing her propose the idea--

“We actually talked about using the scepter to get more information,” he began, wetting his chapped lips. “Thanos seems to want Loki for something still, so he thinks there’s a chance Thanos might keep him alive. And where he’s worked with him before, he might be able to appeal to him and get in as a double agent for us. I’m not crazy about it, given the risk--” knowing Loki could just as easily get torn inside out and the scepter vanished back into Thanos’ grasp, giving him one more weapon against them and leaving Loki dying, dead... Steve breathed in and out to steady himself. “But if it’s the only way to get more information, he’s probably got the best odds of anyone given his magic and biology. Plus, if Thanos goes through his mind, he wouldn’t be able to give up as much information about Earth’s defenses as you or me, making him less of a liability.”

Steve hated talking about Loki in such a cold and tactical way -- like he was just an asset to be moved around a battlefield -- but this was a time for strategy and not emotional appeals. “So if Fury is willing to let us either come back to DC to use the scepter, or meet SHIELD somewhere else where you’d give us access....”

 

“I can’t make promises on behalf of SHIELD, but I’ll definitely pass along the word that it might be more strategically sound to discuss Thanos first and Loki second, as far as Thor is concerned. I think they’ll agree that we’d rather have him on our side with Loki, than lose them both to a communication free void.” At least, it made the most sense to her that way. Unless of course having Thor remove Loki would also remove the threat. But given how defensive he was, she didn’t think this was the time to ask that… and it sounded as though it was Earth itself now, and not just Loki on it, that Thanos was interested in. Losing both the intel and the strength would be awful, if he was going to descend on them anyway.

“Obviously, we’re doing all we can to get in contact with him. No one is particularly happy about him just showing up and then leaving. And, between you and me, we think something happened to Doctor Foster. Maybe an experiment gone wrong or something. The police who showed up to arrest her reported that just before they disappeared, she made some kind of… I don’t know, an explosion. With her hands.” She shrugged. “They were a little freaked out though. Might be they thought something he did came from her. After all, even if there was some kind of accident, how would he possibly know?” She was fishing now, hoping that some of this would be familiar to him from something Loki had said, or hoping he’d tell Loki what she said, and maybe relay any answers he got back to her.

“We’ll have to see if we can’t get a straight answer out of Stark about what, if anything, he’s been working on, but I think that’ a whole separate meeting.” She filed that away, too.

Her attentions then turned to Thanos, which was still much more pressing, just in the sheer force and threat to life that he posed, as near as they could tell.

She had been nodding along, taking note of Steve’s suggestions, when his words about the sceptre caught up to her.

“Stop, wait-- you mean you don’t have the sceptre?” That was a problem. That was a monumental problem.

She pulled the phone out of her pocket.

“Just to be clear, you don’t have it, and if Loki does, you don’t know?”

She’d been briefed on finding out what Loki wanted it for, how he was using it. This was not in the plans, and there wasn’t really a good alternative to hope for, here. If Loki had it and Steve didn’t know, that was bad. If Loki didn’t have it, that was maybe even worse.

And how would they know for sure whether or not Loki did? He could lie, could have it hidden… She’d reviewed footage of him pulling things from out of nowhere. He could have it safely tucked away in nowhere, and they had no way of finding out.

 

Shit.

 

Steve stared at her.

She had thought...?

 

Oh. Oh hell.

 

“What do you mean, _we_ don’t have the scepter?” he asked, carefully keeping his voice level, though it bore a strained edge. “When I called in to SHIELD after Loki and I went AWOL the first time around, I told Fury to put that thing on _lockdown._ And you _lost it?”_

Which, granted, wasn’t quite fair since Natasha hadn’t lost it or had any part of it, but where she was presently speaking for SHIELD--

Steve’s heart and beating hard against his ribs. SHIELD didn’t have the scepter. And the scepter had been their one hope of getting more information on Thanos -- their only connection to that barren world and any possibility of answers or a plan. And now it was missing, and they didn’t know where. Hell, SHIELD hadn’t even been looking for it if they thought Steve and Loki’d had it this whole time. And where they didn’t...

They didn’t... right?

Steve felt a chill drip down his spine like cold water, remembering the fight he and Loki’d had in the shawarma place right after fleeing from SHIELD and Steve’s run-in with the scepter. Loki had wanted to take it and use it, and Steve had reacted badly. They’d fought and Loki had been a mess and... He wouldn’t have taken it, would he? Barring times when Steve had been asleep or unconscious, they’d hardly been out of eachother’s sight since the break-out, he hadn’t had any opportunity. Unless he’d taken it when he’d taken Steve from SHIELD, when he’d been dying and too out of it to know.

Would Loki lie about the scepter?

Steve didn’t think he’d use it on anyone -- not now, not after everything -- but Loki trusted everyone so little, perhaps he’d held on to it for safekeeping, or as a contingency in case SHIELD refused to relinquish it for them to use to spy on Thanos. And given how negatively Steve had responded early on to the idea of taking the scepter -- if Loki’d had it, he’d have little reason to admit as much to Steve. Not with the fear of how he’d react undoubtedly plaguing him.

But to lie about it for this long... no. Loki would have used it by now to go to Thanos himself to put the plan into action without going to SHIELD first. He wouldn’t have proposed Steve ask about it if he’d had something to hide.

Steve shook his head. “We haven’t got it.” He felt increasingly sure of it, though doubt still wove cold fingers through his insides. “When-- when did it go missing?”

 

“Well it’s not like you left a forwarding number, Steve, we couldn’t just call you up and say, hey, about that lockdown, did you change your mind, decide it was safer in your hands? I mean. You were going to come in and it was all supposed to be peaceable, and someone freaked and messed up-- they weren’t supposed to take you or Loki out, no one had orders for that. But you didn’t stick around to find out. You just bolted. And that changed everything. How were we to know what was and wasn’t your doing?” She pursed her lips and blew air out roughly to be swallowed up in the breeze around them.

“It came up missing when they went to ship it back, and they just figured… you know. Loki. I guess this would have been a few days after you and he disappeared. So let me ask you, is there any chance at all that he might have got his hands on it without you knowing?” She didn’t really have time to tiptoe around Steve’s impulse to defend Loki right now. They were going to need answers. “We know he can travel instantaneously. Could he have slipped away from you at any point and come back for it?” This could not end well, especially if he was right and they-- neither of them-- had it.

She frowned at that thought.

“If he didn’t take it, if you don’t have it and we don’t, then we have a definite problem-- and we’re dealing with a traitor at best and a mole at the worst.” And if it was a mole, whoever was behind them would be a brand new can of worms that none of them needed right now.

This was such a massive fuck up, she wasn’t entirely sure how she should approach it, not sure who to talk to about it first. She wished Coulson were here. He would know. But the reason he wasn’t, the man who had killed him, was currently a few floors below them, curled up in bed, and under Phil’s hero’s protection. He was speaking for the both of them, falling into it as naturally as he breathed. Steve counted Loki on a level with him, and that was… so messed up. Damn it.

“Do you think we should talk to Loki about it? Get a straight answer out of him, somehow. And if he doesn’t have it, maybe he has a way of finding it? Or maybe he’d have an idea of who might have wanted it, who else might know how it works.”

No one had been more upset to find it gone than Clint, and she knew that was a large part of why he didn’t want to be anywhere near Loki and Steve now. That and the lack of contact. He’d been admitting that Loki had maybe done some good, but he wasn’t the biggest fan, and thinking that Loki and the sceptre were both wandering around New York had left a bad taste in his mouth.

Probably not too far off from the one she had in hers, now.

“And if it’s really gone, assuming we have to research leads and find a team and send them out after it-- that could take months. Do we have any kind of backup plan for finding out about Thanos if it’s really, truly out of our reach?”

 

“Well gee, sorry I didn’t stick around to chat once people started shooting,” Steve replied testily. “The sniper sights and high-velocity bullets sort of gave me the impression we were done with the talking part.”

He felt a bit miffed at the implication that this was _his_ fault -- that fleeing from SHIELD when they made it clear they thought Loki was a danger and Steve was out of his mind was somehow unreasonable, but he was also a little surprised by Natasha’s implication that the shot had been accidental. Or at least, that Fury hadn’t given the order. It didn’t change much, and it was possible that it wasn’t even true and SHIELD was just trying to get back into his good graces... But if it _was_ true and it had been the act of one trigger-happy agent and not a SHIELD-sanctioned hit, then that would go a ways toward helping him breathe easier while collaborating with SHIELD moving forward. Though their immediate assumption that Loki had taken the scepter and unwillingness to consider any other possibility still grated on him. How convenient to have an escaped prisoner to scapegoat with any missing objects, instead of actually looking for them.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. That was...” Maybe not entirely uncalled for. But it wasn’t helping either.

And if the scepter hadn’t gone missing until after he and Loki had bolted, then that meant Loki couldn’t have possibly taken it. Steve’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “If it was a few days later, then it definitely couldn’t have been him. As soon as we took off from SHIELD, we got out of the city. Loki’s teleportation has a limited range, he can’t drive, and we used up most of his magic escaping, so he wouldn’t have been able to double back even if he wanted. Not to mention he was right with me pretty much 24/7 from then on. Two days later we were here in the tower, and JARVIS can account for Loki’s whereabouts after that.”

He felt a small spike of guilt at his sense of relief now, knowing Loki didn’t have the scepter; because although it meant Loki hadn’t lied to him, it also meant the scepter was unaccounted for. Which was a really big problem, not only because of where it left them in regards to the Thanos problem, but also because of what the scepter could do, and what use it could be put to in the wrong hands.

“It’s worth asking him if there’s any way he can track it down or he has any ideas who might’ve taken it,” he said. “Though I should probably do the talking.” From Natasha, Loki might take it as an accusation, and he was fragile enough at the moment without having to deal with suspicion and mistrust. But they did need it. Because using the scepter had been something Steve had been regarding as a last resort, and the fact that they’d been ready to ask at all made their lack of alternatives painfully clear.

They were screwed.

And if the scepter wasn’t just misplaced but stolen, if SHIELD had a mole--  
Steve blinked. “If SHIELD has a leak, is it possible that the design for the jet that appeared in the park got leaked by the same source?” It was grasping at straws, but if they had to deal with a major security breach on top of everything else...

 

Natasha knew several languages, but when it came to expletives, she almost always returned to her mother tongue for it. As such, she treated the Captain’s ears to some words she _knew_ he hadn’t heard before.

“Sounds like another round of questioning with Schultz. I don’t understand, we’ve gone over everyone… how are we missing--?” She shook her head, refocusing. “Nevermind. That’s something for SHIELD to deal with. And… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that you should have stuck around with people shooting at you. I probably would have done the same thing. But with Loki, with Thanos… you not getting in touch afterward just made it look like everyone’s worst fears were real. And no one really understood why you touched the sceptre in the first place. Why you took Clint in there. He was emotionally compromised and your response was to take him into-- look, I’m not blaming you. I’m mostly just trying to say… There are reasons behind everything that happened. And most of them stem from SHIELD not knowing, from you not telling us things that we should know. So just… if there’s anything else. Try and keep me posted, okay?” She sighed heavily.

“Let’s check in with Loki first, if he has a way, I think it’ll be easier than the alternative. We were able to track the cube before, kind of, with Bruce’s help, thanks to the gamma radiation it was emitting. I don’t know if the sceptre works the same, but if so, SHIELD is going to need to reach out to him again. Right now there is a lot of us versus them sentiment, and that’s going to be difficult to patch up so long as we’ve got the mole running around, and the Avengers standing behind your judgement of Loki. Which, by the way… the fact that you were worried he _might_ have gone behind your back, and that it’s scheduling conflicts and physical limitations that convinced you otherwise? Not great commentary on his character. That said, if he is really as much of a key piece in this whole Thanos thing as you say, we need to get SHIELD onto the same page if the rift is going to be fixed, and frankly, right now, Clint and I are sort of in the middle of it. Because we’re both SHIELD and Avengers. Unless that’s changed.” She looked him in the eyes and squared herself upwards, the casual slump of her posture abandoned.

“You still haven’t talked to him. You’re keeping me separate from the others, you don’t really want me so much as talking to Loki. It feels like you’re hiding something, Steve. Feels like you’re cutting us out, along with the rest of SHIELD.” She frowned. It was manipulative, pulling on his emotions this way, but she needed to know. She had a job to do, and… and _she_ needed to know. Not just for her, but so she would know how to deal with Clint, too. If she should stop trying to push him towards making up, and focus on getting him as far away from this as possible, and maybe her, too.

 

“Well maybe you should’ve asked Clint, since he saw the whole damn thing!” Steve snapped. “You’re riding me to talk to him, but it doesn’t seem like anyone back there’s spoken to him either since he could tell you exactly why I was showing him the scepter security.” For all the good it had done. He’d probably only succeeded in traumatizing Barton further. But the intent had been there, and it had been clear enough; nothing Loki did or Steve said was going to convince Clint that he was safe from Loki, but at least Steve could show him hard proof that the scepter wasn’t a threat.

But all anyone wanted to see was Loki being a villain, and Steve being some sort of useless thrall, apparently. Hell, he couldn’t blame Loki for always assuming the worst of people; they were more than ready to do the same to him. “I _did_ get in touch after Loki and I disappeared the first time,” he said with grit teeth. “I called Fury, tried to explain, and Loki was going to come in peaceably. I tried to do it right, and we got shot at, so yeah. Forgive me for not making the same mistake twice! Maybe if SHIELD actually _listened_ and paid some damn attention instead of jumping to conclusions about everything, they’d know more and we wouldn’t be in this mess--”

He realized his voice was getting louder, and he cut himself off, swallowing and looking away, hands balling into fists and then relaxing in a repeated motion as he got his temper in check. Though his tenuous grip on it dissolved when Natasha highlighted his own doubt. “If I told you he didn’t do it because I just plain trusted him, would you even have believed me?”

It hurt all the more because he _had_ worried briefly, if only... if only because he knew Loki might do something stupid while convincing himself it was for Steve’s protection, or in the interest of defeating Thanos. He trusted Loki now to have good intentions, he really did, but... if the scepter had been taken, it would have been the Loki of weeks ago that took it, and that Loki’s judgment was a bit less trustworthy than the Loki of now. But the nuances of that would be lost in explanation, and all anyone would see was a lack of trust.

He did trust Loki. He did. Trusted him with his heart, his body, his life...

(So why did he panic?)

He felt a burning and leaden sense of shame mixing with his anger, twisting in his gut like a snake. He’d let his faith in Loki falter and now Natasha was able to turn his words against him into an indictment of Loki, when Steve had been trying to exonerate him. And for all that he was angry with SHIELD and with Natasha, and, and with _all of it,_ (most of all himself), he also knew that she was right and he was causing divides and pushing her away. It hadn’t been his intention, but it was hard to deny the result.

He was tearing his own team apart.

(Some Captain.)

“I’m sharing all the intel I have with you,” he said flatly, staring at the strange, pebbly material that composed the rooftop. “What more do you want?”

 

“We did ask Clint.” She said, her voice even and her face as blank as she could make it. “He said a lot of nonsense, a lot of things no one really wants to believe. But when it comes to what happened to you, he said you were showing him security around the sceptre. So it doesn’t make sense for you to have bypassed it. Unless something besides logic motivated you. Why would you touch it, especially knowing what happened when Loki did? But you did it, whether driven to do so by something outside of yourself or not, and then you were twitching and bleeding and dying, and Loki bursts out of the highest security cell SHIELD has ever had, into the highest protected room SHIELD has ever built, and Clint’s tossed in a magic bubble so he can’t move. You’re babbling, Loki bundles you up, you disappear without a word, leaving behind the sceptre, which still makes no sense, and Clint spends the next few days in medical with a giant lump on his head for safety, while they check him over to be sure he’s not back under Loki’s control, and he waits to find out if the bubble is some kind of… of magic exposure poisoning or something. We talked to him, Steve. _I_ talked to him. Why haven’t you?” Her words were hard.

“And then when you _did_ get in touch, there was no way for anyone to know that you were you. And you weren’t making much sense then, either. So you came in, and refused to be taken to medical. Refused to be taken away from Loki-- you realize how bad that looks? Then you steal a car, and you hoof it, and you lay low for some time-- I’m impressed by how well you did that, by the way-- and then next thing _we_ know, you’re here and being attacked. No further attempts at communication, the big bad scary thing you warned against has gone missing and we can only conclude you took it, because you were afraid you wouldn’t be listened to about it, same as we hadn’t really listened over the phone, and there you go. Honestly, I was under the impression Schultz had attacked because he wanted the sceptre, but if that’s not that case, he might have been after the only people who know how to use it. That’s you two, sort of.” Her gaze hardened.

“Look, right now I believe you’re you, because no one, not even Loki, could fake you this well for this long. I would have noticed, but more, I think Bruce and Tony would have noticed. And unlike some people, I _trust_ my team. My friends. Until they start behaving in a way that makes it seem like maybe they shouldn’t be trusted. I still don’t know why you needed to touch the sceptre, but I’m personally willing to set that aside for now. But there’s still some concern left for me, because you are shit at lying, and the Steve I know mostly didn’t bother. And the Steve I know would have made his team mate, the guy who _saw him disappear_ into a priority. So I’m a little curious where that Steve went. And if maybe some of Clint’s nonsense might be true. What do you think, Steve? Is Loki rubbing off on you?”

Her temper was frayed and she had compromised her position as a neutral buffer between the Avengers and SHIELD, but that wasn’t the most important thing right now. Part of coming to work for SHIELD had been so that she was allowed an identity in her work, allowed a life that was her own, and that didn’t belong to those she worked for. Steve was part of her life. Clint was part of it. Her friends, the people she cared about.

She wasn’t ready to hear that to them, she was still just a tool. But it felt, increasingly, like that might be closer to the truth.

“And with all of that, you didn’t even bother _trying_ to reach out to me. Not a peep.” She crossed her arms over her chest, defensive. “So let me ask you again: Clint and I, do we even count as Avengers any more? Or are we _not useful_ _enough_ , not good enough to be your friends, to be part of your team?”

 

Steve’s mind reeled. He hadn’t meant to touch the scepter. He’d just been showing Clint how the mechanism surrounding it worked, so it couldn’t be pulled out of the box, and his fingers had brushed against it. It was just clumsiness -- an accident. He hadn’t been brainwashed or planning something. And he hadn’t known at the time about Thanos or the scepter’s ability to transport consciousness. It was just a slip...

Unless it wasn’t. Because he remembered when they’d all been fighting on the helicarrier and they’d turned to see Banner holding the scepter, when he had no memory of reaching for it or picking it up. And Loki hadn’t been controlling it then, either. Was it possible that the thing had hooks in his mind even from a distance, luring him into bringing his hand just a little too close? Did Thanos have the ability to manipulate people with it even from the other end of the galaxy? And if Schultz was connected, and if there was a leak in SHIELD, and if all that pain and violence had been over a scepter Loki hadn’t even had but only SHIELD believed him to have, what did that spell out for the trustworthiness of SHIELD? Of anyone?

But even as that fresh dread dawned on him, Natasha was dredging up every ounce of guilt he’d managed to suppress in the past few months like she meant to drown him in it. He knew he’d left Clint in a bad place. Knew it wasn’t fair to at least not let him know he was alive, and knew he should have warned him about Loki before. He knew all of that already, but--

“Clint hates me,” Steve blurted.

‘ _You get sent away for getting too close to the prisoner, and when you come back you're stripping down and oiling one another up...’_

He could still hear the cold, barely-restrained anger in Clint’s voice, playing over in his mind. ‘ _It makes me physically sick,’_ he’d said. He’d talked to Scofield and he’d flat out told Steve he’d wanted Loki dead, and then when Steve had tried to fix it, or comfort him at least a bit so he wouldn’t live in fear of having his mind taken from him again, he’d gone and screwed it up even worse.

The thought that Barton would even _want_ Steve to reach out after all that was practically laughable. He slumped back into the side of the alcove. “I know you said the other day he was worried, but-- he really hates me. Hates Loki. And considering what happened the last time I tried to reach out and reassure him about something, I don’t think--” he broke off, licking his lips. “And I-- I know how close you two are. I wouldn’t ask you to pick sides. You’re...” he swallowed, regretting eating the eggs he’d shoveled down before coming up here. Hell, he was regretting getting out of bed completely. “You’re Avengers. And yeah, you’re amazing. Both of you. And I’m sorry, I am, I’m not--” He broke off, floundering for words and trying to figure out how someone a good head shorter than him was managing to make him feel so small, and wish he was even smaller so he could shrink into himself and disappear from this conversation.

He took a deep breath and let it out, letting his head thunk back against the concrete wall behind him. “I want you on the team. The whole team. But if you don’t trust Loki and you don’t trust me, then I don’t want to force you.”

 

Natasha snorted and uncrossed her arms, took a step closer but didn’t reach toward him, didn’t try to touch.

“Loki has to give people reasons not to hate him, because he gave a lot of people reason to. You, on the other hand, everyone trusts. Wants to trust. So don’t give anyone reason to distrust you. Talk to us, include us. Give us at least the _chance_ to try and trust Loki. Because you gave him the benefit of the doubt, but Clint… all you let him have was his moment of shock and… he wasn’t in a good state of mind, Steve. I’m sure you can understand that. That’s what you said about Loki when he invaded, right? He was in a bad place? So you gave him another chance. Clint was in a bad place, too... But once he moved beyond that, yeah. He’s angry, he’s worried, he doesn’t understand… he feels betrayed. But he’s your friend, your team. That makes you family. That makes _us_ family, and coming from people who… none of us had much of one. The family we agree to be part of? That’s a lot of trust and respect all balled up into a neat little bundle. Don’t fuck that up. Don’t put Loki before your team-- we came together to stop him, remember? It’s shouldn’t be a him or us thing. If you’re bringing him in, you should have come to everybody, you should have made sure you had your team at your back. Instead… Well you know that isn’t what you did. But I think we can fix it.” She softened the hard look on her face.

“I don’t think he hates you. I think he might hate Loki. But if I know Clint-- and if anyone does, it might be me-- he’s the most forgiving bastard who’s ever existed. I’m here, aren’t I? So. Give him a chance. Take a chance on trusting him. On trusting us. You managed to trust Loki, after all, and I would think…” she trailed off.

“I know things have been messed up, a lot, and this part, if you don’t want to answer, if you want it off the official SHIELD record… you and Loki got pretty close in the videos from his time at SHIELD. He’s not… I know you seem to be free of his control now, but if there’s anything you need to tell me… I know he used some kind of magic on you, the day before he healed Ferra. I know you and he were alone before that, away from surveillance, at least a couple of times. There was opportunity. If you have any doubt, any at all, about any of the choices you made being yours, I need to know. And I need you to be honest about that with yourself at the very least, think long and hard about it. Because even if you trust him enough to break away from SHIELD, to put this space between us and the rest of the Avengers… you didn’t trust him enough to believe that he didn’t steal the sceptre. So do you trust him enough to believe that your trust is real? I’m not asking you to share intel, I don’t need stats and plans and assets and weaknesses. I’m asking you to trust me enough to treat me like the friends-- like the _family_ we are. Do you feel, honestly, safe around Loki? Because I do trust you, and if you say yes now, I will go in there with you, and we will talk to him, and I will treat him exactly like I did when I first met you-- any of you. Clean slate, second chance, the whole nine yards. But if you have any doubt, any lingering concern… I don’t want to see my family hurt, Steve.”

 

Steve bit down on his frustration; because Loki _had_ given people reasons not to hate him, from healing Ferra and giving SHIELD medical notes to saving Steve’s life, to nearly sacrificing himself in order to protect Bruce and civilians from Schultz’s attack, to enchanting the memorial to help ease the burdens of the families of those that died. But apparently none of that mattered to anyone else, since it was so easily overlooked or dismissed.

He took another deep breath, trying to tamp his anger back down. Because for all that he was frustrated, Natasha was offering an olive branch of sorts. She was calling him family.

Hadn’t he called Loki the same just that morning?

(Could Natasha and Clint accept having Loki in their new family? Or would Steve break that too?)

Running a hand back through his hair, he pulled it down over his face, feeling suddenly drained. He wanted what Natasha was suggesting -- the possibility of a unified team, a family of Avengers, with trust all around, even extending to Loki. No more him or them. It was the ideal, really. But with everything else crumbling into disaster around them, he didn’t know how feasible it would be, or what he’d be risking if that trust came apart and he’d brought Loki into the line of fire.

And if Clint didn’t forgive him and hated him when the truth came out -- because he’d have to let the truth out if he brought them in -- he wasn’t even sure where he’d go from there. Try to hold it together long enough to enact a plan against Thanos, then resign? Even with Tony and Pepper and Bruce’s tolerance, he doubted that, once the truth spread too far, people would want a queer Captain America heading the Avengers.

He eyed Natasha, wondering if she knew. If anyone would just spontaneously figure it out or _know,_ it was probably her -- _you and Loki got pretty close in the videos from his time at SHIELD_ , she’d said -- but at the same time, he was nervous about telling her here and now, like this.

But she’d asked him if he trusted Loki, and he could at least tell her that much. He thought of how tender and gentle Loki had been the night before, when Steve had bared him his throat and the time before that, when he’d had Steve blind and on his knees and completely at his mercy and he’d been so careful with him. How safe he’d made him feel.

“Whatever doubts I had about him and the scepter, it’s not what you think,” he began quietly. “And yeah. I trust him.” He looked her in the eyes. “I trust him with my life, which he’s saved now, probably more than once. He’s not the guy you saw in Manhattan or on the Helicarrier. He’s different, and he’s trying, Nat, he really is. So yes, I feel safe around Loki.”

  
He wasn’t lying this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The interpretation of Steve being Catholic is based on the period in which his parents both immigrated; they probably came over in the late nineteenth century to early twentieth (Steve being born first-generation American in 1918), and the majority of Irish immigrants from that period were Irish Catholic, not Presbyterian Scotch-Irish. There's some [great meta](http://historicallyaccuratesteve.tumblr.com/post/92559081749/protestant-steve-rogers-v-catholic-steve-rogers) written on the subject, and given the props department was lazy enough to make his serial number just a [consecutive string of digits](http://41.media.tumblr.com/867c80ff6c5dd22a539a1e74bf9f51f2/tumblr_mfjf3kZjiM1qhqualo1_1280.jpg), it stands to reason the Protestant designation on his tags was a production oversight, for which Lena will make in-world excuses until she is blue in the face. We hope no one is offended by the discussion of religion between the characters in the beginning of the chapter -- it isn't our intent to make grand theological claims, just explore interpretations of what these characters might believe.


	39. Thirty-Nine

“Then let’s go talk to him.” Natasha said immediately. She could see Steve getting nervous, read his worry and anxiety and exhaustion in his motions and his stance. Steve was doing his best, and she knew it as well as he did. He just wasn’t thinking as clearly as he could be. Should be.

“I’m not trying to mess this up for you Steve, I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble here. I _want_ to have good things to say about this all, good things to take back to SHIELD and Clint. There has to be something in all of this to offset the news I’m taking back about the potentially imminent doom of our world. Especially with him trying. But if I don’t get to talk to him, well… you could tell me all you want, until you’re blue in the face, but I would have to tell them that it was only reported to me. Better if I can take some of my own thoughts, my own judgements back to them.” And keep some judgements to herself, potentially. She and Clint had dealt once too often in things that sounded like nonsense for her to write it off too easily. She twisted her lips into a sideways smile.

“Besides, I think this is about all of the cold I can take. I’m not quite so suited for Russian winters any more.” She pulled her arms around herself, this time for insulation rather than to communicate her annoyance. “Shall we?”

She headed back to the doorway that had led them here in the first place, and quietly wondered where she would be granted audience with Loki-- if Steve would call ahead and give him time to prepare, or if he would meet them in some shared space. She would enjoy seeing his living quarters, reading the room for who and what he had become, now that he was apparently behaving more like a person and less like a megalomaniac.

“And I know it’s a little soon, probably, but once we’re on more even ground here, SHIELD is madly curious about his magic. They’ve got all kinds of scientists looking at the tapes of you guys, trying to figure out how he does what he does, mostly getting angry and drawing up blanks. It’s been very exciting in the break rooms, after their all nighters. Apparently we’ve had to quadruple our coffee filter orders.” She tilted her head, to indicate how impressive that was.

It was small talk, of course, and an easy way to segue into talk of good things Loki might be using his power for. Things that didn’t include accusing him of using mind control on the people she was closest to or to steal the world’s strongest known weapons.

Only in this tower would any of this count as small talk, but then again, these were her kind of people. Their small talk tended to be bigger than most peoples’.

 

Steve nodded, feeling almost as if he had whiplash from the speed with which the conversation had changed from confrontation to... to whatever it was now. He honestly wasn’t entirely sure.

It made sense, though, that Natasha would want to talk to Loki. And she wouldn’t hurt him. He was almost completely sure of that, though he still wanted to be present. For Loki’s support if nothing else. He could only hope Loki was feeling better, and they wouldn’t be catching him with this when he was emotionally vulnerable. “Okay,” he said. “But, if he’s not feeling better about the Thor stuff, we may wanna reschedule. Like you said, we all understand rough family matters,” he added. If Loki was still as fragile as he’d been earlier and wasn’t handling the conversation well, then pushing it would only make things worse. And things were already bad enough.

Going inside, though, had a definite appeal, as his toes were going a bit numb in his boots. He hit the button on the elevator, and briefly contemplated which floor to go to, before settling on the penthouse. It had furniture and places to sit besides the floor, after all. “JARVIS?” he said, stepping into the elevator. “Could you please let Loki know we’d like to meet him in the penthouse in a minute to talk?” He could call or text, of course, but JARVIS was a surefire way of getting the message through, and it meant keeping his cold fingers in his warm pockets.

“ _Certainly, Captain.”_

The elevator hummed on its descent. “If SHIELD is okay to play nice, he might be willing to help a little more with their research,” he ventured, though he knew Loki might have some reservations about letting SHIELD poke and prod at him and study his primary means of defense. “He’d definitely be interested in sharing more of what he knows about healing and medicine. I know he left some notes on the subject behind before we left.” Whether or not SHIELD medical teams had made hide or hair of them, he didn’t know, but he watched Natasha inquiringly, in case she’d heard of anything on the topic.

 

She nodded slowly, mentally reviewing what she’d gotten to see of the contents of his cell.

“Yeah, I remember hearing about those. I think that’s partially contributing to the coffee fuelled late nights at SHIELD, to be honest. The rest of his cell was put into a personnel box, if there was anything there that you want me to get my hands on, I can talk to SHIELD about it. I remember hearing something about him having some kind of collectible tin lunchbox…?” She tossed a smirk at Cap, teasing him without saying a word.

“It might make for a good gag gift, sort of a cheer up present. And, you know, same for you. You guys left a lot of stuff behind when you peeled out of town like bats out of hell. Anything you want me to try and get back… well, I say try. I think I can do a little better than that, provided Fury didn’t let trainees pack it up.”

It was a rough thought, though, the idea of having to go through Steve and Loki’s stuff, the idea of bringing boxes to the tower for them to unpack, and knowing that the rest of their rag tag family would be here with Loki, while she had her hotel a few blocks away until she had to go back, and then she and Clint stayed in staff housing or spartan nearby apartments in DC, waiting to be called into action.

She hoped it would be temporary, though.

“If we need to reschedule, I have a feeling it may have to be a couple of weeks from now. I can almost guarantee that once I call in today’s developments, they’ll want me back to give a report in person.” She hesitated. “But… I know Clint is supposed to be in town next week. If all goes well… and provided you call him between now and then… if nothing else maybe you could meet up somewhere. Start things on the road to getting better.” She shrugged apologetically. “Best I can do, on that front. And if Loki’s not up for it today…” She hesitated. “Tell him I’ll pass on anything I hear, and I hope he feels better soon. On behalf of myself, as well as SHIELD.” It felt important to specify that.

She was trying, too.

The elevator let them out on the penthouse floor and she shucked her coat and headed into the den, happy to let it sit beside her in case anything happened, and she needed to leave quickly, though she hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

She didn’t pick a seat yet, though, waiting for Steve to sink down into what would doubtless be his usual position. She might have agreed to be nice, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t planning to read and play the room to the best of her abilities.

 

Steve couldn’t help but smile when she mentioned that goddamn lunchbox. He’d almost completely forgotten about it too; though she was right in that it would make a good gift and give Loki a laugh, with any luck. “I think that may actually be Agent Murray’s, but if he isn’t attached to it, that would be terrific,” he told her.

And the idea of having all his other things back too -- well, he’d more or less resigned himself to starting over fresh, and it wouldn’t be the first time. But not having to outfit an apartment completely from scratch -- having his clothes and books and records and just plain old practical things as well as the few items he’d left behind that had sentimental value -- that would be huge. And it was a generous offer to make. His expression softened. “Honestly, having most of my stuff back would be amazing. I just moved out of Tony’s guest room into one of the tower apartments, and right now it’s pretty spartan. I mean, there’s a bed and that’s about it.” Not that his furniture had been all that fancy or nice, but at least having a table and a chair or two would go a long way toward making the place habitable, so he and Loki didn’t _need_ to go up to the penthouse for everything but sleep. And it would make the whole act of nesting significantly less daunting. “If that’s doable, I would owe you a big one,” he finished, giving her a sincere smile. “Thanks, Nat.”

He wondered briefly, if he ought to mention the other empty apartments on his floor; the ones Tony had designed with the other Avengers in mind. But where it was Tony’s tower, that probably wasn’t his call to make. And where it would definitely mean coming clean about him and Loki, to Natasha and to Clint... He would wait. Maybe mention it to Tony and then watch how things played out. He felt bad now about how he really had kept Natasha and Clint at arm’s length, but he wasn’t quite ready to pull them in all at once.

“I’ll call Clint,” he told her as the doors opened. “I will. I’m sorry I keep putting it off, but I’ll do it as soon as we’re done here.” Whether or not Clint would even talk to him was out of his hands.

Returning to the living area, he automatically made a line for the couch that he and Loki had more or less claimed as theirs since the first time they’d all watched a movie together, settling comfortably into the familiar dip in the cushions. “Hopefully Loki’s feeling better though... Would be nice to send you back with as much good to report as we can scrounge up.”

As if on cue, the elevator dinged again, and Steve looked toward it expectantly.

 

Watching Steve move automatically to one side of the couch, she carefully looked at the spot that would be closest to him. Namely, the seat beside him on his couch. Which, logically, would probably be Loki’s usual resting place, if they were as inseparable as she expected.

For a brief, wicked moment, she considered taking that seat. But she was supposed to be trying to make things easier, not passive aggressively antagonize him. So she settled into the next closest seat, the corner of the couch angled perpendicular to Steve’s.

It put her close enough to him that it would not seem awkward when Loki got here, but also put her closer to the exit. Strategically, it was her best bet, either way. And if she got the urge to reach out and touch Steve, he was well within a natural range of motion. It wouldn’t look strained at all.

Satisfied that she had chosen well, she sat back to watch Loki move into the room, his gait neither too fast nor too slow, and looking reasonably unencumbered for someone who had recently been reduced to aspic.

“Romanov,” He greeted her as he rounded the couch and stood awkwardly at the end, clearly not entirely certain that he should sit. She smiled and cursed inwardly; she’d forgotten how good he was, how _aware_ he was.

“Please, it’s Natasha. It’s good to see you, Loki.” He looked good, like he was flourishing here, despite his current state of upset and discomfort, due to Thor’s presence.

If anything, Steve looked more tired than Loki, like the day had taken more out of him than the other guy. But maybe that was her fault.

She snuck a glance over at Cap, curious to see how he would react to Loki’s hesitance to sit, to the way he distanced himself from her using a last name.

Steve, as near as she was able to tell, just looked concerned. So maybe Loki had been worse off earlier in the day. If so, a nap must have done him worlds of good. Maybe Steve should try it sometime.

“And you.” He said politely, though he looked to Steve. For instruction or explanation, she wondered. Did he need to be told how to act, or was he just curious what they wanted to talk to him about?

Eventually, though, he decided to sit-- opposite her. Far from Steve.

Damn.

 

Steve offered Loki a small smile, tinged with worry, as he walked in. Enough that, he hoped, Loki would read Steve’s care for him and know not to be overly alarmed, but not so much that Natasha would go and read too much (enough?) into it.

He wondered how much of the ‘nonsense’ Clint had told her hadn’t been nonsense at all, and whether she suspected already.

Loki must’ve picked up on Steve’s attempt to be subtle, because rather than curling up on the couch by Steve’s side, he took a different position from his usual one, giving them plenty of distance. For all that they’d mostly dropped their guard within the tower walls, it was clear he still remembered how to pull it back up, from his politely brittle disposition. Part of Steve was grateful and glad of this, but another part of him ached over it.

He considered starting with some small talk -- asking Loki how he was feeling or how his remodeling was coming along -- but decided against it. It would just be awkward and risk divulging more than he was fully ready to share, and they had a pressing matter to get to. So instead he took a breath and sat forward, knee bouncing a bit nervously as he balanced on the edge of the couch as he plunged into the heart of the matter.

“Loki,” he began, “We have a problem. I asked Natasha about the scepter, and it turns out SHIELD doesn’t have it, and it’s currently missing.”

 

“Missing.” He repeated flatly, eyes wide and emotions nearly numb. “What do you mean, _missing_? How does one lose-- it was so well guarded!” The shock and horror sunk in all at once and his voice rose as he did.

“Surely you must have some record-- there were guards and access points and cameras everywhere. I could not take a piss without SHIELD knowing, how could you--” He broke off, turning to look at Steve.

“There’s something else, isn’t there? She wouldn’t need to be here if there weren’t. You could have told me alone if that were all.” He stood taller and braced himself. “What is it?”

“We were wondering if you had any way of tracking it, if you could be persuaded to help us to find it.” Romanov spoke, and he tried to see through the meaning in her words.

“You want me to fetch it, like a hound after a bone, but return it to SHIELD, that I must beg for it over again, is that it?” He was mistrustful of this entire situation.

“I am not yours to command. But Steve-- Captain, what do you think? Should I donate my service to those who held me, caged me… those who made an attempt on my life?” He was snide, willfully so, but he was angry, too.

Without the sceptre, what hope did they have? Without the power of it, without the intelligence it offered… and those who did have it, who knew what they were unleashing upon this unsuspecting world.

 

Steve felt his jaw tense as Loki bristled, clearly going on the defensive. This wasn’t helping them, or helping Steve make a point to Natasha about how Loki had changed. Seeing him bristle like this, slipping into the angry and defiant persona he defaulted to whenever he felt threatened-- Steve needed to defuse this. Now.

“Yes, I do,” he answered, simply and firmly. “Right now, we don’t have any leads. The scepter could be anywhere, and you know more about it than anyone. If there’s a way to use seidhr to track its energy, or if you remember anyone you may have interacted with when you had it during the invasion who might have had an interest in obtaining it, then that can give us something to go on.”

It was possible that Bruce and Tony might -- _might_ \-- be able to use data recorded by SHIELD to track the scepter like they had the Tesseract, but Steve would put his money on Loki’s abilities for the fastest result. And where the damn thing had been missing for weeks now, they needed to work on finding it, and soon. “You said yourself it’s our best bet at Thanos,” he reminded him, keeping his voice even and calm, but his brow furrowing slightly in pleading, silently begging Loki to _listen._ “Yes, I’m sure SHIELD will want to oversee operations with it when we get it back. But negotiating with Fury still gives us a better shot at using it than having it completely lost, and not having any means to know what Thanos is planning.” He considered bringing up Natasha’s claim that Fury hadn’t ordered the sniper shot, but decided that was her information to give and to verify.

He paused, tongue darting out quickly to wet his lips as he prepared for his next gambit, lowering his voice to something a bit softer as he leaned forward even further. “Loki, even if we can’t use it... We can’t leave it out there. If we don’t have it and SHIELD doesn’t have it, then someone a lot worse has it, and we don’t know what they plan to do with it or who they might hurt.”

 

“I agree.” He said shortly, and watched as Romanov reacted, pleased to be the one garnering the reactions this time, rather than giving them. “It can’t be left to whomever has stolen it. That much is true. But I do not see why we should work with SHIELD, allow them the power over us. What reason for loyalty do I have for them? What reason do _you_ have?”

He didn’t like that Romanov and Steve were allied in this, and he had no idea why. He hadn’t been around, and they always accused him of burrowing into Steve’s head, but he wasn’t the only one capable of doing so. If there was any human, anyone on Midgard with capabilities he would wager able to match his own, it would be this woman. But Steve trusted her, and that must count for something. Steve was speaking slowly and calmly and he didn’t understand.

“Captain?” He asked more gently. “Why do you want me working for SHIELD?” It was a quiet, careful inquiry. He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening now. “Can you tell me any reason we should not simply go after the sceptre on our own? Any reason why we should trust them now, when they would not so much as listen to us, before?”

He looked back and forth between Steve and Natasha.

“I think perhaps you had best explain to me what it is that has so swayed you, Captain.” The word was odd in his mouth, the shape no longer familiar to him. Steve had been Steve to him for too long now.

He saw the way Romanov looked to Steve, obviously expecting him to know how to approach Loki, how to say the right thing. It made Loki feel sick. Triumphant, but annoyed-- and exhausted, above all else, that.

 

Steve let out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He should have told Natasha no; should have delayed this and discussed things with Loki first in private, should have waited -- or at the very least, shouldn’t have been so insistent that he do the talking, since he obviously wasn’t doing a very good job.

“You know what reason I have,” he said softly. For all that he was angry with SHIELD, for all that he mistrusted them right now, the organization was the legacy of his dead friends, and the home of several of his live ones. And there were good men and women still working there; Murray, and Ferra; Natasha and Clint.

“And you were right. What you said on the road, in Pennsylvania? This isn’t the sort of rift we can afford to keep. SHIELD can’t work against us in defending the planet, and we can’t work against them. Not when Thanos is out there, and not when we honestly don’t have the means to fight him alone.”

Retelling it all to Natasha had driven home the reality he’d been ignoring -- or at least had delayed confronting -- about the sheer magnitude of the threat facing them, and the devastating lack of preparedness, intel, or allies they had. “We need all the help we can get. From SHIELD, from Asgard, from the rest of the Avengers... whoever will listen and work with us. And SHIELD is listening now -- _Natasha_ is listening --” he amended, stealing a quick look over at her, “--And now’s as good a time as any to start mending that fence. The last thing we need is more enemies.”

And if there was a faction working against SHIELD and infiltrating it, then they already had one more enemy on their list. If they could get things with SHIELD to the point that they didn’t need to spend their days looking over their shoulders for them, it would be a major improvement. “SHIELD has resources we don’t have. They have tech and connections and transit and funding and weapons. And they have people. _Good_ people,” he reminded him. “We work with them on this, and we’re not starting from scratch when we go up against Thanos.”

 

Loki hung his head, chastened. He knew Steve’s reasoning. He just didn’t think it was all that valid. Still… he would not so disrespect his partner as to say so, particularly not in front of his friend.

“I have little knowledge of ways that I may find the sceptre. If I were better versed in such magics, I would not have been in your building, that first day. I was also in no fit state to think, though. To try. If I apply myself… I do not have any books, nor any way to expand what I do know of my craft. But perhaps I can cobble something together of the pieces I have.” He looked up, hoping not to see the dismay he felt certain would be on at least Romanov’s face.

“I will work on finding a way to pursue the sceptre, if, when you return to your SHIELD, you will attempt to negotiate with them on my behalf. My conditions are these: I will find the sceptre, as well as aid in its recovery as needed… but in return I want access to it once it has been retrieved, for reasons that you know now. I would like Stark Industries medical staff on standby in the event there are… complications, similar to the last times it was activated, that we know of. I want St-- the Captain to be returned as an active member of SHIELD, to oversee the process and manage and lead the team that is to go after it. If SHIELD wants my help, these are my terms.” He looked to Steve to try and divine if there was anything he had missed from the set of his face.

“I do not trust SHIELD. I trust the Captain. I trust his judgment, unless I am given a reason not to.” He leveled a half lidded glare at Romanov. “I will need from you all of the details of the loss that you have, everything that you know of. How long has it been gone, what circumstances surround its disappearance, what happened to its security… everything you know, I need to.”

“It’s not very much, so far. I’m sure I’ll be able to give you more in a day or so. We… didn’t actually realize it wasn’t in your possession until just a little bit ago, so. It’s going to take some time to go over the records we have.”

Loki narrowed his eyes.

“You assumed we had it.” He spoke flatly again. “So not only am I to trust those who have tried to kill me--”

“That was not an order! That was one guard who was too jumpy, who shouldn’t have been on the assignment at all.” Romanov protested, interrupting. Loki took it in stride.

“One of your men fired a weapon with the intent of causing harm to me. Whether it was an order or not, you are responsible for that. SHIELD is responsible for that. And so you would have me use my limited resources to fix this problem that your people have caused, requiring me to trust people who have made attempts on my life, people who have been complicit in my neglect, but also people who think me a thief.”

“You’ve been worse than that, Loki.” Romanov reminded him.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Yes, I always am, aren’t I? Captain, you have my permission to make the necessary arrangements. If you will excuse me, I am going to go begin my work. You may have any results I manage, as soon as I have seen that my terms have been met.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Thank you for your visit, Agent Romanov. Always _such_ a pleasure.” He knew that Steve would not be pleased with him, but right then, he wasn’t all that pleased with his partner, either.

 

Well _shit._

Steve’s initial impulse was to get up and go after Loki; to explain that just because he wanted to team up with SHIELD did _not_ mean he condoned what they did, or that he was siding against Loki. Wanted to take his hands and explain to him that nothing was changing, they were just making an alliance. Making a compromise.

But running after Loki like that would probably give too much away to Natasha, so he forced himself to stay in his seat, biting hard against the inside of his cheek as Loki took his leave. For a few more minutes, at least. Then he’d find Loki.

“Well, that went well...”

He turned and glared at Natasha. “‘You’ve been worse than that’ ? What the hell was that?” The amount of times it seemed he’d have to explain to people that treating Loki like they only expected the worst of him would only result in him playing to those expectations was starting to give him a headache.

“This was a bad idea,” he mumbled. “He’s not... He’s not having a good day so far. We should have waited.” He pulled a hand over his mouth, rubbing at his jaw, which ached from having clenched so hard, and huffed out a breath.

 

“I just figured, you know, why should he be angry for being accused of being a thief? Isn’t being a conqueror sort of a thief on a planetary scale?” She shrugged, but frowned. “I just meant that their suspicions weren’t unfounded. The whole reason he was in SHIELD custody was from trying to take it, right?” She lifted a shoulder.

“But his terms… I’ll try. Let him know, when his day turns around some, will you? I think it’ll be okay. They’re not ...all that fancy, are they, for an alien prince slash super villain? You back in SHIELD’s good graces, you heading up the team for recovering it, that makes sense, you being last one to touch it and all. We were going to work on getting him access to it anyway. And having people on call if he gets hurt-- more a sign of vulnerability than anything. If he was anyone else that would be well and good, we’d agree and move on. But what does he get out of this?” She mused. She looked back up and into Steve’s face. “You say he’s changed. I say, clearly. But I don’t understand what motivated the change, and I don’t understand what’s motivating him now.”

And that worried her.

Con artists have a saying- you can’t cheat an honest man. Likewise, you can’t manipulate what you don’t understand. And she didn’t like it. She wasn’t powerless against him, but it definitely limited the tools available to her.

“Do you think he’ll actually be able to do anything? You’ve seen more of his magic than anybody else. You think he’ll be able to turn it up?”

 

“He’d never seen a brain tumor before, and he managed to fix that,” Steve replied grimly. “I don’t know, and I can’t make guarantees. But he’s motivated and he’s smart. I’d say there’s at least a good chance.” Whether it had been using seidhr to save Steve’s life or manufacturing doubles to distract Schultz’s gunmen, Loki had proved resourceful in the past. Steve could hope that this was yet another situation where he’d pull out something brilliant and surprise himself.

He turned and looked at Natasha critically. “How would you feel if people only ever called you a murderer and suspected you every single time someone died, because a murderer is just an unpaid assassin and that’s what you used to be?” he asked. He almost regretted the words as soon as he said them -- they were a bit cruel -- but he needed to make a point. So he kept going:

“You heard his terms, so here are mine: if you want to work with Loki and with me, then you have to start treating him like an ally and stop treating him like a villain. Either trust him or don’t, but quit it with this probationary crap.” He shook his head, frustrated that even after seeing Loki spend months being the farthest thing from a supervillain, that was still the word Natasha defaulted to in describing him. “If you only ever judge him by things he did in the past, he’s going to think he can’t move past that and shouldn’t bother. That it won’t make a difference with what he does because no one will ever see him any different. But he is different, and you said it yourself,” he argued, gaining more traction. “And maybe instead of asking what’s motivating him now, you should ask about what was motivating him _then_ , because I’m pretty sure not being brainwashed and tortured into a weapon anymore has made a bit of a difference. Which was something I kinda hoped _you_ of all people would understand.”

And okay, that _was_ cruel. And he did regret it; the fact that he knew anything about Natasha’s Red Room file was something he’d tried to keep quiet for the sake of her privacy, and it wasn’t something he should have thrown in her face. He froze, then looked down. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

 

She shifted and stood, the only outward signs of her discomfort as her face shuttered off.

“He’s not the only one changing.” She said, her tone light. “Looks like he’s rubbing off on you more than even Clint thinks.” And maybe that was a low blow, but she didn’t feel bad about it. Right then, Steve definitely deserved it.

“You watch yourself, Rogers.” It was, honestly, alarming. She’d known Steve to be a little bit of a sarcastic snit, at times… but not cruel. Never that. And all she could picture was Loki in the helicarrier, telling her in no uncertain terms what he would do to her, what he would do to Clint…

“Loki does have to earn trust. That’s how it works. When he manages to stop reminding everyone that he used to be that guy, people will stop reminding him of that fact. But the performance he just gave?” She gestured at where he’d been standing. “Excuse me if I don’t see the rainbows and kittens just yet. You want to compare him to me? Fine. Do you know how long I was the most guarded SHIELD trainee? How long I spent under constant supervision and suspicion? It’s part of the process. And you don’t just get to bypass that for him because you have a shield and a name that everyone knows. I’m not going to play nice when your pet project there throws a fit. You want people to treat him better, you teach him to act better. And you take a close look at what he’s teaching you to do.”

The words had bite to them, and she mentally shook herself. She was supposed to be building bridges here, reuniting parts of her team.

“For a start, you can call Barton. And try not to remind him of anything damaging, will you? I’m going back to Washington. Think about what I said. You’re a good man, Steve. Don’t lose track of that.”

 

Steve ground his jaw. He shouldn’t have said it, but he couldn’t take it back. And at this point, trying to argue that Loki _had_ been under guard and suspicion and he _had_ done things to earn trust, getting crushed to a pulp while fighting Schultz... He knew he was in the wrong with what he’d said, and even if he had a point, he wasn’t going to be able to dig himself out of this hole with it.

He’d wanted to show Natasha that Loki was a better person. Instead, he’d just managed to make both of them look like jackasses. He could only imagine the report she’d be bringing back to SHIELD now. And whether or not the team was even salvageable at this point. Clint definitely hated him, and right now it seemed he was managing to push Nat further away too. All because he needed to stand up for Loki and needed Loki and knew he had to take his partner’s side, but couldn’t explain as much to them.

Berated and ashamed, he couldn’t find anything to say at all. So he kept his mouth shut so at least he couldn’t make it any worse, giving her a stiff nod and keeping his eyes on the ground.

He kept looking at the ground as he heard her footsteps retreating, and the elevator doors opening and closing. Several minutes passed without him moving, and when he did, it was with a growl as he brought a fist down on his leg in a burst of frustration.

The scepter -- a dangerous weapon and one of their only hopes of getting information on Thanos -- was missing. SHIELD was potentially compromised. They still knew nothing about Schultz and who he’d been working for, and they had nothing to go on against an interstellar threat. Asgard was suddenly back on the board, and they had no idea yet whether they’d help or not; the Avengers were falling apart and it was all on Steve’s head; SHIELD didn’t trust them, Natasha didn’t trust him, and right now Loki was probably pissed at him too.

And it was barely even noon.

Steve needed to hit something.

Standing, he took a deep breath. He knew he ought to go after Loki, but right now, he was probably even more unsettled than his partner. Better to vent his anger on something he didn’t need to worry about accidentally hurting, because he’d done enough of that this morning already. “JARVIS,” he said aloud to the empty room, “if Loki asks, please let him know I’ll be in the gym.”

 

Loki had returned to the bathroom that he'd begun enlarging and improving upon, before. Having a project and something to do usually made him feel better. Made him feel useful. Served as a distraction. And usually that was enough.

Now though, the crystals that he had been insetting in the walls of the pool grew in twisted, sharp and shattered looking. Like shards of ice waiting to impale him.

He snarled in frustration, angry that he couldn’t even be calm enough to create, now, couldn’t untwist his thoughts and feelings enough to make the beautiful things he could see in his mind into a reality.

He knew he was incapable of speaking without damaging. He hadn’t realized he was equally unable to interact with _things_.

And he felt bad, he felt _horrible_ for having left Steve to make apologies for him. But he felt equally horrible for having been put on the spot, for having been blind sided. How was he to have known what was going on? And having Steve make these decisions about him, without him-- He felt like he had been brought out only for Steve to show Romanov what good control he had over him. Look at this trained animal, and see how he could make him do tricks!

Loki smashed the latest of the lethal looking crystals into a powder in his hands and sat on the floor. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

No doubt he would have amends to make with Steve, whenever Romanov finally left. And no doubt he would have to apologize for the irrational thoughts he was having, for thinking as poorly as he had- as he was thinking now- about Steve.

It was so difficult, though, to remember that he had come so far, that he was safe, and loved… when he thought of Thor, all he could think of was how things were, how they had been. And then the problem had only been compounded by the previous evening’s forced introspection, and then Steve’s… he didn’t want to label it as a betrayal, even in his own mind, but that was what it felt like.

He did not want to be the wedge to pry Steve apart from the things and people he loved, but when their interests skewed so far apart, so contrary to one another…

It was all made worse by not being able to speak frankly to Steve, not being able to be near him or even feel at ease looking at him for too long.

Because of his secret. Because _Loki_ still had to be his secret. And that was a good deal of the problem.

He had thought-- hoped, he supposed-- that by the time they were returning to SHIELD, working with them, he would have proven himself, would have made a name for himself as something good.

He would not have had to be a suspect, a villain, a monster...

But he didn’t know why he had expected that would ever change. He had spent all of his life as one person or another’s secret shame. No matter how often Steve reassured him otherwise, he knew it was likely he always would be.

And he knew he would do as Steve wished, he would find the sceptre and work with SHIELD, he would become allied with them… uncomfortable, untrusted, or no. They did need them. And he needed the sceptre in order to put things in motion, to begin the process of setting things right.

He let his head fall back against the wall and made his breathing even. He would need to be in control for the confrontation that was no doubt coming. He couldn’t afford to ruin anything else, today.

 

_Left, left, right, left._

Steve hadn’t bothered to wrap his hands. The sting of his knuckles hitting the bag felt good. Or, not good, but... deserved. It grounded him with every jab, keeping him focused.

As focused as he could be, at any rate. Some hind part of his brain still raced, replaying the things he said and the things he _should_ have said and done. If he’d told Natasha that Loki wasn’t up to talking, or if he’d insisted on talking to Loki first, or if he’d told Natasha that she’d be speaking to both of the from the start and asked her to come later in the day, then maybe, maybe everything wouldn’t have gone down the shitter the way it did. Maybe he could have salvaged something.

_Right, right, left, right, left._

He shouldn’t have brought up Natasha’s past to her face. But if she could find a way to forgive Loki, to see him as not so unlike her in what he had been through and what he could be -- but that wasn’t Steve’s comparison to force on her. And he shouldn’t have forced that conversation on Loki. He’d wanted Natasha to see Loki’s genuine surprise when he learned the scepter was missing, see that he was honestly not a part of the theft, but that had only backfired with Loki going all prickly. And Steve’s defensiveness of him after the fact just made things worse.

He didn’t want to be in the position of choosing his partner or his team. But it was beginning to feel like he couldn’t hold on to both, and in trying, he just hurt everyone more.

_Left, right, elbow jab, left cut--_

Had leading always been this hard? Had he just been too stupidly naive to realize it, or had life been really that much simpler?

Or was he just worse at it now?

He hit the bag hard with a shout of frustration; it spun and swayed, but the enhanced structural integrity of Stark-designed punching bags held up against even Steve’s assault, and the seams didn’t give. Blowing out a long breath, he laid his sweat-soaked forehead against the synthetic leather and breathed in deeply.

He didn’t feel better, necessarily. But he at least felt a little more centered. A little less likely to lash out and make things worse. He was angry, still, sure, but the anger was most where it belonged: against himself.

Rubbing his bruised and raw knuckles, he wiped down his equipment with the available rag and spray bottle, then headed for the locker room, stripping out of the gym shirt (one of many generically available shirts emblazoned with the Stark Industries logo, because Tony needed his name on everything) and making for the showers. Hot water coursing down over his head and shoulders helped to ease a bit the tension that had knotted there, and when he finished toweling off, he felt at least somewhat prepared to go talk to Loki. He changed quickly back into his regular clothes, then paused as he picked up his phone. He needed to call Clint...

Soon. He pocketed the phone. He’d do it soon. But he needed to patch things up with Loki first. He got in the elevator and hit the button for their shared floor, then paused at the door, wondering if Loki would be ready to talk to him or not. Gnawing on his lip, he reached out and knocked, wincing at the ache that ran up his hand.

“Loki?”

 

The knock was what made him get off of the floor and take stock of himself. His clothes had wrinkled, his face looked a wreck-- at least he hadn’t ruined the mirror, though looking at himself now, he almost wished that he had.

After a moment’s hesitation, he heaved a sigh and quickly replaced his face and clothes with their less slovenly counterparts.

If Steve had returned with Romanov in tow, he didn’t want to embarrass him any further.

“Yes, Captain?” He called, from the bathroom doorway, before walking forward to open the door and allow them into the apartment.

Him into the apartment. He was alone. Which meant Romanov had gone home. So why…?

When Loki had upset him, he’d done it well enough that Steve didn’t feel he had a right to come home without implicit permission.

That realization tinged the edge of his anger with sadness, almost made him abandon the harsh words churning in his gut. But then, the poison would remain in him, festering, the insecurities and fear unvoiced.

“You don’t have to knock when it’s only you.” He told his partner quietly. “I thought perhaps you had brought Romanov back for another discussion.”

He scoffed, then.

“But of course, you couldn’t have, could you? It would be all too apparent that this space was shared. She’d know instantly about you and I, and we can’t have _that_.” He frowned a bit, but shook his head, shook the look from his face, unwilling to bring up that subject just now. He had other, more pressing things to concern himself with. Honesty, for starters, though he left his false face on, to diffuse the damage he might otherwise be doing.

“I suppose you want me to apologize. I _am_ sorry for embarrassing you, and for any hardships I have created in our partnership with SHIELD. I should have known better. I will do everything in my power to make reparations.” Having said that much, he dropped his calm tone.

“And you should have known better than to corner me like that. I am not your… your tool, Steve, to dangle before our allies. I am not a _bargaining chip_.”

Not to Steve, not to him too. He realized he was afraid that it would turn out that was part of what Steve saw in him. The way Odin had. The way Thanos had. Just another pawn in their games.

But no, this was Steve, this wasn’t-- he wouldn’t-- Loki pushed past that, already sorry for having voiced that concern. No doubt Steve would be hurt by the accusation. As hurt as Loki had been, having that sort of news sprung on him.

“You’ve a phone. You could have excused yourself for but a moment to explain to me… to tell me… instead I feel as though you let me walk into a test, unprepared, watched Romanov set me aflame, and then watched me burn. I thought, if I was called forth, it would be to answer questions about Thanos. Not to be… to be told that you had signed me up to work for the people who loathe me, before I have had time to make myself ready for them, and then be told that the reason the problem is so dire as it is now is because they suspected me _of betraying you_. Do you have any idea how much easier this would be if they had come to us sooner, if we had known--”

He broke off and sighed again, for the hundredth time, it felt like, that day.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I hope-- are the terms I outlined acceptable? Was that what you wanted? To return to SHIELD? To be placed in control of the team to retrieve the sceptre?” He felt so pathetic, fishing for some positive in the situation, trying to act as though he thought he might have done at least one thing right.

 

Steve hung his head as he followed Loki into the apartment and closed the door behind him. “You’re right,” he told Loki plainly. “I screwed up. And I’m sorry.” He sighed, wishing they had furniture so he could sink into a chair or something, but the best he could do was lean heavily against the wall.

“When Natasha told me about the scepter, she asked if there was any chance you might’ve had it. I don’t think I managed to convince her. I figured if she saw you when you found out, saw your reaction, she’d realize it wasn’t you and that we were both on the up and up.” Gritting his teeth, he shook his head. “Obviously, that was a bad call on my part. I shouldn’t have sprung that whole thing on you, and I’m sorry for it. It wasn’t fair to you, and I can’t blame you for how you reacted. I should have thought things through more, or just told Nat you weren’t up for talking today.”

Should have. But didn’t. What was the saying about hindsight?

He forced himself to look up and meet Loki’s gaze, even though he wanted to melt into the wall. “You’re not a bargaining chip,” he told him firmly, with more confidence than he felt. “But right now, you’re the one who can help the most with the scepter. Anything you can do, anything at all... I know we’re starting with next to nothing, and believe me, I wish SHIELD had told us, but Nat pointed out that we didn’t exactly give them a chance to get in touch.” And that of course, had been for Loki’s protection. But it reminded him of what a fine line he now had to walk between balancing his lover’s safety and his team’s success. “If they trust _you_ , then that will make it a lot easier for _me_ to trust _them_. If we can start working together on some things and talking... This won’t happen again. I hope.”

He gnawed on his lip for a moment, looking at the floor. “Natasha said she’d try to make your terms work. She didn’t think they were unreasonable. And honestly, I think she’s more mad at me right now.” His shoulder slumped inward. “I’m apparently developing a knack for putting my foot in everything.”

 

Loki smiled thinly, the expression hollow.

“It seems that a good rule in the problems we have had can be summarized as my needing at least some warning. It is best for me to know what is expected of me, before being thrust into a situation. Whether that is in bed or in dealing with SHIELD… I can perform any role, provided I know what it is. If there is some likewise summary for your side of problems, I believe it may be that I react by drawing into myself. You have said as much before, and I have said that I would work to fix it. Clearly, though, I have failed. I will try harder to be aware of it, to avoid it when I can.” It was all he could promise, just now.

He was glad though that this was not a real fight. He had expected something like the argument after the shawarma restaurant. And, come to think of it, that, too, had been about the sceptre.

“I appreciate your faith in me, even if you feel you were less than convincing. And if there is any further that we should ask for in the terms, by all means, do what you can, or let me know that I might amend them at the next opportunity. My main concern with them is that you are happy with what the results, though...all of it will be moot if I cannot figure out how to do this thing we have promised.”

He wanted to rub his hands over his face, but knew that the golden ripples would only cause Steve concern; he’d been wearing this false face for too long now for him to drop it without Steve noticing. Perhaps he could use the excuse of a shower to remove it, though…

“Though it may be best if I leave off of my seidhr for the day at least. I have temporarily turned our bath into something altogether dangerous. I will fix it when I have my… everything, I suppose, more under control.”

 

Steve felt a stab of guilt, knowing his faith in Loki had, however briefly, been less than complete. Not that Loki ever needed to know that; the fact that Steve would have believed he’d had a good reason, even if he had taken the scepter, would probably count for as little with him as it had with Natasha, and Steve had hurt him enough.

“Take what time you need. It’s been missing for a month or so now. Another day probably won’t destroy the world,” he remarked a touch bitterly. “But you may wanna talk to Bruce and Tony when you do start on it. They were able to track the gamma radiation from the Tesseract. I don’t know how well your seidhr interacts with our tech, but it might be that their research could be useful and applied to finding the scepter,” he offered with a half-shrug. Being neither magically nor scientifically-minded, he knew he’d be next to useless in this endeavor, but he could at least recommend someone who might not be.

If they found the scepter, it would lead to a whole fresh mess with SHIELD, though hopefully Loki’s terms would be acknowledged and met. They were actually good terms; they’d gone over better than the one Steve had put forth, at least, and the memory almost made him groan.

“I’ll try to be better. I’m sorry, again -- it was stupid.” He let more of his weight sink against the wall, until he slowly slid down it and sat on the floor. With the barren state of the living room, there was no where else to sit, though the hardwood was less than comfortable. He blew out a long breath of air.

“I feel like I’m trying to balance too many things at once. Trying to keep too many secrets and hold on to too many alliances--” he ran a hand back through his still-damp hair. “I’m supposed to be leading the Avengers, and I’m apparently just breaking the team in half. Natasha and Clint feel alienated, SHIELD still thinks we’re not trustworthy--” and when he tried to step into the shoes of a leader, taking command, he just ended up making things worse with Loki. “I’m having too hard of a time trusting everyone when I know your safety’s on the line, and they can’t trust me when I keep secrets, even though I know they’d probably trust us less if they knew. It’s.... urgh.” He let his head fall back with a thump and a noise of frustration. “And on top of it all, there’s You-Know-Who and global annihilation in the balance, so there’s no pressure or anything.”

 

“It is I who am sorry.” Loki told him softly, approaching his partner slowly. He dropped down to crouch before him, concerned. “Sweet boy, for all that we are meant to be partners and equals, I have been letting you shoulder more than your share of the burden. Tell me what I can do to fix this; I will of course do my utmost to find the sceptre. That will go some way toward making SHIELD trust us again, return us to their good graces. And what of the Avengers? Can we not simply… when you were introducing me to Tony and Bruce, we did small things together. Can we not invite them to the tower, break bread, air our griefs…? If I am prepared for it, I can… I will behave myself, attempt to assuage their fears.” He lifted his shoulder in half a shrug. “And if there are any secrets aside from the obvious… I want to help. Please let me. As your partner.”

He reached out to stroke tenderly down Steve’s cheek.

“You don’t have to heft the weight alone.” He reminded him.

It was so easy to set his own concerns, his own churning emotions aside, in the face of Steve’s upset. Easier to ignore what was wrong for him when his love was so distraught.

“I will speak with your friends, and I am sure they will be more than happy to help, even if primarily to have the chance to level their science at my magic.” He let his lips turn upwards, the tiniest quirk at the corners.

“And we will be fine, you and I. There is no lasting harm done, nothing more than temporary inconvenience and discomfort, already faded to gone. It is only something to be aware of, to be more careful about.” He moved his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone, hoping he could give some comfort, no matter how small.

 

Steve sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-- you’ve still got a right to be upset with me,” he said, feeling guilty that his outburst had apparently stolen away Loki’s well-deserved ire. It suddenly felt like he’d been making excuses, despite being the party at fault.

And still, he found himself leaning into Loki’s touch, letting his eyes briefly close as he savored the cool drift of Loki’s fingertips over his cheek for several seconds.

“I didn’t mean to dump this all on you,” he said regretfully, opening his eyes and looking up at Loki. “You’ve got enough to deal with, with Thor and Asgard and everything. But if you can find the scepter, that would be huge.” It’d allow them to deprive a potential enemy of a volatile weapon, to spy on Thanos, and to mend bonds with SHIELD, all in one fell swoop if they were lucky.

(When were they ever lucky?)

“And thank you. You’re right about needing to talk, break bread and all,” he added, forcing a thin smile. If Tony had been able to share pizza passive-aggressively with Loki that first night, it was possible Clint could be in the same room as him without a glass barrier and still manage not to shoot him. Though Steve would probably want to position himself between the two of them at all times, just in case. “Natasha’s going to be in Washington reporting back to SHIELD about Thanos, but Barton’s going to be in New York in the next couple of days.” He licked his lips. “I said I’d call him. He might not be up for coming in to the tower, but... If he says yes, would that be okay?”

 

“I am upset, but that… it does not help anything. We both have our own demons, our own responsibilities. I just do not want to see you crushed beneath yours. Upset fades. What we have… it will not. Even through difficult times. However large or small they may be.” His smile was sincere this time, much more real, much more feeling.

“If Barton wishes to come, he should. I would make what amends I can, and you will need him to be on your side if it comes to problems with SHIELD again. If you want me to be nearby, I will be. But… perhaps you should speak with him, and find out his… ah… understanding of our relationship, yours and mine, in advance. It would not do for him to be made suspicious because of our pretenses if he knows better, and it would not do to drive him away without them, because he expected otherwise.” He spoke cautiously, mindful of the last times he had seen Barton; of the words traded then.

“Likewise if you need me absent, I can always busy myself here while you entertain. Whatever it will take to familiarize himself with you again. We may build up to his and my meeting, if needed.”

Feeling the strain in his thighs, Loki shifted so that rather than crouching he was kneeling. The ground was distastefully hard, and given their penchant for spending time on the floor, perhaps when it came time to decorate, he would advise they invest in rugs. For now, though, it was fine.

“Speaking of Asgard, you spoke to wanting to contact them, to wishing to forge that alliance. Can I take it to mean, then, that SHIELD is able to contact them now?” He didn’t think he needed to remind Steve that he would be more than useless on that score, perhaps as much as detrimental to the cause.

 

Steve nodded along with Loki’s words about Barton. He wasn’t sure yet what to suggest -- judging from recent experience, any choice he made would be the wrong one -- but Barton might have a preference at least that could decide the circumstances of their meeting for them. And whatever it was, he’d text Loki ahead of time.

The thought of coming out to Barton, of Barton already knowing, was a little terrifying. Because Barton already seemed to suspect, and he’d been so damn furious back in Loki’s cell, that Steve felt a bit sick just remembering it. Though in Barton’s defense, Steve wasn’t wholly sure if it had to do with Loki being a man so much as Loki being _Loki._ But either way, Clint wouldn’t be happy.

It was just a question of whether or not he’d be unhappy enough to turn his back on them for good.

“Not yet,” he said when the topic changed to Asgard, grateful for the segue. “Dr. Foster -- the scientist working on the communications between worlds -- was the woman Thor took, so we don’t know if her tech succeeded or not, but they’re pretty sure it didn’t. Natasha said Foster had been in some kind of trouble -- something weird going on -- before Thor showed up, so it may be whatever he showed up about was limited to some kind of technical or magical phenomenon around Foster’s work. But he’ll have to bring her back to Earth at some point, I imagine, in which event, SHIELD is going to want to talk to him.” He shrugged. “I asked Natasha to make sure he’s informed of the threat Thanos poses before anything else. So at least he’ll know what the stakes are.”

Considering Thor’s previous track record of hauling Loki out of moving aircraft first and asking questions later, Steve thought this to be a relatively wise strategy.

“But if he’s able to return to Earth, we can get in contact with him, and if we can get Thor on our side, he might be able to negotiate with Asgard for us, or at least try to get some information from other worlds. Even if Asgard won’t fight with us, I’m pretty sure your brother would.”

He watched Loki’s expression carefully as he spoke, brow furrowing faintly. He knew how distressing the topic of Thor had been that morning, and he was worried about sending Loki back into his black mood from earlier. Gently, he reached out to brush away a loose curl by Loki’s ear. “How about you? Are you okay--?”

He paused at the slight shimmer where his fingers brushed against Loki’s face. “Loki?”

 

“So he did come for technology, then, or at least its side effects? I wonder what use he has of such things… but it doesn’t matter. If, as you say, he does return, then no doubt SHIELD will be on their toes this time, or at least we shall hope so. If not, I need not worry about him. As for his fighting on our side…”

Loki screwed up his face, uncomfortable with Steve’s referring to Thor as such.

“He is not my brother.” He said simply, restraining himself so that the malice, the pain in the words, would not hurt Steve any further. “And though he may fight for Midgard, the price for me, is, I think, one I am not willing to pay. If you must promise him my surrender in return for his aid, by all means do so, but know that I will betray that oath the moment the realm is safe from Thanos. I will not submit myself back into the hands of Asgard. Not now that I know you exist, that I know what it is to be happy and loved…” He let the words trail off, remembering all too late the face he wore over his own.

He reached up to catch Steve’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing them to his partner’s knuckles while he dissolved the mask.

“I did not know if you would be alone. I did not want to embarrass you further if you were not.” He explained, well aware that he looked as much a mess now as he felt. “And afterwards I did not want to worry you.”

Having a mask on did not change the experience of his eyes stinging and feeling inflamed, the way his skin felt stretched too tight in places. No doubt he looked nearly ill again. And Steve had seen enough of him like that to last them both of their lifetimes. He dropped his eyes, so that he would not have to see the concern on Steve’s face.

 

Steve swallowed, feeling his heart break a little at Loki’s reddened, puffy eyes and pale, drawn skin. He looked worn, and Steve felt even worse for complaining about all his woes, when Loki had been carrying this in silence.

He pulled himself up so instead of sitting, he was now kneeling. Gently, he pulled his hand from Loki’s grip and used it to cup his cheek, leaning in to press a tender kiss to Loki’s lips.

“I’m always gonna worry ‘bout you. I love you, dummy,” he murmured, resting his forehead briefly against Loki’s, then gave him another quick peck before pulling back and resting a hand on each of Loki’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve done this formally, but...” he swallowed, licking his lips. “By the power vested in me by the United States of America Armed Forces, the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, and the Avengers Initiative, I, Commander Steven Grant Rogers, aka Captain America, hereby grant you, Loki, right of asylum here on planet Earth, not subject to extraplanetary extradition. I give you my word as a soldier that I will defend this asylum and protect you to the best of my ability.”

Lowering his hands, he gave Loki a small smile. “Might not mean much according to most courts, but this way if Thor wants me to give you up to Asgard, he’s going to have to ask me to go back on my word to do it. And somehow I don’t think that’s the sort of thing Asgard looks on too kindly, from what you’ve told me.”

 

“Commander.” Loki said, trying that on his tongue. “I don’t think that is one I have heard for you before. I rather like it. Well, Commander, I think you are right. Thor will be at a disadvantage, because so long as he likes and respects you, attempting to make one of his shield brothers break their word, even to a criminal such as I, would be intensely awful for him. Now, in the vein of worrying… let me put something on your knuckles. You seem to have treated yourself roughly, no doubt out of regret for this afternoon. I want to clean up, and then… perhaps we can make another go at having something to eat. I feel as if I might have regained my appetite, somewhat.”

He reached forward and reclaimed Steve’s hand.

“What were you doing, to have caused this? You didn’t-- Romanov didn’t fight with you, did she?”

That Steve may have been in some degree of actual danger and chosen to gloss over it was both disarming and unsurprising, and he found himself frowning slightly at the prospect.

“You’ve not hurt yourself anywhere else that I cannot see, have you?” He asked, mock sternly but with real worry.

Steve was good, and kind, and passionate, and he worried about Loki. He cared about Loki. But rarely for himself.

If Loki had to choose his least favorite thing about his partner, it must be that. That he should knock before coming home, that he should be concerned with Loki’s petty upsets while he felt overburdened and stretched too thin… that he should sit here, his hands abraded and inattentive to that, even in times of peace and relative calm…

He wished that Steve loved himself the way Loki loved him. A hypocritical wish, he knew, but one that Steve was trying to fix on Loki’s side of the line. And Loki should be attempting to do the same. But part of him-- the sad, greedy part that needed to be needed, that yearned to be worthwhile-- that part of him insisted that _he_ be the one to see to Steve’s hurts. And he felt guilty for it.

 

“Well, I technically got promoted, but Commander America doesn’t have the same ring,” Steve said with a lopsided grin, glad that the idea of swearing an oath was one Loki approved of, and not a completely stupid gambit. He hadn’t been entirely sure, but -- maybe it would pay off. If nothing else, he was glad he said it for Loki’s sake; a formal promise.

But just then, Loki took note of the state of his hands. Steve winced, not out of pain so much as guilt.

“If I had to fight Natasha, I’ve have a lot worse than bruised knuckles,” he joked weakly.

“I’m fine. Really. I went down to the gym to work off some steam after Natasha left and I forgot to wrap my hands before going to work on one of the bags.” He gave a shug, pulling away carefully. “They’ll be fine in a few hours. I might just ice them for a little, but it’s not a big deal; I heal fast.”

He didn’t want Loki to worry too much, and it was an inconsequential bit of bruising. And maybe he hadn’t exactly _forgotten_ to wrap his hands so much as neglected to, but... It wasn’t worth worrying about or mentioning. He used the wall to push himself back up to his feet, stretching as pins and needles set into his legs. “Tell you what. I’ll go upstairs and get some lunch started, and you can meet me up there when you’re done cleaning up,” he told Loki, holding out a hand to help his partner up.

He couldn’t fix things with SHIELD right now; he couldn’t fix the scepter situation; he couldn’t fix the Avengers and things with Clint and Natasha just yet.  
But he could fix up a meal.

And for now, that would do.

 


	40. Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for potentially triggering themes

The next two days passed in a flurry of science and magic. It was often frustrating, trying to make sense of the readings and terms that Stark handed him, but Bruce’s calm guidance and patient teaching did help.

Every now and again, Loki broke away, went downstairs, and either bettered or worsened their bathroom, depending on his mood while he worked.

At the end of the second morning, he had the bathroom about where he wanted it, and had recreated, as near as he was able, the effects of the sceptre, so that the machines could take their data from it. It made him uneasy now, using seidhr to create pseudo mind control. It wasn’t aimed at any given person, and he lacked the power needed to make it truly work, but even going through the motions-- Steve would hate him for it, if this were real. The thought was heavy over his head and weighed his stomach.

In between bouts of stretching his seidhr and his knowledge of its application, he would go upstairs and eat.

His appetite had turned voracious as he expended small amounts of seidhr for prolonged periods-- controlling the trickle of it felt like an exercise, his body tensing with the practice of it. And so he felt hungry more often… which was good, in a way; he tried to use it to convince Steve to match him in his eating.

His midday meal was interrupted by JARVIS’s disembodied voice, now a comfortable norm for Loki, breaking through his thoughts.

“Excuse me, but there is news that all of those in the tower may be concerned with, if you would like to direct your attention to the screens.”

Loki did as instructed almost unthinkingly, as the screens that often lay lifeless and dark against the walls flickered into life, depicting Thor. Thor and--

“Dark elves?” Loki breathed, disbelieving and shocked. “The people of Svartalfheim-- I had thought them to all have been killed in ages past.” The words were all but murmured, but he doubted they meant anything to anyone but himself.

His eyes remained fixed on the screen, as the Dark Elf at the center of it all, his face half scarred and damaged, began to build his force-- and Thor hurtled toward him, and together they disappeared.

“Wh--” He’d thought himself aware of all of the spaces between worlds. And surely, if there one such thin spot, it would long since have been found, as built as that area was, as developed and full of people, of innocents who might be injured for his brother’s idiotic battle--

“Where is this? Where on Midgard-- how far from here?” He demanded, looking around for an answer.

  


Loki’s newfound task had him busy enough that Steve often found himself with surprisingly little to occupy his time. Pepper was busy with her duties as CEO, Bruce and Tony were typically in the lab with Loki, and while Steve had sent Clint a text -- a simple, ‘We should talk. You in NYC soon?’ he’d yet to receive a reply, reinforcing his hypothesis that Clint did, indeed, hate him. So he’d reverted to drawing and reading, occasionally going for walks and errands outside of the tower (though never straying for long), and working on acquiring a few odds and ends for the apartment.

He also spent a good amount of time in the penthouse kitchen, fixing meals with which to lure ‘Team Pseudo-Science’ as Tony called them, out of the lab and into the open. And when that failed, he carried the plates down to them.

He’d made burgers for lunch when it all went to hell.

“Um, looks like.... Greenwich, in south-east London. So, I dunno... three-thousand miles and change?” Tony said, lowering his food as he stared at the screen.

“Three-thousand, four-hundred and sixty,” Bruce murmured. “Do we-- does he need backup?” he asked with a frown.

“Normally I’d say Goldilocks can handle himself, but seriously, what the hell are those things?” Tony demanded, looking unsettled. “Jarv? How fast could we get over there?”

“ _At your top speed, sir, it would take approximately one hour and thirty-nine minutes, provided weather conditions remain optimal.”_

“That long? What, are we still only going mach three? That’s pathetic--”

Steve lowered the ketchup he’d been holding when he’d frozen while staring at the news, tearing his eyes away from the shaky footage of destruction and looking over at Loki. “Loki, what’s happening?” he asked, alarmed by the shocked look on Loki’s face. “Do we need to assemble?” It looked like total chaos. But it was chaos on the other side of the ocean, and even if they scrambled a jet, by the time they’d got there, it’d probably be too late to do anything but sift through the rubble.

  


“I…” Loki had to chuckle, despite the utter inappropriateness of the reaction. “I don’t know. I have no idea. Those-- Those are _Dark Elves_.” His words were nearly reverent. “I thought Bor-- Odin’s father-- I thought they were all killed, long before I was born. I have no idea what they are doing now, how they exist, how they came to be here, why Thor is fighting them-- and I have no idea where they went or what it is that the leader wields to enable him to-- oh--”

On the news, Thor and his opponent appeared for brief moments before falling back out of sight.

Loki shook his head.

“We are too uneducated. And Thor has not called for help, his friends, the warriors three and Sif are not with him… I do not know what he fights or why, but there is every chance that in fighting with him, you may be trampling his precious honor. If you could even get there in time.” He shrugged. “I suppose, at this time, I would advise against it.”

And, honestly if it was Steve putting himself in danger to aid Thor, he always would advise against it, but none of them needed to know that.

“I just hope he has the presence of mind to let there be some survivors. Otherwise, how are we to learn of what they know, as a people? I had thought that history, that knowledge, lost to us. It is very exciting to see that it isn’t. I only wish he would have chosen a less populated arena for this little battle of his.”

  


Steve almost commented that the battle didn’t exactly look _little_ , and considering a giant spaceship had plunked itself down on a university campus, it was possible Thor hadn’t been the one to choose the venue. But he held his tongue instead, wondering if Loki’s acidic criticism was perhaps a mask for actual concern.

“Well, unless Fury gives us a call, I guess we can assume Lokes here is right and Hammerhead’s got it under control,” Tony mused, leaning back in his chair but failing to sound totally convinced.

“Thor is pretty capable, and SHIELD will probably get there faster from a nearby military base than we could,” Bruce added with a shrug, nibbling on his veggie-burger. “I can message Natasha and ask if she’s heard anything. They probably have better intel than the Channel 9 News.” He stood up, retrieving his phone from the worktable, and moved out into the hall.

Tony chewed another mouthful of burger, then stopped, frowning, and turning to look right at Loki. “Hol’ up,” he said around a bite of food, coughing and then swallowing it down. “Did-- Did you say _elves?_ Like, Lord of The Rings and shit?”

“And what do you mean they were all killed?” Steve asked, brow furrowing deeper. He didn’t like the sound of that, knowing Asgard’s hatred of frost giants. Were these Dark Elves supposedly wiped out by natural causes, or had there been a more systematic annihilation?

“Looks like there’s plenty enough to me,” Tony commented, as the news footage looped over the same shaky cameraphone clip of advancing ranks of alien soldiers for the dozenth time.

  


“These hail from another realm-- Svartalfheim. Seventh of the nine. They are very old, ancient. Their race predated even Asgard’s. Predates, I suppose, given that they survive now. The Dark Elves who lived before me warred with Bor, then-King of Asgard. Their leader, whose name I do not recall, had some sort of power that he planned to use to extinguish the light in all the worlds. I do not recall every aspect of the story, because it was one that was hardly more than a fairytale when I was a small boy, but… There was something about the worlds aligning and the power of the Aether being a vast destructive force-- but Asgard’s army learned of the plan and put an end to it. A war was waged on Svartalfheim, and when the Dark Elf leader saw his army being defeated, he pulled out his weapon, the Aether, only for the Aesir to steal it away using the bifrost. Finding himself defeated, he gave up the fight, surrendered. And Asgard slayed them all, or, so the story goes. The story as told by the Asgardians.” He could not help but doubt it, now.

“Interesting though, is it not, that the creatures they wish to wipe from existence look very little like them?” He spoke softly, mindful of Thor’s promise to likewise remove all Frost Giants from the realms of life.

He stiffened, though, eyes back on the news as the fighting came to a shuddering halt. Thor was nowhere in sight… but the Dark Elf was there, boldly standing in the open and surrounded by a swirling storm of red tinged darkness.

“That doesn’t look good.” Tony stated, standing in alarm.

“There is nothing we can do.” Loki reminded him. He did not think he was blinking. He did not know where Thor was, and he did not see any who seemed as though they would take up the fight.

Perhaps Thanos would find the realm less appealing if there was no light. An unexpected side effect of an unexpected threat-- but no, there was Thor, carrying something and dashing madly through the storm, until they lost sight of him again. Loki could not tell if he had reeled out of existence or if he had just gone out of view into the darkness.

Loki found himself leaning toward the screen, trying to make it out… but his eye was distracted, pulled towards a few straggling mortals who seemed to have plans of their own. They were carrying things like Thor had been, running frantically, save for the one woman who held something smaller.

The cameras shook and the panic was palpable even distant as they were and removed as they seemed.

Loki shifted, moving in closer to Steve.

“If Thor dies, I want to retrieve the body and give it proper funerary rites.” He spoke flatly, his mind already churning. Asgard would hate him even more for it, Sif in particular would likely hunt him down. But who among them had more claim than he, who of them had Thor loved more than his brother?

Many, he supposed. Like the mortal woman who was there with him now. He shuddered.

  


The way Loki told it, with an ancient war and a mythical race seeking to unleash primordial darkness, before even _he_ was born -- it sounded like the stuff of fairytales.

Seeing it on the TV, on the news, was surreal. Especially with Loki talking about the mass extermination of an entire species -- a species whose remainder Steve was watching Thor -- his _friend_ \-- fight. He felt a little nauseated by it, and conflicted. On general principle, Steve was against wiping people out for what they were born. Knowing how badly Loki had been hurt by Asgard’s prejudices made it worse. But at the same time, if an alien race was invading the Earth again, this time with only one Avenger to stand against them and whatever this _aether_ was...

He realized he was holding his breath, watching Thor disappear into a maelstrom of red lightning and darkness. Because whoever these dark elves were and whatever their reasons for opposing Loki and Thor’s ancestors, they were unleashing destruction and hurting civilians, and Thor looked to be fighting for his life.

Steve glanced over at Loki, who was leaning forward, eyes fixed to the screen with a sense of urgency. Swallowing, Steve reached over and put a hand on his knee, giving it a squeeze. Being stuck here, watching and not able to help... It had only been minutes, and Steve felt like he was going a little nuts. He could only imagine what Loki was enduring. Of course, Thor had to win. If he lost, and that dark -- _thing --_ overcame London, England, Europe, Earth, the Realms--

He shook his head. Thor wouldn’t lose.

His confidence evaporated with Loki’s next words.

Squeezing Loki’s knee harder, he pulled his gaze from the screen. “Hey. He’s not going to die. He’ll be fine,” he told him, voice quiet but firm, despite the leaden feeling in his stomach. One of the closer cameras the news crews had on scene went abruptly out, a strange, empty-eyed face appearing briefly before the screen with a reporter’s scream that made them all jump, before cutting to a different feed from a distance, showing the dark storm consuming the courtyard of the University, with a vertical spaceship towering over it all like a knife in the world.

Abruptly, the cloud vanished, dying away and leaving only rubble. Steve bit his lip, scanning the scene for any sign of Thor. And was that a blur of red on the ground there--?

Then, the news people’s voices began to pitch higher and frantic, as the massive, t-bone looking spaceship began to groan and topple...

  


Loki grabbed Steve’s arm, unable to look away, unable to help, as Thor was about the be killed, buried under the ship of the very foe he had seemingly just defeated.

His nails dug into Steve, panic and fear and hurt-- The little mortal woman was trying to drag Thor out of the way, but she couldn’t. She was too weak. And so she threw her body over his, as though she thought that would do any good. He’d have scoffed if he weren’t so horrified.

And then the ship simply vanished.

He blinked and sat up straight.

“What--” He looked around the room, at his friend and his partner, at how their eyes were affixed to the screen and their faces likewise shocked.

“Bruce? Have you contacted Romanov? Is he-- does SHIELD know if he’s alive?”

Tony cleared his throat and Loki turned back to the screen, where Thor was reclaiming his feet. He embraced the mortal, and it made sense, then. It made sense that he felt as Loki did, and she had done everything in her power--

He hated her.

Hated them both.

He didn’t know why, especially when it was coupled with the relief he felt.

“Is it… over? Are they-- they’re gone, so I suppose…”

  


“It... looks like it,” Steve said cautiously, breathing out and feeling an almost heady rush at the sight of the small red blur that had to be Thor getting back up and moving.

He’d been right. Thor was alive. And whatever massive threat had been tearing the area apart looked like it was neutralized, since both the strange dark storm and the spaceship had vanished into thin air. All that was left was wreckage.

Bruce had re-entered the room at some point, and lowered his phone from his ear while swallowing audibly. “Natasha says they have SHIELD and European peacekeeping taskforces scrambling to back Thor up or do clean-up, though right now they’re thinking it’s going to be the latter,” he informed them. “We’re on stand-by in case anything else crops up, but the Avengers are instructed to hold tight for now.”

The cameras cut away from the long shot of the destroyed courtyard to interviews with hysterical civilians, shouting about Thor and aliens. Tony muted the TV with the remote, sitting back with a rather stunned look on his face.

“So... are alien invasions just going to be a thing now?” he asked. “Can we start working them into our schedules or something? Martians are taking over Paris on Thursday, and unicorns will be destroying Chicago on Saturday...”

Steve ignored him and looked over at Loki, trying to read his expression. Scooting closer, he leaned against him, pressing the warmth of their shoulders together. “Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

For all that Loki insisted Thor wasn’t his brother, he’d looked very nearly panicked at the thought Thor might be dead.

  


At long last he was able to turn away from the screen, to blink and breathe and all of those little functions that had fallen by the wayside in his distraction.

“I am fine.” He said, returning to his food in an effort to appear unaffected. He did not pretend to be able to make sense of his feelings regarding his erstwhile brother and companion. It did hurt knowing that he had chosen to go to a mortal woman and not Loki, especially when she had been too weak to save him, and Loki would have had no such problem.

He was not dead now only because he was lucky. And that was unacceptable. It had always been Loki’s job to be the voice of reason, to save Thor from himself and his pig headed tendencies.

This felt a good deal like it had when he and Thor had fought one another for the first time, the betrayal a sharp sting in his mouth. He was not so afraid at the moment of being killed for being another species, but, just the same. It felt as though Thor was turning his back on him. In favor of this inelegant twit of a woman.

Loki bit into his burger and chewed vengefully, before realizing that he should have known better.

“Are _you_ okay?” He asked, looking around at all of them.

He did not want to lose his project partners, did not want to spend the rest of the day without work to occupy himself. And they were getting things done.

He glanced back up at the screen, only to see that they had somehow segued back into the story of Loki and Steve leaving the restaurant. Deplorable. He snorted and looked back at his meal.

  


Steve wasn’t sure if he just knew Loki well enough now, or if so much time being honest rendered Loki out of practice with lying, or if ‘fine’ had just codified so strongly into ‘not fine’ between the two of them, but he felt alarm bells going off immediately with Loki’s reply. He watched in concern as he returned to his food, unsure of what to do or say or how to _help._

A moment later, though, Loki’s posture shifted slightly, as he swallowed down his food and asked how the others were.

Bruce, for his part, still hovered near the door. “I’m...” he hesitated, and Steve’s sense of alarm spiked. Tony leaned forward, similarly worried. Bruce picked up on it and waved a hand at them. “The Other Guy isn’t going to bust out, don’t worry. But all the excitement has him a little, uh, anxious. So I think I might go lie down or meditate for a bit, if it’s okay. You can come and get me if you need anything, or have JARVIS call me.”

“Well, if you’re gonna be zenning out,” Tony said, reaching for the remote and shutting the TV off (to Steve’s gratitude, since they’d switched to a bit about him again), “I’ve got a couple projects I need to check on. Let’s say we all take a breather and team Pseudo-Science will regroup in a few hours? Dum-E, get over here, you’re on cleanup duty...”

The robot whizzed over, clicking happily and knocking over something that clattered loudly. Steve winced, glad that he’d succumbed to using paper plates instead of proper flatware.

He glanced over at Loki, who looked less-than-thrilled with this development... Although that could be from any number of things. He dug through his mind for something to say, something to offer, anything, that would help make his partner feel better, that would prevent another downward spiral into the same depression he’d just pulled himself out of with his work.

“Let’s go back to our floor,” he said quickly. “There’s actually something I wanna show you, now that you’ve got a minute...”

  


Loki stood, keeping his composure.

“I hope you have a very relaxing break, Bruce.” Loki said politely, then nodded to Tony and turned to Steve.

“Lead away, Captain.” He said, flashing him a small smile, insincere but a perfect replica of casual amusement. He didn’t want to look like anything was wrong at all. And though any of them might be tense from witnessing an attack, he wanted to seem above it. Unaffected.

If he lied enough to everyone else, perhaps he would come to believe it as well. That was how all of the best lies worked, wasn’t it? The lies which even the liar comes to think of as truth. So he was fine.

The elevator ride back down to their floor was… interesting. He was trying to look as calm and casual as possible, but he could read the worry in the lines of Steve’s stance, in his face and the way he held his arms.

“So what is it that you wanted to show me? You haven’t been doing anything overly taxing while I’ve been working, have you?” He thought that perhaps if he nagged Steve about his health, he could get him on the defensive, and then Loki would not have to worry so much about the idea of being coddled. He didn’t want that. He didn’t need that. He was fine.

“And you know I always ‘have a minute’ for you, don’t you? I would have put aside the work I am doing with Bruce and Tony at any time, if you had told me you wanted me to.” He frowned at the thought that he’d been neglecting his partner in this mad dash to find the sceptre. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been spending as much time with you as I should have been.”

The doors slid open and he led the way back into their quarters, not walking away from the discussion, merely relocating it.

They still hadn’t gone shopping or filled out their space any; another thing he’d been neglecting in his single minded pursuit of the sceptre. He felt terrible, looking around at it now and realizing how much of his own life he had allowed to slip out of his focus.

He would have to speak to Tony and Bruce about perhaps taking a day to himself to attend to these things. Surely there was something they could do to continue their side of the work while he was gone...

  


“Nothing big, no,” Steve quickly assured him. Taxing might actually have been good for him. With how useless he was, he’d been feeling a bit stir-crazy, and he’d been holding off on getting things for the apartment until he heard from Natasha about the possibility of getting his old things from the DC apartment back.

He did have _something_ to show Loki, though it was deeply unimportant -- just some drawings he’d done of the living room area, sketching in potential furniture arrangements and floorplans for ways they might lay it out. The papers littered the counter-bartop combination that separated the main area from the kitchen. But they seemed even stupider now that he’d ascribed some sort of importance to them; fancifully domestic doodles, when the world itself was on the line, with aliens and elves and dark forces they didn’t even understand.

He blushed.

“What you’re doing is important. The scepter is priority, don’t worry about me; I can keep busy,” he said, reaching up to scratch the prickling embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck.

“I mean, I’ve got these...” he gestured to the papers as they approached them, “but mostly I wanted to get you to myself for a minute so I could check in and make sure you’re doing all right,” he admitted. He knew that for all Loki had come to trust and appreciate Bruce and Tony, he still struggled with showing his true feelings and vulnerabilities with anyone other than Steve. If they were going to talk out whatever he’d been thinking about while watching the footage of Thor, they needed to do so in private.

Steve took a step closer to him, approaching enough for the act to be intimate, but not touching or holding, so Loki could pull away easily if he needed. After the fiasco with Steve springing the mirror on him and then SHIELD, he didn’t want Loki to feel any loss of control. “If you need to talk about... what just happened. I’m here,” he gently offered. “Or, you know. If there’s anything else I can do, I’m here for that too.”

  


Loki frowned. He’d been right, naturally, about why Steve had wanted him down here. He lifted the papers and blinked, turning it right side up.

“Steve, these are beautiful.” He told him, not needing to fake the awe he felt.

This was what their life could be, what waited for him once the sceptre was found and the threat of Thanos no longer hung over them, this was the life they would build together.

He looked around at their apartment again, and sighed.

“I wish my seidhr wasn’t otherwise tied up at the moment-- I would at least make a start of this, but… soon.” He promised. “Soon, we’ll be able to put in the time, get some things… we will make this a reality.” He lifted the page so that Steve could see-- see the way that he had imagined things.

“I want this. All of these.” It didn’t matter that they were variations on the same space. They would find ways to make them all work, elements that could be incorporated of each. Because every drawing felt like them, the clean and simple lines of Steve’s tastes, blended with the lusher darker and more sumptuous designs that he favored.

“You put a lot of work and thought into these, and they’re wonderful.” He told him, trying to keep the focus on this.

Because he didn’t know how he felt, and he had a feeling that trying to put words to the emotions would only sound horrible, remind Steve of what a truly terrible person the man he loved could be at times.

He didn’t think he could handle seeing that expression on Steve’s face, on top of all of the rest of today.

  


Steve nearly groaned at Loki’s continued praise of crude drawings, but managed to distract himself from the misplaced appreciation by focusing on the way Loki’s face lit up, some of the lines easing from his features. He could be glad, at least, that he’d done _something_ that had made Loki a bit happier, if only for a moment.

“Natasha mentioned they might be able to get some of my things back that I left behind. It would give us some things to start with, once they get here, and we can build on that after,” he said. “Little bit of me, little bit of you...” It was funny, that never in a million years would he have considered _interior decorating_ something he’d have any interest in or aptitude for (Bucky would have laughed himself into stitches if he’d known), but in a way, it was just its own form of creating, with a room for a canvas and personalities as subject.

But he didn’t miss the way Loki latched on the topic, skirting deliberately around the topic Steve had really wanted to discuss. “Although,” he began--

\--And stopped, suddenly chagrined. He’d been about to force the conversation toward Thor, against Loki’s wishes, making him confront something he didn’t want to just because Steve thought he ought to.

Again.

The color bled from Steve’s face. He sucked in a breath, then reached out to lightly pull the pages from Loki’s hand.

If Loki wanted to avoid the subject -- if what Loki needed was a distraction --

Well, Steve could do that too.

Putting the pages aside, he leaned in close until his lips hovered less than a breath from Loki’s, leaving the tiniest distance between them for Loki to take and close himself.

  


This was intensely preferable to whatever else Steve had intended to discuss; Loki was glad of it.

“Although we do have a few hours.” He murmured salaciously as he closed the gap and brought their mouths together, his arms going around Steve. He plunged his hands into the back pockets of Steve’s pants and used that to tug him even closer, pressing them against one another.

He was not, admittedly, in the most relaxed and balanced of mind states. He was, however, incredibly interested in the idea of working off the agitation that he felt… and if he couldn’t throw himself into his spellwork, then this would certainly do. In fact, it would do far better.

That in mind, he nearly attacked Steve’s mouth with his own, a sort of hunger awakening in him that would normally have given him pause, but with as antsy as he had been, it was almost welcomed.

“What do you think we should do with our time, elskan? Want me to tie you up, close your eyes… reduce you to shivering whimpers?” He offered it in the voice he had always reserved for seduction, his dark voice that was like velvet over the skin.

He licked into the space between Steve’s parted lips.

“Want me to strip you and rub you down until you can hardly move for your relaxation, and then suck you until you can’t help but move? Want to bury yourself in my throat?” He licked his own lips, then. Suggestive.

He withdrew just a bit and let his voice reclaim its usual tone, just to show how serious he was.

“I have been neglecting my sweet boy. I won’t let it happen again.” He promised. “Whatever you like… what are you in the mood for?” As much as he would love to tackle him to the bed, open him up and ride him through the mattress and onto the floor, he knew he had to be somewhat more careful. Steve was as yet still inexperienced. He had asked Steve to tell him what to expect. He needed to be sure he extended the same courtesy. And he needed to be sure not to hurt Steve; that was the most important part. He was all but vibrating with unexpressed emotion, and this would be a good way to exorcise it. But he needed to maintain some restraint, not lose himself in it entirely.

Not until he knew that he could trust Steve to tell him if he did something wrong. Not until he was certain Steve could tell the difference.

  


Steve melted into the kiss, letting Loki’s hands pull him in and gasping faintly as their bodies pressed together, the pressure and friction prompting his cock to stir to life. The almost voracious way Loki pursued the kiss was confirmation enough that this had been the right route to take.

His voice, when he spoke, had Steve’s skin flushing hot and his blood singing.

“Mmm,” Steve moaned faintly, at Loki’s words, his lips parted, and he shivered when Loki’s tongue chased the space between them, hot and delicate and slipping in to invade Steve’s mouth on a trail of sultry promises. Promises of touch and pleasure and the thrill of blindness and agonizingly wonderful sensation. It all sounded... oh.

Oh he _wanted_.

He hadn’t even realized, in the days that had passed with only a few gentle touches, the occasional quick kiss, proper and perfunctory as Loki returned to his research on the scepter, how much he’d missed this. How much he’d come to crave it; need it.

Loki pulled back slightly, voice losing its resonant purr for a moment, and Steve found himself missing it. He breathed deeply to steady himself, finding Loki’s gaze;

“I want _you_ ,” he breathed, and realized belatedly it was an echo of the words he’d said that first night in the motel, when all he’d wanted was to hold Loki. To be with him.

The intent now, however, was significantly less chaste, and he made sure to elaborate: “I want whatever you want. _Anything_ you want.” He leaned in and let the side of his forehead rest against Loki’s cheek, the skin soft and smooth and warm with the hum of life. “Just... this time, you’re in charge. You call the shots.”

There was no worry, that way, of Steve screwing it all up. And whatever it was Loki wanted -- _needed_ \-- Steve could be sure of giving it to him.

  


“What I want?” Loki asked, his words going a little lower yet, becoming more like a growl. “I want to tear you apart. I want to turn you into a quivering, begging, mewling mess. And then I want to make you cum until you can’t help but have a full night’s sleep-- middle of the day or not.”

He made a point of restraining himself for the most part, when it came to his strength. He knew that not only could he injure one of those living in the tower, but also that displaying his strength would remind them that he had once been a threat.

Now, however, he lifted Steve up as though he weighed no more than a couch, arranging his feet behind Loki, around his hips, and carried him not into their bedroom, but into the empty spare room. It was much closer and the sheer space of it was an intriguing potential.

“This should be your studio.” He told him. “When we make something of it, I want this space to be yours. And I want to watch you blush every time you walk through that door, because you won’t be able to help but remember what we are about to do here.”

He backed Steve up against a wall, hard enough to knock him breathless, but not so hard as to threaten the wall. He kissed him, until he thought it had lasted long enough, and allowed his partner to breathe.

“I’m going to put you down. I want you to remove your clothing and stand in the middle of the room with your hands behind you and your eyes straight ahead.” He gave the instructions slowly, lowly, but clearly, and let Steve go, waiting to see that he was obeyed. He intended to remove his own clothing once Steve had begun to shed his… where Steve could not see him. He didn’t need more revelations, didn’t need Steve’s kind words, his awe, his appreciation… all Loki wanted was the sheer physicality of it, without having to feel uncomfortable in himself or aware of himself… he had some ideas about how to make that work, for the both of them.

  


Steve’s breath caught.

Loki’s voice -- his promise to _tear Steve apart_ \-- ought to have verged on alarming, but instead, all he could think of was the way his heart began to race with excitement, pumping blood hot and coursing throughout his body.

He gasped aloud when Loki lifted him easily, as if he weighed no more than he had before the war -- small and weak and helpless but so very, very all right with it for once -- and wrapped his legs around his lover, clinging to him as Loki carried him like a blushing bride from the kitchen to the spare room, ducking his head so he wouldn’t knock it against the door jam.

He could feel his growing anticipation, hot and thick and trapped between their bodies.

Then Loki slammed him up against the wall and drove the breath from Steve’s lungs. Before he could recover it, their mouths were on one another; Steve parted his lips and sucked on Loki’s tongue, pulling his legs tighter around his hips to pull him in closer, grinding together and chasing every last point of touch, even as the lack of breath brought stars to the edges of his vision.

When Loki pulled away, Steve was left panting heavily for breath, chest rising and falling. It took him a moment to process the words he was being told, his brain fogged by lust and the sudden surge of oxygen, but he managed to nod after a few seconds had passed. Then he was back on his feet, though his legs felt wobbly for a moment before he managed to recover his balance, using the wall.

He liked it when Loki told him what to do. It made things... easy. There was no leadership, no command, no mistakes or judgment or lives he had to worry about. There was just Loki’s voice and their bodies and the trust he had in his partner. He wasn’t sure what Loki planned, but he felt his heart thrumming as he quickly, efficiently, stripped down and neatly folded his clothes into a pile. Naked, and feeling the cool brush of air against his skin, he moved to the center of the room as commanded.

(A good little soldier following orders.)

Standing with his feet slightly apart, cock already half-full and heavy between his legs, he swallowed hard and crossed his wrists behind his back, gaze flitting briefly to Loki -- questioningly -- before moving to a point on the bare far wall as he waited for whatever came next.

  


He got himself stripped of his shirt before Steve looked back at him, and playful annoyance prompted him to stop removing them, so that he was still dressed from the waist down.

It was perhaps his state of emotional jitters than made him change his mind and not finish, but he was perfectly calm and composed when he began stalking around Steve. He circled him and touched him gently with the pad of one finger, smirk firmly in place.

“I told you to look ahead, pet. You disobeyed.” He tapped at Steve’s arm and watched amused as a trail of magic slithered down and behind Steve. He knew what it was doing, of course; once it had twined in place as if to tie his hands, it would become chains that locked together, keeping him there.

He honestly did not know if Steve could break them, but he had a feeling that he would not try. Not being told off, as he was, for not playing nice.

“Have you anything to say for yourself?” He urged, feeling a bit like one of his tutors, but not minding too greatly. This was to be an interesting game, a game of make-up for the time he’d lost.

The words were mocking.

“It’s such a little thing, following orders. But it seems to me you enjoy not doing it. So what do you say we give you a lesson in obedience, mm?” He finally came to a stop in front of Steve and gripped his chin.

“You remember our word, yes?”

Simple considerations, simple safety measures. It made him feel better. Even if he was not entirely sure he could count on Steve to use it.

He was saddened for a moment at the thought that Steve’s mouth would have to go unoccupied this once; for with his hands chained, he could not tap out without speaking. It would be worth it though, he thought. He would have to see how Steve responded to being rendered just that extra bit of helpless. And maybe he would give his hands back to him, later.

“So tell me, what is it you were hoping to achieve, when you looked at me instead of following directions?”

  


Shirtless, Loki was once more a tableau of lean lines and sinew, prowling around Steve like a predatory cat. It made it nearly impossible to keep his gaze on the far wall, and when Loki reprimanded him as he ran a finger over Steve’s skin, his touch left a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Steve tensed as he felt something coiling down his arm -- not Loki’s hand, but something like a snake, alive and moving outside his field of vision -- then recognized the slight vibration that he’d felt with the blindfold Loki had conjured out of magic.

The magic coil slunk around his wrists when it reached them, tying his hands together.

The goosebumps spread.

Loki was different like this -- the lost and quiet man who’d moved around the tower like a shadow had vanished. The proud, commanding voice, the arrogant posture, the mocking tone -- all of it reminded him a bit chillingly of Loki-the-conqueror. The Loki that was made of danger and madness and--

_You remember our word, yes?_

Steve relaxed slightly, despite the awkward angle of his neck with Loki gripping his chin. “Yes,” he said, voice tight, lacking the ability to nod. This was an act. This was... they were _playing_ at this. This was still _his_ Loki, the one who wouldn’t hurt him, who loved him and would take care of him, and stop the moment he tapped out or said cinnamon.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t push him, just a little. Couldn’t test to see where the lines were here.

He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry while he maintained his gaze on the wall. “I don’t know,” he answered Loki’s question. And then, in a moment of defiance, looked right at Loki, gaze challenging as the corner of his mouth tugged upward, in spite of the butterflies in his stomach as his muscles tensed. “What’re you planning on doing about it?”

Not knowing what the answer would be, he watched his lover’s face with equal parts dread and eagerness.

  


Loki’s lips twisted into a warped little smile, the expression not a nice one on his face, but he didn’t care.

“My darling, you’ve already lost your ability to touch me, in punishment… what more shall I take from you? Perhaps your sight, for continuing to disobey?”

He created another ribbon of seidhr for use in covering Steve’s eyes, but rather than apply it right off, he draped it over his shoulder.

“Hmm, though if you aren’t planning on listening, perhaps I should just take away your ability to hear, for a time?” He could do that, but he thought it might alarm Steve too greatly, seidhr based modifications of his body. And so it was a hollow threat. But it should do the trick, make him look menacing, create the air of intimidation.

“Or perhaps you merely need to be taught respect, and the obedience will follow. What do you say? Kneel before me, Pet. If you insist on looking at me, I would have you looking up from where you belong, on your knees at my feet.” This he said prettily, as though he were offering him a treat rather than commanding his submission.

“Unless you think it is your speech I should take from you, your ability to object.” He wouldn’t. He needed to give Steve a way out, always. He would always have that option. Still… “You did seem to enjoy when I took your air from you, last time. What do you think? Shall I tie another one around your neck, tug it closed slowly while I tug you off?” He licked his lips. “Does it always feel like dying when I fuck you, or do you just wish it did?” He tilted his head, keeping the mocking tone away now, and instead focusing on leaning in, intensity replacing all derision.

“Then again, you did so like the woman’s underclothes. Would you be so proud, I wonder, with your stiff cock tenting out a pair of satin panties? Could you look at me without blushing, without shame on your face?” He knew he was treading thin ice now, knew how intimately their relations and shame were linked for Steve. “You cannot fight me so ill equipped, so humiliated, can you? What do you think, precious? What should I do to you for challenging me? What do you deserve?”

He raked his nails down over Steve’s exposed chest, raising those thin red lines that he so enjoyed seeing on his partner’s skin.

  


Steve shivered a bit when Loki threatened (offered?) to blindfold him again, remembering the thrill of not being able to see, the heightened sensations that resulted. The idea of losing his hearing, however, was new and brought a fresh jolt of unease. Particularly if it meant he couldn’t hear Loki’s voice. Couldn’t get any of that velvety baritone promising pleasure to the threshold of pain, sibilant words creeping down his spine...

Kneeling... Kneeling he would do, gladly, Steve thought, and almost let his knees fold -- only Loki kept musing aloud, and Steve found himself transfixed. He was paralyzed by that voice, and the increasingly dark suggestions that spilled from Loki’s lips. By the grim and focused intensity, the fire in his eyes and the sense of something feral that could make good on the threat to tear him apart, as promised.

His breath caught in his chest, however, when Loki threatened to deprive him of it. Again. Between his legs, he could feel his cock growing harder, and he bit down on his lip, unsettled by his reaction then and now, by his arousal with the feeling of breathlessness, with free fall--

_Does it always feel like dying when I fuck you, or do you just wish it did?_

He froze, eyes wide, unsure whether his heartbeat or his breathing raged louder in his ears. His gaze darted toward Loki, with something verging on panic, though his pupils were blown wide with lust.

This time, when he swallowed, he could almost feel the ache of Loki’s fingers wrapping around his throat and _squeezing,_ and he couldn’t help the tiny noise that slipped from him, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. Loki kept going, offering to dress him up, to humiliate him, shame and reduce him; Steve gasped and twitched as Loki’s nails dragged down over his flesh, stinging and stimulating all at once.

_What do you deserve?_

Slowly, still keeping his gaze rebelliously fixed on Loki, Steve fell to his knees. He wobbled slightly, with his hands bound and unavailable for balance, but kept himself upright, face mere inches now from Loki’s still-clothed groin as he stared upward at him through his lashes. “Do whatever you want,” he said, voice unexpectedly hoarse. His stomach fluttered, and he had to take a steadying breath.

“Whatever you want to do to me. I can take it,” he said, verging somewhere between subservience and defiance. He breathed rapidly through parted lips, tongue darting quickly over his lower lip. “Make me all yours.”

  


Satisfaction bloomed in his chest as he watched the bound man sinking to the floor before him. Still defiant, yes, still proud, but undeniably yielding to him.

“Good boy.” He stroked over Steve’s head, fingers catching in his hair before he made a fist in it and yanked his head up and back, so that he was forced to look up at Loki as he stepped in and over him, then bent and kissed him, an almost vicious thing, rough and edged with teeth.

“I think I do want you blindfolded. I love seeing you helpless beneath me.” He grinned and knew it would look threatening. He liked that. He wanted that, now. He felt an odd balance of unhinged and perfectly in control.

Gently he lifted the scarf from Steve’s shoulder and wound it around his neck, pulling at the end so that it slithered around the column of his throat before coming undone in Loki’s hand.

“I’m going to take your sight from you, keep your hands bound… and you’ll have no choice but to let me do with you as I will. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Want to be my sweet boy, my doll.” He held Steve’s eyes as he knelt before him, putting them nearly back on a level, and then lifted the blindfold.

“Close your eyes, pet. There will be no more glares, no more disobedient looks from you.” He didn’t think it actually mattered whether Steve shut his eyes or not. The material would do no harm, and Loki would be able to see through it one way or another.

He wrapped it round his head and knotted it firmly, snugly, but not too tightly.

“And now,” he whispered, voice breathy and just on the side of Steve’s face, “Now I show you that I don’t have to _make_ you mine. You already are. You have been for some time now.” He stood, gentle fingers sliding over Steve’s lips, though regretfully. He wished that he could open that mouth, slide into it. He loved the view, as if Steve had been made for the express purpose of sucking a man off-- and he would look good using his mouth on any man, but Loki, specifically, seemed to sit so perfectly there--

But that was for another time.

Now, he reached out with his foot-- bare as he was wont to go about the tower, and he nudged Steve’s knees apart. He still knelt, and Loki took hold of his shoulder to keep him from toppling over, but he wanted his legs open. Wanted all of him open to his touch, his use…

“Tell me.” He said suddenly. “Tell me what we’ve done you like. More, tell me why you like it.” His words were too gentle, suddenly, poorly fitting the role he’d fallen into, and he backtracked quickly. “I want to know all of your weaknesses, your perversions, your desires. You cannot see, you cannot move, no one is coming to save you… and the longer you speak…” He crouched down again. “The better you do in telling me, the better I will make you feel. Tell me your secrets, boy. I want them.”

  


The brief flash of pain as Loki yanked on his hair had Steve’s mouth falling open; it hurt. But it was a good hurt. One that had the muscles throughout his body tightening in response. His open mouth was almost immediately attacked with another breath-stealing kiss, and he very nearly whined into it when Loki’s teeth scraped against his tongue, colliding hard enough to bruise and leaving Steve’s lips flushed and swollen when he withdrew.

And still, he felt a little shiver of pleasure when Loki called him _good boy._ Hungry for approval and reward, like a dog to its master...

He held still, breathing heavily as Loki pulled the cloth close to his neck, then wrapped it around his eyes, plunging him once again into total darkness. He’d kept his eyes open for a few moments before closing them, just in time for Loki to put the blindfold on; small acts of disobedience, in the hope of -- egging him on? Pushing him further? Steve wasn’t sure, but the thrill of it was like a drug, and he needed more.

Loki’s breath was hot against his cheek, and when his fingers coasted over Steve’s lips, he let his mouth fall open a little further, wondering if Loki intended to have him suck him off. He’d be ready for it if he did -- he’d actually practiced a few times, in the bathroom in the evenings, sticking his own fingers down his throat to train himself not to gag...

But Loki’s touch there vanished, and instead he felt a hand on his shoulder, and then a force nudging his legs apart. He squirmed a bit awkwardly on his knees, scooting his thighs apart from one another, grateful for the support Loki offered for his balance. With no hands and no sight, one good push would have him flat on his back and completely helpless.

It was, oddly enough, not that undesirable a prospect...

Loki’s voice when he next spoke was surprisingly gentle, but he recovered quickly into the harsher, crueler tone he had been using. The contrast put a crack in the mood of... whatever this was. But it served as a reminder that he was safe.

Even if _talking_ about what they did, what they were doing, what he wanted, always seemed like the hardest thing Loki asked of him. Especially when he didn’t want to examine the _why_ of the twisted things he liked. Steve made a face, chewing on his lip. But if this was what Loki wanted of him, what he needed, what would make him give Steve more --

“I...” He cleared his throat. “I like...”

_You did seem to enjoy when I took your air from you, last time._

“I want to not feel like Captain America,” he said. “I just... I want to feel like no one.” His face felt hot under the blindfold. _Small, weak, can’t breathe..._ He shivered, looking down. “I’m not gonna break.”

He wasn’t sure if they were words of defiance, or just a promise of his own durability, that he wasn’t fragile and he could be treated like he wasn’t made of glass. Either way.

  


He knew that he should feel horrified by that urge, but it made sense in its own way… For the same reason he would sometimes disguise his face and leave the palace, when he was important. It made sense that Steve might want not to be. It felt good not to be. Freeing.

And he wanted that for Steve, but more, he wanted to be the one to do that to Steve. He found himself grinning again, nastily, and he was glad that he had put on the blindfold. He wondered what Steve must think of this, of what they were doing-- how he was acting. They would discuss it later no doubt, but for now--

“And what makes you feel that way?” He asked, voice dark and promising. “Do you like being made to feel unimportant? Do you want me to tell you how you do not matter? Do you like feeling weak? Want me to bend you in half, to hold you down and let you struggle against me? Do you want me to make you feel small, make you feel like you did back before you had the serum? Take away your breath, tease you and deny you release until you are on the verge of exhaustion?” He took Steve between his fingers, two on top and thumb on the bottom, and stroked him that way, not applying enough pressure so that the tiny amount of friction was more of a tease and less than satisfying.

“No doubt you have had dreams, wicked thoughts, things you were afraid to lay voice to. Tell me. Give me _all_ of you. You cannot see. There is an anonymity to a mask, you needn’t be concerned that I will judge you. But whether you give them to me now or later, gasped out between the moments when I am laying bruises along your neck, I will have them. I _will_ have you tell me these things. Not now, perhaps, but… this is your chance. Either give me your desires, or I will take mine from you. Perhaps I shall turn you over my knee and paddle that delectable ass of yours, or perhaps I should string you up, hang your hands above your head and take leather to the skin of your sides. What do you say to that?”

It was frustrating, spouting verbal waterfalls of nonsense and pussyfooting around desires, unsure what would please and what would scare, but obviously Steve had things he wanted. He wanted to give in. He wanted roughness. Loki just needed to know how far to go, where to stop, what would be too much. And it was such a bother to have to find out one by one, like groping in a new place without any lights.

He could only guide Steve so far, if he would not so much as give him his hand.

“How cruel would you have me be to you, boy?” He asked. “How much fear do you want me to make you feel, how much despair? How much humiliation, how much pain, how much righteous anger? Give me words, any words, and I will find ways to make use of them. That is what I want from you. I want to possess you, every part of you. I have your heart. I hold your body in my hands… but your mind. That is the part of you I want most, the dark corners where your secrets lurk. That is what I want to penetrate next.” His words sped as he spoke, fervor chased by the motion of his hands, tightened enough to be pleasurable now, but then he stopped suddenly.

“Speak to me and you will receive.”

  


Steve moaned softly, biting down hard on his lip. “All of that,” he groaned. “I...ah!”

The light pressure of Loki’s touch on his cock was a blessing for those first few moments, before he realized it was too light to bring release, and the delicate touch swiftly became a curse, tantalizing and teasing, bringing him to hardness but nothing more. And Loki’s _voice,_ predatory and sultry and threatening--

Steve’s hips bucked slightly, but the touch remained too light, too little.

He could nearly weep for frustration because he wanted more, needed more, but he didn’t _know._ Didn’t know what he could or couldn’t ask for, what would be too much or too little, what Loki would hate him for or recoil from, and what he’d hate himself for if he forced himself to say it aloud. Because how warped did he have to be to feel such burning arousal at some of the things Loki spoke of?

He’d said he wouldn’t break, but maybe there was already something in him broken, that had been broken for a long time now. How else would he explain wanting things he _shouldn’t_ want, and wanting to ask of them from someone he loved and wanted to protect?

Steve swallowed, feeling vaguely sick with himself. Perhaps... perhaps he ought to just say the word and stop this, and they could do something simple and sane, just touching, and maybe mouths, and no more of this act.

That would be the smart, safe thing to do.

But hell. Steve didn’t do smart all that well. And he rarely had a knack for safe.

He made a choking noise when Loki finally began to speed his strokes, culminating in a strangled cry of protest when he abruptly stopped, leaving Steve’s cock flushed and hard, jutting up from the nest of golden hair at the apex of his spread thighs.

“I want you to throw me back and hold me down!” he cried, blurting the words before he had the chance to rein them in. “Make me-- make me feel small, remind me that you’re stronger, make me not able to breathe--” he gasped, eyes burning and mouth dry. “I want your nails and, and I want--” _Penetrate,_ Loki had said, and Steve grit his teeth together. “Want to know what it feels... you inside...” his voice wilted, shrinking, and he felt his whole body on fire with the prickly sensation of shame. “I don’t want any control,” he said, voice small. “I want...”

He swallowed hard, blood rushing loudly in his ears, deafening in the otherwise silent room. A thought occurred to him, and he licked his lips. “You’re hurting,” he said softly, voice just over a whisper. “Let me share it. Let me... let me take that from you for a while. Give me your hurt. I can take it.”

  


Loki inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, glad that Steve could not see the expression on his face, pained and determined.

But he was glad, too. Steve did understand, then. Or at least, understood the idea of what sort of relief this offered, for Loki.

He wanted to say something, to ask him not to hate him for it when they had finished. He knew that Steve would hate himself for any mark he left on Loki, for any discomfort he caused, but…

But that would be wrong for the roles they were establishing.

He stood, silent, and stepped back from Steve, lowering the zipper of his pants and popping the button with nary a whisper of sound. He didn’t touch him or speak. Let him think, let him worry, let him miss the touch for a moment.

Loki stripped himself down and then crouched with one hand on the floor before him, so that he could look Steve in the face and gather himself before he did anything else.

He breathed in, out, in again-- then struck, all but leaping forward and knocking Steve backwards, so that he would land on his arms. His own weight would pin them beneath him, and Loki would be able to do as he pleased. Depending on how much Steve resisted.

Loki landed easily atop him and brought his knees up, so that he straddled his partner. With extreme care that would not be obvious behind the blindfold, he pressed the side of his forearm across Steve’s throat, just enough to begin constricting air without cutting it off altogether. He still wanted him able to speak, able to regain control if he wanted it; if he needed it.

In the meantime, however, he leaned in, his words a low hiss directly above Steve’s face.

“What a good boy you are, what a sweet little fool, so willing to be used. You want hurt? I can give it to you.”

He leaned down and dug his teeth into Steve’s plumped and kiss swollen lower lip. That would hurt, but in a small way-- sharp enough to distract as he reached down to line them up better, that he might rub them together.

He would not fuck himself into Steve that night, despite his having asked. He did not want him to associate being entered with pain any more than he might naturally, from the discomfort of the new.

He broke away, unsure if the tang of copper was real or imagined, and not much concerned. Steve healed quickly and if need be, he could speed the process. Besides, Loki would be able to do a good job of distracting Tony and Bruce. Steve could sleep this off when they were done. He smirked wickedly to himself and brought his free hand to flick at Steve’s nipple teasingly for a moment, before he grasped it and squeezed.

“Is this what you want, elskan? This kind of pain?” He was starting small, looking for the lines, looking for Steve’s boundaries. He just didn’t want it to be too apparent, lest he look weak in his role. “Is this enough for you, or do you want more? Do you crave it? Can you taste the blood on your lips, and is it driving you mad?”

  


The sound of Loki’s zipper coming off had Steve’s nerves singing. _Finally._ The rustle of cloth was the only sound for a few moments, and he found himself leaning forward and straining to hear, searching for any clue as to what Loki was doing, what he would do. He wondered briefly if Loki would take his mouth again, rutting into him while he held his head in place. His lips parted slightly more, ready to take the velvety head if that proved the case. But although he heard Loki’s breathing, nothing else happened.

He was on the verge of breaking down and asking what Loki was doing, when he lashed out and sent Steve toppling back with a yelp. He landed hard, grimacing in pain as his own weight crushed his arms, straining his shoulders in their sockets, but a moment later the pain in his arms was forgotten as Loki pinned him and applied pressure to Steve’s throat.

His breath caught and his eyes widened beneath the blindfold. He could breathe still -- but shallowly, the constant press against his trachea a dull ache that intensified when he tried to swallow experimentally. Then Loki was hissing in his ear, cruel and vicious and (just an act, not his Loki, not real, but good, so good...)

Steve moaned as Loki attacked his mouth once again, feeling the vibration of his own voice where Loki’s arm pressed against his throat, and how it skipped up into a whine when teeth dug into his lip, rising to a keening noise when he felt Loki’s hand beneath their groins.

It hurt.

It hurt and he _liked it anyway_.

He was gasping raggedly, breaths shallow and fast, when Loki pulled away. His hips twitched in desperate search for friction as he ran his tongue over the groove Loki’s lips had left in his bottom lip, gleaning the taste of blood. He exhaled sharply as Loki flicked his nipple, then inhaled with a hiss as he _twisted,_ setting the sensitive nerve-endings afire with pain and something else. Something that had Steve’s cock leaking against his stomach, pre-cum slick against his lower abdomen as he bit down harder on the wounds left in his lip.

It was too much. It was perfect. It wasn’t enough.

He panted for several seconds, aware of the constant pressure on his windpipe, then felt his mouth widen as harsh breaths turned to a low chuckle. He licked the blood from his lip and grinned.

When he spoke, it was with a hoarse, half-crushed voice:

“Is that all you got?”

  


Loki snarled wordlessly and leaned harder on Steve’s neck, dragging himself against Steve’s prick roughly a few times before he huffed and pulled back.

“So proud, little man, so sure of yourself. What will you do when I’ve reduced you to tears and whimpers? Will you taunt me still, goad me into increasing the pressure, the pain, the pleasure, until you pass out? I’m sure you’ll look gorgeous, laid out and limp beneath me.” He nearly barked the words, fear hidden in the mockery.

Would there be a point of enough for Steve? Would he reach it and acknowledge it, or would he ride the edge and demand more until he had to use their word, had to stop everything? Loki did not want to leave him unsatisfied, but he also did not want to damage him, or have to end things prematurely.

He sat up, lowering his weight until he sat atop Steve’s pelvis, resting on his cock so that he could feel the blood throbbing through it beneath him.

He let his fingers dance over Steve’s throat, pressing lightly and testing it for any signs of damage, anything he should know about before he continued. He seemed to have done well so far, though.

Nothing that wouldn’t fade in short order, for Steve.

“And so _needy_. I knew you had missed me, missed this… knew you wanted more. But you want me to force you to see, want me to prove to you that there is nothing you can do-- that if I ask it of you, I can have you collapsing in pain, don’t you? Want me to show you exactly how unworthy you are.”

He leaned in again, this time to press a chaste little kiss where his fingers had been, in the dip at the base of his throat. He moved his head to the side.

“You want me to show you just how much of you is already mine, don’t you?” He growled this, then with no further warning, he bit into Steve’s neck, catching the corded muscle there between his teeth. He rolled his hips as he did, again mixing the pain and the pleasure and forcing him to experience both.

He pulled his mouth away only to lick over the spot and begin again, this time coupling the bite with a slow slide downwards-- it would feel to the inexperienced like he was ripping out the side of his throat, perhaps. And just for added fun, he moved his hands to Steve’s chest and dug his nails in, hard. He raked them downwards towards Steve’s abs while he rolled himself back upright.

Seeing Steve laid out below him, he was stricken by how much he wanted to hurt him, to own him and possess him and _love him so much, make him feel how much his love hurt…_

He felt a shiver move down his spine, and turned it into a harsh series of abortive little rocking motions, crushing their cocks between them and under him. It stung a little, burned, and he could feel Steve’s pubic hair dragging against the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, I could break you into so many little pieces, right here and now.” He murmured, his own voice gone rough with need. “But then…” he forced it back to being velvety, “Then I wouldn’t be able to play with you later. And I want that. I want to keep you around, wreck and ruin you until you’re nothing but a toy, until you’re nothing at all, no one, just mine. Because that’s what you were made to be, what you were always meant to be, don’t you think? _Mine._ ” As if to prove his point, he bit another claiming mark into the opposite side of Steve’s throat, this time sucking at it until the skin warmed and heat rose to the surface. He bit even harder, hoping that the mark would outlast the hour, that it wouldn’t fade too quickly.

He wanted to touch it later and remind Steve of how little it took to bring him to this point, and how much would follow.

  


Steve gasped, choking as Loki increased the pressure on his neck, cutting off his airflow while simultaneously jerking his hips and flooding Steve’s senses with pleasure and fear all at once. It only lasted seconds, but he was left wheezing when Loki pulled away.

Helpless and weak and wheezing for breath while he was taunted and demeaned.

_(Little, whimpering, limp...)_

It shouldn’t have been a happy familiarity. But all the same, Steve found himself biting down on a whimper of want.

_(No control. No weight, no burden.... Surrender, for once.)_

Then the touch on his throat was light, probing and palpating the abused flesh there. Loki kissed his neck lightly, as if in apology; his lips a faint caress that seemed to promise tenderness--

\--Only for pain to bloom in the side of Steve’s neck, tearing a shout of surprise from him as his whole body jerked.

_(Small. Weak. Nobody.)_

_(Needy. Collapsing.)_

_(Unworthy.)_

He made a strangled noise as Loki’s hips bucked forward, rubbing their cocks and sending coarse pleasure through him, at odds with the stinging ache in his neck. Loki lapped at the spot, his tongue wet and hot and soothing for a brief moment before his teeth attacked again, and for a brief and horrifying moment it felt like he was going to tear Steve’s throat out, and the thrill of fear pooled electrically in his groin. The searing pain of Loki digging his nails into Steve’s chest -- teeth and claws, like a wild animal -- had his back arching and his mouth open in a soundless cry. His eyes watered with the summary rocking of Loki’s hips and grinding of their cocks, and he could feel the heat in his belly start to coil and tighten.

He moaned as Loki spoke; gasped when he bit him again; then whimpered as he sucked the blood to the surface of the skin, the suction hot and hard and a reminder of Loki’s dangerous and skilled mouth. It hurt; there was a sting, but also the deeper, pleasurable ache of a well-worked muscle. And the satisfaction of being claimed and marked like territory.

_(Nothing. No one.)_

“I’m yours,” he moaned, voice on the edge of cracking. “Loki. Loki, I’m yours, I... God. Loki, please, I...” He could feel his cock sliding against the pre-cum that had dripped on to his belly, heavy and aching and hard. He was close, if Loki would just keep a constant movement. He tried to move his hips upward, seeking friction for his release. “Please, Loki, I’m close...”

  


"Are you?" He asked, taunting. "Are you close? Do you want to come? Do you think you deserve it?"

He withdrew, standing and leaving Steve where he was, bound and on the floor.

He stepped close and looked down at him, then frowned at how Steve could not look up and see him, hovering far away from him and gloating. He dissolved the blindfold.

“Look at me, pet. Do you deserve to come? Ask for it. Tell me why I should let you.” It was an order. And he knew it was cruel. Steve did not want to be worthy, but he would want to come. It would be a fight for his partner, and he wanted him to see the amusement on his face, the way Loki was laughing at his difficulties.

He tugged him upwards, lifted him the way he had the dishes, like Merlin’s packing in Sword in the Stone, and brought him higher, still prone, but now at eye level with him.

“I can think of the perfect form of humiliation. It will make you cum, but I don’t know if you deserve it. If you’ve been good enough. My misbehaving boy, so disobedient, so rude… can’t follow simple directions. So should I? Do you deserve this level of pleasure? Do you deserve to come?”

He liked this vantage point, able to look over his partner’s beautiful body without casting his own shadow upon it. Able to turn him without the problems of interacting with their surroundings. Able to get to him, all of him, with just a gesture of his hand. And perhaps he was using more seidhr than he ought, but he had devoted several days’ worth to just SHIELD work. If he ran thin, that would just have to wait. He could not bring himself to care right now. His energies were turned elsewhere.

Like thinking of what new, exciting and upsetting way he could get Steve off. His boy wanted humiliation, and he needed to find a way of doing it. He wouldn't fuck Steve tonight, because he didn’t want Steve to find that humiliating, any more than he likely already did. But he could get him ready, could tease him open. He couldn’t wait to see how Steve took to it. He was certain, at first especially, that Steve would find the focused attention on his ass upsetting and uncomfortable. Which, coupled with words, should be plenty for tonight, at least. He hoped.

Enough to finish him off. After that… he would have to sit down, think, make plans. There was much more in this world open to him now, and a good deal many more questions would exist when he could think about it.

There was something odd, though, about wanting so badly to let loose and let himself go, to give as much as he could to someone who would take it all… and how right now he couldn’t. Because those questions did exist and had no answers. He still had to be mindful, careful, controlled. But how that still felt good in a different way. It wasn’t the pressure leak Steve had seemed to envision, but rather a grounding. With so much in his life that he wasn’t in control of, this… this he could be. And Steve was enjoying it, he hoped.

  


He did something wrong.

He had to have, because suddenly Loki was _gone,_ leaving Steve panting and bare on the ground, untouched. He groaned, twisting and arching his back to relieve some of the pressure on his arms, unable to touch himself or find any friction.

And then, abruptly, he could see. He blinked, eyes watering against the sudden light, tears clinging to his lashes and blurring the shape of Loki where he stood over him. Steve looked at him, as ordered, but the rest-- his face twisted in distress, knowing he could barely be coherent when he was like this. Having to make a case, to plead... He squirmed desperately on the floor. “Loki...”

The ground fell out from under him, and Steve yelped. Only, no, that wasn’t right -- the ground wasn’t dropping, he was _rising,_ suddenly weightless and floating upward, supported by Loki’s seidhr alone. The change took away the crush on his arms and shoulders, no longer pinned beneath him, and he gasped and bit hard on his already bleeding lip at the sudden stab of pins and needles where circulation returned. But the strange feeling of free fall, tight in his stomach, remained. His heartbeat raced, and he found that when he tried to shift or roll, he couldn’t -- there was no leverage, nothing to move against. He was entirely at Loki’s mercy like this.

Loki, whose eyes raked over him, cruel and assessing and hungry, like he intended to devour Steve. It made him shudder, head falling back now that there was no floor to support it.

He wanted to come. But faced with having to explain why he deserved to, his erection flagged slightly. “Loki, please,” he begged, face contorting. “I can’t... I don’t...”

Trying to explain, to make the case for his own worthiness when he felt this small and helpless and _shameful..._ He would rather have melted into the floor and disappeared, but now even that was denied to him, suspended as he was, on display.

He took a few deep breaths, and the answer came to him.

“I don’t deserve it.”

He looked Loki in the eyes, his own widening. “I don’t... I don’t deserve to come.” Because Loki hadn’t yet. He wasn’t even close. All attention had been on Steve, and he hadn’t done a thing for Loki to make him feel good, to make him know how much Steve adored him, worshiped him. “Let me make you come. I can help you feel good,” he gasped, swallowing and relishing the pain in his sore throat. He rolled his head back again to expose Loki’s handiwork better. “I can... I can be good. I can earn it. Please.”

  


Loki’s smile was sharp, like his eyes, like he felt. Sharp and with jagged, shattered edges.

“Oh, I plan to leave you in my debt, boy. After you finish, I expect you to work it off. And maybe it won’t be all at once, maybe you will owe me for a very long time. And maybe you will continue to owe me, the more I give you. I will own you when we are done with this, from all of the debt you have accrued.” His grin widened, and he rolled his wrist in a lazy circle.

Steve rotated slowly, spinning on his side until his ass was up and his cock pointed towards the floor, a little less hard now, Loki noted, but not completely uninterested in what was going on.

Good.

“I am going to open your legs.” He said simply, not making it an option because Steve did not want to have a choice, wanted to be powerless, and because he did not want to have to stop this to punish him for disobedience right now.

“When you’re done, I will have you take my cock between your pretty lips, and use them for what you really do best.” He remembered what a mess Steve’s first attempt at sucking him off had been, and no doubt Steve would too. Implying that that was the best he was at anything would, he hoped, be another blow to him.

His beautiful, gorgeous partner-- he took some pity on him, on how he was having to support his head, and he took the weight of it with his seidhr. His hands were still chained behind him, and Loki touched his fingertips, testing for any sign that he had cut off blood flow, that the chains were too tight now. They seemed fine. He would have to speak with Steve about that, as well, about telling him when things were too tight, and how that would not have to spell the end of his treatment.

He stood beside him and lowered him to about his own chest level, so that he did not have to stoop or reach to touch him. He could lean on him, if he wanted, like he were a bar. The most beautiful furniture in the room.

The only furniture in the room.

He ran a hand from shoulder to flank along Steve’s side, then rested his hand on Steve’s ass cheek and did his trick of cleaning.

He called forth the salve and settled it on Steve’s lower back, the lid laid out beside it.

“Do not make the jar fall, or I will be forced to punish you for it. And neither of us will be happy about that.” He warned. Then he turned his attention to the space he had left for himself when his seidhr had moved Steve to being spread open and ready for him. He spread open Steve’s cheeks and spoke over him.

“This tight little hole of yours is going to take my cock someday, but today it will start learning exactly what it is for.” He smirked once more, pleased at his own cleverness, and then lowered his head and laved his tongue over the clean pink furl of muscle there.

  


“Already own me,” Steve insisted. “‘M yours...”

The world turned and he squeezed his eyes briefly shut as Loki spun him around, trying not to feel sick. It was like one of those godawful rides on Coney Island, he briefly thought (or what had been on Coney Island long ago, and had been gone long since), before the world returned to something stationary, this time with him staring down at the bare floor. Loki’s seidhr forced his legs apart, and Steve felt his cheeks burn with how easily he was manipulated and moved like this; he had no more power to resist than a doll, like Loki had called him. A marionette suspended on invisible strings, hanging there for amusement.

For use.

Steve moistened his lips, tongue running over the slightly swollen wound on the inside of his lower lip, tangy with the taste of blood. He knew he’d performed... poorly, last time; that he was a novice. But hopefully his practice would go to good use, and he could make Loki eat those words. Knowing Loki couldn’t see his face, he allowed himself a small smile, knowing how he’d ease some of his debt.

Loki ran his hands over him with a gentle touch, probing his wrists and testing his bonds, as if to remind Steve they were there. He shivered, and once more felt fresh goosebumps rise in the wake of his partner’s fingers.

As if he didn’t know.

“What are you-- guh!”

He’d begun to ask what Loki intended, but broke off in surprise at the strange tingling feeling surging through his lower parts. It felt... strange, and was surely something to do with Loki’s magic, though at the moment he couldn’t quite fathom what it was Loki had done. Unless...

He swallowed, thinking he might have his answer. A moment later, something cool and hard rested on his lower back, something lighter beside it. Steve nodded stiffly in answer to Loki’s order, not quite trusting himself to speak as his breathing quickened. His muscles twitched and tightened in apprehension as Loki spread his cheeks apart, and Steve braced himself for the cold of the salve, moaning at the thought of Loki filling him with his long and lovely cock...

But what he got instead was something hot and wet and slick, sliding over him and prompting an undignified squawk of surprise. Was that-- was that Loki’s _tongue?_

He instinctively moved to pull his thighs together, but Loki’s seidhr kept them spread, impervious to any of Steve’s strength. He moaned and twitched; the feel of Loki’s tongue was strange and wrong when he tried to think about it, but the sensation of it was so sweet he felt his cock beginning to refill with new found interest in spite of himself. “Loki,” he groaned.

  


He chuckled at the way Steve tensed, moaned, twitched-- he couldn’t tell if he was just surprised, or if he was trying to get away, if embarrassment had already set in. In either case he was certainly enjoying it; Loki moved so that he held his cheeks apart with one hand, that the other might be free to wrap around Steve’s cock.

Gathering his saliva, he pulled his head back a short way and spat it against the hole, so that it dripped down his crack. The noises, he thought, would do their own good.

“You taste musky. Like the man your body pretends you are. But you aren’t, really, are you boy? You never will be.” He made a show of slurping at his own spit, stroking his tongue back up and roughly over the knot of muscle.

It was tight, he could already tell that, and he knew that when he did truly intend to penetrate him, it would take a lot of preparation. But hopefully, after this, he would realize how fun that could be.

He stroked over the spot, up and down, and then, pointing his tongue, he began the slow, hard work of trying to slip inside.

Like so much of Steve, his ass was made of resistance, and Loki was happy to apply himself to the effort just the same. He stroked his cock, hoping it would help him to relax a little, hoping he could make the muscles less tense… then an idea came to him, and he smiled through the lashing he was giving Steve with his tongue.

He pulled back for a breath and let go with the hand holding his cheeks. “Doing so well for me, look at you. You managed not to tip the jar after all.” He praised as if that simple achievement was the pinnacle of Steve’s talents, the tone snide and mocking. He brushed both jar and lid aside, floating them beside Steve’s hip, and ran his hand up where they had been, from the small of his back as far up as he could reach, and when he came back down, he brought his nails into play, digging into the flesh. And from the light marks he left, his seidhr bloomed, a series of hands pressing and pushing at Steve’s muscles, a massage that instantly began at the far end of what he knew Steve could take, pressure wise. He wanted it to really dig in, to loosen the muscles as far as they could… he wanted it to hurt. He also wanted it to feel good, though… at least, when they were through. He wanted Steve to feel wrung out.

“I am going to leave you so sore.” He promised lowly, then returned his hand and mouth to where they belonged, letting his other hand tighten, so that all of the sensations would work together as an assault on Steve’s senses.

And his tongue dipped in ever so slightly, only the tiniest bit as Steve’s body reacted to it all, but it was only the start of his victories. He would ruin him for anyone else. That thought made him shiver, made him plunge his face harder against him.

If anything happened, if Steve ever moved on and met others, men women, it didn’t matter-- Loki wanted him to never be able to think of anything but how much better Loki had been, how he’d teased him and spoiled him, given him more than any mortal ever could.

Loki truly did intend to own him, every part.

  


Steve flinched when Loki spat on him. He’d been spit on plenty of times in his life -- at protests and union rallies and in fights (usually when he’d been beaten into the ground and the fight was good as done), but never _there._ And while the drip of saliva down his perineum ought to have been vile, his repulsion was still mixed with arousal in ways he couldn’t explain.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on his breathing. _Like the man your body pretends you are._ Did Loki see him that way, he wondered? Like the Captain, strong and burly and made from the contents of a bottle? Or did he see the sick, scared kid who got beat on so much he learned to kinda like it, pretending it wasn’t so bad, glaring at anyone who looked at him in pity...

Something -- Loki -- started to push at his entrance, and Steve tensed instinctively in response, gasping as the hot tip of Loki’s tongue inexorably breached him. Even that small bit felt like a harsh stretch, and he bit down, only to have the ache joined by the welcome feeling of Loki stroking his cock, blending discomfort and pleasure until he struggled to tell one from the other. It was only after a few strokes that he realized Loki hadn’t slicked his hand with salve before wrapping it around him, and he whined at the hot drag of skin on tender flesh.  
He’d all but forgotten about the jar on his back, so innocuous had its weight become in the face of everything else, and he startled when Loki removed it, then gasped as nails dragged down over his skin, leaving streaks of fire down his back, hands pressing, driving--

Steve’s eyes widened. Hands. He felt more than two, with one still stroking his cock, more and more pushing hard into the muscles of his back. For a fleeting second he feared there was someone else in the room, but no, Loki wouldn’t compromise them in that way. He was as private as Steve. Doubles, then? He thought of the duplicates Loki had summoned in Stuttgart and his mind briefly buzzed with the possibilities there -- but when he looked at the pattern of shadows on the floor, there was only his and Loki’s. Seidhr then. Hands of magic, digging into his muscles, pressing just hard enough to hurt as they worked at him with bruising force, kneading at him like so much dough. And however hard they pressed or pushed him down, Loki’s seidhr kept him at the same elevation, suspended in equilibrium while he was slowly worked to pieces.

He’d have bruises, he realized, with something bordering on satisfaction. The white canvas of his back would be mottled with subtle shades of blue and violet, streaked with red from Loki’s nails. He hoped Loki had left the mirror intact in his recent renovations...

He moaned more loudly, with less restraint, as Loki’s tongue pressed into him, feeling the slick intrusion in spite of the hands pulling at his cock, pushing at his back, driving him to distraction. “Loki,” he panted. “Loki...”

 

“What is it?” He asked, words harsh and his breath panted out across the damp and bothered skin. “What do you need, sweet boy?”

He took the opportunity of his break to dip his finger into the salve, then to return it to Steve’s crack, where he distributed the slickness liberally.

He wondered if Steve was getting close, if he thought this was the end of what Loki had intended to do to him. He almost laughed aloud at that.

Not by a long shot.

He dipped his thumb into the salve and spoke.

“What are you feeling, hmm? Can you feel the way the blood is rushing for your skin all over your back? Can you feel how you’re throbbing in my fingers?” The dry drag of his hand against Steve’s should be just on the good side of pain, he thought… though coupled with the rest of it, perhaps it was too much.

He frowned at that, and took that hand away just as his thumb pressed, wide and blunt, against Steve’s hole.

“Can you feel the way you fight me, trying so hard to keep me out? But you won’t be able to, will you? Because I own you, and you know it. And your body is going to learn it as well.” he tilted the thumb forward, so that the tip of it might breach Steve the same way the very tip of his tongue had. He dipped three fingers of his other hand into the salve, and brought it back down to his cock.

The slick made the strokes easier, made the friction less, and in return Loki made them quicker, his grip a little stronger.

“So hard, sweet boy, and nothing you can do about it.” He chirped at him, needlessly cheerful. “When I do let you cum, it’s going to be so strong, so hard. You’re going to think you’ve died. You like that, don’t you, _like_ feeling that you may be on the edge of death? I am going to bring you so close, darling… are you close? Do you feel the need rising inside of you?” He pressed again with his thumb, getting it just a hair deeper. “Do you feel _me_ inside of you?”

Loki was hard enough that he was certain his prick was leaking against his leg, neglected and wanting. He promised himself that soon, he would let Steve come, and then he would have him see to it. It was going to be so good. So sweet.

“Tell me what you need, astin min. Maybe I will give it to you.”

  


The coolness of the salve was almost a relief, but it swiftly warmed from the heat of his body, thinning and dripping where Loki had applied it. But Loki’s hand around him was still dry, the friction burning with each stroke that left Steve biting on his own abused cheek, with nothing else at hand. And he _could_ feel it -- the pounding rush of blood, the heat on his back, rising in lines where Loki’s nails had left their mark. The massaging hands were at war with the tension in his body, seeking to ease it out, but using just enough force that the pain made everything tighten back up again when a knuckle drove too deeply or a palm pressed too harshly. He groaned, unable to form words, even in his own mind.

Something pressed against him, and his breathing stuttered. Not a tongue this time... He shuddered with Loki’s words, a tremor running through his whole body. And he believed it in that moment, that Loki owned him, that Loki could take him apart completely and nothing Steve did could stop him. The thought made his cock twitch, and he nearly sobbed when Loki took it in hand again, this time with a grip mercifully slippery from the salve. And when he began to work Steve’s shaft, tighter, faster --

“God, Loki, more, please,” he gasped. He could feel Loki’s -- finger? thumb? -- breaching him, thicker and blunter than his tongue, sinking into Steve’s body. He balled his hands into fists behind his back, then released them. The stretch hurt -- stung and ached all at once -- but in Loki’s hand, his cock was so hard and full. He could feel the heat in his lower abdomen, inches forward from where Loki’s hand invaded him, but though he was close, he couldn’t quite hit release.

Release. Release like the other night, when Loki had cut off his air and he’d been in freefall. That moment of complete sublime peace where his whole body had been tight as a wire--

 _You like that, don’t you,_ like _feeling that you may be on the edge of death..._

Steve abandoned any shred of dignity and made a wordless, keening noise. His hands twisted in the bindings and he tried to rock his hips, forward into Loki’s grip or back on to his finger, either way -- he just needed more, just a little more -- just a bit more pleasure through the pain, that moment of terrifying, blissful falling...

  


The _noises_ that Steve was making, the utter abandon as the lines of his body eased, made Loki want to groan as well. But that wasn't his place in this. Not now. Maybe soon. Hopefully soon. His cock throbbed in protest and he ignored it.

He didn't have enough hands and making more felt wasteful. Felt like cheating. Felt like denying Steve an option, and he wouldn't want to make him feel truly useless, the way Loki knew that he would feel if he saw Steve getting himself off after they had sex.

And speaking of Steve, he was getting close. And Loki couldn't have him coming just yet.

He wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock, behind his balls, and closed the circle tightly so that he was behaving as a cock ring.

"I don't think your body deserves the relief just yet. I don't think it knows who it truly belongs to. You’re fighting me so hard, fighting not to give me what I want… you need to fight me, though, don’t you, need to fight against my hands, or you’ll be fighting against yourself.” That much, he was certain, was true. If he didn’t keep Steve engaged, he would over think what was happening. He was already a bit afraid of what they would need to talk about, after this. So he turned Steve’s attention back on him.

“I could let one of the other hands hold you, could make a chain of seidhr to keep you from coming, but would you like to know a secret?” He leaned in, closer to Steve’s ear, so he could speak softly. “I am a jealous god, and I do not like the thought of anyone but me touching you this way. And more… I want to make it so that if ever anyone does, you will do nothing but miss my hands.” He demonstrated that point by ceasing his pressure on Steve’s sphincter and rubbing over it, a smooth, caring stroke, gentle. Kind.

“I want you to miss my mouth any time it isn’t on you.”

He lowered himself again and lapped at the hole, teasing at the small amount of relaxing it had done, dipping his tongue that much further in before he pulled back and kissed the cheek beside the opening.

“And before you come, I want one of my fingers inside of you. I want to feel the way your walls squeeze down on me when you cry out your orgasm.” He re-slicked his thumb and added his forefinger to the salve this time too, returning them to their task.

“But you can beg me, if you like. Beg me to let you come. Beg me to get inside of you. I want to hear it.”

  


Steve yelped and nearly screamed from between gritted teeth when Loki squeezed down around the base of his cock, trapping him and denying him the pursuit of release. “God _dammit,”_ he hissed, eyes watering. And then, because he still needed to curse: “ _Fuck_.”

His cock throbbed. The muscles in his abdomen were so tensed that they ached. And right then, he was so frustrated, the pain verging on overcoming the pleasure and his senses so overloaded that he _wanted_ to fight. Wanted to curse and squirm and shout and drive Loki to do _something--_

But then Loki’s breath was on his ear, velvety soft as he spoke conspiratorially. Steve made a guttural noise deep in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut as Loki gently rubbed his hole, the sweetness of the touch spoiled by the vice-like grip that remained around the base of his shaft.

“Never been no one but you,” he groaned, his voice hitching when Loki’s tongue danced over him. “Dammit, nnnggh, never will be...” He hissed in a breath through his teeth, a teardrop trickling down to the bridge of his nose where it beaded but refused to fall.

And it was true. Loki was the only lover he’d had, and the only one he wanted. He couldn’t imagine anyone else. Couldn’t bear the thought of having anyone but him, not when Loki was his and he was Loki’s.

As Loki was so hell-bent on proving.

He felt Loki’s slick touch back at his entrance, but it wasn’t enough, not with his cock being held, not suspended like this. And Loki wanted him to beg; but he’d been begging, been pleading. He snarled in frustration, the teardrop on his nose slipping free and falling to the floor, and he wheezed a laugh that might have bordered on hysterical. “Let me cum or not; I can do this... all day...” he panted.

(Loki liked it when he lied, after all.)

  


He could see Steve _trembling_ , could see the sweat that rolled off of him, didn’t miss the strain in his voice, and yet still he had to fight.

With a wave, Loki stopped the massaging hands, certain they had done as much as they were going to, by now. Steve’s back was already becoming a mottled and colorful mixture of shades as the bruises rose. Loki smiled to himself, pleased. He would have to remember to touch his back through his shirt for however long they lasted, to remind him they were there, and who had made them.

“Oh can you?” He responded, not the sharpest come back, but a challenge just the same. “You will not come until you can let go completely. Let me move you and mold you, do as I ask. Obey me. _Relax_.” He purred the final word, and sent the hands to barely touch, ghostly fingertips like whispers over the bruised flesh.

He let his finger rub again over Steve’s asshole, this time just along the bottom of his muscle. He felt it twitching under him, too, felt it releasing some of its tension, and he tilted his finger down and slid it in as much as he could before it tightened again. It wasn’t much, but he would take it. He rotated his wrist and pulled back, then repeated the motion, rubbing and dipping and penetrating, roll and widen, withdraw, and again.

He was certain it was driving Steve mad. He could feel it in Steve’s cock.

And he could not address Steve’s insistence that he was the only one. Loki had had others before him. Steve deserved to have the chance to try, to find others, to see if this was truly what he wanted before he made that decision. And if something happened to Loki, he honestly _hoped_ that Steve would allow himself the chance of being happy with someone else. And yet, the thought still made his hand around Steve turn a little, and he had to remind himself not to squeeze, not to do harm-- that was a kind of hurt Steve would not thank him for. If he even planned to thank him for any of this; time would tell. He would have to make a point of telling him, outside of the realms of the game, of explaining that not everything that he said in the moment was something that he meant.

“So you think you can do this all day, then? Good. We have hours to kill, here. How long do you think it will be before Bruce and Tony come looking for me? It’s been an hour at the most, by my estimate. Could you stand another? Two more? How much can you take of this, do you think, before you can do nothing but weep, until your voice gives out and your strength fails you? I’d be interested to see. Or, you can make this easier on yourself, and give up. You want to. I know you do. You want me inside of you as much as I want to be in you. You want me to take care of you, don’t you? You want to be my sweet boy, want me to hurt you and then make it all better. But I can’t do that with you fighting me, can I? Can’t tell you what a good boy you’ve been when you haven’t, can I?” He spoke lowly, logically, his hand continuing its steady movements, the way that he was slowly opening him up starting to be visibly effective. He now had up to his first knuckle inside of Steve, and he doubted Steve even realized how much the tone had shifted. But he hoped it was having some effect on him, anyway. It was hard, not being able to see his face. Not being able to tell. Loki pursed his lips.

  


Steve had expected something harsher in response to his insolence, but instead Loki’s treatment retreated into something more gentle -- the ghostly hands stopped their onslaught, and instead lightly brushed over him in pale caresses. A thin mewling noise slipped unbidden from his lips as Loki prodded his sphincter and slid a digit in, and he couldn’t help tense in response. Loki withdrew and began a slow and gentle rhythm of in and out that had Steve shaking.

He wondered if this was what it felt like for Loki, when he’d fucked himself on his own fingers and then had Steve slide his in. And that had been two, then three at a time -- Steve was fairly sure that Loki was only using one now and it felt like so much, though the burn was easing slightly.

Slightly, but not enough. He needed more of-- of something, touch on his restrained cock, on his nipples, his throat -- just this teasing wasn’t enough, and they both knew it. He tried breathing through his nose to get control, to force himself to relax, but his whole body felt like it was a livewire. He couldn’t take much more of this, but until Loki decided otherwise, it didn’t seem he had a choice. Another hour... _two_...? He moaned, the floor blurring through the water that filled his eyes.

And he _did_ want... he wanted to let go and let Loki care for him, like he was saying now. Let him take him apart and put him back together, maybe a bit less fragile and tenuous than before. He wanted Loki to call him sweet things and brush his hair and love him and all the other things that velvety voice promised. He choked on a sob.

“I _can’t_...” he whispered hoarsely. “I can’t, Loki, please... can I... put me down?” Suspended like this, even knowing that Loki’s seidhr would hold him no matter what, he couldn’t help but intuitively brace to try to twist or mitigate the damage if he fell. If they were on the ground -- if Loki held him with his body, warm and solid and pressed against him instead of magic touches and empty air -- maybe then, it would be easier. Maybe then he could do as he was asked.

  


It was one thing to make him plead for what they both knew would come anyway. It was another to deny him a simple request.

And he wanted to see him. Wanted to see the expression on his face when he finally found the spot inside of him that would make Steve come. Wanted to watch the way the tears came and his cock splattered across his chest. It wasn’t entirely out of kindness, then, that he withdrew his hand.

“Can’t what, sweetness?” He asked, hoping to distract his mind while Loki tried to decide what to do, how to maneuver this. “Can’t do this all day? Can’t take much more? I know.” He spoke consolingly. “I won’t make you, I promise. It will all be over soon. And it is going to be _so_ good. You want me to put you down? Then I will. Close your eyes for me, and come along.” His mind moved fast and he nodded to himself, thinking steps ahead to make it as smooth as possible.

He used his grip and his seidhr to float Steve back into the hall, through their cavernous living room, and into their own room, where he released him for just a moment before rotating him and placing him on his back on the bed.

He released one of his arms and used the chain still around the other to loop over one of the solid wooden spheres on each of the corner posts of the bed, repeating the process with the other so that Steve was spread out again, and no longer mid air. He didn’t want to aggravate the bruises on his back more by forcing him to lay on his arms; this would prevent that while still giving Steve the helplessness he craved.

Loki returned to his place between his partner’s legs and stroked a single finger up his cock, impressed that Steve hadn’t come, though he knew that he was backed away from the edge now, and that he would have to work him back up to it.

“How are we feeling now, pet? Comfortable? Is that better? Do you feel more or less vulnerable, spread open, tied down, laying on your back?” He purred the question. “Do you feel like you can relax now, and let me in, or do you need me to do more to convince you that you are not in control? That no matter what you do, I can always take you over? You know now that it takes so little for me to catch you in nothing, to lift you up and make you helpless… do you still feel that way, without my doing so now? Or should I deny you your sight, take your hearing… what do you need from me now?”

  


The hold on his cock vanished, and Steve bit down on his lip. The fresh rush of blood was a relief and agony all at once, and he was so close to coming, only all other stimulation had abandoned him as well, leaving him bereft of touch.

Steve worried for a moment Loki would deny him; would taunt him and torment him further, keeping him (quite literally) hanging. At most, he hoped to be lowered to the ground where he’d been before.

Loki, naturally, did neither. Unsure of what he planned, Steve closed his eyes all the same, then felt the light brush of air and shift in equilibrium that told him he was moving -- being dragged along in mid-air. He briefly opened his eyes, but the sight of the floor moving past made his head spin and he promptly squeezed them shut tighter. Even without sight, he knew the apartment well enough that with the turns they were taking and the whisper of the door opening, he knew when they entered the bedroom.

He didn’t open his eyes until after he felt himself rolling so he was supine instead of prone, and was greeted by the ceiling in lieu of the floorboards; he gasped softly as he felt himself dropping, but he only lowered a foot or so before he felt the plush duvet and pillows beneath him.

He only barely had time to adjust to the new surrounding before Loki unbound his wrists from one another, and chained him to the bed. The new position relieved, or at least altered, the strain in his arms, and Steve’s eyelids fluttered in gratitude.

Inwardly, he smiled. The heavy wooden bed frame had been a colossal pain in the ass to move and assemble, even with super-strength, but it was well worth it now. Surreptitiously, he tugged on the bonds to test them, and found them and the bed alike were sturdy.

The lack of attention had allowed him to retreat from the brink, but his cock remained erect and an almost angry red. Loki traced a finger up it, and Steve threw his head back into the pillows, muscles in his jaw working. At this point, he was ready to do anything for relief; he chose to illustrate this -- illustrate his cooperation -- by pulling his knees up and then letting his thighs fall to the sides, opening his legs further to give Loki unhindered access in a show of submission.

“Need you,” he murmured, staring up at Loki, naked and powerful and beautiful above him. “Need... touch. Nails. Teeth.” He squirmed, then remembered himself and forced his body to relax and hold still while he tried (in vain) to breath deeply. “Your hands... All of you.” _Hold me down and tear me apart and put me back together oh God please please please..._

Like an animal in the wild, he angled his head back to bare his bruised throat in surrender.

  


He was perfect, so beautiful that Loki ached, deep in his chest. This was his; Steve was his, on his back, in his bed, wanting him, hungry for him, opening himself for him. Begging for Loki to touch him.

The way he stretched his neck upward in supplication, in offering… Loki’s cock jumped and his heart skipped a beat.

“You need to hurt more, boy?” He asked. Teeth and nails did seem to point that way, and he couldn’t help but notice that, unlike his back, Steve’s chest and arms were relatively unblemished.

“You need something that will dig into you, take you out of yourself?” He didn’t want to hit him; wasn’t sure how he would take it, and that wasn’t something that they had-- they would need to talk. Easier for now to go with what he knew.

He crawled forward, laying himself over his partner, occupying the space between his legs gratefully. Steve’s prick was pushed against his chest, and it was so hot and so hard-- that alone must hurt, must _ache._ Good.

Loki lifted his hands to Steve’s nipples and ran lazy circles over them with his fingers, not quite hurting, not hard enough to, but just enough pressure to promise it, to tease him for what would follow.

“You want to come, don’t you beautiful?” He took his hands away and let the invisible ones take their place, then spread his own hands in the air to direct them, to send a mass of seidhr fingers pressing and rubbing, massaging Steve again.

He dragged himself backward, his mass against Steve’s cock until his mouth rested just over it.

“Do you want this? So tight over you, around you, so warm… can you take it, I wonder, and not spill until I tell you that you may? I want you to get permission before you come. Can you manage that, you think?” He was snide again, mocking. “Or is that too much to ask?”

The jar which had followed their progress was settled on the bed not far from them, and Loki slicked a finger again.

“I am going to work my way inside of you, while you are inside of me, and I want to hear what that feels like. Use words, if you can, or just cry out, moan if you can’t. I love your sounds. So be a good boy for me…” He didn’t finish the thought, using his less lubricated hand to bring Steve’s dick to the right angle, so that he could begin sucking it, and slowly begin to take it further while he returned his finger to his hole, a little looser from this angle, able to let him slide in with a little more ease.

He knew Steve wasn’t going to last very long like this. He was going to need to work fast.

  


Steve groaned as Loki pressed down on top of him, his weight pinning Steve’s cock, pushing Steve’s body into the mattress. Then fingers teased at his chest, rubbing circles around his nipples and making them flush and pert.

He made a tiny, happy moan, hoping there would be more -- Loki seemed to know what he wanted, what he needed, and if Steve was good and behaved, he’d have to give it to him eventually. Loki had listened after all, when Steve had asked to be let down from mid-air. For all the harshness in his voice, Steve had little doubt he was listening now.

This time, when the invisible hands appeared, he didn’t balk or tense. Instead he let his eyes flutter shut while nails made of seidhr traced over his skin, and fingers that hummed faintly with magic worked the muscles of his chest and arms. But when Loki dragged his body downward, his chest sliding against Steve’s erection, he couldn’t help but groan, canting his hips upward into the pressure of Loki’s body. He opened his eyes and felt his breath hitch again at the sight of Loki poised with his lips near Steve’s cock.

He wanted it. He didn’t know if he could hold off coming from willpower alone, but for Loki he’d try, and so he nodded, jaw working and clenching, muscles in his neck jumping. “Please,” he managed to gasp. He wanted. He needed--

The heat of Loki’s mouth was at contrast with the slick coolness of the salve, and the sensations of being encompassed and penetrated all at once had Steve gasping, head falling back and eyes wide. “Oh God,” he moaned, shuddering. “Loki...”

  


Loki took more, sliding Steve into him further as he began his massaging, sawing back and forth and teasing over the skin and muscle, gaining entrance steadily now. He swallowed as he slid his finger in. It seemed Steve had been right; he couldn’t relax, before, suspended as he had been. Good to know, worth filing away for later. In the meantime…

In the meantime he was inside of him. He was in as far as his finger would go now, and he needed to pull back soon to breathe, but he still took the time to pause and appreciate how hot Steve was inside, in his throat, how tight he was and how full Loki felt right now.

Slowly, regretfully, he pulled himself back, let Steve fall from between his lips to be caught by his free hand.

“I’m inside of you sweet boy, and you feel so good, so right. How does it feel for you?” Strange, he was sure, in all honesty, but he wanted to be sure he wasn’t hurting him there of all places.

He held his finger still and stroked Steve’s prick slowly, trying to give him a chance to get used to the intrusion. He could feel his muscles moving around him, touching, squeezing, trying to fight it, eject Loki. But he held it still. He wondered, with Steve’s added strength, what these muscles might do to a man who was less than he, how a mortal would fare matched with his own sweet boy.

“Such a good boy.” He murmured, pleased by that thought, glad that he had made it this far, now.

“I’m going to begin moving slowly, but if you want more, harder, faster, if you want me to stop or take it out, let me know.” He did not pretend now to be mad, with power or hunger or lust. He was just himself, concerned for his partner, wildly in love with him…

dripping on their bed linens.

He took his partner’s cock back into his mouth while he began probing within Steve, in search of the little bundle that he planned to use to help Steve to find his release.

  


Steve bit down on a noise, then remembered what Loki had asked of him and instead let the whine escape his throat as Loki swallowed around him, the wonderful heat and constriction all so amazingly good. Through the overwhelming sensation, it took him a few moments to realize Loki’s knuckles were pressed to his ass, his finger fully inserted within him.

“So good,” he breathed, echoing Loki. It felt odd, certainly. A fullness that was new and strange, but the initial burning stretch had dissipated, to the point it didn’t exactly hurt; alone it might have been slightly uncomfortable, but paired with everything else -- the heat of Loki’s mouth, the fullness of his cock, the sensitivity of his entire body -- it felt right.

Loki stroked his cock with tantalizing slowness. Steve made a pleading sound, hips jerking faintly, though he immediately realized his error and tried to relax, tried to counter his instinctual resistance. After all, he had Loki inside of him; and that was only a single finger. There would be so much more he could take... could give...

He warmed at the praise, smiling faintly up at Loki. Loki, who could claim every part of him, inside and out. Who would take good care of him.

“Okay,” Steve whispered.

Then Loki’s mouth circled him again, velvety tongue circling his head and finger slid out slightly (and that _definitely_ felt strange, though Steve tried not to over-think it or panic), before moving back in, forming a slow rhythm between the bobbing of Loki’s head and the motion of his hand. Steve’s eyes glazed as he stared up at the ceiling, numb to everything that wasn’t Loki’s seidhr, Loki’s mouth, Loki’s finger--

Something bright white flashed through Steve’s nerves and he cried out, jerking, eyes wide. Loki’s finger had brushed something inside of him that felt electric, that lit up everything inside him with acute sensation. “That!” he gasped, “more... that!”

  


Loki couldn’t help but chuckle around his full mouth, though he was quick to oblige Steve’s request.

He pulled away, freeing his throat in case Steve bucked, in case he writhed or any of the things Loki hoped he would do.

“More of this?” He asked, throat taking on the usual husk that he developed when he swallowed. He repeated the motion, this time paying attention to the feel of it, seeking out the edges so that he could focus there, really make an effort of hitting it repeatedly.

“Remember you’re going to ask me before you come, you’re going to beg me not to stop it this time. I can, remember, so be mindful, being such a good boy, my very good boy.” He felt like he was babbling, but seeing Steve this way-- he was so deliciously debauched, bruises and red marks taking shape across his chest and a great large bruise on his neck from Loki’s mouth. Loki stroked up and down over Steve’s shaft, which looked so swollen and overstimulated that he wouldn’t even consider stopping another orgasm from coming, in reality.

But it was the words that would make Steve feel like he needed to.

“Like all of the rest of you, your completion belongs to me. I want it, and you are going to give it to me. You are going to take everything that I give you, and then…” He rubbed in a  concentrated small circle over the vulnerable, sensitive spot within Steve. “Then you are going to ask me to let you come. You want to come, don’t you, want to finish. Want to unload yourself. Where do you want it, toy? Want to spill on my face? In my mouth? Want me to make it so that you cum in a puddle on your own stomach? Make a mess of you when I take you apart?” He did enjoy this part, he actually got off on questioning, on attacking with words. It felt good to him, excited him. And he hoped that at least some of the squirming Steve was doing now was because it had a similar effect on him.

  


When Loki pressed against the bundle of nerves a second time, lighting sparks up his spine and fire in his groin, Steve let go -- really let go for once ( _don’t scream don’t scream don’t scream_ ) and _wailed._

His own voice was alien to his ears. His body bucked and twisted and his hips rocked back onto Loki’s fingers for more.

Invisible hands dragged over his chest, massaging and lightly clawing, leaving pink trails over his abdomen, his sides, his over sensitized nipples. Steve’s eyes prickled with hot tears and he gasped raggedly, feeling the pressure in his groin rising.

He needed to come. So much. So badly. He whimpered at Loki’s threat, features twisting in distress. And whimpered louder when Loki rubbed the sweet spot inside him more, and he wasn’t sure if he was squirming for more or to escape, whether he was desperate not to come until Loki told him to or if he’d do anything for it right that second. And when Loki asked where he wanted to spill--- He gasped and nodded wordlessly at the last option, not even trusting himself to speak anymore. He felt like he was well and truly coming apart as Loki promised, like if he didn’t find release soon he’d dissolve at the seams...

One particularly well-situated prod of Loki’s finger had him throwing his head back again, and this time he clipped his scalp against the headboard with a muted thud. Not that he felt it; not that he cared; it wasn’t the source of the tears forming hot and blinding in his eyes, or the mounting pressure in his groin. He swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing, and he could feel his pulse fluttering wildly in his throat, echoed in the throbbing of his dripping cock.

He was so close -- So very close. He could feel the edge, ready to fall over it, ready to let go and fall and spill, but he needed--

“Loki,” he sobbed, quivering, his voice wrecked and desperate: “ _please!_ ”

  


If it was earlier in their play, if he had not already denied him and teased him and brought him close and made him work for it, he would have asked _please what_ , but this time, this once, he took pity and accepted it.

Steve’s wail, louder and more desperate than Loki had ever heard him, may have helped him to come to that decision.

“Okay. I will allow it.”

He did as he’d said he would, and directed Steve’s cock at his own abs, then began jerking it and fingering his prostate at the same, rough, quick rhythm.

He wouldn’t last. He didn’t expect him to. And he didn’t need to.

Because this, seeing him like this, watching as Steve positively _broke_ under the strain of his own need, a need created and curated by Loki, it was… it felt like winning. It felt like losing a weight from his shoulders, it was a relief.

Watching the way Steve’s heartbeat made his pulse point in his neck jump under the bruise Loki had put there, watching the sweat roll from him and the way he shifted and moved, the way all of his muscles were tensed…

Loki got ready, prepared himself to end everything as soon as Steve began cumming. He didn’t want to accidentally go too far with the stimulation. Once he spilled, Loki intended to have the chains dissolve, the hands fade to nothing… it would be just he and his partner and the pains and pleasures he’d caused him, and, hopefully… hopefully it would be what he’d wanted when they had begun this.

“Come for me, there’s my good boy. You deserve this. You’ve earned it.” He coaxed, hoping it would tip him over the edge. But just in case, he circled his finger over the bundle of nerves still faster, and twisted his wrist at the tip of Steve’s dick.

  


Steve gasped and moaned when Loki began to stroked his cock, hard and fast, still swirling his finger inside him and bringing him to the precipice, where he could feel the heat in his belly swelling to the point of no return and his balls tightening. His muscles tightened and he forgot to breathe, willing himself to do as Loki allowed, as Loki ordered, and come -- to slip over that edge into free fall--

_Does it always feel like dying when I fuck you?_

And then, with a twist of Loki’s wrist and a touch of his finger, Steve’s climax hit. It drove out what little air remained in his lungs as his whole body bent like a bow, tears streaming from his eyes as his vision swam and went white. He sobbed again, and then he was spilling, hot and wet all over his himself, for what felt like forever. Until he ached and it felt like there couldn’t possibly be anything left, vision darkening at the edges...

_...or do you just wish it did?_

Everything went dark and white at the same time, and for a second he felt suspended again, weightless, before reality crashed back in.

Then Steve remembered to breathe, sucking in a deep breath of air and almost choking on it. He felt... almost numb. Like he’d been scoured out and emptied and left as a husk that might blow away with the first strong breeze. And there was wetness on his face -- more than just the usual watering of his eyes yielded, and he couldn’t quite even out his breathing as his whole body trembled.

Loki was still there. Steve knew he should do something, say something, but his body didn’t seem to want to respond, and all he could do was lie there and let the tremors run through him and the tears run down his cheeks.

  


And then that was it. He had finished.

Gently, carefully, Loki let it all fall away, let go of his prick and removed himself from within him as unobtrusively as possible.

He stayed close, hovered, really, at Steve’s side, looking for the slightest sign that anything was wrong, or… that he’d done something incorrectly.

He was crying, more than usual, but then he’d been wound tighter than usual. Loki had neglected him far longer than he had at any other time in their relationship, save when he had been incapacitated by injuries.

And Loki had… well with Steve’s completion, relief had overcome Loki followed immediately by worry. Steve had asked him to do most of what he had done to him, but… what if he hadn’t been ready? They hadn’t discussed it, and Loki knew he couldn’t count on Steve to tell him when things went wrong. Not really.

He also knew that he had not been in the best of mind states when they had begun, and while having to put as much concentration and attention into this as he did had managed to drive out his other worries, he still… he could have seriously hurt Steve, damaged the trust they had, could have ruined the experience…

They would need to talk, when Steve came around to it. A long, serious talk. But right now, he needed to be there for him. And he, like the idiot he was, unable to keep from going completely overboard, had covered him with bruises from the neck to the waistline.

He couldn’t even hold him right now without worry of over-stimulating him, of hurting him now that there was no pleasure in the equation to balance it.

He owed Steve an apology. He was certain of that much.

He readied a warm towel in the bathroom with his seidhr, but held off on bringing it out until Steve was more alert. He didn’t want to surprise him now.

Steve’s sense of time faded for... he wasn’t sure how long. If he’d been lying there for seconds or minutes or an hour. However long it had been, it was enough that, without the blood pounding hotly through his veins like it had before, his stuttering heart slowing to something resembling its usual pace, he began to feel cold. The sweat and spunk coating his body had begun to cool, and he wasn’t sure anymore how much of his shaking was from adrenaline, exhaustion, or simply from the cold.

And god, he had to be a mess now. Sweat on his body, blood on his lip, salve on his ass, cum on his stomach and tears on his face. He reached up to wipe away the latter, at the least, and realized as his fingers clumsily bumped his cheek, that he wasn’t chained up anymore. Loki must’ve dissolved the spell without him even noticing.

Blinking, Steve tilted his head, looking over to where Loki crouched on the bedspread. His partner had withdrawn, close, but no longer touching him, and he was watching Steve with an almost wary look on his face that made something in Steve’s insides clench uncomfortably.

“Loki?” He coughed, swallowing to clear his throat, and took a steadying breath. “Did I...” he paused, wondering if he’d done something wrong, broken some unspoken rule or upset Loki in some way. “Was that okay?” With his arms no longer bound, he pulled them in closer to himself for warmth, rolling slightly on to his side and wincing faintly at the soreness in his muscles.

  


Loki cleared his throat.

He hadn’t expected it to hurt so much, the way Steve curled in on himself, the way he grimaced in pain. Loki closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to make his chest feel less tight.

“I’m sorry.” He said simply, opening them and forcing himself to look Steve in the face. “I… hang on.” He called in the cloth, still warm and kept that way by his spells. If nothing else, he owed Steve these small comforts, now. “I marked you up pretty well, and I didn’t want to… I was afraid I might disturb or surprise you if I tried to take care of you before you were ready for me to.” He held up the cloth, showing what he intended, then reached out to close the distance between them and began with sopping up the semen all over Steve’s lower stomach.

He took another deep breath and blew it out roughly.

“That was really inconsiderate of me, and… and if you want to explore that kind of sex, there is absolutely nothing wrong with it.” This part he had practiced again and again in his mind while Steve came down, so it was smooth. He doubted very much of the rest of this conversation would be.

“It’s… I should have insisted that we talk it through before I did any of that, and I shouldn’t have… with as upset and emotionally unstable as I was… We shouldn’t have done any of that. It could have been really dangerous. I have done-- I’ve been so much worse, lost my grip before, and... And that’s why I need to ask you to be completely honest with me when I ask if you’re hurt, if I did anything that’s… if I caused any damage, physical or.. or emotional. If I said anything, or… I just need to know you’re okay with me, with what we did… and if there is anything you aren’t okay with, I need to know that even more.”

He breathed in again, feeling like he had rushed all of the words out.

He hoped that he had made it clear enough that none of this was Steve’s fault, but if not… he’d happily speak himself into asphyxiating before he let him think it was.

“I should have known better. And so I’m sorry, because I feel like I… I let you down.”

  


Steve blinked, trying to parse Loki’s words. The cloth, soft and warm, felt good against his skin, though the rest of him remained chilly, and his thoughts all felt out of focus. Still, he exhaled contentedly as Loki wiped him down. He just wished he’d touch him more...

Loki was upset though. Steve frowned, trying to get through the fog in his mind to work out the reasons why. Loki was saying... he’d been emotionally unstable. Compromised. Shouldn’t have done any of that...

Steve felt his stomach sink. He’d known Loki had been feeling poorly from the whole thing with Thor when he’d moved in to kiss him, initiating all this. He’d hoped to provide a distraction, to give Loki some sense of control, but... had he just taken advantage of him instead? The thought filled him with prickling dread -- and not the kind he’d taken twisted pleasure in earlier. Steve had drawn the line at hurting Loki, at abusing him, but what sort of hypocrite was he to demand the same in turn and make Loki hurt _him_?

 _Selfish_.

He curled into himself a little tighter, around the creeping shame. What was _wrong_ with him? He’d tried to help and instead he’d just caused Loki guilt. Hell, no wonder he didn’t want to touch him now.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, then swallowed and spoke a little louder: “I’m a bit sore, but nothing that won’t be gone in a day. Had worse from sparring.” He’d been roughed up way worse on a regular basis once, but he didn’t think Loki would appreciate that.

“It was just... intense,” he ventured, which was true at least. Intense in a good way, certainly, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d come that hard; but also in ways he hadn’t had time to think through. And he hadn’t thought about how intense it must have been for Loki and how it must have affected him. He looked down. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-- you didn’t let me down. It’s not...” he shook his head. He started to reach out to Loki to take his hand, then hesitated, not sure if Loki would want him to.

  


Steve's hesitance in touching him hurt more than anything else so far had. He seemed as if he wanted to, but... was he afraid of Loki now?

It made him feel cold, terrified, but he had to keep pushing, had to know.

"Steve-- can I hold you?" The words came out more abruptly than he'd intended but they were more honest for it. "I don't want-- I'm not going to hurt you further, if that's what you're afraid of.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “I can heal your bruises so that it won’t ache when I touch you.” He’d been so excited for the aftermath while making those marks, and yet now… each one felt like an accusation. “But if… if you don’t want me to touch you at all, I understand.” He looked down at his hands, angry with himself.

  


Steve slumped with relief when Loki asked if he could hold him, even if he did still have that pained, distraught look on his face. He couldn’t be too mad at Steve; not if he still wanted to touch him and hold him. And right now, Steve felt small and holding him and being held sounded like the best thing imaginable.

“Please do,” he quickly replied. “And I’m not-- you didn’t hurt me. Not _hurt_ hurt, anyway,” he clarified, since the definition of ‘hurt’ was, well, ambiguous in this case. He’d been in pain, yes, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Never enough to tap out or say their word to call a halt to it all.

He reached up and ran his fingers lightly over the bruise Loki had bit and sucked into his neck, remembering how arousing that sharp pain had been. His mouth tugged into a faint smile. “You can leave them. It’s all right.” They’d be gone soon enough on their own, and it wasn’t like he’d cracked a rib or anything that would actually hinder him.

  


Glad of this, glad that Steve seemed receptive if not eager about the idea of Loki holding him, he scooted himself closer and stretched out to match Steve’s body, before he reached out to touch him, and jerked his hand back almost instantly.

“You’re clammy-- are you sure I-- oh.”

His treatment of Steve had done a lot of restricting and redirecting blood flow, and he was certain that by now his partner must be dehydrated. He’d see to that shortly.

“Under the covers, then, here--” He dug them out from under the pillows and helped to maneuver them out from under his lover, and over the top of him, before he slid in as well, and wrapped his arms around Steve.

“I’m going to ask you again, and… take your time answering this time, if you need to. Is there anything you need from me, right now?” He realized he’d been so busy being worried about him that he’d been neglecting the very basics of caring for his partner after such a scenario. “Anything you want from me?”

He had his arm against Steve’s chest and he felt his heart thumping against it, which was reassuring. Almost relaxing.

  


Steve squirmed readily under the covers, curling up to preserve his own body heat while Loki built a nest of pillows and blankets around him. When he lay down with Steve, holding him, Steve sighed and nestled into his shoulder, grateful for the warmth of his lover’s body. Loki’s hold was firm enough to be comforting without being overly restrictive or bearing down on Steve’s slightly-aching back.

It was perfect. _Safe_. And for all that it was the middle of the day and Steve hardly ever slept when the sun was up, he felt that he could close his eyes and drift off within seconds and sleep for years. Again.

“This ‘s good,” he mumbled. His shivering had abated, and he felt himself relaxing -- really, truly relaxing, with all his muscles wrung out and feeling like water. He couldn’t imagine what more he could ask for. Not when Loki had given him so much -- so much attention and sensation and pain and pleasure and, and, and this, right now, holding him and letting him melt in his arms--

Steve’s eyes snapped open, and he pulled back slightly in dismay, realizing that while Loki had given him everything, Steve had given nothing in return. “I didn’t-- You didn’t get to...” he looked down, guiltily, to the shadow between them beneath the blankets, where Loki lay unattended, and cringed. “Aw hell. I’m sorry.”

  


Steve sounded so out of it, Loki could almost have hit himself for how stupid he’d been, pressing the matters of apology. This close, he could see how his eyes still looked a little glazed. Even when he pulled away and, dismayed, realized that Loki hadn’t cum.

“Not important right now. I wish you could have seen yourself, sweetheart, wish you could see you now.” He reached up and stroked Steve’s hair, in an attempt at getting him to lay back down, to let the adrenaline seep out of his system. “You were so good for me. You’re always so good for me.” He tried to keep it to soft words, easy ideas… Steve wasn’t fully himself yet, and they weren’t likely to make any headway in untangling the mess he had made them into until Steve was able to talk above a murmur without slurring his words around.

“Do you want something to drink?” He asked, still softly. “I can get you some water if you want it.”

  


Steve still felt like he’d been remiss, but resolved to make it up to Loki later. He’d keep practicing with his fingers in his throat so he’d be able to surprise him when he swallowed. Or he’d find something else Loki would like. He’d make them even, sooner or later.

He didn’t even realize he was thirsty until Loki asked if he wanted something to drink. He began to nod, thinking a glass of water would be welcome, but then shook his head -- because that would require Loki to get up.

“Stay,” he insisted. He could get water later; he needed Loki here now.

Without Loki’s arms around him, warm and secure, he still felt so fuzzy in his mind he almost worried he’d drift away or disappear. Loki was his anchor.

“Are _you_ okay?” he asked, breathing against Loki’s neck.

  


“I’m not going anywhere,” Loki promised, his hand still brushing soothingly over Steve’s hair and down onto his face.

He heard the tap start and stop, then saw a bubble of water come into the room, much like when he’d dropped it on Steve’s head in the pool he’d made in their hotel room. This time, though, it was for care and not mischief.

“Here, open your mouth.” He instructed, and separated a smaller bubble from the main body of the water, bringing it down so that it hovered over Steve’s lips, like a clear grape.

He considered Steve’s question, and nodded slowly.

“If you are okay, I am. I… enjoyed that. I really did. I just don’t want you to think that I want to hurt you or that… if you don’t want me to, I would make you. But we can talk about that in a bit. For now just know that if you aren’t hurt, angry, or scared of me, I am happy.” He pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple, before adding, “I love you.”

  


Steve eyed the bubble of water warily, remembering the past uses of this particular trick, but opened his mouth all the same. The smaller bubble of water slid in over his tongue like an ice cube that dissolved immediately, wetting his dry mouth and throat. He swallowed gratefully, glad of the drink, but gladder still that Loki hadn’t gone anywhere. He was feeling much warmer now.

He hummed as Loki kissed him, nuzzling into him. He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t angry. And for all the brief moments where he’d felt a tingle of fear, where Loki’s voice had cut, he’d known deep down that Loki wouldn’t _really_ hurt him; not if he asked him to stop.

“I love you too,” he said. “And I trust you.” He smiled. If Loki enjoyed what they did... well, that had been the whole point, hadn’t it?

The news, the scepter, and Thor all felt worlds away.

Steve let himself close his eyes -- just for a moment -- and breathe deeply, relaxing into Loki’s hold.

  


He was glad that Steve had relaxed enough to sleep, but he knew that he had more that he needed to tend to. He didn’t want to disturb him, though, and given what they had done before he slept, he knew that not being there when Steve woke just was not an option.

He could tell from his breathing that Steve was well and truly out of it, so he spoke softly, but calmly.

“JARVIS, if you could please tell Tony and Bruce that I don’t think I’ll be of much use to them for the rest of the day, I’d appreciate that. And let me know when dinner is, please.”

“ _Yes sir.”_ JARVIS responded, and Loki marveled at how the AI knew to keep his voice down as well.

He began making lists of things he needed to do; he returned the water to the bathroom and considered how likely it would be that he could talk Steve into sharing a bath with him, where they could both soak in the heat, and maybe let the hot water relax them into talking comfortably with one another.

Hot springs, he had noticed, had the tendency to make that happen.

He would need to feed Steve, get him to drink something more than the tiny bit he had managed. Something with honey, perhaps, to make up for all of the screaming and crying he’d done.

And they would need to talk, for sure. Once Loki knew Steve had been properly cared for.  
All he had to do now was wait for him to wake up. And if he drifted off himself… surely there was no harm in that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a lot of under-negotiated kink, and while no lasting damage comes of it, there is emotional unease as a result.


	41. Forty-One

Steve woke slowly, with a low groan in his throat. His head felt foggy and his throat dry and sore, but he was warm and snug and didn’t want to get up for his morning run in the cold.

He opened his eyes to blink, then frowned. Ok, scratch the morning run, because it wasn’t morning... The light coming in the window was all wrong. But he was in bed, and Loki was wrapped around him...

The events of the afternoon came back to him, and Steve sank into his pillow with a sigh. Right. Thor had returned. And then he and Loki had been aggressively intimate. And then, he’d apparently gone and fallen asleep.

And even though Loki had things to do -- magic to refine and the scepter to locate -- he’d stayed right beside him. Steve couldn’t help but smile lovingly at him, and leaned in to gently kiss his partner’s lips.

  


Loki’s eyes opened immediately, closing to slits again at the unexpected light.

He turned his face towards Steve and blinked a few times until things swum into focus. He didn’t think he’d slept at all deeply, but that was fine. Unlike Steve, he hadn’t been put through a grinder of pain and pleasure before they had curled up.

“You’re awake.” He said softly, surprised by the sight of the smile on Steve’s face. “How--” he coughed a little at how his throat stuck; Steve wasn’t the only one who needed to drink something, apparently. He tried again. “How are you feeling after your nap?”

  


Steve uncurled himself, extending his legs and rolling his shoulders back, groaning softly at the soreness that had settled in there as a result of having his arms bound. He stretched, trying to loosen up a bit, then rolled his head to work out a crick in his neck.

“A little stiff,” he admitted. “But good. Better.” He could use a glass of water, a shower, and maybe an aspirin (though he didn’t plan on telling Loki that last part), but overall he felt more solid than he had before. More present; grounded.

“Thanks for staying,” he said, scooting up to prop himself up on his elbows. “I appreciate it.” He reached out and ran a hand through Loki’s sleep-mussed hair. “Though Bruce and Tony are probably getting ideas by now,” he added with a small and sheepish grin.

  


“We have a separate apartment.” He pointed out. “Whatever ideas they have, they aren’t wrong. Or new.” Steve’s hand in his hair felt good, calming, and he hadn’t realized how instantly worried he’d become upon waking, until then.

Seeing Steve trying out his muscles, hearing him admit to minor discomfort, was reassuring. It wasn’t the blanketing fine that they all too often fell under, and that was, as far as Loki could tell, for the best.

“I had JARVIS pass along that you and I would be down here until dinner time, and that I wasn’t feeling up to working on the sceptre today. Given what they saw of me before, I doubt they will think anything but that you have a hard job of consoling me.”

His lips twisted in sardonic amusement at the relative truth of the statement.

“That said, what would you say to taking to the new bath? I haven’t tested it out since I finished it, and I think that some hot water after all of that would likely not be a bad idea.”

  


Steve hummed in agreement; Loki did have a point about the separate apartment. Tony and Bruce knew Steve and Loki were an item, and if they snuck off to be together, well... It wasn’t a secret they had to hide, at least. Sometimes he forgot, and felt his heart skip in panic when someone walked in on a display of affection between the two of them, but for the most part, he was acclimating to the openness he and Loki were able to enjoy -- at least within the walls of the tower.

He perked up at the mention of a bath. He could smell his own muskiness, from the combination of sweat and semen and salve he’d been marinating in while he slept. He definitely needed a wash, and the idea of a nice hot soak was one of the few things he’d willingly quit the warmth of the bed for.

“I could go for a bath,” he replied, slipping out from under the blankets and cautiously getting to his feet, waiting for Loki to lead the way.

  


Loki started the water running before he was even out of the bed, straightening while keeping a careful eye on Steve, just in case his knees went weak or couldn’t hold him for any reason. Loki didn’t think he’d done any damage in that area, but better safe than sorry. And he was already too much of the latter for his own tastes.

“I had JARVIS find me some photos of the hot springs of your world, so that I could incorporate them into the design somewhat.” He offered, as easy enough conversation between their room and the next. “I can still modify it as needs be, of course.” His nerves were showing he was sure.

  


Once they were settled in, he would have to bring more cool water for them to drink, but that would be in just a bit.

The water pouring into the pool was warm, and he was impatient, so he began duplicating the droplets that fell at a much faster rate, so that they would be able to climb into it faster.

It was, he decided, very much for the best that he had chosen not to go back to work with Team Pseudo-Science today. It would be embarrassing if he ran out of seidhr, if he ran dry while working, because of how much of it he was casually exhausting now. But it was good, it was for a good cause.

He climbed the stairs he’d carved of stone he’d summoned, and stepped into the shelf in the water. He paused, one foot out and one foot in, testing the temperature before turning back to offer his partner his hand.

“I think this will feel good on your back and shoulders, and… well, everywhere else.” He murmured, thinking of how he’d opened Steve’s ass, and how the water might wash inside of him, though he was sure that just in the time they had rested that Steve would have grown tight again.

He just hoped the sensation would not be too unpleasant for him.

  


The hot springs in their bathtub were beautiful, and Steve paused to admire Loki’s handiwork. Steam rose and skimmed over the bubbling surface of the vivid blue water, surrounded by moss-softened stones. It was picturesque, the chunks of uncut rock smoothing into the polished marble walls and floor of the bathroom almost seamlessly.

“Wow,” he murmured, smiling, taking Loki’s hand and allowing him to lead him up the steps, and then down into the water.

The temperature was perfect. Hot, but not quite scalding. He exhaled slowly as he sank into it, sitting on the shelf Loki had built and letting his head rest back on a spongy pillow of moss. “This is... wow.” Loki was right. The heat targeted the ache in his arms, his back, his neck, his... other places. His backside still smarted slightly, but when he dipped his hand back behind him, everything felt normal. He blushed slightly, pulling his hand away and brushing it against the side of his leg under the water, thankful that any red on his cheeks could be attributed to the warmth of the water.

“This feels great,” he told Loki, smiling. “Soap?”

  


Loki watched him closely while trying not to stare.

He didn’t seem to be moving in ways that would suggest he was anything other than just what he said-- stiff, a little sore. Good.

“Here.” Loki passed the soap over from where it lay, on a small shelf built just for it. “Sud carefully, though. I don’t know if any nails broke the skin, but if they did, that will sting.”

He wanted to be the one washing Steve, the one to run gentle hands all across his skin, soothing while checking for any signs of hidden harm or deeper damage than his partner was letting on. But he didn’t really want to presume, and what was more, even through the ripples in the water, he could see the dark splotches all down Steve’s chest.

He called the rag out of the sink, the one he had used to clean Steve before, and rinsed it in the water of the bath, before offering it over as well.

“No doubt you’ll be sore for a bit, even after the hot water is done with you, but I’m sure that between your healing and the sheer amount of salve we used, it should not bother you overlong. You may wish to postpone any workouts you had planned that involve stripping down, though. I can only imagine the reactions if the Avengers saw your bruises and thought I was…” he almost said _abusing you_ , but that was what he had done, wasn’t it? Consensual abuse, true, but it seemed that that, like other things, was less acceptable here than elsewhere.

“...trying to cause you real damage.” He finished instead, mindful of the pause. He winced at his own lack of tact.

  


Steve rolled his eyes at Loki’s fussing. “You know, I meant what I said about me not breaking. This is nothing. Don’t sweat it, okay?” He took the cloth and the soap, sudsing up the washcloth and then running it up and down his arms, scouring away any of the sweat that remained, before turning his attentions to his chest.

The scratches smarted, but he kept his face even, avoided flinching. He didn’t want to make Loki feel worse; not over a few thin scratches.

“I’ll make a point not to rip my shirt off while bringing sandwiches to you guys in the lab,” he said with a smile, doubting it would be a problem. He didn’t exactly make a point of running around shirtless, even when he was working out. And some of his bruises were in places he didn’t intend for anyone but Loki to see. “And if anyone notices, we can just tell them we were sparring,” he added with a shrug. He doubted anyone in the tower would think Loki had deliberately tried to seriously hurt him; not after living with him this long.

He worked the cloth over his stomach, downward under the water, scrubbing away any residue that remained from earlier. Wringing out the cloth and then adding more soap, he turned and offered the rag to Loki. “Could you get my back?”

  


Loki took the rag gladly and moved closer that he might reach.

“I would like, if you don’t mind terribly, for us to talk through what we did today. I know you think I am coddling you, but… it is so easy for this kind of love making to take a turn for the very bad, very quickly. And… and the more I know about what you felt, how you felt about what I did to you, the more I will know for the next time. Provided, of course, that you want there to be a next time.”

He was careful, using light touches over Steve’s shoulder blades where he was sure it would be sore.

“I know you don’t like to talk about these things. I know it makes you uncomfortable. But I know you have seen more than your fair share of hurts and heartaches and had your own host of night terrors. I would hate for anything I do to factor into those, or add to the burden in any way. The talking afterwards is as much a part of caring for you as… well.” He fell silent and focused for a few breaths on just wiping the sweat and salve and whatever else off of Steve.

“And as for ripping your shirt off while delivering sandwiches, if you felt the urge to do so once these have healed and disappeared, I for one would not object.” He was going for some levity to keep from weighing down the bath with too much talk of anxiety inducing proposals. He didn’t know if it worked or not, from this side of Steve.

  


Steve chuckled at the last bit. “You’d probably be the only one. I’d never hear the end of it from Tony, and I think Bruce sees enough good shirts go to waste as it is,” he joked back, though his humor emerged slightly forced.

He didn’t really want to talk about... all the rest. Mainly because then he’d have to think about it. And part of what he needed from what they did was the freedom _not_ to have to think. But Loki wanted to talk about it -- maybe needed to talk about it -- and Steve had been selfish enough already.

He sighed, reaching back to catch Loki’s hand as it skimmed the cloth lightly over his shoulder, covering it with his own as he looked back.

“The worst nightmares that have you in them are the ones where I lose you,” he said quietly, that confession leaving him feeling every bit as open and raw as he’d been when Loki had him chained to the bed. He swallowed, sucking on his swollen lower lip, tonguing over the damage. “You didn’t... Look. I know that wasn’t you. I mean, the persona you were doing. Not anymore, anyway. And yeah, it freaked me out a little, but... it was just a little. Just enough for a bit of a rush,” he explained.

  


Loki felt his eyes sliding away from Steve’s while he spoke.

“If anything I said-- or did-- upset you more than the rest, I want to know.” He had a small lump of dread low in his stomach, but he pushed past it. “Creating the rush, that’s fine. But if anything pushed you past that, made you feel something closer to real fear-- you’re right, it’s a persona. It can be changed, evolved, developed into something perfectly suited for you and I. Something that will make this… easier, better, smoother. And the discussion of the physical, what you liked, what you didn’t… what you think you might like in the future… that will all make it safer. Safer for you on the receiving end, and safer for me. As it is, any time I introduced something new, without having spoken to you of it, without checking first, I ran the risk of causing you to use your word and end it. It is only by sheer luck-- and probably a healthy dosage of your own stubbornness-- that we didn’t. I am telling you now that doing what we did today can be better, can be more controlled. Can give both of us a good deal less anxiety of the bad sort, if we can just… just talk about what we want, what we get from it. I won’t be mad, or upset with you, no matter what you say or think or want, alright? And you can ask me for anything, or ask me not to do anything, that’s what this is about, Astin Min. Not necessarily sheltering you or treating you like you are fragile. If I truly believed that, you would bear no marks. No, this is about making it safe for you and us… making it better.”

He spoke earnestly, intensely, trying to drive his point home.

  


Steve took a deep breath. He tried to think back through everything that had been done and said, though some of it blurred together now in his mind. There had been a few moments... A few things that hadn’t done as much for him... and a few words Loki had said that perhaps cut a bit close to home. But none of it was the stuff of nightmares, or that would endanger his relationship with Loki. Unless...

He _did_ remember, through the semi-lucidity he’d been in at the time, the way Loki had looked at him with a frightened and heartbroken look on his face when they’d been done. He’d brought that anxiety on to Loki.

_That_ hurt a lot more than the manhandling of magic hands.

“If _you_ don’t want to do this, we don’t have to,” he said, slow and quiet. “I mean, if it stresses you out, there’s other stuff we can do, I still like the more, uh, normal stuff. I don’t-- I don’t want you to feel like you have to indulge me or anything if you don’t like it.” There was obviously something wrong with him for getting off on being battered and humiliated -- something sick in the head -- and Loki didn’t deserve to get dragged into that. Steve shouldn’t have asked it of him or let it go that far.

  


“Did I say I didn’t want to?” He asked, perhaps a little more sharply than he should have. He softened his tone immediately. “Sorry. I only mean-- I would tell you. I have been, I think, reasonably forthright in telling you when I do not like something, whether or not I am doing it for your benefit. Like working with SHIELD-- you know I dislike it, and you know I am doing it because it is what you have asked of me. This though? I _enjoy_ what we did. I _like_ feeling like I have control of something, when so much of my life feels out of my hands. I do not think of this brand of sex any more or less normal than any other, but I do think, when it comes to mixing passion and pain, there must be rules and lines… You would not put all of your strength into a sparring match with another agent, without knowing what they were capable of giving or taking would you? Likewise… I would not want to use the control you are giving me and exert too much force in the wrong way.” He took a moment, searching for what else he needed to say.

“You cannot give up control fully unless you can trust me. And I cannot accept it fully unless I can trust myself. Without feedback from you, I can’t do that. If you truly do not wish to speak of it, perhaps you could… write it? Write me a letter, make a list of what was good and what wasn’t… whatever is comfortable to you. Only I need to know. You need to have a means of communicating with me. Otherwise it would be like doing what we just did without the benefit of your being able to speak at all, much less having a safe word.”

  


Steve almost pointed out that Loki hadn’t safeworded out during the whole mirror episode when he’d clearly been more distressed than he’d told Steve at the time, but held his tongue at the last moment. He _really_ didn’t want to think about that right now, on top of everything else. And Loki had a point with some of the rest.

Not that it made it easier.

It helped, knowing Loki had at least enjoyed it too. That Steve wasn’t entirely alone in that depravity, and that Loki thought it ‘normal’ enough, or claimed to. But it was still difficult to actually _ask_ for all of it; when it happened, when Loki chanced upon something and all Steve had to do was react as it was already happening, he didn’t have to worry about asking for something that would be rejected. That would go too far and earn him a look of horror. But when Loki demanded he list off the specifics of what he enjoyed and wanted more of, whether it was in the heat of the moment or in the quiet of the bath after the fact, he clammed up.

He closed his eyes for a moment, shifting in the water and feeling it lap against his chest in gentle ripples. The last time they’d bathed together like this, they’d wound up talking about Thanos, and right now he found that topic preferable. But Loki needed to trust him and Steve knew he ought to communicate; it wouldn’t be fair, otherwise, to leave all the burden of what they did on Loki’s shoulders.

Reacting, he reminded himself, was easier. He started with things that had already happened:

“I liked it when you picked me up. Liked being pushed against the wall. Like the being tied up and pinned down,” he rattled off, a bit flatly. “Biting, good. Nails, good. Choking is, ah, good.” He looked down. “Suspended in air was a bit weird. Tied up to the bed was better. The stuff with your seidhr was interesting but I think I like it better when it’s mostly just you because you feel-- warmer? I’m not sure. Um.” He glanced back up at Loki to see if this was acceptable. If it was what he wanted, or if he required more.

  


Loki nodded along, taken by surprise when Steve gave in so quickly, but as he listened he found himself having to listen between his words. He didn’t sound enthused or even pleased to be talking about it, and Loki felt bad for pushing him, but at the same time… At the same time, he hadn’t said that he outright was uncomfortable with anything. And he had said before that he’d been freaked out a few times. That meant he was holding back.

“And the things you just didn’t like? Would it be easier if I… if I listed off for you things, and you just said yes or no? I promise not to ask questions about why you like it or how, unless I need clarification, and anything you want to volunteer, as far as further information goes, will just be a bonus for me. Is that-- does that sound easier? And yes can mean you’d enjoy if I did it again, and no is if you don’t want me to ever again. and if you land somewhere in between… I don’t know, you could just shrug.”

Playing a game of five hundred questions was not the ideal way of doing this, but until he could convince Steve to be a little more upfront about his wants, his wishes and his likes and dislikes, perhaps it was the best way to put him at ease and still learn what Loki needed to.

“Or again, I could write it out, perhaps a… a questionnaire, like the ones at the end of the lesson books I have been reading. A scale of one to five, where you rate your enjoyment of certain aspects of our lovemaking. Would that be… you’re uncomfortable, and I’m _sorry_. But I would rather have you be uncomfortable now than hurt later, or have the both of us uncomfortable because I didn’t know something I ought to.”

  


Steve almost laughed at the idea of filling out a _questionnaire_ about the sex they’d had. It sounded absurd. But then, so was his inability to just _talk about it,_ he realized, smile fading _._ The fact he was struggling this much to communicate about the damn thing had to be verging on pathetic if Loki was stretching so far for solutions.

“The yes-or-no thing might work,” he offered, then grimaced.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m... I swear I’m not _trying_ to be difficult. This is just... I don’t really know how to talk about this and--” he searched for the words to express where the problem lay, “--I’m terrified I’m going to say something or do something that will freak you out or cross a line, and I don’t know where the line is anymore because all of this is so far past what seems normal and sane that I don’t even--” he broke off, running out of explanation mid-sentence.

He breathed in and out to steady himself, avoiding looking Loki in the eye. “I know you said you wouldn’t judge me. But I’m judging myself pretty hard right now, and I don’t even really understand why I’m liking certain things I _really_ shouldn’t like, and I’m scared to look at those reasons too close.”

  


“It’s not that you’re being difficult. It’s that you’re uncomfortable, and like you said, you’re judging yourself and shying away from examining too closely, and that is exactly the sort of thing I should know. Because if I asked you in the middle of it to tell me what you liked about it, that might be… disquieting. Might take you away from enjoying it.” He shrugged.

“I don’t want you to judge yourself, though. And if there is anything in particular that is bothering you… just know that you are a _good man_. I come from a society of berserker warriors who are practically savages. I have lived for many of your lifetimes. I doubt that anything you could want or think or say would frighten me or cross a line. Now, are there things I am unwilling to do? Of course. Everyone has them. For example, if it is something that you flush, it is not a thing I have interest in. That seems basic, but some people do have those interests. That does not make them bad people. Just as whatever you like does not make you… wrong. I know you have learned otherwise, but that kind of thinking does no good for you. I think that learning to accept yourself for who you are is important. Your likes, your wants, that is part of it.”

And he knew how hypocritical that was. But he did say ‘who’ and not ‘what’, so he counted it as honest.

“Talking through it is what makes it sane, Steve. It’s what makes it okay. Otherwise we are flailing blindly in the dark, and no one who does that can be surprised if someone gets injured.”

  


Steve looked up from the surface of the water, where the light from the ceiling fixture danced over the ripples and a thin haze of steam still rose in tiny tendrils, and glanced over at Loki. His partner was looking at him seriously, but sincerely. Perhaps a tad frustrated by this point, but demonstrating patience and understanding above and beyond what Steve deserved.

He had no idea how he’d managed to be so lucky.

“Thanks,” he said, turning in toward Loki and moving closer so he could kiss him on the cheek and lean against him. “For putting up with me in all this. And... everything.” Accepting some things would come harder than others. And he couldn’t quite believe that there was nothing wrong with some of his desires; if not morally, then psychologically. But knowing that Loki, at least, would love him in spite of those flaws, was a relief he felt grateful for.

“I love you,” he reiterated, because it felt like it bore repeating. “And I did like earlier, a lot. So, thank you for that too.”

  


“That is the most important part. You are okay with it, and so am I, and as long as we keep talking, make sure we’re both still okay with it… everything will be just fine, in the real way. I love you too. We’re going to be okay.”

He knew he should press for those questions and answers, but he thought they could at least take a few moments, revel in the hot water, and put it off.

He reached out for Steve’s hand and took it in his own.

“I promise I will always do my best to keep you safe first, happy second, and as comfortable as it is in my power to keep you.” He bumped their heads together gently. “Thank you for saving me from the person I was, and helping me see what I can be, with you. It isn’t ‘putting up with you’ or anything like that. I am so fortunate to have you.”

He floated some cool water over from the tap at the sink, and offered Steve another mouthful.

“Have a drink, and we can talk about those yes or no questions when you’re ready. Sound good?”

  


Resting his head against Loki’s, Steve smiled. “I think God or the universe or whatever is calling the shots must’ve decided we were both due for a little good luck when we ran into each other,” he mused. After all Steve had been through in the war, and all Loki had endured with his fall from grace and suffering with Thanos, they needed this happiness. They’d earned it.

And if Steve had been able to save Loki in some way, after failing to save so many others... well, he’d take it. Especially where he was sure Loki had saved him in turn, in more ways than one.

Steve pulled back after a moment and took the mouthful of floating water, swallowing it down, and then in a sudden bout of curiosity, reaching out to prod the floating ball of water. Its surface stretched elastically when he touched it, but didn’t rupture or spill. When he pulled at it, a globule came away, splitting into its own smaller sphere, like a dividing dewdrop.

“That’s pretty nifty,” he said, popping the smaller ball of water into his mouth and feeling it splash on his tongue as it dissolved. His brow furrowed a moment later. “You’re using a lot of seidhr though. Are you holding up alright?”

  


He watched his partner playing with his water and smiled, bringing some to his own mouth and swallowing before he answered.

“I have been using a lot over the last few days working with the others. It is not dangerous. I do not have overmuch left, it is true, but I also have no pressing need for it.” And it had served its purpose well, in holding up Steve and providing him with pleasure. At least, he considered the expenditures worth it.

“It will not matter, though, because I took the day off and I will have more by the time we resume work tomorrow. So I will be fine. And my muscles are soaking out from my exertions the same as yours, so I think by the time we are through here, all should be well.”

He reached up to his own shoulder to pinch at the muscle there before sinking down into the water, so that it hit his chin and almost all of him was under it, warmed and wet and blissful.

He did not comment on his luck in relation to meeting Steve, because it really was just like his luck to meet and fall in love with someone, only to end up endangering their lives and home. Lucky him.

“How are your muscles faring? I know there are surface bruises, but I was actually trying to have the hands work out knots for you.”

  


“They’re pretty good. Water feels nice,” Steve answered, sinking deeper as well. He was a little alarmed Loki had run through so much of his reserve on something so superfluous, but figured it wasn’t his place to chide him about when and how he chose to spend his own magic. Not to mention it would smack of ingratitude, when he’d enjoyed the sex and was presently enjoying the bath.

That said, the part of him that liked to remain prepared didn’t care for the idea of Loki running so low on his primary method of defense. Though nothing seemed likely to attack them imminently -- provided Thor had well and truly defeated whatever had been wrecking London.

He let the heat soak into him, more gentle than the massaging hands, but just as effective if not more at reducing the tension in his body. After a few moments he moved forward and dunked under the surface, letting the water close over his head for several seconds before he re-emerged, running a hand back through his dripping hair to steer it out of his eyes.

“So...” he began, trailing off almost immediately. “What do you want to ask about?”

  


Loki took a long moment to think, to collect his thoughts, before he nodded to himself.

“I think, right now, let’s focus on what we’ve already done, as opposed to options for what we can do in the future. I think discussing too much at once is likely to overwhelm you-- and I don’t mean that you’re breakable by that. Just that it’s a lot to think about and process. And it isn’t as though I have an organized, exhaustive list, anyway.” He shrugged, watching the way the water rippled outwards.

“So being bound you liked, you said-- and if I am wrong feel free to interrupt me. Bound, yes. On solid surfaces, though, not suspended. Right so far? And you told me you wanted me to make you feel small, but when I tried, there were a lot of moments where you fought me back. Is that part of what you want? To fight me? Or was I doing something wrong? -- that isn’t yes or no, I’m sorry.” He was already having a hard time sticking with the limits he had set up for the conversation. He cleared his throat.

“We can take it a step at a time if you like. Does fighting me help you to feel small? Do you want me to make it so that you can’t fight?”

  


Steve paused, thinking about it.

He’d liked when Loki had blindfolded and gently guided him through sucking him off the first time. It had been easy to just give up control and quiet his mind to everything but Loki. But when Loki had slipped into the old-Loki persona he’d picked up during their activities in the spare room, Steve had reacted automatically the way he always had when people had beat on him and bullied him. By mouthing off and fighting back.

“Bound, yes. I think, if we did suspended, I’d want something attaching me to the ceiling or ground. Some sense of gravity,” he clarified, starting with the easy one. “Blindfolded was good too.”

He tilted his head, tipping water out of his ear. “I think... I think when you er, got into character? When you got all sharp and mean, I sort of fought back by default. It was easier to give in when you were firm, but not...” he struggled for the right words.

“I mean, I’d be willing to _try_ more stuff with fighting,” he ventured, trying a different tack. Because the idea of actually physically resisting and being overpowered gave him that same icy hot sense of fear low in his gut as he’d chased after before. And Loki, with his Asgardian strength and his magic, was probably one of the few people who could outmatch him. “But, I also like it when you just sort of boss me around and take care of me, so I can just shut off my brain for a bit. Which sounds really lazy when I say it out loud,” he added with a wry smile. “Sorry.”

  


“Don’t be sorry.” He responded immediately, and reached up to slide his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone, leaving water dripping down the side of his face in its wake.

“That does make a certain amount of sense… but that just means before we begin, you’ll have to let me know which it is to be. Can you do that for me? Just let me know if you feel like fighting or relaxing into it, that time?”

That seemed simple. He would just have to be prepared to either give orders calmly, in a controlled way, or to struggle for it, to dominate with strength and a concentrated effort in invoking his ire. Loki could do that, both or either.

“I can handle that. Now, feeling small. Do you want me to… to make you feel small physically, just by overwhelming you with helplessness, or do you mean small emotionally, as in berating you or telling you that you aren’t good enough? I know you said that my being cruel only made you want to fight, but when I was just disappointed in you…? None of this is wrong, by the way. There are no wrong answers. I just need to know the feelings you are looking for, the feelings you like. So I can give them to you.”

He spread his hands.

“Small can mean many things. Feeling like a child or feeling like an invalid or feeling like a failure. Feeling weak. I don’t need to know why, especially if you do not know yourself, but the more you can tell me, the closer I will get to getting it right. If there were times in the past that you felt the way you want to, things others said or did to create those feelings in you, it may be helpful that I know.”

  


“I’ll let you know,” Steve agreed, nodding. He could manage that much without clamming up into total incoherency, he was sure. “And if you, ah, have anything you’d prefer to try, you can tell me.”

Steve was happy to let Loki experiment, and to try new things. He’d just owe it to Loki to get better about letting him know how he felt about each new thing. Something to work on.

The next bit he contemplated for a few moments before answering: “Physically, I think..” The rush of the fear and the helplessness, he liked. The physical pain he didn’t mind. But the words he was sure would ring in his mind still after the bruises faded, and Loki could be devastatingly perceptive. “I mean, I uh, like it when you call me sweet boy and all,” he clarified. “But I’m pretty good at doing most of the rest for myself,” he added, a bit jokingly, though the humor fell flat. Because he’d been weak and a failure more than enough; and _that_ was the stuff of his damn night terrors. “Disappointed, I guess I could work with. So long as I get to do something right and make you, um. Less disappointed. Proud, I guess,” he added with a shrug, trying to move on.

Having some notion that Loki was pleased always felt good, after all. Especially if that involved Loki finding release through Steve. “Ilikeitwhenyoucometoo,” he added in what felt like all one breath.

  


He’d been about to ask something when Steve had tacked on that rushed bit at the end, and he paused.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly. “I didn’t mean not to come, really… After all that, though, I was just concerned about you. And… I am sorry, too, for making you feel that I might truly have been disappointed in you, and for trying to make you feel like you are a failure. You know neither of those could be further from the truth. You are… sweet boy, you could only ever make me proud of you.” He told him tenderly.

“So would you prefer then that I… as when you took me in your mouth, not the first time, but after that… would you prefer that I instruct you, praise you, talk you through things?” That did seem a good deal milder than what they had just done, and it felt as though he had gone quite a way down the wrong road, but that was alright, provided he learned from it.

“On the other side of the spectrum, I might praise you for how strong you’ve gotten while holding you down, or something like that. Is that more in line with what you want?”

He was beginning, he thought, to understand the shape of the things Steve wanted, and it made him feel relieved, or at least… on more even footing. Though he did still have a couple of questions.

“Also… how much do you want me to hurt you? I mean, do you want me to hit you or… or draw blood? Do you enjoy being marked up and bruised, or is that not as much to your tastes? And… as for things I prefer, I want you to know that I would prefer-- no, I insist-- on not having you bound and gagged simultaneously. I need you to have the ability to tell me if something is wrong, either verbally or with hand signals. That, I am afraid, I am not flexible on, at least until we have done more of this sort of thing, and I feel confident that I can read and understand your levels accurately.”

  


Steve smiled at Loki, in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “I know,” he murmured, because if Loki made him sure of anything, in all his fretting and attentiveness, it was his care for Steve.

“With praise, I think... either one? You don’t have to totally mollycoddle me, I think I’m comfortable enough with some of the things we’ve done that I don’t need it as much now. But the instruction is good. The other thing sounds good too, though,” he remarked, trying to picture it. “Maybe we can try both?” Right now everything was theoretical, and so far he’d found that things he wouldn’t have thought of in a million years did an awful lot for him, discovered purely by surprise. He wasn’t sure he could necessarily predict his reactions at this point.

And as for pain... Steve hesitated, the sense of guilt inching back in. “I, ah... I liked that. When you bit me and other things. When you pulled my hair. If you drew blood, I mean, I don’t know, but I don’t think I’d mind.” He remembered the coppery taste in his mouth after Loki had bit his lip, and how he’d savored it. With the advantage of his healing, it wasn’t like he had to worry about lasting damage the way most people did. But it wasn’t something he’d demand of Loki if his partner seemed less than fully willing.

“And I’m all right with always having an option to tap out. That’s smart,” he acknowledged readily. “And I promise, if I need to use a word or anything, I will. Though...” he paused, frowning. “Would there be a way we could maybe stop one thing or slow down without everything stopping completely?” He didn’t want to risk disrupting everything over one minor discomfort, but also didn’t want to lie to Loki or make him feel guilty in his failure to speak up until later.

 

“Of course.” He hurried to agree. “Of course I-- I mean, as long as you don’t intend to plead with me and have me ignore it, then I see no reason why just asking for it to slow or stop would be a problem. I’ll listen. And if you do want to.. um. Object, and you want me to be able to disregard the objections, then we just… have another word. And if you can’t talk, we have another hand sign. I don’t want you to think there aren’t options. Ever.”

He was trying to be sure they were careful, that they had covered all of the relevant topics.

“I can be as rough with you as you like, within reason.” Loki said calmly, his voice level and his face intentionally open and accepting. He had noted the hesitation, the way Steve canted his head ever so slightly downwards. This must be one of the sticking points that his partner was having problems with. “I don’t mind, and… if you do, and I don’t mean to pressure you but if you need to talk to someone about it, remember that I have lived a very long time, and that I have been in a good many of these sort of situations before. I do understand, to some extent, even the things that I don’t personally find appealing. And I am not going to be disappointed in you or disgusted by anything that you might have to say. Or anything that you ask of me.”

He carefully refrained from asking anything of Steve in turn, because when he had before, Steve had reacted in exactly the way he was worried Loki might. It did not hurt him as it would hurt Steve, though; he was not so new to this world, not so inexperienced. And Steve hated the idea of hurting Loki. That was fine. He could live without it.

And who knew, perhaps once Steve’s horizons had been broadened some, he might reconsider. Now, though, it felt premature.

“Is there anything else in this vein of information that you think I should know?” He asked, having lost track of what, if anything, he had meant to ask next.

  


Steve nodded; different signs and signals, he could definitely work with. He briefly thought of all the radio codes he and the commandos had developed for their own use during the war and smiled. Not that they’d used them for anything to _this_ effect, but still.

He sighed and leaned into Loki, letting his head fall to Loki’s shoulder. He felt bad for letting Loki carry his problems in addition to his own burdens. But at the same time... being allowed to be needy, to rely on someone and be taken care of like this, was something he hadn’t had in a long time. Hadn’t let himself have, since he pushed away so much comfort when he’d been younger, trying to prove he could take care of himself, not realizing how easily he could lose those pillars of support in his life.

He would just have to be here for Loki in turn, and support him when he needed it too. They’d hold one another up.

“I’m pulling a blank, though I’m sure one of us will think of something else later and we can talk about it then,” he said. This conversation had been difficult, though Loki had done everything in his power to make it less so. And Steve was ready for it to be over, at least for now. Maybe later, once he’d had a day or so to think things over, they could come back to it.

He smiled. “Never thought I’d need a debrief after sex. But I think we were more thorough than a lot of post-mission SHIELD briefings,” he remarked, sitting up and stretching, noting that his hands were beginning to wrinkle from the water.

  


“Alright.” Loki noticed Steve looking at his fingers. He understood; his were puckered and waterlogged as well. “Are you ready to get out?” He asked, standing preemptively.

He took the steps and fetched a towel, holding it open for his partner to step into.

“That’s something else,” he realized, waiting for Steve to come to him. “Aftercare. When it’s all said and done, like today when I was afraid to touch you... You’d prefer that I stayed close, held you, got you a blanket, maybe had something to drink ready in advance? Maybe some food as well?” He suggested the last, thinking of how quickly his partner burned through energy, and how much was spent in things like this.

“I don’t ever want to leave you untended, or alone after something as physically and emotionally exhausting as sessions such as these can be.”

He stopped wracking his mind for further questions, though, well aware that they had other worries that would soon be crashing down on them. Thanos, the sceptre… no need to add stress onto themselves, now that they had very effectively de-stressed.

  


Steve smiled, standing and following Loki out of the bath, taking the towel and patting his face, hair, and shoulders dry before wrapping it around his waist in an unnecessary, but habitual act of modesty.

The heat of the bath had eased the stiffness that had set in during his nap, and for all that all this talk of boundaries and preferences had been awkward, he felt physically better than he had since the disastrous morning after their date. Like he’d been scoured free of something toxic, leaving him raw but cleansed.

“I got a bit cold, so blanket wouldn’t hurt. Water was good. Food, I think I’d need to wait on. But honestly...” He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Loki’s waist. “Just holding you and being held after everything was the best part.”

  


“You are ridiculous, elskan. I am so glad of you.” He held Steve to him, silently grateful that this had not gone so badly as he might have expected it to, that they had been the ridiculous,  thoughtless, headstrong creatures that they both were and neither of them had been lastingly hurt by it.

Relief flooded him and he felt almost a little limp, though that may have been partially the time he spent in the water.

“Let us move into the other room. It should be cooler in there. Besides,” he grinned slyly, “Our clothes are in the other room. I have a feeling we should still be wearing what we came down here in, when we go back upstairs for dinner.”

JARVIS had not called them for it yet, so at least they were not late, but that did not mean that they necessarily had much time until it was finished. Or delivered. Or whatever was on the schedule.

“And I could use a break from looking at this bathroom. Goodness knows I have spent enough time in here of late.” He let his smile turn to being lopsided, self deprecating. “If you see any changes you think need made, though, let me know, and I will see to it. Maybe tomorrow.”

  


Steve chuckled when Loki called him ridiculous. “Right back at you, dollface,” he teased, lifting up on to his toes to kiss Loki’s forehead.

Loki brought up a good point about retrieving their clothes, still scattered as they were on the floor of the spare room. Though at least they’d come off early enough that they’d still be clean and bear no signs of how they’d occupied their time.

“I think we both have an unfortunate tendency to retreat into bathrooms when something is up,” he observed, walking out into the bedroom and feeling the temperature drop a solid ten degrees. “And no complaints about the decor from me.” Steve’s needs were frankly few, so long as he could wash regularly. The hot spring bath was an absolute luxury, and he saw no need to further tax Loki’s seidhr.

He moved back through the apartment to retrieve their clothing, handing Loki’s trousers to him as he returned to the bedroom a few moments later. “How’s the scepter hunt going anyhow?” he asked, figuring the topic had a good chance of coming up at dinner.

  


Loki took the pants and shook them out, mentally mourning the wrinkles. He should have hung them in the bathroom before they bathed. Nothing to be done for it now.

“It’s a little difficult to say.” He hedged, putting one foot in. “Because I don’t fully understand what it is they are doing, and no matter how well I describe it, I don’t think they can wrap their minds around what I am doing… and yet we are providing information that one another needs. On my side of things, I am trying to find how I knew that you had taken up the sceptre-- there was a… Tony calls it a wave length, a signal. I heard and felt something that made me know, and if I can tap into whatever that receptor within me is, I should, I hope, be able to follow it to the sceptre. Tests on me have been returning reasonably good results, if I leave a bit of my seidhr with an item and attune my consciousness to it, and then have someone try moving it, but that is a knowing decision. We are having to bet that I left some of myself with the sceptre, and hope that it is enough. On Bruce and Tony’s side, they have been using those same objects I am putting seidhr into, and measuring the radiation that their devices can read coming from it as a result. We’ve gathered enough data that we are supposed to begin applying that to a larger scale, so again, with any luck…” He trailed off, shrugging.

The work was interesting, and their science was giving him new ideas for ways to apply his seidhr, but he was not at all sure it would work… and even if it did, he wasn’t sure he wanted it to, since that would mean giving control back to SHIELD.

Loki did not like having to beg and barter, particularly not for something that concerned his and his partner’s lives.

  


“I wondered how that worked,” Steve murmured, pulling his clothes back on, glad he’d taken the time to fold them before they’d gotten into things. “You knowing I was in trouble, I mean. It was pretty lucky for me.” It was a bit disconcerting that Loki retained a connection to the scepter, knowing what it could do and how much it could be used to harm, but if they could take advantage of it to keep it from falling into the wrong hands... well, that was a good thing, right?

And the fact that Loki was comfortable enough to let Bruce and Tony run tests without panic or demanding Steve be present, after his deep concerns about being tested on back at SHIELD, brought a smile to his face. The three of them seemed to work like a well-oiled machine, from what Steve could tell when he checked in on them, with none of the paranoia or snide jabs that had been present when he and Loki had initially arrived. It was good to know Loki had friends here, even when Steve wasn’t around. He had support. Family, Natasha had called it -- though that killed the smile quick enough. The Avengers were supposed to be a family, but they were still a dysfunctional one. He hadn’t heard back from Clint yet, and if Thor came around to New York again...

Thor, despite being in London, remained the elephant in the room. Steve gnawed on his lip, wondering if the subject was safe to broach. They’d worked off a good amount of Loki’s tension after all. And if Thor came by sooner rather than later, and they _hadn’t_ had a chance to talk things over--

Steve sighed, finishing buckling his belt and looking over at Loki as he tried to figure out the best angle of approach. “You seemed pretty worried earlier, when we were watching the news,” he said. “Is there-- do you want to talk about it at all?”

  


Loki huffed out a soft laugh, the sound sharper than he wanted it to be.

“That wasn’t concern, Steve, it was selfishness and jealousy and… disappointment, I suppose.” He shrugged one shoulder, smoothing at the front of his pants.

“Thor has come close to death many a time. It was ever my job to keep him from it… and yet it seems when he needed me most, he elected to choose this mortal woman instead. A mortal woman too weak to even pull him out of harm’s way. And if he had died, it would be because I was unable to help… and unwanted besides.” He looked up at Steve, then away, not sure that he could put the feelings to words in a way he would understand.

“I do not want to return to Asgard. I do not necessarily want Asgard to know I am here. But Thor… if our roles were reversed, I would have gone behind Odin’s back, would have found him. Tried to help, or at least… once, I would have done all of this. Before I was the creature-- before I knew I was--” He stopped himself and shook his head. “He has stopped thinking of me as a brother, or a friend, and I should expect no less, for I have forced myself to do the same. Vocally. Vengefully. But… even so, in danger, if he did not have all of Asgard behind him, if it were possible to have only Thor and not the weight of his crown, his people… if he were the young prince I grew up with, and I was in the same danger, I would want him at my back. And I suppose part of me still wants that. And I hate myself for it. And part of me is resentful that with him in danger, he did not come to me. And the disgusting side of me that you hate is angry that he lived, because his survival just goes to show that he doesn’t need me. And I still would want him at my back though he does not want me at his. And the worst of that is the danger that I would be putting him in…” He stopped, heaving air into his lungs and trying to dispel the tight knot in his throat.

“I have many feelings on the subject, and they are very tangled. I do not know that I will ever get them loose. But I can only conclude that he knows where I am-- it would take but one query to Heimdall, and he has had ample time to make it-- he merely chooses not to see me, not to have any more to do with me. And it is still selfish that I am glad of that, and angry and hurt by it too. Because as you said, we could use the might of the Aesir on our side against Thanos, yet…” He shook his head and turned, unsure when he had begun his pacing.

“I… realize that I am not an easy man to understand.” He shrugged apologetically.

  


Steve reached out and took Loki’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’m not looking for easy,” he said gently.

He didn’t fully understand what Loki was saying or feeling. The closest analogue he had to Thor and Loki’s dynamic was his own relationship with Bucky, and even that only bore a small handful of resemblances. But he was going to try, and even if he didn’t fully get what was going through Loki’s head, he could still be present as support.

“We don’t know how Thor thinks of you,” he reminded him. “Last I saw him, he was still calling you ‘brother.’ Anything since then, we can only speculate about. Maybe... Maybe Heimdall wasn’t around and he couldn’t find you. Or maybe he didn’t have time, or -- Whatever his reasons for not coming after you or roping you into things, we can only guess at them. It could be like you say, or it could be something totally innocuous. We don’t know any more than was on the news.” Steve couldn’t pretend to know Thor that well, and he wouldn’t assume to know more than Loki about his own brother. But he also wouldn’t assume the worst.

“I know what it’s like to get left behind when someone you care about goes and throws themselves into danger,” he added quietly, tugging on Loki’s hand to get him to sit next to him. “When Bucky was shipping out, and the army wouldn’t take me...” he looked down. “I was pretty upset. I was mad at myself for being weak, at the recruiters for refusing to take me, at Bucky for going where I couldn’t follow, even though I couldn’t blame him for enlisting since I’d wanted to do the same for ages... and I was terrified he’d get himself killed and he’d leave me for good. So I was happy for him for looking so sharp in his uniform and angry with him for ditching me and terrified for him because guys were dying in droves over there, and... It was complicated. But I think that’s normal when you love someone.”

If Steve had any doubts that Loki still held some love for his brother, they’d been banished by the look on Loki’s face when Thor had been in peril on the news; his voiced desire to oversee his brother’s funeral rights should the worst happen.

“And Bucky, for the record, was _not_ happy when he found out I joined up. Because he wanted me as far away from the fighting as possible,” he added with a half-shrug. “Look, just because Thor got through one fight without you doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you, or maybe need you in other ways. And I think, if he got a chance to see you now... I think he’d be thrilled.” Steve could never get Bucky back. But Thor had a chance to get his brother back, as did Loki. He’d do anything he could to help make that a reality.

“Not to mention,” he pointed out, smiling teasingly, “ _you’re_ hardly in a place to complain about anyone shacking up with a mortal.”

  


“Thrilled.” Loki repeated flatly, frowning.

“Steve, my ‘brother’ has never _seen_ me. Not as I truly am, beneath my false faces and the lies of 'our father’. And if he did, it would be his first impulse to kill me. I highly doubt he would be glad to see me, whether I am blue at the time or not. And especially now-- he would likely be the quickest to accuse me of ensorcelling you, or at the very least leading you astray.”

He hunched in on himself, his shoulders raising.

“It’s probably for the be--” He was interrupted by JARVIS.

“ _Excuse me, Mr. Loki; Commander Rogers, however you asked to be alerted when dinner was ready, and Mr. Stark has asked that you be invited upstairs if you are not otherwise engaged in a horizontal hula.”_

Loki snuck a glance at the expression on Steve’s face, braced for embarrassment.

“Please tell them we will be right up.” He said, and made a trip to his dresser, searching for a shirt that would not look as though it had just spent time wadded up for an hour or more.

Loki knew he must sound ungrateful, but he had never met Bucky, never would get to, and what Steve knew of Thor was too little and skewed, like everyone else’s images of him, but not truly having known him.

But he didn’t want to talk about it any more. He didn’t like accepting the blame, but the only person to blame for his discomfort was himself. It was he who had driven Thor away. It was his infernal ancestry that caused this… nothing here was not his fault. And he hated knowing that.

“I suppose we shouldn’t keep them waiting. Are you almost ready?” He asked Steve, happy for the distraction that dinner offered.

  


JARVIS’ direct quotation of Stark’s words had Steve blushing and burying his face in a hand with a groan. So much for appearing subtle. He’d probably have to endure a handful of lewd comments when they got upstairs. Though, he reminded himself, the fact that some off-color joking and innuendo were the worst he had to expect, compared to what he’d spent most of his life fearing, was a significant improvement and one he was grateful for.

He frowned, however, thinking of Loki’s last words about Thor before they were interrupted. He didn’t think a thousand years of family would go away just because Loki was the wrong race, not when Thor had thought so little of the fact Loki was adopted as to mention it as a cavalier afterthought.

But he couldn’t presume to know Thor’s mind, and he sighed. “Well, I still think he’d be happy to have his brother back. And if he isn’t, he oughta. And if he does try to hurt you or drag you back to Asgard...” he paused, then shrugged with a small smile. “Well, I know for a fact that my shield holds up pretty damn well against that hammer of his.” He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but if forced to pick a side, he’d put himself firmly in front of Loki without hesitation.

He looked down at his stocking feet, wondering if he needed to put on shoes, and then deciding against it. While he and Loki did have to leave the apartment, they weren’t leaving the building, and he’d walked around the penthouse barefoot plenty of times while they’d been staying up there. “Yeah, I’m ready,” he agreed, standing up and then slinging an arm around Loki’s shoulders. “Let’s get some food.”

  


The idea of Steve pitting himself against Thor for his sake was simultaneously calming and chilling. He did not want to see either of them injured by the other's hand and yet... That Steve would choose him above Thor? That would be a first, as far as he was concerned. He did not think anyone had been inclined to do that before.

"Food sounds wonderful. Though perhaps we should have some small supply here for if we do not feel so up to facing the others, one of these times." Not that he was complaining. It was good to have an excuse to get away from the line of questioning they had been on. Which was unfair, he knew. Making Steve answer things he was uncomfortable with and then dodging his own discomforts.

But the damage was done. He led his partner down the hall and to their doorway, pausing only briefly to be certain that he was following before Loki moved on and to the elevators.

He felt as if he were forgetting something, but he supposed it was only the paranoia of having remained hidden for so long.

They slid smoothly onto the penthouse floor and when the doors opened, there was something wonderful about knowing the worst they would have to face were playful jibes about what had been going on below. And they could not even begin to guess the half of it.

Still, Loki pressed his hand against Steve's back, a reassurance of his place beside him.

"You ready?" He murmured, out of earshot in case Steve had any last minute reservations. He knew how uncomfortable this could be for him, potentially.

  


“I’ll swing by the bodega tomorrow and pick some stuff up,” Steve said. They didn’t have much yet in the way of cooking utensils, pots and pans, or flatware, but he could get some simple foods that didn’t require much cooking and borrow some dishes from upstairs in the interim. The kitchen had a microwave, which Steve decided was probably one of his favorite inventions to come along during his time in the ice, due to the sheer convenience it afforded, and they could heat things up in there until they got things to use for the oven and stove. “Let me know if there’s anything in particular you want,” he told Loki as they made their way down the hall.

Bacon could be cooked in a microwave, right?

(He’d have to look into getting a waffle iron too...)

His mind drifted on the ride up, forming vague lists of things he ought to get, roughly outlining a budget, and considering the pros and cons of living off takeout and pizza. He blinked when Loki put a hand on his back with an expression of slight concern. “You keep asking me that,” he pointed out, curious. He leaned in to press a quick peck to Loki’s cheek. “I’m fine. And hungry. Come on.” He took Loki’s hand and dragged him out to the common area, where the smell of spices and the hiss of simmering meat filled the air and made Steve’s mouth water.

“I officially declare this taco night!” Tony announced, gesturing to the spread on the table. There were soft-shell tacos, sliced lettuce, a bowl of grated cheese, diced tomatoes, rice, beans, and just about everything else Steve had ever seen put on a taco.

“You guys cooked this up yourselves?” he asked.

“We had some time on our hands after you and Snow White skipped out on us,” Tony pointed out, grabbing a pair of paper plates and handing them to each of them. “Don’t get used to it.”

“There’s hot sauce on the table if anyone wants extra heat, but we used the mild spice mix on the meat, so it should be safe for Loki,” Bruce called from the kitchen. “You can go ahead and dish up, I’ll be right out.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “He’s fixing himself the vegetarian option.”

“Where’s Pepper?” Steve asked, pulling a warm tortilla on to his plate and reaching for the cheese as Bruce emerged from the kitchen.

“Dinner out with some investors.” Tony shrugged. “Better her than me.”

  


He followed after Steve, bemused and chastised-- there was his coddling, again. He could not help but stare and be taken aback when Tony thrust their dishes at them. The plate in his hands was flimsy, and there were so many dishes on the table that he was a little afraid they would crumple under the strain of this veritable feast. He was flattered that they had remembered his aversion to spice, but the mere mention that there was an option of it made him afraid he would choose the wrong thing to put on his plate.

“Taco?” He asked, looking first to Steve and then to Tony.

Tony held up the mess he had created, actively spooning more onto the spotted base, piled high with what seemed to be a bit of everything.

“You put it together and then fold it up,” Tony demonstrated, “And eat it.” He lifted it to his mouth, speaking as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, but also as though he’d half-expected this reaction and was excited about it.

“And what is all of this?” Loki asked, unsure he recognized about half of the dishes on the table. Most particularly abhorrent looking was the pile of brown mush that Bruce was ladelling into his flatbread.

“Well, to start with, those are tortillas,” Tony pointed at the pile sitting in a towel on a plate, “Steve’s got his hand in the cheese, Bruce’s dishing up some refried beans--”

“The beans are vegetarian, or at least, these ones are. Some kinds use lard, but we've got the kind without. And those over there are black beans, and then there’s pinto over here-- it’s the same kind of bean as this, only these are mushed up.” Bruce broke in, gesturing at a few of the bowls. Loki felt his mouth tugged upwards by his incredulity. So many variations on a single dish; no wonder the table was so full.

“And that?” He asked, delighted by all of the new things he was being exposed to. “The toxic looking green mash, what is it?” He could hear the excitement in his own voice, and hopefully it would detract from any earlier discomfort he might have caused his friends.

The lettuce he recognized, as well as the tomatoes. The cheese, too, he knew, but it hurt no one to allow them to explain it to him again. There was a skillet of meat, that much he was able to tell by the smell, and something that looked like meat but wasn’t, which Bruce had brought out with him-- the vegetarian option, he understood. Interesting.

He began dishing the bits he did understand while they spoke, sprinkling lettuce and tomato and black beans onto his tortilla.

  


Steve happily filled two tortillas, heaping them up on his plate until he realized he might not be able to roll them fully shut. And even then, he knew he’d be back for seconds. Possibly thirds. No one had eaten much at lunch, given the news, and then... well, he was pretty sure that he’d burned off what little he had managed to get down before everyone lost their appetites. By now, he was starving.

Bruce, meanwhile, was explaining guacamole to Loki, and pointing out the sour cream in case he needed something to cut the spice used in the meat, and Steve took the hot sauce from Tony, applying a few liberal shakes to his own food. A few minutes later they were all sitting, and while the others made small talk, Steve scarfed down his food with joyful abandon.

“S’good,” he announced through a mouthful, when Tony raised his eyebrows at him.

“Do I even wanna know how you worked up that appetite?” Tony asked, smirking. “You’ve, ah, got something--”

Steve wiped his chin on the back of his hand. “There?”

“--On your neck,” Tony finished, grinning.

Steve flushed, wondering belatedly if he should have grabbed a shirt with a collar. Oh well. He rolled his eyes and self-consciously rubbed at the bite mark on his neck, glaring at Tony.

  


Loki watched the interaction with interest, worried how Steve would take the jibes.

He did not seem overly perturbed, and that was for the best, but the glare he leveled at Tony should not have been so hilarious. Maybe he was fine, after all.

“I don’t think there is something on his neck so much as I may have missed a spot.” Loki returned, snickering lightly. At the worst, Steve would feel like he might need to get even with him for it. That would be fun, he thought.

All in all, it seemed the mood was much lighter than what it had been mere hours earlier, and Loki could not be gladder. Also, the sour cream had a wonderful tang to it, alongside its heat killing mildness.

“Tacos, I assume, are another of Earth’s wonders that have yet to have been accepted as pizza toppings?” That seemed like it would be good; sour cream would make the pizza richer, more wonderful.

His plate filled, Loki settled into the seat opposite Banner, and noticed him staring hard at his own plate.

“Bruce? Something wrong?”

“Hm?” He asked, jerking his head up to look at Loki, before his eyes drifted over to Steve, and he snapped them back down towards his food. Loki felt a slow smirk blooming.

“Is something disturbing you?” He asked, concern coloring his voice. Banner, he knew, was fine with the idea of them. But he alone of all of them had no partner. Loki wondered if he was lonely, if the mark was a reminder of what he did not have.

He considered offering to cover it, to cast a glamour over the mark, but he was running so low on his seidhr, he really wasn’t sure the illusion would last through dinner.

At least Steve wasn’t upset at having it pointed out, but poor Bruce…

  


Steve nearly choked at Loki’s words, looking over at him in disbelief. He rubbed a hand at his neck, as if he could scrub the marks away, only to realize he was drawing more attention to the bruises at best, and exacerbating them at worst. He sighed, looking down at his food, then glowering sideways at Loki in a rather exaggerated manner.

“What is with you and pizza, anyway?” Tony mumbled curiously, apparently deciding to leave well enough alone regarding the marks on Steve’s neck. For now.

But Steve’s attention flickered from his taco and over to Bruce when Loki spoke, and he frowned in confusion. Bruce, of all people, had been the first to show nothing but acceptance and kindness and a lack of judgement. Which made it odd that he might be uncomfortable... although, Steve realized, with a prickling sense of guilt, just because he accepted Steve and Loki didn’t mean he wanted to have it rubbed in his face. They were being shamelessly overt right now, and even if Loki had been a dame, it would have been... uncouth.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly spoke up. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. We can-- we won’t--” He looked over at Loki.

“It’s fine,” Bruce assured him. “Don’t worry about it. I was just... thinking of something else.” He looked wistful for a moment, then returned his attention to his food, neatly folding a tortilla that hadn’t been packed even half as full as Steve’s.

Steve looked over to Tony, why merely shrugged. “Hey, does anyone want drinks? Sodas? Green tea for you, Brucie?”

“Yes, please,” Bruce answered.

“Water for me,” Steve told him.  
Tony stood, but barely made it out of his chair before JARVIS piped up:

“ _Excuse me sir, but you have a guest en route in the elevator.”_

Tony frowned. “Who? I didn’t approve anyone for--” he stopped, eyes widening. “Is it Romanoff?”

“ _No, sir.”_

Steve and Tony alike relaxed, and Steve took a bite of taco.

“ _It’s Agent Barton.”_

Steve coughed, choked, and then spit out pieces of food. “What!?”

  


Loki froze.

"Steve," he hissed, "I can't get away-- my seidhr-- and your neck..."

It was amazing how horribly things could turn in the space of a few heartbeats.

He'd thought them safe, but--

In the quiet of their shock and panic, they could all hear the soft cheerful ding as Barton landed.

"Not much warning time there, hey JARVIS?" Tony commented, filling the silence.

A few moments later, Barton came in, his steps heavy.

  


“Hey.” Clint said, one hand curled up to hold the strap of his backpack, slung over one shoulder. He was casual, everything about this made to look as casual as possible. He was out of uniform, his boots were unlaced, he wasn’t armed… and a lot of that was because he had been en route to London to provide backup to Thor, before everything had wrapped up, but still. He didn’t look like he wanted a fight. What he felt, on the other hand…

He was wrung out, having worked himself up into a near frenzy on his way over, and then exhausted himself with that line of thought. It felt a little like being run over, and he could speak on that point from experience.

He’d known Loki was here, but seeing him sitting at the table with his friends all but knocked the breath out of him. He found himself watching him warily, no wall between them now. He half expected to be caught up in another bubble, half expected to be attacked.

He didn’t expect him to be sitting at the table, didn’t expect to see him loading up a plate, the faint lines of recent smiles pressed into the corner of his mouth. He jerked his eyes away when Stark spoke.

“Hey Clint, taco night, if you want to join us?” Tony was about his equal right now in wary casualty, and Clint appreciated the attempt. At least he wasn’t staring at him like he had grown a second head, or might deprive one of them of theirs.

And speaking of wanting to cut peoples’ heads off-- he directed his attention to Steve.

“Depends.” He said. “I came to see if I could borrow one of the guest rooms for the night… and to see how Steve was doing. Last I saw, he was bleeding and unconscious, before he _disappeared_.” The word was sharp, an accusation that he did not bother to hide.

“But I’d love to catch up.” He said, turning his eyes back to Tony, then to Bruce. “I haven’t heard _anything_ from any of you in a while.” Another accusation. He felt like that was what was holding him together right now. Nerves and anger. Somehow, he didn’t think that Natasha would approve.

Clint had planned on keeping the paranoia out of his mind. He’d developed it based on Scofield’s scuttlebutt and a few things recovered from Steve and Loki’s respective quarters, a lunchbox and a drawing pad with pages upon pages of Steve’s drawings of Loki. And he knew that Scofield wasn’t reliable; he’d seen the tapes. He understood what had passed between them. But he couldn’t help but think that maybe there was something to it. Or he hadn’t been able to.

Now, it felt like he was faced with nothing but proof, and it was making his stomach turn. Steve and Loki’s hair were both damp, like they’d just had showers, not that suspicious, he supposed. Though no one else was that way. But it was Steve, surprisingly-- or maybe not. He hadn’t really considered it to this level, but it was Steve who bore the signs that Clint wasn’t crazy, dark and contrasting against the skin of his neck.

He wanted to feel relieved, glad he didn’t have to doubt himself any more. But instead he just felt sick.

_Why? How had this--?_

He shook his head and clenched both jaw and fist. One thing at a time. He wasn’t hungry now, if he had been before. And he wanted answers. If nothing else, getting answers would let him figure out what the hell he was supposed to do, now.

  


Steve tensed as Clint entered the room, looking him over in an immediate threat assessment. There was no bow or quiver present within reach, no tell-tale bulge of a weapon under Clint’s jacket, or pinch across his shirt from a shoulder-holster. Unarmed, then. His expression was worn, and the muscles in his jaw and neck were tight, but his posture was wary, not belligerent. He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t look like he was looking for a fight.

Which made Steve instantly feel guilty. He was treating Clint in his mind like an enemy, when he had been a friend -- one of Steve’s very few friends at SHIELD -- and a comrade-in-arms. Natasha’s words rang fresh in his mind.

Still, he flinched at Clint’s words, looking down at his plate. He’d almost forgotten about how it must’ve looked, right before he and Loki disappeared, when Clint had seen them last.

_He’s angry, he’s worried, he doesn’t understand…_ That was what Natasha had said. But at the moment, Clint mostly just sounded angry.

Still, he’d come by. And he didn’t have an arrow trained on Loki’s throat, which Steve supposed counted for something. Clint had come, and while he was obviously uncomfortable and unhappy about the whole thing, Natasha had been right, and Steve was partially responsible for this whole mess too. He owed Clint an apology, and probably a fair bit more.

Slowly, he stood, making no sudden movements. His pulse had climbed a few ticks, and he took a steadying breath before speaking. “Clint.”

The room had gone quiet, and Tony and Bruce both had eyes on him. Steve did his best to ignore them, keeping his eyes on Clint, and unconsciously shifting his weight to put more of himself between Clint and Loki. “I’m sorry. About... about not calling. Repeatedly.” He winced, then reached down and pulled out one of the paper plates from the plastic wrapping on the table, separating one from the stack and holding it out like a peace offering. “We just sat down to eat, and there’s plenty.”

The plate wavered in the air between them for a long second.

  


He hesitated.

He wasn’t hungry. He didn’t really want to sit at a table with Loki. But he also didn’t want to be the asshole in this situation. He’d done pretty good at that the first time around.

“I might have a little, yeah.” He said gruffly. Then, unable to resist, he added, “You look well. All healed up, no more blood. Got a little bruising though, I see. You should be more careful. I’d hate to see that get infected or something.”

He shifted his eyes to Loki, then back to Steve, well aware that Steve was trying to keep himself between them. Maybe that was for the best, considering that Loki had obviously taken to gnawing on Steve’s neck like some kind of animal, and Clint wasn’t convinced that he didn’t need put down.

Loki was silent, though he looked worried and Clint saw how he tilted his head to look up at Steve when Clint spoke.

Let them sweat if they were gonna, let them stew in it. That was one answer down, as far as he was concerned. The more pressing one now was what they were getting out of it, and what he needed to do to get them as far away as possible. Or at least Loki, if it turned out that Steve was the one in trouble here. Clint wasn’t about to let Loki hurt anyone else near to him, whether the rest of the Avengers realized how close they were to pushing him away or not.

He took the plate and sat himself in the empty chair next to Tony, a seat away from being directly across from Loki, with Steve on the other side of him.

“So, how about everybody else? Bruce, Tony, what have you been up to?” So far he’d managed not to so much as acknowledge Loki. He wondered how long he could keep it up before someone called him out on it.

  


Steve felt his face begin to warm, but managed to keep his expression neutral in response to Clint’s barb; he supposed he ought to thank Tony for the earlier teasing, since it had at least made him aware of the marks Loki had left, enough not to panic or react in a painfully obvious way now.

“I’m doing fine, thanks,” he answered as calmly as he could, grateful when Clint took the plate, at least. Getting Bruce and Tony to break bread with Loki -- or break pizza in their case -- had been the first step in getting them to acknowledge Loki’s reform. The first of many small steps toward friendship.

Not that he expected Clint and Loki to ever be friends, per se -- he knew that was too much to hope for -- but if Clint could at least tolerate working together, it would be a hell of a victory.

(Baby steps.)

He sat back down, picking up his taco, taking a bite, and shifting his foot under the table so it bumped reassuringly against the side of Loki’s.

“Oh, you know. Sciencing.” Tony shrugged. “Inventing shiny new things, unrolling the StarkPhone 6, looking for the-- ah...” He paused, wincing in a way that suggested Bruce may or may not have stepped on his foot while giving him a meaningful side-eye.

“It’s been mostly quiet, barring the park incident,” Bruce said. “How have you been, Clint?”

  


He could have snorted at the way they were tiptoeing around him, if it wasn’t so obnoxious. No one was going to say anything? Really? They would just sit there, being tense and kicking one another to keep from setting him off? Fine. He didn’t have anyone along with to kick him.

“Oh you know. Like old times. They let me out of the prisoners’ infirmary-- that’s a new addition since you left,” He said, nodding at Steve, “A place to treat folks they think might be dangerous, you know, on account of me being in a bubble, and Murray and Tanner and the others having been within a few feet of _him_.” He gestured at Loki. “And then they wouldn’t let me go out in the field until Thor showed up, so I got stuck doing office stuff. Going through things that SHIELD confiscated from the quarters of fugitives. That was fun-- found some good pictures hidden in among the boring books and stuff.” He tilted his head a bit and looked over at Steve.

“That reminds me--how long have you been able to draw? And at what point in questioning a prisoner did you start drawing him without any clothes on?”

He didn’t know if the other guys knew about Steve and Loki, but he didn’t know how they couldn’t. Not with Steve wearing his love bites like he was proud of them.

He wondered just how far he was going to be able to press Steve’s civility before he started accusing Clint of being irrational again. He was looking forward to it.

Irrational was storming in half cocked. He was perfectly rational, this time. He’d spent a _lot_ of time rationalizing. He just couldn’t wait for them to meet him on a level field and stop dancing around and trying to play nice. He wasn’t here for that.

  


Steve lowered his food, the bite he’d taken turning to ash in his mouth. He regretted now the liberal application of hot sauce, as searing bile slowly crept up his gorge.

_Goddammit, Clint._

He stared at his plate, the hair on the back of his neck prickling with the same horror and dread he’d felt watching Schmidt tear his face off and reveal the red deformity underneath. Only this problem wasn’t going to disappear in a ball of flame and an experimental aircraft in the next few minutes.

Someone else at the table cleared their throat uncomfortably.

Steve considered his options. A part of him wanted to yell at Clint, to give in and let himself be goaded into a fight. The way the blood was rushing in his ears already, it would be easy.

No, the easy way was out. He’d gotten combative with Natasha and that had gone... badly. He was going to learn from his mistake there.

Of course, his second impulse, after fight, was flight. How much of a scene would he cause if he just stood up, took Loki’s hand, and dragged him to the elevator and down to their floor? They could order a pizza or something and avoid Clint altogether--

No. Also too easy. And it would leave all the same problems here. He would fix nothing, address nothing, and again, probably blow one of the few opportunities to patch things up with Natasha and Clint.

No running. No fighting. The best thing he could offer was the thing Loki had promised him when all this had started: the truth. He took a moment to steel himself, then looked up and met Clint’s eyes.

“I’m sorry to hear you had to go through that in the infirmary, Clint,” he said, his voice a touch strained as he worked to keep it low and even. “And I’m also sorry about agents Murray and Tanner. I hope they weren’t inconvenienced too much as a result of their association with us.” Which was true; he hated to think he’d ruined Murray’s career in particular, given what a good egg he was.

“To answer your question,” he continued, not breaking eye contact, “I went to art school before the war. I studied a lot of things, including figure drawing. The sketches you seem to be referencing were private, and kept in a private location for a reason. Though while we’re on the subject of personal things that aren’t really good dinner-table conversation, do you want to bring up the contents of my medicine cabinet? Underwear drawer? Safe-deposit box? I’m sure SHIELD’s gone through them all. They’re thorough like that.” His voice took on a slight edge at the end, but retained the same tone and volume for the most part. Which, all right, was still a bit antagonistic, but Clint had landed a low blow.

“Hooo boy,” Tony interrupted, “I forgot I was supposed to be getting drinks. Drinks? Anyone, everyone? Cause I need about five--”

“I’d recommend,” Steve went on, ignoring him, “that you say or ask whatever it is you really need to say or ask and either get it out now, or put it on hold until after we’ve all eaten so we don’t spoil everyone’s appetite.”

“Bit late for that,” Bruce mumbled, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his glasses, turning to stare out the window.

  


“You want me to say my piece? I’d be happy to.” He put his palms flat on the table and stood, leaning down on them so that he was that much closer to the two men who seemed to be hell bent on tearing his life apart.

“I have spent months trying to understand what the _hell_ you were getting out of this, how this had happened. I didn’t understand how you, Captain Fucking America, defender of the United States, could betray not just your team, not just your country, but your whole damn _world_. And for him, of all the people. I’ve come up with two alternatives. Either he’s playing you, and he’s damn good at it, better than anything me or Nat’s ever seen before… or you are seriously fucked up. If what he says is true, if all the shit you guys talked about in his cell is for real, or even if you just believe it is, you're as bad as he is. Because if that’s the case, you might have made yourself a pet bad guy, but the leash he’s on smells like Stockholm Syndrome, and you spent months tearing him apart and turning him into this.”

He spoke bluntly, words dripping with sincerity despite the disgust, the malice. Tony, who had begun to retreat to the bar, froze in his tracks, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Bruce was breathing. But they weren’t his concern right now. He kept his eyes locked on Steve, though he could see Loki shrinking in on himself out of his peripheral vision. But he wasn’t done. Not yet.

“And I don’t know what the hell you have done or said to convince guys as smart as Bruce and Tony that it’s okay, that this is good and right and healthy, and that they should back you up, but you can’t convince anybody that it’s without a price. Because according to you, now the biggest of bads is after the whole world, because you had to stand up for him. After what he did here, the people he killed, the lives he destroyed, you had to decide that this was your hill to die on, and you decided to take everyone down with you. And I guess my question is _why_.”

  


If Steve could have turned to stone, he would; as it was, his arms and legs felt leaden and immovable, his innards cold and twisting. But he sat in silence, grinding his teeth as Clint said what he’d come to say.

He’d hoped, in a way, it would make it easier. Like lancing a boil or ripping off a band-aid.

Turned out, as with a lot of things, he’d been agonizingly wrong.

The worries and anxieties he’d largely managed to bury -- the thoughts and doubts that had plagued him in those early weeks, ever since he’d dreamed of Loki in the shower, where he’d felt sick and ashamed of his own desires and daydreams -- crept out of their shallow graves.

He hadn’t taken advantage. Had he? He and Loki hadn’t _done anything_ until Loki had been out of SHIELD’s custody. He’d helped him, listened to him; that was all... and if they fell for one another, well... he hadn’t torn Loki apart, had he? He’d worked to break down the walls, but--

The image of Loki in tears, curling against him naked in bed after their ill-planned lovemaking in front of the mirror, sprang unbidden and unwanted to the front of his mind, making his stomach turn.

He breathed through his nose, not trusting himself to look to his side at his partner.

“We don’t know that Thanos didn’t have Earth as his endgame all along, even before Loki,” he said carefully, throat constricting uncomfortably around the words. “Loki was willing to surrender to him, before we found evidence that he was just part of a larger plan. Which makes him our best chance against a threat we might never have otherwise known was coming. If the entire planet isn’t allowed to be my hill to die on, I’m curious as to what you think I ought to be fighting for instead. As for the rest...”

He trailed off, then chuckled mirthlessly, looking down, his voice turning tight. “Guess you’ve got it all figured out already, huh? I must be pretty seriously _fucked up_ like you said. Though I guess your friend Agent Scofield probably could have told you as much.”

There was a scrape of wood on tile as Bruce abruptly pushed his chair back and left the room, walking quickly down the hall. Steve felt a pang of guilt, but at that point it was just another drop in the bucket.

  


Loki watched Bruce go and wanted to follow, to leave the room and leave the sinking feeling behind him. But he was shaking, his muscles wound so tight that he couldn’t do anything. He had his jaw clamped shut so hard his teeth ached.

He didn’t have his seidhr. They hadn’t eaten lunch, and they’d had a… a rough afternoon, it seemed they wouldn’t be having much dinner either, and if this was going to dissolve into a brawl, Loki had nothing he could do. He’d promised Barton that he need never fear that Loki would harm him again. And he wouldn’t use his full strength against a human, not now that he… Not after he had seen what he’d done, before.

Steve just sat there, taking it like he thought he deserved it, and the words that came out of him didn’t sound like he was proud, like he really believed what he was saying. He sounded guilty. And Loki knew he had done that to him. He couldn’t just leave him to take this alone. Particularly if he was planning on just… accepting what was dealt him, refusing to speak up in any real sort of defense of himself.

“Barton, please--” He began.

  


“Don’t.” He interrupted sharply, pointing at Loki. “Don’t you dare talk to me. You don’t get a voice in this.”

He redirected his words and face at Steve.

“And you talk like you’re all high and mighty, but you’re sitting here lying to my face. Did you lie to Tony, too? Make him think that this was about Thanos all along? Because I _have_ seen the videos. You didn’t even know about him. The whole time you were falling for this-- this _thing_ , he was lying to you. You can’t justify what you did before you knew about our impending doom. You decided to pick him out as a special case long before you knew about the sceptre doing anything but making him look like shit. So what was it?” He demanded. “The sparkle in his eyes? The way he looked half dead? Did he remind you of someone, the way the skin just draped over his bones and with his plans for killing everyone he thought was less than him? Because I want you to understand, the idea of you fucking him is just as repulsive as if you had gone to bed with the Red Skull.”

He pinned Tony with his eyes, where the guy was just standing watching like he couldn’t look away from the train wreck that was his dining room.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Tony? Or do you feel like this second coming of Loki is something different? You actually buy into the reformed do gooder persona? Hasn’t it bugged you at all, with them living here, that a guy who used to refer to humans as ants might decide to settle down with one?”

  


It was pretty much ever bad dream scenario Steve had ever had about his and Loki’s relationship coming to light. The hate in Clint’s voice, the disgust on his face -- they were like physical blows, and Steve had taken enough beatings to know the marks would last even longer. The comparison of Loki to Red Skull had his hands balling into white-knuckled fists in his lap, but he held in the anger and held his tongue.

Steve glanced briefly sideways at Tony, who seemed paralyzed by the whole disaster unfolding.

“I, uh...” Tony’s jaw worked, but words failed to emerge. His face twisted in distress, gaze flitting between the three of them. “Um. Fuck. I mean--” he floundered, increasingly desperate, until Steve intervened.

“You want to know why?” he asked quietly, looking at a point a little lower than Clint’s eyes. He wished Loki wasn’t here for this -- that at least he could be spared all of this, and not have to hear himself talked about like he wasn’t even present. Like he was the monster Steve had spent so long trying to convince him he wasn’t.

“Everyone who ever knew me as a person is gone. I wake up, and all I have are people who know me as Captain America. That’s all anyone wanted me to be; a soldier, a commander, an asset, a symbol. I get two weeks after finding out my entire world is gone and I’m getting tossed into battle, because that’s all anyone needs me to be.”

“Then Fury set me talking to Loki. And you know what? I didn’t need to be a Captain down there. I just needed to be a person. No throwing a shield or killing tanks or bench-pressing motorcycles. Just a regular human being, capable of listening, and showing the most basic fundamental decency and compassion.”

He looked up, finally, still feeling numb and sick. “Kind of amazing what can happen when you treat someone like they’re a person.”

Under the table, he found Loki’s leg and gave it a slight squeeze.

“I get that you hate me, Clint. I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m sorry _I disgust you_ , but I’m not sure what you expect from me now.”

  


Clint felt himself deflating.

“So that’s it then. You turned to him because we-- your team, we weren’t good enough. You didn’t try reaching out to us. You didn’t even let us know we were doing something wrong. Yeah, every kid grew up knowing about you but… you were still Steve. Steve who you could have beers with, you know? Or, I guess you didn’t. You think we see you just as Captain America? Fine.” He couldn’t look at either of them now, angry and upset all over again, for all new reasons. Reasons that had a lot less to do with his once having been Loki’s thrall.

“So rather than talk to people who thought they were your friends, you went to the guy who enslaved one friend of yours, threw another out a window, and _killed_ a third. Good. Fine. But what did you think would happen, _Captain_ ?” The title was snide. “If you never thought we were good enough to be your friends, you had to at least have thought of us as your team. Although…” He lifted his eyes, glaring again. “Maybe not. Bruce and Tony, you figure they’re useful enough to count as team… are _they_ friends? Is it because me and Nat don’t have a zillion dollars or muscles the size of a buffalo? Or is it something else? It can’t be morality, if you can-- you’re with him, so you can’t be holding our pasts against us. So what then?” He was demanding now.

“I know I’m not anything special, I know all I had going for me was being in the right place at the right time, that the only reason I got to be part of the Avengers was because you figured if I was good enough for his team, I must be good enough for yours, but Natasha is worth so much more, she’s silent and deadly, she can outsmart and outplay anyone, get in anywhere. She can be anybody and she deserves better than being brushed off by you, she deserves more than to be ignored. You know what’s funny, _Captain_? She doesn’t have many friends. Doesn’t generally like people that much. You though, you count as one of the few. And if you told her to her face that she was just another soldier to you, you would never even know how much it hurt her, would you?” He was on a roll now.

“What the hell would Phil Coulson think, I wonder? Or did you conveniently forget him, the same way that you conveniently forgot what Loki did to me?”

  


“No one has forgotten. Least of all Steve or I.” Loki reached under the table to squeeze Steve’s hand in his own briefly, then stood, laying his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know you do not want me to speak, but you have had your say, and now you will listen to ours. No, I will not sit by and let you take something good and twist it to your own ends. Steve is my partner. He has chosen me and I him, and no amount of your complaints of a churning stomach will change that. I told you before, I will not ask you to forgive me, because that would be insulting. I cannot make things right or undo the past. I can work to be better, to be someone worthy of this man beside me.” He spoke quickly, angrily but with honest feeling behind it.

“And we are doing everything we can to undo what we can of my past wrongs and to remove you and your whole world from the danger it is currently in. You have reason to loathe me, and I cannot argue. You object to us being together, and we cannot change that. But you cannot attempt to stop what we do. Would you condemn your world to wide scale slaughter to spite me? You have said you wanted me dead; kill me and you are doing just that. Without me, when Thanos comes, you will be hopelessly outmatched. With me you are not much better, but at least you will stand a chance. So what do you want from us? Apologies? Steve has given them, I am intensely sorry, and will spend the remainder of my life being sorry. You want us to separate, that isn’t going to happen. You want to see me punished for my crimes? I may very well be, once we’ve removed your world from the threat it is under. I do not ask you to like me, or approve of us, or even respect me. All I ask is that you help in this war which is coming. That you set aside your hatred for me, your disgust with Steve for seeing what he does in me, and turn your eyes towards the solution, towards saving people. That is your job, is it not? As an Avenger?” He was probably crossing lines now, but Loki did not have it in him to care.

“Whether you like it or not, you are a member of the Captain’s team. And I am sorry for having been the wedge to pry you all apart. But now you need to be able to work together. And if there is anything I can do personally to make it easier for you, other than dying or abandoning Steve, ask it. I will try.” Loki looked to Steve, hoping he had not overstepped too much, hoping that he had not said anything that would add to Steve’s upset now. Steve needed these people. Loki needed Steve to have them around him. And they all needed to put aside this pointless fighting, because it was apparent that they were not going to be able to change one another's minds. Not here and now, and maybe never.

“Is there anything you need to add, Steve?”

Loki could feel Tony’s eyes on his back, but he did not show discomfort, keeping himself tall and proud and trying to be strong, now, when Steve needed him to be.

  


Steve felt sick and angry and tired all at once. Because that hadn’t been what he’d _meant_ . He might have chosen his words a bit better -- he’d given them an edge to make a point, but he’d intended to highlight how _Loki_ had changed from being treated as a person, not to accuse the others of failing to do so for Steve -- but it had come out wrong, apparently, and Clint had taken his words and twisted them beyond recognition. He flinched at the mention of Coulson -- one of the many wounds Loki couldn’t heal any more -- and was still trying to find something to say to that when Loki interceded.

Steve had been floundering and Loki with a simple touch and a few words had him back on solid ground again. Or at least, no longer feeling like he was drowning in this ruin of a conversation. He closed his eyes briefly and took a moment to breathe, now that he was, for however short a time, no longer the primary object of scrutiny in the room.

And Loki handled it _well_. Instead of sneering and lashing out the way he had when first confronted by Tony and Bruce’s anger and suspicions back when they’d arrived at the tower, he kept his composure, firmly countering Clint, but eschewing any unnecessary cruelty for the most part. Gratitude mixed with pride as Steve listened, and he regained enough of cool to nod when Loki asked him if he had anything to add.

“That isn’t what I said or meant, Clint,” he said. “You asked me why Loki. I tried to tell you. At least, why it started.” Many other factors had come into play, but Clint had seemed interested primarily in what he’d seen on the tapes. “I think of you and Natasha as my friends -- or _thought_ of you, I can understand if you no longer have any interest in talking to me anymore -- but... You weren’t ever even _around_ since you got cleared for duty, Clint,” he pointed out. “Yeah, you could get a beer with Steve, but...” But no one had _needed_ Steve. Not like Loki did, or Bucky had... They needed Cap, in the field. Steve Rogers was just someone you could chat with after hours for a bit before disappearing. He shook his head.

“We came to Tony and Bruce because SHIELD _shot at us,_ Clint. I didn’t know what was going on and I didn’t know who to trust, and yeah, I didn’t come to you. Because honestly? I kind of figured you’d have the same damn reaction you’re having now. And I didn’t want to put Natasha in the position of having to take sides in this, knowing how you felt. It had nothing to do with your value to the team.”

The look of loathing on Clint’s face when Steve had spoken to him last had also contributed. Which hurt too, because... Because Steve _liked_ Clint. He’d always struck him as good people, even if... Even if they weren’t particularly _close._ There was still that disconnect, where certain experiences just didn’t -- couldn’t -- translate. Experiences Loki had seemed to relate to more than Steve could have ever expected. The loss of home and self and the feeling of being a stranger in a strange land. Steve had suspected a few times that Natasha might have understood, but he’d never been able to get close enough to talk about the kinds of things that Loki had readily laid bare. And beyond that... There was so much beyond that. He sighed in frustration.

“I believe in second chances, Clint. The more I talked to Loki, the more I realized how badly he needed one. And you know what? He’s been making damn good use of it. I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same way and I’m sorry that you’re mad at me for making this call, and I’m very sorry you hate me for the fact that I--” he swallowed, “that I fell for him, and we’re together.” Not that he hadn’t expected it. But it still hurt.

  


Clint had pressed his lips together so hard that they were a thin white line, but finally he pulled his chair closer and sat back down.

“I wouldn’t be having this reaction at all if you had just _talked to me_ . Hey Clint, we have Loki. Hey Clint, something’s off about him, he’s not the guy we saw last time. Hey, Clint, I’m developing feelings for the guy who ripped your mind _halfway out of your body_. A heads up is all I wanted, all I could have asked for. Some consideration. Because like he said, whether I’m happy about it or not, you’re part of my life, unless you’re kicking me out of the Avengers. And I’m supposed to be part of yours. Only you aren’t acting much like you have anyone in your life besides him.”

He knew his upset was justified. He just didn’t know how to get Steve to admit to it, and fix it.

“I shouldn’t have had to find out from some asshole in the SHIELD lobby. I shouldn’t have had to spend time wondering if I was paranoid, or if you really were banging the alien who turned me into a meat puppet. And yeah, I _don’t_ like it. But you never even gave me the option to _get used to it_ . Never gave me reason _to try_ , until you had to be put on the defensive.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“I guess it boils down to this: Do you want me on the team or no? And if you do, the price is going to be you _telling_ me things, communicating with me. Having consideration for my well being. If not as a friend-- and honestly I don’t know, right now, how I feel about that-- but if not as that, at the very least with _the most basic fundamental decency and compassion._ If he deserved as much as your prisoner, I think I do as your teammate.”

  


Steve grit his teeth. He knew they were getting somewhere, slowly -- Clint was at least looking a bit less like he was about to take a swing at him. But he could feel his frustration climbing, particularly at Barton’s apparent sense of _expectation._

“Well gee, Clint. I’m really goddamn sorry I didn’t call you up while you were out of the country on a clandestine mission to talk to you about how I was falling in love with a prisoner who you hated like the plague, and oh hey, by the way, apparently I’m queer! Which I hadn’t told a _single goddamn soul._ Hell, I didn’t even know Loki liked me that way too until _after_ all that mess with the scepter, where I was trying to help _you_ , dammit,” he snapped, patience gone. “Sorry you spent so long having angst about my sex life, which was none of your damn business, but once Loki and I were on the run we were worrying about global security and not Clinton Francis Barton’s feelings.”

Which was harsh. But Clint had kept pushing and pushing and Steve had been making apology and concession after apology and concession and he was done. “And back at SHIELD, I was making sure Loki was being _fed_ and not _tortured or experimented on._ Pretty sure you didn’t need the same from me. Now,” he took a breath:

“Do you want to be on this team? Because if you do, now’s your chance to try and get used to it, okay? And if you can’t handle it, then I’m not gonna force you to stick around, but I’m not going to show Loki the door because you don’t like him. Stop trying to put all this on me, because this is your choice. Figure out what matters to you more: being an Avenger and helping us to stop Thanos, or sticking it to me and Loki because you’ve got a grudge to hold. If you can get over it, then welcome aboard. If not...” he trailed off. “I’m sure Tony’s got a spare room you can stay in for the night. Loki and I will stay out of your way.”

  


“Steve? May I speak with you?” Loki directed the words at his partner, but he was looking at Barton, asking his permission and hoping he didn't mind, hoping he would not call them out for harboring more secrets against him.

Barton scowled but held his peace.

Loki turned, perching on the very edge of his chair so that his back was to Barton, keeping him from reading his lips. It felt dishonest, using knowledge he had gained by using his mind against him, but he didn't need Clint reacting to what he said before Steve had a chance to process it.

"I know you're angry and I know he is looking for a fight. You've done well thus far, and I am ever at your side, but do not give him the satisfaction, do not give him the option to walk away and lay the blame on you. You need him if you are to sway the Widow, if we are to repair the damage I wrought at her last visit. We might see if we can offer him some means of... Of feeling justified, of feeling as though we are not just telling him to get used to things. While he must, it is not going to win favors.” He spoke low and quickly so that it would not carry back to Barton.

“If we cannot do that peaceably, I think we should consider offering him the option of… repaying me some of the pain I dealt him. Because I think much of this comes from him still fearing me, and if I do not raise a hand against him, it may prove cathartic. Plus, anything he does to me I will be able to heal tomorrow.”

Loki pulled his head away from where it had been beside Steve’s, so that he could look him in the face.

  


It seemed a poor time for a sidebar, waiting as he was for Clint to give an answer. He scowled, but let Loki turn them aside to speak in hushed voices.

Loki had a point. As much as Steve didn’t like it. Alienating Clint would be a major disadvantage, but something they could recover from. Clint was a damn good agent, but if forced from a purely tactical standpoint to choose between his skill set and Loki’s as an addition to the team, Steve would have chosen Loki, regardless of whether or not he was sweet on him. But when Clint and Natasha were regarded as a package deal, the tradeoff became less clear. They needed both. They needed _everyone_ , Steve thought, remembering his brief moments with Thanos with a shudder.

But as for how Loki proposed to resolve it--

Steve’s eyes widened as he realized what Loki was suggesting. “What? No! Are you insane?” he hissed quietly. “I’m not--” he broke off shaking his head. He wasn’t about to pass Loki off for Clint to use as a punching bag until he felt better. “That’s not something I’m comfortable with, okay?” Not with knowing that Loki’s seidhr was on its last dregs, and how deadly Clint had the capacity to be. He’d spent too long as Loki’s hospital bedside for one lifetime. If Clint wanted to sock someone, well-- at least Steve didn’t think Clint hated him enough to kill him. Loki, on the other hand…

  


He watched as Loki spoke to Steve, glowering. Whatever he was saying, he didn’t want Clint to hear, and that meant it was something that, especially right now, he felt like he should.

Especially when Steve reacted to whatever had been proposed.

What had Loki said that Steve deemed insane and something he wasn’t comfortable with? Clint felt a surge of curiosity, as well as wariness. Had Loki proposed they threaten him with violence or something? He knew his chances weren’t great; they were both way stronger than he was, but surely Tony would step in… wouldn’t he?

He looked to the man who had finally managed to sidle his way over to the bar, and who had just poured himself a tumbler almost full of scotch.

So he was probably going to be useless in reasonably short order, then. Clint supposed he had his answer on that front.

“Wasn’t your sex life I was worried about, it was your fucking head, okay? You, in general. I couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t understand why you would act like this, and then you were bleeding and looked like you were dying, and then you were gone. And I was thinking about your mind. Whether or not he was in it-- you know, before I walked in here today, I still hadn’t been able to decide what was worse: the idea of you being under his spell to be as negligent and thoughtless and… and as much of a traitor as you have been, or the idea that you chose that, that you decided to do it all by yourself. Turns out, the truth is the worse. Because no, he’s not controlling you with magic, but turns out he’s got you by the balls instead. And you don’t see anything wrong with the way you’ve been acting. You can say you’re sorry all you want, but you’d rather jump to complaining to _me_ about how you weren’t _comfortable_ telling people what you were up to-- even if it wasn’t confessions of attraction, even if you didn’t feel right coming out, you don’t think at some point I’d come back and find out my team leader is spending all of his free time with the enemy? That it might do shit to me? You knew, you _knew_ what I went through after New York, how long it took me to even be _able_ to go back into the field. So you know what I think?” He asked, losing the last dregs of calm he’d been fighting to try and keep a grip on.

“I think you didn’t tell anyone because you knew it was wrong. And you couldn’t bear to hear it, just like you can’t bear to listen to me telling you now just how fucked all of this is. But I can. I can listen to you trying to turn this around and make it my fault all fucking day. So come on, what’s he say? He want you to kick me out? Tell you to bash my face in for daring to disagree with him? Did he suggest that you let him back inside my head? He want to turn me into an agreeable little soldier for you again? And you’re telling me I have to be okay with _that_ , with someone like that, to be an Avenger these days? Because if I remember right, the Avengers formed trying to stop him. And now it’s him or us. And you still feel justified, Steve? You still feel righteous in all of this?” He wanted to scream, the way the pressure was building up inside of him, the anger and despair coming to a head inside of him.

“I _trusted_ you, Steve. With my life, often enough. But now? If I want to stay an Avenger, could I do that? With his voice in your ear, could I count on you? I don’t know. I need you to convince me I can, before I can make that call. Cause you and I both know it's not just me that you'd be endangering if we can't.”

  


_Traitor._ After everything he’d done, everything he’d sacrificed, the word was like a knife between the ribs, and Steve felt himself on the verge of shaking.

“You trusted me with your life, Clint, and you still somehow expected me to call you up when you were on a field mission and tell you Loki was back? After you’d spent so long just getting back in the field?” he demanded. “You don’t think that kind of news would have compromised you and potentially gotten you _killed_?” There was no way he could win. No course of action that involved helping Loki where Clint wouldn’t hate him. And that was growing clearer by the minute; this was a lost cause.

“You wanna know what he suggested?” he growled. “He wanted to offer to let you wail on him while he didn’t fight back, so you’d feel better.”

He took a moment for that to sink in.

“He was offering to take a beating from you because it would be _cathartic._ For _you_.”

Steve stood up, moving gradually around the table. “But I think from this conversation it’s pretty damn obvious Loki’s not the one you’re angry with right this moment. So you know what?” He stopped, standing in front of Clint, holding his hands out and open at his sides. “Go ahead and take a swing, if you want. I won’t stop you. Not like you’ve been pulling punches tonight so far, so don’t bother stopping now.”

  


Clint opened his mouth to respond, not even sure what he intended to say, but Tony interrupted.

“Look, if you two need to work this off mano a mano, that’s cool, whatever, but could we do it in the gym? Because Pepper will kill me if I wreck the living room again. That’s like, the third sofa set we’ve bought this year, and the first rule of the house is no wrecking the bar.”

Which, Clint had to admit, was fair enough. But he didn’t think this needed to come to that.

“I don’t need to swing at you. You aren’t the one I had nightmares about for a year, yours isn’t the voice I hear in my head whenever things go wrong. And I don’t know that hitting either of you would do me any good. Puny human hands against all your better than human bodies, doesn’t sound like a good time to me.” The words weren’t quite gentle, but they lacked some of the bite.

He averted his eyes, not willing to look at Loki when he said his next piece.

“Natasha wants to be on your side, but only if I’m okay with it. I want to be part of your team. I… it’s important to me. But nothing you’ve done since he landed has given me any reason to have faith in you. And instead of jumping down my throat about it, or me punching you with why I feel like shit about it-- look, I wouldn’t feel like this if I didn’t care, right? So just. I need to know if you can still take care of your team if he’s around. I need to know your brain is going to work outside of worrying about him.” He looked up, eyes hard and voice firming to match. “I need to know we’re gonna be a team in more than just name. And it will take some getting used to. Punching isn’t going to help. I don’t trust him. But he’s right. I don’t need to. I do need to be here if it turns out I’m right though, because I do need to take care of my team. Whether you count as part of that or not… well that part’s up to you. Can you live with that? With knowing that I’m not on his side, but I’m on yours?”

Tony was drifting around this side of the bar again, and Clint registered the move out of the corner of his eye. Outside, it looked like it was going to start raining any second now.

Great.

If he got kicked out, he’d have to walk around in it. He kicked himself for not having the good sense to start this over breakfast instead.

He moved his head a fraction of an inch to look at Loki instead of out the windows behind Stark, and all he could see was the top of Loki’s head. He was seated sideways on his chair, studying his hands in his lap.

Then, finally, he looked back to Steve.

“You said he’s changed. You says he deserves second chances. I guess so do you. I want this to be a second chance for you to do right by me, by us, in regards to him. Whatever that means to you. What do you say?”

  


The anger that had been holding Steve up ebbed, and shame crept in once again in the void it left, though mixed now with relief. Clint hadn’t exactly backed down, but... Maybe he didn’t hate Steve as much as it sounded. It was just enough goodwill to give him hope. Clint had said he did want on this team... and that he was on Steve’s side.

Steve’s gaze flickered over to Loki, who had drawn almost completely into himself, and Tony, who was inching out from his hiding place behind the bar, watching him cautiously.

He exhaled, shoulders slumping. “I think I can work with that,” he answered quietly after a second or two of silence.

It was a start, anyway.

“And if I didn’t still care about everyone else, I wouldn’t still be here,” he reminded him. “ _We_ wouldn’t be here.” Not when Loki had offered on more than one occasion to spirit them off to another realm, to fairyworlds and fantasy planets far out of Thanos’ path, where Steve and Loki could live in peace.

No. He still cared. And he still had a duty, and a hell of a lot to do. Because however important it might be to him to have someone who just needed him to be Steve Rogers, the fact remained that he was Captain America, and he’d made a promise a long time back to stand up to the people who needed standing up against.

And if Clint was a member of his team, he needed to be filled in. “We’re working on tracking down the scepter; we started looking as soon as Natasha told us SHIELD didn’t have it. Bruce and Tony are collaborating with Loki to track the energy it emits to get a location, and once we have it, with SHIELD’s cooperation, we want to try to use it to get more intel on Thanos, give us a better idea what we’re fighting against. And while I don’t know much about the guy... I know enough that I don’t want to turn down anyone willing to fight alongside me.”

With that he held his hand out, offering it for Clint to take. Thunder rumbled ominously outside.

  


Loki watched Clint get to his feet and take his partner’s hand, the custom here for making an agreement, sealing a deal, and he felt awful, useless and the root of trouble for them, as Barton had said. He watched them embrace, or watched as Barton embraced Steve, and felt a conflicted twitch at the edges of his lips.

He’d forgotten, being always surrounded by this group who treated him as a person, just how much he really wasn’t one. It was a good reminder. That he was, as Barton had said, a _thing_ , still. The sort of _thing_ that SHIELD kept in a cage. The sort of thing that had to work to prove to others that he deserved to live, let alone be happy.

It didn’t hurt as much as he would have expected. It just left him feeling blank. Empty. A little numb. But Steve had secured Barton, and Romanov would come with him.

No doubt, then, she already knew about their being together, likely from Barton. In all of his disgust. Loki had noticed though that all of the anger and horror and distaste he had exhibited in regards to their involvement revolved around it being Loki that Steve wanted, not a man. He’d have to point that out later, when this had settled itself further. When they could be alone again, and Loki was able to help Steve to relax and come undone, as no doubt Barton’s words would cause him to need to.

As lightning flashed, he looked out the window, only realizing the weather had turned just now. There was a thick dark gray reflecting the lights back over the city and blanketing the sky, and thunder crashed, loud and close. Loki jumped, a new flush of terror coloring his cheeks as he realized that the clouds had set in too fast for it to be natural.

He took to his feet at the next flash and gripped the back of his chair.

“Steve?” He asked, voice cracked and wavering “I don’t--”

The next boom of thunder was so loud that it drowned him out. The building shook and the lights flickered.

He found himself looking up, as if he could see through the ceiling, but he didn’t think he needed to look, even if he could, to know what he would see.

  


Clint took his hand, and Steve felt something inside of him loosen. A small victory had been won. He wasn’t under any illusions that they were one big happy family, of course, but at least he hadn’t completely shattered the Avengers. Clint was willing to at least give this a shot, and Natasha would come with him. That left a lot of trust to be regained, but there was an opportunity now. And just as Bruce and Tony had come to trust and like Loki, he hoped that in time, Natasha and Clint could at least feel comfortable enough to live and let live where he was concerned.

And once they all retired to their respective rooms, he would wrap Loki up in his arms and remind him that Clint didn’t know what the hell he was on about. And that whatever the outcome of the confrontation they’d just had, Steve giving Loki up was never even an option.

He twitched at the sudden clap of thunder, accompanied by an instantaneous flash of lightning. The storm had come on quickly; he remembered it being sunny out earlier in the day.

“J, what the hell?” Tony called to his AI, no longer silenced by the fading tension in the room. “You totally dropped the ball on the weather report. Though it was supposed to be clear skies this week!”

“ _My apologies, sir,”_ JARVIS replied. “ _There appears to be an isolated meteorological anomaly in the upper atmosphere directly over your current position.”_

“Isolated--”

Another peal of thunder, and the lights suddenly went dark; there was a crashing noise, and a bit of dust drifted down from the fixtures, which flickered back to life a moment later.

“ _S-s-s-orry, sir,”_ JARVIS stuttered. “ _Back-up power has been engaged. Diagnostics on a surge in the main generator are underway.”_

Steve turned to Loki, whose voice had cracked, and felt his eyes widen in growing horror.

_I’m not overly fond of what follows,_ he remembered Loki saying, the last time a freak storm had overtaken them all out of the blue.

“Dammit,” he said. Because they couldn’t catch a break, could they? “Loki, you may want to--” Hide. Be scarce. Or at least brace for the fact that they were about to have company.

“ _Sir, Mister Odinson appears to be on the--”_   
The heavy knocking on the glass separating the den from the outdoor observation deck drowned out the rest of the AI’s report. Tony cursed, then added softly, “I shoulda made more tacos.”

 


	42. Forty-Two

Through the sound of his heart beating in his ears and a premature ache for the pain he had a feeling he was about to be in, Loki found himself dropping to his knees and crawling like a dog into the kitchen area.

He’d once asked Steve if it surprised him, how Loki had begged for his life. Reminded him that he was a coward. But he had never felt like that was truer than now.

He hoped Thor hadn’t seen him. Knowing his luck, though, he was about to have the glass of the long windows rained down on his head.

He huddled beside the refrigerator, certain that he had at least enough seidhr left that should Thor take Mjolnir to him, he would last through the night, and could begin repairing damages the next day. If he did more, though, if he brought lightning down upon him on top of that…

He was a fool for having exhausted himself as he had. He _knew_ Thor was here, and he had just assumed he would be left alone. Ignored, as he had been before. He should have known better, should have been prepared, or gone to ground, found one of the paths between worlds to hide in, however briefly…

Cursing himself, he held his breath and tried to listen, so that he would have at least some idea of Thor’s mood, of what he might demand… aside from the obvious, of Loki’s return to Asgard.

Steve had said it wasn’t an option, and Loki trusted him to fight for him, but… he didn’t want to see him _hurt_ for him. There had been enough of that for a lifetime, today.

Perhaps it would be Steve's luck in control this time, though, rather than Loki's. Perhaps this was nothing more than Thor visiting his friends with news of his vanquished foe.

Loki gripped at Steve's tags around his neck and hoped that was the case. For all of their sakes.

He also hoped that Barton would have at least the sense to stay silent on the matter of his presence, though he likely thought, like the others had, that having Loki gone would mean ridding themselves of the threat of Thanos, too. Damn.

  


Steve froze, tensing up in dread. He looked over to Clint, eyes wide, and shook his head slightly. Not an order, so much as a _plea_ to keep quiet and let things hopefully unfold diplomatically. With one crisis averted, another had just landed on their doorstep -- or roof, at it were -- and the last thing he needed was Barton throwing fuel on the fire.

Clint didn’t meet his gaze, but gave a half-shoulder shrug, sitting back down and slouching in his chair.

It was about as good as Steve suspected he would get.

Loki had dropped to the ground and moved away, and Steve cringed inwardly at the fear in his partner’s eyes and posture as he retreated. He hoped it wouldn’t be warranted, but if Thor was here for Loki, or made any effort to take him away...

(He really wished he had his shield on him right now.)

Tony, meanwhile, had moved over to the sliding glass doors that led to the deck, opening them up into the howling storm outdoors. “Hey, Thunderdome, good to see ya. Where you been? You don’t call, you don’t write--”

Tony was forced to step aside as Thor moved into the space, ducking his head through the doorframe. He was in full battle-armor from what Steve could tell, with mail and plate and a billowing red cloak, though all appeared a bit scuffed and worse for wear; Thor himself had several bruises and scabs on his face, and he looked... tired.

“My apologies, Tony Stark. I would have sent word in advance of my arrival, but there were... circumstances,” he explained, shaking some of the rain from his cloak -- though the majority of him appeared surprisingly dry.

“Right -- London? Nice job there, with the smashing and the magic and all. Saw it all on the TV. We woulda come and lent you a hand but it kinda seemed like you had it under control, big guy,” Tony rambled, sliding the door shut against the elements. “Good work with vanquishing thine mighty foe and all. Don’t suppose you kept any of their tech intact, did ya? Because one of these days, I would love to check out some alien tech that isn’t actively being used to try to kill me--”

  


Thor sighed and shook his head. “Nay. My apologies once again, friend Stark,” he said, interrupting the rambling of his companion. He had forgotten, in his time away from Midgard, how loquacious the man of Iron could be at times.

Still, Stark appeared unharmed and unburdened, with no immediate signs of bewitchment visible upon him. This was good, and Thor allowed himself some small moment of relief. The Captain and Barton were both also present, the Captain standing and Barton sitting at a table adorned with a colorful spread of food.

Thor grimaced. “It seems I have interrupted your meal.”

“What? Aw, hey, no worries. You hungry? We’ve got plenty. You like tacos? Of course you like tacos, everyone likes tacos. Hey Clint, grab a plate, would ya? Bet you must’ve worked up an appetite flying all the way here from England. What kind of time do you make with that hammer, anyhow? Because that’s some impressive mileage.”

It took him a moment to understand what Tony was asking, as Barton extracted a very flimsy piece of flatware from a pile and placed it on the edge of the table nearest Thor. “I did not fly the entire distance,” Thor explained, “but rather traveled by Bifrost. I summoned Heimdall from Lady Jane’s residence in London, then asked for him to bring me to you here.” It had been a much quicker route, after all, to simply travel to Asgard and then back. And Thor had believed time to be of the essence once Lady Darcy had shown him evidence that Loki was up to his old tricks once more on Midgard.

Judging from his friends’ lack of panic or mention of Loki, however, it seemed they were unaware of the peril. Thor frowned. “Where are Dr. Banner and the Lady Natasha?”

“Natasha is out of town at the moment,” the Captain said.

“And Bruce is around here somewhere finding his zen,” Tony said with a shrug, as if that explained everything. “He’ll be around. Why, what’s up? Come on, have a seat, tell us all about what’s new in space-viking land--”

Thor shook his head. “As much as it would gladden me to exchange tales of our respective exploits, I fear my reason for being here is of a less joyful nature.” He took a deep breath, giving them a moment to brace themselves. “Loki has escaped Asgardian custody and has returned to Midgard; I have reason to suspect he may be targeting you all.”

He’d been prepared for shock. Fear. Outrage. Any number of reactions in that vein. But the strained silence and slightly awkward shuffling that met his pronouncement left him a little off-balance.

“Oh. Um. Is that so?” Tony asked, voice rising a little in pitch.

Thor frowned. “Aye. I confess, I was aware of his flight from our prisons prior to now, but I had not thought him foolish enough to meddle with the Avengers so soon after his defeat. I might have remained ignorant to his schemes here for far longer if not for the keen knowledge of Lady Darcy.”

“Who?” Barton asked.

“A companion of Lady Jane’s and a most fearsome warrior with a weapon called a taser,” Thor supplied. “She assisted us in the battle against the dark elves, and after...”

He trailed off, expression darkening. After the battle, he’d been spent. Eventually he’d recovered sufficiently to pull himself to his feet and up off of the demolished green, with Erik and Jane’s support on either side. He’d exchanged words with a few authorities, but had left the cleanup to the Midgardians and allowed Jane to steer him toward her home. There, they had eaten and celebrated their victory, and Thor had planned to delay his return to Asgard until the morning. Odin would need to know about Malekith’s defeat from Thor’s own words, of course, but Heimdall was well capable of conveying the most critical information about the Aether’s location and the end of the dark elf menace. At least until Thor had rested and spent a night among friends, and Jane’s company.

But such was not to be the case.

“After, when we were winding down our revelry, I asked for any news of my shield-bretheren here. Darcy had a great deal of knowledge of these things, from a web of worlds and... the singing of birds?” His brow furrowed. “I confess, the Allspeak did not fully impart to me her meaning. But she was able to show me tales of your exploits, Tony, against the Mandarin. But more worryingly...” He glanced over at the Captain, whose expression remained unreadable, “she showed me this.”

Reaching into his armor, he pulled out a slightly crinkled and folded page, which Jane had produced from her printer. On it was a picture of the Captain, with a dark-haired woman labelled as his paramour.

Rogers’ face seemed to pale slightly.

“It gives me no joy to be the bearer of this news, Captain,” Thor said, genuinely sorry. “But this woman I am told you are courting is not who she appears to be. The moment I saw her face, I recognized her as I would my own sister, for this is Loki in one of his many guises. I fear he means you malice in his trickery, and came at once to warn you.” If Loki was near, Thor was hardly in condition after facing off against Malekith to fight his brother in single-combat, but with the Captain, the Man of Iron, and the Hawk on his side, he trusted that Loki would be outmatched.

  


Loki inhaled sharply, then put a hand over his own mouth as quietly as possible.

It could only be the photos of them leaving the restaurant; a worry that he had all but forgotten. Damn this Darcy and her gossip.

So it was his luck that was to be running the show, then-- how else would Thor have happened to see that one particular accidental image in the time he was here? Why could he not simply have watched a movie instead of asking after--

 _His friends_ a little voice in Loki’s mind reminded him. His shield bretheren, he called them. Well, Thor did ever have a difficult time smoothing down his Allspeak. Still. He wasn’t wrong.

These were his people, more than Loki’s. He had a previous claim, and surely none of them wished him ill, save Loki. He was another wedge, here. And he hadn’t considered it, but did that mean that Thor was also counted as an Avenger? Thor wasn’t an Avenger. His first duties were to Asgard, he was… he was Thor, not some bepowered human.

But they considered him one of them, and Loki was making them lie for him.

Which really did just prove that this was the sort of person he was, and ever would be. The kind that made others do wicked things, just by being nearby.

He felt a bit like his old self, in that moment. Or… felt as he once was accustomed to feeling, small and hurt, pointless and worthless inside, and before he might have relied on his royal lineage, his superiority... now, knowing better, he could only pretend to draw himself up on the outside. But he didn’t really have the energy for even that much. And to be honest, sitting on the floor of the kitchen, the refrigerator at his back, one hand wrapped around Steve’s tags and the other over his mouth, he did not feel anything like the would be conqueror that Thor no doubt imagined him to be.

  


Steve sucked in a long breath.

The look on Thor’s face was truly apologetic, which made it hard to feel angry with him, but the way he spoke of Loki... of course, he had no way of knowing how much Loki had changed. How _good_ he was now. Though if Steve had learned anything just now with Clint, it was that not all minds were easily swayed on that topic. But then again, hate was all Clint had felt for Loki since the invasion. Thor had a bond of brotherhood going back centuries.

And he’d come all the way here out of worry for Steve’s wellbeing. Which was going to make this... awkward.

He exhaled.

He’d wanted to brief Thor about Thanos first. To let him know about the threat facing earth before Loki even factored into their conversations, perhaps in the hope that his presence could be snuck in as an afterthought. But that would be futile now, especially where Thor was here explicitly because of Loki. To _warn_ them.

“Actually...” Steve glanced in the direction of the kitchen briefly, then back to Thor, “actually, we already knew that.”

  


Thor blinked, startled -- nay, _stunned --_ by the Captain’s response.

“You... knew?” He tilted his head. “That Loki was on Midgard, you mean?”

“Well, yeah. Matter of fact,” The captain continued, sticking his hands in his pockets and appearing somewhat uncomfortable, “reckon we probably knew about that before you did. He came straight to Earth after giving Asgard the slip. I was the first person to run into him when he got here. He’s been here for several months now.”

Thor felt his expression darken. “And you did not see fit to summon me or share this development?”

“SHIELD’s actually been trying to get in touch with you via your girlfriend, Foster, since it happened from what I hear,” Stark interjected. “But you didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address, Blondie.”

This... Thor had to concede. He looked down. “You make a valid point. I am sorry. In the future, I will attempt to maintain clearer lines of communication in the event of an incident such as this...” Or of the one with the Aether. If Thor had not come to trouble Heimdall in the observatory about Jane at the right moment--

He shook himself. That was a matter now resolved. His main concern now was his wayward brother and whatever mischief he’d currently set himself to.

“Has he attempted to cause you harm? Rally another army?” he asked, dreading the answer. Barton looked unhappy and pulled a small device Thor recognized as a cellular phone from his pocket, fiddling with it. Stark and Rogers exchanged glances.

“No, not at all, nothing like that,” Steve answered, taking a step forward.

Thor narrowed his eyes. “Then he is still planning something. Or else why would he deceive you to infiltrate your company?”

Rogers shook his head. “He didn’t-- Loki turned into a woman for the evening when that photo was taken to avoid being recognized. I knew it was Loki. There was no deception. Look, Thor, he’s not--” he paused, and Thor realized the alarm and confusion he felt must be writ plain on his face.

“He is not what?” he demanded warily.

Rogers licked his lips. “He’s not who he was when we fought him. He’s... better. Saner. He’s working to make amends.”

Barton huffed out a breath then pointedly looked away. But Rogers remained earnest.

Thor looked him over carefully. He was not overly familiar with sorcery, so it was possible yet that the man was bewitched in some subtle way, but his eyes did not glow blue as Barton and Selvig’s had, nor did he speak with the vacant monotone of a thrall. Not that Loki didn’t have other ways of twisting others into believing his lies; and yet...

And yet Thor wished it to be true. He’d thought Loki beyond reason, so deep into madness had he fallen. But if there was some hope that his brother had recovered, that he was not lost to whatever darkness had claimed his mind -- his heart ached with the temptation to hope.

“If what you say is true,” he began carefully, “then that is good news indeed. But Loki is cunning, and I still fear he is misusing you to his own ends. As much as I would like to embrace this notion -- which I believe _you_ believe to be true, Captain --” he quickly added, not wanting Rogers to think Thor intended to call him a liar or impugn his honor in any way, “-- I cannot in good conscience accept that Loki has turned about face after all he’s done to seek redemption. Not without seeing it with my own eyes.” And even then, Thor knew that he himself had been the victim of the greater part of Loki’s plots. Perhaps more than he’d even realized at the time.

But Rogers was now looking meaningfully over to the door leading to the kitchen. “Well, if that’s what it takes...”

  


He could hear them, could hear the gentle rebuttal that Thor offered Steve in response to his friend’s insistence that Loki could be good, was _trying_ to be good…

Thor believed that Steve believed what he said.

He thought, like everyone else, that Steve was either wrapped around Loki’s finger, or Loki was curled around his mind. And why not? As Barton has pointed out, he _was_ a monster. And Thor knew it now, too.

Thor could not imagine him to be innocent of any current plots, and he was more concerned for these friends of his, to whom he did not bother to speak, than he was about Loki. And Thor did not even know of Steve’s involvement with him, yet. No doubt that would go over well. Loki hoped that Steve was smart enough to keep quiet about it.

But Steve seemed to want him to come out with the rest of them, seemed to want him to show his face and make himself known. It felt dangerous, like a bad idea.

Had his nerves not been wracked enough this day?

He stood, quietly and carefully, and straightened his shirt, tucking Steve’s tags inside before he made his way out, bare feet slapping on the floor tiles, feeling as though he were walking to his doom.

There was a tight cold heaviness in his chest, and he kept his head high, though he did not try to erase the wariness from his eyes. On Asgard, a Jotnar walking into the room was enough reason to kill them. Here he was that as well as a traitor, a murderer, a fugitive… what reason had Thor to let him be?

He stopped halfway between where Thor stood and where Steve did, in the hopes that should a problem arise, he could close the distance closer in either direction, stop them from hurting one another, take any blows that may come.

“Hello Thor.” He spoke as neutrally as he could, words spilling smoothly from his lips, and he looked around the room.

“Stark? Perhaps you should show Barton his quarters and check in on Banner?” He wanted to give them a reason to get far away from the damage that Thor no doubt could and may well cause, and he didn’t want Thor to think him too close to his friends. A danger to them, in his familiarity.

He glanced at Steve and did not bother to try sending him away; he knew he would not go. Or… maybe that was merely him being selfish. He didn’t want him to.

He swallowed, feeling ugly for the thought, hating himself that just his presence was a danger to the man he loved. He squeezed his eyes shut hard for a second before he looked back at Thor.

“Here you see me, Odinson. What do you intend to do about it?”

  


Thor stared.

He knew Loki was on Midgard. Even knew he might come face to face with him in following his trail to the Avengers. And yet, seeing him was like a blow -- one that drove the air from his lungs.

Loki appeared... well. He looked somewhat weary, but his skin lacked the waxiness and sickly shadows it had borne when last Thor had seen him. His hair was cleaner, shorter, curling softly around the collar of his shirt instead of skimming his shoulders in spikes as it had before. He looked more like the brother Thor had remembered before, and the sight made his heart ache.

Because however much Loki might have resembled the slight and smiling brother who had accompanied him on many an adventure, Thor knew better now.

And Loki had been here, just out of sight, _all this time,_ he realized, tightening his grip on Mjolnir’s haft. Had it been a trap then? A plan to lure Thor here, planting images of a face only Thor would recognize, knowing he would take the bait? How long had he been listening, hoping to hear that Thor had fallen for this farce?

Even now, he dismissed Thor’s allies from the room -- and to his sinking dread, they _obeyed,_ Stark nodding to Barton and clapping a hand on his shoulder, saying something about Banner and a guest room.

Injured and exhausted from battle, Thor grimaced. Loki might have him outmatched, but he had no intention of making this easy. “Loki,” he growled. “What game are you playing at?”

  


Loki watched Thor carefully, saw the way his eyes followed Stark and Barton out, the way his grip shifted ever so subtly on Mjolnir.

He did not have magic and his strength had ever been paltry in comparison to Thor’s. He could hold his own for a time, but he did not play the wargames that his brother had so adored. He could not keep up. He needed to keep Thor from turning on Steve and he needed to try his best to recruit him for their cause. Thor alone, not Asgard… not the Odinson, not his brother, just the Avenger. He had these thoughts, these perfectly logical workings of mind, but he also had the ones that insisted that he couldn’t possibly achieve this. It was folly to so much as try. Thor would sooner see him dead than work beside him now.

Thor did not care for him. That was plain to him- His brother might have rushed to embrace him, to ask after him, to ascertain that his face was not a mask covering his misery. But no, Thor asked only what game he was playing. He bristled and drew into himself, his haughtiness brittle but his voice and glare strong and cold.

“Game, Thor? Why must there be a game? Is survival a game? I seem to be playing at that, if so, and doing well enough for myself so far, by the way, thank you for asking. And what else? Defending Midgard-- that’s one of your _favorite_ games, isn’t it? You like to come down here every so often and play the hero. Well, it seems if you are so inclined, you may have more work before you on that front. But it isn’t me you have a quarrel with.”

He found himself drifting around the table as he spoke, and now he was drawing close to Steve, but he stepped around him, continuing away.

“I suppose you could say I am also playing at being happy, though I think there is less pretense in that area than there has ever been in my life. And you, Thor? Still playing house with your mortal? Still pretending that Odin will ever accept her?” He had to get in a jab about that.

“I have seen your exploits on the television. Weak little thing, isn’t she? I do not know what use you see in her.”

He did not look at Steve, could not.

He felt like he was dangling over the edge of the broken bifrost again. Only this time, Thor had no intention of saving him. And he had no intent of throwing himself into the darkness.

  


Loki’s comments had Thor bristling, his hackles raised.

“Because it’s only ever been about how much _use_ anyone has to your brother, hasn’t it?” he growled. Like he was using the Avengers now, in some warped scheme against Thor. Not enough that he target the world he held dear, it seemed Loki’d now chosen to go after his companions as well.

There were some things Loki said -- playing at happiness, survival as a game -- that he did not quite understand. His brother had always had the most frustrating habit of speaking in circles, never coming out and directly saying what he meant, and then taking offense when no one took the time to decode his little turns of phrase.

But there were others things Thor understood well enough.

_You may have more work before you on that front._

“Make what threats you will, Loki. But should you threaten Midgard again, I will stop you, time and time again, until Ragnarok if need be,” he cautioned lowly. “The defense of the realms is no game, though I suppose it would explain a great deal that you think of it so callously.”

  


Loki rolled his eyes and turned to look at Steve, gesturing with empty hands towards Thor in a clear communication of _you see what I have been burdened with?_

“I repeat: it. is. not. _me._ you have a quarrel with. in defense of this realm.” He said, mocking pseudo patience slowing his speech to a crawl.

“I give no threat now to any but you: I will not return to Asgard so long I am needed here. Whilst I may be of _use_ here. Against the threat of Thanos.”

Of course Thor could not begin to know who that was or what it meant, but surely the gravity of his voice could lead him towards some conclusions.

“And if you try to take me from this place, you will find that my next escape will not be so subtle. Or so harmless to those who seek to hold me.” He crossed his arms, certain that he had spoken plainly enough that even this oaf of a man could make sense of it.

“I intend to stay and fight, and prove myself worthy of the life I intend to make for myself. If ever you have believed your claims in counting me as your brother, if ever you _once_ did truly care for me, you would set aside your knowledge of my heritage and you would not seek to return me to my cell to be left to rot. There is great danger which has turned its eye towards Midgard, and unlike you, who would choose to partner with the flimsiest mortal you know, I would have strength and capability at my back when Thanos comes. That is why I am here now, that is why I sup with the Avengers.” He lifted his chin, proud and glad that he had managed to explain himself without giving away anything in regards to he and Steve, or what he had been doing thus far in defense of the realm, which, in perfect honesty, amounted to very little.

“There is no game, Thor. There is only war, and our places in it when it comes.”

The trouble was that the prouder his words, the darker his thoughts and the smaller he felt within the shell of his arrogance. Who was he, really, to lead such a team, to attempt to stand against such a force? Even his oldest ally loathed him, and no matter how far he strode to rise in the estimation of others, he would forever be a liar in the eyes of all who knew him.

Only now he was a liar deprived of his lies, unarmed.

But he was not alone.

He stole a glance at Steve, wondering what he made of all of this, hoping that despite his discomfort, his doubt,and  the way that Barton’s words were rattling between his ears, that he was doing okay. Hoping he was not letting Steve down.

  


_There is only the war..._

  


They were not the same words, but a distorted echo of them -- the last conversation he and Loki’d had face to face like this, when Loki had been in the midst of laying waste to Midgard, while claiming to wish to rule and better the humans. The memory made the thin white scar along Thor’s ribs twinge with phantom pain, where Loki’s blade had bit into his flesh.

It smarted, as did Loki’s second slight against the Lady Jane, despite his having never met her. Though for that, at least, Thor was thankful. Jane was a kind and gentle soul; she did not deserve the cruelty of his brother.

And that same brotherhood that Thor had clung to all this time, and which Loki had repeatedly flung in his face, he sought to appeal to now for the sake of manipulating him.

“You would have been of use at your _home!”_ Thor growled. “You may lay claim to the protection of Midgard now, against this threat you say may be coming -- this Thanos -- but where were you when Asgard was under attack? When Malekith came?” he pressed. “Where were you when our mother--”

He broke off abruptly. For he had not been near enough either. But if he had... if Loki had not fallen to madness, and they’d had his blades, mind, and magic on their side, they might have sensed the dark elves’ approach all the sooner; Loki might have been able to guard Frigga while Thor investigated the breach in the dungeons. If things had been different--

Only, they weren’t. Thor’s shoulders sagged. Things had happened as they had, and no amount of empty wishing would change it. And even as he accused Loki, he felt a swell of guilt directed at himself; for hadn’t he been willing to spend the night on Midgard, making merry, in the hope of postponing the return to his wounded and broken family? Hadn’t he been a few paces too slow himself?

The fire went out of his blood in that moment, and he leaned heavily against Stark’s bar.

  


Loki felt the blood drain from his face and all of his facades fell away in a moment of shock and horror. Was he implying…?

“Frigga? What has--” his voice came out a strangled croak, and he stopped. Thor was looking pained and had slumped against the bar, and Loki had to clench his hands into fists to hide their shaking.

He took a few steps backwards until he was nearer Steve again. He did not touch him, but stood close just the same, just close enough to see him, to reassure himself that he was not alone.

“Thor.” He turned his voice demanding-- commanding-- “Tell me what has happened to Frigga.”

Frigga had ever been kind to him. Good to him. Had loved him like her own son, took him under her wing and raised him, taught him… he had always wanted to make Odin proud, but he had always been far closer to her.

It had been she who taught him to heal, how to use the seidhr that ran within him, it had even been she who first thought him capable of it, but now…

And Thor blamed him. Whatever had happened, it was his fault. Had his escape been too much for her? He’d always seen her as too strong to be hurt by anything… but… clearly he had been wrong. As he was about everything. He felt like something inside of him had shifted, constricted; it was hard to breathe.

“Please”, he managed, “Tell me what has happened to the Queen.”

  


Thor glanced up and watched as Loki moved closer to the Captain, demanding news of Thor through a strangled voice. The Captain, in turn, reached out and placed a hand on Loki’s shoulder, in an easy gesture of camaraderie and comfort. Something about the sight made something in Thor’s chest clench with emotion, though out of what sentiment, he wasn’t entirely sure.

And though the tortured look on Loki’s face brought him no joy -- Thor had no desire to ever see his brother in pain, regardless of his misdeeds -- it did bring with it a small sense of relief. Thor hadn’t wished to think that Loki’d had anything to do with the attack on Asgard, but since his disappearance, no one had known what he’d been up to. And as much as Thor had hated even entertaining the notion that Loki might have known about the dark elves through his many secret sources and arcane knowledge, or that he might have helped them infiltrate Asgard as he’d once helped the Jotnar, he hadn’t been able to banish the suspicion from his mind.

Until now. The horror on Loki’s face, and the clear pain at the thought of something happening to Frigga made clear that whatever his feelings toward Thor, Loki still held love for their mother. He would not endanger her so callously.

“A contingent of dark elves escaped Bor’s purge during the last great Aesir-Svartalfar War,” he began. “They slumbered for millennia, but woke these past few days, in time for the Convergence -- the aligning of the realms.” He shook his head. “They... attacked Asgard. None saw them coming; not even Heimdall until it was too late. Their forces were driven back, but not before Malekith had found and taken the Aether for himself, and not before...”

Thor paused and swallowed. It hurt to remember that paralyzing moment as he’d run into the wing of the palace where his mother and Jane had been, knowing he was too late. “Not before our mother was grievously wounded while fighting him off.” His gaze flitted downward. “I arrived in time to get her to the healers, if not to guard her. Her condition is... stable. But she has not yet awoken. When I asked Heimdall before he sent me here, he informed me that her state was unchanged, and Eir is doing all she can.”

He looked up and met Loki’s eyes. “I swear to you, those responsible have met with justice.”

  


She was not dead. Those who had harmed her were. It seemed despite Thor’s blame, he was not needed after all. She was hurt but stable, according to the healers. No doubt it was something odd, something altogether forgotten that was ailing her, or they should have had her on her feet again the day of the attack.

He wished he were there, able to care for her, to research and aid in the infirmary, though he knew that he was hardly capable of doing much good. He was not the best at anything there, and she was in the best of hands.

She did not need him now. And the bald look of relief that graced Thor’s features… He seemed to satisfied, seeing Loki appear to care, still, for those who had raised him.

Well now. They couldn’t have that, could they?

“Your mother.” He said, dropping his eyes and refusing to reach up, though he wanted to. To take Steve’s hand in his own and press the fingers still more firmly into his flesh. “Your home. I regret she has been injured; she was kind to me.” He kept his sentences short to hide the emotion within their words. “But no matter how you may feel on the subject, her protection and that of your realm are no longer my responsibility, if ever you truly believed them to be. In case you had forgotten, I was whelped on Jotunheim. Asgard holds naught for me but memories and lies.”

He stole a glance at Steve.

  


“I am making for myself a home here, on Midgard, and I intend to stay and defend it. I have no quarrel with you unless you attempt to interfere with that plan. If you hate me, and I believe you have every reason to, then go. Go back to your mortal, your golden throne, your injured mother and your wartorn Asgard. But do not attempt to take me with you. I have work to do. And if you can overcome your loathing for me in deference to your love of your friends, then you should stay. Recover. Learn with us what it is we fight. Your might would be a boon in the defense of Midgard, and these warriors, the Avengers, count you as one of their number.”

Saying so hurt; he was not one of them. This home of his was no more his than Asgard was, in truth. Thor had a previous claim to his place here, just as he had a previous claim to the throne and their parents’-- Odin’s and Frigga’s-- hearts.

He had Steve, and Steve was his, and he was glad of that. Glad to know that when it came to Loki and Thor, Steve’s alliance was not divided. But it felt so much like watching the life that he had thought he had laid claim to slipping through his fingers as the realization settled in him.

Still. Steve needed his team around him. That included his erstwhile brother. Loki bit the inside of his cheek and hoped that he had not pushed him away too far with his words.

  


Steve saw Thor’s expression go hurt, then blank, then hard as Loki disavowed Frigga, and moved to step forward once Loki finished speaking. He’d held his tongue for this long, but he needed to make sure Thor didn’t try to take Loki back to Asgard with him.

“Thor, I am so sorry about your mother, and about Asgard,” he began, speaking softly. “I hope she recovers quickly. And I understand if as prince, you need to go back to make sure your people are all right and your family is okay. But once things are set right on Asgard... Loki’s right, we could really use your help.”

He was proud of Loki for saying as much, knowing that asking for Thor’s help had to be a blow to his pride; it couldn’t have been an easy thing to ask for, but he’d done it for Steve and the Avengers and Earth.

“But,” he went on, “please, if you head back to Asgard -- don’t tell them where Loki is. Don’t try to bring him back or send anyone after him. I know you’re struggling to believe him right now, but if you can’t believe him, believe me; I’ve seen Thanos, and just a sampling of his power. And it’s enough that we all need to be very, very worried.” He held Thor’s gaze with his own. “Right now, Loki is our best hope; he knows more about Thanos and what he’s capable of than anyone else, and his familiarity with the other Realms, not to mention his magic, makes him a unique asset. We _need_ him. And he can do so much more good here than locked up in a cell on Asgard.”

For a long moment, Thor’s brow furrowed, and he seemed to contemplate his answer. Steve held his breath, until at last, Thor nodded.

“Very well,” he said, expression grim. “I leave him to your keeping, Captain Rogers. But should you require my aid, call out for Heimdall and tell him that I am needed urgently, and I will come.” He said the last portion with a warning look in Loki’s direction, before returning his attention to Steve.

“You are right that I am needed in Asgard. I would confirm the Queen’s condition with my own eyes and report to Odin on Malekith’s defeat. After, I hope to inform the Lady Jane that all is well, but then I will return to aid you, and you may tell me more of this threat.”

The relief Steve felt was nearly palpable, and it took most of his self control not to turn and grin at Loki over this victory. Thor seemed dubious and far from thrilled with this arrangement -- but he wasn’t dragging Loki back to lock him away, and he wasn’t going to abandon them all for harboring a fugitive from Asgardian justice.

“Thank you,” he said, holding his hand out. Thor clasped it with a bone-grinding grip, and they shook.

Letting go, Thor turned and headed back toward the door leading outdoors, hesitating as he slid it open and turning slightly. “I do not hate you, brother,” he said quietly. “And though you may not call her your mother any longer, know that she has never disavowed you as her son.”

He stepped out into the storm, and a few moments later, vanished in an earth-shaking beam of colored light.

  


When the glare of the Bifrost faded, Loki felt himself sag in relief.

He felt no less battered from his interaction with Thor than he would have if he would have come after him with his fists.

Loki put his hands on the table, his fingers curled in and his head bowed, and merely breathed for a few moments, long and ragged. Finally, he spoke.

“It seems Thor and I have ruined both lunch and dinner. If you want to call your friends back to the table, I think I should retire to our rooms for a while. I am not--” He didn’t know what else to say, so he stopped himself.

“I wasn’t there.” He said softly. “And even if I had been, I would have been locked up, unable to help, unable to protect her. I know this. And yet… I cannot help but still feel that it is my fault. That if I had not fled, had not tried to bargain with Thanos… she would not be injured now. And so I have failed Asgard and Frigga, and I have failed you, by bringing Thanos’s attentions here. I am, truly, the monster Barton thinks me, and more than he knows.” Everything felt bruised, though he knew that none of him was.

  
  


Steve came over behind Loki, and slowly, carefully, reached out to place a hand on his back.

“You’re not a monster,” he said quietly. He wasn’t sure how many times he’d said it, or how many more he would need to, but he would repeat it over and over again for as long as it took; as long as Loki needed to hear it. “Monsters don’t stay to help fight and to protect people,” he reminded. “And you had absolutely nothing to do with what happened to your mother.”

Loki might insist on referring to her by name and pretending at distance when Thor was present, but Steve saw through it well enough. As far as he was concerned, the queen of Asgard was Loki’s mom. “You said yourself, everyone thought the dark elves were gone. You wouldn’t have known or been any more prepared than anyone else, even if you weren’t locked up. And she had -- what -- a whole palace full of armed guards and Asgardian warriors?” He rubbed small circles with the hand on Loki’s back.

“Thor’s angry, yeah. But having seen people I love hurt or killed in battle, I can tell you, he’s more mad at the people responsible, and at himself, than he is at you. He just needs some time to process it so he doesn’t blindly lash out. You _both_ need time,” he added, sliding his hand up to give Loki’s shoulder a squeeze.

“JARVIS? Could you let Tony, Bruce, and Clint know that Thor is gone and Loki and I will be retiring for the night, if they want to take another crack at dinner?” He eyed the now-tepid spread regretfully. His insides still mostly felt in knots, though, so it was probably for the best.

  


Loki frowned and turned to face his partner, glad for this distraction.

"I did not mean to deny you your supper. I have already deprived you of your lunch, and I know that you need to eat, far more than I do, at the very least.”

Talk of monstrosity and blame and what was and wasn’t his responsibility, his fault, his doing… he had no interest in arguing it with Steve. If he were not culpable, he would not feel so terribly about it. If he was going to do anything now, it would be to try and convince him to care for himself. Otherwise…

After he had convinced Steve to eat, he thought he might curl into a ball of misery and make himself unavailable to the world in general for a while, while he contemplated his inability to do right by anyone.

Barton. Thor. Frigga. Steve… Steve especially. And Thor still wanted to call him brother, to lay claim to kinship that was a lie, that was… it was an unfair comparison. It was a dark mark on his name and a shadow for Loki to stand in. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t glad to be rid of him, why he refused to hate him.

It was good for their cause, but very bad for his peace, his calm. He could not wrap his mind around it, how he could spend so long being the unwanted spare son, and then become worse and worse, and then, when he had severed ties, only then was he told he was wanted, not loved necessarily, but not hated.

He had felt so unwanted that Steve’s wanting him felt like it chafed at times, like now, at odds with all that he knew of himself.

He did not deserve this man, this life… how had he tricked his way into it, what horrific damages was he doing now in this place?

His mind whirred, but it had latched onto the idea that Steve needed to eat. Loki eyed the plates.

“I will help you to heat whatever I can, if you need my aid. But please, Steve. Eat something.”

  


“Not really hungry after Barton and everything,” Steve admitted with a shrug. “Here...”

He withdrew from Loki, walking quickly into the kitchen, and returning a moment later with an apple and a plain bagel from the cupboard. “If I get hungry, I’ll eat. Worse comes to worse, I’ve also got some protein bars squirreled away. Or if you get hungry too, later, we can order a pizza.” One of the many marvels he’d discovered about the modern world was you could order food at _any time_ (at least in the city) and get it delivered.

Slipping his thumb through the hole in the bagel so he could hold both objects in one hand, he reached out with the other and clasped Loki’s shoulder. “How about we head back down to our place? I think we’ve had enough of a day, and I don’t really want to tempt fate by sticking around here for anyone else to show up.” He said it jokingly, but really, he felt exhausted by it all. And Loki looked like he probably felt the same.

He hadn’t failed to notice the way Loki latched on to the subject of food, of Steve, instead of acknowledging anything he’d said about Loki and his family. Which they needed to talk about at some point. Though it could wait until they settled in their own bed. He’d taken care of the food problem, so Loki could no longer fret about that as a distraction.

“Come on,” he added, jerking his head toward the elevator banks and making his way over so they could head down to the safety of their apartment.

  


The furrow in Loki’s brow deepened, but he did not argue. Steve was probably right. If he stayed in the penthouse, he was really just tempting fate and inviting trouble.

That seemed all he was capable of, all he was made for, lately. He took a deep breath and followed Steve into the elevator, where he let himself slump into the corner, the walls holding him up and as far as possible from Steve, for the few moments it took to get them to their floor.

Once they got into their rooms, he found himself just standing there, awaiting orders, directions… something. He felt aimless and hollow and numb, and he thought, distantly in the far off sliver of his mind currently capable of logic, that it was for the best he wasn’t feeling fully just now. If he had been, it would have been crippling, so much pain thrown at him all at once, so much uncertainty.

Steve was right to bring him down here. He would only have embarrassed him if they had remained above.

He wondered what he was meant to do now. He would resume working to find the sceptre, that much he knew, but if Barton was here and attempting to catch up and rejoin his team, perhaps it would be better he stayed down here for the forseeable future, when he was not working.

It was not a glass cage, as he knew Barton would no doubt prefer, if he couldn’t see Loki dead, but… these rooms could be his home and his cell.

He found himself standing in the doorway with his arms wrapped around himself, shaking lightly.

Nothing had prepared him for this day. There had been no sign this morning that it would turn so sour and exhausting, and he felt like he should sleep for a year, but he also felt as if he should spend thrice that seeking to make further amends, any that he could.

He turned his eyes to Steve and nearly burst into tears when he saw him. He was so strong and wonderful and _good_ and Loki was no more worthy of him now than he had been months before. He was never going to be good enough to deserve this man he loved, and this thought proved to be the final straw that broke through his shallow pool of false apathy, and sent the sorrow and grief and horror spiraling through him. He felt as though his arms wrapped around himself was holding his ribcage together. And suddenly he had no idea what to do with all of these emotions that threatened to burst out of him, violently and explosively.

“Steve--” He choked out, but he had no idea what to say, what to ask for. He just opened his arms, half heartedly, hoping that his partner was not too disgusted by his actions that day to want to touch him.

  


Steve lead the way. He noticed how Loki hung back and remained silent, and while he wanted to engage, to reach out and reassure him... Perhaps what Loki needed was space. And perhaps, even after all this time, he couldn’t quite ask Steve for it.

Because Steve was the one who almost always lead the way. Maybe not in bed, but... he’d been the one to initiate. He’d been the one to kiss Loki first, the one to ask that they have sex first, the one to make the plans and choose to flee from SHIELD and the one who had made the decision to come to Stark. He might not be a jailer, but he was still the one whose decisions affected every facet of Loki’s existence, from his work on the scepter to the home he lived in.

‘ _...The leash he’s on smells like Stockholm Syndrome, and you spent months tearing him apart and turning him into this.’_

Barton’s words in the back of his mind made him feel slightly sick. So he let Loki keep his distance, moving ahead into the apartment to set the snacks he’d grabbed from the penthouse down on the bar counter in their own kitchen. He tried not to cringe at the way Loki held back, wondering if it was Thor’s words in his mind now, or Clint’s. Had he been wrong in the way he’d stepped in between Thor and Loki? He’d done so much to split this team apart, he knew he had to work to get it back together, but had he hurt Loki or made him feel betrayed in the process? Playing back through snippets of conversation in his mind, he felt his insides twist and turn and began to feel a sense of dread. Things could have gone worse, but he certainly hadn’t been in top form tonight. If he could do it over -- if he could fix it all-- except he didn’t know how to fix it, because he just kept making a mess every time he did something well-intentioned. Had he done this to Loki? Had he--

“ _Steve.”_

He turned, and there was Loki, arms outstretched, expression contorted in grief. And every other thought went out the window.

He cleared the distance between them in two quick strides, wrapping his arms around Loki and pulling him close in a crushing hug. “Hey,” he murmured into Loki’s hair. “Hey, I’m here. I’m here. We’re all right.”

After a moment he pulled back, just enough to press his forehead against Loki’s, arms lowering but still looped around his waist. “Talk to me.”

  


Loki had no words, just let out a bubbling sob and buried his face into his partner’s chest.

“It hurts, Steve. All of it hurts.” The words were simplistic and immature and all he could muster. His thoughts swam and circled and dove and tore at him, and he was amazed he was able to so much as string those few into coherency.

He felt like a small child, helpless and in pain and pleading with his mother to make it go away.

But she hadn’t been his mother, and now she was hurt, and he couldn’t even go to her without risking being stopped, being imprisoned. He hadn’t been there to stop her getting hurt, and he couldn’t be there now.

And the reason he hadn’t been there was because he was here, hurting others. The reason he couldn’t go back was because of the lives he had ruined and the families he had destroyed, and he had been _so proud_ of what he’d done.

She had lied to him. Lied about who and what he was. And all he could do about it was try to hate her. But he couldn’t. And he had only ever been held up to Thor as a comparison-- Thor was the image of everything that was wrong with Loki, everything he was not. Everything he lacked. And he had loved Thor, had cherished him even through Loki’s own jealousy and contempt. And even now Thor would not do him the favor of hating him. All he wanted was to have him gone, the brother who cast a long shadow removed from the picture.

What would the Avengers think, when Thor returned and they saw them together? They would not be able to resist drawing comparisons, and no doubt finding Loki wanting. And what would Steve think?

Loki did not believe that Thor was one to bed men, but…

He felt his heart clench at the thought.

Everything that Steve did not like about Loki, did not want in him, those were the qualities that Thor did not possess. Where Loki was wrong and dark and mean spirited, Thor had always been righteous and kind and golden. Steve deserved someone like that. Someone who could lead with him, someone who was not a useless dark mark on his life, a leech. A shadow.

Loki felt his hands fisting into Steve’s clothing, as his thoughts slanted this way, and the tears began to fall and moisten Steve’s shirt.

“I’m trying to be better.” He told him, “I am, I’m trying, and I can’t-- nothing I do works, nothing is good enough to-- I can’t take it back, and I can’t be _good enough_.” He wasn’t even sure they were words, thick and muffled as they emerged from him.

And maybe he wanted Steve to leave him. Wanted him to be far from him and safe from all of the hatred that his so much as being _close_ to Loki saw leveled at him. He did not deserve to be hated because he loved. He did not deserve the doubts that he must fight constantly. He deserved someone so much better, someone so far from what Loki was, someone that would not break his friends and life into pieces just to make room for himself.

Someone who had not _broken_ his friends, as Loki had Barton.

Steve just deserved someone as good as he was, and it seemed… it seemed Loki was never going to be that. He would never be worth the pain he inflicted on every life he touched, every person he was near to, every dear one that he loved… they all would suffer for knowing him. And that kind of guilt, atop all the rest, was more than he could bear.

“I’m so bad, Steve, so bad for you. Barton hates me and because he hates me he has begun to hate you. When Thor finds out--” He bit off the words, because it terrified him. “You should find someone better.” He said softly. But he did not release him, could not make himself push Steve away. _Selfish_.

  


Steve’s eyes began to sting with tears as Loki spoke.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re not bad. Okay? You’re not. And you _are_ being better. It’s just taking everyone else time to see it. Doesn’t mean they’re right about you, because they’re wrong. They’re just seeing who you were, not who you are.” This was only the second time Barton had been in a room with Loki since the invasion, and the first time Thor had seen his brother, presumably since he’d been thrown in Asgard’s dungeon. Clearly, neither had time to get to know the Loki he’d changed in to.

Neither had given him much of a chance.

“I know it’s gotta be frustrating, having to prove yourself over and over to everyone,” he murmured. “It’s frustrating to _me,_ and I can only imagine what it must feel like for you. But you’ve been doing great. Tony? Used to have panic attacks and nightmares about the invasion. Pepper says he’s been actually doing _better_ the last month or so. He didn’t believe us at first, but now he considers you a friend. Hell, he was fine with introducing you to _Pepper._ He loves her more than anything, and wouldn’t let her within a mile of you if he didn’t believe you were better,” he pointed out, reaching up to run his fingers back through Loki’s hair.

“And Bruce?” he continued, “Bruce is in your corner. Clint might come around in time, and if not... well, there’s only so much we can do before it’s on Clint to meet us halfway. And if he hates me, he hates me because I didn’t tell him something he felt he had a right to know. He hates me because of a choice _I_ made. You don’t get to take any blame for that, because it’s between him and me.”

He felt sick just thinking about it, but not for a moment did he blame Loki for the way things had gone down between Barton and Steve. He might have been the catalyst, but he’d been paying for his actions before. Steve had long since forgiven him for that.

“As for Thor,” he went on, carefully, “he still calls you ‘brother’, Loki. I think that oughta give us a lot of hope. And you said yourself, Asgard’s more open-minded ‘bout... ‘bout folks like you and me.” He still wasn’t thrilled about telling the God of Thunder he was having intimate relations with his little brother, mainly because he preferred all his ribs intact, but that was something to worry about another day. Thor wouldn’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest.

He brushed a kiss to Loki’s forehead, then pulled back to look him in the eyes. “I don’t want anyone else,” he told him, “better or worse. I just want _you,_ okay? Because you’re wrong about being bad for me, honest to God -- you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in seventy years.”

  


Loki shook his head, unable to yield.

“I don’t _want_ Thor to call me brother, I don’t want to have hope, I don’t want to think things will get better. It just hurts more every time it isn’t, every time someone compares he and I, every time I let you down; I don’t want that. I don’t want to open myself to that pain. It’s not-- I can be so good. I could be the kindest person, I could never cause another moment of harm and I could heal each person I see and I could… could give everything I have, my seidhr, my life… I will still forever be remembered as the madman who killed hundreds, the god who brought other worlds crashing down upon yours. And there is nothing I can do to escape that. The majority of people do not even know I am here, because they will react with fear and anger, and so I will continue trying to be good, and each time someone new comes to know me, I will face this again, this disconnect, this… this ever present reminder that no matter how good I seem, how long I am that way, it will all be viewed as a trick, a trap, a game, a ploy… Loki is evil, is untrustworthy, Loki is a liar and a cheat and a deceiver, Loki the murderer, Loki the monster.”

He spoke quickly, almost angrily, though it all sprung from the deep well of hurt inside of him, and he could feel the pressure of the tears, just waiting to return. Waiting to remind him how weak he was, how useless and senseless.

“You will never be able to escape people viewing you with suspicion, with disgust and disdain, so long as you are with me. It would be better if I had never left the cell in SHIELD, if I had just been honest with you then, and you could gather your allies, and there would not be any of this mistrust, this hatred and the fighting and the doubt… If you didn’t love me, your life would be so much more whole. So much easier. And if I didn’t love you…” He trailed off, but he thought he knew the way things would be. He remembered when he thought Steve was dead, when he was alone in his cell being fed caustic foods.

“If I didn’t love you, I would probably have given up by now. And I would not have to face disappointment and loathing and… your friends like me, they try to like me for you. But I feel as though that is such a fragile thing, soap bubbles of trust, and a single harshly spoken word, a single broken eggshell on this floor I walk, and they will turn on me. And they would say it was for your own good, and they would not be wrong.”

He sucked in air, feeling the sting in his throat from his crying.

“Thor will not hate us for being men. I am not always that, as well he knows, and as you say, Asgard has its understandings. But… But I think he will lose respect for you, because you have chosen to dally with the enemy. He may love me, you see, but I am the enemy, the foe. The villain. And he will try to love me, but that is not… it does me no good. No help. His love is poisoned by the years of betrayal it reminds me of each time it is thrust at me. And he offers it as some sort of trophy, as a boon, and I don’t-- You I love, and when I think of how you love me, it is like having krellr poured back into my body. When I think of him… I become furious. And that is only a small part of what makes me horrible.”

  


“You’re not horrible.”

Steve’s chest ached. He pulled Loki in close again, holding him tight, squeezing his eyes shut and then blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “You’re not horrible. You... You’re hurt. And you and Thor have a lot of history. I can’t blame you for-- for that being complicated. Our history is straightforward enough.” Loki had tried to kill him; Loki mimicked him; Loki talked to him; Loki saved him; Loki loved him. Perhaps not the most sensible progress to most, but the way he felt about Loki made sense.

Sometimes, it felt like the only thing that did.

“It’ll get better,” he added, chin on Loki’s shoulder. “People will forget, slowly. Human memory is pretty short.” He grimaced. “I’ve seen that firsthand. And the more good you do, the more people will at least be _willing to listen.”_ He couldn’t pretend that everyone would immediately forgive Loki his sins; there were some who’d lost too much, who’d been hurt too badly. But the world at large could change the way it viewed him. If Loki was the man who helped save the world from Thanos, not the man who laid waste to a single city, well...

“We’re gonna save the world, you and me,” he reminded him. “We’re gonna find a way, and we’re gonna save everyone, and then, whether they know it or not, it’ll all be because of you. You’re going to help save them all, and you’ll _know._ And _I’ll know._ And if anyone still hates you after that, well--” He blinked with an abrupt swell of anger, “well then _screw ‘em!”_

His arms tightened around Loki, squeezing him closer. It was hard to feel such righteous anger for his own sake, to believe he was worth casting off any cares about what others thought, but for Loki’s sake, it was a whole different matter.

“Screw ‘em. Forget ‘em. Because we’re not in this for the attaboys. This isn’t for the medals or the glory, none of it. Maybe people hate us. I don’t care. You shouldn’t care. Because we won’t be the ones doing the hating. You’re a hero, okay? Yeah, you hurt people. You _were_ a villain. But you’re making up for it now and you’re helping people and putting yourself in danger to save lives, even though you know nobody’s gonna thank you. And that’s the definition of a hero.”

He pulled back again, this time reaching up to cup Loki’s face in his hands.

“If Thor loses respect for me for loving you, then I don’t want his respect. And if SHIELD refuses to give you an honest second chance and to trust either of us because I did, then I don’t want to be the kind of man they would trust. If our friends turn on us, they’re not friends to either of us, though I honestly don’t believe they would do that. And you?” He choked on the lump in his throat. “Don’t you dare talk about my life being better without you, okay?”

Before Loki could protest, Steve leaned in to seal his mouth with a kiss -- long and sweet and soft. He pulled away and drew in a breath raggedly. “If you hadn’t left your cell at SHIELD, I’d be dead. Or worse. And if I didn’t love you, I’d still be walking through life day in and day out feeling empty, like part of me was still frozen in that ice. I love you. I... I _need_ you, dammit.” His voice tightened and threatened to crack. “I need you. I need you, and I love you, and _I know you,_ Loki. I know who you are, and I know how good and important you are, and I know about the good you do, even if no one else does.”

  


Loki sucked in air, trying to have care about how he responded.

“No one but you is ever to be allowed to see what good I do, Astin Min. None will ever listen because they do not hear me, do not see me. I must be invisible lest my existence place us both in danger, because of the hate I have inspired in others. Does this sound like something a good person would experience? Does this sound like something anyone, but especially you, should have to go through? I love you, I need you, I will always want you. But I need you to be safe and happy and… I feel as if I am in the way of that. You cannot merely say ‘Fuck ‘em’ and ignore that you need your friends. And not just for this fight. You go to them for help with your life, your understandings… you need them. And _maybe_ we will save the world. But if I were to die in the process, you would mourn alone, and those who asked why you mourn would mock you, or tell you not to waste your tears for the likes of me. And if you were to die… Steve, no one has any way of knowing, any reason to believe that was not somehow part of my plan all along.”

He leaned in and rested his head against Steve’s.

“I am tired. I am tired of hurting and feeling as if I am not moving anywhere, no matter how hard I work and how far I feel I have come… with but a few words I can be reduced to feeling as though I have accomplished naught. And in honesty, what have we managed? Midgard knows nothing of Thanos and the threat that towers over them. The sceptre is missing. Our alliances are few and fragile. We are unprepared, and the work that for you would be a matter of minutes before, mobilizing forces, organizing intelligence-- yes I have my limited uses, but do my drawbacks not overpower them? Do I not cause more problems than I solve?”

He pulled back. “I do not want you to leave me. I want you to help me find a way to be helpful and useful and… and _good_. Good enough that Tony will have no nightmares, that Barton will see that I am not going to kill him. I don’t want people to fear me, or hate me. I do not need them to worship or love me-- your love is enough-- but I need… I need to be allowed to be something other than a shadow. I have always been a shadow. A shame. I cannot stand much more of it. It makes me feel so small--” His voice finally gave out and he took a few deep breaths to regain his control.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I am just so tired.”

  


He wished he had the right words. The right words to make it all better and _fix it._ The words to inspire and to restore, like in all those damn speeches he gave to the crowds and the troops.

  


But he didn’t.

  


He didn’t have anything to say that would make it all better, nothing Loki wouldn’t see through.

Not yet, anyway.

He inhaled deeply, then let it out. “Don’t you dare die, okay?” he murmured. “Don’t you dare. Not you too.” That simply wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t let it be an option and no matter what came to pass, he wouldn’t allow it.

“I’m tired too,” he added a second later. “Which I think is a good reason for us to both go to bed, okay? It’ll all... it’ll all look better tomorrow. We’ll sleep on it, and when we wake up, we can come up with a plan. You and me, together. Okay?”

He pulled back from Loki, finding his hand and sliding their fingers together as he took a step toward the bedroom. “We’ll fix this. In the morning.”

  


He nodded and squeezed Steve’s hand.

“Today has been overlong, and I am ready to have done with it.” He said, grateful that Steve was not asking questions of him, making him speak and delve into himself and demand answers.

Loki followed Steve towards their room, undoing the buttons of his shirt with his free hand as they went.

He was glad that he did not wear much when he slept-- he thought that tonight of all nights, he would benefit from having Steve’s skin on his own… not in a sexual way, just for comfort, for closeness. So he wouldn’t feel alone.

So that he would not close his eyes and worry that when he opened them again, none of this really would have happened. That it was all a dream, or worse, one of Thanos’s newest forms of training, a new way to hurt him-- to promise him this life and then rip him away from it.

But no. This was real. He had to cling to that or be driven mad with fear, with doubt… and Steve’s touch made it real. Made him feel safe and wanted and loved and…

He peeled his shirt off and hung it up, lest it wrinkle before he could clean it.

The marking on Steve’s neck had faded a little already, and Loki was glad of that for the embarrassment it would save Steve, the reminder that it would likely not serve as at breakfast the following morning… but he needed to spend some time thinking of something he could give his partner. Some token of his affections, like Steve’s tags. He ran gentle fingers over them, thoughtfully, then pulled his eyes sharply back up to Steve’s face, finally ready to address Steve’s fear of losing him, refusal to even think of him dying as a possibility. He clearly needed that reassurance.

“I am going to be here when you wake, Steve. I promise you, I am going nowhere. And tomorrow… whatever comes we will face it together.”

He readied himself for bed, climbing onto the mattress before he froze, a realization striking him.

“Steve?” He asked softly. “I nearly--” he swallowed, feeling guilty. “How are you-- after Barton. I was thinking how much I needed to hold you and tell you that he was wrong about you, that he didn’t understand. You know, too, that you aren’t-- what he said. You know that he was wrong about you too, right?”

  


Steve paused in his undressing and offered Loki a small smile when he promised not to go anywhere. It wasn’t the strongest promise, but... it was good, all the same. They were on the same side, and hopefully the same page. Tossing his clothes into the hamper, stripped down to his briefs, he went into the bathroom and left the door open as he quickly brushed his teeth -- just enough to chase the lingering hints of Tex-Mex from his mouth.

He was just a pace behind Loki in crawling into bed, when Loki said his name again. He paused in sliding under the sheets. Because Clint had been wrong about some things, but not all of them, and maybe-- Maybe Steve was sick or broken in some way. Maybe he was, in part, at fault for how Loki was now. The armor he’d wrapped himself up in had made him cruel, but it had kept him whole for the most part. And Steve had systematically dismantled it to leave him kind, but raw; vulnerable; pained.

He’d tried to help, but what if he’d done anything but? And somehow he’d twisted and hurt Loki so completely that he’d love him and thank him for it in spite of everything...

He swallowed, then smiled at Loki. “Of course,” he lied. Because Loki didn’t need his troubles on top of everything else. Not right now.

Wriggling the rest of the way under the sheets, he tugged the quilt up over the both of them and wrapped his arms around Loki, pulling him flush against him so he could feel the dry warmth of his skin on his own. He exhaled, burrowing into his lover’s arms, and let his eyes shut. “I love you.”

  


Loki tightened his arms around Steve, not really believing his calm agreement but unwilling to push it.

He had already said that he was ready to call an end to it, which Loki took to mean that he did not wish to speak of it any further. So he would not try.

And Loki was, in honesty, exhausted. They had been through so much, and he had managed to cause so much harm in the course of one day-- more, he thought, than any other day since he had first invaded Midgard with the Chitauri.

“And I love you.” He responded, warmly and sincerely.

If nothing else went right today, this part was right. Always would be right; the part where he and Steve held one another and could press themselves together, until their heart rates matched and slowed and sleep overtook them, until they were warm and safe and things were perfect between them in calm and silence and sleep.  
Loki drifted off, his mind uneasy but his body more than willing to yield. And the last thing he saw were the marks he left on his partner, which caused a small smile to part his lips while his eyes slid closed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Thor has finally joined the party, after 42 chapters! Thanks again to everyone who has stuck around to read this behemoth and left such lovely commentary.


	43. Forty-Three

 

When Steve woke, it was still dark out. Still, despite his attempts to fall back asleep, curling into Loki and listening to his soft and even breaths, he couldn’t quiet his mind enough to slip back into slumber.

He thought of his promise made hours ago, to fix everything in the morning. And though it was the wee hours still, dawn was not far off, and he still needed a plan.

 

_No one but you is ever to be allowed to see what good I do._

 

He tossed and turned, but fortunately, Loki was deeply asleep enough that he didn’t stir. His words haunted Steve’s mind all the same.

 

_I must be invisible lest my existence place us both in danger, because of the hate I have inspired in others._

 

Loki lived in the shadows. He’d been in Thor’s shadow before, and he was the ghost in the tower now, only allowed to exist as himself within these walls, his presence on Earth a carefully-kept secret. It was a cruel way to ask him to live. A cruelty Steve subjected him to, and that Steve needed to find a solution to. To find a way to let others see him in a better light...

 

_I want you to help me find a way to be helpful and useful and good._

 

Loki was good. Loki was a hero, really.

Steve blinked, then carefully slid out of bed. He switched on the bedside lamp, then paused, watching to see if Loki woke. He snuffled slightly in his sleep, but then stilled, drifting back into a deeper stage of dreaming. Exhaling, Steve recovered his pencils and sketchbooks, climbing back into bed and sitting up against the headboard, paper in his lap.

He’d promised Loki a plan in the morning. It was time to deliver.

 

When Loki woke, he did not immediately move. Sleep had not completely wiped away the nightmares of the previous day. He did not want to get up, did not want to get dressed and go upstairs and face Barton and his words, barbed with accusations. But he did want to see his lover.

So he let his eyes open slowly and adjust to the light, and he listened to the sounds of Steve’s pencil dancing over the paper-- not an unfamiliar sound, but one that he seldom woke to. Good though; it meant that Steve was either at peace or working out something. Given the day prior, he was amazed Steve had not woken in a sweat.

“Hmm, wh’t’re you working on?” Loki asked groggily, when he did finally feel ready to join the waking world.

He sat up and propped his head on his hand, only then noticing the papers, some flat and some crumpled up, but all scattered over the bedspread.

He could not tell if Steve was upset, with his face turned down and his attention devoted to his work, but he knew that today was the fresh day he had spoken of. If Steve was upset, now was when they would be allowed to address it.

“You weren’t drawing me sleeping were you? I trust you left out the drool, if so.” He tried for some levity, just to try and feel out whether or not he would respond to it.

 

Steve glanced up from the paper in his lap, and was startled to find the sun was up. The time had slipped away from him, though the discarded sketches on the bed testified to the hours spent drawing, marking the progression of his ideas.

He looked over at Loki, then felt the corner of his mouth tug into a smile. Rumpled and bed-headed, Loki always managed to look particularly soft and sweet in the mornings.

“What, and sacrifice a commitment to realism?” he teased dryly, lowering his pencil and reaching over to run a hand through his lover’s hair.

As good of an opportunity as it might have been to capture Loki looking untroubled and at peace, he’d been busy with a different project. Another morning, maybe. But as for today--

“I actually.... well. I’m working on some designs,” he began. “For your armor. I mean, the get-up you have is impressive, but it’s too well-known now. The horns and cape and all. I was trying to come up with some alternatives. Here--”

He passed the sketch he was currently working on, and another piece of paper lying on the bed which hadn’t been balled up, over to Loki to review.

“Bit more Midgardian. If you don’t like them, that’s fine, obviously they’re just sketches, we can rework them so you’re happy. I tried to keep it similar enough in style and functionality...”

 

 

Loki sat up the rest of the way before accepting the papers, lest he rumple them, and he was amused at the way the surface of the bed shifted and slid from the papers sprawled over it.

The armor designs were good-- very practical, very much in line with his preferences and style, but without looking as wicked as his past designs had.

“I like the helm, it’s very compact, and the coat seems like it would offer a good deal of movement. The chestplate, too, is well thought out-- and I like that you have not banished my horns entirely. Though…” he licked his lips and looked up at Steve, worried that he would seem ungrateful. “I have no ability in creating armor, and no means with which to contact any who do. Let alone money to afford it. And…” This was perhaps the most relevant part of all, but also the hardest to speak of.

“It seems a shame to waste your ability on something no one will see. Unless you intend to display them here-- I did not mean to presume that you meant to have them made, given that… until Thanos, there is little enough reason to arm or armor me.” He shrugged.

“I do like them though. If I were in it as opposed to what I currently have, I would inspire that much less fear.” He put on a smile for Steve, and leaned in. “Thank you for helping me to make others less afraid of me.” He said, though his chest twinged with regret at being unable to actually produce these designs. At being unable to wear them, for both Steve and himself. He had to scoot closer to kiss his partner, but the effort was well worth it.

And he _did_ appreciate it. It meant that Steve had been listening to him-- not that he doubted it. But it was nice to see this physical manifestation of his words-- that he wanted people to fear him less, and now Steve was trying to find ways. It was sweet. He was sweet.

 

At Loki’s praise, he smiled. He’d been a little nervous, and had discarded numerous sketches that were either too close to the original design, or too far afield from it, before reaching a middling ground, where the overlapping layers and general Asgardian aesthetic merged with modern tactical gear and battle armor. He’d worked on marrying the protection human technology could afford with some of the motifs of Loki’s old armor, echoing enough of his old look that he’d feel at home in the armor, and like himself, without worrying about causing a panic with the same silhouette that had become notorious. It had proved a surprisingly challenging exercise (the helmet had given him particular difficulty), but the smile on Loki’s face was completely worth it.

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle when Loki claimed not to know anyone who could make armor. “You realize Tony makes all his own armor, right?” he asked. “The first iron man suit, he built himself using old-school blacksmithing. In a cave. They mention it in pretty much every article that’s been written about him in the last four and a half years. Every Iron Man suit since then he’s engineered and made -- I’m sure he’d be happy to make you some armor. Probably load it up with all the bells and whistles too, if you want them.” And maybe even if he didn’t. Steve doubted Tony would be awake at this hour, but perhaps come noon, he’d try to find him and show him the initial designs. He’d be able to build blueprints from there, and would have ideas for what kind of materials would work best. He’d already teased Steve a few times about upgrading his Captain America gear, and while finding the scepter naturally took priority, Steve didn’t think Tony would shy from having multiple projects, given his fleeting attention span.

“And it’s not gonna be a waste,” he added, scooting in closet to Loki so he could put an arm around his shoulders. “You might look slick as hell in a suit, but it’s not exactly Avenger attire. If you’re going to be coming out with us on calls, we’ve got to make sure you’re geared up for it.”

He looked down at Loki’s face, watching his expression and waiting for the ball to drop.

 

Loki flushed a little.

Steve was right; he’d completely discounted Stark, perhaps because the suits he wore were so far divorced from Loki’s imagining of armor that they didn’t seem the same thing at all. Or, perhaps because he had just awakened, he was not yet fully alert, and he was, somewhat foolishly, admittedly, thinking of his loyalty to Eymundr, who had built all of his armor through the years, and was now unreachable to him.

If asked he would blame it on the sleep addled state of his mind.

But he wasn’t, because Steve continued talking, and all Loki could do was stare at him.

“I don’t-- I’m not--” His words fled him and he swallowed. His heart _ached_ with the offer, but…

“You _can’t_. Your team-- what do they think of-- and the rest of Midgard’s people…” He trailed off and looked down at the designs again. “Is this meant to separate this costume from me?” He asked carefully. “Would I fight beside you as myself, reimagined, or as someone wholly new?” Because the helmet as it was here would hide much of his face. And if they constructed it in Stark’s materials rather than those of Asgard, the styling would be similar, but he could pass as someone other than himself. Someone new.

He had said before that that should be the answer-- He could begin again, change his name and start anew with the remainder of the world, even if those closest to the Captain would know the truth.

But it seemed such a strange answer to the previous day’s events.

People they both cared about had expressed distrust of Loki, and Steve responded by designing for him a suit, that he might… might what? Fight with the Avengers? _Be_ one?

He was getting ahead of himself, he knew; He had not earned that. It was an enchanting thought though, for nothing said he was on the side of good quite like being allowed to openly fight for it, but also…

“When I spoke yesterday of others not being allowed to see me… I did not mean to guilt you or force your hand. You know that, yes? I just… I told you months ago when we first kissed that I would be your secret as long as you need me to. Yesterday was… I was not feeling my best. I do not want you to think you must make these decisions, especially knowing the likelihood of your friends, your team, objecting-- just because I needed to complain.”

He leaned into him.

“Barton said enough yesterday to make you feel poorly about yourself. Even if you say you know he is wrong, I know you. I do not want to think I have added to that. And I do not want to be the cause of yet more trouble falling upon you.”

 

“Do you want to pass as someone totally new?” Steve asked, curious. “Because... if you do, if you want a clean slate to start over with, we can probably do that.” It hadn’t been his original intention, but if Loki wanted a fresh public persona... It might be the easier route, though it would necessitate more ongoing lies. Easier in the short-term, harder in the long-run. But it might be cleansing, in a way, for Loki to shuck his old self. Assuming that was how he wanted things.

Steve frowned, recalling that Loki had been given a whole new identity once before. “Only if you want, though,” he added quickly. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide who you are or be someone else in order to be accepted. Because that isn’t the point of this. I was thinking-- I mean, yeah, you’d be less immediately recognizable. You could maybe come out on a few small public appearances or call-outs with me and Bruce and Tony -- enough that people see you, see you’re an Avenger and have a chance to like you -- and then once people are asking who the new hero in town is, we can tell them. After they’ve all had a chance to love you for what you do rather than hate you for what you did; there’ll still be backlash, but folks might be willing to give you a chance and not just reject you automatically, if they’ve seen you being good and helping them.”

He shifted back against the cushions. “Pepper can help out. She knows how to spin this sort of thing. Tony too, he’s dealt with the press a lot. They’ll have ideas. We might have to... well, we might have to exaggerate certain parts of your story,” he admitted, grimly, “you know, for the public. Propaganda.” He sighed. He’d done it enough during the war that he had little reason to balk at it. It was for a good reason, after all, even if it felt a little dishonest. “And we can show people that you’re a different Loki. The _new_ Loki. I don’t suspect it’ll be easy, but you deserve better than having to hide.”

Loki shouldn’t be forced to be invisible. And he’d done so much and worked so hard for redemption. Shouldn’t that come with at least the opportunity for acceptance? If he was going to be risking so much to protect Earth, shouldn’t he deserve a chance to call the whole world, and not just a set of rooms in one building in one city on it, his home?

“After the way you handled things in Bryant Park, I don’t think Tony or Bruce would have any qualms with you having their backs. Natasha, I think, can adapt to any ally she’s given. Thor’s fought beside you for centuries, so I think once he sees this is all on the up and up, he’ll be fine with it. Clint... isn’t gonna be happy,” he admitted. “I’ll talk to him, though. Before springing it on him. We might be able to work something out, like some kind of rotation, where neither of you go out on the same mission, or if we do have the whole team called out, neither of you get paired up if we split up.” It’d be a hard sell. He’d wait a few days before bringing it up, so Clint had a chance to calm down. But not so long that he’d have fresh reasons to hate him.

“We’ll have to talk it over with everyone and come up with a plan, since this will involve them too. They might have fresh ideas for stuff I haven’t thought of also. But...” he paused, licking his lips and glancing down. “You were right. Doesn’t matter if you only said as much as you did because you were upset, because you were still right. You do a lot of good helping Tony and Bruce in the lab, and you’ll do a lot of good collaborating with the docs downstairs, but you deserve a chance to do good where people can see it so they can accept you and give you a chance. You’ve worked this hard for it; you deserve that much. Not to mention, you could be an amazing addition to the team. If you want.”

He looked Loki in the eyes. “This is your choice. I just want you to know, I’m willing to make this happen and do what I can, if you want it. And if you don’t... well, we can still make up the armor, just in case, so we don’t have any repeats of what happened with Schultz.”

 

“I want to fight beside you. As your partner, and as part of your team...if they will have me. And insofar as the name attached to me goes, I think perhaps we should speak with them about it as well. I do not… I would not mind being someone new, but nor would I mind being myself. I _would_ mind making your friends feel as though I were forcing them into a lie, or being complicit in one, which is near enough the same.”

He looked up at Steve, though, adoration in his eyes and a hopeful smile on his face.

“Really, thank you. You cannot begin to know what this means to me, what you mean to me.”

He curled in closer to Steve’s side and stretched upwards, the angle a little odd for kissing, but he managed just fine all the same.

The morning felt softer and sweeter and calmer than the rest of yesterday had gone, and Loki was hopeful that it would progress better as well. But for now…

“I think we should order in some food, just to be sure that we eat before there are any opportunities to put us off it again.” He didn’t want Steve not eating, and his appetite had returned as well. “Also, how are the marks I left you with faring? Because I feel as though, before we face Barton again, perhaps any that linger you should allow me to heal or at least conceal. He will have a hard enough time coming to terms with our relationship without adding in the peculiar facets of the things we do in bed. Not that there is anything wrong with it, merely that it is more data than he should have at this juncture.” Loki hastened to add, lest Steve feel guilty for wanting what he did, anymore than he already did.

“I also want to speak to Bruce today and apologize to him for causing his near loss of control. And then I should return to work, I assume, unless Bruce is not up to it, or Tony is… well it is possible that Barton’s words had an adverse effect on him as well, given his past issues centered around me and what I did. We may have a good deal of cleanup to do today.” He said thoughtfully. “But eating first before we worry about the rest.”

 

Steve smiled and kissed Loki back, feeling safe and warm and content in bed with him, regardless of whatever else the day could bring. After all, it could hardly be as bad as yesterday. Unless Fury decided to show up, and maybe Scofield, or Odin himself.

(Steve quickly abandoned that line of thought before he tempted fate.)

“We’ll talk to the others then, and see what they think before making any major decisions,” he agreed. He then looked up to the ceiling. “JARVIS? Are there any places nearby that deliver breakfast food?”

“ _Yes, Captain. Mr. Stark is partial to a diner on Second Avenue. Shall I bring up a menu for you?”_

The AI summoned a digital menu on Steve’s tablet (which he had to recover from where he’d left it in the kitchen), and the two of them placed an order for eggs, waffles, bacon, and anything else that happened to look good, to be delivered within roughly thirty minutes.

“Given we don’t have a kitchen table yet,” Steve pointed out, wriggling back under the sheets, moving his tablet and sketches to the bedside table to clear the bedspread, “I think this means we’re having breakfast in bed.” As a habitually early riser, it was a luxury he hadn’t enjoyed in a long time.

“And don’t worry too much about Bruce or Tony,” he added, a bit softer. “We’d have heard it and felt it if Bruce really lost control, so none of us broke his streak. And I think if Clint managed to rattle Tony, he’ll be able to shrug it off easy enough.” Clint himself would be another matter, of course, and Loki did have a good point about... perhaps not _flaunting_ their relationship. He sighed. “Bruises feel like they’re mostly gone. I can wear a collared shirt today if need be.” He wrapped his arms around Loki. “Your seidhr is doing better this morning?”

 

“My seidhr has returned in full, yes. After we eat I will look you over, if you want, just to be certain; and it will not take much seidhr to remove what little may remain. I think, at least until Barton is more comfortable with me, I am going to make a concentrated effort not to use too much of my seidhr, that I might bring myself down here instantly should a need arise.”

And Steve, too, for that matter, though by now he knew better than to say so. Steve would likely see it as running away, and object, when it was obvious to Loki that Barton would need some space and some time in order to be able to think things through and come to terms with them.

And Loki was capable of giving space, at least, though time was beyond him. They were all on some deadline they knew very little of. And he needed to see about speeding their current progress along. He thought of how he grew impatient, waiting for the bath to fill, and merely duplicated the water. He wondered if the same principle could be applied to the power of the device Stark was building. He filed the thought away to bring up to him later.

“It is less about my being concerned for breaking Bruce’s streak and Tony’s calm, but more for having been the cause of discord within their home. It is… it would have delighted me, once. And now, I know that means I ought to apologize. And… doing so will also give me a chance to address any lingering concerns they may have, or renewed concerns that Barton’s words may have created, away from him and in a way that feels less like an attack and more like a conversation.”

He shrugged.

“I am sorry that we do not yet have a table. I know much of that has to do with my having been too busy to go shopping for furniture with you as we’d planned. We should choose a day and time for it. I want to be sure not to neglect you as I had before. Or our lives. I do tend to… I have spent several days in a row not leaving a room, before, while engaged in a project. That level of obsession comes easily to me.” And more than that, it would look terribly to Barton’s outside view if they had risked everything to be together and then spent most of their days apart, with Loki ignoring his partner.  
Again, though, he did not say as much. Steve did not need to be burdened by such things, so long as Loki was aware of them.

“And what of you?” He asked. “Yesterday was emotionally battering for us both, and you did not seem to wish to speak of yourself last evening. How are _you_?”

 

“Don’t worry about the furniture,” Steve told him. “There’s still a chance, if Nat doesn’t hate me too much, we might see some of the stuff from my old place. And honestly, so long as we have a place to sleep and a place to shower, I’m happy.” He’d got by with less in the past, and even barren and empty, their apartment afforded a lot more than any of the barracks Steve had lived in. And it was more than twice the size, easily, of his apartment growing up. “You’ve got more important stuff to worry about. No one is gonna die because you had to work late and we ate in bed instead of in chairs,” he pointed out with a small smile. He didn’t want Loki to feel guilty about having to spend time working on finding the scepter, or any other important project. Certainly not on his behalf.

The smile faded, though, at Loki’s question about how he was dealing with the previous day’s conversations. He’d have loved to keep ignoring it, but suspected that Loki wouldn’t let him get away with that; or would interpret it in some way to mean Steve didn’t trust him or want to talk to him or something untrue like that. He sighed, taking a moment to compose his thoughts.

Then he reached for the tablet on the bedside table and pulled up Wikipedia, typing in ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ in the search bar before handing it over to Loki. Pausing for a few moments, he waited for Loki to skim through.

“Clint mentioned this, and I... I want you to know, you can leave, okay? You don’t owe me anything, you’re not stuck with me or trapped with me-- I know being stuck in the tower might feel like you just traded in one prison for another--” he swallowed, “but if you at any point decide that this isn’t what you want, or that you need a break or want to, I don’t know, use your secret paths to go visit your mom or something -- it’s okay.”

 

Loki took the tablet from Steve and read over the words on screen, brow furrowing.

“This isn’t-- That is not what we are. You know that, don’t you? Look, this says-- this says that it is mistaking your not abusing me for kindness. I know that kindness in you is that the idea of abusing me nauseates you. There is a difference. And…” He shook his head and looked up at Steve.

“This is what worries you?” He asked, waving the screen. “You are afraid that I love you only because you are the one defending me from those who would do worse to me?” His hands shook a little. “I feel… if you think that, then I have failed you in getting you to understand. I love you because you are wonderful, smart and funny and beautiful, and yes, kind, but also… you understand me, you make the effort no one else has. You gave me chances others wouldn’t… because you are a good person. I love you because you are the sort of person I want to be, when I am around you. I love you for being you, not for… for what you do or don’t do to me. And I certainly do not love you because I was in a cell. It gave the opportunity for me to come to love you, but it was not the cause.”

He breathed in and out.

“As for leaving… I know. I left to go to the memorial wall, remember? I intended to come back, of course, but I did leave. And… while I appreciate your thoughtfulness, I cannot go to Frigga now. I would be killed for stepping foot on Asgard, and more, I am needed here. There is nothing I can do for her, nothing I can give her. I can be of no use to her now.”

And true, he had felt, at first, as though he were trapped here. Afraid to leave his room without Steve, and when he went to the memorial, he was afraid they would ask him to leave permanently when they discovered what he had done. But…

...But he still hadn’t left the tower on his own, or explored it, he realized. He had just mentally put it down as something he oughtn’t do, and did not question it.

But that was his fault, not Steve’s. And it was not something that he felt the need to tell him.

“Perhaps I would leave the tower more if I thought I were able to pass myself off as a Midgardian, and if I had ways of knowing where I was, and money to spend… it is not that I feel you are my jailer, Astin Min. I know you would not wish such a life for me. And I do not wish to leave you. I do not need time apart from you-- I need you to trust that if I did, if I do, I will tell you. Okay? And I trust you would do the same.”

 

Steve exhaled. He knew there was still more he probably ought to address, but... it still felt like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, knowing Loki didn’t feel that he was trapped in this and making the best of a situation where he remained a prisoner. That Clint had been wrong, and Steve wasn’t forcing Loki into anything and messing with his mind.

“Okay,” he said. “And, if you ever feel like I’m pressuring you too hard to be someone you’re not... I know I push you a lot,” he added, “and I know it’s sometimes-- I sometimes challenge what you think of yourself. But if I’m ever pushing too hard and you feel it isn’t _you_ , tell me. I went through a lot of changes with the serum. I grew a lot and then the war and everything after changed me, but, I think there’s a part of me that’s always gonna be that same kid from Brooklyn, you know?” He looked up at Loki. “Whoever that kid from Asgard was, who loved the stables and the library and practicing magic-- I don’t wanna take that from you.”

He rolled on to his side, reaching over to trace the line of Loki’s jaw with the backs of his fingers. “Honestly, I think the last time we went out, you came across more natural than I did,” he joked. “If you need cash, lemme know. Just make sure if you go out, you have your phone on you so you can call me if you need any kind of help.”

He would, of course, worry incessantly about Loki out in New York on his own. Not because he doubted his competence, but rather... He’d gotten into the habit of taking care of Loki when they ventured out into the world.

Though, they needn’t worry about it today, at least. The world would come to them, with food set to be delivered fairly soon. He checked the time on the tablet. “Looks like breakfast should be here in about twenty minutes...”

A pause.

Steve grinned.

“And I’m thinking...” He leaned in and nuzzled the side of Loki’s neck, “there’s a lot we could do in twenty minutes.”

 

“It is I who often pressures you into letting me pretend to be what I am not, and you have always assured me that it is me that you want. What I was as a child was built of ignorance and misery, and both of those things have been taken from me, over time… but they are not elements of myself that I miss. I do not mind finding new for me, I do not mind that I am changing. What I was is not what I want for myself any longer. The only change I would worry over is the one that makes you cease to recognize in me what you saw in the first place. I do not want to change in any way that would cause me to lose you. Otherwise… well, are you displeased by the changes you have seen so far?”

He doubted it, if Steve was urging him to go out and see his world, to move among his people. But it did not hurt to check. But he could worry about that later, when his body was not so set on responding to Steve’s closeness.

Twenty minutes, in honesty, did not sound like very much time at all… but if Steve was of a mind to use it, Loki was more than happy to oblige. He leaned into the gentle caress across his jaw and let his lips turn upwards.

“And what did you have in mind?” He asked, dropping his voice suggestively.

Nothing that would cause more marks or more discomfort, given how close they had come to fighting the day prior, but…

He did not want to volunteer to start and lead this. It was a role he found himself filling more and more, but after yesterday, he was not certain he was ready for anything so strenuous on his mind and control.

“Shall we move your drawings, or would you rather let them find their own places to land as needed?” In honesty, the idea of laying Steve out on his own art, even the rejected art that these no doubt were, had an appeal that Loki would not bother denying.

“I am looking forward to eating,” He said, smirking, “But I would not object to making an appetizer of you.”

 

“I,” Steve began, sucking at the corner of Loki’s jaw and then nipping at his earlobe, “am not displeased by any part of you right now.”

He moved to climb over Loki, propping himself up on his elbows over his partner and looking down at him, as the whisper of paper indicated some of the sketches sliding off the bed, displaced by the motion of the bedspread. “Leave ‘em be,” he said with a shrug. “We’ll clean up later.” The most important drawings -- the ones he’d show Tony -- were safely on the nightstand. The rest could fall wherever they wished; they’d probably end up in the wastepaper basket soon enough.

Right now, Steve had more important priorities.

“I love you,” he told Loki, dipping down to kiss him. Despite their bath the evening prior, they both had the muskiness of morning on them, and Steve breathed it in euphorically. He broke away from the kiss and slid downward, planting kisses down Loki’s neck, pausing at the dip of his collarbones.

“I seem to remember that I owe you a debt,” he remarked, grinning. Then he slid down under the blankets, moving down Loki’s body and brushing his lips in a trail of kisses down the middle of his torso, down over his belly, down…

 

And he _had_ said that he enjoyed when Loki finished. That in mind, he wasn’t going to object. Not to mention that he hadn’t managed to get off the last time, before everything had gone to Hel.

He could absolutely allow himself to be treated to this, just this once.

“Yes, I seem to recall that as well,” He agreed, pitching his voice low in the hope that it would vibrate downwards to reach where Steve was kissing, hovering just shy of his suddenly attentive prick.

The blankets were slumped over his partner, swallowing him and hiding him partially from view in a way that Loki found somewhat disappointing. He loved the sight of himself between Steve’s lips, loved the way his cheeks hollowed and his mouth stretched around him.

But maybe he liked the blankets being in place.

Loki had tried blindfolding Steve in the hope that his not being able to see would let him feel bolder… but he wondered if Loki not being able to see him would help even more.

“I expect you will do your best to repay me in kind, after accumulating such a debt.” He said softly, not up to putting forth the energy to take control, but more than happy to slip into the role in words only.

“Do you think that you can make me come using just your mouth, sweetheart? Will you make me proud of how much you’ve learned?”

He did not truly expect that Steve should have improved in great strides; they had only done this this way a few times, but it had been something he had said he liked. Feeling as though he were small and Loki were proud of him.

 

Steve hummed in agreement, shivering happily at the low and velvety tone of Loki’s voice.

(And at the idea that he’d have that voice hitching and breaking soon...)

It was warm under the sheets, the light muted and soft; it was nice, but Steve regretted not being able to see the rest of Loki, or watch his face. Still, this allowed him the element of surprise.

He kissed the thatch of hair at the base of Loki’s cock, then placed kisses up the already hardening shaft, lingering with a kiss over the slit, before brushing his lips in a line down the underside of Loki’s length, down to his balls. He lightly licked and kissed the folds of skin there, letting the stubble on his cheek brush against Loki’s porcelain inner thigh.

He could have easily spent hours teasing and letting it build up, but a faint pang of hunger reminded him that they were on the clock. So he found a position he was fairly sure he could sustain for a bit, and took Loki’s head in between his lips, sucking gently and pressing his tongue against the underside as he hummed again.

The day before had been unpleasant for both of them, but particularly horrendous for Loki. He intended for him to start this one off as enjoyably as possible.

Circling his tongue around the salty head, he worked back Loki’s foreskin, feeling his partner’s pulse in the vein beneath. Letting go the head, he licked a broad, flat stripe up the underside of the shaft, then took Loki back into his mouth and hollowed his cheeks with a low moan.

 

He inhaled at the surge of sensations that Steve was giving him, the plush soft heat of his lips and the rough rasp of the hair on his cheek and chin.

Clearly he _had_ been taking notes when Loki had used his mouth on him, and thank goodness he was not trying to gag himself with Loki’s erection this time, but the feel of him around his cock, hot and wet, steadily pulling and tightening his cheeks, and then he cradled Loki on his tongue and _hummed_ \--

Loki could not help by moan in response, able to feel Steve’s voice as it shook upwards through him.

“Oh sweet boy, you-- oh, you have been learning, haven’t you?” Not exactly praise, but a good start just the same. “Taking such good care of me already.” He murmured, hoping that the blankets did not hinder his hearing too greatly.

He let his head fall back, then remembered how much easier it was on the neck when the partner he was attending would cradle the back of his head.

Even through the blankets he could do the same, but he was loathe to miss out on the feel of Steve’s hair under his fingers, and Steve had said he enjoyed the way Loki had tugged at the short strands.

He dipped his hand beneath the covers, not trying to look in, merely to reach down and wrap a hand at the base of Steve’s skull.

 

Steve pulled back and made a noise of contentment as Loki’s fingers worked through his hair. He smiled at the praise -- he’d paid attention, and it was apparently paying off.

His lips were slick and slightly swollen, his breath now coming quickly, and Loki’s cock was beautifully erect before him.

How much time did they have left? Fifteen minutes? Ten?

Steve flicked his tongue against the bottom side of the tip, then circled it around before wrapping his mouth around Loki and taking as much of him as he could without the tip brushing the back of his throat. He bobbed up and down, twisting his head slightly from side to side with another groan. He did this for ten, twenty seconds, then dragged his teeth ever so lightly up the shaft before retreating to holding just the tip between his lips, pushing the tip of the tongue against the slit, where Loki’s pre-cum beaded, slick and salty.

He lingered there for a moment, teasing Loki while simultaneously working up to what he wanted to do next.

He’d been practicing after all...

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, then dipped down. He took Loki in his mouth, then edged further until the tip of his cock brushed against the back of his throat -- then held. He felt the pressure, not painful but not comfortable either, and swallowed, edging in just a little more of Loki’s length before his gag reflex began to kick in. Then he quickly pulled off, breathing through his nose as he held the tip in his mouth for a few moments.

It was better than he’d managed before, at least, and Steve smiled victoriously.

Then, he did it again.

This time, he got in a little deeper, almost gagging but managing to avoid it, swallowing Loki not quite to the root like his lover was capable of doing for him, but more than he’d ever succeeded in before. He held him there in his throat as long as he could, then pulled off to breathe, saliva dripping from his lower lip.

 

His teeth against the sensitive skin of his cock should have been jarring and possibly shocking, but Loki only registered it as pleasant, shuddering at the care and gentleness that Steve showed.

He rewarded him non-verbally, rubbing his fingers through the hair at the back of his head, not trying to urge him on, but only to thank him for what he was doing.

Loki had to make a concentrated effort into not bucking his hips when Steve stopped moving his head, instead only teasing at the tip of him with his tongue. But that exertion of will was nothing compared to what followed. When Steve took him in but did not stop, Loki’s fingers twitched of their own accord on the back of his head, ready to tighten and pull him off the moment he showed the faintest sign of distress.

But all that happened was Loki felt Steve’s throat working at the head of his cock for a moment, and then he was pulled back-- not out, just back.

“Steve,” he muttered, aware that the sound he made came out nowhere near to his lover’s name. He could feel the way his partner’s mouth stretched in a proud smile around him, before he began again.

Loki brought his free hand to his mouth and bit down on it, eyes widening while a guttural moan died at his lips, muffled by his fist.

He took him even deeper this time, and Loki clenched his eyes shut tight, his hand on Steve’s head splaying wide so that he would not be tempted to take hold and push him down further.

Not being able to see him only meant that he was forced to imagine what he must look like, and Loki’s mind was good at it, his arousal running high and hot through him. He pulled his hand away to pant out his awe.

“Sweet boy-- what are you doing to me? You’re so, ah-- so _good_ , how did you--?” His bewilderment and surprise was only adding to the experience. “How much can you take, elskan? Don’t gag yourself, but show-- show me what you’ve learned. I’m so-- oh, so proud. You-- you’re doing so well.”

Loki let his eyes fall closed and allowed his head to tilt backwards. He didn’t need to see anything right now, after all. Feeling was enough, and there was so much for him to feel.

 

The sounds Loki made were like music. Incredibly arousing music. The reactions that his efforts elicited spurred Steve on further; the joy he took in the task, even the bits that were perhaps slightly uncomfortable or unpleasant-tasting, increased tenfold knowing what kind of pleasure his partner was deriving from it. The stuttering of Loki’s hips, the flexing of his muscles, rippling visibly beneath his skin where Steve could see beneath the sheets, the shifting grip of his hand on Steve’s head and the guttural sounds of appreciation -- it was all its own reward.

 _So good._ Steve smiled. It seemed that in this, at least, he was an apt pupil. He might not have brought any of his own knowledge to their bed, but he was reasonably quick on the uptake. And even in art school, Steve had always been a tactile learner;

He learned best by doing.

His throat ached a little, so he held off swallowing Loki immediately, instead moving one hand up to wrap around the base of his cock, bobbing his head up and down on the upper half with obscene wet noises, occasionally turning his head so Loki’s tip pressed against the inside of his cheek, or humming and increasing his suction as his lips slid downward. Gradually, he ramped up the pace, until he felt confident enough from all the small reactions running through his lover’s body to take him deep again--

He breathed first so he wouldn’t choke, then worked Loki into his throat, angling his head and then adjusting, pushing him down inch by inch until his eyes were watering, the back of his throat feeling stretched and almost-but-not-quite-painfully full. Then he closed his eyes and swallowed, repeatedly, focusing on the motions of his throat and not the creeping impulse to gag.

 _So good_ , he’d make Loki feel. And though his mouth was stretched too wide for much expression, inwardly, he smiled at the thought.

 

The slopping sounds coming from below him would have been enough to make his heart rate climb and to send his blood rushing through his veins. Knowing that it came from Steve, that it was Steve who was sending these feelings through him, pulling white-hot pleasure down through his stomach and towards his mouth-- it was almost too much.

He had grown bolder, experimenting and giving Loki so many different experiences that he almost could not believe that this was the same man he had directed not so long ago, the same man who had fumbled through his first few blowjobs and now was-- was--

_was actually swallowing him down_

The muscles of his throat were pulling and tugging and straining around Loki’s shaft, and he felt tears spring to his eyes from it.

“Steve, please--” He didn’t realize he was pleading until the word was out of him. “You-- amazing, so good--” his words tapered off into a whine, and he knew that he was close. As much as he would have loved to hold off, he just didn’t have it in him. Not with the surprise of how good this was, how quickly Steve had picked up on-- on all of it. He was amazing.

“I’m-- I can’t take much more, St-- gonna come, Steve.” He got the warning out, barely, beyond the teeth that wanted to clench, the way the rest of his muscles were beginning to as he drew nearer his climax. But he knew Steve didn’t like the taste, so it was better this way, good he had said something, and he was--

He was coming, because of Steve, _his_ Steve, and he had taught him this, he had inspired him to learn to do this--

“So fucking good, sweet boy, so good, so good for me…” The words came out in a soft litany as he began to empty himself, and though he could not see beneath the sheets, the brightness behind his eyes let him feel complete just the same. He felt his muscles unbunch all at once and he fell backwards, sagging against the bed.

 

Steve tried to keep going.

He wanted to. Wanted to keep swallowing Loki through his climax, working every last drop out of him with his throat as Loki had done for him. But even with his superhuman lung capacity, he was beginning to feel the burning need for air. The shattered pleas and words of praise dripping from Loki’s lips were muted by the roar of blood in Steve’s ears, and he began to feel himself choke, even as Loki shuddered and came in his throat.

He tried to keep going, but had to pull off, coughing and gasping as Loki’s length slid from his throat. He caught a bit of bitter ejaculate in his mouth, and the final spurts landed on his face as he withdrew, breathing heavily.

For a moment, he simply lay on his stomach, propped up slightly over his lover, sucking down lungfuls of air. Loki was limp, the strong muscles of his stomach rising and falling beautifully as he breathed, a gorgeous flush creeping over his alabaster skin.

Abruptly, Steve felt overcome with the desire to see his lover’s face; to see the full extent to how blissed-out he’d rendered him, with the application of all he knew. Reaching up, Steve pulled the blankets down, back over his shoulders so they were both visible and uncovered, and he smiled up at Loki.

“I think that went better than the last time,” he said, voice a rough croak.

 

An honest, happy laugh bubbled up out of him at his lover’s words, and he lifted his head to look downwards, over the long and unimpressive planes of his body to Steve’s face, his crooked, pleased smile between Loki’s legs as though he were comfortably at home there. He brought his hand forward over Steve’s head, his own mouth slow and his tongue heavy feeling.

He cleared his throat and wiped at a bit of his seed high on Steve’s cheek, near his ear.

“Come here,” He requested, attempting to guide him upwards with a tug on his partner’s shoulders. “I want to kiss my taste out of your mouth.”

He knew Steve didn’t like it, and that he had managed to spill within him just the same felt rude. He knew Steve had been in control, had made the choice not to withdraw, but even so…

“And where did you learn all of that? The last time we did this-- I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but… you have… you have come a very long way in a very short time.” It was praise, but Loki felt a tiny creeping concern that Steve had perhaps gone to someone else while he was busy. Had Steve gone in search of another tutor while Loki was occupied in seeking out the sceptre?

Of course, if he wanted to, that was his right. Loki was no more his keeper than he was Loki’s. But he had learned so much, so quickly, without Loki--

Steve would not lie to him, though, he knew. And somehow Loki did not think it was in his character to do so. He could barely ask Loki for the things he wanted, let alone someone else. And trusting another with his secret…

No, that seemed unlikely. But then, how--?

“I am utterly impressed and enchanted.” He said softly. “I’ve no idea what I did to deserve you.”

 

The sound of Loki laughing -- unburdered and unrestrained, in unadulterated joy -- was beautiful beyond belief.

Steve closed his eyes and happily, hoarsely hummed as Loki brushed at the semen on his face, slowly inching his way up so he could deliver the kiss his lover requested, catching Loki’s delicate lips with his reddened ones and letting their tongues swirl together, chasing away the taste of Loki’s spend with the taste of his mouth.

He paused, when Loki asked where he learned it all, giving a half-shrug. “You’re a good teacher, for starters. And, well, I had some time on my hands,” he explained. “With you busy in the lab, I figured... I thought I might as well practice and get better. Make for a nice surprise, you know?” His voice was still rough, his throat slightly sore, though no more than when he had a mild head cold. “I spent some time practicing with my fingers, trying to get it so I wouldn’t gag. Um. And I used a banana.” Which he still objected to on the ground of the strange and non-banana-like taste, but which had happily proven to have other uses.

“I also, ah, may have gone on the internet a bit,” he admitted, flushing, because boy had _that_ been an unexpected education. He’d spent a lot of time on the web since coming out of the ice, of course, but he’d apparently always kept the box marked ‘safe search’ on, and there were whole areas of the net he hadn’t explored which were full of very, very explicit content.

It had definitely been informative, at least.

“You liked it though?” he asked, looking at him expectantly. “I mean, that was all good, right?” He’d tried hard to do all the things he knew Loki’d liked, and a few other things besides.

 

“Very good. Your studies must have been very thorough-- I am, honestly, very pleasantly surprised. And-- I don’t remember the last time I came apart so quickly in someone’s mouth.” He admitted the last with some hesitation, trying to be certain it was the truth. It was, he reflected, because it had been a very long time since someone had been able to fold the element of surprise into their sex.

“I am sorry, by the way, if I did not give enough warning time for you. I know you don’t like the taste.” He grimaced a little. “But you yourself, your performance-- Steve, I would never have expected you to be capable of that already. You’re a much faster learner than I ever was.” He told his partner, and hugged him. “Thank you. I-- that was amazing. _You’re_ amazing.”

He stroked across Steve’s forehead, displacing a few strands of hair, but it was the shining patches across his face that really held Loki’s eye.

He was a mess, and the feeling of knowing that the mess was made of Loki’s own come was not unlike the feeling he got when surveying the damages he’d left on him after their last bed games.

He opened his mouth to say something to that effect, when the doorbell rang.

Mild panic was his first reaction, afraid that it might be Barton come to speak with them, and their smelling of sex and Steve’s face literally dripping with semen was not the way he would want to start that conversation, but then he remembered the food.

“Ah--” he said intelligently.

 

Steve shrugged, unbothered by it. “I tried to swallow it all, then kinda had to change my mind halfway through when I realized I had to get some air,” he explained. “Bad timing on my part. But hey, leaves some room for improvement, right?” Getting a better sense of his limits, improving his timing, and maybe getting the last bit of Loki down so he could take him to the root, in time; they were all things to work on. But it seemed he’d pleased Loki with what he’d accomplished so far, and Steve in turn felt proud of himself.

He hugged Loki back, unable to stop smiling. Yesterday might have been FUBAR, but today, so far, was going pretty well; he’d made some good calls, and Loki was happy.

Everything was all right.

Well, almost everything.

Steve startled when the doorbell rang; of course, the delivery guy was right on time, but it seemed that swallowing wasn’t the only aspect of Steve’s timing he needed to work on.

“Shit,” he grumbled, reaching up and wiping at the come on his face with the back of his hand. He only succeeded in smearing it around, though, and he quickly realized he wasn’t in any state to answer the door. “Um.” He looked up at Loki apologetically. “Don’t suppose you’d be able to get that while I go wash my face off? My wallet’s on the kitchen counter, it’s got cash in it...”

 

“Y...es? Alright.” Loki found himself agreeing, though he still had very little concept of Midgardian money, and had just all but lost his intelligence via his prick… He strode out of the room, not realizing until he was in the hall that he was nude, yet, that some of his own semen had managed to get on him despite the amount that had made it onto Steve’s face… There were a myriad of problems with this. Foremost that no doubt the delivery man knew exactly to whom he was delivering.

Loki would not risk revealing Steve’s secret-- namely himself-- and at least his other form was known, now, thanks to those photographers outside of the restaurant.

Changing into a woman was the first step towards a solution, and so she did, between the space of one footfall and the next.

She was yet unclothed and uneducated, but those she could overcome more easily in this form as well.

She summoned onto herself one of her long shirts, long enough to cover the necessary parts and loose enough that her chest would not be pressed inwards.

She snagged his wallet as she walked past and opened the door, hurried and harried, and pushed her hair out of her face.

She watched the delivery man, a heavier set person with dark hair all up his arms, give her an appraising look. Better that she was in this form; she did not quail under it, well aware of what he was seeing and that it was good.

“Sorry for the wait.” She told him, intentionally making her voice soft and a little breathy. “I couldn’t seem to find my glasses. You might have to help me with--” She pulled a few bills from the wallet and squinted at them, the way Banner sometimes did at papers he held.

“It’s $23.62.” He told her, managing to keep the lechery out of his voice admirably. “This one’s a 20, and this one’s a 5, see?” He thumbed over the cash before her. “And depending on how much of a tip you want, these are ones over here. If you want-- I don’t wanna presume.” His words had an odd upward lilt to them, and a roughness that she found interesting.

She remembered tips, remembered discussing them with Steve, and knowing this man’s salary depended on them, she wasn’t sure how much to include.

She looked down at the ones, and sure enough there were ones in the corners. She did not count how many of them there were-- a small handful. Probably enough. She gathered up all of the ones, the twenty and the five, and handed them to him.

“Thank you very much for your help.” She said.

“Alright, and one last thing, need your signature saying you received the food.”

This posed another problem; clearly she could not sign it ‘Loki’.

She accepted the pen, hiding her panic, and hesitated only a moment before loosely scrawling ‘Laura Rex’ on the line.

“Alright, here you go, you have a good day miss.” He said, finally handing her the knotted bags of food, before turning and going on his way.

“And you as well!” She said, then closed the door, locked it with a satisfying thunk, and returned to their rooms, bemused by the entire exchange.

“Well, I have breakfast.” She said to the room at large when she got back to their bed.

 

Steve moved to the bathroom as he and Loki both got out of bed, and grabbed a washcloth, soaping it up and scrubbing down his face, chest, and hands for good measure. He’d probably need a shower at some point, but he’d at least be tidy enough to eat breakfast.

Face pink and freshly clean, he ran his fingers through his hair to comb it down, then returned to the bedroom, pulling on a pair of sweatpants he yanked out of the laundry (they were _clean enough)_ , then set about cleaning off the bed, stacking the loose sheets of paper that had scattered all over and moving everything to a corner on the floor before grabbing the bedspread and shaking it out so it could be laid down smoothly. After a second’s thought, he recovered a spare towel from the bathroom and laid it over the duvet, so they wouldn’t have to worry about spilling food directly on it.

He’d only just finished when Loki returned with the food in his-- _her_ arms, Steve noted, arching an eyebrow for a moment before realizing why Loki must’ve made the change. With his name and address attached to the order, of course, it would be clear who he was, and given the time and their state of undress... well, conclusions about their morning activities, or at the very least their sleeping arrangements, could be drawn.

“Thanks,” he said, grateful both for her handling the door, and handling appearances. He leaned in for a kiss against her cheek and took the bags from her. He set them down, tearing through the plastic knots and pulled out the styrofoam and plastic containers, revealing a smorgasbord of breakfast foods -- including a very large rasher of bacon.

“So, how did it go? Your first solo monetary transaction, I mean,” he asked, smiling as he uncovered a still steaming omelet.

 

She shrugged, deciding that partially dressed was good enough for the time being, and climbed back onto the bed. She watched as Steve unwrapped the food.

"I think it went alright. I asked the man to help me on the grounds that I could not find my glasses. Or pants. And I gave him the amount for the food, as well as all of the lowest denomination bills in your wallet for a tip.”

She took a strip of bacon between her fingers, pleased at how dainty the action was, and then proceeded to consume it very un-daintily.

“At some point I would like to sit down with you-- or go out with you-- with the intent of understanding the relative worth of the respective bills. What unit is a chicken worth, for example, and how many of the ones would it take to purchase milk, eggs, a loaf of bread. And the relative sizes and amounts as well-- I have read the economics book that JARVIS had for me, but as with all of the rest of Midgard’s materials for education, it assumes that I have lived my life here and understand basic workings that I do not.”

Which, given that the books were written by Midgardians for Midgardians, it made sense, but that was still unhelpful to some extent.

“I have a small black book that Tony gave me, which he generally kept in his workshop, that helps with conversions between units of measure. I wish there were something of the sort for the units that Asgard uses to the units that Midgard works by. Not that I have any gold left, but knowing what a gold piece against a dollar is worth…” she shrugged again and took up one of the plastic forks, helping herself to some of the fried potato pile from one of the containers.

She was hungry, and this was hot and good, the grease dancing over her tongue in a way that was altogether more satisfying than handing over green tinged papers was.

She was glad to see that Steve was eating as well-- not that she had doubted he would, after a day fasting, but it was good to see that he was not holding back on his appetite for her sake.

 

One of the advantages of not having a table, was that _technically,_ there was no call for table manners. So Steve shoveled eggs into his mouth, giving up all pretense of politeness as his hunger -- left unsated by yesterday’s aborted meals -- took over. He’d scarfed down a whole omelette in roughly a minute and a half, and was working on the spicy little sausages, when he remembered there was a conversation going on he needed to be a part of. Swallowing, he took a moment to look Loki up and down, solemnly.

“I’m gonna go ahead and put out there that pants are kinda overrated anyway,” he said. Whatever tip Loki had given the delivery guy, just the sight of her had probably made the man’s morning. His face broke into a smile, and he reached forward to steal a piece of Loki’s bacon.

The issue of money, though, was probably more complicated than Loki was bargaining for. Steve winced. “Well... it varies. A lot. Just like different countries have different cultures and foods, a lot of them have different currencies, and the exchange rates vary. Like, we’ve got the dollar. England’s got the pound. France used to have the franc, but now most of Europe is on a currency called the euro, and the relative value can change from day to day depending on how the economies are doing. Though there’s easy ways of looking up the exchange rate with technology now.”

He nibbled on a hash brown, thinking it over. “And the cost of something like bread or chicken also varies depending on where you are. Here in Manhattan, everything’s a lot more expensive. Bread here costs more than bread in, I don’t know, Iowa. Same bread, but different demand. Prices also go up places that have to import a lot, like Hawaii, since it’s an island and they have to ship it all in. And of course, it all costs _completely_ different today than it did back in... well, before.” He shrugged, reaching for one of the bottles of juice in the plastic bag, unscrewing the cap. “There was a lot of price inflation over the 20th century. Most of it was incremental, slowly rising over time, but for me-- when I got out of the ice, the first time I ordered a steak dinner and got a bill that was more than what I used to pay for a month’s rent, I almost had a heart attack.” A rueful smile tugged at his lips at the memory, and he took a swig of orange juice. “Took some getting used to, those first few weeks.”

Opening a plastic cup containing a selection of fresh fruit, he selected a strawberry, then held it delicately as he offered it to Loki. “You’ll get used to it too. I promise.”

 

Loki’s face had screwed up in confusion and a desperate need to understand what Steve was talking about, and by the time he had finished explaining, she thought she might be more confused than when he had started.

She huffed, frustrated, but leaned forward to take the fruit just the same. It was good, sweet and juicy, and not at all unfamiliar- they often had them in their honeyed melomels.

“I don’t believe it. You can learn to suck me better than I have been in at least a century in the space of what? A month? And I have been on this realm for several times that, and have difficulty so much as paying for food.” The complaint was real enough, as was her frustration, but she phrased it all teasingly, attempting to keep her tone as light as possible for as long as she could.

She could see the bottle of orange juice that had been ordered for her, as well, but it was still in a bag and Steve had set it back down further from her, so she simply took his from his unresisting fingers and helped herself to a drink before holding it out for him to reclaim.

There were small meat links that he had been eating, and she knew that Midgardian sausage could not be too far removed from that which Asgard made. She speared one on her plastic fork and lifted it to her face, mindful of the hot oils that rolled forth from its pierced skin.

She bit the sausage cleanly in half and blew out the steam from its trapped heat, before she registered the sting on her tongue from the seasonings.

She made a face and gestured for Steve to pass her a napkin.

It wasn’t ghost peppers, but it sure as Hel was not the potatoes and meat and sage that Asgard made.

 

“Well, your penis is a little more straightforward than global economies,” Steve pointed out with a grin. Though he also blushed a little at the praise; he wasn’t sure if Loki was exaggerating or not (and was it possible Loki had simply been celibate for a century?), but it was still nice to hear. “And you did fine just now from the sound of it. We can practice with small stuff like that, like having you handle the money when we run errands or order takeout so you can get used to it.”

Helping Loki adjust to daily earthbound life, even as she worked with cutting edge science to fight off global annihilation, would help remove some of the dependence she had on Steve. Dependence that had characterized most of their relationship, as he’d been Loki’s primary source of food, humane treatment, protection, companionship... everything, really. And it wasn’t that he minded, but it wasn’t fair to Loki. Not to mention, if she had all the skills and resources to take care of herself and still chose to be with Steve, he’d know it would truly be out of want and not out of need, that confused reliance with desire.

It’d be better this way. Giving Loki more agency, more life skills, more purpose and a role in the public eye; it’d all be better for her.

He was busy picturing it when Loki took one of the spicy sausages, and failed to notice until it was too late. “Oh, shoot, sorry! The sausages are a little hot,” he said, though Loki had clearly already figured that part out, and handed her a napkin so she could spit out the rest. “Here, have some more juice to wash it out.”

He took the sausages and moved them away to his side of the bed, sliding some more eggs and toast in Loki’s direction.

“ _Captain Rogers, Mr. --- I beg your pardon,_ Miss _Loki --”_ JARVIS interrupted from above, “ _I’m dreadfully sorry to intrude, but Miss Potts has asked me to inform you that there is a parcel for Miss Loki in the penthouse, whenever you are ready to receive it.”_

 

Loki looked to Steve, pausing in the undignified act of spitting out her sausage, and she raised an eyebrow. She wiped the remnants of it off of her tongue and looked to Steve.

“A… parcel? I don’t recall having asked for anything.” There was a low feeling of dread in her stomach. Having remained a secret as well as she had, how had anyone found out where she was to address something to her here?

Could it be a threat of some sort?

“Ah-- Is Pepper with it now?” She asked of the AI as she stood, her brow bunched. Calmly and quickly, she switched back into her masculine form and clothed himself.

He cast a look at their breakfast, then shook his head regretfully.

“If you want to stay and finish breakfast, I’ll go and check on this package-- I just want to be certain it is nothing dangerous, and discover who it is that knows where I am to send a parcel to me here. I’m sure it’s something easily enough explained, or I suspect Pepper would have been more worried in her summons.”

“ _Miss Potts is in the penthouse den, the parcel is on the table of the dining room, and she said whenever you were ready, sir.”_

Which was close enough that if it were something dangerous, she could be hurt. He’d have to check it with his seidhr before he got too near.

“Save me some hashbrowns?” He asked, certain the interruption would be short lived, no matter what it was.

 

Steve frowned. “I don’t think I ordered anything. Maybe Tony or Pepper got something to pass on to you?” They’d both done a great deal already, with helping to outfit Loki in male and female forms, and in giving them the living space. But it meant that continued charity from either of them wasn’t far from the realm of possibility.

It didn’t sound like anything horribly amiss, but Loki seemed anxious, and his agitation was somewhat contagious. Given how badly the last few surprise arrivals in their lives had gone, Steve couldn’t blame him.

Loki was dressed in an instant, with the trick that had once left Steve deeply unsettled, but had become so normal he barely thought of it now. He considered asking Loki to wait while he pulled on a shirt and shoes and put the food away in the fridge, but decided against it. The delay would probably just stress him out.

“Okay,” he said, smiling up at Loki. “Hurry back, or I’ll eat your bacon. Tell Pepper good morning from me, and have JARVIS call me if you need backup, alright?”

If Loki needed him, he could be up there in a jiffy, shirt or no.

 

“Of course.” He told his partner distractedly, taking the time to press a quick kiss to the side of his face. “Shouldn’t be long.”

Once he’d double checked to be sure he was presentable, he set off at a reasonably quick clip for the door and the elevator beyond.

The ride up, while he was anxious, felt as if it took positively _eons_. When the doors chimed open, he headed into the hallway in a barely concealed hurry. He remembered only too late that Barton was here as well, when he came all but charging into the kitchen, hands raised.

He paused, then looked around for Pepper and anyone else.

“JARVIS, could you let Miss Potts know that I am here?” He requested, politely, firmly, and clearly, just to be certain he would not surprise anyone-- namely fidgety archers.

“ _Of course, Sir.”_

Not seeing any of the others around, he created a tiny shield around the package and stepped in closer to get a better look at it.

 

“ _Miss Potts, Mr. Loki had arrived at the penthouse.”_

Pepper looked up from the contracts she’d spread out on the coffee table, which she’d been busily marking up in red pen, and smiled. “Thank you, JARVIS.”

She hadn’t expected Loki to be up this quickly -- Steve was an early bird, she knew, but she generally saw Loki later in the day. Though she’d told JARVIS not to give the message until he was awake, so he must have already been up.

Capping her pen and tucking it behind her ear, she checked the time and scooped the papers together, tapping them against the table to line up the edges before tucking them back into the manilla folder. She had a little time before she had to meet with the legal team downstairs. And after that she would need to call the insurance adjusters about potentially having more Avengers living in the tower-- but first things first.

“Good morning, Loki,” she announced as she entered the dining room, where Loki was standing over the large brown envelope on the table, staring at it with an almost comical level of scrutiny. “I hope I didn’t interrupt any part of your morning. I just had something finally come in for you here.”

 

“It’s something you ordered, then?” He asked, straightening and dissolving his small protective bubble, before he remembered his manners.

“Sorry; Good morning to you, Pepper.” He smiled, feeling slightly more at ease knowing that it was her doing and she had expected it, though that didn’t make him any closer to understanding what it was.

“You did not interrupt anything,” He lied easily and politely, before continuing, “I only came up so quickly because it was unexpected, and I was concerned it may be dangerous.” He smiled a little self deprecatingly. “Though in retrospect that seems… both unlikely and ill-advised.”

“Is it, ah-- _what_ is it?” It was smaller, somehow, than what he had imagined, which was good for its likelihood of containing explosives, but also meant that now that it almost certainly didn’t he had no idea as to the contents.

Still, he slid it off of the surface of the table and hefted it, then began searching for an obvious split or a tie--

“And how am I supposed to open it?”

It was not entirely paper, though it felt as though that was at least some of it, which did not lessen his curiosity at all. Clothing he might have justified, even books, but that wasn’t this. So he just looked quizzically over at Pepper, waiting for her explanation and instruction.

 

Pepper smiled back at him, though the edges of her mouth strained a bit when he confessed the reason for his hurry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. Tony mentioned you guys had a bit of a stressful day yesterday--” along with the fact that poor Bruce had almost gone ‘big, mean and green’ as Tony put it, “-- and I didn’t mean to add to that at all. Though hopefully today goes a bit less eventfully.”

She nodded to the parcel. “There should be a red tab on the edge, right..... here.” She pointed it out for him. “Just pull on that and it should tear through along the rest. And if it makes you feel better, security up here is very good.” Her mouth formed a thin line. “Tony’s had dozens of death threats and stalkers over the years, so no mail makes it into the penthouse without being screened. Twice. X-rayed once when it comes into the tower on the lower levels, and then run through one of JARVIS’ scans before being allowed to the top floors.” There had been enough scares from angry citizens, obsessed fans, and militant extremists, even _before_ Tony had become Iron Man, that Stark Industries kept up solid security -- enough so that they’d consulted for the government on security issues frequently. And since the whole Mandarin incident... well, the security measures might not be obtrusive, but they were fairly thorough. At least when it came to strangers and anomalies.

“This actually isn’t even from the outside -- no stamps,” she pointed out as Loki opened it. “Finance, Human Resources, Security, and Personnel all had a hand in it, but I made sure everyone handling it directly was someone I’d vetted personally.”

She watched Loki’s face as the papers, cards, and plastic laminate badge slid out on to the tabletop. The badge, on a Stark Industries lanyard, bore Loki’s own photo, and the name ‘Luke Smith.’

“As CEO of Stark Industries, I’d like to personally welcome you to the company as our newest consultant, Mr. Smith,” she said, after he’d had a second or two to look it over.

 

“Luke Smith.” He said thoughtfully, while considering the photo on the badge. “This is-- so that I may work for you? When am I to begin, and what would you have me begin with?”

This, following so soon on the heels of his promise-- his intent-- to spend more time with Steve, following the arrival of Barton and the imminent return of Thor, felt like his time had become pinched, but also as if it might be another good excuse to spend time away from the common areas, away from anywhere that Barton might spend his time while he was here.

Space and time.

And more opportunity for Steve and he to settle their differences.

“I am excited to start my work with-- what is this one?” He had become distracted by the library card in the pile of those she had given him. It was emblazoned with a lion, one of the great cats of this realm, proudly in a circle on the front of it. The payment cards he recognized at least, if not fully understanding them, but a card for a library? “Is the security for the library here so high that one needs a separate card?” And more, how hadn’t he realized Stark had one?

Likely because it was on one of the floors he’d willfully ignored, denying himself the right to explore and causing Steve to worry that he was his jailer, in turn. He would have to make a point of going to this library often, now that he knew of it.

And still have time to help Steve to discover more about himself and his preferences.

And find the sceptre.

And make what amends he could with Barton and Banner and Stark.

And begin working with the doctors of Stark Industries.

He took a deep breath, but smiled. He could handle it.

 

“We’ve got you down in payroll as a Class IV employee, so you can choose your own consulting hours,” Pepper explained patiently. “I know you and Steve and the boys down in the lab have your own priorities, and obviously anything involving saving the world should come first,” she clarified, “but if you want to do some work for the company on the side, this has you all set. You have security clearance for a number of the R&D labs, and if there are any you need to access and can’t, we can reprogram your settings easily -- just let Tony or myself know. You’ve got full access to the medical levels, for instance, and I’ve included Dr. Ortega and Dr. Cameron’s contact information so you can get in touch to schedule a time to go down and meet with them.”

She sifted through the papers, separating them out into neat piles. “This is your employee handbook. I recommend skimming it. This-- okay, skip this packet altogether, it’s all legal stuff we’re required to provide you with, but you will almost never need to actually know. Just hold on to it. This I’ll need you to sign--” she said, indicating one paper and pulling out the pen from behind her ear and handing it over, “and date, on this line here. Just to make it official.”

It had been a bit tricky, getting Loki official with the company and effectively creating an identity for him. Not necessarily legal, but then, he was from another planet, and was born centuries before the first birth certificate. And while she preferred to operate through respectable channels, there were enough people who owed her favors that through the liberal application of networking and the shuffling of a few funds, she was able to make Luke Smith legally exist. Down to the bank account she’d established, and New York Municipal ID card with his name and picture.

But Loki was blind to all of that, captivated instead by the presence of a Library card. Pepper smiled; it had been an afterthought, really, based on something Steve had said. “Actually, that’s for the New York Public Library,” she explained. “Steve mentioned you two walked past it at one point and you’d asked about it. The card isn’t for security so much as for them to keep track of what books you borrow,” she told him.

 

He smiled at the thought that this was the second name he would sign today-- Luke Smith. He mouthed it to himself as he wrote, hoping that his writing, tall and sharp and better suited to runes than English, would not seem overtly out of place.

“What is the date?” He asked, aware of how to convert the days to numerals, thanks to his phone, but less than sure what numbers they were on, at this point.

And he’d left his phone down stairs, with JARVIS available for delivering messages.

“ _Today is November the eleventh.”_ Speaking of, Loki thought.

“Thank you JARVIS.” He said aloud and finished filling in the line that she needed from him. He straightened and passed her both the paper and the pen.

“So I will concentrate on finding the sceptre with Tony and Bruce,” He said, careful to use their first names when speaking, even though he found himself distancing himself from them in his head, at least until he had made his apologies for the day before. “And once we have handed the information over to SHIELD, I can make arrangements to speak to Ortega and Cameron.” He nodded, making sure he understood everything.

Business aside, he turned his attention back to the exciting matter of the library-- if this was the building he thought it was, it was easy enough to reach, and out of the building meant that it would only add to Steve’s ease about not holding him captive, and take him further still from Barton.

It was perhaps a little intimidating, thinking of making his way there alone, but he supposed he could always travel as he did best. So long as no one saw him when he stepped back into visibility, there should be no harm done.

He gathered the papers, taking care to mentally organize them in the keep, read, ignore piles.

“This is wonderful, Pepper, thank you.” He opened his arms to hug her in gratitude, then hesitated.

He had done so before, but he’d also been a woman at the time, and he wasn’t sure she would be comfortable with the same shows of affection, given his current body. And given what she knew of his behavior with Thor and Barton, if anything.

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly.

“Was there, ah, anything else you needed from me?”

 

Pepper smiled. It was funny, how drastically different the man before her was from the bogeyman she’d once conceived of from the stories Tony told and the blurry footage from JARVIS’ damaged drives. A good deal of the pleasantness she’d treated Loki with initially had been purely diplomatic -- Pepper was capable of being polite to all sorts of people she didn’t particularly care for -- but that had changed over the weeks (and was it really November 11th already?) and now she found herself genuinely happy over the excitement on Loki’s face.

She noticed when he started to go in for a hug, and when he almost immediately aborted the gesture, looking uncertain. It was... endearing. Sweet.

Endearing and sweet were characteristics that Pepper Potts firmly believed ought to be encouraged.

So she stepped forward and wrapper her arms around Loki’s shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze. “You are very welcome,” she informed him, then stepped back. “I’ll just make sure I get this filed, and then you’ll be all set. There might be a few more forms for you to sign in the next few days, but most of it can wait until you actually start logging hours. Oh! And you have a bank account. There’s a starting deposit in there to cover the consultation hours for information you’ve already provided, and a debit card in your packet. Steve can show you how it works, I’m sure.” She took the signed page and added it to her own stack of paperwork.

“I have to get down to a meeting, but if you need help with anything, JARVIS should be able to explain. And I’ll be back up here in the evening if there’s anything more you want to go over or ask about!” She checked her watch and winced. “Gotta run. Good luck with everything today! Don’t let Tony blow up anything important,” she called over her shoulder, making her way toward the door.

 

He watched her go, surprised by the warmth and affection and her quick departure.

This was… everything he needed to roam freely, to make his way outside of the tower and within it, and she gave it to him cheerfully, with no admonitions or talk of responsibility, no hesitance… he swallowed, temporarily stunned at the display of trust that this was, and the realization that it was casual from her. Like her hug, like her kindness.

He laughed out loud to himself, bemused.

This would just go to further prove to Steve that he did not love him solely for being kind-- if that were the case, he would have been panting after Pepper by now like a needy hound.

He shook his head and made his way towards the elevator after her, giving her the time to punch her floor and get where she needed before he hit the button. He didn’t want her to think he might be spying or taking advantage of their apparent closeness to learn about her comings and goings.

Unfortunately, that did leave him standing on the landing while he waited, long enough to hear one of the hall doors open.

His heart jumped into his throat and his relative ease fled from him.

That wing led to Banner’s room-- and the room that Tony had led Barton to.

He wet his lips nervously and waited to hear if they were coming this way. All he wanted was to get back to Steve and avoid confrontation, but if it was Banner, he should at least make some attempt at apology. He was torn, but didn’t have much choice, either, given the time the elevator took.

 

Clint had stayed up late texting back and forth with Natasha. With all that had been on his mind, sleep had been nearly impossible. Not until he’d had a chance to fill her in and use her as a sounding board, her perfunctory replies oddly soothing. With Natasha, at least, he knew where he stood.

It was hard, realizing he couldn’t say the same of the other Avengers.

In the end, he’d only put his phone away when the battery had hit reserve levels, sometime around three or four in the morning. And since he _had_ been wiped from the long day he’d had even _before_ the whole clusterfuck with Rogers, he’d slept solidly through most of the morning, approaching afternoon, and might have slept even later if his stomach hadn’t started rumbling.

He hadn’t had much appetite for Stark’s tacos the other night, given everything.

So he got up and pulled on a clean shirt from his duffel, yanking on some jeans and running a hand through his hair, not bothering to check it in the mirror. There would have to be leftovers in the kitchen, right?

He remembered Tony saying something about Loki and Steve both being on another floor. So he didn’t trouble himself with any worries about running into either of them as he stepped out into the hall to make his way toward the den.

Which, naturally, turned out to be a mistake.

Clint froze at the sight of Loki standing by the elevator, his expression hardening.

 

Loki drew breath in sharply as it became obvious that it was not Bruce who was coming. By the time Barton cleared the hallway, Loki hadn’t had time to do more than run through a questionable list of correct responses in his mind.

When Barton froze, though, none of them made sense, and Loki cleared his throat.

“I ah-- just fetching some papers. I’m sorry. I’ll be out of your hair momentarily.” He was as apologetic as he could be, trying to make it apparent that he felt like he was trespassing, here, that it was he who was invading Barton’s space, and not the other way around. Because Barton _needed_ to feel he belonged here.

Loki gestured at the elevator, whose light had just begun rising to indicate its return from one of the lower levels of the tower.

 

For all that Natasha’s steadying conversation had managed to calm him down the night before, Clint felt his hackles immediately rise in Loki’s presence.

But Loki looked... skittish. Apologetic. And almost nervous.

Clint narrowed his eyes. Was he honestly that uncomfortable just because of Clint’s presence? Or was this some kind of act, meant to make him pity the guy, or underestimate him? And what was in all those papers that he’d have to come up to the penthouse for?

(Fuck. He hadn’t had any coffee yet and already he was dealing with this shit.)

He took a step forward, and another, watching Loki’s shrinking posture. It gave him a tiny thrill that he almost immediately felt... well, not _guilty_ for, exactly. But he didn’t think of himself as a bully, who got off on intimidating people.

That had been Loki’s role, before.

“Papers, huh?” he asked, flatly. “Seems awful inconvenient compared to just plucking information outta people’s heads.”

 

Loki pursed his lips, eyes tracking Barton’s movements.

He could disappear. Damn the elevator and just drop into his own apartment. But that would get him nowhere in regards to interacting with this man. Who now shared a home with him, for all intents and purposes.

“Well, I’ve found that the convenient way isn’t always the right one.” He started, uncertain how his words would be received. He’d been told not to speak to him the night before, but he was clearly expecting an answer now.

“And I needed these papers to be able to continue looking for the sceptre, to be sure no one else is taking the convenient route, either.” Reminding him that he had done something good seemed like a wise choice, given the way he was posturing.

Loki wasn’t too afraid of the damage Barton could do him, but he was afraid what Steve would say or do if he saw the aftermath.

 

Clint’s eyes narrowed further. He’d half-expected Loki to take the opportunity to throw some barb in his face; to twist the knife about how he’d made Clint his puppet, or rub his nose in how well Loki had everyone eating out of his hand, believing in the poor reformed Loki act. After all, Steve wasn’t here to watch; there were cameras, sure, but Loki could probably just magic those away or something. There was no one to bear witness except Clint, and he knew exactly what Loki was.

But apparently, whatever Loki was selling to everyone else, he wanted Clint to buy as well, because rather than taunting him and sneering like he had back at SHIELD when Clint had first found him in his cell, he was keeping calm and civil, with a wary eye cast in Clint’s direction.

And Clint didn’t honestly know what to make of that. Was Loki trying to lure Clint in? Or was the guy really so screwed up that he believed all this mess himself?

His mind flickered to all the damn tapes he’d watched, over and over, stomach clenching and hands continually balling into fists until he’d had raw gouges in the palms of his hands from digging his nails into the flesh there. It had been bad enough when Loki had been a grainy figure on video. And now he was standing right in front of Clint, flesh and blood.

Yeah. He needed at least a pot of dark roast pumped right into his bloodstream before he was ready to deal with this.

“Sure. Whatever. Can’t have anyone else playing with your toys,” he grumbled, walking past Loki in the direction of the kitchen as the elevator dinged. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

 

Loki frowned but hurried into the waiting elevator, grateful for the escape.

That had been… unpleasant, but not as bad as he might have expected. Then again, he had taken Barton by surprise. That much was glaringly obvious, partially from the way he’d reacted to seeing him, and partially from how he all but staggered towards the kitchen. It seemed-- or perhaps Loki was just hoping-- that he had only just woken, and he did hope that he had managed to get a good amount of sleep in that time. It would hopefully make any further interactions less onerous.

The elevator let him out, and he let himself back in, locking the door behind him.

He returned to bed with everything Pepper had given him in hand, gratified to see that Steve was good to his word and had, in fact, saved him some breakfast.

He sat the stack of papers down between them and reclaimed his seat.

“Pepper gave me my Stark Industries work information, and some other stuff. She had to go to a meeting though, so you might have to help me make sense of some of it, if you don’t mind. There’s a book in there she said not to bother with.” He said, helping himself to some bacon before speaking again, mouth full. “Also I ran into Barton and he didn’t hit me so.” He shrugged. “This morning has been good, I think.”

 

Steve had been starting to get antsy.

Of course, he knew it would take some time for Loki to go upstairs, no doubt say good morning to Pepper and whoever else might be there, and open his package. There had been no particular rush. But he still couldn’t help but glance periodically at the time as he fiddled with the breakfast spread, nibbling on a bit of everything. He’d ordered quite a lot of food, but had succeeded in putting away a significant amount of it all the same.

He’d been debating asking JARVIS what was taking Loki so long when he heard the door open and shut. He relaxed and smiled when Loki entered the room, and felt his gaze drawn to the dense stack of papers in Loki’s arms as he set them on the bed.

“Looks like Pepper got you all set up with everything,” he mused, wiping greasy-fingers off on his sweatpants before reaching out to leaf through the papers. There were a lot of tax forms and orientation forms, a map of the R&D levels, assorted security codes, and even a calendar of employee events included in the stack. And under that, it seemed like Loki had been set up with a checking account at a bank that had a nearby branch, as well as a kiosk in the tower lobby. ‘Luke Smith’ wasn’t just an employee -- Pepper had made significant strides toward making him a real person with a paper trail, from accounts to a municipal ID to a library card.

Whatever they’d done to deserve Pepper Potts, Steve didn’t know. But they were damn lucky to have her on their side. He hoped Tony appreciated what an amazing dame he had in his life.

It wasn’t quite like Loki would be putting in a standard 40 hour work week, of course. But this at least gave him all the tools to build toward that independence they’d discussed. With a job, he could make money (deposited in his own secure accounts -- they’d have to go over how that worked), and would have a degree of financial freedom. He wouldn’t be dependent on Steve for every expense, and formal identification would afford him greater mobility around the city.

The timing couldn’t be better, Steve thought with a smile.

The smile faded immediately, though, when Loki mentioned Barton.

For the briefest moment, he panicked. Of course, Loki had _just said_ Barton hadn’t hurt him, or made an effort to by the sound of it, but Steve’s first impulse was a surge of protective instinct. Of course, he should have remembered -- should have _expected_ Barton would be up and about, should have offered to go with Loki--

Which would of course, have completely defeated the idea of helping Loki gain greater independence, if Steve insisted on hovering over him like he was a helpless child and not an immortal being with immense power. He forced himself to take a deep breath. “How, um. How did running into Barton go? Besides not getting hit?” he inquired carefully. Because as far as social interactions went, not being physically assaulted was a pretty low bar.

 

Loki swallowed more of his breakfast before responding, thoughtful.

“I apologized for startling him. I think he had only just awakened and he was not prepared to see me waiting for the elevator when he came around the corner. I showed him the papers I had come to retrieve and he asked me if stealing information out of peoples’ minds wasn’t more convenient.” He grimaced.

He did not want to put into words the way Barton had advanced on him. He could take care of himself, and more, it accomplished nothing. Steve looked uneasy enough as it was.

“I told him the paperwork was to help me find the sceptre, he accused me of being stingy with my toys, and then the elevator came and he walked away.” Loki shrugged. “It was uneasy, but not downright hostile, which, I admit, is better than I expected at this juncture.”

He looked at the cards, the papers, and huffed out a little laugh.

“It is lucky, I suppose, that I have my ‘pocket’. Else I should be hard pressed for a place to carry all of these.” He frowned, realizing that Luke Smith outside of the tower would not have the benefit of being a sorcerer. “Ah… second thought, perhaps I should look into getting a wallet like yours. To keep from alarming people.”

His hand had been creeping across the bed, and he reached the bacon container at long last and brought it back to himself with the speed of a striking snake, only to find the last piece sitting at the bottom, looking altogether lonely.

He sighed and held it out to Steve, wondering how his life had come to this. If anyone wanted proof of his changing, they should see this moment, he thought with a little bitterness.

“Would you like the last one?” He offered.

 

It didn’t sound like a friendly encounter. But it also didn’t sound like Loki had risen to the bait and antagonized Clint, nor had Clint shattered the fragile truce they’d established the night before and gone after Loki.

Steve sighed; he supposed it was about as good as he could hope for at this point in time. And Loki didn’t seem too upset about it. “Well, I’m glad it didn’t go pear-shaped.” Clint and Loki running into one another would be an inescapable eventuality the longer Clint stayed -- and if Loki became an Avenger, they’d have to get used to one another sooner or later.

“We can get you a wallet for the cards and stuff,” he said, readily jumping on the change of topic. “You won’t have to carry around most of this. Your badge, cards, ID, some cash -- we can file away all the handbooks and everything.” It looked like a lot, but Steve had learned from working with the army and the government that most paperwork was superfluous, and only existed to cover someone’s ass in case things hit the fan. There was no sense in getting overwhelmed by it all. “All your suits have boring old non-magical pockets, after all,” he reminded with a smile.

Then Loki offered him the last piece of bacon, and laughter bubbled up, warm and easy from his lips. “Nah, that’s all yours. Made sure I didn’t eat _all_ of it before you got back,” he said, leaning in and giving Loki a peck on the cheek. “Thank you, though.”

They made quick work of the rest of the breakfast, and soon all that remained was to clean up. Steve stretched and sighed. “Guess we better get a start on the day and try to be productive. At least until anyone else unexpected shows up or Thor falls out of the sky again.”

 

Loki made a rude noise with his lips, then sighed.

“I suppose so.” The food had been good, the company better, the sex-- oh. He looked consideringly at his partner, then pursed his lips. The moment was long gone, interrupted by food and paperwork and distraction after distraction. It seemed that the debt had swung in the other direction, now. And he would have to find a very good way of making it up to Steve.

In the mean time…

“I guess I should find out whether Stark and Banner are up and about for continuing our work on the sceptre locating mechanism. I spoke with Pepper; I can hold off starting with the doctors until the current threat to world safety has been at least contained again.” He smiled, a wry, lopsided little thing.

“What are your plans for the day?” Not that he needed to know, or needed to have tabs on his partner; he trusted him. He merely was curious and interested in what Steve did when he was off neglecting him.

He also felt as though he should know if Steve planned on having more words with Barton. No doubt, if he did, he would be agitated later. It helped to be prepared, knowing that he would be coming back to that, if such was to be the case.

He stood and straightened his clothing, giving in to Banner’s insistence that if he was to be in the lab, he ought to be wearing shoes.

Cleaning off his side of the bed, he put the lanyard around one of the bed posts. The cards went into the non-magical pockets of his trousers, despite his mistrust of the angle of them, and the odd sensation of being able to feel them through the light fabric of the pants’ lining.

He really _would_ read the handbook that Pepper had given him-- later. When he needed the lanyard. When he needed to become Luke Smith.

And when they did speak to the others about when and how and who he should be, joining the Avengers, it was something to keep in mind. Luke Smith could very easily be a hero. But did Loki deserve that opportunity?

He shook himself. He was not a good judge of that, and nor was Steve, biased out of love for him. The thought made him feel pleasantly warm inside, not unlike a smaller version of the orgasm he’d received not long before.

He would leave it to the others. But the others all needed to be present, lest more question of not being told, not being consulted, like Barton had, arise around his involvement. And that meant the return of the Widow and Thor.

He bit his tongue on the thought though, unwilling to interrupt Steve’s answer to his day’s plans.

 

Steve shrugged, getting up and going through the drawers to find a suitable shirt to tug on. “Well, I’m probably going to go down to the gym and put in an hour or two there,” he said. Now that he’d eaten, he felt a surge of energy that could be put to good use there. “After that, shower, then I was thinking I’d get us some groceries, maybe a few basics for the apartment, check with Nat if there’s any progress on getting my stuff out of SHIELD lockup.”

He dressed as he spoke, putting on some briefs before tugging his sweatpants back on, and pulling a t-shirt on over his head. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull his socks and sneakers on. Not having any magical or scientific inclination, he was fairly useless in the hunt for the scepter. He could try to find other ways to keep busy -- tidying up domestically, or maybe going out into the city to run errands and get used to the changed landscape of New York -- but he felt guilty not contributing directly to the efforts of the team to combat a greater threat.

Unfortunately, if he wanted to do that, the best and most obvious task was to start mending things with their allies; namely, Asgard and SHIELD. And that meant talking to Natasha, Clint, and Thor. He wasn’t sure where Natasha was at the moment, and Thor wouldn’t be coming by until later, or possibly the day after, but Barton was right upstairs, and he had a direct line to Fury, whose cooperation they would need.

He sighed. “I guess I should talk to Clint,” he admitted, because saying it out loud made him feel more like he was committing to the idea. “Just about logistical stuff, I mean.” It would be easier to approach things from a strategic angle than a personal one, though they had a lot to cover either way. And from the sound of things -- and the fact Clint hadn’t tried to shoot Loki or anything when stumbling into him first thing on waking up -- Barton was more approachable today than he’d been last night.

 

Loki found himself nodding.

“If you need me for anything I shall have my phone with me. And of course there is JARVIS while you are in the building. But… I am glad that you are going to speak to Barton. And calling Romanov as well; if the idea of my joining your Avengers is to be broached, I feel it should be to all of them.” He hesitated. “Including Thor.”

He wondered if he was intentionally stacking the odds against himself, if this was another case of him getting other people to deny him the things he wanted.

Because he did want it, he wanted to be one of Steve’s team, one of Midgard’s acknowledged protectors. But… it wasn’t self destructive, or even life ruining if they denied him, was it? He would be hurt, but…

Better to consider this outside of Steve’s view, for his ability to hide his emotions seemed to have left him, by and large, when he was alone with his partner. Part of his promise of honesty, he supposed. He looked at him from the corner of his eye, how he was distracted by putting on his shoes. All he could see was his back, hunched over with his work, and yet he felt a swell of affection.

Damn, but he loved him.

“JARVIS?” He asked. “Where are Bruce and Tony?”

“ _Dr. Banner is in his lab, Sir is headed there with a new canister of coffee.”_

Convenient, having the omniscient power of the machine at his beck and call.

Loki came around the bed and stood before Steve, reaching down to tilt his face upwards.

“I love you. Have a good day.” He did not need to say it, but did just the same, before pressing a quick, sweet kiss to his partner’s lips.

 

Steve nodded with a smile as Loki told him he’d have his phone on him. “Same. Even if I’m out of the tower, I’ll have my phone on.” He didn’t plan on going far -- no more than a couple blocks at most -- at least until the situation at the tower was a little more stable, and he knew Clint wasn’t gonna snap and Thor wasn’t going to change his mind and try to haul Loki back to Asgard. Not that he thought it was likely (he wouldn’t leave Loki’s side if he thought it probable), but he’d rather stick close by, just in case.

If clouds formed over Stark’s tower, Steve would be back in a heartbeat.

He looked up from his shoes when Loki’s shadow fell over him, and felt strong and delicate fingers tip his chin up for a kiss.

And for all that they had their worries and their dangers and their... unusual problems, this morning-- sex and sweetness and breakfast in bed, parting with a kiss like any number of couples parting ways to go about their days --it was a little moment of blissful normalcy and domesticity he couldn’t help but treasure.

“I love you too,” he murmured back, grinning stupidly.

It took a surprising effort of will to get to his feet and make for the door. “I’ll see you later. We’ll do dinner!” He wasn’t sure what they’d cook it in, but he had a few hours before he had to cross that particular bridge.

For now, they had their respective days to move forward with.  
(And if Steve’s lips tingled just a little with the phantom sensation of Loki’s kiss as he rode the elevator down to the gym, he could hardly claim to mind.)

 


	44. Forty-Four

It was odd, being in someone else’s space-- or even his own space in someone else’s. He knew his way around well enough; had crashed here before, but he’d been sort of a guest then, and the only one.

There was a big difference between having Tony flitting around you all day and entertaining, and being left to your own devices. This trip seemed to be more of the latter.

And yeah, he couldn’t really blame them. He’d sort of come in swinging. And even this morning, he hadn’t been exactly acting like someone you wanted to hang around.

It was fine. He had boot polish and boots he’d been wearing for a month. That had kept him busy for a little bit. He’d had coffee and eaten, and now… now he was headed to the gym, because why not? He could stand to blow off a little steam, and anyway, Stark had one of the best facilities. No surprise there, but still-- he made a point of using it when he could.

He’d been there for about half an hour, having spent the majority of it happily parkouring around the place like a golden retriever at a lake, and now he was working on chin up climbers. He had his back to the door, but he froze and dropped to the floor when he heard someone else come in.

  


Steve had spent about half an hour running on the treadmill, burning off the decadent breakfast he and Loki had shared, and letting his thoughts fall into a calm blankness as his world narrowed down to the pounding of his feet and the beating of his heart. He’d done a little over 12 miles -- a good warm-up -- in that time, when the treadmill began to whirr and smell slightly of smoke from having been cranked up to the top speed for so long, and he’d had to get off.

He always felt centered after a good run. That kind of exhaustion, whether it came from combat or exercise (or sex, as he’d recently discovered), left him scoured in a way that made it easier to focus. Easier to think.

But half an hour was nothing, and he needed something else to train on before he continued with his day, because once he finished working out and washing up and running errands, he’d have to get down to the serious business of talking to Clint about SHIELD.

So, with the intention of procrastinating, and maybe busting the seams on another punching bag, he left the room of the gym with the treadmills and ellipticals (after dutifully leaving a note on the treadmill recommending maintenance), making his way toward the freestyle training area.

Unfortunately, it seemed he hadn’t been the only one. And fate must have thought little of his plans to put off talking to Barton, because when he opened the door, there Clint was, hauling himself up the equipment, then dropping down to turn and look at him.

Steve swallowed. “Hey. Sorry. I can come back later...”

  


He huffed a bit, his exasperation hidden behind his exertion.

“No need. It’s a big gym, plenty of equipment.” And he didn’t need to feel like _everyone_ was running away from him. No matter how annoyed he might be at this person in particular.

“You uh, been at it for a while already?” Small talk was awkward, and Clint had never been particularly good at it. He still felt on edge, because adrenaline always made him jumpy. It was a good response, one that had saved his skin several times-- but it was doing him no favors now. Not with Steve, and not with his evil interplanetary… whatever.

Who was conspicuously not there, he noticed.

Swell.

So was this… had Steve planned to bump into him? Or was it really just happenstance? It was a big building and all.

Also where _was_ Loki?

The fact that Steve wasn’t monitoring him all the time gave Clint the heebies all over again, cause the guy could be up to just about anything. He felt his face slipping into a scowl.

  


“Um, yeah. Just did a few miles,” Steve answered with a shrug, feeling awkward. He wanted to retreat, but now that Clint had turned down his offer to leave, he was stuck. He couldn’t take off without looking like an ass, or like he was actively avoiding Clint -- but the scowl forming on Clint’s face made the prospect of small talk formidable.

They’d both worked up a sweat, but neither of them were ready to throw in the towel. Which meant he would be stuck working out with Clint probably glaring at the back of his head for the next half-hour.

So much for feeling centered.

He looked around and started toward where the boxing equipment was stashed, then paused, an idea beginning to germinate. “I was just gonna hang up a bag and go a few rounds, but, if you want, I could go for a live sparring partner,” he offered.

At least that way, Barton would be glaring at his face instead. And maybe a friendly bout would work out some of the tension between them and make it easier to segue into conversation.

  


“Yeah?” He asked, the offer taking him by surprise.

A sort of wariness settled over him, though. He was just a guy, and he’d seen Cap’s stats-- it would be easy for him to squash Clint like a bug. And he certainly had more than enough reason to want to.

Then again, he wasn’t exactly useless or weak. He could hold his own for a bit. And maybe Cap was just really into the idea of letting Clint beat up on him for a while, like he’d proposed the night before.

He wondered what he thought it would fix.

If anyone could tell you that thrashing someone out of a sense of punishment for something they did was bad, it was Clint. But he had also never been so tempted by the offer before…

“You don’t want to follow your run up with pulling your punches.” He said, deflecting. “I’m not even sort of a challenge for you.” And it stung, saying that, but at least he could face the truth. He’d be happy to take on Steve in a shooting match any day, but here, unarmed and face to face…

But man did the idea of hitting him feel good. He backpedaled.

“But if you want to, I mean, I’m down.”

  


For a minute, Steve figured Clint was turning him down. Though whether out of regular annoyance or outright mistrust, he wasn’t sure. He briefly wondered how short of a workout he could get away with without making it obvious he was in a hurry to slip out, but then Clint seemed to change his mind.

“I need practice pulling my punches,” Steve said with a shrug, “and the punching bag doesn’t help me with my reflexes at all.” Clint might not have been as strong as Steve, but he was still quick and agile; Steve knew the value of that in a fight. And practice bouts were good, because even in real fights, Steve often needed to pull his hits if he didn’t want to kill someone. And in truth, he preferred the lowest body count possible for any given mission.

He kicked off his shoes, then immediately moved to start pulling out the mats, laying the extra padding on the ground. It only took a few minutes, and then he began to fetch the wraps for his hands, only to pause when he realized they hadn’t set up the parameters for the fight.

“How do you prefer to do this?” he asked, looking back toward Clint. Steve usually used minimal wraps on his hands, or went straight-up bare knuckle, but a lot of the guys he’d sparred with at SHIELD seemed to prefer protective gear, and he couldn’t remember what Clint liked.

  


He eyed the Captain’s prep warily, taking care and time to wrap his own hands.

They were the most important part of his job, and he didn’t want to splinter his bones on Steve’s pecs or something. He might be going into this a little hot headed, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still know what was best for him. and disregarding the first thing on that list, which would be not agreeing to this craziness, the next thing down was taking precautions.

“Depends, how good are you at not punching through people?” He asked, the words starting to tumble out. “I hope you’re better at following fight rules than you are at following orders. No weapons, obviously. No kicking a guy once he’s down.” The next rule that usually followed was about head injuries and avoiding them, but he stopped there.

If he did manage to get in a good solid thwap on Steve’s head, he would rest a little easier knowing that this wasn’t all some Loki constructed game.

“No biting or gouging. Nothing to pop joints or dislocate anything.” He shrugged, loosening his shoulders while he shuffled his shoes off. He rolled his neck.

“Am I missing anything?”

Aside from a sense of self preservation. This was gonna _hurt_.

  


Steve blinked. He’d been thinking more about how many seconds on the mat before before the bout ended, or whether Clint wanted headgear or not. He’d sort of figured the rest was the sort of thing that would be taken for granted -- the fact Barton felt the need to specify not kicking a man while he was down was almost hurtful. And he didn’t miss the barb about following orders... Though considering they’d stolen a plane together from the helicarrier once, and Clint had been the one to pilot it, Steve didn’t think he had much ground to stand on.

“Don’t think I’ve put a fist through anyone lately,” he replied dryly, watching as Clint prepared.

“Fight stays on the mats, no hitting below the belt,” he added as he finished wrapping his hands. He squeezed them into fists, testing them experimentally, then bounced on the balls of his feet, swinging his arms to limber up for a moment before he stepped out on to the mat.

He’d let Clint set the pace here. After all, he really did just want to work on his reflexes, not beat up on Barton. He shifted into a stance, keeping his weight forward, feet planted shoulder-width apart and his hands raised in front of him, prepared to block.

“Ready when you are.”

  


He went into this the same way he did most things that he knew he shouldn’t be doing. He didn’t think.

Not about the why at least. There were things his body knew. Like that he was shorter than Steve, so he’d need to punch upwards, so he’d be better throwing his elbows around. That if his goal was Steve’s head, he should start lower, so that he’d think Clint was playing clean right up until the moment Clint got dirty.

But these were things that didn’t need thoughts. He just knew them.

So when he charged in, feet slapping over the mat, he put his speed into his weight into his first impact. He didn’t tackle Steve because he didn’t want to knock him down. Just launched himself at him, hoping to throw him off balance.

He bounced off of him the same way he would bounce off a brick wall, but he’d been half expecting that. He kept his feet under him and fell into his own stance, trying to judge his own effectiveness.

 

Clint charged in nearly full-force, but all Steve had to do was plant his feet, flex his knees, and twist his torso at the waist on impact to keep from staggering with it. After Clint bounced back, though, he moved one foot back, angling himself toward Clint with most of his weight over one leg so he could pivot easily and redirect his opponent’s inertia against him, should Clint try the same move.

It was an odd strategy. Not too clever a frontal attack, given their comparative sizes -- unless, as Steve suspected, Clint was thinking a few moves ahead and testing Steve’s reactions.

He considered counter-attacking, but decided against it and held position, watching Clint for any feints or tells.

  


He rolled with it, took the weight and displaced it, absorbed the shock like it was nothing. And why shouldn’t he? Captain America took beatings from bigger badder guys than Clint all the time.

But why he wouldn’t advance, Clint wasn’t certain. Was this actually going to be what he had proposed the night before, where it would just be Clint hitting him and him blocking if he needed to?

It felt sickening, thinking that he was so ineffective.

“You ever do this with your boyfriend?” He asked, hoping that he would be able to goad Steve into acting. He had permission, after all, this was a fight, not a recital. This wasn’t about showing off what Clint could do.

He edged in a little closer, tempting him to strike out.

“Do you have to pull your blows with him, too, or do you just end up using these mats for something else?” He was close enough now to be able to see the way Rogers’ nostrils flared as he exhaled.

He wanted to land that head hit, but the best way would be from behind.

He wondered if he could pull some acrobatics to get himself there. He wasn’t Natasha, but he was strong and flexible. Shouldn’t be too hard, he thought.

As long as Steve was just standing there.

He feinted in and to his left, like he was aiming to scoop out Steve’s forward leg. Most of his weight was there, so it would have good effect-- if he actually thought he could manage to take out the weight of Captain America.

He readied his fist, lining it up for a good uppercut while he was low, and went for it.

  


Steve ground his teeth when Barton brought Loki up.

Of course, part of why he’d wanted to talk with him was to talk about Loki, but he’d planned for that to be a civil conversation; this was far from that, and he felt a prickle of -- embarrassment? shame? anger? -- on the back of his neck.

It was uncomfortable having Barton so clearly allude to their sex life -- to sexuality that Steve had only just begun to open up about, around those he _trusted,_ and which smarted to have thrown at him like a weapon, mocking and harsh. But perhaps what was worse was that _he wasn’t far off._ It almost felt like an invasion, the way Clint skirted so damn close to the mark. Because he and Loki had talked about sparring, and they had forgone it so far because it would likely devolve into the same sort of actions Barton was speculating about.

For Clint to know so much about them (or at least guess damn well) when he hated what they had so much, made Steve’s skin crawl a little.

At the same time, though, a part of him remained emotionally detached. A part that recognized the possible ulterior motive Clint had in throwing his relationship with Loki into his face;

Back when Steve had been young, he’d often run his mouth when he’d got into fights, verbally going after his opponents and daring them on, in the hopes that their anger against him would make them sloppy. (Mostly it just made them hit harder. In retrospect, it wasn’t the best thought out tactic for him.)

If Clint was trying to provoke him, he’d found a good sore spot to needle.

And it was a more effective tactic for him than it had ever been for Steve, he realized, as he noticed the shift in Clint’s stance a moment too late. He’d noted Clint’s drop, as if he intended to target Steve’s leg and shifted his weight in response, but fell for the feint and missed the upward punch at his jaw.

He grunted as Clint’s fist connected, snapping his teeth together, and took a step back. Clint didn’t have quite enough force to daze him or cause serious harm, but he could still land a solid and painful hit.

Fortunately, Steve had learned long ago to ignore pain rather than letting it slow him down. Clint had raised his arm for the punch, leaving his side open; Steve took the opportunity to land a jab -- hard enough to wind, but not hard enough to injure any ribs -- to Clint’s flank, before retreating a few paces, working his jaw experimentally.

“Loki and I have discussed sparring, but given how busy he’s been in the lab and the fact he was injured for a long while, we haven’t got around to it much,” he replied carefully, keeping his eyes on Clint for his next move. “Nice feint.”

  


The air gushed out of him when Steve’s blow connected.

“Nice-- recovery.” He came back. He pulled himself upright and bounced on his toes, turning himself to look at Steve almost over his shoulder. He gave him the very least of himself to hit this way, almost in profile as he was.

But it was good to know he planned on hitting back, too. Though with as little as he had reacted to Clint’s blow, he felt a little like he was being played with.

“Y’know, maybe if you got your evil goldfish out here, he might not have ended up all smashed up.” He pointed out, pleased by the results that his jibes had yielded. Steve was listening, and it was making him lose his concentration.

As satisfying as that jaw snapping sound had been, it wouldn’t cause the reset, if it existed. He wished he could throw an elbow into his nose, blood and bruises were the least he wanted out of him for the shit he had pulled… but then again, Clint had known bullies all of his life, guys who thought that kind of response was right. He knew better. And he didn’t want to be that person. No one should be able to make him. Not Loki, not Steve, and certainly not Clint’s own anger.

He wasn’t gonna take advantage of the opportunity to beat on someone who he did, ultimately, care about.

But none of this would hurt so bad if he didn’t.

So he circled in, getting closer.

“Cleanup crew said no one really saw him fight back. You have him under orders, _Captain_? Is that why he’s on such good behavior here?” He rushed in mid sentence,the last few words grunted as he brought his knee up to smash into Steve’s chest and stomach, hoping it would make him double over, just for a second-- just so he had time to lace his fingers together and bring his hands down on the back of his head--

  


They’d each gotten a good hit in, and now they sized each other up anew, processing the new information cleaned and adjusting their strategies appropriately. That was one of the things Steve liked about sparring one-on-one -- the pace and the moments for strategy. In melee, everything moved too quickly, with too many variables at work to run on anything but instinct. Fights like this helped to shape those instincts.

But Clint still seemed hell-bent on making it as unpleasant as possible.

Steve seethed at his comment. “He isn’t evil,” he countered lowly, resenting the implication that he might have prevented Loki’s injury if he’d done more, if he’d worked with him on non-lethal combat strategies... mainly because he’d spent so many hours while Loki had been lying paralyzed in bed, thinking the same thing.

He took a side step, circling slowly. “He got hurt because he put himself between an attacker and Bruce.” And how was that the act of a villain? Loki had avoided hurting anyone, and placed himself in harm’s way, _nearly dying_ to protect others, and Clint was somehow finding ways to call him wicked while discussing it? Steve’s nostrils flared as he exhaled, jaw twitching painfully. Loki had been _helping,_ and everyone else had been able to see it after that. Bruce had been there for them, and even Tony had come around--

He gasped as Clint’s knee drove into his solar plexus. Shit. He’d been paying attention to Clint’s words and not the change in his stance. The blow took the breath right out of him and he curled into it, hissing in air…

  


He got the opening he needed, and his father hadn’t raised a man who’d let a fight go on longer than it needed to. He made his hands into a solid double fist and brought it crashing down on Steve, backing away in the process, so that when he fell, he didn’t take Clint with him.

He stood, panting and waiting, ready to rush in if his leader sat up in a bout of confusions. But some part of him knew that wasn’t gonna happen. There was too much of him present for that. He was still too much like Steve to really be Loki’s puppet, unless there was some new trick that Clint didn’t know of.

And he knew he couldn’t have it both ways. Loki couldn’t be the Captain’s victim AND Steve couldn’t be Loki’s, simultaneously. Logic said it had to be one or the other, and his friends seemed to imply they thought it was neither, but that left Clint without a leg to stand on.

He needed to _know_ , needed to be sure…

“You sure about all of that?” He asked, covering the tension that made his limbs quiver by shaking his hands, as if to encourage blood flow.

Steve’s head was hard, and he _felt_ it, but it was worth it. For his own peace of mind.

“How ya feelin’ there, Cap?”

Had he even hit him hard enough?

  


Before Steve could straighten, Clint hit him again. Not in the stomach or the jaw, but a rabbit-punch right to the back of the head.

He could almost swear he felt something crack as stars exploded behind his eyes like a dark supernova, pain spiking into his brain as his vision blurred out and he had a sudden sensation of falling--

A moment later, his eyes were open, and all he could see was the mat, pressed into his face. The pounding in the back of his skull was echoed by a counterpoint of blunt pain where his nose was pressed into the padded ground. He’d crashed into it face-first, unable to break his fall, and he could feel something warm and wet dribbling over his nostril.

It had been a brutal hit. Not that he blamed Clint for taking the opening -- but that was the sort of punch that didn’t happen in a friendly spar.

It was the sort of punch you took when you were trying to take someone down.

Slowly, still dazed and a bit dizzy, Steve pushed himself up on to his hands, then rocked back to sit on his haunches so he could look up at Clint. He had to blink a few times for his vision to clear enough that there was only one of him, and he reached up to wipe at the trickle of blood from his nose, leaving a smear of crimson on the back of his hand.

“Depends,” he said quietly, meeting Clint’s expectant gaze. “Do _you_ feel better now?”

  


Guilt crashed over him, and he found himself striding forwards, reaching out to help, though he had not intended to, though he didn’t take the time to _think_.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” The words slipped his mouth as he just saw the present-- he had knocked out his friend, and now he was wary and bleeding and…

...and quietly accepting it, like he deserved it.

Because he did.

“I wasn’t-- Not that it’s gonna make a ton of difference, but so you know that was not about-- you know. Actually hurting you, so much as. Cognitive recalibration?” He offered the words like a question, well aware that they weren’t his own.

“I guess it feels better to be sure that you’re you, yeah, but,” He licked his lips and offered Steve his hand to help him up. “I don’t feel better for making you bleed. You wanna clean it up before we make more of a mess of Stark’s gym? Don’t know about you, but I don’t wanna be banned from using it. It’s a pretty good place to blow off steam.”

He was joking around now, trying to be friendly, but it felt weak, hollow, and forced.

A sucker punch to the skull didn’t make things better.

It did uncomplicate matters a little, he supposed. Gave him more information to get used to. But it didn’t make him feel any better. Just made him feel like a bully.

  


Steve hesitated for a brief moment, then took Clint’s offered hand and let the other man help haul him to his feet. He wobbled slightly on his feet as the blood rushed from his head, and he blinked furiously against the temporary surge of nausea. He didn’t know if he was concussed, but fortunately, if he was, it would only take a few hours to be fully gone. A perk of the serum. No harm done.

Well...

He grimaced, but carefully inclined his head toward Clint, hoping that this might at least help them move forward. “Understood,” he said. Now that Clint had personally ruled out the possibility of Steve being mind-controlled, maybe he’d fear Loki a little less. And it did help, a little, knowing Clint had hit him as much for Steve’s own good as to punish him. “Pretty sure I had that coming for a while anyway.”

He reached up to gingerly rub the tender goose-egg forming on the back of his head. “There’s paper towels in the cabinet with the wraps,” he indicated, so they could clean up the red drops on the mat. The trickle from his nose was already stopping, thankfully.

“I’m the only one in my own head, Clint. I’m not under Loki’s control. And he’s not under mine.”

He looked at him meaningfully, taking a deep breath. “I know what Loki did to you was awful, and I’m not trying to pretend otherwise, or that you don’t have a right to be upset. There were... well, there were a lot of things going on with him leading up to the invasion that made him do the things he did. I’m not saying that as an excuse -- he still made bad choices and did bad things, and I’m fully capable of recognizing that.” It was easier to say this and speak frankly without Loki present to take his words the wrong way, to be hurt by them. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still on Loki’s side.

“But without those factors in play -- look, the guy who he was when we faced him the first time isn’t the person he is now. If I thought he’d try to pull that again, I wouldn’t be championing him like this.” He licked his lips, chasing the traces of copper that clung to his upper lip where he’d failed to wipe the blood away. “I’m giving Loki a second chance because I think -- I _know_ \-- he’ll make good use of it. And you don’t have anything to fear of him controlling you or anyone else like that ever again.”

  


Clint swallowed and went to fetch the towels.

“Yeah. I know. It’s rough, you know? I watched those videos. I saw all of the people cheering for him-- hell, even the AV team seems to be on your side. The way they prioritized the videos when I requested them-- they all but cut a documentary about how effective you are at rehabilitation.”

He snorted, the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach twisting again. It was easier to talk when he wasn’t looking at Steve. He kept his head down, kept his hands focused on cleaning.

“It’s tough because everyone wants to think well of him, and I don’t. Which makes me feel like I’m the bad guy. I just got used to having been a victim-- took forever to stop _blaming_ _myself_ for being so damn easy to puppeteer-- and then I had to learn to be an angry victim, angry at him and at what happened, all over again, so I wouldn’t roll into a useless ball of self pity. And then I come home, and that anger puts me up against everyone I know. Even you. And watching you two talk, after-- I didn’t want to sympathize. Not with him. Not with you. I wanted to be angry. It was the only thing getting me through my day. And now-- I’m still angry. But it feels sour, like a festering splinter. I don’t know what I’m going to do when it finally goes away.”

He stood, the blood having been fully wiped up-- or maybe ground into the mat, it was hard to say.

He looked up, back over at Steve.

“I thought, when I saw him turn blue, I was going to get a brand new set of nightmares. But that wasn’t it at all. When they came, they weren’t about blue demons. They were about you touching him. Gently. You being kind, and him being panicked. I had to be angry at someone. I guess… I don’t know.”

Despite him being the one who had laid Captain America out flat-- and when things were right again, he planned to be smug about that-- despite his minimal hurts from this sparring, he still felt a little like he’d been run over with another truck.

“I had to make someone else into the bad guy. It couldn’t be me.”

  


Steve took one of the paper towels and used it to scour the rest of the drying blood off his face and hand. It was surprising to hear Clint mention the AV team, or that anyone at SHIELD was on Loki’s side -- he’d figured maybe one or two of the guards had been sympathetic, but he hadn’t thought anything about the video surveillance guys or their reactions. He supposed it was nice to know that everyone wasn’t as stacked against Loki as he’d feared... Though he couldn’t help but cringe a little for Clint’s sake.

He’d been mad at Clint before. Mad when Clint refused to listen back at SHIELD. Mad when Clint had come in looking for a fight. Hell, he’d even been a bit mad when he felt Clint’s fist hit the back of his head.

But it was hard to feel mad now. Because however much Steve forgave Loki... he could understand why Clint had a much harder time. He’d got the short end of the stick in all this. And it was easier to deal with grief when you were focused on fighting, on being angry and finding justice and _avenging..._

“You’re not the bad guy, Clint,” he said quietly, moving to sit on one of the benches. He’d had the luxury, in the war, of it being clear enough who the good guys were and who the bad guys were most of the time. There had been a simplicity to it. Then, during the invasion, it had been humanity versus the invading alien army, and that had been straightforward too. The waters now were muddier, and for all that he’d pitted himself against people through his actions, and butted heads, he couldn’t look at Clint or Fury or Natasha or Thor and call them the bad guys, because they _weren’t._ They were allies. Friends.

It made this hard for both of them.

“I understand being angry at him. And I understand being angry at me. I hope you can get past it in time, so it doesn’t eat you up, but I get that... that sometimes anger’s what keeps you going.” His crusade to take down HYDRA at any cost was the only thing fueling him in the days after Bucky’s death.

“But if you really need to be angry at someone, be angry at the guy holding all the strings.” He met Clint’s gaze. “Be mad at the guy who turned Loki into a weapon, put the scepter in his hands, and sent him here. Be mad at the thing that screwed both of you over, and a bigger body count than any of us combined. Be mad at Thanos.”

  


Clint sat beside his friend and sighed.

“If you told me back then that aliens and mythical gods existed, I’d have smacked you around just to be sure your head was on straight. Now… I get that there’s stuff out there we don’t know about. But I’m having a hard time imagining anything that huge. Even having seen what he-- that’s what did that to you, right? The sceptre, he’s the one behind it?”

He knew he wasn’t Bruce and Tony smart, he didn’t have Nat’s understanding of people, but even the dumb Avenger had to be able to understand _some_ things.

“And you said he turned Loki into a weapon. Was that what he was trying to do to you, before Loki came in?” He tried to imagine Steve’s face twisted that way, desperate and hungry and lethal as Loki’s had been in the beginning.

He couldn’t. That look just didn’t belong there.

And all he could see in his mind’s eye was Steve paralyzed into a silent scream.

“What uh, what’s his MO, how does he turn… whatever Loki was before, how does he make that into what he was when we saw him?”

It wasn’t going to be a happy answer, he knew, but it was something important to know about. If the guy had magic like the sceptre’s-- if he had made the sceptre, it sort of stood to reason…

Clint didn’t want to tangle with that. But how could he not, when he knew what it had the potential to do?

“And where are we with getting Loki’s magic wand back? Not to be a jerk about it-- though I have been enough I realize, but… it’s making me really fucking nervous having it out there.” And he skirted around the topic of Loki himself, because he had seen him, and he sort of didn’t want any more information on that front until he was ready for it. Nothing new til he’d processed what he already had.

  


Steve huffed out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, I remember the good old days when superpowered Nazis with magic guns were the worst thing I had to worry about.” He could understand Clint’s trouble conceptualizing Thanos, though. Steve still had trouble with it, and he’d seen him himself.

“And yeah, Thanos was the one... The scepter, it’s sort of like a portal for minds. That’s how Loki was given orders during the invasion. Also, when he was in custody, Thanos was able to use it as a conduit to get a powerful artifact Loki had magically stored, ripping a hole in his magic in the process. And when I touched it, he, uh...”

Steve looked down at his hands, beginning to undo the wraps. He didn’t think they’d be doing any more sparring today. “I think he was trying to pull information out of my head. Or, well, he had one of his goons do it. I don’t know what he’d have done if he’d had me for longer, or if the connection even would have lasted that long, but... Mostly he just scrambled everything and made it hurt a lot. We don’t know if he got anything useful, but Loki doesn’t think it’s likely. I mean, about two-thirds of all the intel I know is seventy years out of date.” He shrugged. It was still a concern, as was the possibility of Thanos getting information from the minds of anyone else who might touch the scepter. “Honestly, I’m not sure. We don’t know nearly enough about him or what he’s planning, and I wasn’t exactly cogent at the time. That’s part of why we’re trying to get the scepter -- Loki thinks he can use to to re-establish a connection with Thanos and gather more information.”

Not that Steve was overly fond of the risk associated with that plan, but it was clear enough now that their options were limited. Thor and Asgard might turn up something once he returned, but it was a long shot. “He and Bruce and Tony have been in the lab trying to find a way to trace the scepter’s energy signature since Natasha told us SHIELD had lost it. I’m not sure how it’s going -- they all slip into technobabble within thirty seconds of the subject coming up -- but they’ve all been working hard. Yesterday threw a wrench in things, but he’s up there right now.” With luck, something would come up sooner rather than later. Though with the trail being cold, his hopes weren’t high.

He finished peeling the wraps his hands and rolled up them up, fiddling with the edges of the material. “I’m... I’m not entirely sure what Thanos did to Loki,” he admitted. “He pulled him out of a void after he fell through space, and then... I think Loki’s in denial about it,” he said. And that felt like a small betrayal on his part. Loki hated showing weakness, and this was Loki’s painful story to divulge and not Steve’s, but Clint deserved to know so he could at least understand, and Loki wasn’t likely to want to talk about it or relive it. This way, Steve could get Clint to understand, and spare Loki from rehashing the whole experience.

“He won’t call it as much, but he was tortured.” His thoughts flickered to Loki’s panic when he’d been bound to the chair in SHIELD, his confession that he’d been strapped down while his magic had been excruciatingly extracted, and he swallowed. “On top of that, he got put through -- simulations, I guess? Over and over, until his first impulse on getting dropped into a simulated world was to attack, and he couldn’t tell the difference between what was real and what wasn’t. It wasn’t... It wasn’t the kind of brainwashing the scepter did, but...” He trailed off, unsure of whether he needed to spell it out further or not.

  


Clint stiffened, but forced himself to relax.

“Maybe you… maybe when she comes around again, if he’s less… It sounds a bit like Nat, you know? And she’s not always comfortable talking about it, but for you-- I meant what I said when I told you she doesn’t like most people. Doesn’t get close to them.”

He didn’t know why he was repeating that now; it was one thing to use it in the heat of the moment, as leverage, to hurt. It was something else to say it with the tone of a shared secret. And maybe it was that Steve cared for Loki, and he was telling Clint about him… the closest thing Clint had to that was Nat.

“If he needs help getting through stuff, it sounds like he’s around the best people for it, at least.” He didn’t _want_ to feel for the guy. Slowly, eventually, he might be able to let himself, but for now… drawing parallels between them was hard.

And it took a minute for him to make sense of it.

“So what you’re saying though is that… when they find the sceptre, you’re planning on having Loki go back to the… guy? The thing? That tortured him into being a crazy war maniac.” The words were flat with disbelief. “And that seems like a good idea to everyone involved.”

He shuddered, again remembering the man he had seen when Loki first appeared, gaunt and proud and terrifying.

He saw Steve unwrapping and decided to follow suit, his mind already reeling through the options.

“I assume there’s stuff I don’t know, I know I am all kinds of… well, I haven’t been kept up to date. But if you are planning on sending him back in, if there isn’t something else you can do about it… I think Natasha should at least spend some time with him. I don’t know anybody who can lie to their own brains, but if anyone was gonna be able, I assume it would be her. And she might have other advice to lend. I was thinking um… if everyone else is going to be here. Maybe you should call her in, too. I could do it, but. I think it would mean more, be more right, coming from you.”

He shrugged and stood, offering his hand this time to take Steve’s knuckle wraps to the trash along with his own.

This was the weirdest conversation he’d had in a long time. Some kind of weird make-up briefing. But it was… it was helpful, it was making things come into perspective. Giving him new things to set his sights on.

And maybe he was an idiot for letting himself be swayed over to Loki’s side, by someone who was admittedly biased, admittedly compromised.

But it was a hell of a lot easier than being against his friends.

“One thing though: If he does this, I don’t wanna be there when he gets back. That’s… it’d be too much, I think.” He looked Steve in the face, pleading with him to understand without him having to say anything else, anything like what he’d had to tell his doctors for months after Loki had gone. He didn’t want to be seen as broken again, as useless and weak and damaged. Especially not by Steve.

  


Steve blinked in surprise when Clint recommended Loki talk to Natasha. Not that he’d expected Clint to be all that protective of Nat -- out of all of them, she was probably one of the most capable of taking care of herself -- but it was still an extension of trust that he hadn’t expected. “Thank you,” he told him. “I’ll-- if she’s up for it, of course, I’ll definitely suggest it.” Talking to Natasha could be good for Loki. And it might also be good for integrating him into the team.

And it made Steve confused, but also glad, that Clint had proposed it. Though the warm feeling in his chest faded quickly.

“Actually, I hate the idea,” he answered grimly. “I think it’s horrible and the first time he suggested it, I was 100% against it. But.” He looked down and sighed. “We haven’t got a lot of options. Being Asgardian, Loki’s more durable than any human, and he’s survived Thanos before. He’s also got a history of cooperation, so he’s our most realistic candidate for a double agent. It’s risky as hell, but right now it’s all we’ve got other than sitting around and waiting for Thanos to come and annihilate us.”

He reached up and ran a hand back through his sweat-dampened hair. Thinking of sending Loki back into that crucible -- delivering him into Thanos’ hands and possible death -- made him feel sick. But he had to admit that doing nothing was just as likely to get Loki and seven billion other people killed. “If we get any alternatives, then yeah, that’d be preferable. But we have to do something, and he volunteered. I haven’t been able to come up with anything better.”

He glanced up at Clint’s next suggestion, brow furrowed. Natasha... Well, she had beat Loki at his own game in her interrogation on the helicarrier. And she was an incredible spy. Assuming she was even willing to talk to Loki, let alone coach him--

She might be able to give him the edge needed to stay alive. An edge Steve would do anything for Loki to have.

“That’s good thinking,” he replied, handing over his wraps. “Thanks. I mean it. I’ll talk to her -- and hopefully not bungle it as badly as I did last time,” he added with a grimace. Not that it would likely be possible to do so, but saying as much aloud would probably jinx him.

He stood, head swimming a bit less this time, and stretched. His frown deepened, but he nodded to Clint, ignoring the spark of pain the motion brought to the back of his head. “Yeah. Sure. I mean, we’re a ways off from that, but... If you need to not be there, I can respect that.” He wasn’t entirely sure what Clint’s reasoning was, but he suspected that it was the sort of thing best not to push and prod at. Not when Clint was already raw and vulnerable, and not when things between them were finally going okay for a bit.

“Hey, speaking of having everyone here,” he began, changing the subject, “have you talked with Tony about the additional apartments he had built into the top few floors?”

  


Clint shook his head as he returned.

That had been easy. This was all easy, and that made him… uneasy. Was it supposed to be this simple?

It wasn’t forgiveness but it wasn’t far from it, and everyone acted like it took a lot of work, a lot of effort. This was getting more like normal the longer it went on. And it would be so easy to let himself just fall into it.

“Nah, I’m still not sure how long I’ll be here. I am, technically, still under SHIELD orders. Though they’ve been really lax about my timelines, since I went back to work. They’re still treating me like some kind of psychological invalid.” He lifted his shoulder, defeated. “Not much I can do about it, aside from take advantage when I can. Eventually they’re going to order me back. But if it turns out I’m needed here, I’ll just-- I’ll have Nat scare someone into giving me orders in town here for a while.”

He didn’t want to put pressure on Steve like that, but… was he useful? Was he necessary? It was something he’d thought a lot about. At SHIELD, he knew the answer was mostly no. There were enough people and he wasn’t all that special, except that he was also an Avenger. And with the Avengers… well, it was hard to say. He was the least of them, easily, no contest. But there were less of them, too, and maybe that meant that he was more needed, Even if it was just for bulk.

“And cheer up, Cap. Maybe once we find out who has the scepter, they’ll have more intel for us, and we won’t need to send him in at all.” That would be preferable. If Loki came out and was as crazy as he had been the first time the guy got his hands on him, he didn’t know what he would do, how he would react-- and worse, he knew Steve would go in to help. He didn’t know what Loki would do about that.

Steve had said the last time, he had been tortured until he didn’t know what was real. What if he went on a rampage, hurt people? What if Clint couldn’t react right to that? What if he couldn’t react at all? That was the kind of test that he didn’t need to take.

  


Steve forced a smile. “Yeah, that’d be a lot better. Fingers crossed.” Not that it seemed likely that whoever had the scepter would have usable intel on Thanos; they probably either had no idea what they were dealing with, or, without Loki to pull them away and save them, had probably been reduced to gibbering wrecks after touching the scepter.

He pushed that thought out of his mind, though. Something else could still come up. Maybe. And even if it didn’t -- Loki had a lot more reasons now to be careful with his own life. Had something to come home to.

“And that makes two of us that SHIELD thinks is crazy at this point,” he joked, though it fell a little flat. “Look, whenever we do track down the scepter, if we need to set up any kind of stealth op to get it out, you and Natasha are going to have the optimal skill set for planning that.”

They were also the SHIELD personnel he was currently on the best terms with, and their collaboration would do a lot to help ease relations between the Avengers in the tower and Fury’s people with any luck. But more than that -- having Clint and Natasha working with him, with _Loki_ , was starting to seem like it might go alright. “If you can get away, we could really use your help. And I’m sure Tony wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stash some things here in case you need to crash on short notice.” Steve wasn’t the sort of person who was usually presumptuous with other people’s hospitality, but Tony _had_ planned for all the Avengers to live in the tower at some point, so it didn’t feel like overstepping.

He moved to start putting away the mats, tilting them up and walking them toward the far wall where they stacked. “Hey, look...” He dropped the mat he’d been carrying against the wall. “I’m really glad we talked. Thanks for listening and... Sorry for being an ass, before. I’m glad you’re still okay with being on the team.” He offered an apologetic smile and held a hand out.

  


Clint found an actual smile tugging at the sides of his face as he moved forward to shake Steve’s hand, glad to do it despite the number of times they had already done pretty much the same throughout the day with their words.

So maybe SHIELD did think they were a little fucked up. He could live with that, as long as someone believed him, someone understood. Nat was that someone for a long time, but this was a little more. This was more stability, support from multiple sides. And Steve actually _wanted_ him around. Wanted them around, him and Nat both.

“Yeah? Yeah. Alright then.” He couldn’t help but be surprised at the answer. Not a bit of hesitation on Steve’s part. It definitely felt more real, more… more like the truth. Like everything else they’d said today.

“I’m sorry, too. I know-- I said a lot of stuff. And, not certain I won’t say more. Easy to lose your balance, around here. But, just so you know.” He hesitated, trying to find the right words. “It was never about you being with a guy. I know Kyle Scofield is a homophobic douchecanoe, but it was never that for me. It was just… _which_ guy. You know?” He wasn’t sure he was clear enough.

“I’m glad you’re… well. You know, not glad. But not not-glad. Just. We’re cool, right? Or… we will be.”

For the first time since he’d gotten there, he truly thought they might be.

  


It was the third or fourth time Clint had managed to surprise him in the last ten minutes or so. Steve’s mouth fell briefly open, and then he closed it soundlessly. Something warm bloomed inside his chest, and he felt the relief of a tension he hadn’t even realized was there -- possibly because he’d been carrying it so long.

Clint didn’t hate him. Not for what he’d done or for who he was. Clint was on his team and he didn’t hate him, and they were going to be alright. His team was going to be alright.

Steve looked down for a second to compose himself. “Thanks,” he finally managed. “That means a lot.” He took a breath and looked up with a shaky smile. “And we’re cool.”

Or, like Clint said, they would be. Soon.

Although...

“I know you’re gonna have to report back to Fury on all of this -- and that’s good, he and SHIELD need to know, and he’ll trust stuff coming from you and Natasha more than from me, I think, considering SHIELD’s present opinion of my judgement,” he clarified. “But when you tell him, um. Look, I know Scofield’s been running his mouth and there’s probably a fair number of people who might... suspect. About me. But I’m not really ready for everyone to know.” He looked over at Clint with a pleading expression. “Is there any way you could...?”

  


He’d felt his brows lowering, not entirely sure what Steve was asking, but when he understood, they all but shot upwards in surprise.

“Oh, no. Yeah, no, it’s your business. I mean.” He took a deep breath. “Technically it’s my business. But. Well, I'm crazy and compromised. Who says I even woulda noticed? Just. If you have to meet with them, do us all a favor and brush up on modern makeup. He um.” he gestured at his own neck. “Not so subtle, last night.” He grimaced.

“He’s…” He hesitated, but might as well; they had come this far. “He’s really treating you right, right? You would know the difference?” He raised his hands, instantly aware that it was a little too personal.

“Not even because he’s him, just because you’re you and you never brought anyone around before and, you know. We’re… friends.”

And they were. He wouldn’t withhold information from SHIELD for just anybody.

He did have a lot of reason to be grateful for the organization, even if he didn’t feel all that grateful right now.

And he’d only managed to be here for a day when his loyalties were already being divided and tested. But… this was such a little thing. He could agree to this.

He’d have to muck through everything else though, make sense of it. Hopefully before he talked to Natasha next… or with her help. She didn’t say much when he bounced his thoughts off of her, but she had a way of cutting to the bottom of them.

“I don’t think it’s that important for me to tell Fury. But… I think if you did, there would be a little less concern about Loki’s motives. Once they believed you.” And there was the rub. But maybe, just maybe, he and Natasha could help with that.

A lot of it hinged on Loki though, and how actually changed he was. The Loki he’d seen last night and this morning were very different than any he’d seen before. He supposed he had to be open to the thought that this really was real. Had to trust Steve’s judgement.

He’d follow him into a fight. No reason not to trust him to keep them out of it, if one was threatening.

  


Steve’s shoulders dropped in relief. He knew it was an uncomfortable position to put Clint in, and not the easiest thing to ask of him, which made him all the more grateful when he agreed. Though he blushed a little, reaching up to rub at the nearly-faded bruises on his neck when he mentioned them.

He snorted faintly, when Clint asked him if he’d know the difference. “I was a virgin, not an idiot -- I know the difference,” he grumbled, though without any real irritation in his voice. He could appreciate that Clint was looking out for him.

“Yeah, he’s... he’s real nice. Sweet. Kinda mother hens me a little when he thinks I’m not eating enough, which would drive me nuts if it weren’t so damn endearing. And he’s really considerate about... things.” He reddened a little further, not wanting to get into any further detail about their bedroom activities, beyond the fact that Loki wasn’t being abusive in any way. He changed to a more general tack: “But really, I’m... I’m happy. And I think I make him happy too. We look out for one another and take care of one another and occasionally call one another out on each other’s bullshit. And we have a rule about being honest with each other. It’s good.”

Hopefully he’d given enough information for Clint to trust that things were okay, without going overboard into making him uncomfortable. He exhaled. “I mean, I’ll... I’ll tell Fury eventually. I imagine I’ll have to. I’m just still wrapping my head around telling _anyone_ , after keeping it a secret for so long. I mean, when Loki told me on Asgard, no one even cares much about that sort of thing...” he trailed off wordlessly, then sighed.

“I’m just keeping it to my friends for now. So far, just you, Tony, Bruce, Pepper, and probably Natasha since I can’t imagine she hasn’t found out.” He shrugged. “So, thank you. Really.”

  


He couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah there's no way she doesn't know. She's way too observant for anyone to pull the wool over her eyes. I mean if she was around, she probably would have known before you did."

The smile faded from his face.

"I'm glad that you’re happy. I'm glad that things’re good for you. I can’t say it doesn’t seem weird still, hearing about your boyfriend-- is that the word? I uh… anyway, it’s weird hearing about you getting mother henned, and knowing it’s Loki you’re talking about doing that. But it’s… it’s good for you. And I guess, sometime, maybe he’ll feel… I don’t know. I guess I want to get to see the guy who can care about people, eventually. I don’t want it to be tense and awful forever. But it’s… slowly, I think, I need it to happen slowly. There’s a lot I need to make sense of if… you know. That doesn’t sound too crazy.”

He breathed loudly.

“I should get those orders made, get some more of my stuff tossed in the mail. Probably ought to have a shower-- might not be too bad of an idea for you either. You still have a little um.” He gestured at his nose.

“You gonna be okay? Not that I think _I_ of all people could do any real damage but… you need anything? Asprin, a beer? Or…” He got an idea, and felt dumb asking, but… “Can I buy you lunch to make up for it?”

  


“We’re going with ‘partner’ for now,” Steve explained, “and no, that doesn’t sound crazy. I mean, I’ve spent a lot of time with Loki. Months now. And the others have all been around him for weeks. You’ve only been in the same room as him a couple times since everything that happened.”

He shrugged. “It takes time to get used to the change, and it isn’t fair for me to expect you to get past what you went through all at once just because _I_ know he’s different now. Heck, just that you’re willing to try means a hell of a lot.” It would be a little weird, a little uncomfortable, dealing with the two of them being nervous around one another while Clint got used to the new Loki, but it would be well worth it if it meant things were moving toward a more sustainable peace. “I think you should talk to him one on one at some point, but if it takes you a while to get there, then it takes a while.” He wouldn’t push any more than he had. But he’d be ready to help out and facilitate where needed.

He reached up and rubbed at his nose, pulling a face at the rusty flecks that came away on his fingers. A shower was definitely in order.

“I’ll be fine,” he told Clint. “Head’s already feeling a bit better. Most medicine doesn’t do much for me, except for morphine, so I don’t usually bother; it’ll be fine in a couple hours. Although...” he paused and then smiled. “I could do lunch. You can fill me in on whatever nonclassified stories you’ve got from ops over the last few months. Wanna meet up in the lobby in about forty-five minutes?” It gave them time to shower and change.

  
"You're on." He said, grinning and glad that things were on the up. "Catch you in a few." He patted Steve on the shoulder and headed back to his room.

 


	45. Forty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger warnings: reference to past child abuse and attempted suicide

His concentration had not wavered for the last four hours, as he focused on duplicating power and channeling it into the machine that Bruce and Tony had built.

He hadn't had much time when he walked in. Their energy supply had been wavering, so he had taken the coat off, rolled up his sleeves, and jumped straight in to work. It was stabilizing now, the chamber properly filled and the reserves of his seidhr feeding into a sieve that would help them stretch further, like his practices with water in their bathroom. This allowed him to put more into it than he had before, to up the sensitivity, from what he gathered, of their input.

“How you doing there, Loki? Can you hold that for a few minutes?”

Other than communicating for the project, there had not really been time for him to focus on words, not for thoughts or for feeling guilty or awkward about the previous day.

“I can as long as I have relative quiet.” He said again, unable to pull his gaze from where it was needed. Even blinking felt dangerous with this level of raw energy flowing, and he the only thing to control it.

His workload had been less spread out when they brought in and hooked up the secondary generator, this one completely contained and self sufficient, unlike the power of the laboratory, which split off in several different directions and pulled from the power supply of the building itself.

He had been able, from then on out, to focus solely on the seidhr, which was for the best, considering how the unobstructed power made production begin to surge.

Now they were operating at the machine’s peak capacity, and he knew that this was what Stark had intended, without knowing what to ask for, but he was afraid that if they pushed it any harder, either he or the machine would have to break, and he was not willing to put his faith in one or the other doing so first.

“Alright, we’re starting to see results, so we won’t need it for long.” Bruce spoke softly, just loud enough to be heard over the whirring of the spinning part that the Seidhr travelled through. His voice was soothing, but still a distraction, and Loki just nodded, ushering the coils that were trying to stray back into shape. There was so much…

“I don’t think it’s holding anymore; Loki can you slow the supply, just dial it back about… 20%?” Tony asked, not even turning his head in Loki’s direction.

Loki inhaled, trying to keep calm and in control, despite the request. He was currently duplicating his seidhr threefold, he could cut it back, but that would be… difficult, while still controlling what was coming out in the meantime.

On the other hand, he could simply separate a strand of it and feed it back into himself, effectively absorbing it and pulling it away from the machine. The end result would be the same, but that he would not have to undo anything, and he would be tied into the workings in a total circuit.

He did that, feeding the power back into his wrist from where it streamed out of his fingers, the slightly diluted seidhr sliding back together once in its host.

You couldn’t duplicate the Seidhr within yourself, or you might explode. You body would simply not allow it. And so it collapsed down.

More importantly, though, the moment he began receiving it back into himself, he felt, more than saw, the machine shudder.

“We-- I think we got it.” Tony sounded stunned. “I think we--”

The power surged and the smell of something going overly hot became overwhelming. Sparks shot out from the generator, and Tony cursed.

Loki quickly cut off his supply and guided the loose Seidhr safely back into himself and away from the machine, hoping to minimize the damages.

“What the hell is that?” He asked, and Bruce shook his head.

“I don’t--”

“ _Judging by the recurring pattern of phenomena, I would hazard to guess that Thor has arrived, Sir.”_

Loki let out a fully audible groan and collapsed into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands.

That was just what he needed.

“I am so sorry, for how last night affected you, for Thor’s interference now, and for whatever is to follow. If you ask us to leave, I will do my best to do so.” Loki aimed the last of this directly at Tony, though Bruce was included in the glance. “I did not mean to cause discomfort yesterday with Barton, either.”

“It’s fine. I think we might still have gotten something. If you want to run ahead and… whatever you’re gonna do, try not to destroy the couches. I’ll be along in a little bit. Bruce, you wanna stay and help me with this?”

“If you need us for anything though…” Bruce began, and Loki found himself nodding. He rose and carefully grasped the hand that Bruce lifted towards him.

“I’ll ask JARVIS. Thank you. Truly. Good luck.”

He pulled his coat from the chair back and left the room his phone already halfway out of his pocket before the door had fully closed behind him.

Immediately, he dialed Steve, his fingers tapping impatiently against his leg as the phone rang. He didn’t waste time on greetings or pleasantries.

“Thor’s returned.”

  


Lunch with Clint proved surprisingly normal.

They wound up at nearby spot with good sandwiches and beer on tap. They avoided talking about Loki, or Thanos, or other recent events involving Steve. Instead they swapped older stories, bantered a little, discussed a few recent policy changes at SHIELD, and Clint recounted the hilarious misfortunes of a mission to Bogota that had Steve laughing so hard he choked on his drink.

It was nice.

There were a few awkward moments of course. Any mention of Clint’s more recent time at SHIELD made his face fall, and Steve occasionally slipped up and mentioned something Loki had said or done, trailing off mid-sentence when he realized the topic he’d strayed into. But while it made for hiccups in the conversation, it was nothing like before, with the strained, painful tension between them.

And the sandwiches were delicious.

After, they paid their bill and Clint headed back to the tower to make some reports, while Steve headed out to grab some things from the store. He filled a basket at a nearby market, and was standing at the checkout when his phone began to buzz.

He pulled it out of his pocket, smiling at the sight of “LOKI” on the screen, and tapped to pick up. Before he had a chance to say anything, though, Loki spoke.

Steve’s face fell.

“Is everything okay?” he asked immediately. “Do you need me there? Do you need backup?” He looked regretfully at the groceries. If he just ran now and left them behind, he could make it up to the penthouse in probably ten minutes from here. “I’m out of the tower right now, but I can be there soon. Are Tony and Bruce with you?”

  


Loki stopped breathing, scared. A volley of concerns came through his mind, but he took a breath and forced himself to sound as calm as possible.

“Tony and Bruce are here, but not with me at the moment. I’ve not found Thor yet, only been alerted to his presence.” Short statements he could handle. Simple words. “I have a goodly amount of seidhr left today. If things go poorly, I will just disappear for a bit.” That seemed like a good plan. And one he would never have hit upon if panic had been allowed to get the best of him.

His voice softened.

“Get back when you can, though? I do not… I doubt he will harm me, but I do not want to be left alone with him for overlong.”

Loki found that he did not like the plastic thing, this Stark phone. It was like speaking down a hole, where you could not see the face you spoke to.

All that he wanted was to see Steve’s face, to wipe the concern off of his brow. To be able to hold him and take comfort… but he was who knew how far away. Loki exhaled, trying not to let himself get worked up. He would still have to face Thor, after all.

He turned towards the elevators and began walking.

It wasn’t going to help anyone if he kept Thor waiting; he’d simply assume Loki had done something to everyone else in the tower.

  


Steve nodded on the other end of the line, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart. It didn’t sound like a crisis had happened yet. Thor was just present -- there was no reason to believe he’d changed his wary, but ultimately peaceful attitude of the night before.

He just wished Loki didn’t sound so _small._

“I’m on my way,” he assured him in the calmest voice he could muster, handing a stack of bills to the checkout girl and then scooping up the brown paper bags with his items without waiting for his change. “I’m just a couple blocks away, getting food for tonight. I’m heading out the door and I’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so.” The bell tinkled behind him as he stepped out into the street, as if to confirm his words.

He could jog without breaking anything in the bags. He’d make good time, get back to the tower, take the elevator up -- he could leave the food out of the fridge for a little while without it spoiling, so no need to stop off on the way to the penthouse -- he could be there quickly.

“Just call Tony and Bruce in if you need backup, and disappear if you need to. I’ll be there soon. Love you.” He hung up and pocketed the phone, shifting his grip on the bags and picking up his pace…

  


Loki listened to the phone click when Steve hung up, and took it away from his ear. He stepped into the elevator, and found himself holding it cradled in his hand as though it were an injured bird.

If something happened-- if Thor changed his mind and meant to take Loki back to Asgard to suffer for his crimes-- he would not have been able to say goodbye, or to tell Steve that he loved him as well.

Which meant that he needed to play the part he once had been so good at, diplomatic and welcoming, when he encountered Thor today. At least long enough for Steve to get back. Long enough for him to be safely free of the worry that he was going to lose everything, just because the Odinson had come to visit.

When the elevator doors opened, Loki put his phone away and stepped out into the penthouse.

He looked around, surprised not to have been immediately greeted by Thor the moment he set foot here, but he did not see him right away.

Perplexed, he turned towards the balcony, where Thor had landed the day prior, and huffed out a humorless snort.

That idiot could not even manage to let himself in. And this was what he had grown up with, what he might have been had he not been secretly a monster. Or at least, less interested in knowledge and learning and more interested in tests of strength.

He crossed to the glass door and unhooked the latch before sliding it open.

“Hello, Thor.” He spoke plainly and simply, careful not to let word or tone slip into anything mocking. No matter how much he felt mockery was deserved.

“Would you like to come inside?”

  


Even with the dark elves defeated and Malekith dead, Thor felt as if he’d scarce had time to breathe in the last day.

After returning to Asgard, he’d met with Odin and undergone his father’s censuring for his insubordination, along with his very grudging and veiled praise for his success. He reported on everything that had happened, but omitted the key detail about his discovery of Loki’s whereabouts.

Although, in his defense, Odin did not ask.

A team of guards had been dispatched to Svartalfheim to recover the Aether, and Sif and the Warriors Three were well-occupied with recapturing any of the marauders who had survived the chaos of the attack on Asgard, and assisting with the clean-up efforts. Thor had checked in with each of his companions, lending his strength to a few endeavors, before returning to the palace -- specifically, the healing halls.

He had managed some rest there, though it had not been his intention. He’d woken to one of the healer’s apprentices gently shaking him, and after returning to his quarters to change his attire and assemble a few things, rode back out to the Observatory to be sent to Midgard.

His mood and the weather were both calmer that they had been the night before, when once again he felt Stark’s roof beneath his boots. Thor took a breath as he turned out over the balcony and surveyed the Midgardian city, bustling with noise and life far below. It was grayer and dirtier than Asgard, filled with the stink of life and a million small forges, but the ingenuity and potential of the mortals never failed to astound him. Even in this short time, so much of the wreckage Loki’s army had wrought had been cleared and repaired, the scars on the city beginning to heal.

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. He felt joy, for the humans’ capacity to heal and rebuild; they were admirably tenacious, and it gave him hope for Asgard’s own ability to recover from Malekith’s attack. But at the same time, the reminder of Loki’s deeds here brought a sour taste to his mouth -- along with a reminder of his purpose in coming to the tower.

He turned toward the door and pulled on it, then frowned when it failed to open. Stark had slid it aside when greeting him the night before, but a similar motion failed to grant him entry, and he scowled at the mechanism, until it abruptly opened of its own accord.

No -- not of its own accord, he realized grimly, looking up into his brother’s features.

“Loki,” he said lowly by way of greeting, glancing over Loki’s shoulder to see if the other Avengers were present. It seemed that they were not, and Thor’s brow furrowed, though he took up Loki’s invitation and stepped inside.

“You are not in the company of the other Avengers?” he asked, cautiously. He had left Loki to Captain Rogers’ care, but if the others no longer supervised him, was it possible he had done something to them in the interim? He tried to read his brother’s expression, seeking any hint of triumph or mockery, but as it had often bed before, Loki’s face remained inscrutable.

  


Naturally. Thor was so predictable.

He scoffed.

“Stark and Banner are at work-- I left them to tend to you. The Captain is shopping for foodstuffs. He is meant to be returning soon. I know not where the Hawk is. So no, I am not, currently, in the company of the Avengers.”

He crossed his arms over himself, feeling defensive and angry that he had explained himself to Thor. He should not feel that he had to. And yet…

And yet having him here, hovering, wary and disappointed, made Loki feel like a much younger version of himself. More unsure.

Thor had not yet shown any hatred for him, for what he was. But they had not been alone since he had come to know, not truly. Not in a time when they were not warring. If it was to happen, if Thor was going to reveal his true feelings on the matter, it would be now.

Loki wasn’t sure that he could stand to hear it. His chest felt too tight, like he was holding his breath in anticipation of having it knocked out of him, his back was straight and taut with tension.

And he knew that Thor was waiting on him to say something more, but he could not imagine any subject to broach that would not reveal some weakness to him, some foolish emotion that Loki had been unable to banish from himself.

Then again, he thought, peering harder at the Odinson, he was not the one who looked as if he had been weakened severely. Thor appeared battered, exhausted, his usually proud demeanor sullied by his stance and weariness.

And it could be from the battle, or the unknown new threat, with worry for his mother, or disdain for Loki, any or all of these things could have contributed to it. But it was something that Loki could speak towards.

“You appear to have been dragged behind a cart.” He said it brightly, conversationally. Like he was commenting on the weather, which, admittedly, was much brighter than it had been. He thought.

  


The other Avengers were about then. This was good... though Thor still found it strange and disconcerting that they should trust Loki enough to let him wander, after all he did. When last he’d spoken with the mortal authorities, they had been keen that Loki be under heavy guard and bindings, and that he be imprisoned for a great long while. He’d known humans to be fickle and changeable, but this shift was extreme. And that worried him.

He noted the way Loki folded his arms, looking cross, his feathers clearly ruffled by Thor’s inquiry. It was a familiar look on his brother, and he braced himself for a cutting remarks that would invariably follow, as Loki lashed out in return for whatever insult he’d perceived.

When he spoke, though, his words lacked venom. They were not flattering, but they were almost forcibly cheerful. Thor was left to wonder if Loki was setting some sort of trap in revenge, or if he was truly making an effort to withhold his harsher impulses.

Norns, but it gave him a headache, trying to figure Loki out.

“It has been a busy few days,” he answered with a shrug. “The entire Nine Realms were in peril. I have not had much time to rest, save for a few hours’ sleep sitting by mother’s bedside last night.” He’d felt weary even before coming here to play Loki’s exhausting mindgames, and he wondered now if he oughtn’t to have delayed. His brother hadn’t appeared to be immediately imperilling anyone, and an extra day of sleep might have better prepared Thor for whatever battle of wits he might find himself entangled in -- but it was too late for that now. So he watched Loki’s face for any sign of a reaction about Frigga. “Eir believes they may have found an antidote to the poison on the dokkalfar blades, which ought to speed her recovery.”

  


“Why do they--” Loki began, but cut himself off.

The healers knew better than he, and even were he there, his words would not be respected or heeded. Better that he keep himself removed from it all.

“I am glad that she heals. I wish her nothing but the easiest of recoveries.” That, he thought, was perfect. Stilted, distant, but without ill will. Without reacting to Thor’s unspoken accusations about his not spending equal time at Frigga’s bedside.

“I am sorry you felt the urge to hasten back here, rather than spend your time with her.” Loki yielded enough to say, and even that, he thought, might be too much. “As you can see, I am not harming anyone. We’ve not reached Thanos yet, nor even reclaimed our means of doing so. The tower and its surroundings remain standing. For all that we will need you, we do not at present. Unless you have some reason for wanting to hurry to return to us.”

He tired of stepping around the words they truly needed to exchange, the words he dreaded and needed to hear, and stepped in closer, braving his fear of Thor grabbing him and commanding to be brought back to Asgard, in order to lower his voice, that he might be taken more seriously.

“For all that you will not trust me, _Odinson_ , for all that Asgard would see me imprisoned until I die, these-- the very people I have most wronged-- see the good in me that Asgard never could. Never will.” There was malice to these words, but sadness too, that he had not intended to be there.

He took a few steps backward, to keep Thor from reaching out for him, to attempt to hide the pain he caused himself by saying such things, such truths as he had not spoken to Thor in a long time.

“If you are to aid us against this force, you do not have to trust me, but you must at least allow for the possibility, that once-- _for once_ in my _life_ \-- I may be better suited for this fight than you. And you must allow me to work without the limitations of your views. _I know_ I have wronged many, including you. I am trying to reverse what I can and atone for what I cannot. And whether you believe me, whether you will call me monster or not, I do not have time to cater to your construction of me. As kin, as beast, as villain or friend-- I don’t care. I am nothing to you, do you understand? We are not brothers, and I do not mean to kill you or those you care for. I ask you only to accept that, that I may do as I must, and you may do likewise. Whatever it is that is to be.”

  


Whatever Loki had begun to say in regards to their mother, he cut himself off in favor of a more stiff, formal, antiseptic response. It made the faint bubble of hope in Thor’s chest pop, and he frowned, shoulders slumping.

He had hoped that Loki might have come around in the past day enough to inquire further after Frigga’s welfare, but it seemed he’d merely built his walls higher, intent on maintaining a cold and courteous distance. It gave him sorrow on his own behalf, since his brother of all people ought to have been the one person he could truly share this distress with -- they were both Frigga’s sons, after all, however much Loki wished to deny it -- and it also kindled a spark of ire in him on Frigga’s behalf, because she of all people had done Loki no wrong, and still he turned his back on her.

But Loki was not finished. And for all that Thor felt frustrated with his brother’s callousness, he tamped down on his anger, for Loki’s purposes on Midgard were his more immediate concern.

And it was true, Loki did not seem to have wrought any damage. Lady Darcy and Jane had not been aware of his presence on this realm at all, and the Avengers, as the realm’s most diligent defenders, did not seem to code him as a threat. Thor’s frown deepened at Loki’s insistence that Asgard had not and would not see the good in him, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Loki continued on before he had the chance, stepping backward as if he feared Thor might do him harm.

Loki’s words hurt, as they were often wont to do. But this was the cold, stark hurt of facts dropped abruptly, and not the sharp and needling hurt of lies meant to wound. Thor wondered if this was what his brother sounded like when he was being honest, and if it had truly been so long since he’d heard Loki speak as such, without agenda or cruelty, that he did not immediately recognize honesty on his brother.

Of course, there had been other times when Loki had worn a mask of honesty -- when he’d looked open and vulnerable, begging ‘ _brother, please,’_ or ‘ _I could have done it’_ or ‘ _it’s too late to stop it...’_

Times when Thor had thought he’d found the gap in Loki’s armor, a sliver of the brother he once knew -- only to find it a baited trap, where Loki used his own sentimentality against him.

And yet...

And yet, over and over, he fell for it, because he wished it so deeply to be true.

He regarded his brother now, trying to determine if this was another such trap or not. And what would be at stake should he believe Loki when he lied, versus should he disregard him on the rare occasion he spoke the truth. Several seconds passed, and Thor exhaled.

“I will not call you monster, Loki,” he said quietly, “and I greatly regret any time in the past where I did so without knowing.”

He gestured toward Stark’s couches, taking a side-step in their direction. “Come. Let us sit, and you may tell me more of this threat, and what part I may do to help in preparing for it.” His pain and frustration aside, if there was danger, he needed to know about it. And if this was one of Loki’s plots, then any time spent spinning an elaborate lie here would be time not spent causing mischief elsewhere.

  


Loki hesitated, remembering Stark’s multiple warnings and requests in regards to not damaging the couches.

Was there anything that he had to say that could lead to their fighting? Was there anything that would result in the furniture-- and Stark’s willingness to host them-- suffering?

“Would you not rather rest? Stark has several rooms available- I know there is at least one more on this level that is as yet unclaimed, and I have work I could be doing-- work that, as I said, I abandoned to help you figure out how to _open a simple door_ …” He swallowed his bitterness, his annoyance, with a huff of air.

“We need you here, and I know that. I accept it. But… When I say that you and I are nothing, it is not entirely accurate. I have had months with these people to negotiate our animosity with one another. With you--That is all that I have.” It was a lie, a wishful one, but still.

Were that his emotions were so uncomplicated as that, were that he did not hate and love Thor in equal measure, envy him and despise him, recall so much of his life when he adored him, and yet more of it that he had spent disdaining him.

If he had known sooner, might this have been avoided? If he had known the unfairness of the comparison, would he still have made it? Still have begun to loathe himself for falling so far behind Thor’s Asgardian perfection?

“I may have more to tell you after the results of today’s work have been unfolded. And I feel it would be best that I not tell you alone.”

The thought of Thor asking his dumb, honest questions, the thought of his open concern, if-- if Loki could tell him of his time spent in Thanos’s company… The thought of telling him, to his face, the reasons that Loki had endangered himself, time and again, was to destroy him…

It was all so unappealing.

He just wanted Steve to return, the be near enough to reassure him that he was doing right in this, that he had done well so far, that what he felt did not mean he was as bad as he felt, as wicked as he thought, as cruel as he had been, once.

And he did not want to stay in the room with Thor. He did not want to be reminded of their many happy memories-- Thor’s happy memories, now. For him, they were all tainted by the lie, turned by the poison of the secret of his birth.

  


The offer to go and rest was a tempting one. To bathe and then sleep in an actual bed... Thor contemplated it wistfully.

But Loki did not afford him much time to daydream about a pleasant place to put his head down. His frown returned. “And are mere months in their company of greater weight than centuries of brotherhood?” he demanded.

It seemed highly unlikely, if not completely impossible, that a fraction of a year with the human heroes of this realm would be enough to sway Loki completely from his course of conquest to one of defense -- Thor was only willing to entertain the possibility due to his own experiences with Jane having led to a series of abrupt epiphanies. And even so -- for Loki to claim there was _nothing_ but animosity between them, after so many years of having fought and journeyed and made merry at one another’s sides--

And what did Loki mean about not wishing to tell Thor alone? Was there ill news he needed to convey, which he hoped to have the others present for that he might hide behind them? The frown he wore deepened into a scowl at the thought.

Then... Loki started to buzz.

It was a muffled, irritating noise, like an incessant insect, tucked away somewhere in his brother’s garments. Thor tilted his head, perplexed. “What is that?”

  


Loki scowled and plucked his Stark phone from his clothing.

“It is a means of communication, not that you would know anything about _that_.” He muttered, distracted and relieved to see that the small screen read ‘Steve’. He pressed the button to accept it and raised it to his ear.

“Hello?” He did not realize how much happier he would sound, speaking to Steve, until he said it, and his eyes darted wildly back to Thor, in the hope that he had not had his sole thought for the day on the subject of Loki’s interaction with the Captain.

“Rogers? Are you nearby?” He asked, his voice intentionally more distant, more stilted and reserved-- anything to reverse the possibility of his and Steve’s true connection, in Thor’s mind.

He kept a wary eye on the Odinson, hoping against hope not to see any sort of dawning realization on his too open face.

  


“Hey, Loki,” Steve said breathlessly, winded from running back to Stark Tower from the bodega. “I’m in the lobby. Just waiting for the elevator. Where are you? And do you need me to come up right away?

  


Watching Loki answer the device -- Thor recognized it as similar to the mobile phone Jane had used on multiple occasions in his presence, though it did not play music as hers had when trying to garner attention -- he couldn’t help but feel puzzled by the strange array of emotions that flitted over his brother’s face. From exuberant relief, to something guarded, to a brief glance of what almost looked like _alarm_ in Thor’s direction. He pressed his lips into a line, electing to wait patiently.

  


“We are in Stark’s den.” He wished he could tell Steve to breathe-- he sounded breathless, and Loki would be unsurprised if he had run all the way back. “Neither of us has yet drawn a weapon, and the couches are safe for the moment.” He said shortly, though he did eye Thor a little harder with the statement. “I think it is safe to say you may take your time. I was just attempting to convince the Odinson to take his rest in one of Stark’s spare rooms… it seems I will be unsuccessful, however. He would rather discuss the intricacies of our childhoods and the emotions those are coupled with.” That came out just short of a snarl, and he hoped it communicated to the both of them how pleased he was with this topic of conversation.

  


Steve grimaced, pressing the button again (and needlessly) for the elevator. For all that Loki said he was alright to take his time, it sounded like he was on the verge of losing his temper with Thor. Things might be fine for the moment, with no fighting or collateral, but if Loki was feeling that snappish, then they could easily go south.

“I’ll be right up,” he announced as the elevator doors finally opened, stepping in and hitting the button for the penthouse. “Just take a deep breath. You’re doing great so far. I’m less than a minute out.”

  


“Then we shall see you shortly.” He responded, trying valiantly to hide his relief and gratitude behind the politeness in his voice.

He did not need to remain on the phone while Steve took the elevator up, and he could not give any sort of goodbye which would be appropriate, so he just touched the bright red button on the keypad, ending the call.

He would apologize for his rudeness later.

“So, as you could no doubt hear, Rogers will be joining us soon. If you want to sit and speak of why your glittering golden nostalgia is flawed, we may.” He gestured mockingly towards the couches, hoping that Thor would balk at the prospect of debating the way he remembered things against Loki, against his sardonicism and new found bitterness.

For what could Thor possibly say that would convince him that things really had been good, now that they both knew it had all been false?

  


Thor listened to the one side of the call, wondering what it was that Rogers expected, that Loki had to immediately reassure him that violence hadn’t broken out -- wondering which one of them he had been led to believe would instigate it. There was scorn in Loki’s voice, and Thor felt a brief pang of unease, contemplating how much poison about him Loki had poured into Rogers’ ear.

The conversation did not last long, though, and a moment later, Loki was tucking his phone away, and returning his attention to Thor.

“I can see now that we feel differently about our shared childhood,” he said, holding back his temper and forcing evenness on his voice. “You’ve said you felt as if you were caught in my shadow. I am sorry if I never saw you as such or knew you were troubled by these thoughts. But no matter how tarnished our youth might be for you, I cannot believe that you felt nothing but hate for me for a thousand years,” he declared, looking Loki in the eyes. “No one is so talented a liar, brother -- not even you.”

  


He stiffened, mouth twisting into a sneer.

“But what is love, when given under false pretense? What is a lifetime of care, when it has all been lies?” He wanted to stalk towards or away from him, wanted to pace, wanted to lash out at something, but he held himself still. He had to act as though he were not, deep down, some kind of animal.

“Whether or not you knew you were being lied to, do you not regret it now? Regret the hours spent and the assurances made, when you consider them against what I am… what I have become? I would hardly blame you for it, Odinson. I regret much, and if, for you, nothing has changed, know that for me, _everything_ has. And so yes-- I felt differently once. But if you want to lay blame for the way I feel now, blame the man I once called _father_ . Blame the teachings of your people, those who taught us both to hate me before either of us knew what I was, what _hate_ meant. I have learned all too well, and whether you have taken to your lessons or not, I cannot help but feel as I do.”

He heard the elevator ding with Steve’s arrival, but did not stop himself from saying what was true, what he needed to:

“I _hate_ you, Thor. I may always hate you. For what you are and what you have, and what I can never be again.”

 

The elevator doors opened to the penthouse just in time for Steve to hear Loki’s voice declaring words that made his blood run cold.

He stepped out, bags still in hand, and entered the den, where Loki stood with his back to him, but he had a clear view of the stricken look on Thor’s face, which could not have looked more sorrowful or wounded if Loki had plunged a knife into his ribs.

Which, Steve recalled with a wince, he had actually done at one point. And still, Thor looked freshly hurt...

“Loki,” he said quietly, drawing attention toward himself as he lowered the groceries on to a side table. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” It seemed his choice not to stop at the apartment on the way up had been the right one, as this moment required urgent intervention to prevent things from going from bad to worse.

  


He turned around to acknowledge his partner’s return, and swallowed. Steve did not look pleased.

Loki felt the expression on Steve’s face hit him like a physical blow.

And he could not blame him. But what was he to do? The truth was as damning as any lie, and often worse.

“Of course.” He answered, smoothly and demurely. “If you’ll excuse me, Odinson.” He was civil and soft spoken, and utterly, utterly removed.

And for all that he knew that Steve was going to be… disappointed at best, Loki felt lighter somehow. Unburdened. And yes, it had been unkind, especially when Thor had been through so much. But he had given him the option not to discuss this, had given him every opportunity to bow out. Instead he had pushed, and Loki had been honest, just as Steve wanted him to be.

He couldn’t regret it.

He walked into the kitchen, unsure if Steve would think this to be private enough for the conversation, but certain they would need at least this much space between them. Especially if Thor was to remain where he was-- he would not be able to see them, and as long as they kept their voices down…

“Before you say anything,” He started, attempting to sound like the very voice of reason, “He did ask.”

  


For all that the look on Thor’s face made Steve’s heart ache a bit for the guy, the look on Loki’s face when he turned around and looked at Steve was every bit as bad.

Damn. He should have rainchecked on lunch. Or picked somewhere closer, or even offered to whip something up for him and Clint in Tony’s kitchen so he’d stay in the tower and be able to mediate once Thor showed up.

Though speaking of Tony’s kitchen, that was where Loki had turned to go, so Steve followed, casting a quick glance over to Thor with a nod, by way of wordless greeting. Thor gave him a distracted look, briefly inclining his head a moment later, before dropping down on to the sofa and staring blankly at the coffee table.

It was hard not to pity him. But Loki was no longer cruel just for the sake of being cruel, so something had to have inspired his outburst. He wouldn’t have said such a thing if he hadn’t been distressed in some way -- Steve was sure of it.

So when Loki immediately informed him that Thor had asked for whatever harsh words had been delivered, once they were safely out of line of sight, Steve sighed.

“I was going to ask what happened,” he replied, keeping his voice lowered as he reached out to put a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “And if you’re okay.”

  


He reached up to take hold of Steve’s hand, to keep it there, the weight and familiarity of it reassuring and welcome.

“I,” He said slowly, “am fine.” It was not their permitted lie, exactly, but nor was it the entire truth.

“He told me that not even I could lie about having loved him for so long as I did. And I had to explain to him why that no longer matters; why it has been invalidated. I am a good liar, Steve, but I told only the truth. It was… It was freeing. I have never felt so unburdened of emotion in regards to Thor.” He thought, hard, because that was not the whole truth, still. “It pains him. And some part of me enjoys that. But… the pain I have felt for so long, just looking at him, thinking of him… I do not feel that now. I feel as if I am finally numbed to the suffering I experienced for so many years.”

And numb was the perfect description for it; it was akin to exhaustion, but he did not feel tired now. He felt alive. And free.

“I spent so long labouring for Odin’s approval, to break even with Thor, hating myself for my jealousy and the ugly feelings that rose from my inability to match him… They don’t matter, because I was never meant to be his equal. His shadow was the shadow of all of Asgard, and I was so deep in it, I did not realize that no matter how hard I fought, I was never meant for the light. I am angry, I am hurt still, for the lie. But trying to struggle against it… no, I have accepted that the good feelings I had for the family I thought was mine, they are very much a part of my trying too hard to be what I never was. And perhaps it is as you wished; I am coming to terms with what I am.”

He did not say that what he was was every harsh thought, unsaid, every dark look he never gave… The absence of his love now made sense. It had merely been his nature. And where he would fight that for Steve, give him the best he was capable of-- all of the good that he had within him-- he no longer felt that he owed that to the Asgardians.

He would never be the golden child, never be the sun. He would live in the shadows and only reflect back the light of those who were good around him. And that which Steve gave off was far greater for its truth. He could be Steve’s moon, and choose it, whereas he had been forced into the role for Thor for far too long.

  


Steve pressed his lips together, brow furrowing faintly. This wasn’t... well, it wasn’t what he’d hoped for. In his ideal world, Loki and Thor were able to mend things between them, and be friends, even if not family, moving forward.

Of course, it was good for Loki to start defining himself as his own man and not going to extreme measures for the approval of those whose standards he’d never meet. And Steve was glad that whatever had transpired had proven somehow cathartic. But the way Loki was talking about it...

  


_I was never meant for the light._

 

This hadn’t been what he wanted. But chiding Loki for it now, telling him he was wrong, would probably just serve to make it worse. Steve sighed. Maybe... Maybe this was just a first step. Maybe Loki needed to separate himself from his desire to fit in with Asgard and cut all ties for a while, in order to heal. Even if Loki thought what he was saying was true, Steve remembered the tremor in his voice the other day when he’d asked for the right to give Thor a proper funeral, should he die. It hadn’t been the voice of someone who felt hate, or nothing.

But they could wait to talk about that more.

“I’m glad you’re not measuring yourself against him,” he told Loki, with a squeeze to his shoulder, electing to focus on that train of thought. “I don’t think you need to hate him for that to be true, or be numb about him, but the only person you oughta measure yourself against is the past version of you.”

He stepped in close, leaning his head in so their foreheads brushed together in chaste intimacy.

  


Steve’s calm acceptance felt not unlike letting his breath out after having held it for a long time, Even if he did not particularly like Loki’s hatred… at least he did not try to tell him that he did not deserve it. That the feeling was invalid.

And the look of disappointment on his face from before was not there, only love and care and concern for Loki. For his well being. For him, not as the tool that Odin wished to see him as, nor the forced pretense of care Thor was made to feel for him, when they lied and made him family. Or the-- what? Pity? That had made Frigga take up the charade of treating him as her own.

No, Steve loved him. As he was. And accepted that, even with his hatred, even with his flaws.

He let his eyes dip closed and reached up to cup his jaw, a wordless gesture of gratitude, when he heard Thor’s footfall just outside of the kitchen door.

Panicked, he took a step backwards and turned to face away from Steve, towards his interfering visitor.

Immediately, he crossed his arms, his face shutting down. He did not ask what Thor wanted or defend his and Steve’s closeness, merely waited for him to speak.

  


For such a big guy, Thor moved incredibly quietly.

That was the first thought that ran through Steve’s mind as Loki all but leapt away from him, the two of them parting like they’d been burned by the contact. Apprehension came nipping at its heels, however, as they both attempted to appear casual (and likely failed) in the light of Thor’s abrupt arrival.

He swallowed. He wasn’t sure what Thor had seen or heard, nor what he’d make of it. Asgardians didn’t look down on guys with guys like folks on Earth did. And judging from what Loki had told him about post-battle massages, they were a bit more liberal with platonic displays of physical affection. So it was possible that Thor either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

Somehow, neither thought managed to quell the fluttering of his pulse in his throat. “Thor,” he said simply, thankful his voice stayed in a normal register.

“Captain,” Thor replied, his expression slightly drawn, but largely unreadable. Whether he was troubled by their closeness or by Loki’s words to him earlier, Steve couldn’t tell. “I have changed my mind about Loki’s offer of hospitality. I believe it would do me well to rest for a time.”

Steve glanced quickly over at Loki, then back at Thor, fixing a cordial smile on his face. “Of course. I’ll show you to the spare room. Loki, I’ll catch up with you in the lab?” Hopefully some time apart would settle them both down, and he’d have a chance to talk more with Loki over dinner.

  


“Thank you, Captain.” Loki spoke up quickly, all but leaping at the chance to be rid of Thor and get back to his work.

“With any luck, we will have something worth showing you, when you arrive. It did seem promising, when I left.”

And he was eager to get back to it, to get his mind back on the magic and science, to get their hands back on the sceptre so that he could worry about everything else besides Thor.

He did not hang back or wait for another invitation to leave, merely brushed by Thor on his way past. He did not bump shoulders with his unmovable bulk, instead electing to turn sideways, but the point was the same. He got away with barely an acknowledgment.

  


Steve watched Loki slip past Thor, then let his gaze drift over to Thor as he watched his brother make his way down the hall. There was a crease in Thor’s brow that hinted toward anger, tension in his jaw suggesting frustration, but also a distance in his eyes that seemed.... deeply sad.

Steve shifted his weight, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Um. Shall we?”

Thor tore himself away from staring in the direction Loki had disappeared in, blinked, and then nodded. “Lead the way, Captain.”

“Thanks, but you can go ahead and call me Steve,” he offered, exiting the kitchen and gesturing toward the hallway that led to the guest wing. “I try not to go for formality among friends.”

Thor’s posture eased a little at that, and Steve felt a touch guilty, wondering if Thor had questioned whether or not they remained friends. “So, how’s your mother doing?”

Thor sighed. “She has not yet woken, though they healers are more optimistic than they were. Eir claims it will be any time now.”

Steve frowned. “Don’t you want to be on Asgard for when she wakes?”

Thor grimaced. “Aye, and yet... I am better suited to tasks and action than I am for idle fretting. There is little I can do there besides be an obstruction.” He shrugged. “I have instructed Heimdall to send word whenever she has recovered sufficiently to request an audience with me.”

That made sense enough, and Steve nodded. “I hear you about preferring action to sitting around. I like to go running when I’m stressed. Keeps my brain from making me crazy.” They approached the set of doors to the guest rooms he and Loki had previously occupied. He knew Clint was in one and the other was free, but realized he didn’t know which was which. Cautiously, he turned the knob of the room that had been Loki’s when they’d first arrived, and exhaled with relief to find it pristine and unoccupied. “Alright, so, this is you. Bathroom is to the right. JARVIS -- that’s the AI, er, really smart computer Tony built into the tower -- can help you with any information you need. Just speak aloud, and he’ll hear you. I know it feels kinda silly, but you get used to it. Barton is staying across the hall, and Tony and Bruce are downstairs, but they oughta be back up around dinner.”

“Thank you,” Thor said, though he remained standing in the doorway, a distant frown fixed on his face.

Steve hesitated. “Everything okay?”

Thor worried his lower lip for a few seconds, then looked at Steve. “You are... close with Loki?”

Steve swallowed. “Um. You could say that, yeah.” He really hoped this wasn’t headed in the direction he thought it might be headed in, not before he’d had a chance to talk it over with Loki.

“And the others?” Thor asked. “Banner and Stark and Barton, they are close with him as well?”

Pulling a face, Steve reached up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Barton not so much. He kinda just got here right before you did the other night, so he’s still adjusting. But Tony and Bruce... yeah. They’re friends with Loki now.”

Thor nodded, staring into space. “Friends. That is... I am glad to hear it.”

Silence lingered for an awkward few seconds, and Steve wasn’t sure if he was meant to say something, or just leave. He began to edge away, but then Thor jerked out of whatever reverie he’d slipped into and returned his attention to him. “May I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve said.

“My br-- Loki.” Thor looked pained. “Does he... does he truly hate me?”

Steve licked his lips. “I think that’s a conversation you may need to have with Loki. At a later date, though. When you’ve both had some time to cool off and think and get used to things,” he quickly clarified.

But when Thor’s shoulders slumped further, his gaze falling to the floor, Steve felt so bad he couldn’t help adding: “He was worried about you. When we saw you fighting in London on the news.”

Thor looked up expectantly at that. Steve chewed his lip, wondering if he was overstepping...

“He’s upset with you. And part of that is because he’s upset with all of Asgard, and you’re sort of the easiest and closest personification of that. And I think he needs to be allowed to be mad about what happened with your family. Whether it makes sense to you or not. But at the same time...” he trailed off, trying to find the right way of articulating things. “I think he might hate you a little right now. But I don’t think that means he can’t also love you. But right now, it’s all a mess and he needs space to sort it out, so try to give him some breathing room.”

Thor nodded ponderously, looking grim. “I... very well. Thank you, Friend Steve.”

Steve shoved his hands back into his pockets. “Sure. You’re welcome, I suppose. Look, I know this is awkward, but... Just because we’re Loki’s friends doesn’t mean we’re not your friends too.”

That, at least, brought a hint of a smile to Thor’s lips. “May I ask a favor of you?”

“Of course.”

Thor stepped over the threshold into his room, dropping his hammer on the floor with a heavy thud. “Would you convey a message for me? To Loki?”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to turn into some go-between, passing messages between the two of them so they could avoid speaking face to face. But at the same time, Thor looked so forlornly hopeful, he felt like a real jerk saying no. “What would you like me to tell him?”

“Tell him...” Thor looked down, then up again. “Tell him that no, I do not regret it.”

Steve waited a moment, in case Thor planned to clarify, but those few cryptic words seemed to be all he wished to say. So he nodded. “I’ll pass it along. Get some sleep; I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you, Ca-- Steve. And fare thee well.”

Thor closed his door, and Steve let out a breath, taking a moment before heading back toward the elevators. He’d stick the groceries he’d left in the den into the fridge in their apartment, then go to the lab to see what progress was happening there...

  


His companions were much as he had left them, only when he returned the undercurrent of excitement in the room was palpable. He could feel it, even before he could read it in the lines of their backs, pressed close as they leaned over the same small screen, pointing and talking and debating--

“Anything of note?” He asked, feeling like he was interrupting.

It was hard to remember, when he was helping, when he was working with them, that he did not truly belong. That he was not one of them. Not an Avenger, not even the equal to their species.

It was easy enough to forget that he was something far lesser, until he was faced with someone who would know. Someone like Thor, someone else who knew the histories of their respective worlds, someone who could tell them what the Jotnar were like, what they did. What kind of monsters they were.

And of course these men whom he worked with were Thor’s friends. He wondered who would broach the subject, if it would be Tony who teasingly referenced their differences, or perhaps Loki himself… but it seemed likely that, with Thor here, no one would be able to escape without knowing the truth of things, the whole of the truth. The context of the words he had tried to say. And he had accomplished so little.

“Yeah, look at this-- we’ve got not one, but four spikes-- one’s probably you, or the machine, but that’s three potential locations for the sceptre. Or things like it. It’s not Chitauri stuff, I don’t think; there would be a whole lot more if that was the case.” Tony was gesturing excitedly at the map, and Loki could see what he meant-- tiny epicenters of power. There were more, fainter-- much fainter-- and he wondered what they were, but focused, as the others had, on the larger ones.

“I don’t understand-- I thought we were tracking only things that my seidhr had encountered and left its print on.”

“Not exactly. When Tony asked you to ease up, you did something--” Bruce looked back at him expectantly.

“I took part of the seidhr and put it back into me after it had been duplicated. It was easier than changing the amplification, at the time.” He admitted it sheepishly, and Tony laughed.

“We were looking for power that operated on the same wavelength as yours, and I guess you just found the right frequency when you did that.” It seemed overly simplistic, but at least he could follow.

“So you may have located other seidhr users amongst your people-- or you may have located artifacts which create power?”

“But you were duplicating yours, right? So this is, in theory, things that put out that much. And you’re trained up… if it were others like you, they’d probably be…” Tony gestured. “Maybe that’s what the little blips are. I don’t know. What I do know is we now have leads. And one of these may be the answer to where they’re keeping the sceptre. And even if not, we know that we can repeat the experiment. Once we fix things up a little.”

“If it turns out that wasn’t right, we’ll need to adjust the size-- it only gave us results when you filled the reservoir, so maybe we need to make it smaller, or larger, and have you duplicate it more or less. Any idea what your limit would be on that?” Bruce asked, fingers inching towards a nearby notepad.

Loki was loathe to disappoint him-- he felt like he had done so much of that already today.

“I do not know how much more than what I did today that I could handle. I-- could you see it? The power I was working with wanted to escape. It was trying to avoid entering the mechanism… it was a bit like herding hvassmali. None of it wanted to cooperate, and all of it is potentially dangerous.”

Bruce nodded, looking thoughtful, and Tony looked up.

“Come on in, Cap, more the merrier-- Thor’s not with you?” Tony asked, and Loki turned to look, almost worried that he _would_ be.

  


Steve arrived at the lab and lingered outside the door for a few moments, loathe to disrupt anything important by blundering in, at least until Tony noticed him and waved him in.

“Thor was pretty beat, so I set him up in the spare guest room,” Steve explained, entering the space and concentrating on not touching anything. “Didn’t figure you’d mind. Not sure how long he’s gonna sleep for, but you should probably check in with him around dinner time.” Steve wouldn’t personally be surprised if Thor slept for a whole day, given how run down he’d looked, but there was just as good a chance he’d need a good square meal.

He caught Loki’s eye and gave him a small, reassuring smile, privately shared between them for a second before he looked back to Bruce and Tony.

“So, how’re things going?” He asked, nodding toward the screen, lit up with a map and myriad tiny lights.

Tony told him -- in surprisingly well-simplified language -- and Steve’s eyes widened.

“That’s terrific. How long do you think it’ll take to narrow down those locations? Can we cross-reference them against SHIELD files and satellite images?” He moved to get a better look at the projection, stepping closer to Loki in the process and placing his hand lightly against the center of Loki’s back as he leaned in to look at the glowing spikes of energy.

  


“Oh yeah, dinner. Uh… someone should probably call for takeout at some point, but in answer to your question, yeah, I can connect this sucker to any imaging service from Google Earth on up.” Tony sounded like he was on the verge of being swallowed up by the idea, but Bruce just shook his head.

“Unless Natasha has new information for us, SHIELD didn’t have much in the way of leads. Which I think means that it’s going to be up to us to figure it out, and frankly, given the kind of energy we’re tracking here, it might be dangerous to ignore any of them without at least knowing what they are.” Bruce’s voice had its usual calming effect and that, coupled with Steve’s hand in the middle of Loki’s back, and the promise of something to _do_ , something to work on… it all make him settle.

For all of his protestations of being unaffected, even so short a conversation with Thor was confusing and disheartening and… he pushed it aside and leaned into Steve’s touch.

“Does this mean we need to contact SHIELD again? Update them?” He asked, turning his head so that he was looking at and primarily addressing his partner. “I imagine they will want to know that Thor is here, as well, if Barton has not told them as much already.”

Tony seemed to be ignoring him, though, his brain turning almost visibly.

“SHIELD might not have leads, but we can check these places against their known hostile bases-- that’s what you meant, right Cap? So… if we turn up a match, at least we’ll have some idea of what we’re going up against before we go after the whatever they are.” He was nodding, and Loki saw his eyes going unfocused in the same way he imagined his own did, when he sunk down to his lower vision to look at the flow of krellr.

  


“I’ll handle checking in with SHIELD,” Steve said with a half shrug. “Natasha’s down there now, and I need to call her anyway to fill her in on some things, check in on something Barton said.”

Bruce tensed slightly, looking up at him. “You talked to Barton more?” he asked mildly, though the prospect was clearly troubling to him. Not that Steve could blame him, after the near miss he had with the Other Guy the night before.

“Yeah, no, we’re good. We did lunch, worked things out... He’s not thrilled about everything, but it should be a lot more functional at least, moving forward,” Steve reassured him. “That’s part of what I want to talk to Nat about anyhow, so I can ask her if there’s any new leads.”

“Alright, well, I’m starting the geotracking now to get coordinates on all of these,” Tony muttered, typing and moving items on the holographic displays. “It’ll be an hour or two to get decent satellite imagery of everything. Then hacking into SHIELD databases to cross-reference the hits will probably take...” He blew out a long exhale of air. “I’m gonna need more coffee. Right. Okay. I got this. Class dismissed, I’ll have these papers graded in the morning.”

Steve straightened up from where he’d been peering over the top of Tony’s head at the screen. “Okay. I’ll go call Natasha now and see if there’s any information we can use that’ll save you some work,” he said, clapping Tony on the shoulder.

“I think I’m going to get a cup of tea before going back over the designs to see how a modified reservoir chamber might help our results,” Bruce said, stretching. “Loki, would you care to join me?”

  


Loki looked back at Steve, loathe to be parted from him so soon, before they had a chance to speak. Especially at this latest revelation that he and Barton had somehow mended things. But then, if Bruce wanted him with him, it seemed likely there was something he wanted to say, something he hoped to discuss privately. Loki thrilled at the thought that he should be the one that Bruce wanted to talk to alone, that someone other than Steve was intentionally singling him out, but given both the previous day and the events of their work here, it seemed likely that Bruce may be only interested in expressing his griefs. He owed him the respect of listening to them, at the very least, and besides, it would give Loki the chance to apologize, the way he felt he ought to.

“Thank you, Bruce. I would like that.” He spoke carefully, realizing as he did that it was possible it was merely a suggestion made of pity or distrust. Thor slept. Barton hated him. Steve and Stark were going to be busy… that left Loki with nothing to do. And as Thor had said earlier, as Steve had implied… they all saw Loki behaving as a prisoner, surrounded at all times by at least one of the Avengers and often more.

He could not tell yet if they did it intentionally on their end, though. He had only just been made aware of it, after falling into a routine that disarmed him? Did Banner think that he could not be alone? Or was it he who did not wish to be?

Despite the time they had spent with Banner while Loki had been injured, despite the debts that Loki still felt he owed, and how good of a friend he had been, Loki did not know much of Banner. He was quiet. Observant. Kind and good hearted, yes, but he kept to himself. And how much of that was preference and how much was necessitated by the beast that lived within him, Loki could not pretend to know.

He found himself wandering through his thoughts, and blinked, apologizing.

“Sorry, I was just-- We should leave you to it, then, Tony. And perhaps see to it that food is brought down for you?” He suggested, looking between Steve and Bruce, the latter of which nodded.

“Alright.” he said. He could think of no further reason to stay, but he reached out just the same and ran his fingers over Steve’s arm. “I’ll see you in a bit.” He told him, comforting himself with the thought at the same time.

“Bruce? Lead the way.”

  


“See you for dinner. Don’t forget, I’m cooking!” Steve told Loki with a smile, before heading for the door. He turned one way on the way out, toward the stairs, and Bruce led Loki in the other direction toward the elevator.

Bruce didn’t care for stairs. Elevating his heart rate was the last thing he ever needed.

It felt good to have finally met with some success in their research, and knowing there was little more he could do until Tony had run the data, he felt he could actually leave the lab without some vague sense of guilt; as if he were eschewing an important responsibility. Still, even with the triumph of actually obtaining results, his nerves over the last day were fairly shot, and he could hear the Other Guy rumbling in the back of his mind near-constantly.

A nice, soothing cup of tea would help. And maybe a nap, after. Dinner would be a trial, considering Thor would be present -- not that Bruce had anything against Thor; he was quite congenial, but rather unfortunately _loud_ \-- but at least it sounded like Steve and Loki had alternative dining plans.

Which made now an ideal time for him to talk to Loki, while the others were occupied and the two of them had little to do.

“So, we can’t make the reservoir larger without hitting your limit, but a smaller one shouldn’t be too hard, assuming we give you a day to recharge your batteries,” he commented as they rode in the elevator, then frowned at the way Loki seemed to have zoned out again. “Feeling okay?” He wasn’t sure how much they’d pushed Loki’s magic, but Steve would be furious if they’d overextended the guy.

  


Loki realized that Bruce was concerned for him, by the tone of his voice, but he had been thinking about whether he had been acting like a gracious prisoner all of this time, if he had encouraged treatment that would make Steve feel uneasy about their relationship.

“I’m sorry. That was… inexcusably rude of me.” He cleared his throat, trying to make sense of the words he had at best been half listening to. “My seidhr is restored overnight; by tomorrow, I will have enough again to pour into whatever you have created. I admit I do still have some, but… given the current state of affairs in the tower, I would rather have some on reserve, in the event that it behooves me to leave as quickly as I am able. Overall, though, I am fine.” He assured him, with a small smile that was perhaps a bit pinched. “There is merely-- with Barton and Thor and our work, there is much on my mind.” A half truth was still a truth, he reasoned, and though he had made no such promises to Bruce, he felt that he owed it to him at least not to lie.

“I realize I was in something of a hurry, earlier; I did not get a chance to apologize properly, or ask how you have fared, with the developments of the last day. Are _you_ okay?”

It was a testament to his respect for Banner’s will that he could stay in this elevator, after seeing him so upset so recently, and not fear for himself in the least, given that the last time he had interacted with the Hulk, he had certainly come out of it on the losing side.

 

Bruce smiled faintly. “I’ve been better, but I’ve also been a lot worse. I put a dent in the wall outside my panic room, but considering the wall is still there, I’m gonna call it a win.” The Other Guy had been incredibly close to busting out after the whole altercation with Barton, and he’d felt the beginnings of transformation -- but he’d managed to rein it back in, breathing deeply and calming himself until the rage retreated, without Tony needing to test out any of the ‘hulk-sitting’ measures he’d been developing for Bruce’s peace of mind.

“Thank you for asking, though,” he continued, awkwardly. “I know that probably wasn’t fun for anyone, least of all you. I appreciate the concern.” Obviously, people got worried when Bruce was on edge, typically for reasons of healthy self-preservation. But Loki’s question seemed more rooted in concern for Bruce than for himself, which was... nice.

“And you don’t have to apologize,” he added as the elevator arrived at the penthouse floor, and he led the way toward the kitchen. “The whole thing with Clint and Steve at each others’ throats... first off, not your fault, and second off, they obviously needed to clear the air between them.” He grimaced. “Though I wish they could clear it a bit less belligerently. Still, I get that people are going to need to have conversations that might wind up a little heated, and that they’re important conversations to have, regardless of my comfort level as an observer.”

Now in the kitchen, he retrieved the kettle and filled it with water from the tap, setting it on the stovetop and switching on the burner. “I’m mostly sorry that I can’t stick around to back people up or provide support on account of my... condition.”

It was an advantage up to a certain point; the threat of the Hulk often forced people around Bruce to use their indoor voices and take a deep breath when they might not otherwise. But sometimes things continued to escalate, and then Bruce was nothing but a liability.

  


Loki felt his lips turning down into a frown.

“It was inconsiderate.” He said flatly. “And though I appreciate your saying so, it is my fault. Moreso even than Steve’s or Barton’s. And you should know that no one thinks less of you for leaving. You have to be careful in ways the rest of us do not. It’s admirable that you are as capable as you are.” He looked across the kitchen, directing his attention to the perfectly stationary surroundings, rather than the man across from him. It was too easy to wonder what he would do, if he had to keep an equal grasp of his emotions, or risk his Jotnar monstrosity surfacing and destroying all that he touched. Loki did not think that he had it in him to prevent that happening.

“But I gather this is not what you had in mind to speak with me about. Is there something bothering you that I can be of help with? I can speak to Steve, if that is what worries you, and I can assure you-- I spoke with Thor today, and he and I are… it never became loud, at least, and while I think neither of us is glad to be here with the other, as things currently stand, I think it unlikely a fight will break out.” He paused. “At least… until he learns of Steve and I.”

Loki could not pretend that he was looking forward to that. “I have yet to speak with Steve on that particular matter, but I promise you we will handle it as quietly as possible.”

Because the last thing he needed was Thor deciding he had taken a page from the book of Lorelei and Amora, and bespelled Steve, and a mad Hulk rampaging because of it.

  


Bruce frowned as he reached up into the cabinet to retrieve a pair of mugs. “While you might have been the root subject of the fight they had, you didn’t _make_ them fight, Loki,” he pointed out, “So you’re extremely indirectly responsible at best.” He placed the mugs on the counter and looked over at him. “You may have done things, before, that make it difficult for Clint to deal. But how he and Steve choose to cope with the aftermath of that and settle their differences on the subject is outside your control.”

Turning away, he fetched the pot of sugar and bottle of honey from the pantry, setting them by the mugs. He’d had a nice tea set (well, not _nice_ , but complete and full of character) back in Calcutta, which he missed, but he was hardly in a position to complain about the kitchen amenities when Tony had effectively allowed him to move in for free. He’d arrived at the tower with the intention of simply visiting for a week or so until Pepper returned from her business trip, to help keep Tony out of trouble, but with Steve and Loki moving in, the whole arrangement had somehow become permanent, with Tony repeatedly hinting at the option for Bruce to have his own apartment.

He glanced up in worry, though, at Loki’s comment about Thor. “Do you... anticipate that being a problem? Thor finding out?” It had been slightly heartbreaking, when Steve had come out to Bruce, how much he seemed to expect everyone to reject him for being homosexual. Or bisexual, or whatever he was -- they hadn’t discussed it in great detail. A surge of protective instinct had the Other Guy shifting in the back of Bruce’s mind, and he had to inhale and silently count to ten.

  


Loki pursed his lips.

“Not as such-- were things different, it would be hardly worth note. But… You who know little of how seidhr works thought first to accuse me of ensnaring his mind. If, when you learned of our involvement, my every effort was not entrenched in my own survival, would you have suspected the same of my hold on his heart?” The question was perhaps too direct, too accusatory. He looked down and shuffled his feet.

“Sorry.” He mumbled. “But Thor has seen firsthand the way that a man’s mind can be turned, has been on the receiving side of it. I think he will more than suspect me-- he will be furious. And once it has been proven that is not the case-- as much as it can be; proving the lack of spellwork is hardly a simple thing-- but once he has come to terms with the truth of the matter, I think he will lose respect for Steve. I am hardly a war bride or a spoil, and as far as I know, there is no acceptable reason for a warrior to take his enemy as a lover. Not that I have much experience, of course.”

With being a warrior, he meant, not taking lovers.

“But again, I will see to this matter as quietly as I am able. Please do not concern yourself with it. _Was there_ something else? I think you have yet to truly broach the subject of why you asked me to tea with you, and I do not want to take up more of your time than is necessary.” He felt like he was being selfish again, as always, speaking only of his own trials when he had intended to listen to Banner’s.

“If it is a request, please-- I have not forgotten the debt I owe you for Steve’s care while I was… healing. I did promise you a boon. Name it, and it is yours.” He lifted his chin, attempting to hide the unease he felt with everything shifting below the surface of his thoughts. The surface could be calm. Collected. Competent.

Bruce of all people was proof enough of that.

  


So it was about Loki’s enmity with the Avengers, and not a matter of sexuality. That made Bruce feel... slightly better. Not that it would do much to mitigate the tension Loki anticipated, but at least it meant he’d be able to keep looking Thor in the eye. And false impressions were easier to remedy than bigotry.

“I think it’d be a bit hypocritical of Thor to lose respect for anyone for caring about you,” he mused, “though I can see how you’d be worried about him jumping to conclusions.” He rubbed his jaw contemplatively. “If there’s anything we can do -- any footage we can dig up or testimony we can offer to head off any conflict, let me know. I mean, the first time Steve came out and told any of us about the two of you, you were in a coma, which I think counts as a pretty solid alibi.” He reached for the tin containing the tea bags as he spoke, briefly pining for his old loose-leaf tea collection and infuser, before selecting a packet of Darjeeling for himself, and sliding the tin over toward Loki to pick out his own tea.

“And no, it’s not-- I don’t need a favor, and really, I meant it when I said I don’t keep score over that sort of thing,” he assured him. “I mostly... well, I guess I mostly wanted to talk to you. We haven’t chatted one-on-one very much and now seemed as good a time as any.”

He leaned back against the countertop. “I, uh. Look, I’m not that great with people. Never have been -- lousy socialization skills as a kid. But Tony insists I’m a good listener for some reason, and...” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and then running a hand through his hair. “I guess, what I wanted to say was, if you need to talk about any of this stuff to someone -- other than Steve, I mean -- the offer I made when you were in medical still stands. Not that you can’t talk to Steve, obviously,” he hurried to add. “Just... with Thor around, I figure you’ve got a lot on your mind about your family. And I know that Steve, well. Steve doesn’t have as much experience with that. He had his mom, who sounds like a great lady, and then everyone else in his life was a ‘family of choice’ sort of deal. So he’s got... well, I’d guess a pretty rosy outlook on family stuff.”

He shrugged, scuffing a shoe against the tile. “Tony and I, not so much. So I guess what I’m saying is, if you need to vent about any of this stuff to someone who isn’t going to tell you that you need to make nice with people just because they raised you, you can talk to me. Or not, you don’t have to. It’s just an option.”

On the stove, the kettle began to make small pitter-patter noises as the water and metal heated, filling the uncomfortable pause.

  


A wry smile managed its way onto his face without his permission.

“I think if ever Thor would have listened to logic, growing up with me has turned him away from it. In fairness, I did often employ it against him. I am sure his immunity to it is mainly my fault.”

He sniffed at each of the bags in turn, repelled from them by the pungent spiced scents they offered. One, at last, smelled of something from Frigga’s gardens or the medicinal stores and, while he would not generally say that they tasted good, at least it was a familiar flavor.

He dropped the bag into the other cup, then handed the tin back to Bruce to be replaced on its shelf.

“I know very little of your own life, Bruce, yourself, your family… I appreciate your offer, truly. I think Steve may be disappointed in how… how calm I feel, now. After I told Thor earlier that I hate him.” He admitted that much. “But as for the rest… I do not have a family. I thought I did, but it is a lie. And while there are things we do have in common-- like beasts residing within us, that we struggle to overcome-- I doubt somehow that this is something you share.”

He did not speak down to him, though, as he may once have done. He just stated the facts as they were.

“I know only the barest hints of your story, only what Barton told me when I--” He swallowed. “Only the short version of your life, as SHIELD presented it. But if you would like to help me, as it seems you do? Let me be the one to listen, for a time. Tell me, if not of the family you do not have a rosy version of, then of your likes. Tell me of yourself. We are friends; I would like to know more of you. If you are willing to trust me with that.” He added, remembering only too late that it was possible he was not willing, would not feel safe.

  


“Well, none of us have any families left,” he pointed out. “Tony, Steve and I are all orphans and only children. I have a couple aunts and a cousin who lives out in California that I don’t know very well -- she was in law school last I heard -- but that’s about it now.”

He fiddled with the string of his tea bag. “Speaking as Thor’s friend, I hope that you’re able to let go of that hate at some point and be... if not brothers, maybe friends. Though, as your friend...” He grimaced. “I’m never going to tell you that just because you grew up with someone or they raised you means you owe them anything.” He didn’t like the idea of Loki hating Thor. It would be... difficult. And sad. But he was the last person to lecture anyone about healthy coping mechanisms for dealing with anger.

A thin coil of steam coiled out from the spout of the kettle, indicating the water would be hot enough soon. Bruce scooped a spoonful of sugar out of the pot and into his mug, a flicker of a smile on his face as he recalled the scene in the movie with the enchanted sugar. They’d come a long way with Loki since that first team movie-watch.

“What do you want to know?” he asked, unsure of where to start. He didn’t often talk about himself -- usually, people only asked about the Hulk -- and suddenly being put on the spot left him a little flustered and unsure. “I, um. I like science?” He winced. Well, that sounded brilliant. “I haven’t had much opportunity to indulge in what I like,” he explained with a small shrug.

  


Loki shook his head.

“You forget; I have been inside of the room designed to calm you. Finding such things calming means you would have had to experienced them, yes? And I am not from here. Even your simple pleasures, the kind that Tony teases you for, they are utterly foreign to me. You read, do you not? And you watch films. So you must have some concept of your preferences.”

It was an odd thing, watching Bruce become flustered. Somehow the tipping of the scales put Loki on a more comfortably solid footing, but he did not wish discomfort on the other man, either.

“When I was first coming to know Steve, we had an agreement, a-- a game of sorts. Where I would ask him a question, and then he would ask me one. I know there must be much you wish to know, of Asgard and Seidhr and its workings… perhaps a trade?”

And if they did get on the topic of families, it would not smart as much-- for it would be for the span of a question or two at most. But it was a good way to get him speaking to others besides Steve. Even if his mind kept straying back to him.

Barton still did not know what he was talking about, Loki thought firmly. And he was going to prove it.

  


A game. A question for a question. Bruce supposed he could do that... Quid Pro Quo or something to that effect. Not that he felt like he needed to extract information from Loki, but the back and forth made the prospect of talking about himself feel less daunting.

“Okay,” he said. “Deal. On one condition; if we hit a sore topic and I start to turn green, can you teleport me down the hall to the panic room?” He knew Loki was a little low on seidhr, so he felt bad asking, but figured that containing the Other Guy was an appropriate use of emergency reserves.

The kettle finally began to whistle, and he turned off the burner and poured the hot water into the cups, filling them close to the top, but not so high they’d spill. “The calming things are less a matter of preference than of necessity,” he said as he poured. “There’s probably more stimulating things out there I would like, if I didn’t have to worry about hulking out. I used to drink more coffee than Tony does, but that’s not an option anymore.”

Putting the kettle down, he picked up his own mug by the handle, and gestured for them to sit at the table, pulling out a chair. “I read a lot of things. Mostly scientific publications, but also fiction, poetry... for a while, when I was on the run, I mostly subsisted off of trashy paperbacks people would leave behind in bus stations, that sort of thing. And movies...” he sipped his tea, thinking about it. “I don’t get to watch much. Documentaries are good, I guess.” Especially the ones with soothing, british-sounding narrators.

Where it was now his turn to ask a question, he found himself, yet again, stumped. “Um.” He sipped his tea again. “Is the really loud, bombastic presence an Asgard thing, or just a Thor thing?”

  


“If we hit upon a subject that is upsetting, you needn’t answer, but yes-- in the event that anything causes a problem, I can move you and I both down the hallway. I’ve reserved enough for Steve and I to get downstairs, so anything comparatively close should be safe.”

He hummed, sitting and wrapping his fingers around the mug.

He was not cold, but the heat was a good reminder that he wasn’t; that he hadn’t slipped and allowed the Jotun closer to the surface of him than it needed to be.

“Thor is loud and boastful, yes, and he is not alone in it. Those who are not either were once, and now are too old to gather the strength, or have no new tales to tell. Those are considered the wiser of men… and those who by inclination are quieter are either considered withdrawn and grim, like Thor’s friend Hogun, or considered to be harboring secrets… like me.” He shrugged. “In a large group of would be heroes, one must be willing to shout louder than the rest to sing one’s own tales of glory. Heroics are not easily demonstrated in a feasting hall.”

And now it was his turn to consider a question for Bruce.

“Is coffee the thing that you miss most, from before? I imagine there were many changes that had to be made, many things that are no longer an option.”

 

He tried to imagine a hall full of shouting Thors, all trying to talk over one another. “That sounds... stressful,” Bruce commented, pulling a face. “Though I’m mostly just very averse to people yelling, happily or otherwise.”

Determining that his tea had steeped enough, he pulled out the bag and set it aside on a napkin. He decided he was very glad that Loki was one of the rare _quiet_ Asgardians.

“I can live without the coffee,” he replied wryly to Loki’s question. “I’m actually healthier in some ways now than I was... I drink less caffeine, and I eat better to keep my blood pressure low. Before the accident, I was awful, I’d live off noodles and whatever junk food happened to be in the vending machines near the lab,” he recalled with a bit of a smile. “But no, that’s not what I miss most...”

He trailed off, looking down into the deep amber liquid in his mug.

“Betty,” he added, quietly. “I miss Betty.”

 

He meant to agree with him, that yelling was not one of his fonder things in life either, but Bruce moved on to answer his question, and Loki felt a wave of worry come over him.

He wanted to ask. He truly did. And yet--

“I’m sorry. I meant only to inquire after… after non consequential things. If you do not wish to speak of it… I would not pry.” He hastened to assure him, watching carefully for any sign that beneath the sorrow that seemed to have overtaken the man, anger lay waiting to strike.

“On the other hand, though… I will admit I had wondered how it was that you who, contrary to what you say, you are actually very good with people-- you were very good with Steve and I-- I had wondered how it was you came to be as you are. As your-- what did you call it? Your condition-- demands that you be. Quiet and withdrawn. You have a very kind heart, Bruce. If you do not mind my saying as much. I am sure this Betty saw it as well.”

  


“It’s all right,” Bruce told him, lightly stirring his tea and watching the eddies of undissolved sugar at the bottom of the cup. “You weren’t... I think the consequential things are probably the more valuable ones to talk about anyway,” he said, shrugging, then taking another sip, this time holding the mug between his hands so the heat seeped into his fingers.

“I was always a bit withdrawn,” he went on. “I didn’t have any friends at school. Got bullied. Then had to move around after... well, I got sent to live with my aunt for a while. I’m not like Tony, I can’t get along with a whole lot of people easily. Maybe a handful.” Frankly, the Avengers and Loki at present constituted the greatest number of people Bruce had considered his friends at one time since undergrad. If even then.

“Then I met Betty in college,” he explained. “That was definitely one of the high points in my life. Getting to be a complete nerd surrounded by other complete nerds. People who didn’t just think I was weird but thought I had something to contribute.” Not unlike now, he reflected with a thin smile. “Betty was -- _is_ \-- amazing. Sweet, smart, gorgeous. Not sure what she put up with me for,” he added, fondly. “We dated through college, grad school, our doctorates; we both got jobs working at Culver University as professors, and eventually got a research contract from the government. We were talking about maybe getting married after the project was complete...”

He trailed off, looking back down. “We were trying to recreate the effects of the project that made Steve into Captain America. Most of the research had been destroyed by nazi saboteurs, so we were working from really incomplete equations.” A shrug. “Needless to say, it didn’t work as intended. I ended up... well, that’s how the Hulk happened. And Betty got hurt, because of me. So, I don’t -- can’t -- see her anymore.”

He exhaled, waiting a moment before chancing looking back up at Loki to see his reaction.

  


Loki listened, of course he did, and he found himself nodding, easily able to imagine Bruce living the life he outlined for himself.

When it came to his talk of Betty being injured, though, Loki winced.

He removed his own tea bag, certain by now that the brew had gone bitter, but uncaring, given that it allowed him something to do with his hands.

“And did Betty have say in this?” He asked quietly. “Did you part ways willingly, or did she…?”

He could not help but see parallels, could not help but draw the lines between himself and his monster and Banner and his.

He spoke, while he had the courage to do so.

“I… do not mean to offend, nor to give more insight into my own life than you want, however-- if Betty had told you that she wanted to remain with you, in spite of the injuries you may cause…” He swallowed, aware that he was being presumptuous with the name of a woman he had never met, whose face he could not know.

“Steve is fascinated by my other form.” He said, and he felt ashamed to lay voice to it. “I know that… that if I were to come to him in that guise, he would be…. I think he would like it. And I have tried to practice, I have tried to… I fear that if I did as he would like, he would be burned by my cold. Hurt. Just by my being as I truly am. To hear that your own beast should deny you…” He shook his head. His palms felt like they were lightly scalded, and he was glad of it.

“How can you keep the Hulk within your skin, when his very presence there must be more than enough source of anger for his existence?”

He thought he may have gone too far, though, may have drifted too deep in his talk, and he shook his head again.

“Forgive me; I have gotten carried away, and you have fallen behind on your own questions.”

  


Bruce shook his head, rubbing his forehead.

“After I turned into the Hulk the first time, once I came back to myself, Betty was in the hospital,” he answered, voice tight. “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t... I was really dangerous. I could have killed her, and that-- I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t be the sort of man who loses control and kills someone he’s supposed to love.”

He looked down, stomach in knots, and breathed deeply. “I came back, briefly. Couple years ago; saw her again, and she was... Well, she was still Betty.” He smiled sadly. “But I almost got her killed. Again. And it’s not just the Other Guy; the government was after me, and her dad was the general who’d been trying to hunt me down for years. If we’d stuck together, someone could have hurt her or used her to get to me. So no, there wasn’t a choice, really, for either of us. Maybe, someday, if I get total control over the Other Guy, we could give things another go.” But even though he’d made strides in controlling the transformations, enough to risk being around civilization again, it was still too dangerous.

“I get what you’re saying,” he said after a moment, “but I’m not sure the situations are entirely analogous. Steve has healing; even if you hurt him, it doesn’t sound like you’re in danger of killing him. I know that seems like it doesn’t make a lot of difference in principle if you’re still hurting him, but... in practice, trust me. It does. And -- correct me if I’m wrong -- it seems like you have total control over your transformations?” Loki hadn’t transformed accidentally that Bruce had seen; he hadn’t changed at all since coming to the tower, and he only knew about his other form from Steve and the videos from SHIELD. Obviously it wasn’t triggered by stress or pain, and the change appeared almost purely cosmetic; from what he gathered, Loki retained control and agency over his mind and choices.

What Bruce wouldn’t give for that, he thought a tad bitterly. “If I had the option to just never let the Other Guy out around Betty, that would be a whole different story.” If he could make conscious choices and control it completely, instead of always being on a hair-trigger, always at risk of giving in completely to rage, there might be a chance. A distant one, but a chance all the same.

Too bad that didn’t seem like it would become a reality anytime soon.

“And I’m always angry,” he added, sipping at his tea. “About the Other Guy. About... a lot of things. There’s a sort of baseline anger I’ve just learned to live with and function with. It’s all shut away most of the time. But sometimes it just gets a little too much, and then, well, you’ve seen the results.” He sighed. “I admit, there were times...”

He trailed off, staring mutely into his tea, mind drifting to darker places -- to the low places he’d been -- for a few seconds before shaking himself out of it. “Could you tell me about the cold that comes with your transformation?” he asked after a few moments. If it was just a skin-to-skin contact issue, there might be a way to thermally insulate Steve or Loki to avoid injury.

  


“You’re right; it is different. I’m sorry. That was… presumptuous of me.” Loki could feel himself withdrawing somewhat. He’d jumped into the topic too hard and too fast.

“I hope that you get your chance with Betty again. Do you still speak with her? Via phones or… computers? Of course if you are at risk of killing her… That is far more than what I am at risk of doing with Steve. Again, you are right, and I apologize. Our situations differ wildly.”

He took a drink of his tea, wincing at the bitterness, but oddly comforted by it.

“My transformations are something that Odin and Frigga-- Thor’s parents-- had no idea, as a child, that I would be able to do. I assume when I was found and brought back, Odin forced my transformation from a Frost Giant to an Aesir. And... to someone versed in seidhr, that statement alone is horrific. One should never force a transformation upon someone. If they are unprepared, it hurts. And particularly an infant… I do not remember it, thank goodness, but it must have been done for me to be brought into Asgard under the pretense of my personhood.”

He dabbed the tip of his finger into the drips on the table, from rolling down the walls of his mug.

“If not for Seidhr finding its home in me, I should not be able to transform on my own at all. The first time I did, it was the touch of one of my kind, and my skin turned as a means of defense. But… now I can change. And it _is_ controlled. But beneath these false skins that I wear, it is the truth, lurking.”

This felt difficult. It should not have; he had said it before. But speaking to someone-- the only person-- who might understand, who might offer help on the subject, it made him nervous.

“I cannot answer a good many questions about that form. I have not spent long within it, ever. I find it abhorrent. It _is_ abhorrent; repulsive. And I do not know if I will lose what I have gained in my years as an Asgardian, if time within that shell will cause my mind to flee and my senses to leave me. I can say that the cold that exists in that form is absolute. I have seen other Frost Giants touch Asgardians, and seen the skin blacken and curl for it. When I turn, all of the heat is pulled from the room. Anything I touch may freeze, from the floor beneath my feet to walls… people. Steve--” His voice cracked.

It seemed wrong to discuss Steve in the same breath as discussing his horrors.

“Steve touched me once, when I was turned, and it did nothing to him. He thinks it might be a fear response, or a stress one, but I think it more likely that it is something to do with him, his makeup being different than a human or an Asgardian thanks to his serum. But I also do not want to test it. It seems… I will not be a knife for him to test his skin against the blade.” The words were harsher than intended, so he stopped, sure that he had spoken too long on the subject.

  


Bruce frowned. He hadn’t meant to be dismissive toward Loki’s comparison, or invalidate his worries, though it seemed he may have done just that. He’d intended to reassure Loki that, where things weren’t so dire, he didn’t have the same obligation to maintain distance as Bruce had. He and Steve... they could be all right.

And if he envied them a little for that -- well, envy was the less destructive green-eyed monster that Bruce harbored.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he quickly assured. “I called her once, after the invasion, to let her know I was okay and make sure she was alright. But for the most part -- I went off the grid. I’m safe here with all of Tony’s security, and things have been better since the invasion, oddly enough, but for years, I couldn’t contact anyone or leave any sign of myself without the army coming after me. So, I mostly stay out of her life.” He shrugged. “It’s easier for her that way, not to have me making things a mess and getting her put under surveillance and other things that’ll interrupt her work.”

He sat back and listened, as Loki spoke of his other form and the issues of transformation. When he mentioned his father forcing a painful transformation on him, Bruce’s expression darkened, and he could feel the Other Guy growling in the back of his mind. It was only when he heard the wood creak that he realized he had a white-knuckle hold on the edge of the table, and forced himself to lie his palms flat on it, fingers spread, and breathe, pointedly _not_ thinking about another father and the monster he thought he saw in his son...

And for all that his heart ached for Loki, a sympathetic pain deep in his chest, he couldn’t help the way his eyes widened when Loki described the absolute cold Frost Giants were able to induce. “The amount of energy in an endothermic reaction to achieve temperatures approaching zero Kelvin, would be... that’s astronomical,” he murmured, pulling off his glasses and wiping them off on his shirt.

“Sorry. Just, speaking purely scientifically, that’s amazing. If you... if you ever did want to learn more about it by running some tests, to see what the limits are and what induces it, just so that you’re aware of how it works, I’d be happy to help you set that up in a lab environment that will reduce risk and keep Steve far away.” He slid his glasses back up his nose with a self-deprecating smile. “I’ve learned the value of lab safety the hard way. And Tony’s more or less Hulk-proofed my lab, so we won’t have to worry much about damaging it. Again, only if you want to -- I know you’re probably not crazy about being experimented on and I’m right there with you,” he added.

Giving Loki a minute to mull the offer over, he picked up his tea and took another drink, nearing the bottom dregs now as it cooled. “Another question -- or, well, just something to think about. You’re worried that changing shape will make you lose yourself as you are in Asgardian shape -- so, the idea being the transformation will alter your brain chemistry and eventually lead to your synapses rewiring so your thought processes are altered, yeah? But you also refer to your current shape as false, and that the other one is lurking underneath, implying that the change is more superficial -- in which case your mental architecture would presumably be unaffected. Furthermore, since it seems like your personality and memories don’t change completely when you transform, we can rule out a separate personality, like with me and the other guy,” he continued. “So if your Frost Giant self is psychologically different from your current self, any change would have to be gradual, but presumably, in time, would be reversible. Given how rarely you change, and this is just speaking from observation... It doesn’t look to me like you’re really in danger of losing yourself, Loki.”

  


The offer of having a place that Loki could change without fear of destroying things was tempting, though he was not entirely certain that he wanted to allow Banner to test him, to measure his cold and divine what it was that made him work… though on the other hand, if there were anyone other than Steve that he would trust to do so, it might be Banner. And even so, he could see Bruce tensing, see the way his words brought a flash of anger out. But he seemed to recover after that, seemed to get himself under control.

“My changes are not superficial.” He told him frankly, better equipped to answer this. “They can be. I can change anything about myself, and have it be only an image, a glamour. Light on the skin, in essence. But when I change, truly change… the mind must change as well in order to interact with the body. I do not lose my memory, but… I have been a bird, I recall being a bird. That does not mean that in this skin, I may fly. Likewise, the minds of the Jotnar… They are entirely different. Their eyes see the life force that, if I did not know what it was from my healing, I would be very confused by. And the way their minds are shaped, it is merely part of looking. So much so that I did not realize that was what I was seeing, the first few times I was one of them. Their minds seem incapable of learning, of growing. Their realm is fallen to ruin, they are unclothed beasts…” He found himself grasping for comparisons, knowing so little of the way that humans worked.

“I know Steve has mentioned that he was unable to see color before he became Captain America. Imagine the opposite. Imagine knowing color, and losing it. Or, perhaps even losing sight altogether. That is what I fear, but with education, with knowledge. I may have memories of intelligence, but what would my beast’s brain make of it, once I returned to that shape? And what if I stayed there so long that I did not remember, or could not make sense of it? What if the monster within me remembers that I love Steve, but not that I cannot touch him? I fear too much of my birth form, and more, I hate what I do know.” He lifted a shoulder and took another drink.

“I suppose knowing may be of some help, but I do not know how much more of myself I can stand to loathe. This shape may be false, but it is what I know. The truth of me is something I am aware of, afraid of, in disdain of, but… it is not absent merely because I hate it.”

He stopped himself talking, again, though.

“I am sorry. I know such concerns seem trifling in comparison to yours, which are a plague of effort in containment. I do not have that, and I should be grateful.” And he felt bad for not being grateful. But he was selfish; he always had been. Knowing that Bruce’s suffering was greater than his did not make him feel better about his plight. It merely made him feel worse for unburdening his emotions onto someone who fought so strongly with his own.

“Your science makes little sense to me. But if there is some quality I have spoken of that you think would be able to serve us in any way, in pursuit of the advancement of humanity and their understandings of the world, I would like, for once, to have reason to find my other form anything less than a burden. I am sure you can sympathize with that feeling, at least.”

  


Bruce frowned deeply as Loki recounted his worries. Steve had mentioned that most of Loki’s fears about his frost giant form were rooted in serious racism on Asgard’s part, so he figured he had to take some of Loki’s assertions with a grain of salt, but it made sense to a degree that there would be neurological differences to compensate for physiological differences and variations in sensory input.

And for all that Loki nearly skimmed over the fact that they could _visualize bio-electrical energy,_ Bruce still felt himself perking up at that. Hell, he’d trade seeing in color for the chance to see that.

“Well, we can definitely confirm alterations in some of the sensory lobes of the brain, if that’s the case. Though it’s hard to infer from that how much difference there would be in the frontal cortex.” It could well be that Frost Giants weren’t evolved for intellect, or that could be a prejudicial assumption on Loki’s part; he didn’t have any way of knowing without running experimentation, or leading an anthropological expedition to another world -- the latter of which was right out.

“And let’s not play the who-has-it-worse game. Yeah, our situations are different, but they’re both pretty lousy,” he said with a small smile. “You might have more control, but you’ve had to deal with more lies about it than I have. And I think we have enough common ground we can still relate all the same. And speaking of relating; I’ve had enough people want to experiment on me and the Other Guy for the ‘advancement of humanity’ that I won’t do anything with you in the lab that you’re not 100% on board with. And you can have a say in what happens with all of the test results too, okay? Whether you keep them or disseminate them or destroy them altogether, that gets to be your call.”

The Bruce of ten years ago might have cringed at such an offer, leaping instead at the chance to learn as much as he could about a whole new species; and the offer of examining Loki’s abilities more -- to help medicine, cellular regeneration, energy-efficient refrigeration without ozone damage -- was so sorely tempting a small part of him still wanted to whisk him down to the labs right now. But the Bruce of ten years ago made bad choices, which the Bruce of today was still living with.

Would probably live with for a long while.

“Look, Loki, I... I know what it’s like to hate some part of yourself. A lot.” He drained his tea, then stood up and crossed over to the stove, refilling his cup from the kettle and adding another spoon of sugar. “After the accident, I thought The Other Guy was the worst thing that could have ever happened to me or anyone. He was the embodiment of everything I hated. The rage and violence and... every bit of myself I tried to lock away and forget about. Suddenly blown up and enormous and horrible.” He swallowed, taking a moment before he stepped back to the table and dropped the tea bag back into his mug. “I hated him. So much. I tried everything to get rid of him; to reverse the effects. Dubious science, self-experimentation, even new age hoo-doo as Tony calls it. At one point it got so bad that I... Well, I tried to go for a more permanent solution.”

Remembering the taste of cold metal in his mouth as he slid the barrel of the gun between his teeth, he shuddered. “It didn’t take,” he added, unnecessarily.

“But now... it’s the funniest thing. I see kids in Hulk costumes, and Hulk merchandise, and people saying that he’s a hero. I only saw him as a monster, something I needed to destroy, something that wasn’t _me,_ but to other people, he has value.” Holding the tea between his hands, he inhaled the steam, letting it calm him. “Sometimes... Sometimes the parts of ourselves we think are the worst actually have redeeming qualities we don’t expect, is what I guess I’m saying. Even if it’s hard to see them ourselves.”

  


Loki swallowed, averting his eyes when Bruce spoke of his permanent solution.

Loki had done similarly, and all but landed in Thanos’s lap. There were times that he wished it had been otherwise, that he hadn’t survived. Things would be different now. Steve would be safer.

He shook his head, though, and listened carefully when the tone of Bruce’s voice changed.

What he said made sense. Like Loki coming to accept that Steve might truly find him attractive, after watching himself in the mirror at his behest. He could continue to loathe this body, but if he could accept that Steve did not, what was to say that his other body, which he loathed more, didn’t similarly appeal to him, in an honest way? And after all, it wasn’t as though he had to look at it, if he was in it…

He let those thoughts stew, but pushed them to the back of his mind.

“Perhaps when I have excess seidhr to spare again, I will take you up on the offer. It does not do to fear the unknown when it is knowable. Particularly if that unknown is not going to go away anytime soon.”

Then again, who knew when next he would have excess seidhr? They needed to find the sceptre still, and he may yet have to pump the mechanism full, and if not, they had yet to retrieve it, a prospect which would require that he use his abilities to protect and fight-- and which meant that he would need to speak with Steve about what was and wasn’t acceptable for him to do.

And after they had the sceptre… he wondered what the likelihood was of his survival, still. It had sounded as if Thanos needed him, but to what end? And more, would he change his mind if he learned where Loki was, or his involvement with Steve? He wished there was a way to lock up those memories, to leave them here…

He sighed.

“Depending on how much we have to do tomorrow involving my output into you and Tony’s newest machine, perhaps we can make some headway on those tests. Though some precautions will have to be taken.” He paused, weighing his words carefully.

“Thor has never seen me as a Jotun. I know he still claims to love me but… Frost giants on Asgard are killed. I do not want to see how he would react if accosted with such a sight.” He tried to sound impartial, but his voice wavered, and he felt his hands tightening around the cup he held.

  


Bruce felt a tiny chill on the back of his neck at Loki’s evident fear that he could be killed on sight, simply for being in the wrong skin.

(In the back of his mind, the Other Guy growled unhappily)

“JARVIS?” He asked aloud, “would it be possible to limit the security access to my lab at some point?”

“ _You have complete access to security permissions for your laboratory, Dr. Banner. Only Sir and Miss Potts possess override authority.”_

Bruce glanced back to Loki. “We can make sure no one will walk in when we’re running tests. No Thor.” He had a hard time imagining Thor killing his own brother in a fit of racist pique, considering he hadn’t even been able to do so when Loki had been laying waste to a city, but he recognized that he didn’t know Thor all that well.

He also knew that just because someone didn’t look violent didn’t mean they weren’t capable.

“In your own time, too. And even if your seidhr isn’t up for running actual experiments, we can always meet up to outline what variables we want to test and figure out our parameters, maybe take some baseline measurements for control group data, set up equipment, that sort of thing. I think medical R&D has some neuroimaging tech we can access, though we’ll have to look into scheduling it at some point when it isn’t in use.” He was certain that Stark Industries would have MRIs, PET and SPECT scans, which they could use to determine just how different Loki’s frost giant brain was from his Asgardian one.

He hesitated, adjusting his glasses. “Do... do Asgardians really hate frost giants that much?”

  


Loki smiled grimly.

“When the nine realms were formed, Niffleheim was the birthplace of Ymir, the oldest and greatest of the Frost Giants. He was as harsh and cruel as the winters he carried with him, and he cared for naught but destruction. In a bid for peace, he was sent to the realm of Jotunheim, gifted it as his own, to do with as he pleased. It was a land not unlike the others, habitable, though cooler. It would be more comfortable there for a creature of the ice. But this was not enough for him. Ymir destroyed it, froze it through its core, and he and his kind were left to their own devices in a land now rendered infertile with cold and frost. Meanwhile, on the other realms, trade was open. The Vanir and the Aesir traveled freely between worlds, and they learned and grew, intermarried and were peaceful. But growing tired of the world he had destroyed, Ymir tried to enter Asgard, laying waste to the gates of the golden city with his breath and footfall, and Bor-- then-king of Asgard-- defeated him. His great and terrible power he locked into a gilded box, and Ymir himself was imprisoned within a volcano.” Loki paused to drain the last of his tea.

“The box became known as the Casket of Ancient Winters, and it was returned, for a time, to his widow, until it became apparent that Ymir had whelped more like him, boys who became men Hel bent on war and destruction and conquering. At the last alignment, when the paths between the worlds were open, the frost giants had multiplied enough to form an army, and they invaded your world. Only Odin and his men stopped them from destroying all life on Midgard as they had done on their home realm. He pressed them backwards, imprisoned them again on Jotunheim, and claimed the casket, in order to preserve peace and safety. So you see, there has never been any reason for the Asgardians to have any love of the Jotnar. They have not, in all of their years, grown beyond their wish for destruction. And even when I went there, with Thor, they thought only of starting war. Admittedly, that was all that was on Thor’s mind, as well…” He trailed off, wishing he had tea to distract him now. Instead, he stared down into his hands.

“Since we were very small, Thor has wanted only to destroy the Frost Giants. Every last one. He swore to it. And it was a game we played, he the mighty victor, triumphant, and I the slain foe. And Odin watched, and he spouted his wisdom… true kings never seek fights. That was what he said. Not that what Thor said was wrong. Not that the Jotnar were anything but beasts, not a word of defense. And so yes. The Aesir hate what I am. Thor hates what I am. And Odin… I will never understand why he took me, if he intended to hate me so. I suppose I was his favorite joke, if nothing else. The monster who thought he was a prince.” He shrugged, the familiar burn of unvoiced screams and unshed tears in his throat.

“Can you blame them?” He asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear Bruce’s answer. It felt only right, only fair to explain to him what he was offering to work with. The sort of horrors he was likely to see and unleash, if he agreed.

“I would understand, if you no longer wanted to… to help me with that form.” He offered, a little timidly.

  


When Loki began to speak, it had the sound of a repeated bedtime story. A fairy tale, about monsters and heroes, couched in the language and cadence of a child’s storybook. Bruce settled in to listen, frowning slightly, but remaining attentive.

Attentive, and slowly, creepingly, horrified.

He listened to Loki’s retelling, but he also kept his eyes on Loki’s face, watching the drawn look there, the hint of pain in his expression. And hell if it didn’t feel a bit like looking in a mirror.

This was a fairy tale. A bedtime story.

The kind of bedtime story Loki must have been told a thousand times, and knew by heart. A bedtime story someone told a child, a child they were supposed to care for and love, teaching him that he was a monster. Teaching him to fear. Teaching him to hate. Teaching him to--

A sharp crack rang through the air and Bruce startled, looking down at the source of the noise and finding that his grip had broken the handle right off of the mug; he released the shattered bit of ceramic, watching as the muscles in his hand rolled and crept beneath the skin (in the back of his mind, the Other Guy snarled). Abruptly, he pushed his chair back, the legs squeaking against the tile, and leaned over to place his head against his knees, clasping his hands behind his neck and closing his eyes as he breathed deeply...

Not now, not now, not now--

_(“You’re a monster. You little freak. You never should have even been born--!”)_

He inhaled, held, and exhaled, counting his breaths and doing his best to clear his mind, banishing memories and thoughts of anything other than the rhythm of his own lungs, until his skin didn’t feel so stretched and tight; until the hot and bubbling anger simmered down to something less intense, and he was able to slowly look up, the Other Guy settling down with a faint rumble of protest.

He shot Loki an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. That... I wasn’t angry at you.” He picked his glasses up from where they’d fallen in his lap and focused on wiping them off for a few seconds as his heart slowed.

  


Loki had frozen, gone stiff and still in his chair, eyes wide in shock.

He hadn’t meant to do that. Hadn’t meant to make him--

“Do you-- should I move us to your safe room?” He asked carefully, keeping his tone light and his gaze slightly to the side of Bruce’s face, to keep from looking directly at him. To keep him from feeling as though Loki were waiting for him to lose control. Watching him for it.

He was all too aware of the pain he’d been in after the last time he and the Hulk had tangled. He was not eager to repeat the experience. And yet… he had done this, somehow. Even if Bruce claimed it was not him.

But he wasn’t sure, if not him, what it was that Bruce had grown upset with. Did disgust register to him as a shade of anger? Did he pick up on the anger in Loki’s bitterness?

“And I am sorry. That is twice now in as many days that I have brought you to the brink of change. Perhaps this was not so good of an idea, perhaps…” He blew his fear and frustration out through his lips, then rose, well aware that Bruce was no better off than he, that if he did not tread carefully, he risked offending, or worse, laying him low. He came around to the other side of the table and crouched to put himself more on a level with him. He lay a gentle hand hesitantly on Bruce’s knee. He did not want to be invasive, but nor did he want to seem distant.

“Once, I admit it was my plan to incite such a change, to get you to become the monster. That I might use you for my own ends. And yet… now, I could not wish for anything less. I am truly sorry, Bruce. I do not want you to think this intentional on my part. And I want you to know that I-- I do not fear you. I have felt your rage before, and if you need direct it at something or someone, we both know I can withstand it.”

He just wanted to help.

Even if he knew Steve would be upset about it. It might be good, for Loki, at least. It would feel deserved.

“And as I said, if you have changed your mind, knowing more now about what Frost Giants are, I would not hold it against you. Please do not feel any sense of… of obligation towards me. I have existed this long without knowing.” He smiled softly, encouragingly.

  


Bruce shook his head. “I’m okay. It-- I’m getting better about controlling it.” It was actually something of a victory, having felt the Other Guy rousing and trying to push to the surface and then succeeding in calming himself before a transformation could occur. He could still only head it off in the very early stages, but it was more than he could do a few years ago.

He jumped a bit when Loki touched his knee, surprised by the closeness. Most people avoided contact with him and kept their distance, especially when he was having a moment -- Tony being one of the very notable exceptions. Loki of all people had the most reason to stay away, having been used by the Other Guy to redecorate the penthouse floor a year and a half ago, and yet...

Bruce reached out with a (shaky) hand and placed it on Loki’s forearm, giving him a wobbly smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Though I’d honestly prefer not having to test your durability all the same.” Knowing some of his new friends were less breakable than the average human was one of the few ways he could justify living among them, with the Hulk barely contained. It wasn’t much comfort, since he still didn’t want to see any of them hurt, but it would be easier to live with himself than if he actually killed anyone.

“And I know you didn’t mean to. Honest, both times, not your fault,” he reminded Loki, feeling himself breathe a little easier. “And I still want to help you. I think it might be good for you to have... to have some empirical knowledge of Frost Giants.” Something that wasn’t propaganda, and rooted in actual fact instead of cultural bias. And even if frost giants were brutes-- Well, the Other Guy got called as much all the time, but Bruce was still a man, and Loki could hold on to that too and define himself how he wanted to.

Not how the people who raised him had.

Bruce blew out a long steady breath. “Really, I, ah, was angry _for_ you, not at you.” He shrugged, smiling sadly as his gaze drifted down. “No kid should have to grow up being told they’re a monster. I know.”

  


Loki tilted his head, trying to fit things together, but maintaining his closeness.

Part of him was certain he shouldn’t ask, but it felt unfeeling and unkind to ignore it.

“I was under the impression that you did not develop… the Other Guy?” He tried the term out, checking to be sure he had not offended with it, before pressing on, “I thought he did not come until later. Why should you have been told you were a monster as a child?” He sounded indignant even to his own ears, and the statement, coupled with Bruce’s apparent shame, was enough to make him wish harm on those who had caused this.

In Asgardian measure, of course, Banner was yet a child, but by their own, he thought that his story had implied-- marriage was already a consideration when they had done their experiments. What could he possibly have been or done as a child to warrant such a classification?

Loki felt himself bristling, now, too, and he paused, then laughed.

“Oh. I see what you mean-- angry _for_ you, not at you… hm.”

But there was a difference, was there not?

“In fairness, as a child, I did not know that I counted among that number. I did not discover that until… until very recently. Shortly before you and I first interacted, really.” He had the good grace to look embarrassed about that. “You on the other hand… you were told these things as a child without any subterfuge?”

  


Bruce grimaced. He didn’t usually talk about his childhood. Or think about it at all if he could help it, since The Other Guy seemed somewhat mentally rooted in it. But he’d been the one to bring it up, and, while he normally avoided the subject since it only elicited awkward pity and horror, and made him feel like he was whining for sympathy, there was a possibility here that it might help Loki to know a bit more about him. Might make for a connection between them. Not pity, perhaps, but empathy?

“My father wasn’t a very nice person,” he began with, then stopped, and chuckled as his own gross understatement. “Okay, strike that. He was a miserable evil bastard and when he died, the only tears I cried were ones of relief.” And he _definitely_ never told anyone that, but oddly enough, he didn’t think Loki would judge him for it.

“The Other Guy didn’t come along until later, you’re right. But I had a different monster in my life before.” He held the handle-less mug between his hands, lifting it for another sip and pulling a face. “My father -- Brian --” He’d taken to referring to him by name instead of relation in his teens, “was also a physicist. Did a lot of work with nuclear research. He had a lab accident before I was born and while nothing happened to _him--”_

He paused, sucking down the bitterness and trying to think zen thoughts, “-- he became convinced that his genes had been affected. Turned out years later he was completely insane, but no one really picked up on it then. Anyway, when I was born,” he shrugged, “Brian decided I was a freak, from his mutant lab-accident genetics. I was precocious as a kid, so he took that as proof that there was something unnatural about me. Something wrong. I think he knew there was something of a monster in _him_ and he thought he’d passed it down to me.”

He smiled dryly into his tea. “In retrospect, he might not have been that insane after all. There wasn’t any evidence that he’d had any ill-effects from the lab accident beyond getting fired for showing up to work drunk. But we could never figure out what variables allowed me to survive the gamma explosion when Betty and I were working on the Bio-Tech Force Enhancement Project. So who knows?” He blew out a breath through his nose and gave a bitter chuckle. “Maybe I did end up with a ‘monster gene’ that was just waiting to be triggered.”

“Anyway, Brian did his best to ‘beat the evil’ out of me, and made sure I knew exactly what he thought of me. Considering I got used to being told I was a monster long before I ever actually became one, I suppose I have him to thank for that.”

  


“It seems our ‘fathers’ should have compared notes. Perhaps I would have benefited from having the evil beat out of me… and monster hidden within you or not, Odin would never have said so.”

He stood, the crouching having lasted long enough that it was that or sit, and he did not want to be suppliant at Bruce’s feet.

He grasped his shoulder briefly instead, then spoke as he returned to his place on the other side of the table, restoring the illusion of normalcy.

“I meant to kill Odin. And I would not weep if I had succeeded, even now. So you must not think yourself evil for your lack of tears. And you certainly cannot call the Other Guy evil-- had that been the case, he should have jumped to join me, when we confronted one another, instead of working with the Avengers to take me down. Monstrosity can be found in either form or function. Form cannot be changed, save with will illusions, or lies… in function, I can think of few less monstrous than you, as I have come to know you.” The compliment came exceedingly easily. It felt true. “You cannot change the form you take, and there is some comfort in that, though as you have proven, you can overcome the form. You can fight down the monster.” It felt hypocritical to offer encouragement on the subject, but he did not allow himself to mind.

“I know there are those who teach that anger is a form of monstrosity, but there are also those who teach you to call up your anger and use it for strength. For you, both are true, and while none would envy you that, nor that which has led you to be who you are now… I would shudder to imagine the person you might be without such preparation, such shaping. Or what another might do in your situation. I am not suggesting you ought to be grateful, merely saying that I am grateful for you. Brian and his abuses and The Other Guy included. They have built you to who you are now. I like that person.”

He kept his voice as impartial as possible, but he could not resist adding, “Though, whether my soul and my mind exist as a result of my ability to change, or whether Frost Giants do truly have such things, even I am not so great a monster as to find such treatment of a child acceptable. That, I suppose, should be comforting to us both.”

He licked his lips, then looked at Banner’s hands.

“Would you like a different cup? I think our questions may have gotten a tad out of bounds, but at the very least, that one ought to have an easy answer.”

  


Bruce shuddered. “I wouldn’t have wished him on anyone, and definitely not you. Though I think we could definitely both have used some better dads.” Not that there was anything to be done; it was what it was.

It actually felt a bit better to talk about it though.

He looked down at his cup and sighed. “I can finish drinking out of this one. Shame though, I kinda liked this cup.” It was only the handle that was broken, but even if he glued it together, it would probably just break off again, and Tony or Pepper would toss it in favor of a new one. Not that it was all that big a deal; it was just a cup, and Bruce had picked up and left behind everything in his life enough times that he didn’t get all that attached to things. Though the prospect now of leaving the tower, should the army come after him or other circumstances force him to leave, ached more than most.

“It’s easier now to think of the Other Guy as a force of nature and not inherently evil, though he’s still careless and capable of hurting people -- just not out of malice.” He frowned. “But when it first happened... All I could think of was _him,_ and how he’d get angry and start hurling things and hurting us, and how in spite of everything, I felt like I was turning into him.”

That was the main reason he’d run and put as much distance as possible between himself and Betty for five years. He couldn’t let himself hurt her, couldn’t let it happen again, to her like it had happened to--

He shook his head, quelling and puzzled rumble from the Other Guy in the rear of his consciousness. “Thank you though,” he said, meeting Loki’s eyes. “And I don’t think you’re a monster, Loki. Even if the frost giants are really all that different, obviously some of them are capable of being all right.”

Loki might have done monstrous things, but he was working on making it right. He had issues, obviously, but didn’t all of them? And given how much Bruce had destroyed, how many people he’d hurt, he would hardly deny anyone else the second chance he was being offered to be treated as something other than a feral animal that needed putting down. “You’ve obviously got control over any monster you have, in form and in function,” he added, “and I have to say, I’m pretty fond of the person you are now too. Maybe not the person you were a year ago,” he clarified, “but I think we’re both getting better at overcoming parts of ourselves.” And it was true; there had been the Loki who called him a mindless beast and used him as a weapon, but now there was the Loki who kept him from putting children in harm’s way and got indignant on his child-self’s behalf.

It was hard not to like the guy.

  


Loki smiled, glad at least to have retained a friend through the revelation of their pasts, their secrets.

Even if he was wrong about some things. Frost Giants could not be good. But perhaps, as long as he maintained this form, he could become good. With work.

He was, after all, overcoming that part of himself.

He didn’t know what to say though, how to continue the conversation, and so instead he bought himself some time by fusing the handle back onto Bruce’s cup. The seidhr it used was negligible, and it was a nice thing to do.

“I do so despise losing favorite cups.” He said simply, by way of an explanation, his thoughts straying to his rooms back on Asgard, and whether they had been ransacked yet. Who, he wondered, would have been brave enough? Or if it were by order of Odin or Frigga, he wondered who benefitted.

But it did not do to wonder about such things; he had with him that which he most treasured, and everything else could be replaced. And more, he had gained Steve. He never would have done that, had he remained back in Asgard with his chalices and his books.

“Well.” He said finally. “I suppose dinner plans for the rest of the tower are likely to fall to you. Steve is cooking for us to keep me from causing another disaster, since between Thor and Barton, it would not take much. Would you like me to help you with anything, while we have the time?”

  


Bruce gaped at the mug, turning it, trying to find the seam or some kind of adhesive element. but whatever Loki had done, it looked as though the break had never even been there (would Tony mind if Bruce ran scans on his dishes?).

“That’s... wow. Thank you.” He looked back up, realizing that beyond the miraculousness of the act itself, Loki had done him a kindness and expended his limited seidhr to do so. It made him feel strange and warm inside.

He told himself it was the tea, as he drained the last of it from the now-intact mug.

“I’ll work something out. Though given how poorly cooking went the other night, we might just do takeout, so you’re probably getting the better dinner deal,” he told Loki, collecting the cups and standing to put them in the dishwasher. “And to be frank, you’re probably the least disastrous one at the moment, ironic though it may seem.” He smiled, pulling off his glasses to wipe them off (though they didn’t actually need it) yet again.

“As far as helping goes, I think you already have.” Putting his glasses back on, he tucked his hands into his pockets with a smile. “This was... This was a good talk. Thank you.”

  


“My pleasure.” Loki returned without hesitation. “I feel as though you did not get good answers to some of your questions, but hopefully, if and when we are able to run those tests, your machines will be able to translate my abilities into a language that you know. Though on that note, I may very well need _you_ to translate.”

He shrugged.

“But that is for another day. I suppose I should see if I can make a nuisance of myself in the kitchen downstairs, then-- assuming, of course, that Steve has completed his call. But thank you. It is very different, Steve’s unbridled optimism and belief against your own experience. Not that I don’t appreciate him. I do, but… it means more coming from one who knows from having lived with an issue that is… similar, at face value, at the very least.”

He would not call them the same, nor make the mistake of thinking that they shared something close to alike, but it was a kinship anyway.

“Enjoy your take out, then. Were I you, I would order from the vegan place that makes Tony groan when you offer it as an option. He isn’t in any state to argue, at the moment, absorbed as he is.”

And if he maybe had favorites among the Avengers, well, who was going to blame him for that?

  


Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll do that, then. And we can always talk more. Not like I’m not around.” The continued search for the scepter, and any research they planned to do together, would afford them opportunities.

He headed toward the door with the intention of returning to his room, then looked back over his shoulder:

“Take care, Loki. I’ll see you around.”

He actually rather looked forward to it.

  


\---

  


Steve stared at his phone.

Not because it was giving him trouble of any sort; he knew his way around a smart phone as well as any of the kids who’d grown up with them at this point. He knew what he had to do and how to do it.

It was just working up the balls to actually pull up Natasha in his contact list and hit ‘call’ that was giving him trouble.

Still; if he could face down an alien army, he ought to be able to talk to Natasha while she was hundreds of miles away. Taking a deep breath, he took one last look around the apartment (which he’d tidied up fastidiously while procrastinating the call), then hit the green button.

There was a moment of silence, then the line began to ring.

  


“Rogers.” She greeted, She didn’t like hellos. They wasted time and made the other person feel like they had to introduce themselves, something rendered absolutely unnecessary by caller ID and the fact that only a few people had this number.

“What’s going on?” She doubted he would call if there weren’t some pressing need for it. In fact, after the last time they had talked, she was almost sure of it. And so she was in work mode.

  


“Natasha,” Steve replied, and almost followed up by asking if the line was secure before stopping himself; she wouldn’t have invited him to talk openly if it wasn’t, and Tony had already put extra security on his phone’s transmissions. There was no reason not to jump right into it then.

“Couple things. First off, I’m sorry, again, that I was an ass.” He had to get that out right now. “Clint and I talked and we’re good now. Or on our way to good. Also--” He rubbed his forehead. It felt nervewracking every time he said this aloud, filling his stomach with butterflies. “--Also Loki and I are together. Romantically. I figure you probably already knew that on account of being you, but it still seemed like something you oughta hear from me.”

He held his breath, waiting for her response.

  


She smirked, satisfaction pulling the expression a little closer to a grin. She turned her back to the monitors she had been typing into, and gave her full attention to the phone call. He had been hesitant to tell her, and hadn’t done so at all before, but he had a lot of reasons to be afraid to. She’d give him credit for having the balls.

“Thanks.” She drawled the word, imagining his sheepish face. “Is this a personal call then?”

Of course she knew about Clint. They talked, often enough. They’d texted for hours after he and Steve had had their heart to heart. In fact, that was probably him giving her message alerts in her ear right now. But he was calm and happy; lower priority, in theory, than this call.

  


He frowned thoughtfully. “Yes and no. It’s a call from one friend and colleague to another.” A reminder, there, that he still considered her a friend. Something he’d had to reassure Clint of.

"Also, if you've got a minute, I wanted to talk about some of Bruce, Tony and Loki's research findings. You guys don't have any new leads on the scepter, do you?" It seemed worth it to ask first, so he didn't waste her time with anything she already knew.

  


She double checked the room around her, making sure she was away from prying ears.

“Nothing. Which, as you can imagine, is both frustrating and a little unsettling. It points to there being someone on the inside. We know that it was scheduled to get buried again, but that before it left, it disappeared. Everyone assumed Loki, but… whoever did it know how to override our security protocols, avoid our cameras, and destroy all evidence of themselves. It was easier to believe it was magic. Knowing that it isn’t’s got Fury’s panties all bunched up.”

She leaned back against the table, her brow furrowing.

“How about you? Anything on your end?”

  


Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, and thanked God he didn't have to be present at SHIELD during what had the potential to become a witch hunt. "So we're looking at a double agent with high security clearance, access to security footage, and proximity to the scepter around the time it was scheduled for relocation." That didn't narrow things down terribly well; there had been dozens of agents involved in prisoner detail and keeping the scepter under heavy guard. And that was assuming they were only dealing with a single mole. If whoever took the scepter had help, if there was a conspiracy...

Steve was beginning to appreciate how this line of work had made Fury so paranoid.

"We've got some potential locations. Energy spikes that resonate on frequencies similar to Loki's magic. They're spread all around the world so we're hoping to try to narrow things down before we go running off on a global scavenger hunt. Bruce and Loki are going to try to refine the data and Tony's cross-referencing the results against anything likely." He sat down on the edge of the bed, sinking into the mattress.

"Natasha... I know I said I wanted to work with SHIELD on this, and I do, but if there's a leak... It might be best to keep this contained. Just Avengers. Right now you, Clint, and Fury are about the only people I know I can trust there."

  


She took a long moment to think about that.

“I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep. Hold off on sending me that info, at least until I have a chance to clear it with Fury. I’m with you there; we’re all watching our backs these days. But I don’t want to have him disagree and go giving that intel to people on his list, just in case he’s wrong.”

And she sure wouldn’t be spreading it around. She knew few enough people here, and liked even fewer-- respected less, and trusted next to none. One nice thing about being an Avenger was not having to distrust anybody. Something she needed to keep in mind, more now than ever.

“But what do you want me to do with the intel if we do get it? Check it against the people around the sceptre, see if we can’t find out a link? Or are you hoping we can narrow things down some other way?”

This was going to get old fast, if they couldn’t trust SHIELD as a whole. And she didn’t love being the odd man out, the only one not at home base. The go between.

That wasn’t where her skills were useful. But for now she would just have to deal with it, at least until they had a grasp on the sceptre situation.

But speaking of being the _only_ Avenger not at home…

“By the way, what’s the story with Thor? We’ve got him coming, going, and coming again. Is he planning on sticking around for a while? Because his girlfriend is en route with her tag alongs for a debriefing, after London.”

  


"Wait, she what?" Steve blinked, then pinched the bridge of his nose. If Thor's entourage was headed stateside, there was a good chance they'd be joining them here. And the penthouse was already so crowded -- Tony and Pepper might need to move some more folks downstairs to the apartments on his and Loki's floor to accommodate everyone.

And he couldn't imagine Loki would be happy about having Thor as a neighbor.

"Thor is here," he said. "He's asleep right now; showed up an hour or two ago. Apparently Asgard was attacked and things are still a bit of a mess there and his mom is in a coma, so he's probably going to be bouncing back and forth, but it seems like he's on board to help us, and he hasn't tried to smite anyone for harboring Loki, so that's good at least. I can try to have him get in touch whenever he wakes up."

He sighed, returning his train of thought to the hunt for the scepter. "I'll hold off then; I trust your judgement. Though if it is okay to send through -- Tony's checking the hits we got against every database he can access, but if there's any way you can run them against the non-networked servers at SHIELD, there might be more there than what we can hack here. Also, any hits against personnel backgrounds; former stationing, family origins, that sort of thing. Could help locate a candidate for our leak." He knew he was grasping at straws, but at this point, anything could help. "You don't have anyone you suspect so far, do you? Anything from Schultz?"

  


She was taking mental notes, nodding along.

“Alright. I’ll talk to Fury. Don’t send the intel unless you hear from me here, as well as making sure I give Clint the go ahead in code; he knows what to look for.” In case the office was bugged and someone got hold of her phone, this way they would still be lacking information necessary to get what the rest of the Avengers knew. Simple, but effective. And perhaps a little paranoid, but, faced with the prospect of a mole, it made sense.

“As for Thor, have him let me know what he’s doing. The plan as I understood it was to debrief Doctor Foster and her assistants, then send them to a new post, but if he’s going to be around, SHIELD will probably set them up here to try and get him to visit. You should have Bruce brief him about precautions he may want to take, as far as letting SHIELD get their hands on him.” This was a division of loyalty, and she needed to figure out how to deal with it. Preferably soon. In the meantime, she had more reason to trust the guy on the other side of the phone than she did the majority of the people in this building, so the immediate answer was easy.

“Schultz insists that he was hired, but won’t say by who. Says he likes not being dead. Doesn’t really trust that we can keep him safe. I guess at the moment I can’t really blame him, until we find out who and how many. As far as my suspicions, you know I don’t. If I did, they’d already be out, detained, or dead, whichever came first.” More importantly, her not having suspects meant that she wasn’t doing her job. Maybe she’d become too comfortable, too passive.

“Guess this means we’ll be in touch.” She said, movement in a camera on a screen to her left catching her eye. Someone was coming. Two someones.

“Oh and Steve? Real happy for you. Tell him to take care of you or he’s gonna have me to answer to.”

  


Steve nodded. “I’ll talk to Bruce and I’ll give Thor your number. Probably won’t be until sometime tomorrow, though. He’s in kinda rough shape.” He wouldn’t be surprised in the least to hear that Thor slept through dinner, and even if he was up; the guy deserved a break, if only for one night. And Steve had little intention of leaving the apartment tonight, given he and Loki had dinner plans.

“You know, if we want to avoid SHIELD getting leverage on Thor, we could re-route them up here after debrief.” He knew he was suggesting the very thing he’d cringed at moments earlier, but he’d already effectively resigned himself to it. And dealing with a sulking Loki and a highly-occupied tower was preferable to a compromised SHIELD having a thunder god wrapped around their finger.

He smiled at the last. “Thanks, Nat. And trust me, between Loki fussing over me and everyone else keeping an eye out, I’m probably the best looked-after guy in New York. So don’t worry.”

It sounded like she was wrapping up the call, so he didn’t try for any kind of small-talk. Natasha wasn’t the chit-chat sort anyhow. “I’ll talk to you soon, then. Take care."

  


She hung up and turned her attention to the agents who had just walked in, a younger guy and a woman who looked to be on the older side of middle age.

They had their heads close and were speaking in low voices until they saw her. The man stood straight and clammed up, looking horrified, and the woman just grinned a little.

“Agent.” She said, and Natasha sort of wanted to punch her for being so damn cheerful.

“Agents.” She nodded, excusing herself.  
She needed to talk to Fury about a few things, now.

 


	46. Forty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter comes with recommended media content! We strongly recommend checking out _Casablanca_ if you have never seen it, as it is a classic and heavily referenced in this chapter. We also have a [music playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL2PPUBbhKsSzZgWgPL9OWElRBN6ao7x6l) containing the songs that appear in this chapter, and an iconic film scene...
> 
> Happy viewing/listening/reading!

Loki stopped outside of the door to his apartment, unsure if he should knock.

He didn’t want to just walk in on Steve’s conversation. Especially if it might be about their future. Especially if Steve needed to argue about it. He was in a pretty good mood; he just hoped Steve came out of it that way, too.

He decided against knocking. If Steve was on the phone, that would only be more disruptive, and he could always leave again quietly if need be.

So instead he opened the door as softly as he was able and poked his head inside.

  


Steve pocketed his phone when the call ended, exhaling. That went... well. Things might still be rocky between Thor and Loki, but considering how disastrous yesterday had seemed, things were shaping up in terms of getting the team back into something functional and pursuing their objectives. The idea of a mole inside SHIELD was still deeply troubling, but Natasha would be careful, and hopefully things would get sorted out.

Either way, there wasn’t much he could do about it from here tonight.

“JARVIS? Could you pull up that recipe I bookmarked this morning, please?”

The list of ingredients appeared on a small screen built into the kitchen, and Steve went into the cabinet to get out a large pot that he’d borrowed from one of the other furnished suites (along with several other stolen kitchen items), filling it with water in the sink. He set it on the stove, cranking up the temperature on the burner, and was retrieving the ingredients from the refrigerator when he heard the door creak open.

He turned to see Loki poking his head in, and smiled. “Hey. How was tea with Bruce?”

  


Assured that he was not interrupting, he entered, closing the door firmly behind him.

With Thor in the building, he felt like he was sneaking, that this was a secret, and he almost liked it that way. This was his, this apartment, Steve-- it was something the Odinson had no previous claim to. Like Loki’s seidhr. Like so little else in his life.

“It was… illuminating. We discussed monsters.” He didn’t really want to expand on the subject, unsure how much Steve knew and how much would be a breach of trust. He would not betray Bruce’s wish for privacy.

“I asked him to help me to better understand my Jotun form. We are going to run controlled diagnostics and measurements upon it. Eventually, when I have some seidhr to spare. How was your call to SHIELD?”

  


Monsters? Steve arched an eyebrow but said nothing. He wasn’t crazy about Loki’s continued preoccupation with monstrousness, but Bruce was probably one of the best people for him to talk to about it, given Banner’s even keel and life experience. Hopefully it was a fruitful conversation; Loki didn’t seem too perturbed, at least.

“It was alright,” Steve told him, getting out the things he would need and checking the ingredients in his hands against the ones listed in the recipe. “Natasha is going to look into some things. They asked about Thor and what the hell he was doing, so they may want him to go down to DC for debriefing,” he added, figuring the prospect of Thor leaving the tower for a time might cheer Loki up.

“Also,” he added, retrieving a lump of garlic from one of the shopping bags and placing it on the counter, “I told Natasha about us. I think she knew already, but--” he shrugged, “--we’re now officially out to all of the Avengers except for Thor. So however or whenever you want to handle that, I’ll follow your lead.”

  


Loki shrugged.

“If he is leaving, we may not have to.” He pointed out. Fairly, he thought. Why bother if the effort was unnecessary?

And perhaps it was in small part to have this thing that was his own, or because he was a coward-- always that. But he didn’t _want_ to tell Thor.

He crossed the room and curled his arms around Steve from behind, resting his chin on his partner’s shoulder.

“How do you feel, with those closest to you knowing?” He asked, hand splaying over Steve’s heart, able to feel its pulsing through his shirt.

It had been a major concern of Steve’s, he knew, and he was unsure how many of his fears and worries had been abated over the last few months, just by living with the knowledge of himself and them.

Loki hoped he was coming to find peace, but it was best that he know if he weren’t.

  


“We’re going to have to eventually,” he pointed out, turning on the water to wash his hands. Sooner or later, Thor would pick up on it, or they wouldn’t pull apart fast enough when he walked into the room. He was a founding Avenger, and would be fighting with them; keeping him in the dark when everyone else knew wasn’t just unfair to Thor; it was unfair to the rest of the team to have to watch every thing they did or said.

Still, eventually wasn’t _now,_ so he could let it go for the evening. He sighed, letting the hot water run over his hands. “It’s... I’m not sure. On the one hand, it’s a relief. I’m glad we don’t have to sneak around and hide it and lie all the time.” Being able to openly hold Loki’s hand and trade small gestures of affection without fear was nice. And more than that -- knowing that his friends didn’t hate him, didn’t reject him as soon as they knew -- had been more than relief. It had made it easier to stop hating that bit of himself as well.

“At the same time, the more people know, the more likely someone’s going to slip or say something, and it’ll spread,” he added, a tad grimmer. “When no one else knew, I didn’t have to be as nervous about that; I had control over that information. Now... Now I just have to trust everyone. Not that I don’t trust them! It’s just...” he shrugged with the shoulder Loki’s chin didn’t currently rest on, turning off the water and covering Loki’s hand with his own damp one, sighing and leaning back into Loki’s warmth against his back.

“How do _you_ feel about all of it?”

  


Loki rested silently against him, thinking how best to say what he was thinking.

“When they learn about us, the first impression is that I have somehow tricked you. It’s a natural, sensible thought… and when they find out that isn’t the case, the trend seems to be instability, a measure of uncertainty… and after that, it becomes a reason for them to make themselves like me. You have seen it over and over again… even Barton will no doubt come around, for your sake, if nothing else. And I may never become close with him, because the wrongs I have done him are so much greater than those I’ve done the others, but… On one hand, it is good to be liked, not to be loathed. On the other, I wish it was for myself and my growth, _my_ worth, rather than leeching from the value of yours.” He huffed out a little sigh.

“As much as it is unlike me to say so, it feels manipulative. But… as long as you are not so worried as you once were, as long as you have grown more comfortable, more confident in yourself and us for it, and do not regret telling them... then I think it is only for the good. I will gain my own approval in time. Bruce at least seems to like me well enough on my own merits, as does Pepper.” He pursed his lips, or perhaps the expression was closer to a pout.

“As far as Thor goes, I do not want to face him about it. He is familiar with the sort of seidhr that can be used to make others fall in love with the caster; he has had it leveled against him in the past. I think he will react poorly, at least at first. After, he may come to terms with it, but I suspect it will take some time for him to wrap his head around your taking up with the enemy. And at some point, I suspect he will attempt to celebrate us, and that is no more desirable, in my mind, than his hatred. I have a myriad of feelings in regards to Thor, but my greatest wish is that he simply leave me be.”

He rolled his neck so that he could press his forehead to Steve’s shoulder instead, stooping slightly to achieve it.

“But we can’t really have that, can we? And so… I will tell him. Soon. But for now… is there anything I can do to help you? With dinner.” He specified, raising his head and grinning at the thought of how he might interfere with the process of its preparation, given the opportunity.

  


“ _I_ love you for your growth and your worth,” Steve gently reminded, wrapping his fingers around Loki’s. “And just because I’m... well, your gateway, I suppose, doesn’t mean I’m the only reason people like you. SHIELD is the only reason any of us even met and we’re not that involved with them right now; you’ve probably spoken with Bruce one-on-one about as much as I have at this point. And Pepper definitely likes you. Hell, if Tony didn’t genuinely kinda like you, he’d be _much_ more of an ass.” He thought of how obnoxious Tony had been when they’d first met and how little Steve had been able to stand him and smiled faintly. “Maybe the fact we’re together is part of what makes people stop and take a closer look at you and how you’re different. But what they see when they look at you? That’s all you.”

He felt guilty, that Loki had to win people over time and time again, always guilty until proven redeemed, but he didn’t know if there was anything he could actually do about it beyond giving Loki his full support and hoping that it was enough.

“If you need me to talk to Thor, or if there’s anything we can do to head off any suspicions he might have, I’ll help however I can. I know Bruce and Tony will probably back us up too; they’re pretty solid character witnesses, I think, considering Thor knows them reasonably well. And Clint knocked me out when we were sparring earlier, so even he’s willing to admit there’s no way I’m mind controlled right now.”

He turned around and slid his arms around Loki’s waist, pulling him close so they were facing, and he could breathe him in. “I know you don’t want Thor around. But right now, we need him. He’s an ally, and we need all the allies we can get. So if there’s anything I can do to make it easier on you to have him around, I’ll try,” he said with a sigh, pressing a kiss to Loki’s hair.

“I’ve got dinner under control, so how about you go read or take a bath or do something relaxing until I come tell you it’s ready?” he suggested. “Shouldn’t be too long.” It couldn’t be _that_ complicated, considering how few ingredients were involved, right?

He pulled back, then frowned. “Oh, one more thing, just while we’re on the subject of Thor -- he asked me to tell you something when I was showing him his room earlier. Said to tell you that no, he doesn’t regret it.” He watched Loki’s face, hoping the cryptic message held more meaning for him than it did for Steve.

  


Surprise and annoyance warred for dominance at Steve’s passing mention of having been _knocked out_ \-- yes the weather is fine, isn’t it, by the way I was _beaten unconscious_ today-- but at Thor’s message, he felt his face falling into his once default expression, bland, bored-- disinterested.

He could feel it happening, and he had to stop himself from pulling away, both physically and emotionally.

“I see.” He said, the words coming out tightly. “Well, he is a fool, but we knew that. As I said, I will talk to him, soon, of us. Don’t worry about his reaction to it until it becomes a problem, and remember that if he does object, it is not an objection seated in hate, so much as one for your sake.” He forced himself to breathe and turned his eyes away from Steve-- staying close, but giving himself the space to untangle his thoughts.

Slowly, with great concentration, he made his muscles relax, and looked back at his partner.

“And I love you, no matter how much or little your friends like me. However, if people continue forcing you to lose consciousness because of me, I am going to insist on enacting your laws of-- was it Lex Talionis? Whatever it is you call the rules of retaliation. I won’t have them going around hitting you about the head because they doubt my honor.” He tried to keep his tone lighter, tried to break away from how Thor’s message made him feel ugly and small and ungrateful.

“I think I will take some time to clean up before dinner, if you’re certain I can’t be of any help to you here.”

He had some thinking to do, and between Thor and Steve and Bruce, he had much to reflect upon. But he wanted to give Steve the option, if he needed help, particularly after having apparently allowed Clint to take his aggressions out on him only a few hours prior.

  


Apparently Loki _did_ know what Thor meant, but didn’t seem to be in a mood to share. Steve chewed his lip, but nodded and said nothing, electing to let it go for the time being. Maybe when Thor wasn’t quite so close, Loki wouldn’t shut down so much at his name, and they could have an actual talk.

(it was probably a vain hope, but he’d hold to it for now.)

“I haven’t been knocked out _that many times,”_ he protested. “Honest. I think that should be the last time. And Clint really needed to know for sure; I think it helped him a lot, and we made up after and he even bought me lunch. The bump is almost gone anyhow.”

Loki’s tone had been teasing, but the last thing he needed was his partner harboring grudges on his behalf just because he’d taken a few largely-deserved lumps.

He pushed himself up on to his toes to he could lay a kiss to Loki’s forehead. “I’ve got dinner under control; you did all the actual hard work today anyway, so let me get this. Go: wash up, unwind, whatever you need.”

  


He returned the kiss, his landing on Steve’s nose, just because he could. He huffed and nodded, not quite convinced in regards to the attacks on Steve’s head, but he’d let it pass for now. It wasn’t like he was likely to be knocked out while cooking, at any rate.

“Alright. I will be in the restroom if you need me.”

Though not bathing. Loki had something else in mind, something of a… test, he supposed. To see if he could; if he might be ready.

He stroked down Steve’s cheek one final time, enraptured, as always, by how much he loved him. Then he headed into their bathroom and closed the door, sliding the lock into place for the first time, and, hopefully, the last.

  


\---

  


It was the timing that proved the trickiest.

He worked on the sauce while the water heated, chopping up the garlic and pancetta, putting some of it in a pan, ready to saute, checking to see if the pot had come to a boil -- then darting out to fetch some of the other things he needed before hurrying back to add the noodles to the pot.

He ran back and forth a number of times, collecting items from a unit down the hall, and from the spare room where he’d stashed a couple things he’d grabbed earlier, while checking on the pasta and stirring the contents of the skillet. The recipe itself was time sensitive, since the sauce had to finish cooking from the heat of the noodles, and he wanted to have everything turn out perfect and at the right time.

And somehow, miraculously, it all came together.

“JARVIS?” Steve asked as he finished grinding pepper to season, mixing it in with a few turns of the whisk before reaching for the two bowls he’d snagged from upstairs to dish up. “Could you queue up my playlist?”

“ _Of course, Captain Rogers.”_

Steve added the chopped parsley as garnish, then brought the two bowls over to the spare room, where, in the face of their total lack of furniture, he’d laid out cushions and a blanket for an indoor picnic, setting places with paper-towels for napkins, and plastic cups ready for the bottle of Pinot Noir he’d picked up at the store. He’d even got a little tea-light candle which now sat in a saucer in the middle of things, casting a soft warm glow as Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade piped in through the speakers.

It wasn’t the classiest spread; it hardly compared to the restaurant they’d gone to. But the food smelled good, and he liked to think it all had a certain charm.

It was home, after all.

“Loki?” he called, lifting his voice enough that Loki would be able to hear from the other side of the closed bedroom door. “Dinner’s ready!”

  
He heard and triple-checked to be sure he was presentable. He’d done what he needed to, and while he was nervous about it, he was also… a little excited.

He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, opting for comfort over formality-- they were eating at home, after all, not going out.

Entering the hallway, he was at once greeted by the smell, rich and warm, and the music, soft and sweet.

Dinner was not in the kitchen, nor spread out on their bed, but rather, laid out on the floor in one of the empty rooms.

It looked decadent, and, best of all, waiting for him was Steve.

“You appear to have utterly outdone yourself, Astin min.” He couldn’t help but stop to take it in from afar, savoring the moment and the sheer perfection of the presentation. After his moment passed, he approached slowly.

“And what is it we’re having?” He asked, unfamiliar with the dish itself, but trusting that Steve had found something delicious to make.

  


Steve looked up as Loki walked in and felt his insides do a small flip. With the top few buttons of his shirt undone, exposing an extra couple of inches of his pale throat, Loki looked... well, he looked damn handsome.

So much so that it took Steve’s brain a moment to catch up to the question he’d asked. “Pasta carbonara,” he answered. “This is my first time making it, so I hope it’s good. If you don’t like it, we can scrounge up something else,” he added, kneeling down on the blanket and uncorking the wine, pouring them each a cup of it before setting the bottle aside. He picked up one of the cups and handed it over to Loki.

“I swear, one of these days we’ll eat at an actual table,” he told him, grinning. “But for now, would you care to join me on the floor?”

  


He gave Steve a brilliant smile.

“I would happily join you anywhere.” He accepted the cup and folded his legs gracefully, sinking down in a fluid motion.

“And nothing that smells so good as this does can taste badly.”

It was already portioned out, the bowls demarking their place settings, their utensils laid out on paper napkins and a candle flickering cheerily between them.

“I don’t know… perhaps we should forego a table and merely have every meal this way.” He was teasing, of course; the charm would fade with repetition, and on the days when Steve was called out, (which, though there hadn’t been any yet, Loki was under no illusions that would remain true) it would be good to have him somewhere to sit, somewhere that did not necessitate sinking fully onto the floor.

He lifted his fork, waiting to watch Steve, hoping that he would take his own up as well and eat. It was gratifying, though, to take note of their serving sizes. Steve would not leave dinner hungry, as Loki was somewhat certain he must, most nights.

  


“Well, that would definitely be the more economic option,” Steve said, deadpan, sipping his wine and then picking up his fork to spin it in the pasta, wrapping it in noodles with a few crispy bits of pancetta and taking a bite.

And wouldn’t you know, it had actually turned out alright. He’d been worried about the eggs in the sauce not coming out right, as the recipe warned repeatedly about whisking them into the pasta at the right heat to cook them, but not so high as to end up with scrambled eggs in his spaghetti. Somehow, he’d managed to get it right, and the flavor was decadently rich.

The music through the speakers crooned, with songs that filled him with a sense of warm familiarity.

“ _Well, Green Eyes with their soft lights,_

_Your eyes that promise sweet nights,_

_Bring to my soul a longing, a thirst for love divine...”_

He swallowed and smiled. “You know, my old place in Brooklyn, we didn’t have an actual table. We had a bathtub in the kitchen -- used it for all sorts of things; washing, laundry, storage -- and put a large piece of plywood over the top of it to make a tabletop whenever we needed. ‘Course, I like _our_ bathtub a bit better,” he pointed out with a grin.

“ _...In dreams I seem to hold you, to find you and enfold you,_

_Our lips meet and our hearts, too, with a thrill so sublime.”_

  


“Hmm.” Loki answered, momentarily rendered silent by the taste of the dinner. The noodles had something that, if it wasn’t bacon, came near enough to being comparable. Which, naturally, made this his favorite of the pastas he had tried so far. Added to, perhaps, by the fact that it was Steve who had made them.

“If you wanted a table in our bath, I could always create one.” He reminded him mildly. “Though I suspect that much steam would render any of the plates like Stark favors completely useless.”

He loaded his fork to take another bite, but flicked his eyes back up to Steve’s face.

“This is delicious, by the way. You will have to show me, sometime, how to cook, that I might surprise you in turn.”

He took his next mouthful with relish, eyes sliding closed while he savored it, and he found himself swaying a little to the song that was playing.

He finished chewing and swallowed, chasing the taste with a sip from his glass, before adding, “Your taste in musical accompaniment is also admirable-- is this all from when you were younger? Or is it more contemporary?”

It sounded very different from what he was familiar with hearing blasted through Tony’s spaces, and that, he had assured him, was ‘classic rock’. Which he took to mean that it was older. If this was what they had moved onto, he would be able to see a little better how Steve could have so much hope for progress.

  


“This is from my time, yeah,” Steve answered, chewing another bite of pasta. “I don’t mind some of the more modern stuff. There’s a fair bit from the 50’s and 60’s after I went into the ice that I still like the sound of. And there’s some contemporary folk music I’ve enjoyed.” Catching up on music had been part of his cultural re-education, catching up on the past seven decades. He’d done his best to keep an open mind, though there was a lot, such as rap and heavy metal and ‘prog-rock’ that just baffled him. He’d even taught himself to use the iPod he’d been gifted, in an attempt to adjust and assimilate.

But when he’d been able to track down the same records that he and Buck would sometimes play, dusty and aged in the back of an antiques shop, he hadn’t been able to resist. He’d adapted to everything else about the 21st century -- the media, the slang, the prices, the technology -- surely it wouldn’t hurt anyone if he held on to this one thing, this one old-fashioned preference.

So he still treasured the numbers he remembered drifting through the radio in his old Brooklyn tenement; the songs he and the guys had hummed as they made and broke camp; the music he remembered watching Bucky dance to, when he dragged Steve out to the dance hall on some double-date with a pair of good-looking dames (who both had eyes for Bucky only -- which made for three of them, at the time).

“It’s just... nice having something that sounds familiar. Something that lasted, that hasn’t changed much.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I used to put on a record and close my eyes and pretend it was still 1942 and none of it all had happened.”

He stared wistfully into space for a second, then snapped back to reality. “Is there a lot of variety in music in the other realms? I know you’ve mentioned there being a lot of ballads sung on Asgard about battles and whatnot.”

  


Watching Steve as he remembered was one of Loki’s favorite things-- his eyes went far off and his face went a little wistful, a little sad-- it made him want to hold him and never let go.

“Asgard has perhaps… four? Distinct types of music. There are the songs about battles, the ballads, which often veer to the heavier ends of things. There are story songs, lullabies, the likes of which are told to children and on the longer of the winter nights, when the cold is too bitter and families gather together. There are the tawdry, bawdy drinking songs, for celebration… and then there are the songs that haven’t any words, or words performed only by high, clear voiced groups, young things or women, mostly. Those are the songs for dancing. Not that dancing doesn’t happen to the drinking songs as well, but… they are very different things, the sort of dances done at courts and in polite company. Every realm has that at least. And I suppose there are likely working songs, employed in the fields, the looms, by the shepherds. But, none sang them when we were about. So I couldn’t say.” He shrugged. “I admit I was always partial to the dances from the palace. The music then was beautiful, and it had the power to turn a room full of feasting savages into living knotwork, as they wove back and forth--” He stopped suddenly, aware that he, too, had become lost in remembering.

“I suppose the answer to your question is that the same types of music exist on most realms, it is only the style, the language, the voices and instruments which change. But only on yours is there this. It’s a distant relative, I think, to my dancing music.” He smiled, nodding along to the sound again while he helped himself to more of his meal.

It was very filling, and there had been plenty; he would have to stop eating, soon, and there would still be leftover. He wondered if he could foist it off on Steve.

“I do enjoy this. Do you dance to it, here? Or is that no longer popular? Dancing, I mean.”

  


Steve nodded, trying to imagine what Asgardian music would sound like. He thought of old renaissance songs from the movies, with lutes and pipes and all. Was it like that? Or more like a madrigal choir? Or something completely different, that earth culture had nothing quite resembling?

It had been a while since they’d done this; these exercises in imagination where Loki spoke of worlds Steve had never known, and he did his best to paint an image in his mind from Loki’s words, crafting a fantasy from the other’s reality. And the eloquence with which Loki spoke of Asgard... When he wasn’t reinventing modern medicine or giving the scientific community conniption fits, he could probably teach a whole darn course on extraplanetary anthropology.

Steve would, of course, be his most dedicated student.

“We have something called dancing nowadays,” he said, corner of his mouth turning downward. “It’s... interesting.” He blushed. In his mind he could hear Natasha scoffing and calling him a ‘grumpy old grandpa,’ but some of the jumping and gyrating he was told was dancing now looked a bit more like someone having a seizure, or possibly having sex, than what he’d known to be dancing.

(Alright, maybe he was a bit of a grumpy old grandpa, he conceded. But his personal tastes remained.)

“We used to dance to this, yeah. Or, other people would,” he said, spinning his fork in his pasta again. “I never learned how. But it was always great to watch, the guys and gals at the dance halls doing the Lindy, or the Jitterbug, or the Fox Trot while the band played. Sometimes, if we had a little extra cash after paying the bills and making the rent, Bucky would drag me out into town.” He smiled fondly at the memory, but then the smile faded at the recollection of a broken promise.

 

It was all going so well until he watched Steve’s face drop, and he could only imagine that he had reminded him of something he regretted, missed… something he was better not remembering.

“Why so sad, elskan?” He leaned in and reached out, brushing gentle fingers over his chin, urging him to look up.

“I don’t know your dances, so I cannot teach you those, but if you would like, I can show you the sort of dances we did when I was on Asgard. You would not be the first person I have taught to dance, but I suspect you will learn the fastest.” He could not resist touching Steve’s lips, a pale imitation of a kiss, but he loved the color of them, the plushness, the way they glistened with the oils from the sauce-- he looked beautiful, even when he was sad.

And Loki would do most anything to wipe the sorrow from those features. To bring back the smile that had so recently been there.

“Or you might use Stark’s machines, find us videos of your dances, and we will learn together.” He could not imagine what the Midgardians might have created for themselves, the ways that they would move to sound, but he doubted they would be outside of his grasp.

He stood and held his hands out, offering to help his partner up.

“Dance with me, Steve.” He invited, giving him his best, most charming smile. “I promise not to tread on your toes.”

 

“ _I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance...”_

The pasta felt heavy in his stomach. Steve put his fork down and breathed in.

He could almost hear Peggy’s voice, cracking with grief over the radio, from the last time he’d admitted that he still didn’t know how to dance.

“ _I’ll show you how, just be there.”_

But he hadn’t been. He’d tried to find the Stork Club seventy years later, only to find the building had been torn down and turned into a small park. Not that she still would have been there waiting.

“Dance with me, Steve.”

He looked up at Loki, standing over him now, hand extended. The music played lightly over the speakers, but in his memory he could hear the roar of the wind through the broken windshield, the whine of the engines as he drove the nose of the plane down.

“ _We’ll have the band play something slow. I’d hate to step on your--”_

“--I promise not to tread on your toes.”

Steve inhaled raggedly. There was no cold, no ice. Just Loki, hand outstretched, waiting for him.

Everyone was always waiting for him...

He swallowed, then reached out and took Loki’s hand; it was solid and warm, and he let his partner pull him to his feet.

“I’d like that,” he said quietly, as the music changed to something slower.

  


He had accepted Loki’s perhaps foolish invitation, but he did not sound like he was excited about it, despite saying he would like it.

He pulled Steve in close, holding him to his chest and inhaled deeply, wishing he could pull the sad out of him the way he took in air.

“Don’t look at your feet.” He said softly, as he began to sway to the song. It was slow and sweet, the words clear-- _unforgettable_ , the singer crooned. _Never before, has someone been more…_

He wasn’t sure what to do with this sort of music, and so he simply rocked them, as he would do to comfort a child, or as he had while holding Steve after a nightmare-- only on their feet. He supposed this was not all that far removed from that; chasing away the ghosts of memories that plagued his partner was not dissimilar from chasing his nightmares off.

“I’m sorry that I have made you sad.” He kept his voice low and soft, so as not to overpower the music, but spoke beside Steve’s ear.

“Tell me what I can do to make it better?”

  


Steve immediately looked down at his feet when Loki told him not to, then promptly blushed. “Sorry.” He really didn’t have any idea what he was doing; Peggy would have been sorely disappointed...

But Loki moved them slowly, just holding Steve and swaying, occasionally shuffling their feet in time with the music. Steve wrapped an arm around Loki’s waist, resting his hand against his lower back, his other hand reaching up to find Loki’s hand and intertwine their fingers.

It was bittersweet. But it was nice.

“ _That’s why darling, it’s incredible, that someone so unforgettable...”_

“Sorry, just remembering things,” he replied quietly. “Not your fault.” And it hadn’t been; Loki had no idea, no way of knowing how closely his words had mimicked the last thing Steve had said before the cold and the dark had rushed up over him, dragging him down into the ice. He shivered, leaning further into Loki’s warmth.

“You already are. Making it better, I mean,” he breathed.

He’d been waiting for the right partner, he’d said once.

Loki was his partner. So this--

\-- How could it be less than right?

“ _...Thinks that I am unforgettable too....”_

He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him.

  


All that he could do was keep holding him, keep up their shuffling, swaying, rocking half-dance.

“I would never tell you to forget the things you miss.” He started, not entirely certain how reassuring that might be, “But when you do remember, try not to think of them as losses. Think of them as your path to where you are now. Your path to me.” And perhaps that was greedy, too-- he would not wish these sorrows on Steve, but if lacking them meant that he would never have met him, would never have had the chance to have this…

Then he was glad of it.

But one did not dance alone. And so no matter what he was remembering, Loki was almost certain it was tied to either Bucky or the woman that Steve had loved. He’d forgotten her name, he realized, slightly horrified with himself for it.

“I am so grateful to everyone who has touched your life, who has made you the man you are now. And I am so grateful to have you here with me. I am enormously glad of you.”

He steered them, gently, further away from their food, from their dining spread, and into the empty space of the room. As the last dregs of music came from the end of that song, he tried for a bit of humor.

“I do like your music, but there is something to be said for stamina. I am accustomed to Asgard, where a single song can play for the full length of a feast.” He smiled, attempting to show that the gentle mockery was just that, just a joke.

Steve seemed to have very definite ideas of where his hands went, and Loki was happy to hold his hand, but that left him a spare, which he rested on his partner’s shoulder, so that he could run his fingers through the back of his hair.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. “Even when you’re melancholy.”

  


Steve tried to smile. “It’s not so much what I had and lost as... what I never got to find out?”

He’d never know if he and Peggy would have been good together. If they’d have gotten married, settled down, bought a house, had kids. If their children would have Peggy’s soft brown eyes or Steve’s light blue ones. If they’d have grown old together. He’d never know how it would feel to watch the moon landing live, or live through the 20th century as it unfolded. He’d never know what V-Day felt like, or the relief of the war ending and _coming home..._

Only, that wasn’t fair. He was home now, wasn’t he? And if he had experienced those things -- if he’d grown old at Peggy’s side -- he’d have probably died a natural death in his sleep by now, and he’d never have even known Loki existed.

He wasn’t sure which made him sadder.

“I wouldn’t trade you, though. Wouldn’t trade this,” he murmured, letting his forehead rest on Loki’s shoulder. “I just.... I just wonder, you know?” If he’d been there for that dance instead of this one, how different would his life have been?

“Do you ever wonder how things could have been different for you? If you never found out you were a frost giant or anything like that?”

  


Loki listened and considered.

“I think what happened to me has a sense of inevitability. I would always have learned of my heritage, one way or another. It is only the how and the when that could have changed. If they had been honest, if I would have been raised knowing? Perhaps I would have spent my energy lobbying that Asgard respect my kind, before I could learn the truth about them. I have often thought that it is humorous-- had I been raised as a female, I would never have encountered the problems I did, never have thought myself different. Never suspected. But those are… those are what-ifs, could-have-beens. Outside of the realm of reality and possibility. Dwelling on those does naught but create regrets.”

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly as the next song began to play. _I’ll be loving you… Always…_

“Tell me what you are wondering about?” It was more an offer than a request, his willingness to listen if Steve wished to divulge. He swallowed the-- not jealousy, precisely, but something akin to fear-- a fear of not measuring up to the things that Steve wondered about. The people those wonderings included.

“Who is it that made dancing so sad for you? Was it Bucky?” He kept his voice soft and non accusatory. It did him no good to be jealous of those who were gone now. And he took up so much of Steve’s thoughts, so much of his time and care… surely he could share this with them. Surely any that Steve had loved deserved that much.

_Days may not be fair always, that’s when I’ll be there, always…_

  


Having seen Loki as a woman, it wasn’t that hard imagining him growing up as a her, though it was still strange, and stranger still to think how such a small change in the scheme of things, given Loki’s shapeshifting, would have the power to reshape so much.

Part of him wished Loki could have had that; could have had a happier life without so much pain and self-loathing. And part of him, jealously (shamefully) balked at the idea of Loki never having any reason to come to Earth, any reason to cross paths with Steve.

He breathed out, adjusting the tempo of their swaying as the music changed.

“Peggy,” he answered. “She-- when she first met me, back before the serum, I could barely talk to her; hadn’t talked to any girls much, pointed out that they weren’t exactly lining up to dance with a guy that looked like I did. She said I must have gone dancing and I said I never learned. Never bothered.” He shrugged. “Said I’d been waiting for the right partner, you know?” And the way she’d looked at him, even then, even when he’d been skinny and nothing -- she’d looked at him like she could actually _see him._

It made a lump form in his throat.

_Not for just an hour, not for just a day, not for just a year, but always..._

“Later on in the war, she told me after all was said and done, she might even go dancing. And then...” he licked his lips. “She was on the radio with me. When I put the plane down in the water. Into the ice.” He remembered fumbling with his compass and placing it on the dashboard, so he could look at her picture one last time. “Told her I’d need a raincheck on our dance. She... she said she’d teach me how. That was the last thing...”

He trailed off. “I’m such a jerk. I made her listen to me die.”

  


Loki frowned.

“You are _not_ a jerk.” He told him firmly, perhaps a little too loudly. “Don’t think of it that way. Think instead of all the what ifs you saved her. Had she not been there, had she not gotten the chance to speak with you, her what ifs would all have been, what if Steve was frightened? What if he regretted waiting for me? What if he was crying, what if he was screaming… there is a great deal of comfort to be granted by a single conversation. Particularly if you know it to be the last.”

Peggy. He filed the name away more carefully, to be remembered this time for sure. He could not imagine how he had lost it before, but he would not do so again.

“Your Peggy would not, I think, hold your dancing against you. She would have wanted to teach you, yes, but she also would have been pleased to find that you had managed to have the chance. And, if it was important to you to wait for the right partner… perhaps that was fate telling you that you needed to wait for me.” He said the last very quietly, barely above a whisper. It was the only sign of his jealousy that he would allow himself.

“Just as I had many partners, but fate led me finally here, to you.” His partners had been different, though. There had never been the promise of a future. He had no what ifs, surrounding them. Not like Steve.

“Your people have so many records. Have you ever looked into Peggy’s life, seen what her fate had for her? Discovered if she found a partner of her own?” He did not know if knowing would help or hinder, but it would keep it from being so open ended, give Steve that same sense of finality that his Peggy had no doubt found, after their radio message had ended.

  


Steve closed his eyes again, listening to Loki’s voice over the music.

Had it been a kindness, to give Peggy closure? She’d known it was his choice. He’d been calm, in the end, distracted by what he’d believed to be impending death by the thought of the date he and Peggy would never have, the sound of her voice, the knowledge that even if he couldn’t have saved Bucky, he’d be protecting her and everyone else. He hadn’t screamed, and she hadn’t had to look into his eyes, wide with terror as he fell.

He swallowed. It could have been worse. For both of them. They’d shared an unspoken goodbye, at least. Even if they hadn’t really had enough time...

And Peggy wasn’t petty or bitter. She wouldn’t begrudge him love in another time, another life. Loki was right enough about that.

“I looked her up,” he admitted. “After the war, she settled down in the US, ended up helping Stark -- Howard, not Tony -- to found SHIELD. She married another soldier, one who came home from the war. Had a whole life.” He took a deep breath. All of that was good; he was _glad_ she’d been able to move on and live a fulfilling and happy life, even if it had been without him.

“She’s still alive,” he added, even softer, as if Loki might not hear his shame if he spoke quietly enough. He was fairly sure he’d mentioned this at some time before, but with everything that had happened, it was the sort of tidbit easily forgotten. Though forgetting was a large part of the problem. “She’s ninety-odd years old and she’s... she’s got a condition where she doesn’t remember things.” He breathed out. “I keep meaning to visit her. To see her, let her know I’m okay and thank her for everything, I just-- I’m terrified she won’t know me.”

And that would hurt more than the rest; looking her in the eyes, and being a stranger. Her not being the Peggy he remembered, and him not being _anyone_ she remembered.

  


Loki sucked air in sharply, the pinching in his chest as unexpected as the news.

“You had told me of SHIELD and her involvement, before… I had no idea that she.” He faltered, trying to gather himself. It did him no good to be jealous of her, even now. Steve had not even gone to see her, and there was a chance…

“If she is aware, it is… unkind, I think, for you not to take the chance. Imagine in her place, seeing that you had returned, and yet feeling… forgotten.” His heart truly tightened for her. “Even if she does not remember, while that will hurt for you, think of the hurt you will ease if she _does_.” He did not mean to make Steve feel guilty, but it was true; and she who had held his heart surely deserved that courtesy.

“And how do you feel, knowing that she found her partner? Do you think that she had her what ifs? Do you _hope_ that she did?” The last was perhaps unnecessarily cruel. He hastened to correct it, to make his point. “Because knowing you, and the sort of man you are, a good man, you would not wish that disquiet on her mind. And knowing that she was deserving of your love, I doubt she would wish disquiet on her behalf on you.”

  


Steve’s cheeks burned with shame, knowing Loki was right. About everything. It was unkind not to visit her, not to tell her that he hadn’t forgotten her, that he still cared about her so much, even if she was old now, and that she’d made it easier to do what he needed to do by staying on the radio. If she’d seen him on the TV and in the papers and then wondered why he never came-- he owed her that much, and more.

And he was also right that Steve wouldn’t want to wish her any disquiet, just as Peggy wouldn’t want that for him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in the crook of Loki’s neck for a moment before drawing back. “You’re right. I... I should see her. She lives in D.C., we’ll probably have to go down at some point soon to meet with Fury face to face if we want to patch things up with SHIELD--” and get authorization to look for the scepter without SHIELD’s interference, to minimize the chance of sabotage, “--so maybe I can... _we_ can go.”

He looked at Loki, noting how the guttering glow of the candlelight brought out warm flecks of leaf-green in his eyes. “I’d really appreciate it if you did come with me.” Steve suspected he’d need Loki’s support. And also: “I think she’d really like you,” he added with a thin smile.

He dropped all pretense of dancing and simply wrapped his arms all the way around Loki in a hug, pulling him close. “I love you,” he murmured into Loki’s neck, just below his ear. “Before I met you, if someone gave me the chance to turn back time and go back, I would have in a heartbeat. But now I’ve got you, and you’ll never know how much difference that’s made.”

_Things may not be fair, always... That’s when I’ll be there, always…_

  


Loki let Steve hold him as tightly as he needed, and he held on to him in return, feeling as though either or both of them might drown if they didn’t cling as hard as possible to the only thing that kept them afloat.

“I would be happy to go with you. At least for that; less so for SHIELD, but…” He huffed. “I would like to meet her. Only… I know that things have been better in this time than you expected, in regards to us but, do you suppose that she…?” he let the question hang. “I would be happy to go as your friend, if you want. If you would prefer. However you think is best.”

He ran his hand in a soothing circle over Steve’s back, and began wondering-- second guessing about his own surprise for the evening. He’d had so much that was unpleasant, though, and with recounting his experience before his death, maybe it was better not to…

That said, however,

“You and I have both died once, without this love. I know the difference that you have made to me, the changes, the good you have brought into my life. The happiness you have given me. I love you, too, Steve. So much. And--” Loki hesitated, the repetitive lyrics to the song coming to their close. He whispered along with it, the final time, “ _Always_.”

He turned, guiding Steve’s head so that he could kiss him.

  


Steve hesitated, wondering if Loki had a point. He’d grown so used to his friends’ acceptance, it had almost skipped his mind that Peggy might not feel the same. But the world had changed a great deal in seventy years, and unlike Steve, Peggy had changed with it. It was possible she wouldn’t mind.

Possible she wouldn’t remember anyhow.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, grateful for Loki’s hand on his back. “I guess we’ll wait and see.”

And before he could let himself be bogged down by worry and anxiety, those feelings were obliterated by an overwhelming swell of affection and warmth brought on by Loki’s words. And then, Loki was kissing him; his mouth warm and wet and tasting faintly of creamy sauce and pepper. Steve let himself be guided into it, pulling Loki in deeper with a low moan.

There were fears and hopes and things he’d lost and things he’d never have, but here and now, he had Loki, and he’d do everything he could to protect him and love him and keep him safe.

Always.

He chased Loki’s tongue with his own, one hand snaking up Loki’s back to clasp the back of his neck. He shifted his weight and stumbled slightly, backing into the wall and pulling Loki with him, lips still locked.

  


Loki followed, surprised by Steve’s fervor, but he quickly realized he oughtn’t be. Loki himself felt desperate after being upset, and they both had been through enough over the last day to more than justify it. So his surprise turned into receptiveness, and from there, into interest.

He let Steve all but devour his mouth and responded as well as he could to it, carrying through the passion until he needed to breathe. Even then, he kept going for a few moments longer, until he had little choice, and even then he was regretful. He let his hand move upwards, from Steve’s back to the back of his neck, closing around it, pulling him in further, though he knew it couldn’t possibly last.

He broke away, the air between them warm and damp as they both panted, needing it but clearly wanting one another more.

He caught himself leaning in for another kiss, then shook his head and pulled back a little.

“I… have a surprise. For you. Um. Will you close your eyes for me?”

  


Steve made a grumble of protest when Loki pulled briefly away, though he had stars bursting in his peripheral vision from the need to breathe; right now, air took second priority to Loki. Loki, whose mouth was like heaven and whose long body pressed against his; Loki, with his long and deft fingers running through the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck as he pulled him in for more kissing.

Only to stop. Steve blinked, frowning, then registered what Loki had said. “Surprise?” he panted, confused, but feeling his curiosity piqued. They were in an empty room, after all -- there didn’t seem to be many surprises here.

All the same, he complied, letting his eyes fall closed as he recovered his breath and waited for whatever it was Loki meant to show him...

  


Loki took a step away, a deep breath, and let the change melt over him.

He’d been practicing, often enough, now, that the transformation came quicker, more easily… and when he had at first realized that, it had horrified him, but now… now it was useful. Because if this was wrong, if it turned out Steve no longer wanted this, he could make it go away faster, could go back to kissing him in his other skin… it would be fine.

When he opened his eyes again, Steve’s eyes were still closed, his chest still rising and falling visibly as he reclaimed his air, and his krellr and Loki’s seidhr were dancing through him in time to the rapid beating of his heart.

It made Loki smile, the expression utterly foreign on this face.

 _And no doubt horrifying on it as well,_ he thought.

But not to Steve.

Just the same, he pulled Steve’s tags out of his shirt and squeezed them briefly, for comfort and luck. As a reminder to himself that Steve loved him, would love him no matter what. Had _wanted_ this.

He clenched one long fingered hand into a fist, then leaned back in, bending forward at his waist so that the rest of him stayed as far back as possible. He did not appear to be freezing the carpet, the windows remained intact, and the dishes had not even frosted over. The room had become warmer than it had been, but he was sure he was leeching the heat out of it just the same, which meant he had to act now, if he did not want the surprise ruined.

He pressed his lips to Steve’s, silently begging with any deity listening that he wouldn’t harm him, that whatever had protected him before still held.

He closed his eyes, so that when Steve opened his own, he would not be staring into pools the shade of freshly shed blood on snow.

And when the pressure of their lips did not seem to cause any problems, he reached up and let his fingers dance over the line of Steve’s jaw, hardly believing his daring.

  


Loki stepped back, but there was no sound of footsteps leaving the room, and when Steve strained, he was sure he could still hear Loki’s breathing over the thudding of his own heart. So Loki was still there.

What had he meant to show him, Steve wondered. Something in his pocket, perhaps, that he was summoning forth?

The anticipation and the loss of Loki’s warmth against his chest made Steve shiver slightly. His tongue darted out over his lips, catching the lingering taste of Loki. He was about to ask what it was, if he could open his eyes, when lips pressed against his.

 _Cold_ lips.

Steve’s eyes opened, and for a moment, all he could see was blue. Blue, and black, and... Loki. Loki with blue skin. Loki in Jotun form. _Kissing_ him.

Steve’s heart leapt; at the press of Loki’s mouth once again on his, and at the light cool touch of his fingertips. He took a step closer, leaning in to the kiss and wrapping his hands around Loki’s waist.

The kiss was cold, but not unpleasant; it didn’t burn, but it had something sharp and fresh in it, like peppermint. His skin felt soft and cool and dry, where his hand touched Steve’s face, and he took a moment to thrill at the fact that this was happening, despite having resigned himself to likely never seeing Loki in this form again, let alone touching him.

He pulled back after several seconds, grinning crookedly. “That... Is one hell of a nice surprise,” he murmured, reaching up to brush Loki’s hair back over his ear and letting his thumb trace over the raised ridge on Loki’s cheekbone.

  


His nerves were rattling when Steve began returning the kiss, and he wasn’t certain if he was aware yet what it was that he was kissing.

When he broke the kiss, though, Loki cracked his eyes open slowly, as if closing them again would erase the sight of the disgust he half expected to register on Steve’s face.

Instead, he was smiling, broadly and roguishly. Loki let out the breath he’d been holding, the tension fleeing from him as Steve traced gentle, warm-- almost hot-- fingers over his face.

“You aren’t the only one who has been… practicing.” He told him. He looked down at himself, finally unclenching his hands, and registered how odd it was to see blue skin coming out of his dress shirt’s sleeves.

“Look your fill, touch me if you wish… I don’t.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know that I am ready to ah--” he thought, if he were in his Aesir form, he might have colored. He did that so rarely that even the feeling took him by surprise, and he wondered if Frost Giants even _could_ blush.

“And if you would rather do that, I can change back, and after, you could… if you wanted to draw me again.” He felt embarrassed, suggesting it, simultaneously vain and slightly nauseous at the thought of having himself immortalized this way, again. In full. With his permission.

“Anything you want. Save sex, I-- not that. Not yet.” Though from the look on Steve’s face, he could tell that it was something that he should not completely cast aside as a possibility. He reached up to finger the tags again, well aware that he was developing a nervous habit of it, and utterly disinclined to stop.

  


Steve reached out and closed his hand around Loki’s where it fiddled with the tags, wrapping both their hands gently but firmly around the metal between them.

“No sex,” he agreed. “Nothing you don’t want to do. Anytime you wanna change back is fine, if you’re uncomfortable.” He needed to make that clear, after what had happened in the cell. After Loki telling him about the nightmare he’d had. Loki was beautiful like this, but Steve wanted to be able to love him this way so Loki would love himself in this form as well. Wanted Loki to see himself as beautiful as Steve did, and feel comfortable in this skin.

Having sex in it would be a pretty big step. For now, just letting himself be seen and touched... that was a milestone in and of itself.

“Thank you,” he said. “For... sharing this with me.” Knowing how Loki felt about frost giants and his own self as one, as well as how much he feared accidentally hurting Steve, it meant a great deal that he’d taken this step. He leaned in and kissed him slowly and gently -- a soft brush of lips, cool and sweet.

“You’re beautiful,” he told him, lingering close. “Are you doing okay?”

  


He nearly answered flippantly, with one of the sort of responses he might have given to those who had insulted him, once long ago. Something on the lines of, _lucky it isn’t I who has to look at me_. But that was not what Steve wanted to hear, not what he meant, and ultimately, not an honest answer. And with Steve standing this close to him, with him able to feel his heat like an invitation, able to see his krellr pulsing and weaving through his form, he found himself unable to lie to him, even if he had wanted to.

“I am… yes.” He said simply, realizing that now that Steve’s eyes were open and there was no longer any likelihood of him being repulsed, he felt oddly calm. “As I said, speaking with Bruce today was…. it helped. And while I do not think I wish to remain in this form for very long periods, yet… if you have curiosities that you wish to explore, I… I have made peace with removing my clothing to the waist, with touching things without causing damage. Not much beyond that, I regret, but… and as I said, if you would prefer to have sex now…” He lowered his voice, allowing it to rumble, as it did in this shape, like icebergs colliding, something altogether different than his usual velvety tone, and somehow altogether darker. “I certainly would not object.”

He cleared his throat, surprised a bit by his own voice, and recovered.

“It is up to you. I haven’t got tags to give you, but insofar as symbolic gestures go…” He shrugged. “I can think of no more acute demonstration of trust, save that which I am… not yet prepared to do.” He grimaced apologetically.

  


“Thank you for trusting me, then,” he told him, still smiling. He made a mental note to thank Bruce and buy him a drink. Or, since he’d never actually seen Bruce drink, maybe a nice assortment of tea, or something to that effect. JARVIS or Pepper might be able to help with ideas. At any rate, he owed Banner his thanks, if whatever he’d said to Loki had helped him with this.

And when Loki’s voice had plummeted into something deep and rough, Steve felt a quiver run through him. It was different from Loki’s voice as he knew it, but still familiar. Still Loki. Still intoxicating, as he already wanted to hear it again...

Hear. See. Touch. This was a whole form of Loki’s that Steve had yet to explore, and he hoped, someday, to learn all of it. Though for now--

Loki had said he was comfortable with being nude to the waist. And, Steve reasoned, with such a lower body temperature, the room must feel dreadfully warm to him. “JARVIS,” he said, “lower the thermostat a bit, please?”

“ _Yes, Captain.”_

Whenever Loki shifted back, they could find other ways to warm themselves. Steve found his hand drifting up from the tags to the top button of Loki’s shirt. “May I?” he asked.

  


Loki realized with a start, when Steve asked for the temperature to be lowered, that he had not asked that JARVIS keep this off of the record. He had to trust that Tony would not be prying… and if any other was aware that they could, well. What could Thor or Barton do? Hate him _more_?

But Steve’s hands were on the top of his shirt, and he had no thoughts to spare for the others now.

“Please.” He said, unsure of the emotion in his word, whether it was an invitation or a request. In any event, he dropped his hands, allowing Steve full access to his clothing, his throat… and the skin that he was about to bare.

Loki knew all too well what he would see. What the didn’t know was how Steve would react to it.

He did not expect revulsion, not any more, but the expressions that Steve had on his face since Loki had changed were--

And that was odd, too, being able to see both face and the krellr below, the expressions and the life force. It was an ungainly double sight, twice what he was accustomed to. In his Aesir form, he had to choose one way of vision or the other. But now…

“I know you are reveling in the way that I look, but Steve-- I wish that you could see what I see now. You are yourself, but inlaid with pulsing galaxies. Tiny pinpricks of light that put the night time view of the city below us to shame.” If Steve thought he looked beautiful-- and he knew that he did-- Loki could only imagine what he would think of himself.

He got the germ of an idea, but put it away, in favor of focusing on the present. On Steve’s hands, undressing him, warm and nimble and strong and gentle and beautiful. Such perfect hands. Unwrapping him like the horror beneath was some great gift, some glorious present.

And to Steve, it was, Loki knew. He just wasn’t completely sure why.

  


“It’s amazing you can see that way,” Steve murmured, fumbling with the top button. “It sounds so fantastic. That you can see something that incredible and beautiful...” How could Loki possibly hate this body, when it allowed him to perceive the world that way? How could frost giants truly be so brutish and hateful as Loki insisted they were, if they saw life as he described: made of starlight?

He felt the briefest pang of envy, before reminding himself he had something plenty beautiful to look at in turn. The luminous red of Loki’s eyes was a vivid contrast to the jewel-like cerulean of his skin; it was slightly rougher and harder in texture than his regular skin, though not unpleasantly so. Evolved, Steve figured, for a harsher climate.

He undid the top button and worked his way down to Loki’s belt, pulling his shirt out of the band of his trousers, but otherwise leaving anything at his waistline or below alone. The last of the buttons undone, he parted the fabric at the front of the dress shirt to reveal Loki’s form, and let his eyes rove downward, drinking him in.

Steve had wondered, shortly after seeing Loki’s Jotun form for the first time, if the lines on his hands and face extended over the rest of his body. It seemed this was the case; his thicker skin was taut over bone and more pronounced edges of whipcord muscle, revealing a body that was a leaner, tougher version of Loki. And over it all, those raised lines ran in parallel, symmetrical formations over his chest, his ribs, even emphasizing the dip of his hips where they vanished below his waistband. It was mesmerizing, and Steve found himself gently tracing over the lines with his fingers, reading them like a map.

It was only when he dragged a hand lightly down Loki’s sternum that he realized what was missing, tilting his head in puzzlement. “So... I take it frost giants don’t have nipples, then?” he ventured.

  


Loki stifled a smile, remembering how terrifying Laufey’s men had looked with the expression on their faces.

“It would seem not. I admit, I was not paying overmuch attention, the last times I was around them. But, certainly I have not, in this form.” He shrugged, though lightly, not wanting Steve to feel as though he were chasing his hands away.

Just another oddity of this body. He supposed that meant that the mothers of the realm had been made to have no empathy for their young. They did not feed them; perhaps it was natural-- normal-- to have abandoned him so soon after his birth. Then again, he was incredibly small, a runt of a Jotun. Perhaps it was a physical deformity unique to him. He had, at present, no way of knowing, short of asking Thor. And he almost chuckled at the thought of how that conversation might go. _I know you were busy trying to kill as many as you could, but did you happen to notice while you were at it if any of the Jotnar had teats?_

No, best to leave well enough alone. It was not as if he were in this form enough for it to matter.

He was somewhat grateful that Steve had not tried immediately to pull his shirt fully off of him, not for shyness or fear of how he would react, but because he usually removed it before changing, and he was worried that some part of him, sharper now, and more ridged, may tear the fabric.

It was probably a pointless concern, a silly, minor thing, and yet… it was one that was present, just the same. He needed to distract himself from these worries; they would only detract from the wonder on Steve’s face.

“As for my sight,” He said, focusing on that, “I can see something that incredible and beautiful whenever I want.” He paused, teasing his partner. “I open my eyes every morning, and there you are.”

  


The slight anatomical differences were curious, but that was all. Bruce, he supposed, would have a more educated guess about the biological reasons for the variation. All Steve could think of was the rather absurd mental image of blue men in a world so cold that their nipples literally froze off. (Somehow, he suspected that wasn’t actually the case.)

Steve continued to trace over the lines of Loki’s body, exploring his torso. Everything else seemed more or less the same, barring the nipple anomaly; he wondered if frost giants had other sensitive locations to compensate. Wondered if some day he and Loki would find out.

He thought about working Loki’s shirt off his shoulders, down his arms, and exposing the rest of his body, but hesitated before doing so. Would it be too much too soon? He decided to hold off for the time being, leaving more for him and Loki to gradually reveal together over time. If this could be the first of many sessions with Loki testing his other skin, slowly learning to feel at ease in it, then perhaps they could eventually overcome his self-loathing.

He smiled at Loki, moving a hand up to lightly cup his cheek. “Flatterer,” he teased back, gently kissing his lips.

“I’m real glad I can touch you like this. That it’s okay with you, I mean. And that you don’t have to be scared about hurting me.” Loki’s skin was cool, as if he’d just walked in from a blustery winter day, but it didn’t bring pain or destruction like he’d seemed to fear. “I wanna get to know you. All of you. Every you. Because male, female, Asgardian, Jotun, whatever -- you’re you, and, and I love you,” he blurted.

  


It felt odd enough, to be in this form and speaking of beauty. It felt like it would be even worse, to be a monster and speak of love.

That Steve thought he wasn’t scared was a testament to his acting skills. He was terrified into near numbness. But, like Bruce had pointed out, if this backfired and went badly, Steve would heal. Loki could heal him. And Loki needed not to stress and fear openly, because his skin burning, Steve had said it may be a defense mechanism. He did not want to put his body on the defensive.

Instead he nodded, in acknowledgment of his partner’s words.

“It is strange being touched in this form, your touches are more distant, more gentle-- I think the hardness, the thickness of the skin… it is dulling. It feels as if the skin of it is less receptive to your touch. I feel the heat from your hands more readily than the pressure of them.”

Though, he supposed, that may simply be Steve being more careful not to apply pressure. Was he secretly scared of this as well?

Loki closed his eyes and tried to release his worries with his next breath.

“I would like to turn back soon.” He said softly. “I am afraid my surprise is not so impressive as yours, and I still… until Bruce and I have done our tests on the Frost Giant brain, I do not want to risk that changing and my losing some of my personhood. Or hurting you.”

He should really begin timing himself when he changed in the bathroom. This felt like so short a time to be this way, and he knew he’d worked up to it, but…

Steve had said whenever he wanted. He reached up with his blue fingers, laying his thumbs on Steve’s cheeks while he wrapped his hands around the sides of his head and pulled him closer.  
He took in how pale they made parts of Steve look, how they also made the red in his cheeks brighter. Together they were all of his colors; blue and white and red. It made him smile faintly and he moved in to kiss him, beginning the change back into his Aesir shape the moment their mouths touched.

 

He nodded wordlessly at Loki’s wish to turn back, avoiding any action that would sway Loki to either think Steve was rejecting him in this form, or pressuring him to remain in it.

“You’re still you,” Steve told him gently, when Loki voiced his fear of losing his personhood. Loki was still as insecure and as lovely and as concerned with Steve’s welfare as ever. Hardly a monster, whatever he feared. Steve couldn’t imagine him suddenly losing his mind and turning into some berserker just because of this slight shift of form. He’d been born in this shape, after all.

He held still and let Loki guide him when his partner put his hands on either side of his head; even if Loki had the power in this form to crush Steve or freeze him or harm him in any way, Steve had perfect trust that he wouldn’t.

Instead, Loki kissed him, and Steve closed his eyes as he returned the kiss; the cold, tingly sensation of Loki’s mouth faded, and flooded with warmth. When Steve opened his eyes as their mouths parted, he wasn’t at all surprised to find that the last traces of blue were vanishing from Loki’s skin, leaving him once more in his familiar Aesir form.

“For the record,” Steve said, “that was a great surprise. And I’m real proud of you. I know that shape isn’t your favorite, and that can’t have been easy -- so that was real brave of you.” He clasped his hands to Loki’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “Now, how about we get this cleaned up a bit,” he nodded to the dishes, “and then... well, I was thinking, dinner and a movie is a pretty standard date, and I can apparently stream a lot of Tony’s collection right from my tablet, even if we don’t have a TV. Sound good?”

  


He smiled softly, soaking in Steve’s praise. _Proud_ . _Brave_. He hardly felt deserving of those words, and while his first impulse was to reject them… He had to admit that it felt good to hear them applied, knowingly, to him.

Perhaps, as he did not find himself to be… attractive, or desirable, or… or anything but monstrous, in his other form, so too it was possible that Steve could see such things in him, that he could not.

But he loved the idea of curling into him, of holding him and reveling in Steve’s willingness to be around him after that, to see him and touch him and hold him…

“A movie sounds fine to me.” He answered. “Would that I had seidhr to spare, but… if you leave the dishes until tomorrow, I will have them see to themselves while we… take care of whatever it is that tomorrow will demand of us.”

For him, that likely meant changing and testing, or at the very least speaking to Thor-- and he did not truly look forward to either of those things. And Steve--

He glanced sidelong at his partner. Steve would no doubt have to make arrangements for their return to SHIELD and to see his Peggy.

That prospect, too, filled Loki with a small wave of dread.

He hid his expression by stooping to gather their cups and the wine and cutlery from their picnic spot on the floor, trusting that Steve could manage the bowls.

But he had to take the good where it came; he had been able to turn and hold it, not to panic and harm Steve, to give him something that he would enjoy… and Steve had liked it. Appreciated it. Loki felt lucky, so unspeakably fortunate, to have what he did.

“What did you have in mind to watch?” He asked.

  


Steve stooped to collect the bowls, as Loki got the rest. They coordinated without even needing to speak, moving around one another effortlessly, as if they shared a mind. It made him smile, knowing they were so in-tune with one another. An effective team.

The dishes might be able to wait until morning, but the leftovers would not. Steve got out a plastic container to put away the remaining pasta, trusting one of them would finish it off tomorrow, and stowed it away in the fridge. The bowls he rinsed in the sink before placing them in the dishwasher, and the skillet and pot he left in the sink with a bit of soap to soak. The wine got re-corked and set aside, the plastic cups tossed in the special recycling chute the apartment had been outfitted with, and then they were set.

“I’m not really sure,” he replied to Loki’s question, realizing he hadn’t fully thought it out. The pasta carbonara picnic had been his main plan. The suggestion of a movie was more of an afterthought, though he belatedly realized that Loki wasn’t in much position to make recommendations.

The trouble with movies was that of the newer films (well, newer meaning anything in the last few decades), Steve frequently struggled to know what was happening without context, and even if he managed to follow, he knew he wouldn’t be able to explain things to Loki all that well. He generally did better with fantasy and science fiction, but given Loki’s whole existence was a combination of fantasy and science fiction, it would probably be a bit surreal (and any inaccurate depictions of magic and wizards would likely yield the same indignant outrage that Loki had vented at The Sword in the Stone.)

Steve turned to the ceiling. “JARVIS? Do you have any movie suggestions?”

“ _I have pulled up a list of critically-acclaimed films on your tablet.”_

That worked. “Alright, I think I left it in the bedroom,” Steve mumbled, nodding to Loki to follow. The tablet was under some crumpled sketches from that morning on the bedside table, and he swiped his finger across the screen to unlock it, pulling up the suggestions. He scrolled, brow furrowed pensively, until he saw a title he recognized.

“Casablanca!” He looked up with a smile. “I wanted to see this back when it came out! I never got the chance, with the war and all -- I was on tour selling bonds when it was released and I didn’t manage to catch it -- looks like they’re calling it a ‘classic’ now.” He sat on the bed, scooting over to make room for Loki and leaning against the headboard.

  


“Casablanca.” Loki agreed, though he had no idea what it was he was agreeing to. But Steve had wanted to see it; that was enough. “And you know, you are a bit of a classic, yourself.” He paused, just long enough to allow Steve to think it was a joke about his age.

“A classic hero, a classic beauty, a classic gentleman… it seems fitting that you watch a classic.” He was still teasing, this time hoping for a flush from Steve, a blush, his adorable way that he ducked his head… hoping that Steve would not try to put to words what sort of classics Loki was. He knew. And it was less fitting, the two of them, in that way.

He pulled his shirt the rest of the way off before climbing into their bed, unwilling to rebutton it knowing that he would only be removing it again for sleep anyway.

Normally he was self conscious about such things, save for when he could be distracted by sex, by what they were doing and what he was feeling, but… He also was more than willing to relax now, to cut some corners. And if he could stand seeing himself as he really was, blue and wicked looking, if he could hold Steve while in that skin, surely there was no reason that he couldn’t do the same in this one.

“Have you any idea what the film is about? Or… is there anything I should know, for it to make sense to me?” The image on the screen, when he leaned in, showed a man and a woman, pressed close together. Her hairstyle was not unlike what he remembered of Steve’s drawing of Peggy, which, he reflected, was unlike anything he saw any of the woman he’d been around wearing. A difference of time, he supposed. And if this had been created before Steve was frozen, then it would be like a glimpse into Steve’s world, he thought, or the world that he remembered. He intended to take notes.

Or, at least, to pay close attention, and learn from it what he could.

He made himself comfortable, though the screen was small. It meant that he needed to stay closer to Steve, but he did not object to that in the least. Though he did worry that Steve may tire of holding it-- unless he had some other means of propping it up.

  


Steve raised his eyebrows when Loki called him a _classic --_ jokes about his age, he’d grown used to from Stark, but coming from a thousand-year-old god they were another matter entirely...

And then Loki subverted his expectations by showering him with flattery, and Steve couldn’t help but blush, grinning and tilting his head down. “You’re full of it,” he mumbled, though he remained smiling. A smile that widened incrementally as Loki stripped out of his shirt, offering Steve a view that would almost assuredly distract from the movie.

He lifted the blankets so they could worm their way under them, insulated from the cool air by the quilt and warmed by their shared heat. He put an arm around Loki’s shoulders, pulling him close as he balanced the tablet and its stand on his lap, queuing up the film.

“I know it’s a love story, and it’s set during the war,” he said. “1942, I think. Casablanca is a city in Morocco, in Northern Africa...” he trailed off. He could give Loki a whole dissertation and history lesson about the war, but not knowing the exact nature of the movie, he wasn’t sure what would or wouldn’t be relevant. “The Nazis are the bad guys,” he summarized. “Everything else -- if you’re lost or you need context, tap the screen to pause it and I’ll fill you in.” That seemed like the practical approach -- addressing questions as they arose.

He hit play, and the music rose with a crescendo of a full orchestra, black and white title cards fading in and out over a map of Africa. And for a moment, Steve was transported back to the old cinema he and Bucky used to go to, sometimes to watch films, but often to catch the newsreels with footage from the front that played first, before the anxiety of the war was summarily numbed by the escapism of the pictures.

The narration, even, was familiar -- the cadence of radio announcers and public speakers that had since been abandoned, but filled Steve with nostalgia as the voice set up the scene; “ _With the coming of the Second World War, many eyes in imprisoned Europe turned hopefully, or desperately, toward the freedom of the Americas...”_

Within moments, he was riveted.

  


As he understood, this story took place in a sort of land between places, a purgatory of sorts, where half of the journey was done, and the other half stood before those fortunate enough to make their way. The rest, he supposed, must settle there, providing for the others who passed through.

How sad for them, he thought, watching the stream of people making their way towards their former goals, and unable to do the same.

The images themselves were not colorful, cast only in shades of grey, but the screen all but bustled with life, while a stern voiced narrator explained the way things were. It was surprisingly easy to follow, because of that.

When the shouting men came in, Loki frowned, a little confused but not enough to stop the proceedings.

“They say their words very strangely.” He murmured, barely a passing remark while he watched. “Each person seems to have a different tongue, or a different… slant? To the shapes of their speech.”

That was of little concern to him, though, when a man was shot for the papers he bore.

He was glad that Pepper had seen to getting him identifying papers, but was horrified at the thought that any of the times they went out into public before then, they might have been accosted similarly. Steve was Captain America, but… even so.

Curled in close to him, he did not feel so afraid, and comfortable in the knowledge that he had been taken care of by Pepper, would be taken care of by Steve… he could watch without cringing too much.

“Are things very different now?” He asked, watching the way people were rounded up, and unable to help but imagine Frost Giants treated similarly in Asgard, save when they were slaughtered where they stood. And these were not even of another species.

He didn’t understand much and he hoped that he would not need to, because he did not want to interrupt this film that Steve had wanted to see for so long, by human years. He chastised himself silently, and just stayed close, watching and hoping it would unfold sensibly.

  


“Accents,” Steve explained in a murmur. “Realistically, they’d all probably be talking a mix of French and other languages, but they give you the effect of how mixed it is by having a lot of different accents.” He recalled, how in the war, he’d developed an ear for them, and even if he couldn’t speak the languages, he could identify them when heard; after all, knowing the difference between Danish and German was potentially life-saving. And having Dernier and Jones on the team made it a lot easier to communicate with the chapters of the French resistance they encountered.

There was something in Loki’s voice when he asked his next question that made Steve frown, and he looked down to see a worried expression on his partner’s face.

He squeezed Loki’s shoulders, kissing his hair. “Very different,” he assured. “The war’s long over.” Steve knew that better than anyone, with the starkness of all the differences staring him the face day after day.

The tension between the Germans, the local French government and the assorted expats continued, but barring the shooting in the beginning, there was very little violence as the film unfolded; Steve found that slightly unrealistic, since he recalled stories of people being beaten and carted off by the SS for significantly less, but he suspended some of his disbelief for the sake of the narrative, where soldiers and freedom fighters engaged in polite verbal sparring in cafés instead of shooting at one another from trenches.

As the plot with the exit visas unfolded, Steve chewed the inside of his cheek. “There were a lot of people who wanted to get out of Europe. A lot of people who _needed_ to get out of Europe at the time, or risk being rounded up and killed,” he explained softly. “Political dissidents, people born with the wrong heritage or religion, people who... well...” he frowned. “A lot of people the Nazis decided weren’t people at all. And then anyone who spoke up for them.”

They hadn’t even really known the full extent of it when they’d shipped out. It had only been through talking to those who’d been there, through seeing the horror of it with his own eyes and helping to free prisoners who looked like wasted skeletons, that he’d come to understand a portion of it, and reading the history textbooks now so long after the fact, he’d been nearly sick with the realization that even that had only been the surface.

Though the movie, at least, seemed happy to only imply, to reference the war, but as something far enough away that everyone could still enjoy their champagne cocktails while listening to the music, not truly safe, and far from free, but in a comfortable prison at least, while they waited…

  


_People the Nazis decided weren’t people at all._

But he was looking at them now, and there was nothing to make them stand out-- no markings or physical attributes he could see, nothing that shouted monster or evil-- just humans.

“And the only difference is their papers? But… who makes the papers?” He knew he should just nod and watch and save any discussion for after, but… he understood this to be part of the war that Steve always spoke of, the war where he had lost all he loved, and which had led to his apparent death. The war was something Loki yearned to understand, and as much as he did not want to ruin the film for Steve, it felt important, this one point.

If humans did not even think well enough of other humans to keep from herding them and slaughtering them… what would they do if they knew of him?

But Bruce knew, Steve knew-- And again, Loki was trying perhaps too hard to see himself in the film they watched. When instead he ought to be looking for Steve.

Well, he had always been self centered. It was a fault.

The Nazis were the bad guys, which meant that Steve was against them, that these were those he had fought.

The scene changed, though, and suddenly they were in some kind of restaurant, with gaming and drinking, and a man singing and playing… deals going on, trades, sales, travel bookings. It seemed this was where all those seeking their exits wished to be. And, of course, that meant that this was where the Nazis would wish to be as well.

The owner seemed the type of man Loki would have liked, had he known him, a stalwart man with a powerful stride, a strength in his speech, and clearly not to be trifled with. The small man who attended him had an odd voice, high and full of whine, not unlike some of the Dwarves that Loki had known, and he could not help but wonder if he had come by his stature and voice through the mingling of the races. But then, why would a dwarf have bothered with Midgard, especially in a time of war?

He liked the way Rick-- the owner-- kept to himself, though, the way his comments were short and brusque and witty, but delivered bluntly. He spoke with a sort of unkind honesty that Loki would have liked to emulate, when he was unkind, had he been honest.

  


“Governments issued the papers, but... It was all kinda complicated, and it was different wherever you went, but a lot of places you needed visas to prove your weren’t a criminal or a refugee or somewhere illegally, and that you were licensed to work. And that you were who you said you were. And the Nazis would use those papers to keep track of people and who their ancestors were, so they could decide if you came from the right sort of people or not. Or, who they figured were the right sort of people,” he clarified with a scowl.

It was all rather gross simplification, but Steve had been a footsoldier and not terribly involved in the semantics of it all; the only identification he needed to give was what was printing on his tags, now hanging around Loki’s neck. And the Germans were always more likely to shoot at him than ask him for his papers anyhow.

He’d explain it more later. Maybe get JARVIS to pull up some articles on the tablet, written by people more articulate than Steve.

On screen, the protagonist, Rick, made a show of being surly and cynical and impartial to everything, apathetic and uncaring. But Steve took note of how he called a cab for a dame who had too much to drink and charged one of his employees with escorting her home (even if he’d been a bit churlish to her before, it was a decent enough thing to do), and then dealt kindly with a fretting dealer who had lost a large sum of money to a patron gambling at Rick’s establishment.

“Not so much of a cad as he likes to pretend he is,” Steve mused. His gaze flickered down to Loki and he smiled, recalling that the same could be said of someone else he knew.

‘ _At heart, a sentimentalist,’_ Renault called him, citing Rick’s tendency to throw his lot in with the underdogs.

Then Ugarte -- the man with the stolen visas -- was cornered by Gestapo and tried to escape, firing off shots into the crowded bar, causing Steve to flinch.

  


Loki nearly smiled at Steve’s description of the man; he reminded him a bit of Stark, flippant and callous, curt but smart. They seemed cut from the same cloth. But looking up, he saw Steve looking at him, and he swallowed, smiling for him, but looking away before he could let the smile falter.

It was odd, having someone who not only knew better but who could see through his masks, when he did erect them.

That line of thought was short lived, though.

When Steve jumped, Loki felt it. He tapped the screen to pause the film, then turned to Steve.

“Are you alright?” He spoke softly, soothingly, well used to the motion from his partner, usually as a sign of a coming upset from his dreams.

He did not want this film to so transport Steve that he did not feel safe, did not feel as if he could relax.

“We can watch something else, if this is too much. Or… do something else. I will not mind.” He found himself stroking Steve, though at his current angle, the most readily available thing to stroke was his chest, and so it became less like rubbing a child’s back, and more of checking his lover’s heartbeat, worried he would find it hammering at his ribs with fear.

He could only surmise it was from the violence on the screen, guns and people from his own time, from his own memories of fighting.

“You know that if it is the shots that worry you, I can-- and have-- stopped my share of their bullets. But if it is the time and the film itself…” He shrugged. “A classic or not, we needn’t finish it.”

  


“It’s fine!” Steve quickly protested, embarrassed by his reaction, and that it had been strong enough for Loki to notice. He reddened; a soldier with his record had no business flinching at every loud noise.

But his heart rate had jacked up all the same, and he had to take a long, deep breath to steady himself. “I’m fine,” he repeated, smiling abashedly at Loki, reaching up to cover Loki’s hand on his chest with his own and giving the fingers there a light squeeze. “Just startled was all. Wasn’t expecting that part.” Unlike the single shot from earlier in the movie, easily anticipated by the camera angles and the dramatic music leading up to it, this flurry of violence had been sudden and he’d simply been... off guard.

“I’m not all that used to hearing gunshots in a... in a safe setting, I guess,” he explained. Generally in Steve’s life and line of work, when he heard explosions or gunfire, it wasn’t from a movie or a video game, but from actual guns that were aiming in his direction far more often than he’d like. He’d grown a bit soft and complacent the past few months, not having seen much action, but even now it seemed that his fight-or-flight instincts were intact.

Even when there was nothing to fight and no reason for flight.

“Let’s keep watching,” he said, hoping to distract from the episode and let it be forgotten, swiping his finger against the screen to restart the movie.

The incident with Ugarte was over as quickly as it began, and seconds later the music started up again, with no one in the club acting as if anything had happened at all.

Because just like that, in the aftermath of sound and fury and screaming, life just... went on.

Steve’s heartrate slowed back to normal while Rick snarked at the SS, and as Laszlo and a beautiful blonde played by Ingrid Bergman appeared on screen. The subtle exchange they shared with another member of the resistance, exchanging symbols and codes, was the sort of thing Steve recalled from working with the French resistance and other civilian groups and militias working with the Allies to liberate their own countries -- though the clandestine subterfuge was more something up Peggy’s alley -- or Natasha’s now. Clad all in bright colors with what amounted to a giant target on his shield, Steve wasn’t exactly the poster-boy for subtlety.

While Laszlo sought out news of the exit visas, Ilsa -- the blonde -- gravitated toward the piano player, Sam, pressing him for news of Rick and then urging him to play an old melody, until finally he played the opening strains of ‘As Time Goes By,’ and Steve caught himself humming along.

  


It was strange how quickly the people on the screen returned to their pretty lives, their drinking and their politicking. Stranger still, he thought as he watched, his eyes on the screen but his attention on Steve, on his heart and his breaths and the way his muscles subtly unknitted as he relaxed-- Stranger still how Steve could return to this, from tensed and ready to fight or flee, to humming scant minutes later.

It was around this time that Loki realized he would much rather be attentive to Steve’s reaction to the film than the film itself. These people spoke quickly in their odd accents and their unfamiliar words, and he could follow along, but only barely.

But Steve’s voice was lovely, and the way that it rumbled in his chest was delightful, the soft vibrations against Loki’s shoulder.

And though he was paying heed to all of that, his eyes remained on the screen. It was odd, how much softer the woman looked, not only in the way women seemed always softer, but… he shrugged it off as the man at the piano began to sing, only to be interrupted by Rick, who had apparently forbidden that song in particular-- and then they looked over to her, and she seemed ready to cry.

These then, were the two on the cover, despite the other man that she had come in with, this Laszlo.

That name, at least, was easy to remember.

Loki did not say anything, sparing Steve his commentary, though he found himself still lightly stroking Steve, almost without meaning to.

Especially as it became obvious that the woman mooned over Rick with every fiber of her heart, and Rick played at his aloofness.

Could Loki ever do the same to Steve, he wondered? He’d had to, to a point, for their safety, to preserve their secret, but…

He wouldn’t, if he could help it, he resolved. He _would_ talk to Thor about it. At least in their home, even if it had been a place Thor had claim on before Loki, he would not allow that to matter. They would be able to speak, and touch, to kiss and comfort one another. And if Thor truly was upset by it, then… well, so much the better in Loki’s book. His discomfort would lend an air of satisfaction on top of his happiness.

  


Steve found himself drawn ever further into the intrigue of the film, and the introduction of Ilsa and Rick’s romance, unconsciously leaning into Loki’s touch while he kept his eyes on the screen; on the conversation wherein Rick shattered many of his personal rules by drinking with customers and picking up the tab, and then later, on Rick drinking in the darkened bar alone, drunk and angry and regretful.

Steve frowned, recalling the time that Peggy had found him in a similar state, drinking dry what remained of the bombed out bar where he and Bucky had shared their last drink together, only to find himself agonizingly sober.

The scene shifted back in time, the shape of the Arc de Triomphe indicating that the setting was Paris, a fact he quickly murmured to Loki so he could follow along. Ilsa and Rick, it seemed, had been lovers, and quite happy together -- dining, drinking, dancing -- the ideal happy couple, clinking their glasses together as Rick toasted, _here’s looking at you, kid_. Unthinkingly, he pulled Loki even closer to him, shifting so more of their bodies were pressed together.

Only then the scene shifted, abruptly, to tanks and planes and squadrons of German soldiers, signifying the occupation of Paris. The all-too familiar whine of military aircraft and rumble of the panzers had his nerves back on edge, though this time he managed to avoid jumping; he merely clenched his jaw so tightly it _ached_...

It was just film. Just the movies, just a piece of entertainment, decades old. But it didn’t _feel_ old to him, and he found himself having to look away from the screen, focusing on a point on the far wall until the footage changed back to the pining lovers... And then to Rick, standing alone in the rain on the train platform while the ink in Ilsa’s farewell note ran, until the flashback faded back to the present-day narrative.

Steve let out a shaky breath. “Well, I guess that explains why he’s less than crazy about the song...”

  


Loki could feel the lie coming, long before Ilsa looked sad, long before she hid her face from Rick’s offer of marriage. They knew nothing about one another, and claimed themselves to be in love. How would he ever have come to love Steve, without knowing how he became the man he was now, why he was kind and good?

How could Steve ever have come to love him, without trusting him?

And meanwhile, she abandoned him, he was planning their futures, and she just--

A bit like Loki had meant to. Before Steve knew about the sceptre… And when Steve tugged him tighter, he felt guilty, knowing deep inside of himself that that was what Steve was thinking, too. But he was no Ilsa, And Steve would never be left standing alone in the rain, if it were up to him. He shifted, curling into his side so that they fit together all the better.

“Yes. I don’t suppose I would be overly fond of it either, were I him.” Loki responded, words slightly muffled by his position. Not that his minded at all. He could see, and his ear was now almost directly over Steve’s heart, the sounds from the screen overlaid with a gentle, rhythmic pounding.

He wondered how long it had been, though he was sure they had said as much, how long Rick had waited, the open, happy, care-free Rick of his memories turning into the sullen, unpersonable Rick they had first seen. And yet still he waited, in the dark of his shut down bar, insisting she would return. And his friend, Sam, the pianist, wanted him to have nothing to do with her. Surely it had been Sam to nurse him through his heartbreak. And despite that, he’d been polite, almost good to her, earlier… Loki didn’t like that. Duplicity did not look becoming on anyone.

And then she did come, and Loki-- unused to reacting, unused to feeling for others, Loki felt his eyes filling with tears as she spoke, as she told her story. And Rick was too angry to listen. Loki found himself shaking lightly in Steve’s hold, and though he knew that Steve could feel it, he hoped he would not say anything, as he willed it to stop.

She was so demure, pretty, yes, but powerless. And too… something, too afraid? Too conditioned? To speak out against him, to tell him how she felt. Loki felt it like a pressure rising within him.

“I wouldn’t ever abandon you like that, not now. You know that, don’t you? You know that I--” He choked up a little, and lifted his face to look at Steve.

  


Steve looked down at Loki, brows knitting together. “Of course not,” he murmured, leaning in to Loki’s upturned face to meet his forehead with a kiss, reaching to smooth his hair. He then pulled back enough to give him a smile, trying for levity: “even if you tried, you’re stuck with me.”

He tugged the covers up a little higher over them, having felt the tremors running through Loki’s form where they touched. It took some effort to keep the tablet balanced on his legs while maneuvering the blankets and keeping an arm around Loki, but he managed it, ending with the screen still visible and the two of them cuddled safe and close.

“I know you wouldn’t,” he repeated, laying his cheek against Loki’s head and running a hand through his hair.

They watched together as Laszlo and Ilsa attempted to secure visas with little luck; with the German Major Strasser assuring them that Laszlo would never leave Casablanca alive and the rival club owner Signor Ferrari promising only a visa for Ilsa, the couple’s options were limited. The narrative also revealed that Ilsa and Laszlo were married, and had been so even at the time of her affair with Rick -- a fact that made Steve shift uncomfortably. Hadn’t she claimed that the man she’d been with was dead? Had it been a lie, or...?

Steve abandoned that train of thought as a very young woman approached Rick, pleading for him to tell her if Renault was a trustworthy man or not. Steve’s frown deepened as the young woman’s situation became clear, then turned to a grin as Rick rigged the roulette table -- sacrificing his own club’s money -- for the young woman’s husband to win enough money for their visas, thus saving her from having to sleep with the police captain to secure the papers herself.

It was cheating, but it was cheating for a noble cause; an underhanded act of honor, which Rick brusquely tried to brush off, evading praise. But still, he refused, almost spitefully, to sell the letters of transit to Laszlo and Ilsa. “Come on, already,” Steve muttered under his breath. Rick was a decent guy, though he tried to deny it. He had to give up the letters to a good cause in the end, right?

  


Loki calmed, warm and close to Steve, his shaking abating, not because of the blankets, but because this was not them. Would never be them.

And yet, when Ilsa told Rick about Laszlo being her husband, Loki could not help but remember that he had once thought Steve dead, too. Before all of this, yes, but… He tried to imagine it now, if he thought Steve was gone now, after all he had changed, would he have been able to do as she did, to go to Paris and fall in love?

He didn’t know. He didn’t even know who he would be without Steve there. All of the good that he had learned to be, slowly, the shape of his changes, it was all built around Steve, around Steve’s support. Without him… Loki imagined it would all collapse. And he would end up like Rick, who on the screen was saving some girl, hardly more than a child, it seemed, from making a deal that she and her husband would regret.

He would be like that. Alone, pushing people away. Unable to stop himself from helping others, now that he had seen what it looked like, Ferra’s face not unlike the young woman’s as she thanked Rick... but he would be unable to accept their gratitude for it. Because he would know he didn’t deserve it, would know any good he did would be his own attempt at giving the world some of what he allowed it to lose, if it lost Steve. If he let Steve be lost.

But this was entirely too maudlin-- Loki wasn’t sure he liked the way this film was making him think.

He did feel a surge of his old wicked glee, though, when Rick told Laszlo that if he wanted to know why he wouldn’t help him leave, he should ask his wife. Loki did so love when secrets came undone, and hidden truths came to light.

He was distracted, though, when the singing started.

  


Steve tensed slightly when the music kicked up with a group of men in uniform singing _Die Wacht am Rhein_ ; even knowing Germany had been at peace with the world for the better half of a century now, the sound of the language put him on edge. And he wasn’t the only one, as everyone else in the saloon -- many of them French, or other European ex-pats seeking to escape German-occupied Europe -- looked uncomfortable as the camera panned.

But no one was willing to complain or speak up in any way -- until Laszlo approached the band and decisively demanded that they play the Marseillaise. Steve’s mouth twitched in a smile when the band looked to Rick for approval and received a nod.

Despite Rick’s claims that he was politically neutral, that small nod was a hell of a gesture; the band launched into the French national anthem, with all the other members of the café raising their voices, drowning out the German singing with their own defiant music.

It made Steve’s scalp prickle, goosebumps creeping down his spine and his eyes growing just a little moist.

  


_Vive la France! Vive la liberté!_

  


A woman -- the same woman who Rick had called a cab for at the start, he was fairly sure -- shouted the words now, but Steve remembered them from the war, shouted as a battle cry or whispered in cellars where the resistance met with them, helping to smuggle the commandos behind enemy lines and passing along intelligence to the army and the SSR. His throat clamped up with a sudden, fierce feeling of pride.

The glow didn’t last for long, as the last notes hadn’t yet faded before the German Major was ordering that Rick’s be closed for the infraction, clearly placing the not-so-impartial Rick on the side of the resistance in the aftermath of the display.

  


Loki did not fully understand the significance of the warring songs, though he supposed it was a show of loyalty. And Rick had allowed that the people of Casablanca combat the voices of the Nazis with their own… so he supposed this was a matter of him casting his hat against those on the side of the Nazis.

But that was of less interest to him than Ilsa on the screen, not singing along, but, like Steve behind him, breathing adjusting to the strains of the song. As though they were singing in their minds so strongly, so loudly, that their bodies did not realize their lips were not moving.

It was clearly meant to be very moving, one woman even beginning to cry as the lens turned its eye on her. It seemed it was to be a victory of the people over the invaders.

And so of course they immediately ordered the place closed, no matter how comical the line was-- the man in charge claiming to be shocked by the gambling, just as he was handed his winnings. It felt a lot like the rules in the house of Odin. If he wanted to punish you, he would find a reason. But then, Loki supposed, that was likely true everywhere. And why he did not look forward to their dealings with SHIELD.

Ilsa’s composure in the face of threats was something that Loki approved of, as well as the bravery shown by Laszlo and the way Rick did not hesitate to endanger his business in the face of what he felt was right. These people all had the thing he had always lacked: conviction. It made him envy them. Respect them. Even when he did not want to.

And he found, even more, that he did not want to be this invested when Ilsa and Laszlo went back to their room, and discussed his dealings with Rick, and it was revealed that, as Loki had expected, Ilsa truly thought that he was dead, in the hands of the Nazis.

There was no pleasure in his being right, nor in the confrontation, as gentle and kind as Laszlo was about it all. Even so, Loki felt a sense of vague anger. She might have gone after him, might have tried to save him, free him, find him-- rather than trysting with Rick.

 _You mean,_ a small voice reminded him, _the way you went after Steve, when he was missing? When you thought he might be dead._ He banished it, throwing his attention fully back into the film.

  


For all that Ilsa and Rick were clearly meant for one another, Ilsa and Laszlo also shared a kind of camaraderie, a kind of partnership, that Steve also found himself wanting to root for, and it left him torn.

He raised his brows when Ilsa pulled a gun on Rick in a last-ditch effort to get him to give her the visas -- but then grinned, recalling how Peggy had pulled a gun on him for kissing Private Lorraine. And where Ilsa couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger, Peggy had emptied a whole clip.

“If it’d been Peggy, she’d have shot him in the knee,” he mumbled, then chuckled. “Actually, if it’d been Peggy, she’d have walked out with the visas twenty minutes in and this woulda been a much shorter movie.” It was a night for nostalgia, but Peggy had only ever been sentimental when it didn’t get in the way of being effective. And she sure as hell wouldn’t have tolerated any drunken sulking.

Steve felt slightly better when Ilsa finally explained she’d believed Laszlo dead, and that she wasn’t simply being capricious or dishonest. Her reluctance to speak of her former lover -- husband -- had stemmed from pain, not deceit. And her abandonment of Rick hadn’t been out of cruelty, but because Laszlo was alive and had needed her. Considering how few people escaped from the camps, he couldn’t fault her for any of it.

His heart ached a bit for all of them.

As Rick carefully lied and schemed and orchestrated the scene, promising Renault greater charges against Laszlo if he let him go, only to turn the tables and pull a gun on Renault to get him to take them all to the airfield, Steve found himself sitting up a little straighter, his attention riveted to the climax of the film.

  


Loki found himself biting his lip, his eyes on the screen but his mind distracted by Steve’s words. Peggy would have done better.

It was only a movie, he knew, but he wondered if that was the sort of thought that Steve had often. He had said that he thought of what might have been, the potential future he had missed out on. Loki wondered how many times Steve had thought that about their lives. How often he was unwittingly compared to Steve’s imagined other lives.

Not that he could do anything about it. But it was a sobering thought. This film had been full of them.

He watched as Ilsa and Rick said their goodbyes, watched as Rick took hold of her face and, unable to kiss her as he so clearly wished to, his finger tapped softly on her chin. It was small, quiet and intimate, and sweet. He liked that, he thought.

He liked, too, Rick’s tale for Laszlo. And the way he accepted his fate, calmly, dignified. And then changed it, in the space of a few moments, shooting the Nazi and waiting to be apprehended.

He did not count on the other man’s willingness to help Rick, though, did not count on their playful animosity to be hiding real friendship. But as they walked off together and the music swelled, he nodded-- it was satisfying, in a way, though not the ending he would have preferred. He’d have liked Ilsa to stay with Rick, or for all three of them to get on the plane-- for Ilsa to remain a pillar for her husband, but to love Rick as well; the two men clearly respected one another enough, and it seemed a terrible pity that they could not make some sort of better arrangement. Especially when her husband seemed not to have real passion for her, his only kisses being to her head, her cheek-- it was Rick who kissed her on the lips in the film, Rick to whom she showed the most passionate care for.

Honestly, at least in the lower reaches of Asgard, such stories would have ended with a merging of households. But, this was not Asgard. He wondered what Steve made of it.

“And?” He asked, again tilting his head up that he could look into his partner’s face. “Was it worth waiting for, do you think?”

  


It was bittersweet. Ilsa and Rick weren’t destined to be together, it seemed, but she had Laszlo who cared for her and needed her, and the two made their escape to continue Laszlo’s work with the resistance, fighting against the Nazis; meanwhile, Rick gave up all pretense of being the apathetic and impartial man he insisted he was at the start of it all, leaving with Renault to escape to another French colony, taking part once more in the affairs of the world.

The heroes lived to fight another day. The miserable Major Strasser was shot. And the _Marseillaise_ swelled in the background as the film concluded.

Steve glanced down at Loki, then smiled. “The company definitely was,” he said, leaning down to kiss Loki’s forehead again. “Thank you for watching that with me.”

It was a good film. Well done, with twists and turns and good music and poignant moments. The style and subjects were familiar to him -- perhaps a bit too familiar in places, he thought, wincing internally at the memory of tanks and gunfire -- but though its release had only been a couple years ago for him, he could see how it had become a classic for everyone who hadn’t spent the interim on ice. The love story, sad as it wound up being, was timeless; the lead actors were charismatic; the theme of ‘As Time Goes By’ would be stuck in his head for the rest of the week he suspected.

And it had some wonderfully quotable lines.

Moving away enough that he could look at Loki head on, he put aside the tablet and then tapped a finger under Loki’s chin, angling his face up. “Here’s looking at you, kid,” Steve said with a smile, then swept in for a kiss.

  


Loki couldn’t manage to roll his eyes at his partner, too enchanted by his mood. He returned his kiss slowly, languidly, taking the time to demonstrate to Steve that even the kisses in the movie could be improved upon in the here and now.

 _And did Peggy do that better?_ he thought, surprising himself with how vicious the words sounded in his mind.

He was going to meet her-- or at least go with Steve to see her. He could not allow himself to be jealous of her, to begin sliding down towards hating her. It was an uncomfortable feeling, the bile that was attempting to build inside of him, while outside he was still comfortably content in Steve’s arms, in his bed.

“Of course,” he said in response to Steve’s thanks. Then, he snorted. “And Steve?” He asked, immediately following it with, “We’ll always have Apollo.” Referring, of course, to the painting they had admired at the museum, before Steve gave him his tags. Loki reached up to touch them, a soft smile brushing across his lips.

The day had given them much to think on, and Loki was eager to sort it out, to begin untangling the knots that were his thoughts and emotions…

But at the end of it all, he knew the important things, he supposed. Knew that regardless of his shape, even the worst of them, Steve loved him. Knew that he was always going to have that-- he was, as Steve said, stuck with him. It made him feel warm inside.

Though that only reminded him of how chilly the room had gotten, after Steve had asked that the temperature be lowered.

“Perhaps we should ask JARVIS to return the temperature to normal?” He suggested. “Not that I dislike being so close to you, but when I take my pants off, I pity my poor legs.”

  


The romance of the movie must not have left Loki unaffected, because the kiss was long and tender and perfect, leaving Steve’s lips slightly tingly when they pulled apart. In the dim light of the bedroom, Loki’s features were softer, sweeter, and Steve wondered how damn lucky he’d gotten to have this in his life. To have love, a home, friends, security...

He’d come a long way from waking up and having nothing but his shield and his tags.

He snorted at Loki’s comment, a second later when it registered. “We’ll always have Apollo,” he agreed, grinning, glad to be reminded of their night at the museum. He’d have to find time to take Loki back, so they could tour the other galleries. Maybe go visit the medieval collection in the Cloisters at some point too. Funny, how he’d been bemoaning lost opportunities earlier, when there were so many fresh ones available to him now -- opportunities to explore this new New York, and share it with Loki.

“JARVIS? Would you mind setting the heat back to the default setting?”

“ _Certainly, sir.”_

A gentle, distant whirring was the only sign that the heating system had activated, but Steve had little doubt the room would warm up soon. “I’m gonna brush my teeth,” he let Loki know, slipping out of the bed and into the bathroom to complete his evening ablutions. He emerged a few minutes later, face washed and teeth cleaned, then quickly stripped and dove back into the cozy warmth of the bed, back beneath the covers.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, slinging an arm around Loki with a sleepy smile. “Of all the SHIELD bases, in all the towns, in all the world,” he said, affecting the mid-atlantic accent Rick used, “you walked into mine.”

And damn, hadn’t that proved a stroke of luck.

  


Loki laughed quietly.

“Of all the realms, in all the ages, in all my life, and I walked into yours.” He agreed. “Granted, my timing and the situation might have been better, but… we’ve done well enough for ourselves, all things considered, I think.”

He did not try to put on a voice, as Steve did. He was used to using his seidhr to help him mimic people; he had no talent for it on his own, and would have sounded ridiculous. Unlike Steve, who sounded as though he had long ago mastered that art.

Loki let himself relax within Steve hold for another few moments, then, with a sigh, he got up.

He took care of the necessities, brushing his teeth and washing his face, relieving his bladder and taking his pants off before returning to bed. And though the room was getting warmer, it had not stopped the room from feeling chilly in comparison to the warmth of their bed and the heat that all but rolled off of Steve.

It was good. There had been spots, throughout the evening, of sorrow and discomfort, but nothing that truly detracted, nothing that ruined the night. Unlike some of their previous dates, nothing had really had a chance to. And he was glad about that.

They would sleep, and he would deal with the problems of tomorrow, tomorrow.

He curled over on his side and stroked the backs of his fingers down Steve’s arm.

“That song, the one we danced to, you know the one? I’ll be loving you…?” He half-sang the line softly, trying to be sure Steve knew which one he meant. He paused, sure that the request was a silly one. “Could we listen to it again, once more before we sleep? I… I liked it.” He smiled with the request, in the hopes that Steve would not think him too foolish.

It felt like it was the logical answer to the song from the film, a good bookend to the night. And it was soothing, and sweet, and soft, and everything that his thoughts, all too often, were not.

  


Steve moved in close to Loki when he returned to bed, rolling on to his side so they could be facing one another.

It had been a good day, all things considered, he decided. Breakfast in bed, patching things up with Clint, success in hunting down the scepter, a decent dinner with Loki reaching a level of comfort with his Jotun form... a lot had gone well.

A smile tugged at his lips at Loki’s request. “JARVIS?” he asked quietly.

“ _Yes, Captain?”_

“Play it again, JARVIS.”

He thought he could detect a hint of amusement in the AI’s voice. “ _Of course, sir.”_

_I’ll be loving you... Always..._

The soft music filled the room, gentle and familiar.

He hummed a few notes as his eyes slid shut, his heart slowing to an even beat, the love song like a lullaby in his ears. Steve leaned his head forward to touch Loki’s, their foreheads resting against one another and their breath mixing, intertwined and together.

  
Always.

 


	47. Forty-Seven

_The keening shriek growing in the volume was all the warning he got; he dove to the ground just as the shell hit, launching black clods of soil and screaming shrapnel through the air, briefly blotting out the sun. Steve covered his head with his arms as dirt rained down on him, then clambered back to his feet, picking up his gun and running toward the bunker._

_He fired as he went, short concentrated bursts that took down masked HYDRA agents as they approached him. When his ammo ran down, he unhooked the shield from his shoulder harness and threw it, catching an approaching soldier in the throat with it and buying himself enough time to pull out a fresh magazine._

_The air smelled like fire and gunpowder and blood._

_Smelled like war._

_Advancing into the bunker, he kept his shield on his arm and his weapon raised, ready to mow down any of Red Skull’s agents who came through. Two shots to his left took out a pair of HYDRA engineers. A toss of his shield concussed a scientist looking to pull a level that would drop the blast doors. Steve advanced, leaving fallen enemies in his wake, an unstoppable force beating his way through HYDRA’s ranks..._

_Then he made it to the central chamber, where Red Skull awaited. The door was secured, but a grenade plucked from a fallen soldier blasted it wide open, the ensuing chaos affording him entry and cover as he came in spraying fire. Several HYDRA soldiers charged him, only to fall before they could hit him. A bullet sang past his ear, and Steve ducked, going into a roll and coming up shooting, catching the enemy between the eyes. A toss of his shield took out two goons by the control panel, and a second grenade tossed across the room cleared out the far reaches. A crunch of rubble behind him alerted him to the agent attempting to sneak up behind him, and Steve turned and dispatched him with a swift punch that shattered ribs, dropping the man to the ground--_

“ _Enough!”_

_Steve turned to see Red Skull standing above him on the catwalk, the glowing blue of the Tesseract in his hand. “It ends here, Schmidt!”_

_Skull laughed, a hideous rictus contorting his nightmarish features. “You wish for this to end, Captain?” He raised the Tesseract, and the blue glow pulsed. “Very well...”_

_The light of the Tesseract grew blindingly bright, and Steve raised his shield against it, but to no avail. Blue light seared through his eyelids; blue thundered into his skull; blue bled from his vision, and when the light finally abated (blue, blue blue...) he was left blinking away spots, suddenly overcome by all the_ red.

_Red._

_Blood, spattered over his shield. Running over the ground. Flecked over his knuckles. Steve stared at them in confusion, then up at the Red Skull, who dropped the Tesseract -- no, no the scepter, a different item of blue -- and reached up to grab the skin beneath his chin, pulling upward--_

_\-- Revealing a ridged, violet face. “Is this the ending you sought?” he asked, no longer the barking German voice he knew, but something deeper that thundered in his bones and filled him with crippling dread._

“ _Look around you, tiny mortal.”_

_Steve hesitated, then turned and looked around the ruin of the chamber, at the smouldering rubble and scattered HYDRA bodies._

_Only..._

_No. Not HYDRA._

_Steve cried out in horror -- where moments before he’d shot down a HYDRA thug, Dum Dum was lying on the ground, eyes open and glassy, and Monty beside him, beret stained dark with blood. A few feet away, he recognized Morita, half-buried in the wreck fallen from the blown up door. Tony and Bruce lay crumpled by the control panel, blood covering Tony’s face, streaming from the gaping crack in his skull where Steve’s shield had impacted._

“ _No,” Steve choked. “No, no no...”_

_Near his feet, Clint stared up with sightless eyes, a bullet hole between them._

_Above, Thanos laughed._

“ _Such an effective little mortal, you are. Such a useful instrument of war...”_

_All around him, his friends lay dead where he’d cut them down, and Steve wanted to scream -- thought he might vomit --_

“ _Astin Min...”_

_Steve froze, not wanting to look, not wanting to see..._

_Thanos chuckled._

“ _Astin Min... Elskan, please...”_

_Slowly, Steve turned, stomach clenching like a fist._

_Loki lay by the ruins of the door, his chest caved in from a mighty blow. Blood dribbled from his mouth, bright red against the blue of his chin._

_(Red. Blue.)_

_His skin had gone Jotun blue again, and crimson eyes looked up at Steve pleadingly, full of confusion and pain. “Steve,” he croaked._

_And Steve couldn’t move. Couldn’t say or do anything. This had been him. This was his doing._

“ _I’m sorry,” he whispered, brokenly. “Loki, I’m so sorry--” He wanted to run. Wanted to flee. Wanted to go to Loki’s side. But something seemed to hold him paralyzed._

_Loki’s eyes went unfocused, and he breathed out a long and shuddering breath. Frost began to form around him, swirling in feathery fractals over his skin, his clothes, and outward over the floor. The blood and concrete turned to ice, a thickened sheet, white and radiating cold._

_So cold..._

_The paralysis abruptly lifted, Steve took a step back. The ice groaned under him, and his heart leapt into his throat, hammering there. Cracks spidered outward from his feet, shrieking and shuddering, and over it all he could swear he heard the roar of wind, the whine of aircraft engines._

_Thanos laughed like a howling storm, and the bunker, the bodies, all were gone and Steve was in the snow and the ice--_

_\-- the ice --_

gave _._

_He barely had time to shout as it split beneath him, dropping him. And then it was all around him, the snow and the water, so frigid it froze his muscles and trapped his breath in his chest. He flailed at the edges, gasping. He looked up, trying to find something within reach, something he could pull himself free with, some way of escape..._

_Standing over him, he saw a familiar silhouette._

“ _Bucky?” He blinked, not sure whether the vision or the cold was more responsible for his state of shock. “Buck, help me! Help, please--”_

_Bucky stood there, face impassive as he stared down at Steve. His left side was a mangled mess, Steve saw now, bloody and torn apart. His skin was blue-gray from cold, lips colorless, and his stare blank._

_Steve’s blood, already chilled, went ice cold as the water around him. “Bucky?”_

“ _You let me fall,” Bucky whispered._

_Steve shook his head, numb limbs trying to tread water. “No, Buck, no. I wouldn’t, I swear, I tried--” He reached out, deadened fingers grasping. “Bucky, please, take my hand!”_

_Bucky shook his head, looking sad. But then, slowly, he began to reach out. His fingers hovered a mere inches from Steve’s when he stopped._

“ _End of the line,” he murmured, and Steve watched in horror as the ice crept up his body, freezing deep and blackening his skin. He shouted in horror, but Bucky did nothing, didn’t react as his body froze and then crumbled, falling away into nothing--_

_Steve screamed, thrashing in the frozen water. “No! Bucky!”_

_But there was nothing to grab on to. Nothing to hold. He was sinking, and so cold, the icy depths dragging him down into the dark and the cold as he cried out and struggled hopelessly..._

  


 

Loki jolted awake, the motions of the bed beneath him and the man beside him the first things he registered. He sat up, slowly and carefully. Steve did not appear to have woken yet, but he had managed to flail his way free of the blankets, and the small noises that he made were like tiny knives to Loki’s ribs.

He sounded so hurt, so lost…

Loki reached out and grasped his shoulder, shaking him gently.

“Steve? Steve.” He repeated his name firmly. “You’re dreaming Elskan. It’s just a dream.”

His own mind was fuzzy, sleep addled and he wasn’t sure whether it would be kinder to do this, to wake him this way, or if he ought to try and allow him to sleep through it, to see the dream to its end. But he sounded so upset, so pitiful…

He decided that they could always return to sleep later. For now, he needed Steve to reclaim his peace.

He shook him a little harder, spoke just a little louder.

“Steve?”

  


Steve jerked awake violently, gasping for breath and flailing, his arm catching against something as he kicked and tried to get out of the rising water--

Only there was no water. No ice. The dampness on his skin was cold and clammy sweat, not arctic seawater or snow. His heart pounded wildly in his throat as he gulped in air, looking around and trying to orient himself.

There was no arctic. No bunker. No corpses. And beside him...

_Loki_. Loki, alive, not blue, looking at him in concern next to him in their shared bed. Their shared home.

Steve stared at him, then reached out, pressing a hand to the middle of Loki’s chest, feeling its solidity and reassuring himself it hadn’t been crushed, that he hadn’t killed him. His eyes prickled and he tried to swallow. “I’m sorry,” he said, hoarsely.

  


Steve woke, his limbs flailing outwards, his arm catching Loki by surprise, but he wasn’t really hurt-- if anything, he was worried.

That worry did not fully abate when his eyes opened though, nor when he made sense of his surroundings. And certainly not when he lay his hand on Loki’s chest and apologized in a rough croak.

Loki pressed his palm over Steve’s hand and scooted closer to him, so that he could touch his cheek with his other hand.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” He told him, trying to soothe the hurts his mind had summoned with his words. “It was only a dream. Are you alright?”

His thumb slid across the clammy sweat on his partner’s skin, and he thought he ought to fetch a towel-- but that would wait until he knew that Steve would be comfortable, that he could relax.

“Is there anything I can do, anything I can get you?” He asked softly. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  


Loki was alright. It was only a dream, and none of it had happened.

(Some of it had happened. The war, Bucky dying...)

No. Just a dream.

Steve sucked in a deeper breath, holding it for a few seconds before letting it go. The adrenaline wearing down, he found himself trembling, and he grasped at the blankets, tugging them closer against the chilled feeling.

If he’d thought that good days and a general feeling of domestic bliss would be enough to let him enjoy untroubled sleep for a change, he’d apparently been wrong. He wasn’t sure what had triggered it -- if it had been the chill in the air, or the war in the movie -- but his subconscious mind seemed as determined to work against him as ever.

“I...” he swallowed, realizing he wasn’t sure what he even meant to say. Was there anything he needed, Loki asked, and whether he wanted to talk about it. Steve made a face. “Not really,” he answered, looking away.

He wanted to banish the dream from his mind and forget it forever. He waited a few more moments, letting himself feel Loki’s warm and reassuring touch, then pulled away. “I think I need to go for a run,” he said. “Clear my head.”

  


Steve pulled away from him, and Loki immediately stamped down on the feeling of hurt that tried to well up. He knew this feeling of uselessness, this helplessness, was also utterly selfish.

Steve needed… something, and whether Loki could provide it or not, Steve needed his support.

“Let me at least get you something to drink and a towel before you get dressed.” He pressed. “It’s too cold out there now for you to go out wet before your muscles have a chance to warm up.”

He clambered out of the bed, already fixed on not taking no for an answer, and retreated into the bathroom. The mirror was dark, as was the rest of the rooms, and he had to turn on the light to see what he was doing. Doing so, of course, meant having to see himself as well. Tired, face drawn and lips tight with concern. He relaxed his features. No need to make Steve worry about him in return. He gathered Steve’s towel and one of the disposable cups from beside the sink, filling it with cool water. It wasn’t large enough to be more than a mouthful, but it would do, for the moment.

He came back to the bed and moved around, to be on Steve’s other side.

“You know I don’t hold your night ghasts against you, don’t you?” He asked, Steve’s sorry rattling in his mind. “You can’t control them. And I don’t mind being woken.” He still spoke softly, the way you would to a spooked animal. Steve was not so far from that, now, he thought.

  


Loki hadn’t given him time to protest, already getting up and heading for the bathroom. Steve sighed, trying to get up the energy to crawl out of bed and get dressed, but he’d only managed to get his feet on the floor, still sitting on the edge of the bed, when Loki emerged.

Steve accepted the cup from him; the water was tepid, which suited him fine as he gulped it down. The towel was really unnecessary, but he took it with a grateful nod all the same, patting at the already-evaporation sweat clinging to his face, chest, and shoulders. “Thanks,” he murmured, feeling silly now for having to be fretted over just because he’d had a nightmare, like a child.

“I know,” he added a little louder, when he realized he hadn’t addressed Loki’s question. Or was it more of a statement? “Thanks for the water. But you oughta go back to bed.” It was just beginning to get light out, with dawn a ways away yet. “You need to rest up for working in the lab,” he added, guilty now that he’d woken Loki with his dreams. Normally he managed to wake up and slip out without being overly disruptive; he hadn’t woken Loki, he didn’t think, since that first night in the motel in Ivy City.

He took Loki’s hand, giving it a squeeze, then stood and crossed over to the dresser, pulling out his running clothes and dressing quickly. “Get a couple more hours of sleep. I’ll see you later,” he murmured, stuffing his feet into his shoes and yanking on the laces.

  


He watched him, unable to keep from worrying, but returned to his side of the bed just the same.

He didn’t know if it would hurt him more to let him go or to try to hold him close, but he thought that Steve probably knew best what to do to make himself feel better.

He pulled at the blankets, moving himself onto Steve’s side so that he could wrap them around his back and over his shoulders, for warmth.

“You’ll be careful won’t you?” He asked, unsure, still, where Steve’s mind was. Loki had felt the confused jumble of emotions that came after a dream, sometimes. And Steve’s need to drive it from himself with physical exertion… well it seemed healthy, at least. As long as he wasn’t reckless.

Loki was used to waking alone; less so to falling to sleep that way, despite the way that he had had to stay in a separate room when they first arrived. It was strange how quickly he could grow to expect Steve’s warmth and the sounds of his breathing. But he would manage, he supposed. And if not-- no real harm done. He could try, anyway.

  


Steve forced a thin smile for Loki’s benefit; he didn’t have the mental energy to ease Loki’s fretting as much as he probably needed, but he could do that much, at least. “I will. Promise.” If he did zone out and run into traffic by accident, any car that hit him would probably be worse off from the collision than him, after all.

He zipped up a light-weight jacket, grabbed his keys, and headed out.

He was halfway to the lobby when he realized, with a pang of guilt, that he hadn’t kissed Loki goodbye.

Still. It was just a run; he’d be back in an hour or two, and with luck, Loki would still be asleep when he did. And he’d have a clearer head by then, burning away the vestiges of the dream while racking up miles.

Stepping out into the chilly morning air, he took a moment to stretch, then started off down the sparsely-occupied street at a run.

  


\----

  


Freshly-showered and dressed in the spare clothes he kept in his gym locker (he hadn’t wanted to risk waking Loki up) Steve poked his head into Tony’s lab.

He’d been surprised when JARVIS had let him know Tony was up when he’d asked the AI when he expected Tony to be in the lab; but now, judging from his rumpled appearance and the assorted empty coffee mugs on the workbench, he suspected Tony hadn’t had an early start so much as he’d never stopped.

Steve glanced down at the papers in his hand and wondered if perhaps he ought to address this later. He was on the verge of backing out and leaving Tony be, when he glanced up and caught sight of Steve.

“Cap!” he shouted. “Hey, come on in! You’re up late.”

“It’s eight in the morning,” Steve answered carefully, stepping around a pile of parts.

“Is it? Huh. That explains why I’m hankering for pancakes, I guess. So, what brings you down here? Looking for loverboy? ‘Cause I haven’t seen him, so--”

“Actually,” Steve chewed his lip. “There’s something I wanted to ask you about, but you look pretty busy, so it can probably wait a little while--”

Tony zeroed in on the pages in Steve’s hand and reached out, making a grabbing motion. “Oi. Gimme. I’m pretty sure my brain is gonna melt if I look at this algorithm any longer, I could use a distraction.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, taking in Tony’s haggard appearance, wrinkled clothes, and stubble. “You could use a full night’s sleep, I think.”

Tony snorted. “Yes, mom.” He inched his rolling chair a little closer. “Come on, if I sleep, I’ll be useless for hours. I’m in a groove. Just need a fresh project for a little while, so help me out here.”

Steve sighed, then against his better judgment, held out the papers. Tony took them from his hand and flattened them out on the desk, looking them over.

“...Huh. Didn’t know you were into fashion design, Rogers. You know, you oughta talk to Pepper, she’s got some ins with that industry through her personal tailor, and I bet some of those fancy designers would totally go for a Captain America line. Superhero couture or some shit like that. Though I’m not sure how ‘in’ red, white, and blue are this season...”

Steve rolled his eyes as Tony’s over-caffeinated rambling grew increasingly nonsensical. “It’s armor,” he interrupted. “For Loki. I want to get him new armor and I did some designs; I was wondering if you’d be able to build it, once you’ve got some free time.”

Tony scoffed. “Able to? Hell yes. But doesn’t he already have his whole space viking overlord get-up? What’s wrong -- not so into the operatic leather-daddy look?”

Steve shook his head. “I want something that isn’t going to make people panic.”

“Mmmm. Not dressing up like Public Enemy Number One is probably a good plan, then.” He flipped through the designs. “You know, these aren’t half bad. You have any particular thoughts for materials?”

Steve shrugged. “Figured I’d leave that to you and him. He’s seen the drawings and we talked it over, so it’s not a surprise or anything.”

“What, you’re not surprise-gifting him a romantic suit of armor?” Tony grinned, then tapped his chin. “Though that does give me an idea about a Valentine’s day gift for Pepper... Anyway. The visor here, you thinking full display projected on it?”

“At least tactical mapping. Maybe communications statistics. Probably doesn’t need to be as fancy as your suit,” Steve answered, watching as Tony began to take notes, pulling up a holographic display and entering in information, scanning Steve’s drawings and beginning to build a wire frame based on them. “You know, this doesn’t have to be top priority...”

“Yeah, but you’re worried, aren’t you?” Tony asked, looking away from the screen briefly, expression sobering. “Your boyfriend got turned to pudding in the last fight he was in, and now we’re hunting down the glowstick of destiny and getting it back from Mordor or wherever, and you want him suited up if things go south, am I right?”

Steve blinked. “Well... yeah. Actually.”

“Yeah. I usually am.” Tony smirked, but then went back to work. “I’ll work on the design, see if I can get a prototype going while things are compiling. We should have enough material in inventory for me to work with.”

Steve smiled, heart swelling with gratitude. Tony’s willingness to tackle the project with no reservations had come as a bit of a surprise, despite his earlier assurances to Loki, and it went a long way toward easing the lump of cold that had been sitting in Steve’s chest since he woke. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, waving a hand dismissively, though Steve didn’t miss the smile on his face as he ducked his head to look at another monitor. “Honestly, if you’d gone to _anyone else_ for a suit of kickass armor, I’d have been insulted. Now why don’t you go rescue some kittens from a tree or something while I work on this.”

He rolled his eyes. “Try to sleep at some point, Tony.”

“No rest for the wicked. Or the exceedingly talented and good-looking. Now shoo.”

Leaving the drawings behind, Steve made his way out of the lab and down the hall, heading back toward the elevators.

In dreams, he might not be able to protect Loki. But dreams were just dreams, and in reality, he had a hell of a lot more control. In reality, he had the Avengers.

(He just had to believe that would be enough.)

  


He woke again from his dozing at a brighter time of the morning, though it was still noticeably morning.

He made the bed on his own, without drawing on his siedhr, though he could feel it, could tell it was there. It was always a relief when he had a day where he ran particularly low, always reassuring to find that he wasn’t forced to live without it.

He got dressed without paying too much attention to his clothing, more concerned with the things he needed to do. Check and find out if Steve had returned, speak to Thor, show his other form to another person, who was not Steve… it sounded as if it were going to be a long and trying day, and for a moment he was tempted to simply refuse, to climb back into bed and damn it all.

But he had not seen Steve, and when he left the room there was no evidence that he had come back. Which meant that either he had needed a much longer run than Loki expected, or that he was in one of the common areas-- areas which may hold either Barton or Thor, or both.

But he supposed he would have to face them eventually anyway.

Suit on and ready to face the world, or at least as ready as he was going to get, and as much of the world as he had access to, he climbed into the elevator and ascended to the penthouse floor.

The moment the door opened, he could hear the talking coming from the living room area, quick and lighthearted, Thor’s voice lower than usual, but still present, Barton’s voice raised to be heard over it, and Bruce’s laugh punching through both with surprising ease.

For a moment, Loki froze, unsure what he had walked in on; what if it was them laughing about him?

That worry faded out, though, when Clint asked, “So what’d the guy say?” And Thor, apparently the one telling the story, responded,

“He said they only carried dogs, cats, and fish. So I told him to give me whatever was large enough to ride.”

“Pfffffffft.” Bruce blew air out through his lips, obviously amused, and Loki felt a pang of jealousy to replace his panic. Bruce might not be telling them of his weakness, but he had certainly not hesitated to integrate himself with this group, too, and Loki had never known him to laugh this way around him.

The doors closed behind him and he realized that they would have heard the ding announcing his arrival. Delaying would only make him seem sinister or scared; neither one an acceptable appearance, so far as he was concerned.

He stepped forward, just far enough that he could see them and be seen, and just in time for their conversation to dry up.

“Apologies for interrupting.” He excused himself promptly. “But have any of you seen Steve?”

Bruce shook his head no, Barton looked embarrassed, or annoyed, or perhaps that was merely the default configuration of his face. Thor, on the other hand, looked downright pleased to see him, as if he thought his words, delivered as they had been by the Captain, might have changed anything at all.

“I have not brother, but come join us in breaking your fast-- we’ve donuts.”

And tempting though that offer was, Loki knew his stomach would be in knots if he waited to have this talk.

“Thor, would you join me on the balcony? I’ve a matter you and I needs must discuss. Privately.”

Thor stood, looking wary, but gestured that Loki should lead, and followed him just the same.

  


A full night of rest and a long soak to cleanse himself of the grime that had clung to him for the past few days had left Thor feeling like a man reborn. He’d slept right through the evening meal and on until morning, which did wonders for the exhaustion he’d feared had settled into his bones, and he did not dream. After bathing and dressing, he’d wandered back into the common area, hoping he might find some remnant of last night’s meal which he had missed, that he might slake the hunger gnawing at his belly.

Instead he’d found Banner and Barton, sharing a sweet repast of small pastries called donuts. They’d invited him to join him, and he’d happily done so.

The atmosphere had been -- not tense, but perhaps slightly awkward to begin with. Thor braced himself for questions about his brother, even as he mulled over many questions of his own, but Banner eventually asked him instead if he’d ever had donuts. He replied no, but mentioned the assorted breakfast delicacies he’d enjoyed during his previous visit to Midgard, in Puento Antiguo, which in turn lead to a recounting of his misadventures during his exile that proved most amusing.

Whatever discomfort that colored the first minutes of breakfast vanished, and soon enough he had them both laughing; it was interesting, Thor had noted previously, that Midgardians placed just as much value in tales of humility and discovery (often through unfortunate mishaps) as they did in tales of valor and heroism. He licked a bit of powdered sugar from his fingers, grinning at Banner’s mirth, when he heard a small bell that heralded the arrival of another.

He looked up, and there, standing in hall, was Loki. He smiled, welcomingly, hoping that perhaps his brother’s ire had faded somewhat and he might join them.

Loki declined, but asked to speak with him personally. Thor stood, following Loki, though the joy he’d felt moments before faded into apprehension at Loki’s seriousness.

Out on the balcony, he slid the door shut, recalling how Loki had operated it before, giving them a bit of privacy. The wind here was cold, the bluster of Midgardian winter far harsher than Asgard’s temperate climate (though it held not a candle to the frigid temperatures of Jotunheim). Still, he found himself wishing for his cloak, which he had left in his chambers.

“What is it that you wish to speak to me of?” he asked.

  


The chill here was not ideal, reminding him far too keenly of the differences of their breeds, but it was not to be helped. Not now. And certainly not as there was no better place he could think of to broach the subject at hand, free of the ears and eyes of the others.

He found himself nervously picking at the fabric of his cuffs, just wishing that they were thicker, that he was anywhere but here, facing any other but Thor.

“I do not _wish_ to speak to you of anything, Thor; necessity dictates my need to. If you are to remain here, if that is your intent, and if I am not to be forced out of the home I have made myself here, then certain… truths must be known, certain matters acknowledged. But before I can do so, I would have you make me a promise: Swear to me now that no matter what, you will not seek to slake your ire upon any other affected by my choices, my decisions. Those who do know have not told you thus far out of respect for me and deference to my wishes. And more than that, I would not have you seek to cause harm or find your friends and allies to be… lesser, for their choices. None of them. Can you promise me that? You are meant to be one of the fairer race, your father the great peace maker and keeper-- will you now live up to his name and uphold his honor?”

He was stalling, almost hoping that Thor would disagree; if he did, then Loki could back out, use it as an excuse against him, and simply say that he was doing so out of self preservation, rather than cowardice.

“I will not have any of the others caught between us, Thor. It is a matter to be settled by you and I alone.” He said so gravely, carefully shaping his words so that there could be no mistake about his intent.

  


Thor frowned deeply.

He had been cavalier in his younger years, in the giving of oaths, though he remained earnest in keeping them; it was a poor habit that had gotten him into many a scrape over the centuries, and one that Loki himself had chided him for often. His brother had, by comparison, been exceedingly cunning in how his oaths were worded; that he might adhere to his promise to the letter, but still evade unpleasantness by slipping through the gaps in his phrasing.

It was a skill he’d often been chastised for, but one Thor found himself almost envying now; it would be too easy for Loki to use an oath, carelessly made, against him. And for Loki to command his sworn word on so little knowledge... it unnerved him.

And yet, he wanted Loki to speak to him. This was the first time that Loki had sought him out for conversation since -- he tried to recall. Was it truly since his brother had visited him on Midgard while he’d been in exile?

He mulled over his words -- a relatively new practice for him, but one he’d increasingly come to learn the value of -- and then spoke. “I will not vent my ire upon those who do not merit it. I will do my best not to judge my companions too harshly, should any of them have done anything worthy of judgement, and will not allow any innocent to come to harm as a result of matters that lie between us, brother; on this you have my word.” He narrowed his eyes, looking Loki over critically. “However, your concern that I would involve others suggests to me that this matter is not as limited to you and I as you say.”

  


Loki hesitated, unsure how to treat with a Thor who had become more aware, more considerate, since last they had argued.

“I suppose your word will do, and you are right, though I think any anger or disappointment you have about this should be because of me, and not because of my-- the Captain.” he paused, then cleared his throat.

“I need to tell you, Thor, that Steven Rogers and I have-- we are--” Partners was their word for it, and he understood that it would be too easy to mistake that word for a relationship of business. “Steve and I have a romantic entanglement.” He settled on. “And the others have not said as much to you out of respect for my-- our wishes. I would have you hear it from me now, that we may settle any misgivings you have away from the ears of my partner,” it felt important to include the word, though, just the same. “As here, for many years, there was a hatred for those who loved their own gender. And I would not have him growing upset out of a mistaken thought that you disapprove of what we are, rather than who it is your friend has chosen.”

He crossed his arms and leaned back, subtly away from Thor and away from the railings, half certain he would find himself on the other side of them in short order.

“I have said my piece. Any objections, any fears or derisions you may have, voice them now.”

He clenched his jaw and held his ground, ready for it.

  


Thor’s mouth opened, then closed, as he tried to figure out what exactly to say. More than that, he needed to figure out how to react, as myriad emotions flooded his mind, a cacophony of conflicting responses.

Loki was intimate with Steven Rogers.

Loki, cruel and manipulative, was in a relationship with the kind and wholesome Captain.

Loki, his _little brother_ , was in a relationship with the man who captured him when he escaped Asgard.

And Thor didn’t know what to make of any of that.

Had the Captain, despite his apparent nobility, taken advantage of Loki’s vulnerability? Or had Loki seen an opening to seduce him, and did that explain this entire charade? Or... was it possible there was no more to it than the two of them simply being enamored? The latter was the kindest possible reason, but Thor had never known his brother’s motives to be so simple.

He reached up to rub at his jaw and the growth of beard there, trying to compose his thoughts. Part of him wished to find Rogers and shake the man down for answers, to check him for signs of ensorcellment and to demand that he confess to any wrongdoing against Thor’s brother. Another part of him wanted to do the same to Loki.

But what reason would Loki have to come forth about this, if it were part of some ploy? Unless he wished to allay suspicion...

(Unless he was truly in love and happy, in which case he ought to have his brother’s support...)

“When--” Thor cleared his throat. “When did this happen?” he asked, voice only slightly strangled as he tried to keep his emotions in check. He had given his word, after all.

  


Loki scowled.

Thor’s questioning, his prying, only meant that he was suspicious, as Loki had known he would be, but meant that he was trying to be subtle about it, which they both knew he was not.

“It is not a simple answer-- when I realized I felt this way about him, I was still imprisoned by SHIELD, and understood him to be against such pairings. We did not act upon what turned out to be a… a mutual interest, until after he had been injured by Thanos and I had carried he and I clear of SHIELD’s holdings, to see him returned to health. Only then…” He shrugged; he wasn’t going to walk Thor through the milestones of their relationship.

“It has been a matter of months, now.” He said sharply. Defensively. Though he hardly knew what he was defending against.

Thor had only asked this one question, and it was impossible to know what he meant to glean from it, where his mind was in this matter. He sounded upset, though Loki could not yet tell in what direction the needle of his ire pointed.

“It was my wrong doing that saw him injured, and I meant only to heal him, not to bring him to view me in the way that I already knew I saw him. But… he did not hate me as I had supposed. Rather the opposite, I think.”

  


Thor struggled to listen -- really listen -- to what Loki was saying, despite the feeling that he was about to jump out of his skin, trying to ascertain who was to blame. But too much had gone horribly wrong because of his failure to listen to Loki; because he’d leapt into action before hearing all the facts. And with such a fragile truce between them, he couldn’t afford to shatter it now.

Loki claimed to have developed feelings for Steve while in captivity. But did not voice those feelings until he had escaped from SHIELD; making it unlikely that he had seduced the captain to facilitate his flight. And Loki would not be fool enough to lie when Thor could so easily check his story against Rogers’. And if Rogers had not shared Loki’s feelings until Loki was no longer a prisoner...

Thinking back now, on how gentle Steve had been with his brother, how much concern he’d displayed, Thor felt slightly shamed by his assumption that the Captain would despoil Loki or use him in any way. They were close; that much was clear. And Loki appeared genuinely concerned about Rogers’ welfare. If this had been going on for months and the other Avengers knew, as Loki had said, and had done nothing to stop it... perhaps this was as simple a matter as it appeared. Perhaps...

Thor swallowed. “I trust you have not mistreated him,” he said in a low, warning tone. Then his shoulders slumped and he took a tentative step forward, reaching out toward Loki, though his hand hovered over his shoulder, not quite daring to make contact. “And I trust he has not mistreated you?”

  


Loki’s mind flashed to the bruises he had left, the assumptions he had made in their initial foray into the rougher side of love making-- the closest, he thought, that he had come to mistreating Steve. But Thor’s growled threat of a question was nothing in comparison to the one that followed.

Loki stiffened, shrinking from Thor’s touch.

“I would not, nor would he. And he has ever been more kind to me than ever you were. Do not so besmirch his name again.” He lowered his voice, angry, not only for the offense Thor gave Steve, but for his presumption.

He had not been there to care for Loki when he needed him. He certainly did not deserve to belittle the man who was. And he did not deserve to continue calling him brother, while simultaneously expressing his distrust.

“Nor is it your place to voice such concerns. You are presumptuous, when I have made my position known: _we are not brothers_ . That we were once was a lie, and the truth has shown it to be a cruel one. You do not get to claim the closeness of brotherhood. And you do not get to call me a liar, when it is you who pretends concern now, and shows himself only once I am safe and, for the first time in my life, truly happy-- and it is your presence which threatens that happiness. _That_ , Thor, is why I am forced to tell you this. Not brotherly feelings or a wish to include you in my life. Again, just the opposite: I wish you to be incapable of laying claim to this, as well, as you did everything else that might once have been mine.”

  


Thor’s first reaction was to bristle at Loki’s accusations; he had not besmirched the Captain, but merely inquired as to Loki’s welfare, and now Loki was acting as the wounded party after everything, denying their brotherhood and pushing him away--

\--pushing--

_\--he needs space to sort it out, so try to give him some breathing room._

Steve’s words from the other day came to the forefront of Thor’s mind, and his anger abruptly sputtered and went out. He had done poorly by the Captain, in his thoughts and fears, and in failing to follow the advice he had given.

Steve Rogers cared for Loki. As a friend, and... as a ‘partner’ as Loki had said. And it seemed from Loki’s visceral reaction to Thor’s insinuation that he held affection for Rogers in turn.

Thor took a deep breath to steady what remained of his temper, and let it go, taking a step back. “I... apologize,” he said, stiffly. “It was not my intention to imply ill of the Captain; I merely felt concern. Whether you think us brothers or not, and whether you think I have the right to or not, I do still care about you, Loki. And I am glad that... that you are happy.”

It hurt, to still be so shut out of Loki’s happiness, to know that his brother’s rejection of him was not entirely contingent on his misery -- but whether Loki thought of himself and Thor as brothers or not, Thor would continue to do so; for all that Loki was infuriating and had struck against him time and time again, he was family still, and Thor could not bring himself to wish him ill.

“I am also sorry that I did not seek you out before. I had meant for--” he paused, then shook his head with a sigh. “It matters not.”

  


“Place your care where it is returned, Thor.” He said, and though the words were sharp, his tone was not. He sounded tired, more tired than he felt. “Give it to your mortal, while she lasts.” But the bite was gone from even that. After all, were his words not just as applicable to his own love, his own mortal?

_But Steve is special, even among his own kind_ , his mind insisted. _And so he may not die_.

“You are right in one thing, Odinson: It matters not. What matters is that you know, you will not try to separate us, nor end our relationship, and none of our companions need waste their time dancing around the matter.”

Part of him was glad that this had gone so easily, so well, but he had been braced for a fight and now felt that he was missing out on it. He wanted that fight. Craved it. Not having it made him feel off balance.

“Your concern is unwarranted and unwanted, and you would do well to return to breaking your fast with Barton and Banner. I’ve work to tend to, to be sure that your friends have a purpose. That your presence here has a purpose. And to give us some hope, however small, of saving this realm, and all those which would follow. So excuse me, that I do not stay to gossip with you about my life.” The bite was back now, and he slid the door open with a mocking bow, to allow the larger man to enter the building first.

This audience was over, as far as he was concerned.

And in his mind’s eye, all he could see was Thor’s hand outstretched to grasp his shoulder, as he had often enough before he knew better. Before he came to fear that Loki’s touch could burn him. That’s Loki’s wickedness could turn he or Steve into people who would willfully harm those they loved. No wonder he would not touch him now.

That did not mean that Loki would not hold it against him, though.

  


Thor frowned when Loki snapped about Jane yet again -- and yet, knowing now that Loki himself loved a Midgardian, Thor had to wonder. It was curious; Steve had said he was the first to come across Loki when he’d arrived on Midgard the second time. Just as Jane had been the first mortal Thor had met in his exile.

It seemed that they had something more in common, however Loki would like to decry any of their similarities.

And in thinking of Jane -- her smile, her fervor, her compassion -- and his own happiness in her presence, Thor found himself sorely hoping that Loki found the same happiness in the company of Steve Rogers. That there was a softer side of him beyond this brittle anger he turned on Thor.

That there was still love mixed in with all this hate, as Steve claimed. Even if none of it was reserved for him.

“I love Jane, this is true. It does not mean I love you any less, returned or otherwise,” he said quietly. “I will not do anything to jeopardize your happiness with Steve. I am glad that...” he stopped, swallowed. “I am glad that you have found companionship and support.”

If all of this was genuine... if Loki were truly redeeming himself, and he had the Captain’s heart to thank for it, then this was reason to be happy. Reason to be glad, for Loki and for Steve and for Midgard, that they now had Loki’s wits and magic at their defense.

(It was reason to be glad. But he still ached in his chest.)

Thor took a step into the door, then turned back to Loki. He wanted to say more -- to apologize for failing Loki in whatever way he had, to ask after his found happiness, to say _something --_ but the closed off look on Loki’s face forestalled him and he swallowed the words down. “Thank you for telling me,” he said instead. “Whatever your reasons. I thank you for your trust.”

  


Loki could only frown. What more could he say? He thought he had made it clear enough what his reasons were, and that he did not trust…

He did. But he did not say that he did.

Presumptuous, again. He shrugged. Let Thor think what he would, let him cling to hopes of care or companionship. He had no time nor patience for dissuading him now, particularly as time should do the job well enough on its own.

And he still had yet to find Steve.

He followed Thor in and considered where his partner may have gone. They said they had not seen him...

And Barton had not lain eyes upon Loki, either, come to think of it. He did not seem able to look at him. Were that he and Thor would change mentalities. At least then, Loki thought, Steve would sleep better at night.

He took in a deep breath.

“If you see Steve before I do, please let him know that I will be down working with Stark, I assume he is still in his lab?”

“ _Yes, sir.”_ It was JARVIS who answered, and Loki supposed, having not directed the question specifically to anyone, that was fine.

“And I should see you later, then, Bruce.” He said in parting, glad to at least be closer to one of those in the room, and gladder still to remind the other two of that fact. He returned to the elevator and hit the button to go to the floor where Tony was working, where they would soon be able to locate the sceptre… and where he would have a little more privacy to ask the AI where his partner was… if he was anywhere nearby.

  


Thor watched as Loki departed with no further word to him, intent on finding Steve. Though now, at least, he knew the reason for Loki’s attachment to the Captain.

It was odd to see Loki moving around this space so easily, so casually, interacting with Stark’s strange technological servant and with the other Avengers alike, more settled even than Thor now in their company.

It was odd to think that, mere yards away, there had once been a crater in the floor shaped by Loki’s body where they’d all confronted him with weapons drawn. Time and skilled masonry had erased all sign of it from the room and from memory, it seemed.

But still, Loki spat at him with the same vitriol he had when Thor first pursued him to Midgard.

“Hey, big guy, you want the last bavarian creme?”

Thor tore his gaze from the hall where Loki had disappeared to, and looked back to Barton, who was smiling a bit too wide and offering him another donut.

He smiled in turn and accepted the food, sitting back down. At least his company was not rejected by _everyone_ in the tower.

“Everything all right?” Bruce asked cautiously.

Thor took a bite of the pastry, which turned out to be full of a thick, gelatinous cream, and mulled the question over. “I am... unsure.” He swallowed. “No. But...” he looked after where Loki had gone and sighed. “But I suppose it could be worse.”

  


\---

  


Loki had apparently gotten up and left by the time Steve got back to the apartment -- the bed was neatly made, and there was no sign of him. Steve felt a brief pang of anxiety, before reminding himself that Loki was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And while things might not be exactly amicable between him and Thor or him and Barton, there was no outright hostility at present.

Steve made a beeline for the fridge, rifling through leftovers from yesterday’s meals and filling a plate with a mix of food to heat up, now that he’d worked up an appetite. He’d nearly polished it all off when JARVIS spoke up in the silence and made him jump a foot.

“ _Captain Rogers, you have a delivery waiting in the lobby for you.”_

Coughing on a bit of leftover pasta that had gone down the wrong pipe, Steve took a drink of water and a moment to compose himself. “Thanks, JARVIS. I’ll be right down.”

He hadn’t ordered anything, and the fact that the delivery was in the lobby and not the penthouse suggested it wasn’t an internal delivery from Stark Industries. But it was possible Loki had ordered something (if unlikely), or Tony or Pepper had (more likely) without telling him.

Either way, it was poor form to keep some hapless delivery guy waiting.

He got down to the lobby, and quickly spotted the man in a brown uniform holding a clipboard. “Hi, I was told I have a delivery?”

The man looked up. “Rogers, Steven G.?”

“That’s me.”

“Sign here.” He thrust the clipboard at Steve, who blinked, and then dutifully signed his name.

“Er, where is this delivery?” he asked, passing it back.

The man grunted and jerked his head over his shoulder -- outside the glass doors, Steve saw a large truck waiting, blocking traffic, and frowned. “It’s still in the truck?”

“The whole truck is set for delivery to you.”

“I... _what?”_

  


If she weren’t above using her skills to create a perfect entrance, someone might accuse her of having done so. As it was, she was reasonably sure not even those here would have the balls to suggest it.

Feeling pleased with herself, she walked through the doors of the Stark tower, scooping her hair back with the sunglasses she perched on top of her head, her other hand holding a 12 pack of Baltika, which she swung up and thrust at Steve’s chest, firmly believing he would catch it.

“Your furniture, courtesy of Nick. I brought the beer, but you get to do the unpacking. My work here is done.” She moved in and pressed a kiss to air at the side of his face.

“Hello to you too.”

She stood, beaming, and gestured for him to help himself to the truck, but, hearing the honking, rolled her eyes.

“Bring the truck around the back, we’ll have someone meet you and lead you to a parking dock.” She told the driver, her grand gestures complete for the moment.

“Stark must get deliveries here often enough that he has people who know what to do with a truck.”

  


“Oh... right...” Steve looked down at the case of beer in his arms, then out at the truck. All of his things were contained within. All his books, plates, shelves, furniture... Not that any of it had been terribly impressive -- he’d been alright with leaving it all behind -- but now it gave him and Loki something to start off with. A table to eat at, dishes to cook with that hadn’t been scrounged from elsewhere, and enough clothes that he wouldn’t be stuck doing laundry every five days.

He’d been alright with leaving it all, but he felt surprisingly relieved at the idea of having it all back. If a little overwhelmed at the prospect of moving it all in.

Shifting the beer to one arm, he fumbled in his pocket for his phone, pulling it out and hitting the icon for the app that allowed direct communication with JARVIS. “Hi, Jarvis? Could you please grant access to the private garage for the truck out front, please?”

“ _Access granted. I have also unlocked the executive freight elevator.”_ JARVIS proceeded to deliver a series of directions, which Steve in turn relayed to the delivery man, who nodded and turned away without so much as a word.

“Thanks,” Steve said to JARVIS, hanging up. Then he looked back to Natasha. “And thank you. So much; seriously. This is...” He looked out at the truck, still floored by the whole thing. “Wow.”

  


“You can thank me once you figure out how much of your stuff is missing. I don’t need to remind you that you’re Captain America, and a lot of people were involved in moving things back and forth and sorting it…” she trailed off. “I know there was a lot of invasion of your privacy in this, and I’m sorry for the part I played in that.” She purposely did not mention Clint’s role in inventorying Steve’s belongings. They’d barely made up, she didn’t need to go undoing it if Steve didn’t know. If Clint had failed to mention that fact, she wasn’t going to risk bringing it up.

“Do you want to go upstairs while they drop off the pallets?” She suggested.

Although, maybe not the best of suggestions after reminding him how many people had already had their hands on and in his things.

“We could have a beer, maybe… catch up.” Talk about the things she wouldn’t say over phones or in the presence of who knew who might be listening in. If nothing else, she could be reasonably confident that Stark’s penthouse was secure.

She had some papers for him that it made her nervous to be carrying. She would rather be transporting intel in the form of a heavily encrypted flash drive, but… one, she didn’t want to risk being the person responsible for letting SHIELD try to hack into Stark’s servers, and two, she knew Steve would be more comfortable handling this information in this way. At least, so far, there hadn’t been any problems. No attacks, no surprises. Just a reasonably easy trip. It made her a little jumpy, when things didn’t go wrong the way she expected them to.

  


Steve winced slightly at the reminder that his things had been through probably a dozen SHIELD investigators’ hands. Even Barton had seen the drawings found under his bed. But still...

“Having any of it back is still great. I took the most important things with me; the rest I was okay with never seeing again. I mean, most of it was just things I’ve picked up in the last year -- not that much sentimental value,” he said as he shrugged.

There had been albums and posters and assorted memorabilia he’d been gifted or found in antique shops that had filled him with nostalgia -- a few photos of the commandos, old news clippings -- but for the most part, his place had been pretty stark and utilitarian. It had been a place to sleep and come back to at the end of the day, but it hadn’t been home like the dingy little tenement in Brooklyn before the war had been. Wasn’t home the way his and Loki’s place would be. He smiled faintly at the thought, then turned the smile up as he looked back at Natasha. “Mostly I’m grateful I won’t have to outfit an apartment completely from scratch.”

And the fact that Natasha had rounded up everything and brought it all back -- in person no less -- meant a lot. He shifted his grip on the beers; it was early in the day to start drinking, but given she’d probably had an early start to be here at this time, and that alcohol did little to him anyway, it didn’t seem like much of an issue. “I’d like that,” he told her, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder, then leading the way toward the elevator.

When he got to the buttons though, he hesitated. The penthouse? Or his floor? The penthouse was familiar, neutral territory, but there was a chance other denizens of the tower would be there. Also, it made sense to let her see the apartment they were moving everything into... and, she already knew he and Loki were together, and Loki wasn’t there to feel ambushed.

He pressed the button for his and Loki’s floor, and the doors closed.

  


Her ears perked up.

“An apartment? You thinking of moving out already? Can’t handle Stark, or… just too many people?” She hazarded as a guess, curious if he objected to living with the others, or if Clint was the tipping point. She had to wonder, too, if her presence, brief as she was thinking it would be, was unwelcome.

But she followed him into the elevator just the same, and noticed that he punched in the wrong floor-- not the penthouse at all. That sent her just a bit on edge.

“You miss your button there, Steve?” She asked lightly, trying to joke, sure that there was no reason he shouldn’t explain, now that they were in private. She knew the personal elevator was just as secure as the penthouse, given it was the only way to get there directly, short of flying in.

But she didn’t like the idea of anyone taking her somewhere other than where she was expecting. Paranoia, maybe, or just what had been trained into her, which amounted to the same thing.

“I actually wanted to show you the results of that search you asked me for, but if we’re headed somewhere else…?” She asked, wary and loathe to feel unprepared. She couldn’t wait for the first time someone thought it was a good idea to give her a surprise party.

  


“Actually,” Steve began as the elevator gently hummed upward, “turns out after the invasion, Tony converted a bunch of space in the top few floors into living areas. Since the penthouse _is_ getting a little crowded these days, Tony helped me move some stuff into one of the apartments a couple floors down. I think Bruce is planning on taking one of the other units at some point. More space, less Tony, but still close enough to everyone and everything,” he added with a shrug. _And a lot more privacy with Loki,_ he didn’t include.

“It’s a little spartan at the moment, but I figured we could talk in my place,” he explained. It was a show of trust, and hopefully one she would appreciate; bringing her into his personal space rather than the shared common area. He knew he had work to do re-establishing trust and companionship between them, and it seemed like a good place to start.

(And hopefully Loki wouldn’t mind.)

“Though, if you want to go over the results with everyone, we can go to the lab and have JARVIS call everyone down,” he added, even as the doors opened on the correct floor, with the door to his and Loki’s apartment just to the right.

  


“Beer first.” She decided out loud, relaxing as everything fell into place. “It was a bit of a drive, and I’d rather talk to you first, get caught up on what I’ve missed out on, before we call everyone together. From the sounds of it, there’s chaos to be had, when that happens.”

The sounds of it, of course, being Clint’s texts. And she gathered that Thor hadn’t been there long enough for everyone to really get together much, but what she had heard of it sounded like trouble enough before she mixed in her news.

She stepped out of the lift and waited, letting Steve lead the way.

It was nice, being allowed down here to his space, all things considered. And she had heard in his words the careful phrasing-- his place, not theirs. That surprised her a little, but she didn’t show it. They didn’t know much about the Asgardians, after all. Or how they-- what would they call it? Courted?

She knew SHIELD was excited at the idea of her bringing Thor back down with her, and getting to observe him around Jane. Which, to be honest, was sort of exhausting and sickening. Thor was one of her teammates; a friend. Hearing him talked about like a specimen was… well.

Neither here nor there, at the moment.

“That spartan part sounds like it’ll be remedied soon enough, once you haul your stuff up here. I bet you can get your boyfriend to help, those alien muscles have to be good for something.” A light jibe, just to broach the subject.

  


Steve pressed his thumb to the keypad that unlocked the apartment, then opened the door. “You’d be right about the chaos. Though I think we’ve at least moved past anyone taking a swing at one another. Thor doesn’t seem like he’s gonna try to haul Loki back to Asgard, even if the two of them aren’t exactly getting along, and apparently Loki and Clint had a good 20 seconds of conversation without anyone being seriously injured, so. Progress.”

He led the way in and set the beer down on the countertop in the kitchen, peeling back the thin cardboard and pulling out two bottles, wrenching the caps off by hand. He offered one to Natasha. “I’d offer for you to sit anywhere, but...” he gestured to the empty living room with a shrug.

It was odd to hear Natasha refer to Loki as his boyfriend. Not inaccurate, but... odd. He looked at her askance, but kept his tone light. “I could ask him. He _is_ strong--” Steve remembered how Loki had picked him up and carried him -- “but I think by now he’s probably in the lab, and I don’t want to interrupt anything more than I already have, considering they were finally making progress yesterday.”

Wasting Loki’s seidhr on moving furniture when it could go toward tracking down the scepter felt frivolous. Though he wondered if Thor would be willing to lend a hand with some manual labor. The two of them hadn’t spoken much beyond their brief exchange the previous afternoon.

“So. What do you wanna hear about? I’m not sure what Clint’s already filled you in on...”

  


Looking around, she thought ‘spartan’ might be an overstatement. Cavernous might have been more apt. So she took him for his word and hoisted herself up to sit on the countertop, accepting the beer, only mildly perturbed by his showing off. She had knives for removing bottle caps, but apparently _some_ people just used their hands.

“Clint’s basically just used me as a sounding board for his feelings, so the most I’ve gotten is pieces, and one sided ones at that. I heard he punched you in the head though, so I figure we can start out with an ‘I told you so’.” She tried hard not to sound smug about that. “And I couldn’t really talk when you told me about Loki and you, so. I guess I’m a little curious about that. How-- and how is he treating you?” She could be direct when concerned about her friends. And she did still want to consider Steve that, even with as strained as things had gotten.

“And whatever you know about what they have accomplished, I’d love to know. Even if they have to fill me in the rest of the way later-- it’s hard being stationed where the action isn’t.”

Which was another understatement, this time on her part. But she let it lie; catching up on things here was more important, right now.

“It’s good to hear that brawling has been avoided, or at least cut back, though. I don’t love the idea of trying to break one up with everyone here who could pick sides. The last thing we need is some kind of Avengers civil war on our hands.” And wasn’t that a horrific thought? One she severely hoped that Loki had not considered, and wasn’t secretly working towards. Though she would make that judgement herself, now that she did have all of the facts, what with his and Steve’s relationship out in the open.

  


Steve snorted. “We’ve been trying to avoid that. So far so good. And yeah, Clint gave me a pretty solid lump. It worked out though, in the long run.” Banishing any lingering fears Clint had about Steve being controlled at least gave them some solid ground to build on. He knew it would take a while for things to be normal between them again, but taking a hit was well worth getting them started down that path.

He took a sip from the bottle in his hand. He could taste the alcohol in it, even if he didn’t have to worry about it going to his head. He wasn’t chugging everclear this time, after all.

He started off by quickly giving her a rundown of everything that had happened in the lab the other day; he’d given her the most salient points on the phone already, and he didn’t know the specifics all that well, so it didn’t take long to bring her up to speed on everything he knew.

“So we’ll want to narrow down those locations and prioritize them so we can scout them out and hopefully track the scepter down before whoever has it gets wise and moves it. Bruce and Loki are going to try to refine their search results with a second experiment while Tony keeps working on comparing data. I’m just holding tight until we have somewhere definitive to go look. But having you, Clint, and Thor along would be helpful. Especially if we wind up tackling multiple sensitive locations at a time.”  Not knowing which faction had the scepter made it difficult to strategize just yet, but with luck, some of Natasha’s intel might give them some hints.

“And, ah, as for me and Loki...” He trailed off, then smiled fondly. “He’s really great. I know that must sound weird to you, and I know you didn’t see him at his best before, but, we’ve been... dating? I guess you could call it, since he and I ran off from SHIELD. And since then it’s been--” he paused, not sure how to phrase it. “It’s been like having a piece of me put back in the right spot that I didn’t know was missing. And we argue sometimes and there’s been rough patches along the way, but he’s trying so hard to be a better person now, I just...” He gestured vaguely and then took another sip of beer.

  


His face said enough of the things he didn’t for Natasha to relax, at least a little. Steve was happy, and not only that, but he was proud, to some extent. As far as she was concerned, that meant everything was good on his end of things. She’d reserve her thoughts on Loki for later--Steve insisted she hadn’t seen him at his best, well. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m glad. For you, I mean, and glad that things are on the mend with Clint. He’s… doing better, it sounds like.” She spoke carefully, so that she would not give too much away. Not a problem that she really had, but she did find herself speaking more around Steve than she did usually. Whether that was a comfort thing for her or if he seemed to expect it and she just found herself filling in the role, she hadn’t exactly figured out. But it was fine. She knew she could trust him.

She nodded her way through the explanation, and inwardly sighed, knowing that what she had managed to find didn’t sound like it would be at all helpful.

“You’re going to have to talk to Fury about all of this, you know, before we can just run off to retrieve the scepter. If you want to keep it on the level, as far as SHIELD’s concerned. If not…” She hesitated, knowing full well that both she and Clint were a little more tied up in SHIELD than anyone else on the team right then.

“If not, I’m with you, anyway.” She settled on, “But Nick’s not going to be happy, especially with Clint and I. If Clint decides to go along with it.” Steve was the leader of this team. He should know these things, and if he didn’t, it was her job to point them out.

“And Thor-- how’s he taking everything? After London and all… I guess showing up here to find his brother must have been a little bit of a shock, not to mention finding out about--” She gestured at Steve with her beer, taking another swallow.

  


Steve grimaced. “Thor, ah, doesn’t know. About that, I mean. Yet. I told Loki we needed to tell him soon, I don’t want all of you to have to pussyfoot around it when we’re trying to be a team, but right now that ball is in his court. But yeah, I think the whole thing with Loki being here threw him for a loop. He turned up expecting him to be in the middle of some scheme and the fact we knew who he was and that everything was okay kinda pulled the rug out from under him. I think he’s still sort of expecting it all to come crashing down any minute, but he obviously still loves the hell out of Loki, so he’s trying.” He gave a half-shrug, leaning against the counter. “Loki kinda bristles any time he’s in the room, so it’s a bit tense, but they’ve got a lot of baggage between them.”

Several centuries’ worth, from the sound of it. He could only hope they’d eventually work it out, or be able to set it all aside and act something akin to normal.

“And I know,” he added. “About Fury. Loki and I were talking about it and I wanna go down to DC and meet with Fury in person real soon. Fill him in and get his blessing to take this forward as an Avengers-only operation until SHIELD’s security issue is resolved. I figure since Thor has to go down there anyway, we could all head down, keep an eye on one another, and move forward from there.”

He looked up at her with a smile. “I appreciate you and Clint being on board with whatever, but I don’t wanna burn any bridges for you two.”

He knew well enough how hard those bridges had been for Natasha to build in the first place. If he had to put up with some aggravation and stress dealing with SHIELD in order to preserve that for her, well, he could suck it up and deal.

“How’re you doing?” he asked. “You haven’t caught hell or anything for being in the middle of all of us, have you?”

  


That Thor didn’t know-- that she had been told before he was-- was surprising to say the least.

“Is there anyone else here who doesn’t know yet?” She didn’t know how they could keep a secret like that while living under the same roof, but she supposed having a separate apartment must help. “And… when you’re telling people, is it usually him doing it?” She tried to imagine how her reaction would have differed, if it were Loki who had told her. Then again, she was closer to Steve, in the way she assumed, despite everything, that Thor was closer to Loki.

Natasha looked down into her beer bottle, considering.

“I was just planning on taking a commercial flight back down, but if we’re talking about that many of us going, it might be a good idea to talk to Stark about borrowing one of his jets. I don’t think American Airlines will allow Thor his hammer as a carry on. And I can’t speak for Clint, and even if I could, I wouldn’t, so don’t get me wrong-- I might be up for pissing Fury off sometimes, but what he’s up for is up to him. On that front, no, so far I haven’t caught any hell from Nick. But other than making a couple of maps for you-- the ones for the known hostile locations versus the spots that popped up on your magic scans-- I haven’t done anything out of line. And I doubt he knows about that, and even if he does, I can shrug it off as liaison duties, since I am making it so you have all the information when you reach out to him to keep it all above board. That said, the security issue, as you so nicely put it, is taking up a lot more of his attention than I am right now. And while that’s good, it’s also very much not. We’re still flying blind on that. No suspects, no clues… and you would think someone must know, but… it’s starting to look like we may have more than one person who isn’t fully on our team. Because something like that… there were so many moving parts, it had to take some man power.” And the thought of how many missions she may have been on, quietly surrounded by moles, by traitors, made her skin crawl a bit.

“To be dead honest, I would rather be here than there right now. It’s good knowing I don’t have to watch my back every time someone steps foot in a room.” Or at least, not with everyone. Jury was still out on Loki, but that was one person, and she would always take the enemy she knew over the ones her mind made up, the ones who lurked invisibly all around them, back at the Triskelion.

  


“Just Thor as far as the Avengers go. Tony, Pepper, Bruce, Clint, and you all know,” he clarified. “I don’t know what SHIELD does or doesn’t know. But according to the tabloids, I have a mysterious English girlfriend, so I think we can safely consider the general public in the dark.” That, at least, was a small blessing. For all that the assault on his privacy was disturbing, it had everyone thinking he was straight and deflected from the truth. As incredibly supportive as his friends had been, he wasn’t naive enough to think the general public would afford him such a warm reception.

“So far, I’ve been the one to come out to everyone -- it’s not so big a deal on Asgard, so Loki’s been letting me decide when to make that call.” He’d been incredibly considerate, in fact, tolerating Steve’s paranoia and allowing himself to be treated like a dirty little secret. Steve cringed a little internally, feeling guilty. “Seemed like it would be better for Thor to hear it from him, considering. Not sure I wanna be the one to tell the God of Thunder I’m ah, you know. With his little brother.” He flushed a little.

The plan to borrow a jet sounded smart. Stark had little enough trouble loaning out his transport, since he’d had Steve flown back to DC all on his own when he’d visited that one time. And not having to get a couple Asgardians through airport security would be ideal, both for maintaining Loki’s safety and for general convenience. Though considering how busy Stark was with the data and now with designing Loki’s armor, it seemed like Pepper might be the better person to ask about the logistics of borrowing a plane.

It was a little disturbing to hear SHIELD was no closer to rooting out the mole. He’d hoped to hear of progress on that front, though it was good that Natasha hadn’t fallen under any suspicion for her associations with Steve.

“To be dead honest,” he echoed, “I’m pretty glad you’re here too.” He lifted his beer toward her as if in a toast. “Gives me a chance to make up for being a lousy friend.”

  


“So I guess for all that it’s not that big of a deal in Asgard, you’re bracing for trouble, anyway?” It sure sounded like it, at least. Which felt odd-- something seemed off, but she wasn’t quite sure what.

“How did everyone else take the news? Any problems from Stark?” He was the one she would peg as being the most problematic to tell, partially for his temper, and partially for his tendency to tease. If he didn’t blow up, she expected there were comments that would make either Steve or Loki do so. Though speaking of blowing up… “And you didn’t ah… surprise Banner too much, did you?” She had missed out on all of this, and while she was maybe glad, she would have loved to be a fly on the wall for those conversations. She’d have to make a point to seek out everyone else separately and find out what they thought of this, but she was nice enough not to tell Steve as much. Between her and Barton and the gossip rags and SHIELD, it must seem that everyone was worried about his private life, right now. And making it much less private.

Though, again, to be fair, when your private life has the potential to destroy human life, maybe you shouldn’t expect that it stay private for long.

Which, of course, got her to thinking.

“Does Loki have any friends?” She asked, aware that the words came suddenly, and not minding. “You make it sound really tense as a whole here-- does he have anyone else who knows he’s here, who’s happy to see him back? Anyone he can go visit when things get too tense?” They hadn’t really gone after the humans who had helped with Loki’s invasion, mainly because it would be so easy for them to claim mind control whether they were or not. But she figured there must be someone besides Steve that Loki was spending time with, and she needed to know who, for security reasons. So she could check into them.

  


Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. I admit, I don’t even know Thor that well. I don’t think he’ll be a jerk about it, but Loki seemed kinda anxious about the whole thing and he’s got a thousand years of history with Thor.” And Loki’s anxiety, however much Steve tried to be a grounding force, tended to rub off on him.

“Everyone else has actually been... really great. Well. Clint kinda freaked out and didn’t take it well,” he amended. “But Tony was pretty tactful for Tony. Bruce was the first one I told and he was amazing,” he said, recalling how Bruce had surprised _him_ with a hug and nothing but friendship and support. The memory alone sufficed to give him a warm feeling.

“Pepper I think already knew by the time I said anything to her, same as you. They’ve all known for a couple weeks -- Bruce knew right after Loki got hurt when I wouldn’t leave the infirmary and was being a mess. Pep and Tony we told when we were celebrating Loki being officially discharged and out of the wheelchair. Clint...” he made a face, looking sheepish. “I might’ve had a hickey when he walked in. So that went down like a bag of bricks. But everything else was real smooth. I didn’t... I didn’t honestly think it would go as well as it did,” he added.

He blinked at the non sequitur question about Loki’s friends. Did she mean on Asgard? As far as Steve knew, Loki had mostly just shared in Thor’s friends’ adventures, but had few close companions of his own...

“Loki’s making friends,” he told her. “He’s grown on Tony, I think. He and Bruce talk sometimes -- they had a good long chat yesterday from what I hear. And Pepper took him out shopping. But if you mean anyone out of the tower, then no. He hasn’t had any real interaction with anyone that wasn’t during the invasion or at SHIELD, and he’s a little nervous about being out on his own.” He shrugged. “I’m about the same, though. Couple folks from SHIELD, and the Avengers, and everyone else is dead, so...” He made a face and took another swig of beer. “We look out for each other, and it’s good. It’s honestly not that bad here. Things were weird for the first week, but once Loki took a serious hit for Bruce, everyone kinda came around on him. The last few days with Clint and Thor have been tense for obvious reasons, but that hasn’t been the norm.”

  


She took a good pull from her bottle before she tried talking again, giving her time to sort through the information.

Loki had been injured, she knew that much-- injured to keep Bruce from being injured. And it had taken him a good long time to heal. Enough time for the Avengers to come around to his side-- pity? She wondered. Was one injury, great though it may have been, enough to see their views on him change?

It sounded like Loki and Steve mainly had one another, and the only other person Loki was close to, Thor, it sounded like Loki was pushing away. Was he hiding something other than Steve?

Or was that enough?

She remembered being confused by his motivations for change. Factoring in he and Steve did make it make sense, to some extent, but the way Steve was painting it… there was a lot of isolation, even within the tower. Loki and Bruce talked _sometimes_. Steve didn’t know Thor that well… and Loki was nervous about going out on his own. So much for Nick’s worries about him wandering freely all over New York.

As far as walking into a team that would serve as a full replacement for what she was all but walking away from with SHIELD at the moment, this wasn’t that. It was fractured and had some gaps. But hopefully it could come together. Especially since they were going to have something to do soon enough.

“Sounds like there isn’t much in the way of Avengers family outings, then.” She said, words almost caustic. “Doesn’t sound like an ideal work environment, either. But what are your feelings on taking this lot on missions? What’re Loki’s feelings on that… have you talked about it at all? About what’s going to happen when we do go after the sceptre?”

  


Steve found himself frowning at Natasha’s dry assessment. “Well, no, but we have movie nights. Dinners together. It’s not totally antisocial, but when I have to worry about those vultures with cameras now if I go out, you can understand why we’re kinda inclined to be homebodies,” he pointed out. It wasn’t as if he’d gone out for many nights on the town back in DC, anyhow. “Yeah, some people are tense about bringing Loki into things, but I remember when folks were walking on eggshells around Bruce. Or when Stark and I were at each other’s throats every five minutes.”

It was probably the most amicable environment Steve had been in for a long time. It felt like living with family. Even if it was occasionally a dysfunctional one.

“As for taking everyone on missions -- the rest of us did fine during New York. Only change is Loki. And if he comes into the field with us, Banner and Stark trust him fine, as do I. I think Clint will come around, but I’d probably plan things to keep him on the opposite side of the action from Clint and Thor, at least the first few ops. After a while, they oughta be able to work together in the field at least.” Clint was a professional, after all. And Loki... Loki had a lot of willpower, and his determination to do good and to be better would hopefully overcome any lingering feelings of animosity.

He paused, licking his lips. “Look. I haven’t broached this with the others just yet -- I wanted to give Clint a few days to adjust and feel things out with Thor a little more -- but I want to make Loki an Avenger. Now, hear me out--” he said, heading off any protest. “He’s as durable as me, if not more so, and incredibly strong. He’s very physically capable in combat; Asgard’s a pretty warrior-centric society, so they all know how to fight. He can shapeshift and cast illusions, which are skills that’d pair up great with yours on missions requiring a bit more subterfuge -- something Tony, Thor and myself don’t contribute to all that well. And he can use magic to heal, which is a major asset in any context, but especially for field triage. All of his abilities would complement existing skill sets on the team. And he’s got motivation to want to make things right after the invasion and help atone any way he can. So yeah, we’ll want him when we go for the scepter, because if there are any other magical mishaps he’s gonna be the only one with the slightest idea what’s going on and how to fix it. And after...” He lifted his shoulders. “He’s given me no reason to believe he’s not in this for the long haul.”

  


This felt like the other shoe dropping, and Natasha pursed her lips.

“There are a lot of pros there, but I haven’t heard any of the cons. Like the fact that he puts Clint on alert, that he’s recognizable in his armor. You have to admit you’re biased, here, Steve. And I haven’t been in a room with him that didn’t feel like it might turn into a fight, yet. I don’t know how I feel about having him waving his hands and doing magic not only around me, but potentially on me. And I can guarantee if you ask Clint about it, you will be able to watch the blood run out of his face. That guy is still messed up from the last time we were all in New York. I just don’t know if it’s the best idea. Plus, he went out with you into a fight once before… and he’s only barely better now. Doesn’t sound like he’s all that highly trained to me.”

She took another swallow.

“Have you done any training as a group since you got here? It’s one thing to work well together under the threat of an alien invasion-- lots of enemies, you’re more likely to hit one of them than your own teammates-- but for things like infiltrating who knows what kind of enemy base, do you think we’re going to be able to work as a unit, or do you think you’ll run into issues? Because, speaking from experience, it’s better knowing what to expect from your own guys, even if-- especially if-- you don’t know what the other side has up its sleeves. Because the news I have is we know of things… sort of in the areas of those points you found, but nothing real, nothing… We have nothing on any organizations at those coordinates. And unless they’re wrong, SHIELD is only good for being able to print you off a map, which you could do just as easily on Google.”

She didn’t love being the bearer of bad news, but his optimism was going to kill her one of these days. Or worse, get someone else killed. And knowing him, he wouldn’t recover well from it.

“I know you put thought into this, I can tell you have just from the way you line up your fantasy football league version of the team. But you haven’t broached the subject with them yet… have you worked with them together to give them any faith in the idea? Or were you just planning on basing it all on the one fight you guys got in with Schultz?”

 

Steve grimaced and reddened again, but this time the flush of blood to his cheeks came with a sting; it wasn’t just the slightly awkward embarrassment he got from being bashful or from an off-color comment; it was shame. Shame at not having thought of the obvious and shame for therefor failing as a leader. And disappointment, because part of him had sincerely hoped Natasha would agree with him on this.

“Clint is on edge, yes. But he’ll adapt. And I’m planning on giving them both breathing room, like I said. Also, I’m way ahead of you on the armor -- I got designs to Stark and he’s already working on engineering Loki a protective get-up that won’t cause mass hysteria,” he explained.

Then he let out a breath in a rush of air. “You’re right though. I need -- _we need_ \-- to train as a team. And I should have been on that sooner.”

He had, of course, been keeping up with his own personal training, as he’d done with SHIELD -- but even working for SHIELD, he hadn’t had a fixed team. He went out on call outs all the time, but the agents he got paired up with varied and were often whatever strike force happened to be on deck. The Avengers had never trained together before being thrown into the battle of New York. And even back in the war, with the commandos -- they hadn’t had time to go back to camp and practice as a unit. They’d been on the front lines and dove right in, honing their skills in the crucible of war. Every team he’d been a part of had been thrown together in the thick of battle, such that he’d apparently forgotten about the luxury of training with people _before_ jumping into a firefight.

And now that the entire team was present, it was as good a time as any.

He lowered his beer to the countertop and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He didn’t fight back,” he added quietly. “Loki. In the park. He got hurt because he didn’t actually fight -- he didn’t want to hurt anyone else. So he just made distractions and ended up throwing himself in there as a human shield. If he’d actually _fought--”_ He broke off, guilt leaden in his chest. “It had nothing to do with training.”

  


She stared at him for a long moment.

“Wow.” She didn’t know where to start with that. Some of it made her angry, some of it made her worry… so she finished off her beer, then stood, dropping the bottle on the counter with a hollow clunk.

“I think you’re way too close to things going on here, Steve.” She said, frank, but not unkind.

“You dismiss Clint’s trauma with a simple _he’ll adapt_ , with _breathing room_ , while prioritizing what Loki’s going to wear when you have him join the team that isn’t much of one, which you haven’t even talked to them about yet. There’s a lot there that needs sorting out, to begin with. You’re getting ready to deploy this motley crew of pinch hitters, without seeing how they fit together, now that things are changing. Obviously, that’s fixable. But it’s something that needs to be put on the to-do list. And from what I know, it’s not like you to have blind spots like this. And I think a lot of it is tied in to your last point. Tied in to Loki. _Why_ didn’t he fight, Steve? We know he can. There must be ways for him to disable without killing-- why didn’t he? Because that-- that’s something you really need to talk to him about, something you need to fix before you can even think of talking about putting him on the team. If he can’t or won’t fight to even defend himself, he’s just going to be a distraction for you and everyone else. And that makes him dangerous. And not in the way where he could be useful, not dangerous to our enemies-- dangerous to us. We can’t babysit him in the field, Steve. You know that, and I know you do-- you wouldn’t look so guilty if not. So what are you thinking, here?”

She put her hand on his arm.

“Let me help you figure this stuff out, Steve. You don’t have to go it alone, any more than the rest of the team should have to.”

  


“I don’t think any of us are exactly free from bias,” he pointed out, perhaps a bit more snappishly than necessary. “Of course I’m close to this. It’s my friends and the guy I’m in love with and I feel like I have to constantly defend every single move I make and every choice and repeatedly convince everyone I’m not mind controlled or insane! And meanwhile I know someone is going behind our backs in -- what, some conspiracy? -- and I don’t know who I can even trust or not with knowing about Loki and me!”

He took a breath to try to steady his frustration, looking away. “I’m not dismissing Clint’s issues, okay? But there’s only so much I can do. He said he’d do his best to work with Loki. Loki is a valuable addition to this team, and we need him. I can’t reach into Clint’s head and make him feel differently, and hell, that’s the source of that whole problem in the first place. I’m not prioritizing Loki’s armor over him, but at least getting Loki some armor so he doesn’t have _every bone in his body shattered again_ is something I have some control over. It’s something I can _fix._ I’m working on things with Clint, but a certain amount of that has gotta be him and time. And yeah, I know, we need a dry run. I hear you on that.” He raked a hand roughly back through his hair. “After DC, I’ll see if we can get something together. Do some group sparring sessions and training scenarios in the gym.” That much, he could set up. He could organize that. Get Loki in with the others, see how they interacted in a more combat-oriented situation.

He glanced down at the floor, then his gaze flitted to Natasha’s hand on his arm. He exhaled. “I feel _guilty_ because I’m the one that made him regret it all. I tried real hard to get through to him, to get him to feel empathy. To see humans as _people,_ and feel remorse for hurting them, and stop thinking that just because he thinks he’s a monster means he has to be one. And it worked. But it also messed him up real bad when he saw that memorial in the park. We ran into it right before Schultz attacked.” His voice went flat as he spoke, recounting the events hollowly. “I know I can’t afford to be overprotective of him in combat. He’s powerful and he’s a major asset, and we’re going to need the heaviest hitters we’ve got, meaning him and Thor and the Hulk, when Thanos becomes a clear and present danger. We’re going to need him in the field with us, sooner or later. I just...” He pressed his lips together and looked down.

He just wanted to keep him safe.

(Like he hadn’t kept Bucky safe.)

His shoulders slumped. “Dammit. I don’t really know what I’m doing, Tasha.”

  


She let him get it out, let him blow off the steam, but she couldn’t help pushing her lips out when he was done.

“We should be biased about the people we care about. It’s what makes us the good guys. But what makes you the leader is being able to step away from that, and consider all of the angles. And if you can’t, you talk to people on your team who can. I know Bruce has a good head on his shoulders. And failing in that, it’s what I’m good at. You can’t have one conversation with a teammate you know is hurting, have him say _I’m fine,_ and just figure that’s that. How’s Tony doing, with Loki under his roof? He suffered after the invasion, didn’t he? Has it gotten better since getting to know the guy? Have you asked? You’re a leader, your team is like your gun. You have to keep all the parts oiled, make sure nothing’s damaged. You’re constantly disassembling, cleaning, repairing… you have to make sure everyone is going to be in the right shape to do their jobs. And part of that is as support to you. Which is why I’m saying this now. I’m not trying to pick on you, I’m trying to help you. Because it’s been a while right? You woke up, New York happened, and then you fell into the routine at SHIELD. Even on missions, there were voices in your ear, people telling you what to do. The Avengers don’t really have that. You don’t have that.”

She took her hand away, crossed her arms, and looked him square in the eye.

“No one knows what they’re doing. Loki doesn’t, or he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Clint doesn’t, or he wouldn’t be freaking out. Stark doesn’t or we’d know exactly where the sceptre is and what we are dealing with. No one knows what they’re doing, and we don’t really expect you to, either. Not out there. But in here, with us… that’s different. You’re leading us, so you have to be able to take your tactical knowledge, your eye for finding weak points, and turn it towards your team. Identify soft spots, and figure out how to protect them. And I know you can do that. You do it everyday. You just have to draw back and do it with big picture stuff. And I can see you floundering on that front. So let me help. This is why you talk to your team... instead of holing up in your apartment with your boyfriend.”

  


Steve’s jaw twitched at the comment on ‘holing up.’ He hadn’t been _that_ reclusive with Loki. No more than he’d isolated himself before, when it had just been him. And it didn’t seem _fair_ that he’d get chewed out for spending the occasional evening with his partner instead of trying to chaperone the whole darn team.

But, he reminded himself, fair had little to do with it. And complaining about what was or wasn’t fair was the mindset of a petulant kid. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and steadying himself for a moment before letting it out. He needed to quite sulking and get his head on straight; pull it together. Natasha was right. Like it or not, he was a leader, and he needed to act like it.

It was funny, though, how the history textbooks had apparently given him this legacy, painting his overwhelming stubbornness as tactical ingenuity. Fact was, he hadn’t headed into Austria with plans of saving the entire 107th. He’d gone to save _Bucky,_ and everyone else had just been there. The idea that he was regressing by focusing on one man was pretty rich all things considered, since that was how he’d got into this whole Captain America mess. He’d been a government show pony who’d got lucky and somehow got everyone to believe in him despite not having any experience in command.

Now, he had experience, but no one believed he could be trusted. He was pretty sure that counted as irony.

A sigh slipped through his lips. Natasha wasn’t letting him get away with this, and was tearing his plans apart while shoving his face into the glaring gaps; it was... unpleasant. But necessary. And Nat was the person he could count on to do the unpleasant but necessary thing. And he didn’t have a right to be annoyed with her just because she was pointing out the places where _he’d_ failed. He needed someone like her around who’d call him out and give it to him straight. Peggy had been good at that, and Phillips.

“Alright,” he said. “Alright. What do you suggest?” He looked up at her. “What do you need?”

  


“I think we should get everyone together and make sure everyone’s on the same page, to start with. I’m sketchy on who and what Thanos is, personally. I’ve got maps...and I know Thor and Clint basically just got here too, so a team meeting for an even spread of intelligence seems like a good course of action. After that, we’ll need to make plans to take a few of us back down to DC. You, me, and Thor, I imagine… And the others should start training in small partial team ops in the meantime. And there’s a chance, once everything has been shown to Nick, that he’ll put some SHIELD people on the work Bruce, Tony, and Loki have been doing-- and maybe with more hands and more heads on the problem, we’ll be able to get the sceptre location narrowed down. But that’s a big maybe and out of our hands.”

She popped a few of her knuckles, the movement practiced and thoughtless. Her mind was otherwise involved.

“I need to talk to Clint, and it sounds as though, once Loki’s done his part, you probably need to talk to Thor. And Tony...just to check in. Just remember that you have a hard time thinking of Loki as just the asset he could be-- and you should have that problem, but it means you don’t compartmentalize, you can’t fully separate your life from your work. Which means that no one else on the team can be expected to either. You might not be the one telling the God of Thunder that his little brother and you have shacked up, but you do still have to clear the air afterwards. And I don’t really know the extent of the issues that Tony had, or has, but it’s good to know that before taking him out somewhere, where that issue might become a liability. And that really applies all across the board. Changes happen in everyone’s lives, and when planning, you have to apply your knowledge of those changes, let them inform your plans. That said…”

She trailed off, then pinned him again with her gaze.

“You can’t really ask yourself as much, but other than your concern for Loki, have you been compromised in any way since New York?”

Because he was just as much part of the team as the rest of them, and as far as moving parts went, he was a big one.

  


Steve’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. Everyone together was a bit of a powder keg situation, and considering the last time most of them had been in a room together Bruce’s alter-ego had almost come out to play, Steve wasn’t a huge fan of the idea. But it was the quickest way to make sure everyone was up to speed, that all intel was on the table, and hopefully, would give everyone an opportunity to either clear the air, or swallow down their grievances and deal.

“I don’t like the idea of putting anyone I don’t know on the scepter hunt,” he said. “Not knowing who the mole is means we need to keep that as close to the chest as possible. But the rest, okay.”

Looking up at the ceiling, he raised his voice. “JARVIS? Is there a conference room that would accommodate seven that will be empty this afternoon?”

“ _There is a large conference room five floors down that ought to be sufficient, Captain. Would you like me to reserve it for your use?”_

“Yes, please.” They could meet that afternoon, as a team (and Loki) to go over everything. And maybe, if they weren’t at each others’ throats, they could migrate from there to the gym for a little light sparring. Though he knew that was a big if. In the meantime, he could unload boxes, and maybe see how Loki was doing on the Thor-front. Natasha could have a chance to talk to Clint, too. “Where are the others, currently?”

“ _Miss Potts is at a meeting. Master Stark, Dr. Banner, and Mr. Loki are in the laboratory. Mr. Barton and Mr. Odinson are in the penthouse living room at present. Ms. Romanov is approximately eighteen inches to your right.”_

Steve snorted. “Yes, thank you for that final clarification, JARVIS.” It sounded like Clint and Thor were unoccupied, at least.

(He wondered if they’d be willing to help him move boxes and furniture in exchange for pizza and beer...)

He drifted back into the present when Natasha’s question sunk into his mind. He contemplated it, hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope. I’m fine.”

He didn’t need to complain about night terrors like a kid. It was bad enough that Loki knew and had to deal with him like that; Natasha had far better things to worry about than Steve’s messed up sleep patterns. Hell, maybe his subconscious was just trying to tell him the same thing that she was; that he was letting his team down, and he needed to pull it together or he’d get them all killed…

  


She nodded, not entirely sure she bought him being completely uncompromised other than Loki, but she didn’t want to press too many issues right now. She could always talk to the others, feel out if they had noticed anything… and she would have some time to observe for herself, now and in the coming days.

“I guess we should go round up Thor and Clint, see if we can’t trade them lunch for some manual labor.” She hadn’t actually wanted to volunteer, but she knew she was good for it. Plus, it would give her a chance to see Steve interacting with two of the teammates she _knew_ he had problems on the book with.

Actually, the only one she had faith in being comfortable with all of this was Bruce, and wasn’t that sort of ironic? Then again, no one had a tell quite like his. Everyone else could hide their feelings on these matters. But if his got strong enough… but she knew him well enough to know he’d address them before that happened. He didn’t have the privilege of just bottling until he blew, the way the others did.

“Why don’t we set a time, and just have everyone meet up in the conference room then? It’ll save us a bunch of running around, and I’m sure JARVIS can deliver the memo-- frees us up to get you moved in.”

She wasn’t good at people. Not as a fellow person-- she could read and manipulate them, but as far as meeting on even ground… well it was on her to-do list. She just hadn’t quite gotten to it yet. It was as new to her as having friends was, and she wanted to be good at being a friend. But there was a weird balance between social graces and subterfuge. And so maybe she needed to haul boxes. And point out flaws in plans. And share beers. And go a little out of her way, a little behind Nick’s back. And maybe she needed to spend time watching the others.

But this was her team, and she was finding the role she needed to play on it. In it.

“You still get to buy lunch though. I’ll help, but you’re feeding me for it.” Fortunately for her, it looked like everyone else was trying to do the same.

  


Steve smiled. “You’ve got it. And... Thanks, Natasha.” He paused, then reached out to give her shoulder a quick squeeze, grateful that she wasn’t pushing him further on his half-lie. “JARVIS? Could you please notify everyone that I’m calling a 3:30 meeting in the conference room?”

“ _Certainly, Captain.”_

When Steve took the elevator up to the top floor to ask for help, Clint was introducing Thor to daytime television, while the Asgardian stared at the screen in profound concentration. Thor hesitated a moment after Steve made his request, still more subdued than usual, but then nodded and said he’d be happy to assist in any task required of him.

Clint, by contrast, grumped a bit at the prospect of manual labor before noon, but perked up at the offer of beer and pizza.

Between the four of them, it didn’t take too long to haul everything up through the freight elevator. And the fact that half of them were outfitted with super strength certainly didn’t hurt. Steve and Thor handled most of the larger furniture, tackling that first; there were a few pieces, the dresser and the bed, which were redundant, and thus got moved into one of the unfurnished apartments down the hall for someone else’s use. Clint, meanwhile, wrestled with boxes of Steve’s books, grumbling about how kindles had been invented for a reason.

The boxes were all neatly taped up, emblazoned with SHIELD’s logo, and then meticulously labeled with lists of every item contained within -- carefully indexed like evidence. It was a little unnerving to think of everything he owned having been handled and so thoroughly catalogued (‘Boxer briefs, slightly soiled’ read one entry on a box of laundry), but it made it easy, at least, to know where everything went.

“Oh, you can just drop that in the bedroom,” Steve told Thor, when he checked the label on the box he was holding -- full of footwear, apparently.

He was busy sliding the shelves back into a bookcase while Clint ran downstairs for the pizza, when he realized he’d just sent Thor into his bedroom. His and Loki’s _shared_ bedroom.

  


Thor had not often been invited into his brother’s rooms, but he knew they had been filled with the things that he valued. Loki’s treasures.

Knowing now that he carried Captain Rogers’s belongings, into what he could only assume was a shared space, he was nearly offended by the lack of signs that Loki also occupied this place. A suit hung in view in colors that Loki favored, but other than that… He emerged back into one of the main rooms, no longer burdened by the box he’d borne, and found himself looking around, looking for anything else to show that Loki intended to stay here, that he was truly happy, truly building for himself a future-- a home.

And he found that he could not look Steve in the eyes.

“Is there more I can do to assist?” He asked instead, looking up far enough to see that the pile they had built in the great room was diminishing. He turned his eyes to Natasha, silently hoping that she would have an answer for him, or that he might be dismissed.

He felt like he was intruding on something that wasn’t there. Or missing something that should be.

Did Loki have his own rooms somewhere? Thor felt guilty realizing that he did not know. And worse, knowing that he should not ask Rogers; no doubt it would get back to his brother, who barely wished to tolerate his presence. What would he do, if he knew that Thor had been invited into this space by his… mate? Boyfriend, as Darcy would say? He chanced a glance from the corner of his eye, though it shamed him to do so.

He wanted to speak with his brother’s beau, and yet with the Widow here, he could not do so plainly.

  


Steve tensed when Thor emerged from the room, wondering if he had seen Loki’s clothes -- if he had smelled Loki’s scent lingering in the air -- but if he had, he said nothing.

Said nothing, but wouldn’t look Steve in the eye either.

When he asked if there was anything more, it sounded like a plea to be excused, and hell, even if he didn’t say anything, he had to know. Right? Loki must’ve told him. Or Clint. Or he’d put two and two together. Unless he just felt tired of unpacking and wanted to leave? Steve glanced over at Natasha, who was occupying herself with unwrapping dishes from a box of plates and putting them into Steve’s barren cabinets. Which was helpful, without being helpful in the least.

“Well, now that everything’s up here, I can unpack the rest. The biggest challenge was hauling it all up from the garage,” he explained, and wondered briefly if he should leave it at that and let Thor take off. He seemed uncomfortable, and that was on Steve.

But at the same time, Natasha had just been on his case about holding this team together. And if he and Thor needed to talk and clear the air...

“--So,” he continued with forced cheer, “I guess the main thing left is to help put a dent in the pizza Clint is bringing up.”

  


He did not want to offend his friends-- or his brother’s man-- by refusing to partake in their pizza. And he _was_ growing hungry again. But even so…

“Perhaps you could help me, then, Captain? I imagine it should take only a moment. I am curious about something I noticed when I was leaving the box in your room, before…?” He phrased it politely, then winced realizing it sounded as though he had been inspecting their sleeping quarters. He could imagine Natasha’s brow rising, though she did not turn to him or interject, for which he was immensely thankful.

No doubt he could explain away his rudeness to Steve momentarily… if such an explanation was warranted.

But he wanted to do so before Clint returned. He had seemed uneasy at best around Loki, and discussion of Steve and Loki’s relationship may be poorly received if he felt that way about one side of it.

“I would show you, if you would permit me.” He asked, gesturing back through the door, finally looking up to meet Steve’s eyes. He made his face show his determination, hoping it would sway the man to do as he wished.

Talking in the other room would afford some privacy from Natasha, as well as give them warning time for Clint’s approach.

  


Steve froze, eyes growing a tick wider. Something in his room...? Oh god, he and Loki hadn’t left anything inappropriate out, had they? He frantically tried to recall the contents of the room. The bed, neatly made. His clothes. One of Loki’s suits... They hadn’t left Loki’s salve on the bedstand, had they?

Oh god, was Thor about to confront him about having sex with his kid brother?

Steve swallowed down his panic before any outward signs could show, though he felt like he was still on the brink of a cold sweat. It could be something innocuous, after all.

Could be. (Probably was not).

All the same, he owed Thor an explanation for whatever he’d seen that was eating at him.

He slotted the last shelf into place and brushed the dust on his hands off on his jeans. “Of course,” he replied, not bothering to force a smile this time around. He crossed over to the bedroom door and gestured for Thor to lead the way in, gently closing the door behind them.

“What can I help with?” he asked after a beat.

  


Thor did not feel calmed by Steve’s willingness, nor the way he shut the door behind them, as though they had something to hide.

If Loki were to return now…

He shuddered to think.

“I spoke this morning with Loki. He told me of your… entanglement.” He tried to sound stronger about that, tried to sort through the jumbled emotions of fear and concern and anger and hope, but he was not Loki, he could not make sense of things so quickly.

He looked around the room, buying himself time.

“First and foremost, I wished to ask you if it was true, what he told me. My brother has been known for his deviant sense of humor-- is it as he said? Are you and Loki romantically involved?” He asked it directly, hoping, though somehow already certain that it was exactly as Loki had presented it. And he wondered what Steve felt, in all of this, wondered if the grim look upon his face now was because he feared what Thor would do, or because he truly feared that Thor had found something, or for another reason altogether.

  


Steve pinched his lips together and gave a slight nod when Thor told him he knew.

Well. At least that was out now. He supposed he was grateful Loki had told him, and that he hadn’t figured it out just now from Steve’s carelessness -- at least the former meant Thor wouldn’t feel like he’d been lied to about the whole thing. Though what Thor felt now, Steve couldn’t quite guess. The expressions tugging at his features were hard to read, and left Steve feeling like he was about to walk across a minefield while blindfolded.

“It’s true,” he confirmed, quietly but firmly, stifling any annoyance he felt on Loki’s behalf for Thor not taking him at his word, and holding back a wince at the word _deviant._ “Loki and I have been together, romantically, for a while now. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you right off, but Loki was worried you might think the worst, and we wanted to give you a chance to settle in and see that I’m not being magically controlled or anything before telling you about us.” If Thor was upset that he hadn’t been told sooner, well, it wasn’t as if Steve could go back in time and tell him earlier. He knew now. And if he was upset with Steve--

“I care about him a lot,” he added, then frowned, because no, that wasn’t quite right. “I _love_ him,” he clarified, squaring his shoulders and looking Thor in the eye.

  


Thor felt his eyes sliding off of Steve’s face, uncomfortable with the situation. But he nodded just the same.

“I am… glad, I think, to hear it. When we spoke the first time, it was plain that you were close, but…” He spread his hands. “With Loki, who is to say?”

That said, he straightened his own shoulders, and looked around the room again.

“Then this is not only your apartment, but his, yes? He stays here-- sleeps here--” His face colored slightly, unwilling to quite broach the subject of his concern for each of their sakes in _that_ matter, conflicting as they were.

“Where are his belongings? His books, his… he hardly seems as though he has chosen this place for home, despite the way he made it seem as though I were intruding in his domain. You say you love him, but… does he return your conviction? Are you certain that he means to stay? Because--” he gestured towards the single suit that he could see. The bed was big enough for two, but he could hardly count that as his brother’s touch. This place felt entirely too human for him to even begin to believe that Loki might feel safe here, let alone comfortable.

And if Loki were stringing the Captain along for his own uses, his own entertainment--

Thor felt his brow growing heavy and his mood thunderous.

  


Glad. Well, that was better than some of the alternatives, though Thor still didn’t look terribly thrilled with any of it. Steve did his best not to bristle at the implication of Loki being untrustworthy; he knew that was Loki’s reputation, and he’d seen Loki’s complicated relationship with the truth in action, but his and Loki’s relationship had always been based in honesty. In Steve taking Loki at his word when he gave it, that he wouldn’t lie to Steve, and Loki adhering to that word. That Steve could trust Loki, and use that trust as the bedrock on which they’d built everything they had together after a few short months, and Thor could not even after centuries... it chafed at him.

“We share this space,” he said, a bit flatly. “And I imagine most of his belongings are still in Asgard, where he can’t exactly fetch them since he’ll probably get thrown in a dungeon to rot again if he ever sets foot there.”

He still remembered the starved, sickly version of Loki that had first tugged at his sympathy, when Steve had dispelled his illusions with a touch back at SHIELD. Remembered how indignant he’d been, when he’d learned that Loki hadn’t eaten for so long with no one bothering to check on him. And Thor’s implication that Loki wasn’t committed to them, wasn’t planning on staying, rankled him even further.

“We only moved in last week, though. It’s been pretty busy, and as you can see, we only moved in any of _my_ stuff today. We arrived here with what we could carry when we were on the run, and we haven’t had chance to do a lot of shopping with all that’s been happening,” he continued. “At some point, we’ll pick up more things. Buy more books. Pick out some artwork together. But for now? I think Loki’s a bit more concerned with making sure his new home isn’t invaded by Thanos than with the interior decorating.”

He took a half step forward, further into Thor’s space. “All you see is the stuff here, and granted, there ain’t a lot of it, and it’s not much to look at. But it’s only stuff. I was fine with leaving every bit of this behind when Loki and I ran from SHIELD, and I left everything I owned back in the war too. It can be replaced. None of it lasts. But people? Bonds? Those last. Even if you don’t see them so easy. So, yes. Loki feels the same, and I believe in him.”

  


Thor cringed.

He could argue that his brother always carried his greatest possessions with him, that he never went so empty handed as he seemed to. He could argue that Loki was vain, both about his appearance and his home. That the Loki he knew would make it the work of a day to create his space-- but it seemed that even in this small prying, he had turned Steve against him.

If Loki had not managed to do so before then.

“I am sorry.” He told the other man. “It is unusual-- odd. Disquieting, perhaps, that in the many years I have known him, Loki has never claimed to experience romantic love for any. Even physically, he seemed rarely to take trysts, and to come here, now, to learn what comes in the form of Thanos… it seems inconvenient, and altogether like another plot of Loki’s. I would not see you harmed by my brother’s scheming, if that is what it is to amount to. And we may not know until he reveals as much. Loki’s acting has been stageworthy for centuries. But until then… I would also see him treated well by you. Not that I think you capable of treating him ill.”

Thor held his ground, did not shrink away from Steve’s closeness.

“I am glad that you feel love, Steve. I am scared for you that it is Loki to receive it. And I hope, for both of your sakes, that he has learned to love since I have seen him last. The love that we knew, even, as brothers, he denies now. If he can benefit from loving a man so good as you, I hope…” Thor trailed off, sad again at the thought of how Loki did not want him even this involved in his life, did not want his concern, for himself or for Thor’s friend Steve.

“I hope he allows you to care for him, when he will not allow others to. And I hope he returns the favor for you. It is my dearest hope for you both now. And if it is true-- then I am glad for you.”

  


Objectively, Steve could understand the source of Thor’s worry. The same worry his other teammates had had about him and Loki. He cared about Steve’s welfare, and the welfare of people that Loki had tried to hurt in the past, and Steve could understand that.

But it still irritated him, and took a force of will to keep that from making him tetchy and unkind.

Loki had said as much, that for all that he’d taken other lovers physically, the emotional attachment that he and Steve shared was something new. “Loki’s mentioned some of his relationship history,” Steve said carefully. “I’m aware this is... new. For both of us. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real, and it doesn’t mean he’s putting this on. I know some people think I’m naive, but I’m not an idiot, and no one is that good of an actor. No one would go that far for something they didn’t really care about. I’ve watched him change, slowly, gradually. I’ve watched him grow from the person he was then to the person he is now. I’ve been with him for that.”

He had to remind himself that for all that he’d seen everything, seen Loki’s transformation and the evolution of his compassion, Thor’d had no such luck. All he saw, all he had to base his perception of Loki on, was the Loki who had been dragged back to Asgard in chains.

(Except that wasn’t all, because there had been the Loki before, the boy who loved the stables and the library--)

Steve aborted that line of thought. “You have my word that I will do everything I can to make sure he doesn’t come to harm, and that I’m doing my best to treat him right. And if it makes you feel better, he already does the same for me.” He did what he could to gentle his tone. “I appreciate your concern. I do. And I’m grateful for your wishes and all. But...”

He paused, tongue darting out over his lips. “You may want to stop trying to compare him as much to the Loki you knew. He’s... gone through a lot of changes. And this is a second chance for him. Like a clean slate, in some ways. I know you’ve known him for a long time and it’s got to be hard to let go of that, but you might... I think it might be better for both of you if you stop trying to find the Loki you used to know and start getting to know the Loki living here now.” It could be he was overstepping, (he probably was), but it seemed like something Thor ought to hear, if only to get him maybe thinking a little differently.

  


Thor wanted to scoff, to tell Steve that to someone who had lived already so long as he and Loki had, a matter of Midgardian months was hardly enough time to see real change, let alone so slowly as Steve seemed to think... And yet had Thor himself not changed? Had he not found error in his own ways, here? And quickly, by any standards, he thought. Was it so hard to imagine that Loki had done the same? Especially when his change from his little brother to his foe had been so sudden, so complete… Wasn’t it possible that Loki was learning the lessons Thor had needed to?

But he had been brought down. Made humble. And he had spoken to Loki since, seen no sign of his change. Only his anger, his arrogance, only more of the same Loki who lashed out with dagger and tongue, seeking to hurt. How was he meant to believe in change he could not see?

But Loki's anger, his arrogance, it had seemed brittle. _He_ had seemed brittle. And if what he said was true, as the rest of it seemed to be, then it was Thor himself who caused it, merely by being here.

“I do not think that the Loki who now exists wishes me to see him. Or wishes to see me.” He felt his shoulders slump. “When I speak to him, it is only ever through the mask of his anger, of late. And I cannot follow both of your advices. I cannot give him space and come to know him as someone new. Just as I cannot believe him, and cannot dismiss what he says. My brother has ever been a dichotomy, a contradiction. That, at least, I suppose it is good to see remains the same.”

  


Steve felt a rush of pity for Thor. After all, he was trying. And if Bucky had ever suddenly decided he’d hated Steve and never wanted to speak to him again-- well, he’d be devastated.

So he reached out and put a hand on Thor’s upper arm. “He does need space. For now,” he amended. “But the Avengers need him. And we need you. So you have to be able to at least get along well enough to work together and have each other’s backs. I can talk to Loki, see if there’s anything that might help or if I can get through to him on the whole thing, but...”

He paused, going over what he wanted to say in his head. “I think that you need to stop trying to be his brother. Like you said, he’s rejecting that. Don’t bring up the past, don’t compare him to who he was or the relationship you had, because he doesn’t want that right now. But maybe... I don’t know. Start over?” It was a long shot, and one Loki might still reject. But Loki would never really have his second chance at a new life with Thor anchoring him to his old one and dragging him into a painful past. “Don’t try to be his brother. Just, maybe work on being a friend.” He offered Thor a genuine smile. “From what I’ve seen, you’re pretty good at making those.”

He turned his head at a thump from the other room and the creak of the door. “Pizza time!” Clint hollered from the kitchen.

Steve looked back to Thor. “We should probably eat. I’m starving. And... Thanks for not being real upset about the whole thing. Was there, ah, anything else you wanted to ask me about?”

  


Thor shook his head, attempting to make sense of Steve’s words.

_Not_ be Loki’s brother? But they were, that was-- it was the basis of what they were. If he’d had to befriend him when they were children, when they were young and not so very different, he could have, but now…

Now if felt like an insurmountable challenge. The sort that Mjolnir and a walk that dared folk to defy him could not change. Such an approach would no doubt make it worse.

“No, no other questions.” He assured him, though the prospect of returning to the other room with Clint and Natasha seemed daunting, now, too-- how was he to explain the shift in his mood?

“I would appreciate any help you may give on the subject of Loki.” He told Steve, feeling graver by the moment. “And I appreciate your care for him. Truly. I am grateful for it. But I do not know that I should join you for pizza. It is, I think, intended to be a celebration of your claiming this space as your own. And I am not in a celebratory mood. Take my congratulations, if you will, and give my regards to our friends.”

Finally he took the step away, recovering the space he had lost to Steve’s temper, and finally he looked down, though he quickly returned his eyes to his friend’s face, glad that he had achieved that much at least, that he and the Captain were not at odds.

If he was not to be close to Loki through their brotherhood, then perhaps he could have a semblance of that closeness to Steve, as his shield brother. It was not an entirely reassuring thought, but it was a good one, just the same.

  


“I’ll talk to Loki and see if there’s anything we can do to get things a bit less tense between the two of you,” Steve offered. It wasn’t a promise; he couldn’t claim to try to fix things between them as he knew that was well beyond his power -- but as a team leader, as Natasha had pointed out, it was his duty to make sure his team could cooperate effectively. And that meant working on finding a way to address the situation between Loki and Thor.

“I like to think of it more as celebrating that none of us crushed our fingers too badly getting that couch in and out of the elevator,” he joked, though his expression sobered a moment later. “But...” he chewed his lip, “if you’re not feeling up to it and need some space, that’s fine. I understand. I’m really grateful for your help though, and feel free to grab a few slices to take with you for later.” He’d ordered a whole extra pie with Thor in mind, after all.

It had been kind of Thor to volunteer his strength and time for Steve, especially now that Steve knew Thor had known about him and Loki and had his reservations. His help had cut the move-in time by half, at least.

“If you need to talk, you know where to find me,” he added. “We don’t have to meet here if it’s uncomfortable. I can come upstairs, or we can go to the gym and spar a bit if you like.” Thor would definitely hold up well as a sparring partner, and unlike wrestling with Loki, Steve was less worried about certain baser instincts kicking in. But more important than sparring was making sure he didn’t shut himself off from a teammate again. He’d made that mistake already with Natasha and Clint.

He opened the door, leading the way back out into the living area. “I’ll see you at the meeting this afternoon, at least?”

  


“You will, Captain. Steve. Thank you.” He tried his best to sound effusive, but felt as though the attempt fell flat.

“Clint. Natasha.” He felt awkward in his attempt at excusing himself without at least acknowledging them. “Until this afternoon,” He said, trying to make his haste seem casual, his absence quick and as painless for himself as possible, though he was sure that the explanation would fall to Steve, and he did not envy him the conversation.

He supposed the others would be told that they needn’t fear stepping around the topic, the knowledge, of Steve and his brother’s-- Steve and Loki’s relationship, now. It smarted, knowing that he should be the last to learn. That they must have spoken of it behind his back, in order to keep him from knowing. That if that were the case, all of the others must know of Loki’s hesitance to tell him, to trust him…

He felt, for the first time since coming to know this group, as much like an outsider as he had when he stumbled into Jane’s life and the back of her vehicle.

He breathed easily when he closed the door of Steve and Loki’s rooms behind him, though not quickly enough to full cut off Clint’s words, questioning what had sent him running in such a hurry.

Shamed and feeling like a coward, no longer hungry, he pressed the button and returned upstairs. At least there, he knew where he belonged, and felt comfortable in that knowledge.

  


“So... what sent him running in such a hurry?”

Clint stared at the door, then turned back to Steve, who grimaced.

“Well, Thor knows about me and Loki,” he mumbled, reaching for one of the pizza boxes and opening it.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “You told him?”

“Not exactly.” Steve took one of the freshly unpacked plates out of the cupboard and slid a slice of pepperoni on to it. “But he knows. And we talked.”

“Huh. Guessing the whole ‘I’m screwing your crazy little brother’ talk was about as awkward as it sounds like it would be?” Clint asked.

Steve sighed. It was answer enough.

“He took it okay?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah. Well. Okay in that I haven’t been hammered into paste,” Steve replied, reaching for the beers.

“Yeah, I don’t envy you having gods-in-law,” Clint added with a snort, serving up his own pizza. “That’s messed up.”

“Better that everyone knows,” Natasha said, shrugging. “At least, all of us. We’re having the meeting to be on the same page, so the timing works.”

“Still super awkward.”

“Hmmm.” Steve popped open another beer, took a swig, then frowned. “Can it be my turn to ask a question though?”

They both paused and looked at him expectantly.

  
Steve looked down and then back up with a raised brow. “...Why is there a dog in my apartment?”

 

  
  



	48. Forty-Eight

JARVIS issued a reminder over the PA ten minutes before the meeting. Steve had finished unpacking all of the kitchen stuff, wiping down all his dishes and pans and putting them into the cupboards and drawers, and had just started on the living room by peeling the tape off the heavy boxes of books. The apartment was still a mess, but it was progress (mess was better than unlived emptiness), and he’d been so occupied that without the alert, he might have easily lost track of time.

As it was, he managed to wipe some of the moving dust off his clothes and get down to the conference room with a few minutes to spare. Natasha and Clint were already present, talking in low voices as they sat on one side of a long conference table, arranged with three seats to a side and one at the head. The rest hadn’t arrived yet.

Steve paused, having started to make his way toward one of the seats along the side of the table before recalling that he’d called this meeting. So instead, he moved to the chair at the head of the table -- the one Tony, or, more likely Pepper must usually occupy -- and stood behind it as the others filtered in. Natasha, seated to his right, nodded to him, while Clint fiddled with his phone.

The team from the lab arrived next, sitting together on the side of the table opposite Natasha and Clint. Loki, naturally, took the seat closest to Steve, with Bruce on his other side and Stark next to him. Thor arrived last, looking slightly harried, and immediately slid into the remaining seat beside Clint, conveniently as far from Loki as possible.

Steve looked them over and took a breath.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said, and felt a little absurd at the formality of the sentence as soon as it left his lips. “I know I’ve talked with each of you one-on-one or in small groups, but I don’t think we’ve had the chance to discuss things much as a team. And since we are a team, we need to. So I called this meeting to give us a chance to share everything we know and clear the air.” He stole a sideway look at Natasha, who inclined her head slightly in approval.

  


The gathering was oddly formal, the tone set by Steve such that Loki did not feel as though he ought to fidget, let alone speak.

He was, however, quite used to that. Lies though they had been, he had spent years as Odin’s youngest son, the spare to Thor’s heir, and he had needed to be present for all manner of speeches, audiences, declarations, and the like. Present, but unseen, and unheard.

At least here he did not have to wonder whether the choices made would be for the best; he knew that Steve would do nothing but what was right.

The morning had begun without much promise, his bed empty and his talk with Thor uncomfortable and hard enough that, even now, Thor seemed not to want to look at him. He stifled his frown, though he knew that even if he had been looking, he would have found a reason to be upset with it. It was, he knew, unfair. But he did not feel inclined to change it, even if he knew how. His ire felt cleansing, somehow, and so he would cling to it. For now, at the very least.

Unless that was what this meeting was to be about. He felt at a disadvantage, not knowing where Steve’s mind lay, since he hadn’t spoken to him at all since he’d woken in distress, and the decision to have this meeting had clearly happened since then.

It was surprising, too, to see that the Widow had returned, though he supposed the timing was good. If this was to be a time of sharing informations... he took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for the eventuality of having to truly answer the questions about Thanos that he had-- thus far-- sidestepped, avoided, or simply drawn away from.

He turned his head, though, when Tony spoke up.

“You have an agenda of what you want to talk about, or is this supposed to be a free for all? Because no offense, but Pep and I have reservations in a few hours, and I don’t want to be late. Or show up with a black eye. Not real good for publicity.” He was looking around the table, and despite his relaxed, almost smug demeanor, Loki could see the shrewd look behind the way his eyes were scanning over each of his teammates.

And, with a surge of guilt, Loki realized that the part about his not wanting a black eye was, at least in part, aimed at him. He had been the cause of two near-physical altercations in the past week-- one of which had sent Bruce scurrying for tranquility.

He shot a sideways look at him, trying to judge how he felt about this, but as usual, his face was impassive.

So Loki turned his eyes back to Steve, waiting for his answer like everyone else.

  


Steve bit down the urge to make some snarky comment back at Tony. Instead, he squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin.

“I want to start off with an apology,” he began. “I failed you guys. As a team-mate, as a friend, and as a leader. Whether that came as ambushing you in your home,” he looked at Tony, “making you feel like you had to choose sides,” a glance at Bruce, “not telling you what you deserved to know,” brief eye contact with Thor and Clint, “or shutting you out,” and finally Natasha, “I should have done better, and you deserved better. I’m sorry. And I’m going to try to do better moving forward. Thank you all for putting up with me so far.” He stole a quick look at Loki.

“Now, there’s some stuff I think you all know, but you all heard it separately, so I’m going to rehash it quick here just to make sure. For starters; Loki is here. He’s one of the good guys now -- no taking over the world or making people kneel --” (with the occasional exception of Steve, but _that_ information certainly wasn’t going on the table), “--and he’s working to make amends for his past actions. He’s helping us now, and working with us.”

He took a deep breath. “Secondly; Loki and I are in a relationship.” His eyes darted toward Thor, who was studiously looking at the tabletop. “We’ve been together for a while now, and we’re both living together in the tower. I know there may be concerns about my bias due to the nature of our dynamic, but I want to assure everyone -- I don’t trust Loki because I’m in a relationship with him.” Another look toward Loki, and this time Steve’s expression softened, something warm creeping into it. “It’s the other way around. Our involvement was built on a foundation of trust, and a promise of honesty. I hope in time, everyone here will be able to trust one another, as we’re going to have to work together as a team again, and we’ll need Loki’s help against Thanos.”

He could see Tony’s mouth opening in a question, but barreled ahead before he could get them sidetracked. There would be time to address any concerns shortly. “Thirdly, we’ve got the problem of Thanos. He’s an alien entity called a Titan, and the architect of the Chitauri invasion, who gave Loki the scepter and sent him here. In addition to being an instrument of mind control, the scepter works as a sort of mental conduit across space. When I touched it in SHIELD holding, my consciousness was transported to Thanos’ world.” The muscles of his jaw bunched at the memory. “He’s large, powerful, and he has allies...”

He launched into a quick recounting of what had happened on that barren rock. About the alien women, the cowled being, having his mind torn apart, and Thanos’ words. “So Loki is only part of a larger plan involving Earth. It’s likely he’s going to want the scepter back. He used Loki to get an object from Asgard’s vaults -- a gauntlet -- so he might be amassing arcane weapons, in which case the scepter is probably valuable to him. That being said, if we can get it back, we may be able to use it to garner more information about his plans. Enough to prepare and protect ourselves.”

  


“A gauntlet?” Thor asked, finally raising his eyes to Loki, who felt the weight of them leveled at him like a physical manifestation of his guilt.

“The infinity gauntlet. It was one of the conditions of his support in my efforts of invasion. I’d hoped it would buy me some mercy from him, but…” Loki lifted one shoulder. “I do not know why he wants it. It is useless, as near as I could tell.”

“We did not even realize it was missing.” Thor grumbled quietly, and that made a small smirk find its way onto Loki’s lips. That was because even half dead and desperate, he was _capable_.

“On the subject of missing items,” Bruce said, looking up towards Steve for permission to speak. “Does anyone else have any news on the sceptre? Ah, we’ve… We got results from an experimental… magic detector?” He sounded unsure, trying the terminology on for size before turning to look at Tony and Loki in turn, “But we got back a few pings, and we haven’t been able to narrow it down to one… and we also have no idea who those places belong to, or what the others are, besides the one that’s obviously Loki, here.”

Loki thought that summarized many of the problems they had-- a frustrating kernel of information, without any additional context, and far too many voids in their knowledge.

“SHIELD has had no luck in learning anything more about whoever took it-- they-- _we--_ were late on the uptake because we thought Loki had taken it with him when he and Steve left, the second time. So. Whoever did it has had plenty of time to go back and cover their tracks, and they did. Thoroughly. So it’s pretty certain to have been an inside job.” And the expression on Romanoff’s face did not hide how she felt about the prospect.

“I can take the information that you have and try to compare it to the databases at SHIELD, but with a mole running around, I don’t know how secure the search would be. It might send them running before we even figure anything solid out.”

“Well, look, here’s what we have--” Tony tapped at his cell phone and sent the map he had rendered to the surface of the table, so that it spread across it and they could all see. “But as far as moles go, my gut is saying let’s don’t. Maybe I can work up some kind of drone, send them ahead to scout these places out…” He gestured.

Clint scowled.

“Because that’s so much better. If it’s a search that might not even be noticed versus high tech flying machines that will say ‘Stark’ all down the side when they get shot out of the sky… Natasha knows how to hide her work better than most people I know. I’d be happier letting her search, see what she can turn up.”

  


Steve frowned at the map Tony had pulled up. Back in the lab, he’d been too elated by the glowing spots to pay too close attention, but now that the heady thrill of success had faded, his focus was sharper.

There was something familiar about standing at the head of a table over a map like this. Granted, the SSR war table had been less high tech -- they’d had pins in lieu of pixels, small flags and figures to mark the position of troops instead of graphics. But the deja vu remained strong.

“Forgive me,” Thor spoke up, looking puzzled, “I believe the All-speak may not be translating -- why are we concerned about small burrowing rodents within SHIELD?”

Tony snorted. Clint covered a smirk with his hand. Natasha retained her composure, however. “There’s a possibility that SHIELD has been infiltrated by an outside party.”

“A spy in the house of spies,” Tony muttered beneath his breath. She ignored him.

“If this is the case, then we may need to work on this without SHIELD support. Or at least, only sharing with a select group and keeping it compartmentalized, limiting our resources in order to maintain security. If SHIELD is compromised in any way, we’ll need to keep this intel close to the chest, since we can’t risk tipping off whoever it is, like Natasha said, and giving them a chance to cover their tracks,” Steve continued, nodding to her. “At least until the mole is identified.”

“If the scepter is able to be used remotely,” Bruce mused, adjusting his glasses, “would it be possible for this Thanos to use it to control an agent in order to have it relocated?”

Steve frowned deeply at the possibility. “I... I don’t know.” He glanced over at Loki.

“Even if it were possible,” Natasha interjected, glancing sidelong at Clint, “protocols after the invasion were put in place for that kind of scenario. A mind-controlled agent would have been identified and stopped before he or she would have had the time to implement that elaborate of a cover up. And given how thorough the operation to steal the scepter was, we have to look at the possibility that this could be more than one operative.”

“Great. A conspiracy.” Tony slumped back in his chair. “Fury needs to keep a cleaner house.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow at him.

Steve’s gaze had drawn back to the map, and again, there was that sense of deja vu. Not just reminiscent of the war table, but of something else. Something...

Steve frowned. “Back to the locations -- do we have any information on any of these?”

“Well, the one in Wakanda is gonna be hell to get at without causing an international incident, so we should probably leave that alone,” Clint grumbled.

“And the one in Nepal is probably out, unless we’re dealing with some really villainous sherpas,” Tony added, flicking a finger over the dot in question and dimming it. “The others... This is us, obviously, and loverboy over there--” He tapped on the dot and gestured at Loki. “We’ve got a port in Turkey, an old mining town in Peru, what used to be a gulag, I think, in Russia... and this one in France is the middle of nowhere. Just some farmland, so unless the scepter got stolen by cows--”

“Can you zoom in?” The nagging feeling at the back of his mind was becoming incessant.

A tattered map on a wall in a darkened laboratory flashed briefly in his memory.

Tony pulled his hands apart along the tabletop, zooming the map in. “There’s nothing there, Cap--”

“Because we blew it up,” Steve said quietly. “There’s nothing there now. But that was a HYDRA base in the war.”

  


Loki felt his head jerk up to look at Steve, though what he expected to see in his face, he wasn’t sure.

“HYDRA?” Natasha asked, her brows furrowing. “I thought-- I mean, it looks like they were all taken out. A whole bunch of nothing in any of those locations, and I haven’t heard anything about… usually there’s at least some rumblings if that kind of organization is around, but I haven’t heard anything. You think someone’s camping out in their old hideout? Or… what’s left of it?”

Loki did not fully understand, but he felt at least a bit better equipped to follow this conversation than Thor, which he found a little comforting.

“If there is a conspiracy, or a mole that cannot be found, who is to say you would know what they call themselves?” Loki asked softly. “Do we have any way of knowing whether anything might remain below ground? Your SHIELD facility in DC is deeper than it would seem-- is there any reason these should not be the same?”

Though he did have to wonder how fresh the traces of magic would have to be to appear there, how recently they might have been-- Would Stark’s machine read from times when Steve had been there, before the ice?

Loki did not know fully Midgard’s history with weapons of power, but it seemed possible that they may not all be present still.

“I guess… there may be some information we can get out of Fury, but if nothing else, we should be able to get outfitted. No offense Tony, I’m sure you could whip something up, but…” Clint gestured. “This is the sort of stuff SHIELD has paranoid nightmares about on a daily basis.”

“Clint is right.” Natasha said, speaking up over Tony’s beginnings of a protest. “And even if not, at least telling him a little of what we know will go a long way in helping to get the Avengers back in good standing. Like Steve said, we need to be able to band together to fight this Thanos guy. And not just the team-- that means SHIELD too, compromised or not, there are still a lot of good people that will come to our aid, once we need them, as long as we don’t look like the bad guys at that point.”

“One thing further, however-- as we will need to speak to Fury of the retrieval of the sceptre, we must also make clear our plans with it. And it is best that all of you know now, so that there can be no… no bad reactions.” Loki spoke slowly, careful not to look to either Clint or Thor, but rather up at Steve, knowing that he did not like this part of their plans, but aware, too that it was necessary.

“I intend to use the sceptre and speak to Thanos. I will make as if I am to play the role of a double agent-- tell him I mean to betray you all and help him. In the hopes of gaining information about what it is he is interested with on Earth-- and with Steve.” Reminding them of his concern for Steve was, he thought, in his best interest. He did not want them to believe that he would truly betray them.

“Barton has seen before what this looks like, and I believe that Tony has video of my experience with it at SHIELD, as well as Steve’s. It may not appear… altogether pleasant. But I would advise that none of you make any attempt to touch the sceptre. We cannot risk having you compromised as well.”

  


Steve grit his teeth. He knew they had discussed this, and that it was likely necessary, but he still didn’t like it. He caught Natasha’s eye for a moment, but her expression remained inscrutable.

Clint snorted, shifting uncomfortably in his chair and refusing to look at any of them. “Not a problem. You couldn’t pay me to get up close and personal with that thing...”

Thor frowned. “Br-- Loki. If what Dr. Banner questioned earlier is true, and Thanos is able to exert control through the scepter, how do we know he will not entrap your mind when you take hold of it?” Beside him, Clint paled slightly, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“Or hurt you like he did Steve?” Bruce added quietly. “If he can reach into your mind, how long can you keep up the double agent act?”

Clint muttered something under his breath that Steve didn’t quite catch, but Tony and Bruce, both seated closer to him, frowned.

“Using the scepter is a last resort, but right now, it’s our only connection to Thanos that can afford us any information, unless we’re able to find an alternative,” Steve said grimly. “I’d like for Natasha and Loki to work together in preparation; Natasha’s experience with espionage can hopefully help Loki sell the act enough that Thanos doesn’t have his crony go poking around in his head.” He turned to Loki, in case he had anything to add.

  


Loki shrugged, the weight of so much attention making him feel as though he were pinned.

“It is worth the risk, I think. Don’t you?” He spoke softly, but he looked to Clint for the answer, certain that, if no one else, at least he would not value Loki too greatly, and at least he should be on his side of this discussion.

“I’ll work with you.” Natasha spoke directly to him, and he just nodded his thanks. If she would report approvingly to Steve, perhaps he would rest easier. And if nothing else, well… Loki had reason to respect the way the Widow plied her craft. It would not hurt him to learn it.

Loki would not look at Thor. He did not want to see the concern there, did not want to see the accusations in his ever overly expressive face. And he could not look at Steve.

He was scared, but resolute. He would do this, because he could not risk Steve making the attempt. He could not lose him, nor even come close. Not like that. Not again.

“It’s going to take some work to convince Nick that this is a good way to go, and I’m sure he’s going to want to try and send someone with us-- probably a whole team of someones. But I think once we explain what we think, explain our wariness… well, it’s us. He can’t exactly say no, and I think he knows that. You two--” Natasha looked to Steve and Tony, “Are too public, too much out of his control right now. He can’t take the chance that you’ll go to the media with any of this. So I think he can accept us not wanting to work with anyone we don’t know we can trust.”

“And what’re we going to tell him, exactly? ‘By the way Nick, you may want to check your troops for copies of Mein Kamf while we’re gone?’” Tony’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and Loki winced. “Why can’t real life Nazis have tattoos, like wizard Nazis? It would make everyone’s life so much easier.”

  


“Wizard Nazis?” Steve felt a current of alarm, wondering if he’d missed out on something in the final months of the war--

“Harry Potter reference,” Clint supplied, “no actual magic Nazis, Cap.”

Steve relaxed, only slightly embarrassed. “Right.” He wondered what it said about his life that between magic, aliens, and government experiments, the prospect of wizard Nazis seemed like a potentially real and valid cause for concern. “Okay. So, in the next day or so, Natasha and I will go down to DC to meet with Fury. Tony, any chance we can borrow your jet?”

“Sure. Just don’t scratch the paint and bring it back with a full tank.”

“Great.” Steve nodded to Natasha. “We’ll meet with Fury in person and go over our intel, see what our options are, and explain our reasons for wanting to keep this operation an Avengers mission. We’ll also brief him on everything we know so far about Thanos; even if we can’t trust some members of SHIELD with information on the scepter, as an organization, they’re better suited to prepping global defenses against an extraterrestrial threat and mobilizing international forces toward that goal. Showing a willingness to go meet face to face should help smooth some things over between us and them.” It wouldn’t be complete trust or integration -- the Avengers would remain under their own command, as they had when they’d broken away from the Council’s orders during the invasion -- but it would hopefully mean continued cooperation.

“Also, Thor--” Thor looked up on hearing his name, “--SHIELD is going to want to talk to you about what happened in London. I’d like for you to come with us for a debrief. Sharing information will help strengthen alliances with SHIELD, and will help distract from Natasha and me focusing on the scepter with Fury. Also, I hear that SHIELD is flying in Dr. Foster and her team--”

“Jane!” Thor perked up immediately. “She is with SHIELD?”

“Or will be imminently,” Natasha added.

Thor nodded, more enthusiastic than he’d been the whole meeting. “I would very much like to accompany you then. And also...” he paused. “Jane is very clever with your mortal science. Her knowledge of otherworldly events far transcends anything else your people have come across. It may be that she could help with your research.”

Bruce took off his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt. “He’s got a point. I read the journal that published the Foster Theory, and while it’s very controversial, it demonstrates some extremely out-of-the-box thinking that could apply to our work on the scepter...”

  


Loki clenched his fists under the table, keeping his face impassive.

Of course his mortal would have to be very clever to have so fully replaced Loki in Thor’s attentions. He left a distinctly shaped hole in his life that it would take a scholar of some sort to fill. And _of course_ she was to be helpful on the very project that he was most involved with now.

How _wonderful_.

But, he noticed, there was no mention of wanting him to join them. Despite his and Steve’s talk of going to visit Steve’s sweetheart, Peggy… and despite their need to convince Fury that he was not going to take the sceptre and run.

“Am I--” the words were out sooner than he was prepared for what he meant to say next. “Will I be needed in DC?” He asked, quieter. He did not want to sound as though he were a child, clinging to Steve’s shirt hem, but…

He did not look forward to the thought of sharing the small space of a plane with Thor, but nor did he relish the idea of remaining here, alone without Steve in their empty flat, while he avoided the upper floor, so that he did not cause any upsets or fights.

  


Steve nodded to Thor. They wanted to keep Dr. Foster from being used as leverage against Thor in case things with SHIELD grew strained, so bringing her back here under the pretext of requiring her expertise would work well in that regard. And if her scientific expertise was, in fact, an asset to their work (Steve trusted Bruce’s knowledge there over his), then even better. Not to mention that from everything he’d heard, she didn’t sound like a security threat, and her presence might help ground Thor and chase away some of melancholy that hung over him, easing some of the tension in the tower that his presence had brought.

“So long as Tony doesn’t mind putting up a few more folks, I don’t see why not,” he answered Thor.

“Hey, the more the merrier. Throw in another scientist, and the nerd side of the table here will outnumber your soldier-spy types,” Tony said with a shrug. “I’ll have my people set up one of the extra suites below the penthouse.”

Good. Right. Steve went over the logistics in his head, only for his train of thought to derail when Loki finally spoke up and asked a question.

Everyone’s eyes were on Loki, and then, in unison, on Steve.

“Well, that’s up to you,” he replied. “We could definitely use you in DC. Right now you know the most about Thanos, and can probably answer more questions than Nat and I can. But given how things went down the last time we were there, I get it if you want to stay here. And if Bruce and Tony really need you for refining the scepter research, it might make sense for you to stay in New York and focus on that, but you know more about how much you need to do on that than I do. So, it’s your call.”

Personally, he didn’t like the idea of leaving Loki here alone, or being far from him, though the tower was arguably safer for him than SHIELD. But this meeting was about tactical decision making, and not Steve’s personal preferences and emotional leanings.

“Speaking of Thanos,” Natasha said, placing her elbows on the table and leaning forward slightly as she looked right at Loki, “is there anything more about him that you can tell us? We know what Steve saw and experienced. But you worked with him before, correct?”

  


“Well, what we found out today is that for lack of better words for it, the wavelength that we stumbled on accidentally is the only one turning up anything. That’s the only frequency that shows any blips at all so far-- and I think, given what you think and know, it’s maybe better that we focus on finding out more about those places. Which is something Loki and his seidhr wouldn’t need to be here for.” Bruce nodded at Loki, and Loki was grateful for that, but he was distracted by the Widow’s question.

“I--” he hesitated, but did not look to Steve for help. Instead, he looked, guilty and worried, towards Thor, then down at the table.

“I did, yes. Before… before I came to Midgard with my plot, yes. I found him by accident, and it was I who proposed we work together. I asked him to make me into the leader I would need to be, to take Midgard.” He said these things firmly, trying as best he could not to shrink from his guilt, and not to turn it into a confession. Merely telling them what had happened and how it was.

“He lives on the ruins of the world he was raised on, having destroyed it himself. It is-- the destruction is impressive. And I-- I wanted that, then. I hoped to destroy Asgard in much the same way.” He stopped speaking but did not look up, certain that whatever expression Thor wore would be horrible to behold.

“I know that he murdered the entirety of his race. The realm itself is now naught but rubble. And it is not the only one to have received his attentions. He has two who serve him, women of other species. Skilled warriors, assassins…. and torturers. He destroyed their realms as well.”

Loki tried to keep it about what he knew of Thanos, what he was capable of, tried to maintain some distance from his own experiences.

“And they are not the only ones that he has in his… I would not call it employ, I suppose, but those who are beholden to him. The Chitauri warriors fight--fought-- for him for fear of their own home being destroyed. I do not know now what has become of it. But it is likely that, with all of their usefulness gone, the rest of them may have been wiped out as well. Because Thanos does not allow his allies to outlive their usefulness. I learned this only too late.”

He took a deep breath.

“He also has another who serves him in his home, the one whom Steve spoke of, who can pull at your mind, dig into you… Thanos used him to train me into being a more…. ideal ally, I suppose.” He swallowed, then looked up at Steve, hoping that would be enough. But then he remembered the weapons.

“He granted me the sceptre, ultimately because he wanted someone in control of Midgard, and with the expectation that once I had defeated you all, I should be forcibly returned to Asgard, and there, he asked-- required-- that I deliver to him the gauntlet. I always understood that the sceptre was on loan only, he would want it back, once my work with it was done. The gauntlet he… he pulled out of me, through the combination of the powers of the sceptre and his own power. That is-- when you watch the recordings of my touching the sceptre in SHIELD, that is what you are seeing. I have a-- Steve and I refer to it as a pocket, a small area in which I can keep assorted items, like a bag or a satchel. But it is not a physical place, it is--” he rolled his hands in front of him, in the air, and summoned forth a jar with laufgroenn in it. He sat it on the table. “Where this comes from is similar to the area in me that Seidhr-- my power-- is stored. Thanos reached within and tore it free, tore it out. I had not realized that was possible.”

He toyed with the jar, glad that it gave him something to do, something to look at that was not the accusatory stares he felt sure he was getting, the horror and disgust that no doubt surrounded him.

“But as I said, I had the gauntlet, and I tried to test it for any power, tried to understand what he wanted of it. I do not know. It appeared to be nothing more than it was, old armor. Nothing of importance, nothing useful. And so when I am no longer useful to him… it is likely that he will attempt to pull the sceptre through me in the same way, and… I do not expect to live through that.” He damned his voice for wavering, damned himself for the coward he was, and how he had just shown himself as such.

“But I do not think it will happen this time.” He hastened to add, lest they try and keep him from doing what he needed to. “He seems to have further plans for me, though what those are, I cannot say.” He thought he was finished, finally, and he folded his hands around the jar and stared down at it, still unwilling to look at the faces of those around him.

He had relearned what it felt to feel guilt, to feel shame. To be hurt with how he cared. And he cared about how these people saw him. Cared because Steve did, because Steve wanted them to accept him. And he was certain that now, now that they had a more complete understanding of his crimes, that acceptance was further away than ever.

  


Steve frowned faintly as Loki began his explanation. He knew that Loki had accepted his guilt in the part he’d played, and that he was acknowledging his poor choices and cruel intentions without sugarcoating anything. Part of him respected that. But another part of him cringed, wishing Loki would tell a bit more of the story, and not with-hold the parts that would earn him a bit more sympathy from the team.

Still, as Steve’s gaze drifted from Loki to the others at the table, he caught signs in their expressions that some of them could read between the lines. Tony stiffened as soon as Loki mentioned ‘torturers,’ then went ashen when Loki spoke about the Chitauri. Steve felt a pang of guilt; he’d have to check in with Tony later and see how he was doing, knowing he’d nuked a species that had been blackmailed into war against them.

Natasha narrowed her eyes when Loki mentioned being shaped into an ‘ideal ally.’ Clint looked unhappy about all of it, though his expression was shuttered off, eyes fixed on a point on the wall somewhere behind Loki’s head. Bruce rubbed at his chin, frowning, though at least little of this was new to him. And Thor--

Thor had stiffened, eyes wide, when Loki mentioned his plan to destroy Asgard, jaw working. He looked angry, then grief-stricken, and then... Hollow. He looked down at the wood grain, not making eye contact with anyone else, hands folded on the table before him. Though when Steve looked closer, he could see the way Thor’s knuckles had gone white...

When Loki finished, the table was silent for a moment. And then -- well, it wasn’t exactly pandemonium, but everyone began to ask questions all at once.

“So, what. This guy’s MO is he just wipes out planets and gets together other planet-destroying groupies? Like some kinda genocide club?” Clint asked. “Is that why he’s fixating on Earth? Just to come blow us out of the sky for shits and giggles? What’s the endgame here?”

“You mentioned before that Thanos tried extracting your magic with weird torture-y stuff and all, before. Do we have to expect more magical mojo and whatnot in addition to alien tech? Like, is he some kind of mass murdering space wizard?” Tony wanted to know.

Bruce followed up: “If you using the scepter could allow him to retake it, is it worth the risk to potentially deliver that weapon back to him? And can he only do that through you, or is it possible the scepter is already back with him?”

“There’s no tactical reason to loan out the scepter unless he was bartering it for an object of greater value,” Natasha said. “This gauntlet -- we need to know more about it. What are his tactical assets besides allies?”

Thor looked up finally, ignoring all the others and simply staring at Loki. When he spoke, the question was just one word:

“Why?”

  


Loki cringed, his shoulders hunching inwards as he tried to sink back into the chair further.

More than anything else, it was Thor, his betrayal so painfully clear, that pierced through the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears and the words the others began spouting at him.

He clenched his teeth and looked up, even the movement of his head shaky. He met Thor’s stare and managed, narrowly, not to flinch from it. Then he forced himself to look around the table, the defensive masks that his companions wore enough to make him wish he could just be swallowed up by the ground. He dropped his hands into his lap so that he could grip his own thighs, attempting to ground himself with the slight pain as his fingertips dug into his skin through his pants.

“Thanos controls some form of power. I have seen-- felt him do so. I do not know how, or with what level of skill. As you can imagine, his attempt at taking my seidhr did not feel as though there were any delicacy, any finesse to it. But then, I suppose a pig would say the same of any man with a knife-- whether he be butcher or surgeon. I do not know the range of his power, or what sort it is-- only that it is not seidhr. Not anything I have seen before.”

He was trying to answer the questions, though he knew they would be out of order. Still, he addressed Tony’s first. He turned next to Clint.

“We do not know what he wants with your world. He seems fascinated with it, for whatever reason, but I cannot say if that is how he approaches each of his conquests. Which,” He added, turning towards Bruce, “Is why we haven’t much choice. I do not know fully how he was able to steal the gauntlet through me, but as it came from my ‘pocket’, I wonder if it is not necessary to have seidhr. In which case, it may only be that he is able to do it through me, and so the sceptre must remain here, or if he is able to pull it through any, then unless the thief was wise enough not to touch the sceptre directly, it may well be gone, and your mole destroyed in its wake. I do not know. I’m sorry.” He was so useless here, evil and useless, and he could feel those terms seeping into him, like cold, through his skin and into his bones. He tried to keep his voice even, though, tried to keep his face emotionless.

His hands, though, if they squeezed any harder, would likely leave marks.

“I do not know what he has to his strength, aside from the small glimpses I was shown. He was never much of one for sharing, save what he felt I must know. But whatever it is, it is enough to tear a world to shreds. I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He found himself repeating that mantra in his head, as he finally turned to look at Thor.

  


_I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know._

  


But he did know. And Steve had just explained that he was not the liar he had been. That they should trust him. And so he spoke truthfully as he could.

“Because I wanted to unmake your home the way that your father unmade me. I wanted him to suffer, as he has made me suffer… but all that I have done is bring more suffering to myself, and now… to all of Midgard. Why, Thor, is because I am filled with hate. Consumed by it.” He looked around, at all of the rest of them, save Steve. He didn’t want to have to face him. But he knew he would. He could hardly avoid it. _Steve knew_ , he reminded himself. _Steve already knew._ And he loved him despite this. His breathing felt difficult as his throat tightened. But he could not help but say once more, this time to the humans in attendance,

“I’m sorry.”

The words felt dry, brittle and hollow and pointless.

He turned at last to Steve, waiting for his judgement, ready to answer the next barrage of questions, his shoulders aching with the tension of holding this position, of not revealing how he felt.

Loki was certain he would shake apart if this went on for too long. But he owed them this much, owed them this honesty. He tried to calm himself, take soothing breaths, but the heaviness of his chest would not allow it. He squeezed his legs harder, and let his air out softly.

  


Steve had to fight not to flinch. Not to cringe in sympathy and reach out for Loki. He _wanted_ to reach out and touch him -- take his hand, squeeze his shoulder -- _something_ to reassure him. But from where he was standing, it would be such an overt gesture that he found himself paralyzed.

Once Loki had finished answering questions, though, Steve managed to at least coax his voice into action, speaking before the others could launch a second barrage of questions: “Bruce, Tony,” he began with, clearing his throat and getting their attention. “We need a safe way to handle the scepter once we find it. Locating it is priority, but we’re going to need to engineer a portable and secure means of transporting it without risk of accidental contact. Can you get on that?”

“Sure,” Tony answered, still looking like he’d been suckerpunched, but managing to nod.

“We can work on some schematics while JARVIS combs through the numbers,” Bruce added.

Steve inclined his head to them, then looked to the other side of the table. “Thor.”

It took a few moments for Thor to look away from Loki, and if his eyes were a little overbright, no one said anything. “Thor, I know you’re going to need to go back to Asgard at some point to check in on your mother,” Steve continued, gentling his tone. “When you do, we’re going to need you to do some recon. Natasha is right that we need to know more about this gauntlet -- If it was in Asgard’s vault, someone must have known it held some kind of value. There may be records from whenever it was obtained. Also, you’ve got access to a lot more interplanetary information than we do, especially being a prince, so if there’s any way you can track down information about Thanos anyone in the other realms might know about, that would be incredibly helpful.”

Thor swallowed, then nodded. “I... will do my best to look into such matters,” he replied after a moment, voice rough.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Steve tacked on, before moving his attention to Clint. “Clint; while some of us are in DC, I’d like it if you stayed here. You’ve got experience working with teams and strike forces, and with training personnel. I need you to put together a regimen for us to train as a team, focusing on individual skills and integration. Draft up some scenarios and let me know what you’ll need to put them together.”

“We don’t know what we’re going into with this mission to recover the scepter, so we need to be ready for anything,” he added, looking around the table. “And that goes double for whatever we end up doing to deal with Thanos. Communicating is a good first step. But we’re going to need to all train and trust each other if we’re going to make an effective team. So that means the Avengers working together -- all seven of us.”

Silence hovered over the table for a moment.

“Uh... seven of us?” Clint finally asked, brows knit together and shoulders tensing. “You forget how to count, Cap?”

Steve realized his slip too late. But there was no taking it back now. He lifted his chin and looked Clint in the eyes. “Loki is critical to our mission success. He’s working with us. That makes him a part of the team. Our team is the Avengers, so the way I see it--”

“You want to make Loki an Avenger,” Bruce murmured, sliding his glasses down the bridge of his nose and peering at him over the frames.

  


Loki turned to look at Steve, aghast.

He’d known he wanted to broach the subject, but he would never have expected that he do so _now_. Not like this. He’d have expected his partner to at least want him to have some small chance of acceptance, but…

But after all of the things he had just finished telling them…

He closed his eyes, tensing for the inevitable blows against him, though at least he did not expect that they should be physical. They would not harm him, he was sure, if only because Steve stood here before them, and they needed him to help reverse the damage he had wrought.

He tried to prepare himself for the loathing, but he knew that he could not. Nothing he would do would make it hurt less. He pressed his palms down on the table and stood, chair scraping against the floor loudly in the silence that followed Steve’s words.

“I’d like to be excused.” He said firmly.

He didn’t think he could take more of this; it felt like it was tearing him up from inside, and he had already revealed himself as a coward, a hate filled fool… and the person who had endangered all of their world not once but twice. He did not think the humiliation, the regret could run any deeper than that. Not now.

He considered walking out, but the time it would take, the knowledge of how hard his hands were shaking and the way his companions’ eyes would linger on his back… it made his stomach churn. His stomach that was already empty from a day of neglecting it for work.

He looked at Steve and gave him the most apologetic look that he could muster. He’d not meant for things to go so poorly, so quickly. His fault, he knew-- all of this was, but.

But he was not needed here any longer. Not for them to say no. And he needed very much not to hear it.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated again, and used the seidhr he’d kept for this purpose to take himself from the room and into his own.

It was shameful, the action of a coward. But it wasn’t as though he stood to lower himself any further in their eyes. He doubted that was even possible.

  


Steve watched in horror as Loki stood and begged off. “Loki--” he began, but before he could say anymore, he was gone.

_Shit._

“What the _fuck?!”_ Clint shouted.

Steve swallowed. “Meeting adjourned.”

“Steve,” Natasha snapped.

“Natasha, get in touch with Fury, arrange a meeting time and text me with when we need to leave--”

“No no no,” Clint pushed his chair back, standing now. “You don’t get to drop something like that and then disappear like your magic boyfriend there.”

“He has a point, Steve,” Bruce added, more quietly. “This is something we should probably discuss.”

“And we will discuss it,” Steve replied tersely. “We’ll discuss it as a team, but now is obviously not the best time, and Loki ought to be a part of that discussion. So if you’ll excuse me--”

“No!” Clint slapped a hand against the table. Thor startled, and Bruce sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Look, I’ve been trying to be pretty understanding here. I’m okay with cohabitating with the guy. Hell, I’ve been downright fucking civil. I’ll even cooperate for the sake of the op. But this is a whole other level, Cap. You’re talking about taking a guy who just admitted to wanting to wipe out a whole planet for some mass-murdering psycho, and letting him play hero!”

Steve narrowed his eyes at him. “I wasn’t aware we were _playing_ at anything.”

“Oh don’t give me that!” Clint sniped back. “You know what I mean. You wanna dress him up like one of the good guys and make pretend like he never did anything wrong?”

Steve exhaled through his nose. “No,” he replied, voice low, “I don’t. I want to put him in a position where he can do the most good and help the most people to make up for the things he did. And that’s as a part of this team. He’s not hiding from it or running from it, so maybe give him the chance to atone for it. If it helps, think of it as community service.”

“Guys...”

Clint scoffed. “Pretty sure accepting the key to the city for saving the mayor or whatever isn’t exactly on par with gathering garbage.”

“I understand if you’re not on board with the idea,” Steve said, straining to keep his cool while simultaneously itching to run out the door. “But it’s a practical solution, and I think we should at least give it consideration.”

“Guys--”

“What about probation?” Tony piped up. “Like, not a full-fledged Avenger, but... he could go out on call-outs with us, work with us in the field, and maybe not get to do the press conferences or anything until we have a better handle on how he’s doing with it? Wouldn’t be that different than what we’ve been doing--”

“So leave it at what you’ve been doing!” Clint argued.

Thor rubbed at his jaw. “I wonder...” he rumbled, staring at the table.

“Guys!”

“Yes, Bruce?” Steve snapped, looking up at Banner. “What is it?”

Bruce frowned, looking a bit exasperated. “Did anyone see where Natasha went?”

Silence. All eyes moved toward the empty chair to Steve’s right.

Steve pushed his chair in and made for the door. “Meeting. Adjourned.”

This time no one stopped him.

  
  


He stood in his own room, eyes staring, without his mind making any sense of the boxes that were stacked up there.

They hadn’t been there before, when he left. But they weren’t a pressing concern. In fact, hollow as he felt, nothing seemed to be all that pressing, save his need to make things right.

He _couldn’t_ though, couldn’t because nothing about him was suited to it. He didn’t seem capable of doing right.

He knew he’d disappointed Steve. He’d been able to see it in his face, hear it in the way he said his name--

Loki choked, sputtering on his own breaths as the emotional turmoil he’d fought so hard to contain, to hide, tore through him, and he ended up grasping at the wall, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

His eyes swam with tears and he seemed unable to fill his lungs. He stumbled out of the door and towards the kitchen, some vague idea that water might loosen his throat in mind, before the thought vanished, as he saw that the boxes in their room had not been the end of it by far.

There was a veritable hill of boxes, some opened, most not. There was furniture-- a table, chairs, a couch…

The surprise knocked him out of his panic, but made him feel worse, somehow-- Steve had done all of this today. While he’d been being useless in the lab, Steve had… had probably hoped to surprise him.

Or had at least grown tired of waiting for him to take care of all of this. Likely both.

He was… so much, so much more than Loki deserved, so much _better_ \--

A knock came at the door, and Loki moved to it without thinking, already preparing the things he needed to say.

“I am so sor--” He stopped, as it registered just who stood there. It was not Steve, as he’d assumed. He did not think anyone else would want to even look at him now, let alone speak to him. That no one else would bother to seek him out.

But it was the Widow.

“Are you--” He swallowed, a spike of resigned fear rising in him. “Are you here to kill me?” He asked, holding his voice steady, though he was amazed that he could.

  


Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I’m good, but I don’t think I’m good enough to take a god down while un-armed. Though I’ll take it as a compliment that you seem to think so,” she replied.

Loki looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown -- or that he’d been in the middle of one when she interrupted. His voice didn’t crack, but it was a bit on the hoarse side, and his face was slightly blotchy.

Genuinely upset, then. Or the best act she’d seen in a long time.

“Do you mind?” She stepped forward and pushed past him into the apartment. “I left beer in your refrigerator. Do you want one?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Moving into the kitchen, she opened the fridge, pulling out two bottles. “It’s customary where I’m from to always discuss important things over a drink. Also unimportant things.” She paused, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. “Really, everything happens over a drink.”

While she didn’t have the brute strength to simply pull the caps off like Steve did, she knew how to knock them off using a sharp strike from the heel of her hand while placing the edge of the cap against the counter’s corner. A moment later, she held a bottle out for Loki.

“You look like you could use it.”

  


Loki watched her, on his guard to some extent but he was also bemused-- or as close as he could get to it in his current foggy state.

“Thank you, no. I have no taste for them.”

She seemed in surprisingly good humor, all things considered, but then he remembered that she was apt enough at lying to fool him, and a good enough actress that he would not be surprised to find himself believing in emotions that she did not truly feel.

He was entirely unsure what to say, why she was there or even how to ask as much.

It was the best he could do not to gape at her.

“I… sorry. But, what do you-- why have you come here?” He felt too brittle to retain his politeness for long. But there was nowhere else to run to, nowhere but this to hide.

And he couldn’t help but fear that she had come to be certain he didn’t do anything…. destructive, or evil. He should have realized that after all he had said, they would be suspicious of him again, that they would be uneasy about leaving him alone.

But why had they not sent--

“Steve.” He said suddenly. “He isn’t-- I left him, and. He’s not in danger, I know, but… is he. No one is stopping him from coming down here, are they?”

He wasn’t sure what he would do if they were. Wasn’t sure why it should be Romanoff who came, rather than him, wasn’t-- he didn’t understand, and he felt overwhelmed and panicked all over again.

  


She snorted. “No one drinks Russian beer for the taste. They drink it for the ten percent alcohol content.” She put down the bottle on the counter top nearest Loki, well within his reach should he change his mind, then picked up her own bottle and took a sip, eyeing him critically.

And wasn’t it curious, that his first concern was that Steve was in danger... When Steve had been left in the company of his (slightly irked) friends. She filed that information away; _paranoia, mistrust of friendships, constant preoccupation with Rogers’ well-being._

“Clint was giving him a piece of his mind when I slipped out, but I’m pretty sure the worst he has to worry about is some elevated blood pressure,” she answered with a shrug. “Some people don’t have the luxury of being able to teleport out of an awkward situation. I imagine he’s busy giving some answers.” Her eyes narrowed. “So I came here for some different answers.”

In truth, she hadn’t exactly had a plan when she’d decided to slip out after Loki. Clint’s outburst had simply provided the opportunity, and she’d grabbed it while the window had been open. Loki was distressed, so his guard would be down. And if he was away from Steve, not constantly thinking about Rogers’ reactions... she might get a more honest read on him.

“I know when someone’s holding back,” she said, stating it simply, like a fact and not an accusation. She punctuated the statement with another half-shrug. “You were pretty painfully honest about a lot of things back there. So I’m curious. What was it you didn’t want to tell?” She had a rough idea from what Steve had said, of course, but she was more interested in the why than the what of whatever Loki chose to withhold.

  


He averted his eyes from her, ashamed.

He didn’t argue, though. It was true; he’d known he was taking the spineless way out when he left as he did. He just hadn’t expected to have to answer for it. Especially not so soon, while he was so uneven.

He did not like the thought that Steve was forced to face the rest of his team-- no doubt taking him to task for his suggestion, at the very least, if not for bringing Loki into their lives. He wondered if Steve was regretting him, right now. The thought was worrisome. As much as he knew Steve would never say so, if he felt it, it would be remembered. And those regrets would add up. He’d been spineless and selfish, and he owed Steve better than that.

But at her assertion, he looked up, brows knotting.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He responded, though he could feel his heart beating faster. “I answered every question, and as you said, I did so honestly.” And so he had. “I took responsibility for what I’ve done, and if I missed something, I am terribly sorry.” He forced out a grating, mirthless laugh. “It is _so difficult_ keeping up with _all_ of the ways I have wronged everyone I know.”

He felt his words becoming sharp, felt his brittleness cracking away into something that could cut, if he was not careful. He did not want to do any more harm this day.

Though, if he was honest, he did not think that he could so much as breathe at the moment without causing _someone_ upset.

He wrapped his hand around the beer, not intending to drink it, but hoping that the motion would at least placate her, keep her from feeling slighted by his disinterest in her beverage. And maybe it would also distract her from pursuing this line of questioning. He did not hold much hope on that point, however.

  


“I didn’t say you weren’t honest. I said you held back.” Again, she stated it plainly, tilting her head slightly to the side. It was a thin line between lies and omission, but it was a line she walked often enough, slipping through loopholes in the truth, that she was well-acquainted with it.

Interesting, that he seemed so close to breaking down. Before, when he’d been snippy and unpleasant, she’d attributed it to him just being an ass. But now that she could see him barely keeping it together, it struck her more as a defense mechanism.

Sorry, he’d said, over and over. And despite what she would have thought, he hadn’t sounded disingenuous.

“Steve wants me to work with you to prepare you for using the scepter.” She still didn’t like the idea of putting the thing back in Loki’s hands, but since their only other option was relying on Thor’s intelligence-gathering skills or going in blind, she had to admit it was probably better than nothing. If it worked. If it didn’t...

“I’m good with interrogations, as I’m sure you remember,” she continued, taking another careful sip. “On both sides. If I’m going to be able to help you, though, I need to know exactly what you’re likely to encounter, and everything you’ve been through in the past so I know what they might do, and what they’ve done that could be used against you. I get if there’s parts of that experience you don’t want to rehash in gory detail in front of the others. But if you want my help, you’re going to need to tell me everything, and you’re going to have to be honest. _And_ not hold back.” If the threat of actually being turned inside out by Thanos was legitimate, it would hopefully be solid motivation.

  


How he hated her in that moment, his eyes narrowing even as his mind rejected her words and his body reacted to them with tremors.

He knew that he was not as good as he used to be, not nearly so capable of disguising his emotions. He knew that to someone like her, he must seem a mess, a barely restrained disaster on two legs.

But she was right. Steve wanted her to work with him. Work on him. To shape him, not unlike the way that Thanos had in the first place, though this time into a weapon to be used against him, rather than for him.

He closed his eyes and breathed in, wondering if Steve knew-- if he fully understood what he asked.

“I--” He tried, but it was a false start. He did not know what he could say. “If you feel it is so important, I will tell you these things, the unpleasant things. Only not now. Please, I--” He shut his mouth, teeth clicking audibly.

Steve would be returning soon, he was sure, and he would object to so much of what Loki had to say. Would feel concerned, and more, he would be furious that Loki had been so stupid as to allow it, to ask for such treatment. He did not want him to doubt his choices, his decisions.

“If you would hear these things, I will tell you. Though, somewhere without the risk of interruption. Later, perhaps… this evening?”

The arrangements he was making with the respective Avengers--testing his horrific form with Banner, giving the Widow access to the shattered bits of his mind-- it was going to tear him to pieces. And he needed time to at least attempt to fortify himself. That had been why he’d run away, why he was here now.

Why he had intended to be alone.

He felt like a rope fraying from both ends, and if the unraveling met in the middle, so many more people stood to be hurt, to die, all from his inability to hold together. To bear this weight. He had to be stronger. He had to try.

“I’m sorry. Just at the moment, I can’t.” He hated those words, hated how pointless they were, how useless. _Sorry. sorry. I’m sorry. I am so sorry._

  


It was more than she was expecting. And, she suspected, all she was likely to get, if she kept pushing.

If Steve was right, and Loki lashed out when he was uncomfortable or threatened, then he was probably perilously close to that edge. And she didn’t have the protection of a glass wall between them.

“Not now,” she agreed, more gently, inclining her head but keeping her eyes on him. “When you’re ready, you can have Tony’s AI tell me.” She could make that concession of control. If he came to her -- if she allowed this to be on his terms, in part -- she’d be able to get a bit more mileage out of his cooperation when she started pushing at his boundaries.

And _maybe_ she felt a flicker of sympathy too. She knew what it was like to have old wounds best kept hidden. She didn’t envy him what they’d have to do, if Steve was right.

As she took another drink, the familiar taste hung more bitterly than usual on her tongue.

Which was right when Steve came barreling in through the door, slightly winded, eyes wide. “Loki?” he called, stumbling into the kitchen. He looked to her and frowned. “Natasha.”

“Rogers.” She lifted the bottle to him, smiling faintly. “We were just finishing up. I’ll get out of your hair.”

His frown deepened, but she didn’t let it affect her -- didn’t acknowledge the little bit of hurt at the fact he still trusted her so little or let it break her stride, as she made for the front door. Though she paused at the threshold and looked back at Loki thoughtfully.

“For what it’s worth, I think you should come with us to DC.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, taking her leave on that note.

  


And like that she was gone.

He blinked, confused-- Steve hadn’t realized she was here. How--

Was he not supposed to have agreed to what he did? But she had seemed so unconcerned with having been found, and she had said he should decide when they were to talk…

If it were a trap, surely she would have insisted, tried to force him to follow her now, to talk to her now. She hadn’t.

And her wanting him with them in DC… was that for her own good? For SHIELD’s? For Steve’s? For his sake?

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry.” He told Steve, his attention fixing on his partner. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-- I shouldn’t have left you like that.”

He cast his eyes down, ashamed and unsure if he should mention what Romanoff had wanted. His eyes fell on the open bottle in his hand, though, and he offered it to Steve.

“It was too much and I was too selfish. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

He breathed out heavily, then asked the actually important question, the one he should have the first moment he saw him.

“Are you okay?”

He didn’t want to hear what they’d said; he knew the results. Had known even before he left. He didn’t need words that would haunt him in his head. Didn’t need reasons to feel any true ill will towards them.

But he did need to know that Steve, his Steve, was still his, still… hadn’t had the sort of revelations his friends had. Hadn’t been swayed by their distrust, their fear of him.

He wanted to reach out and touch, wanted to hold him, to be held, wanted to let the shakes out that he was fighting again to restrain. Wanted to run the hottest bath he could summon and let the sting of the water take away how terrible he felt, how terrible he had made everything.

But all of that could wait.

He had to put things right with Steve first. If Steve was okay, if they were okay, everything else would follow.

  


Steve wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting -- he didn’t think Natasha would hurt Loki -- but Loki had been obviously in a bad place, and the fact she’d gone after him when he’d been like that rankled him. He liked Natasha, but she wasn’t the consoling, comforting type; he had to question what the hell her motive had been.

Still, no one was shouting, there was no violence, and Loki appeared shaken but otherwise alright when he walked in, and Natasha had breezed out seconds later with no explanation.

He turned to apologize to Loki, but he beat him to the punch. Steve frowned, taking the bottle from Loki’s hand -- still full, he noted -- and setting it aside on the counter.

“Am _I_ okay?” He repeated incredulously, shaking his head. “I’m fine, you lug. Are _you_ okay?”

He reached out the way he’d wanted to during the meeting, grabbing Loki’s shoulders and giving them a squeeze, then moving one hand up to the side of his neck, cupping the base of his skull. “What was that all about with Natasha? She didn’t give you grief or anything, did she?” He didn’t think she would have, but it was hard as the meeting had devolved to keep an eye on how everyone was reacting, and she was always the hardest to read.

And hell, the meeting... it had been going well, for a while. They’d covered a lot of ground and made progress even. Then he’d gone and jumped the gun and probably set them back who knew how far. Mentally, he cussed himself out. “I’m sorry about that back there. I shoulda held off and I slipped up.”

  


Loki reached up and took hold of Steve’s arm, clinging to it while he absorbed the touch.

He was so concerned for him, and so sure that everything going wrong had been his fault. Of course it wasn’t; it wasn’t anyone's but Loki’s. And now Steve felt bad about it.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He assured him. “It was-- now was the fairest time to talk to them about… well, about me, now that they know everything, know the rest of what they didn’t. I’m not… I’m only angry with myself. And sorry. I just couldn’t stand to hear what they had to say, not any longer, not.” His words were shaking and the tears were finally starting to fall, now that he would let them. Now that he felt safe.

“Sh-she wanted to know what else I had kept from them. What more I was hiding. She followed to tell me… to be sure I would tell her. So that when we work together, like you want…” He trailed off, not sure how to turn the ideas to words that wouldn’t inspire panic, wouldn’t make Steve realize just how much more painful the process might be. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry I ruined your surprise, too.” He gestured woefully at the boxes. “You accomplished so much today and I…” _ruined everything I touched._

“The rest-- the Avengers, they aren’t upset with you, are they? It isn’t your fault.” He reiterated. “I’ll…. later, when I’m not so-- I’ll apologize. I’ll do whatever I need to do to make it right or, or make it closer to. Whatever you think is a good idea, I’ll--” he stopped himself, feeling his desperation getting away from him.

He leaned in and closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around Steve.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve done so much to make them hate me. I’m sorry I can’t be better.” He spoke it from close to him, needing this contact, craving it, and glad, too, that he did not have to look at him to say as much.

  


“Hey now,” Steve said, sliding his arms around Loki’s back to hold him close. “They don’t hate you.” He rested his chin on Loki’s shoulder. “Tony and Pepper don’t hate you. Bruce doesn’t hate you. Hell, I don’t think Thor even has it in him to hate you.” Though Thor was definitely not a good topic to cover at the moment. Perhaps later. “Natasha... I don’t think she hates you. She might not be your biggest fan, but I don’t think it’s hate. And Clint...”

Steve frowned. He remembered Clint’s outburst -- the main source of protest -- at his suggestion. “I admit, Clint wasn’t thrilled, but I think he was more upset with how I sprung it on everyone. That wasn’t your fault at all. He’s...” He paused, squeezing Loki a little tighter. “He’s adjusting still to _not_ hating you. And that’s hard for him, but honest, I think I think it has more to do with him than you.” He pulled back slightly so he could look at Loki, though his hands stayed on him, still close.

“I reckon Clint hated you because it was easier than hating himself for what he was forced to do in the invasion. It did a number on him. Being angry... it kept him from falling apart. Made it easier. Now that he’s got less reason to hate you, though, that whole foundation is crumbling under him and he has to rebuild.” He sighed. “Hating someone’s not a good thing to base your sanity on. Anyway...”

He took Loki’s hand, stepped back, and led him through the maze of boxes over to the couch, clear but for a few swaths of bubble-wrap he easily cleared away, sitting them both down. “Anyway, you did fine. More than fine. I know that was hard, but you did great. We shared information, and I know some of it wasn’t easy stuff for you to talk about. You were honest and sincere, and everyone just needs a little time to digest it all, I think.” Reaching up, he placed his hand against Loki’s cheek, brushing his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “You’ve apologized enough for today.”

  


Loki smiled for him, though a small watery thing was the best he could manage.

“I will spend the rest of my life apologizing, and it will never be ‘enough’. I could not even give them the answers they needed, after all of that.” He said softly. He was useless. No wonder Steve hadn’t--

“Do you-- I should also have waited to ask, but… did you change your mind, about wanting me with you in DC? I didn’t want to presume. I just thought--” He cut himself off, tired of thinking, tired of everything.

“Is there anymore that we need to do today? Any reason I shouldn’t just…” he gestured back at their room, not sure if he intended to sleep until these bad feelings felt less, or if he was gesturing to that bath he’d considered. Perhaps he just meant to hide there, so that no one else should find him, curl up in silence for a time, until he had either done all of the damage that was going to happen to himself, saving everyone else the trouble, or he’d managed to fuse the pieces of himself back together.

“I don’t want to see them. Any of them. I am so embarrassed, so… I feel as though I turned before them, so naked, so humiliated…” the numb rushing feeling was returning to his brain, now that he wasn’t shoving back at it, and he realized that it felt close to exhaustion.

“As you said, hatred is not a good base for sanity. I too have much to rebuild. And I told Romanoff that I would speak with her later, tell her...give her details of Thanos’s training.” just saying it, thinking about having to dredge all of it up, made him feel ill again, ill and weak and powerless.

He was rambling and he felt sore. Torn. Not physically, of course, not in any real way. He knew he should just swallow it and move forth, but he couldn’t. He’d become far too weak to stomach this.

  


“Spending your life making things better and doing right by people isn’t a bad way to live,” Steve murmured, still brushing Loki’s cheek. “And I’d love to have you with me in DC. I just wanted to give you an out, in case you weren’t comfortable with going back there.”

It hurt, seeing Loki this distressed -- in this much pain. On the one hand, it was good that he cared; that the opinions of the others mattered to him, and that he felt this invested about making things right and doing better. But on the other, Steve was worrying that perhaps Loki had swung to other extremes and cared too much -- to his own detriment.

“If I see Natasha, I’ll let her know you’re not up to it tonight. I think she’ll understand. Besides -- we have to find the scepter first, then retrieve it, before we can worry about you using it. You have some time.” He knew Loki and Nat would need to go over things for her to help him, but Loki didn’t look to be in any shape for it. He slid his hand back through Loki’s hair and leaned forward until their foreheads bumped against each other.

“You did okay. Just take a deep breath,” he told him. “It was... a bit harsh. But they’re strong people. We’ll all work past it. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” His hopes for a team sparring session were up in smoke right now, but given Tony had a date and Clint was probably working himself down, the timing wasn’t right anyhow. And as much as Steve had a duty to his team, he also had a duty to Loki. He’d done more or less right by his team this afternoon; right now, Loki needed him.

Leaning in, he brushed his lips against Loki’s, a feather-light kiss. “We’ve got time, if you wanna lie down for a bit before dinner. There’s a few boxes on the bed, but I can clear them off.” He grimaced. “Sorry about the mess, I’ll get it sorted out soon...” And then he and Loki could figure out what they wanted to keep and what they wanted to replace, and find ways of integrating Loki’s own style and preferences in with Steve’s, so Thor wouldn’t give him a judgmental look whenever he stopped by. Though how this domestic fantasy would integrate with the reality of impending doom they were faced with, he wasn’t sure.

“Can I do anything to help?” he asked. “Is there anything you need?”

 

He frowned.

He did need something, but he didn’t know what. Didn’t know that there were words for it.

And Steve wanted to give him ways out. A way out of DC, a way out of speaking to Natasha… a way out of dying. Steve _was_ his way out. A way out of who he’d been, who he’d allowed himself to become.

“No.” He said, finally, afraid that he’d let the silence stretch on too long. “No, I-- I gave her my word. I’ll talk to her. Later, though. After… after I’ve had some time to-- will you stay with me?” He asked, the thought only half formed when the words emerged, and he dipped his head, embarrassed again. How pathetic he sounded. How childish. And even as a child he had not clung so.

He’d done so much wrong, and now it was Steve who was having to deal with him and his own personal fall out. Having to comfort him.

It felt as if it were always Steve having to comfort him. And when Steve needed comfort, he fled, rather than--

\--rather than let Loki give it. Rather than take comfort from his partner.

Giving him a way out.

Or perhaps afraid that Loki could not handle it. The way he thought Loki could not handle Romanoff and her questions. Shame filled him, so strongly he thought he might even taste it, crawling like bile up his throat.

“Sorry.” He mumbled. “I didn’t mean that. You don’t have to stay. I’m sure… you have other things to plan for, others to see to. You don’t have to-- I can clear off the bed.”

There was no part of him now that didn’t ache, but his chest was going numb with it. Going cold, just like the rest of him was, in truth.

His stomach churned noisily, and he sighed, that being the least of his recent embarrassments. Even with all of this, his body wanted to be fed. Demanded attention and care that he did not have the energy to give it.

Did not deserve.

  


Steve pursed his lips, but didn’t protest, when Loki insisted he wanted to talk with Natasha. Hopefully, she’d at least take it easy on him. And they could still take a few hours for Loki to calm down and take care of himself.

“Of course I’ll stay,” he replied. “Everyone else needs some space anyhow. I can talk to anyone who needs it later. For now...” For now Loki needed him. And Steve couldn’t think of anyplace that was more important for him to be than here.

Then a muffled gurgling came from somewhere in the vicinity of Loki’s abdomen, and Steve arched a brow. “Did you skip lunch?”

He was going to have to have a talk with Tony about the importance of normal meal schedules...

“Hang on.” He stood, moved back through the minefield of boxed possessions into the kitchen, and rifled through the cabinets until he found a box of granola bars, pulling one out and returning with it, holding it out. “Eat this. It’ll tide you over to dinner.”

He lowered his hand to Loki’s knee, rubbing small circles over it. The motion gave him an idea. “Would a backrub help, do you think?” He remembered how Loki had taken care of him back when they’d been at SHIELD, working the pain and tension from his muscles. Now would be a good time to return the favor.

  


All that he could think was that he’d done nothing to warrant this. This care, this gentleness, Steve’s love.

But he knew this was a path he could not go down, because it would end only in sorrow for him. And it would render him even more useless than he currently was. And they had work to do.

“Only if you will allow me to do the same for you, after.”

He knew that Steve had not had this kind of care for much of his life. And he was still sad about the thought of Steve running-- literally running-- away from him in his distress.

He took the proffered food and unwrapped it. Upon the first bite, he looked down at it, unimpressed. Traveling fare. And yet, though it tasted no better than chewing on parchment, at least it was something he could stomach.

“I do not deserve you.” He said, voicing the thought he had avoided before. “But for all that, I am grateful to have you.”

  


“Deal,” he answered with a thin smile. Not that he particularly needed it -- not like Loki did -- but if it made him feel better and got his mind off of things, Steve sure as hell wouldn’t object.

He watched approvingly as Loki ate the granola bar, remaining attentive to make sure he finished it. It wasn’t the pinnacle of nutrition, he knew, and Loki didn’t seem thrilled by it, but it was quick and easy and would take care of the hunger pangs until he could get some warm food for dinner. It was the sort of thing Bucky had always shoved at him when they were in the field together, making sure he ate enough.

“Funny,” he said, “I tend to think the same of you.”

He squeezed Loki’s knee, then moved back slightly. “I’ll get some lotion. When you’re ready, go lie down on the bed with your shirt off.” Standing, he ducked in for a quick kiss, before going to retrieve the scented body cream he’d seen earlier in one of the boxes, despite never remembering buying it.

  


Obediently, Loki took to his feet and went back to their room.

As he had said, there were boxes on the bed and Loki was glad to find that no matter how weak he felt, his actual physical strength had not fled him.

He could not imagine a good place to pile them, so it was just a matter of boxes against the wall by the time he was done. Still, at least the bed was cleared.

He hesitated though, with removing his shirt. He felt exposed and humiliated enough. The idea of stripping away his clothes, his actual defenses... He shuddered and forced his fingers through the motions.

It was only Steve, and he was always fine with this. He was just feeling weak and infirm... But at least he was going to be covered and laying on his stomach.

And it was Steve. He had to keep reminding himself of that fact. Steve was not going to mock or hurt him.

He put his his shirt aside and settled himself on the bed. He managed not to tremble, but he was not relaxed. He could not relax. He just lay there in wait for Steve to come, fully trusting that he would be able to make it better. That Steve would be able to fix him.

The way he always did.

  


It took a little longer than expected to find the right box. Steve winced -- for all that he didn’t feel like he owned that much, and that he knew it wouldn’t look like a lot once it was all unpacked in the spacious apartment, there were currently a hell of a lot of boxes containing things he hadn’t even realized he’d owned.

Maybe the respite from all his worldly possessions had been a blessing in disguise.

Eventually he recovered the bottle in question, and returned to the bedroom, where Loki had cleared off the bed and was lying facedown on the bedspread waiting for him. Steve squeezed some lotion into his palm, setting the bottle aside on the nightstand, and began warming it between his hands as he climbed up on to the bed, straddling Loki’s thighs.

He would never be tired of seeing Loki undressed, he decided, eyes raking down the white expanse of Loki’s back -- smooth and perfect and waiting for his touch, like a canvas waiting for a brushstroke.

He started slowly, gently rubbing his hands over Loki’s back and spreading the lotion from shoulders to tailbone, keeping his touch light as he felt out areas of tension. Once all of Loki’s skin was softened by the lotion seeping into it, Steve moved his hands up to Loki’s shoulders, where he gradually applied a bit more pressure, kneading the muscles there with his thumbs and the heels of his hands.

“Let me know if it hurts at all,” he murmured, “or if you want me to go harder.” His fingers worked up to the back of Loki’s neck, loosening the muscles on either side of his spine, slipping up to the edge of his hairline, and then pulling back down to the muscles between his neck and shoulders.

  


His hands were strong and warm and firm and gentle, and the softness of his voice was enough to put Loki’s nervous fears to rest. He focused on the touch, allowing it to wash over him, letting it fill his senses as thoroughly as he could allow.

He rumbled his thanks in response, the answer nothing but a hum that he felt all through his chest.

Steve was good at this, naturally talented in the way he was at all the things he did. But Loki was tempted to ask for more pressure, ask him to rub harder. He'd have been happy to come away from this massage with a skin littered with bruises.

But he knew better than to ask. Steve would only react with horror, and worse, would likely pull away from him.

"Feels wonderful." He told him instead, words softly muffled by the bedding. "Love when you touch me. Every time, it feels like a reminder." And maybe it was meant to be. He hoped so.

His beautiful, strong, sweet, kind, ridiculous partner. He would do anything for him, he realized, the concept making his body flush. He wanted to do everything for him. He felt overwhelmed by how much he loved him. Surprised by it, like he always was.

"And tell me when you tire of this, and we shall change roles." He reminded him.

  


“Alright,” Steve replied, smiling as he felt some of the tension easing from Loki’s body, glad that it felt good and seemed to be helping. He couldn’t read Loki’s face this way, but he didn’t feel so wound up, so on the edge of breaking.

Steve gradually increased the pressure as Loki’s muscles relaxed, working down to the deeper knots in his shoulders. When he was satisfied there, he moved incrementally down, laying his palms against Loki’s scapulae and pressing down, then letting up and pressing his thumbs under Loki’s shoulder-blades, targeting the coils of tension there.

Beneath his hands, Loki’s skin was smooth and warm, and Steve found himself relaxing also as his mind cleared from anything other than making Loki feel better. The simple task of massaging his partner’s body superseded all worries of Thanos or the team.

His hands moved downward to Loki’s middle back, his lower back, systematically and methodically charting out every inch of his exposed flesh. He kneaded outward from Loki’s spine to the curve of his ribcage and back in again, rubbing circles with his thumbs over the flat plane at the base of his back. Then, he braced himself with one hand on the bed, and leaned in to place a kiss at the back of Loki’s neck.

“Love you,” he whispered, then trailed kisses down the center of Loki’s back, down to the hem of his pants, slipping fingers under the waistband to rub and massage lower -- just a few inches -- before pausing. “If you want, I can keep going...” He wasn’t sure if intimacy would be too much for Loki right now, or if it would give him the anchor and reassurance he needed. Either way, Steve was happy to provide him with whatever might help.

  


Loki didn’t mean to stiffen, to react to the offer by tensing up, and he immediately relaxed his muscles, intentionally, to compensate, but he was sure the damage was done.

He didn’t want Steve to think that he didn’t want him. That wasn’t the case, it never would be. And he did, for a brief moment, debate whether or not he could summon the energy, whether he could hold himself together long enough to get through it, if he could be that close to Steve and preserve the facade of his interest. But it felt like too much for him, and more, it was a lie.

And Steve deserved better than that.

“I’m sorry,” He said again, scrambling words to fix it, “I’m not-- I don’t. Later maybe, if… if you want.” He winced inwardly, trying to imagine how he might be after the Widow had had her way with his mind, imagined trying to apply his experiences with Thanos to the projection.

Such sessions had left him shaken and wild, feral, nearer to the creature at the core of him than the mask of a man that he wore. He had stricken Thanos’s daughters, once, when they came to haul him to his feet, had fought them before he could know where he was, who he was--

Imagining bringing that into his and Steve’s bed, imagining the damage he might do…

It made him feel faintly ill again, made him scared.

“I’m sorry.” He said again. “I can-- if you want, if you need, I’ll gladly suck you, but. Anything more than that now, I think…” He pushed himself up and turned to look at Steve, trying to gauge by his face what he needed. “I’m sorry.” He said again, angry at himself at how completely he’d managed to fail, all at once, all of a sudden. After doing so well for such a short time.

  


He’d offered, thinking about how sex a few days ago had helped Loki feel some sense of control and process his feelings after seeing Thor on the news. But from the way Loki tensed back up at his words, it was immediately apparent that this wasn’t the same, and that wasn’t the solution.

He pulled back immediately, letting Loki up as he stammered through his answer. When he was done, Steve clasped a hand to either side of Loki’s face and pulled him in to lay a kiss on his forehead.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied in a soft voice. “It was just an offer. I didn’t know if you’d want it or not, so I asked. And I’m glad you were honest with me and told me no, okay?” He looked Loki in the eyes. “Anytime you’re not up for something between us, I want you to tell me. It’s fine. And I’m okay with not doing anything, so don’t even worry about that.”

Loki had been so patient and considerate, after all, when Steve hadn’t been ready, taking things slow and letting Steve initiate. He wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t think Steve would want to return the favor. It set off the ache in his chest again, but he forced himself to smile through it, so Loki wouldn’t take any pained expression on his face as some sign that he’d done anything wrong, some justification for his guilt.

“I just want you to be okay,” he added, wrapping his arms around Loki and pulling him to his chest, his grip loose enough that Loki could pull away easily if he wished.

  


Loki sighed and felt the low grade terror he’d experienced seeping out of him. He melted into Steve’s hold, curling inwards.

This was what he had needed, what he hadn’t had the words for, or hadn’t thought to ask about. Just being wrapped in Steve’s arms, being surrounded and embraced… held. Kept close, and made to feel utterly safe.

He could live his entire life like this, if he was allowed. If he didn’t have to fix all of the things he had ruined, or at least make an attempt at it.

“I will be.” He promised. “I’ll be okay. I do not know why I have allowed it all to be so… it’s foolish. And it will fade.” With his head this close to Steve’s neck, so that he could see his pulse, could slow his breathing to match and let his heart rate even out to follow suit, he felt calmer. Like he had lost the capacity for his broken feelings, like the numbness was an ice that had finally begun to thaw.

For as idiotic as the cause of this was, it seemed fitting that the cure should be so simple, so seemingly inconsequential. And something so ridiculous to ask for.

“I will be okay,” He reiterated. “But… will you just hold me, for a time?”

Had Steve been any of the lovers of his past, his being unwilling would have spelled the likely end of their companionship. After all, if not for that, what good was he? He would not have said no, unless he wanted to be rid of them. And so to have Steve not only ask him to continue to do so, to have him kiss him, hold him afterwards… He should know, by now, that this was incredibly different. But especially now, with Thor here and reminding him of all of his past hurts, and then dredging up the more recent of his terrors… it was so easy to slip backwards through time, to fall into old patterns.

And seen through new eyes, the eyes that Steve had helped him to open, he saw them for the destructive actions they had been. His words, his behaviours, even his silences. And he did not ever want to do any of that to Steve.

But some part of him did know, recognized the differences. Asked for time, asked for contact, things he never would have done before. And he could only surmise that it was the bits of Steve that he had taken into him, the goodness he had absorbed by proximity. So perhaps this embrace was good. Perhaps it would yield more. And over time, perhaps he would become someone who would not cause debacles such as those of that day.

  


“Of course,” Steve answered, pulling them both back on to the pillows, so he could lie against the cushions with Loki curled up against his chest.

It was... nice. Just holding him like this. And a bit funny, since the first night they’d spent together, Steve had made the same request. To just hold Loki, and nothing more until he could handle it.

Lying here, he could almost drift back to sleep -- he’d had little enough the night prior, waking as early as he had. But as much as a nap appealed, they both had things to do later, and he couldn’t risk dozing through everything they needed to do, or letting Loki sleep through yet another meal. Still. For now, he could just breathe evenly and wrap his arms around the fella he loved, combing his fingers through Loki’s hair.

“You’ll be okay,” he echoed. “We’ll all be okay. It’ll work out. You see.”  
With Loki’s warm weight against his chest, his soft breathing against his neck and their heartbeats in synch, Steve could almost convince himself of it too.

 


	49. Forty-Nine

When he’d called up to JARVIS to ask after the Widow, he’d felt hesitant, but made his voice as strong as possible, for Steve’s sake. He didn’t want him to feel any of the doubt that Loki did.

She had responded, through JARVIS, asking him to meet her in a meeting room, and Jarvis offered to help him find it.

It seemed that she had taken the precaution of asking the voice not to say where they were to be meeting-- and unnerving as it was that Steve would not know, it was also reassuring. He would not be able to look in on them, if that were the case.

Loki had a distinct and troublesome knot in his gut that said Steve would likely not approve.

And as he took the elevator back to the floor where they’d had their meeting before, he realized that he was breaking his own oath to himself. Never again, he’d thought. Never again would he agree to be trained into the ideal ally.

And here he was. Alone and going to it of his own free will.

This time though, it was less for him and more for Steve. He didn’t know what the Widow planned to do, how she hoped to shape him. But it would be just the same, allowing her into his mind to pull and prod it into what she wanted it to be. But as Steve had said, over and over again, they were the good guys. He trusted her, and that meant that Loki should as well. He thought.

It was difficult to, though, when he was as yet unsure where she stood on him. Was this truly about training him, or merely extracting every last drop of information regarding Thanos? Did she intend to interrogate him, attempt to break him down, in the hopes of finding that he was lying about himself and Steve?

No, he had to have faith, because if this was a feint, they would all suffer for it, when it came time for him to use the sceptre. When it came time for Thanos to make him move.

He followed JARVIS’s directions and found himself in a room that was either intended for something that was not fully built yet, or that had been forgotten, or emptied for this purpose.

It was a long room, but not very wide, and it was reasonably empty, though it bore more resemblance to the medical wings or Tony and Bruce’s lab than it did the room they’d convened in earlier.

The Widow waited for him, and it seemed as though she had brought some things.

But it was, at least, private and intimate. It was only she and he and the few furnishings on her side of the room.

“Romanoff.” He greeted, calmer than he had been before, more balanced, but no less tense, no less concerned about what this was to be. “I hope you have not been waiting here over long.” He said, politeness seeming like a valid start. The last thing he wanted to do was slight her, incite her anger, in some way, if he hadn’t already. Or make it worse, if he had. Beneath the placid lines of her face, it was impossible to tell her thoughts.

  


“Not at all,” she answered, her expression carefully schooled to reveal nothing. “Thank you for meeting me.”

In truth, she’d been a bit surprised. She’d half expected Loki to bail or reschedule or simply not reach out until some time later, given how upset he’d been and the way that Steve had swooped in like a protective mother bird. But she’d scouted out the equipment she wanted and a location to meet in, just in case, which proved fortunate after all, since JARVIS contacted her on Loki’s behalf not long after dinner, while she’d been making plans for their trip to DC.

He stood before her now, looking less fractured than before, but still anxious. Nothing like the smug and confident god she’d confronted on the helicarrier, clad in leather and battlegear. Instead, he wore simple dress-casual clothes, a button down and slacks, and looked more like a nervous patient waiting in the doctor’s office than a deity.

Of course, she’d been in so much of a rush to arrange the logistics of this potential session, that she hadn’t had a great deal of time to devote to strategy. Though she expected she could play things by ear well enough. She’d have to be careful to find the line though -- to push Loki hard enough to get what they needed, to make sure she was getting an honest read, but not so far that he broke down, since Steve would lose it once he found out.

Steve had been willing to drop everything to charge after Loki when he’d teleported out, after all, and she was under no illusions about where his priorities currently lay. The meeting had been a start in the right direction, but it was still... unsettling.

“Go ahead and take a seat,” she said, gesturing to one of the chairs. “I figured we could start at the beginning. With how you came to meet Thanos, and then work forward through your experiences from there.” She had a small digital recorder hidden in her pocket to record everything and then encrypt it so only she could access it later, but it didn’t seem like the sort of detail that would benefit them by sharing.

  


Sitting felt like it would put him at a disadvantage, making it harder for him to get from the chair to the door without her stopping him, but he reminded himself that he had already fled once that day, and that this was something he had agreed to.

So he did as she asked, mindful that his strength and height might well be making her feel disadvantaged. She didn’t know that he would not harm her, after all. Did not know how much he could not stomach the thought of harming anyone, and what it would do to Steve if he learned that Loki had.

Comforted by the thought-- similar to Frigga’s explanation about the animals of the wild, and how oft-times they feared the Aesir more than the Aesir feared them-- he allowed himself to relax a little, enough to look less threatening, he hoped.

He needed this to go smoothly, for all of their sakes.

He thought, trying to imagine how far back to take the beginning of the story.

Betrayal, he supposed, was the start of this, though whether it was Odin’s or his own, he wasn’t certain.

“As you no doubt know,” he began, “I am not… what Thor is. I am something greatly different. Something lesser. And I discovered this at the same time that Thor came to your realm for the first time.” He paused, sorting through the facts.

“In seeking to hide the secret of my birth, I moved to destroy the race that bore me. And, despite learning from childhood that they were monsters, I met with the disapproval of both Thor and his father, Odin.” It was getting easier not to slip and call them his family. Somehow, though, he did not feel better for it.

“We clashed. The fighting sent us tumbling over the bridge-- hanging from the side of our world, out over the abyss of space. Another childhood lesson, another fear instilled in us by the stories-- not to get too close to the edge. That is where the bodies of the fallen go, that is where there is no return. And so, when I tried to explain, tried to tell Odin that I wanted to help, that I meant only to keep his secret. That I wanted things to be as they had been… I was denied. And I let myself fall.” This was painful, but in a numbed way. Not in the way that what would follow would be. “I did not expect to survive.”

It did not do to dwell, though, lest he allow the emotions of then overtake him.

“I fell. I do not know for how long. Through worlds. Through lives. Perhaps it was an event of the cosmos or merely my mind, but when I finally found the end of my fall, I was frozen, not physically, but… trapped, in a fashion, within my own thoughts. I had landed on what remained of Thanos’s home. As I said, the majority of it is rubble, and as such, my landing could not go unnoticed. His daughters took me to him. I was numb and confused, but still able to be curious, still… intrigued by the strangeness of this place, these people.” He felt his lips twitch, mirthless though his amusement was.

  


“I had never seen their like before, and I think that I was too numbed to be afraid interested Thanos. He was… not kind, I suppose but. Benign? He asked me from whence I’d come, how I had found him. Told me the story of his destruction of his world. And after… I was hurt still, and his anger, his hatred, it only served to remind me, and rekindle my own. I wanted to destroy Asgard as he had done Titan. He could see in me that, I think. And so he offered to help me, to teach me his ways, to gift me with his armies, to help my cause. I was greedy. I was a fool. I was so desperate and uncaring of the consequences… I would have given anything to see it through. I promised as much.”

He cleared his throat.

“Do your people have chess?” He asked, suddenly unsure if the motions of the game would make sense to her, if the way the board had factored into his and Thanos’s discussions would help or hinder his narrative.

  


He tensed at her suggestion to sit, and for a second, she wondered if she’d spooked him already and he was going to bolt. But then, after a moment’s deliberation, he sat, relaxed slightly, and began to talk.

Immediately, Natasha began taking mental notes, cataloging his posture, his tone, and where he chose to start.

Adoption. Interesting.

Some of it she knew, either from SHIELD dossiers composed of information gathered from Steve and Loki’s sessions, or from Steve himself. Some of it was new. She kept her poker face in place through the minor surprises, though.

The fact he’d attempted suicide was something she expected had garnered sympathy from some of the others -- Bruce in particular, she suspected, would find that information compelling given his past experiences. And if Thor had watched Loki try to end his life, then that explained some of Thor’s ongoing devotion to Loki, despite not being actually related and despite the atrocities Loki had committed. Guilt was a _very_ powerful motivator.

And Loki did appear remorseful when he talked about wanting to destroy Asgard, though that could be a carefully crafted mask, meant to make the appalling more palatable. She sucked on the inside of her cheek, considering, only to be caught slightly off guard by the question he asked out of nowhere.

She blinked. “We do,” she confirmed, wondering where he was going with that; did he want her to procure a chess set so they could play while they talked? A way to distract her while gauging her own tactical finesse? It was a clever move, if so, though not one she was likely to entertain just yet.

“So, you attempted to wipe out a people before you ever met Thanos,” she said. “I’m guessing this was on a different world than Asgard or Earth?” She hadn’t had a good view, from where she sat, of Thor’s face, but from the shocked tone of his voice she suspected Loki’s plans to attack Asgard had come as a shock to him, suggesting Loki’s birth people were not from there. “Why the turn about to wanting to attack Asgard? Seems like a 180 from where you were before.”

  


“I--yes.” Her questions took him away from the line of thought he’d settled into, the narrative.

“Jotunheim. It is-- well, the Frost Giants who live there, the Jotnar, are not so called without reason. It is naught but ice and vast emptiness. They are-- I am, beneath this appearance, the truth of me is of that race, monstrous. Able to burn with a touch, the stuff of childrens’ nightmares and the villain of their every fairy story. I do not know overmuch about them, other than their penchant for destruction. The Jotnar are hated by Asgard. Their appearance on our-- on _that_ realm is punishable by death.” He’d slipped, and he paused delicately, trying to stabilize and clear his thoughts.

“I thought that if I destroyed the monsters, if I could devise a way to make it within my right... I convinced the king of the Jotuns to attack, and used it as a means to justify... If I could make myself the hero who slayed the beasts, none could suspect me of being one of them." He knew this story seemed horrific to those who did not realize, who could not help but imagine the Jotnar to be like them. “Thor objected and put an end to it. I know not why-- since he was a child, war with Jotunheim has been his ambition. He wanted to slay them all. I assume it was my methods, the cowardice of my attack; he wanted the glory. I merely wanted to see the deed done.” He looked away, though, remembering Thor’s words. _You can’t kill an entire race!_

He wouldn’t have. There would still have been one.

"All of this was to ensure that I could remain in my home. On my world, with my family. Where I had grown up, understanding that I was to lead those who lived there. Believing that the years of dedication I had put into my studies would prove worth it. I had always known Thor was the eldest, the stronger of us, but I had wisdom, knowledge, I knew how Asgard worked, learned how to make her thrive-- I loved Asgard. And because of a lie-- a lie that was not even my own-- I learned all too late that I was never wanted. I still-- I do not know Odin’s reasoning. Why he took me. Why he lied. But when I… I wanted to stay. I wanted to be safe. And I was denied. Everything I was and had and knew was stolen from me. And then I fell, and did not die, and in the time I spent, unsure of my fate, uncaring, consumed by grief… that grief warped and turned to something darker. I hated Odin. Hated Asgard. I wanted to hurt them as they hurt me. So when Thanos offered me the means, I was eager to accept.”

He cleared his throat lightly, returning to where he had been.

“So, chess: Thanos tested me. I am an apt strategist, good, thoughtful… He was ever several strokes ahead of me, I was always several moves behind. He liked me though, it seemed, and I was delighted. Someone with such power-- more than Odin, even-- finally, someone saw me as worthwhile. Not the second son, not Thor’s shadow. Not… not the lesser option. He wanted me to lead his army, wanted to teach me how to think the way he did. Asked for permission to train me.”

He swallowed.

“And so I gave it. I expected to be made stronger. Strong enough to betray him, perhaps, strong enough to achieve my ends. I have always learned quickly. And he taught me, through the chess board, that the direct destruction that I wished-- it would not be wise. So we would not move against Asgard. We would take Midgard, and then I would allow myself to be captured, taken to Asgard. I would use the sceptre to take Odin’s mind, and grant Thanos the gauntlet and be left to rule my people as I deserved to. To do with those who had wronged me as I wished. Or to destroy them, and take my post on Midgard as the king of your realm… ally to Thanos.” He took a deep breath.

“The training was not what I’d thought it would be. Not what I expected.”

He waited, checking to see if she had any further questions before he continued.

The next part of this, of course, was the part that he dreaded.

  


Outwardly, she maintained her impassive expression, but inwardly, Natasha frowned.

Again, it wasn’t all new information -- some of it she’d heard secondhand -- but it was disturbing all the same. And she could see where Steve would be moved to sympathy, for someone so consumed with self-loathing and desperation. Could see how Loki could be driven to desperation. Though nothing he’d done could be excused by it. And she found it more than a little unnerving that he still seemed perplexed by why anyone would object to the mass extermination of a sentient species.

Though perhaps, that had been why this Thanos had found him a workable subject. If the guy’s main objective was wiping out planets, then Loki had already made a good effort on that front with no encouragement.

She made a note to talk to Thor after this, or perhaps in DC when Steve and Loki were off canoodling. It would be interesting to get his perspective on events, to find out just how distorted Loki’s view of things was. Not that Thor wouldn’t be without his own biases, but Thor seemed like someone who spent more time in the real world and less time in his head, compared to Loki. Which made his point of view more likely to be rooted in observation than in warped analysis. If she could find out if what Loki said about Frost Giants being the enemy was true, about being in danger of execution for discovery unless he turned on his own race...

Well, it wouldn’t change anything, she reminded herself. Though she felt a faint bit of-- not sympathy. But understanding, perhaps? She hated to compare the two of them, even in the safety of her mind, but she did know a thing or two about the struggle to prove one’s loyalties. She’d helped dismantle the program that trained her; helped take down her former allies in Russia when she’d defected to SHIELD, showing no remorse or hesitation while proving her new loyalties.

“I take it,” she mused aloud when Loki paused in his story, “that this training didn’t consist of sitting around and playing actual chess...?” She knew they were getting through the backstory here and into the meat of the relevant experiences. This was the important part.

It would also be the hard part.

  


“It… no. He has one who works for him, I never heard him referred to as aught but ‘The Other’. The bulk of the training was done by him, but all of the testing, the measuring… that was done at the hands of Thanos.” He closed his eyes briefly.

“The tests were physical. Not the sort of tests I’d done as a boy, no running or jumping, writing, oration, sparring or fighting, no-- it was his hands testing me. Hurting to see how much I could take. Trying to pull pieces of me out, to see-- My seidhr--” He was forced to stop and he inhaled. “I’m sorry, a moment.” He’d expected to get further before his throat constricted. He breathed, but he knew he’d managed more before.

“He tried once to pull the seidhr from me. Like reaching in and hooking his fingers around my veins, and then _tugging_ \--” the word was too sharp, the fear and remembered pain too heavy. He’d already been so weak today-- that he was now was… it was embarrassing.

“He was fascinated by me and how I worked. But the Other was the one who taught me how I ought to-- It is the Other who reaches into your mind, who tears through your memories, takes what he wants to know and wants you to be forced to relive. Things you don’t remember. Things you didn’t know you’d known, things you want to forget… And he can create memories. Change them. Twist them, add things… remove things. Create scenarios. And all the while, it would be contained behind your eyes. And your-- my body was there, just sitting there. I do not know if the others of Thanos’s guard do not require sustenance or sleep, but I was given both so rarely… It became that the discomfort of my body was always there, that I became used to it. That I ignored it, to do what I must. After a time I forgot it.” Forgot that the food he ate in the training would do his body no good, that his hunger would not be sated by memories of bread and his thirst not slaked by the impression of wine.

“The training was tests of loyalty, of my resolve. I knew them to be false, at first. It was as if I was truly invading, and in turn, I went through each of the worlds I knew, each of those he did. I killed in my mind, often. In so many trials, I went through them. I had the tools he gave me, had the tesseract, the sceptre. I was trying to understand what he wanted of me, what I had done wrong, why-- when I failed, afterwards, I would be punished by the Other, always in different ways. I could die in the training, and be made to feel it, feel each cut, long after my true body would be dead, feel each thing that happened, and then, when I was pulled out, woken, then I would be punished further for my failure. Again and again, I fought in new worlds, in new ways-- razing one to the ground, talking my way into possession of the next, killing a few, slaying them all, taking those in command. As many ways as I could imagine… I was made to conquer again and again. It was to make me lose my hesitation, I think. Lose my kindness, my empathy, what little of it I had. He wanted me ruthless. Like an animal, like… more like a Frost Giant than a person. And so I did-- you must understand, I chose to. I let this happen, and more, I did this willingly. I fought and killed hundreds of thousands, easily, within the bounds of my mind. And each time it felt real, the smell of blood, remembered and returned afresh, each horror painted with elements of terrors that I knew or the Other did.” He shuddered. “I was made to kill those I loved. Attacked by my moth-- by Frigga, by Odin, by Thor. Destroyed by friends. Made to destroy them in turn.” He’d learned how not to feel sick when he did, as well… he wished he remembered that trick now. He hadn’t eaten enough to be willing to lose it, but what he had eaten sat heavily in his stomach, churned by the memories of memories.

The words rushed out of him, as if he knew that the sooner he’d said his part, the sooner he would be free of the burden. If he could just get it out, he would be done with it. And she could do with the knowledge as she wished. But at least the old hurts would be gone.

“And finally it was only Midgard-- always Midgard. In the end, I would always be sent there. Sometimes I would be provoked. Sometimes not. Sometimes I would be beaten, killed, tormented, tortured… and then I would wake to Titan and the ruins, The Other and the daughters, and the _pain_ … And finally I suppose he deemed me ready, though he did not tell me so. And so it began, as they always did, and I responded as I would to any of the trainings. Only it did not end, it did not go as it should have. There were Midgardians who knew Thor, who knew of me. It was real, and… and so it had begun.” He looked up at her, making eye contact for the first time since he had started speaking again. “You know the rest, I think?” His voice sounded strained to his ears, and he felt sick, but at least he was able to breathe.

  


If she hadn’t known the entire tower was fully temperature controlled and sealed, Natasha might have thought the temperature had dropped several degrees. As it was, she felt a faint chill worming its way up her spine through Loki’s account, and unconsciously reached down to rub at the thin band of scarring circling her left wrist...

_Do you know what it’s like to be unmade?_

Pain. Training. Turning a person into a weapon by putting them through so much brutality it became normal; by turning them into something feral, something scoured free of empathy and kindness that would kill without pause for the sake of survival.

It was all a little too familiar. A little close to home--

_I'm one of 28 young ballerinas with the Bolshoi..._

Only she hadn’t been. It was a false memory. One of 28 girls in the Black Widow program, 28 girls in the Red Room, their minds tampered with and re-shaped, crafting them into assassins. Into killers.

And Loki had gone through much the same. Not in the Red Room, of course -- not from childhood. She’d hardly had time to live and know anything else, before. And yet --

She’d watched the footage over and over on the flight to Germany, after finding out Clint had been taken. Watched the grainy clips from the Tesseract chamber where Loki had arrived and attacked immediately. Like a madman. Like an animal.

Now she knew why, and for all her training, it still made her skin crawl. Made something unfamiliar clench in her chest, knowing they were the--

_No. Not the same._

She pulled back, jaw tightening. Because of course, Loki knew all about her past. Everything Clint knew, at any rate. Knew about her misdeeds, the _red in her ledger_ as she’d called it. He knew she’d been brainwashed and turned into a living weapon from girlhood.

He knew how to use that to get into her head.

She stiffened, wondering briefly if any of it was real. Of course, he’d been feeding bits of this story to Steve and the others for weeks now. But had that all been part of a plan? He was a chess player after all, capable of thinking many moves ahead. If this was a ploy to get through her armor and pull on her heartstrings, it was an extraordinarily well-executed one. But she wasn’t as naive as Steve or sentimental as Banner or overcome by guilt and love as Thor. If there was a chance that he was playing her...

She lifted her chin, eyeing him critically. “I think I have a pretty good idea, yes,” she answered coolly.

He could be lying.

(Worse. He could be telling the truth.)

“Just for verification -- I brought some equipment with me. Do you know what a polygraph is?” Odds were good he was one of the few bastards who could fake out a poly, of course, but if there was at least a chance of ruling out one option or another, she wanted to know. And it would fit in well with her explanation of wanting to prep him for resisting interrogation.

  


He nearly flinched at the tone of her voice, the way she had withdrawn… the way she had tightened up and changed her stance. Like she expected a fight, or meant to start one... but he could hardly blame her. After all, these were just more reminders, further incriminations, more wrongdoings for her to hold against him.

In response to her question, he shook his head, brows dropping to knit together.

“I don’t, no, sorry.” He looked at the equipment, then back to her, intimidated by her presence now, in a way he hadn’t been before.

She had a quiet sort of intensity about her at the moment that felt like danger, though he didn’t know why, what she had done to inspire this change in his perception or…

“This polygraph… does it hurt?” That it was to be introduced so soon after his story was slightly alarming, and though he asked, he was not shrinking away from it. Not fully. He was merely….wary. After all, she’d said she did not think she could kill him if unarmed. But was this a mode of armament? ‘For verification’, she’d said.

Well, it didn’t matter. He was about to find out, at any rate.

  


It was disarmingly childlike, the way he asked if it would hurt. She ground her teeth for a second, then shook her head. “No. It’s a lie detector. It measures physiological responses for indicators that you might be lying.” She nodded toward the equipment. “Stark has one. As I understand, Steve agreed to a polygraph test when you two first arrived at the tower.” Steve, at least, she didn’t think could fool a polygraph if his life depended on it.

“I think it’ll be a useful tool for us. It’s often used in more... _gentle_ interrogations. We want you to be able to avoid arousing any suspicion that could compromise you when you return to Thanos, so we want to make sure he has no reason to suspect anything you say is a lie.” She separated out the individual components of the test. “First, we’ll try you out while you’re being as honest as possible. Then, we’ll see how you do on it with a scenario where you’re lying. We can work on training you to reduce any physical indicators.”

Of course, if Thanos had a guy who could reach into Loki’s mind and sort through his thoughts like they were the contents of a sock drawer, no amount of controlled breathing would do him any good. But she was going to start with what she knew and could do something about. Even if the only good it ended up doing was appeasing Steve.

She looked back to Loki. “Put your arms on the arms of the chair. We’ll get this set up.”

She’d been hooked up to enough of these that she knew how everything went. She crossed over to him and moved behind him to attach the pneumographs around his chest, then circled back to the front to apply the blood pressure cuff to one arm and the galvanometers to the fingertips of the other. All the wires and cables were already plugged into the machine -- mercifully all digital these days -- and only a few items remained on the table.

“I’m going to strap you in with these--” she held up the velcro restraints, “--so you don’t mess up the results by moving around.” She didn’t know how oversensitive Stark’s machine might be, and she didn’t want to take chances.

  


The fact that Steve had undergone this at the hands of his friends made him a bit more easy… but not much. Because he remembered the beginning, when they’d arrived, how he’d been locked in the Hulk’s cell. How he’d been afraid for Steve. It had been unfounded, of course. But just the same… He lay his arms out, resting them gingerly on the chair so that she could do as she needed to.

The pieces that she applied to him were enough to make him nervous. The restraints around his chest held him against the chair, forced him upright, and he was reminded again of his SHIELD haircut, his hair was beginning to get long again, he should talk to Steve, and the thought was tinged with the fear he’d felt then, the memory of--

 _put your arms on the arms of the chair_ she’d said

She meant to bind him to it.

He looked up at her, eyes going wide.

“Wait. _Wait_ , I--”

Thanos with his chair that lifted Loki above the stone of the ground, so that the Titan would not need to stoop. Unable to move his arms, his head, something wrapped around him, from crown to under his chin, so that he could not open his mouth very far, so that his screams were trapped inside…

And then Hands, Thanos’s hands, Romanoff’s hands. Reaching for him. He closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he sucked air in quickly, terror forcing his words to desert him.

She said it wouldn’t hurt, but

_I’m going to strap you in with these_

and the thin fabric became rough hewn metal, became the restraints he’d been led back to Asgard in, the chains he wore to walk through the crowd of victors after his attack, then rougher, thicker, not so polished and clean, chains that bound him to a chair that dwarfed him. Chains that kept him from moving while Thanos reached inside, and tried to pull his seidhr out, tried to--

“ _No!_ ” He snarled, somewhere between a shriek and a scream, and he pulled his arms to his chest, his eyes sliding in and out of focus between now and then, between the woman and the Titan and the Other, between pain remembered and pain anticipated.

“No, please, not-- no--” He wanted to curl inwards protectively and his body tried, but his chest couldn’t move, and something was tugging at the tips of his fingers.

He was gasping for air and tears were falling and he was shaking, the chair was shaking as he twitched and pulled.

“I can’t, I can’t I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry, I won’t. It won’t happen again, I’ll do better, please I’m _sorry--_ ” He was rasping a litany of appeals, and he slammed his eyes closed, trying to make sense of it, trying to stop the burning in his chest and the churning in his gut. Panic was consuming him, and he couldn’t-- _couldn’t_ \--

  


When Loki tensed as she applied the poly, she didn’t think much of it. Everyone got nervous with polygraphs; it was the leading cause of false positives. They made people anxious. She’d give him a minute and a rundown on how it worked, then she’d start on the simple questions to establish a baseline.

But when she turned the readings on, the machine went haywire. More than the spikes that happened when someone’s breathing hitched on a lie, the output was off the damn chart.

It wasn’t nerves. Wasn’t a lie.

It was straight up terror.

And when Loki snarled, she jumped half out of her skin, hand immediately moving to the small, concealed tazer tucked into her belt at the small of her back.

But Loki wasn’t attacking -- he was thrashing, pulling against the poly, gasping in fear. _Panic Attack,_ she thought, stomach sinking. Shit. She’d done something to trigger it, and she’d gone and broken the resident reformed supervillain. Steve was going to kill her. Assuming Loki wasn’t faking... If it was real...

Her eyes flitted back to the polygraph results, bleeping in warning from overload. Then to Loki, hyperventilating as tears dripped from unfocused eyes.

She made the call:

 _Real_.

In a moment, she crossed the distance between them, yanking off the blood pressure cuff and the other measuring devices, tossing them roughly aside (if Stark got pissed for the rough handling of his equipment, he could bill her). With nothing restraining Loki, she put a hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at her.

“Loki,” she said. And when that didn’t work, louder: “ _Loki_. I need you to focus on my voice. Breathe in. Just take a deep breath, and hold it on my count. Ready? Now in... And hold.”

  


At her voice, strong and calling his name, he opened his eyes. She was close-- so close--

telling him to breathe. Touching his face. Her hand was warm and he felt so cold, his heart was racing and he couldn’t-- she wanted him to breathe and he couldn’t and she was going to do something--

He gasped in a huge breath, shallow and loud, but breathing, he was breathing, obeying-- don’t--

He held the breath, but that made his head feel too full, too pressurized, pinched, and everything felt too silent. Oppressively so. He shut his eyes again and let the breath come gasping out of him before she could tell him to-- his chest hurt and the waves of terror were coming and going as his body reacted to its own short comings. His head swam and when he opened his eyes again, so did they. She was a blur and he couldn’t even _breathe_ right, couldn’t--

“Sorry--” the word was on a gasp, not even a whisper, the sound more desperate because of his need for air and his need for her not to be upset, not to hurt him or to try to bind him, not now that he was seeing her-- and it was. It was only Romanoff, not Thanos. He wasn’t where Thanos was. He was still in New York. Midgard.

“St-Stark Tower.” He panted out. He brought his hands up, heels pressing into his eyes as if to block out the images inside of his mind.

His breathing was still fast, still shallow, but it was evening out. She was still touching him, and he didn’t know _why_ \-- why did they do that, why did they want to--?

“Steve?” He managed to ask, and pulled his hands from his eyes, disoriented, but just the name on his lips did wonders, helped him to slow his breaths. Steve couldn’t see him like this.

He inhaled deeply, then looked at Romanoff, the panic fading to be left with shame, humiliation, the sharp sting of his own disgrace.

“Romanoff.” He croaked out finally, and forced himself to be still. His heart was still pounding, the pressure making his head pulse and ache, but his mind seemed to be settling, calming down.

He had no words left, only the feeling of blood rushing to his face, no doubt coloring him with a visual affirmation of his weakness. He turned his eyes aside, but did not try to move.

  


She bit the inside of her cheek when he gasped out an apology. It was pitiful. And it was, she realized bitterly, her fault. She’d been too caught up in her suspicions and hadn’t been sufficiently attentive to her environment, or wary of what triggers she might hit if Loki _had_ been truthful.

And signs were currently pointing to that being the case after all.

“That’s right,” she said, “you’re in Stark Tower.” She did her best to make her voice gentle and soothing. “You’re on Earth, Loki. You’re on Midgard. You’re safe. You’re not tied down. You can get up anytime.” She murmured the information in a rhythmic litany, hoping he might subconsciously mimic the slow and steady pattern with his breathing, calming down in the process.

“Steve is upstairs. I can get him if you want,” she offered, still keeping her voice low and soft. Gentleness and nurturing weren’t part of her natural temperament; or if they once were, they’d been cut out of her back in Moscow. But she had training enough to approximate it when needed. And she did feel an uncomfortable stirring of sympathy inside of her, though she didn’t know what to fully make of it.

His breathing was evening out a little, and he wasn’t rocking or thrashing or anything any more. Wherever he’d briefly gone, he was back now, and aware of his surroundings. She moved back to give him space, crouching on her haunches on the floor. “I’m sorry about that,” she told him. “Can you tell me what happened?” Not that she didn’t already have a pretty good idea, but if something specific had set him off, she could avoid it in the future.

( _Or use it_ , a tiny part of herself that she didn’t care for suggested. She pushed it to the back of her mind.)

“If the chair is bothering you, you’re welcome to stand or sit on the floor,” she added.

  


Some part of him noticed how she was trying to make him easier-- she put herself lower than him, inverting the dynamic of before. She spoke softly, she apologized, she urged him to make himself comfortable.

He stood.

“Don’t call Steve, please.” It was the first thing out of his mouth, and he put some distance between himself and her, certain that he had frightened her at least a bit with his-- with that display.

He leaned against the wall and dropped his head backwards, looking up at the ceiling so as not to have to actually address her.

“Not your fault.” He assured her. “I didn’t-- I just. Being tied down by Thanos is fresh in my mind, and the-- you couldn’t have known. _I’m_ sorry. I wasn’t prepared-- Give.” he cleared his throat, annoyed at how dry it felt, how raspy his voice sounded still while he was trying to seem calm, as non-threatening as possible.

“Give me the space of a few minutes. We can… I’ll try again, if you want. Please don’t tell Steve though.” The last thing he needed was Steve trying to stop this, if he thought it would help, or feeling bad for having suggested it in the first place.

He’d made enough messes for Steve to have to clean up.

He scoffed at himself.

“This is ridiculous. I’m sorry. It’s been-- today has not gone…. I think I am not this pathetic on most days. I thought I could--” He huffed out a breath, then slid down the wall, letting himself slump to the floor, where he put his head in his hands.

He would have liked to have disappeared again, but he did not know where Steve was, didn’t want to cause him distress by surprising him like this. And… he didn’t trust his seidhr just yet. Wouldn’t trust his legs to carry him. His heart was slowing finally and that was for the best, but. But another thought came to him, another memory of another time he’d reacted poorly, and he’d caused damage in the process. He looked around, quickly surveying the room, his eye landing on her, crouching now.

“Are you alright? I didn’t-- I didn’t hurt you did I?” He couldn’t face Steve or himself if he’d managed to misjudge his own restraint, his own awareness… if he’d hurt her, he’d have a lot more than a few apologies he’d need to offer. And more than a few new worries, chief among them Barton and Romanoff herself.

  


“I’m fine,” she answered, though her head tilted slightly to the side in curiosity. The immediate concern for Steve, insisting he not be told (no, not insisting -- pleading) was consistent enough with what she’d observed. The concern for _her_ well-being, on the other hand, was a bit of a surprise. And again -- ‘sorry’ over and over again. Like he’d gone from total cruel indifference to an almost desperate sense of remorse where he couldn’t beg forgiveness enough, for each and every action.

And it all seemed genuine, even to her highly trained eye.

Seemed... human.

The worry and anxiety and frustration; the embarrassment and self-deprecation. This wasn’t a god in front of her -- no embodiment of evil and chaos. Just a man. A frightened, stressed-out man. And Natasha was pretty good at dealing with ordinary men.

She got up and quietly -- though not silently, she dragged her feet against the floor just enough to make a whisper of sound with each step so he wouldn’t startle -- made her way over to the wall Loki leaned against, then sat down beside him. Close enough for a sense of camaraderie, perhaps, but with enough space that she wasn’t crowding him. He still had plenty of breathing room to calm down in.

“I won’t tell Steve if you don’t want me to,” she told him. That was easy enough to agree to -- Rogers was overprotective enough of Loki already. “And don’t worry about it. These things... they happen.” She grimaced and shrugged. “You’re not the first person to have an unpleasant flashback of captivity. And I don’t think we should try again today.”

She had the verification she needed, after all. An overwhelming, uncontrolled physiological response that she hardly needed a poly to measure. And besides, if they were to continue in prepping Loki to go up against Thanos, they’d need to work on controlling his panic response before they got anywhere near the art of fooling a lie detector. And that was assuming they continued at all. If Loki panicked that badly just thinking about Thanos, let alone confronting him...

“If you don’t think you can go back,” she began carefully, “we should know sooner than later so we can look at different strategies.”

  


He watched her sit and listened to her words, grateful that he would not have to be bound right away. But when she suggested a change of plan, suggested exploring other strategies, he shook his head almost viciously.

“No. I-- I’ve already been trained. I’ve been through it, there’s no reason for him to-- I doubt that I will be restrained again, as long as I don’t appear to have-- I’m going to go back. I have to. If I don’t--” If he didn’t, the other alternative that would be suggested would be sending Steve. Steve whom he had almost lost, last time. Steve who had no guarantee not to be killed.

“He told Steve that I had use yet. I won’t be killed, and I don’t think I will be re-trained. But I will have to speak to him, have to. Have to appear as though nothing has changed. I can’t draw suspicion. Can’t make him wish to call in the Other for anything other than brief pain flashes. If the Other looks within me, learns of Steve and I… I worry that it will be used to hurt Steve. And I will do _everything_ I can to stop that from happening.”

He clenched his hands into fists.

“He asked permission to train me, before. I won’t give it again. I don’t know if that will make a difference, but… Steve can’t know about any difficulties you and I encounter. He’ll try to stop me going, and if I don’t report back at some point, Thanos will grow suspicious. And he will search me using the Other. I just need to be better at pretending, again. Need to be-- I need to seem to be as I was. And I need-- I used to be so good at hiding things. But I promised Steve, and I-- I’m fallen out of practice.” He huffed out a little laugh.

“Trying to be good is so exhausting. And it takes away so many of my strengths.” He shrugged apologetically. “If you’ve any advice, I would gladly take it. All I need to do is last through another visit, another conversation. Learn what I can-- as much as I can. And then…. I can come apart afterwards. We only need me to get through this. I only need to get through this intact enough to relay what I learn. Anything else, I can… I’m not concerned with incidental damage.”

He didn’t want to have secrets that he kept from Steve, but it seemed, as ever, that when there were secrets, they revolved around the sceptre. Around Thanos. Around keeping him safe. He hoped Romanoff understood. That she was not taking this as a sign of his traitorous nature, that he should be working to conceal things from Steve, the person who trusted him most completely.

But this was the Widow, after all. He couldn’t read her. Couldn’t tell.

  


_Trained_. He couldn’t call it torture. Or conditioning. Training sounded so innocuous -- so positive. Interns were trained.

Interesting.

Also interesting was his desperation to continue with the plan. If they hadn’t just been through what they had, it might have set off warning bells for her. But again, if this was about protecting Steve...

She could only hope Loki’s allegiances didn’t change if Steve were to somehow exit the equation. God forbid.

“Okay. We can keep working on it. But if the time comes when we have the scepter and I don’t think you’re ready or have your panic under control, I will have to let Steve know so he can make a tactical call,” she warned. If Loki lost it with Thanos and had a meltdown-- if Thanos decided to recover the scepter and killed Loki in the process-- they’d be down an asset, and would have handed a powerful weapon over to their enemy. And Steve would be a wreck and probably unfit for duty.

The whole thing was a potential disaster.

She moved herself into lotus-pose and looked at him. “You’ve given me a lot of information to go over. We can make a schedule and meet periodically for sessions where we’ll work on overcoming your panic responses, and hone your ability to lie convincingly in high-stress scenarios. In the meantime, I want you to think about everything that might set you off; being restrained to a chair is obviously one. Think of any other positions, sensations, smells, phrases, anything like that, which were used in your training and might have a similar effect, or any other triggers you’ve encountered since then that have made you anxious. We can work on an exposure therapy regimen for those so they don’t throw you off if you encounter them undercover.”

She pursed her lips. “This isn’t going to be pleasant. We’ll tie you up again, until you can handle restraints without losing it. There are probably going to be a few more panic attacks. I’m not telling you this to discourage you, but so you know what you’re getting into and what you’re agreeing to.” A frown line appeared between her brows. “This isn’t ‘training.’ I won’t be torturing you. I won’t be making you into a weapon. This is for building your defenses so you survive, without anyone getting hurt.”

  


He was nodding along until her last words knocked the breath from him, made his eyes sting in an attempt at watering.

He looked down at his hands in his lap, trying to sort through things.

“You are being kinder than I would have expected, after you became very angry at me. I hope this is not because you feel guilty. As I said, it is not your fault. You could not have known. I will, of course, make a list for you of… avoidable unpleasantries. Those I have discovered thus far, at least. I cannot think of many, from the top of my head, but just the same. I will think on it.”

He swallowed, though, at her talk of exposure therapy.

“If I am to-- I do not want to keep secrets from Steve. I do not want you to think that I-- my loyalty is not so frivolous as that. At least in the subject of my reaction to being tied, and my reaction to-- well, foods with heavy spice. Those sorts of things, he is aware of. Would it be possible to… if we spoke to him, perhaps it would help me if it were he who-- not that I object to your doing so, or that I mistrust… again you have been very kind, but I.” He looked back up at her finally.

“Steve has done much to change how I think, how I react, over a very short period of time. I know that he is capable of… as you say, it is not torture. Not training. But shaping… changing. I think it would help. Provided that it is not overmuch burden on his time. And… on yours as well.”

The thought of how this would go, of the time he would spend bound, if seemed like it would be a waste of everyone else’s time to correct his thoughts, take up resources that could be better used, if only he had better control of his own body.

And he worried that she knew it as well. That she realized that she could bind him and walk away. Worried that if he were less selfish, he should suggest it.

But the idea of being left by himself, unable to move-- it would be like being paralyzed all over again. Then, though, he had been too focused on what he needed to do, on the work, and the blissful long periods of unconsciousness had helped. Locked down with his mind free to wander, though… that was where the trouble lay. And he did not want to be a coward.

But he was.

And at least he knew that Steve would gentle him, coddle him through it. Would be more comfortable doing so, he thought, than Romanoff would be.

“I’ll be ready. When the time comes, I’ll do-- I’ll do what’s necessary. Whenever that is. Whatever that is. I promise you, I will not-- I will not let anyone down.” He could only hope that would not become a lie. He was doing so well, being honest.

  


Kind. Well, that was a new one.

Natasha sighed. “I was only angry with you because I thought for a minute you were trying to play me,” she admitted. “I know... I remember that Barton told you things. About me.” Her expression twisted into something akin to the face she’d make if swallowing a lemon. Not that she thought now that Loki was using her own history against her-- he was a talented liar, but not that talented -- but what was past was private. And it had been used to hurt her enough.

She listened to his request about Steve sitting in and frowned. She hadn’t planned on bringing Steve in more than necessary. He had enough other things that he was supposed to be dealing with beyond Loki, and while she wanted him informed enough to make tactical decisions, she didn’t want to flood him with distractions -- and Loki was definitely distracting for Cap.

But then again, Steve was what made Loki feel safe. That much was obvious. So as far as exposure therapy went, giving him someone who made him feel secure -- a role Natasha obviously didn’t fill -- could be beneficial. She weighed the pros and cons and came to a decision. “You and I will work on overall strategies without Steve -- coordinating all three of our schedules when Steve needs to be training the team will be a bit of a hassle. But I’ll meet with the two of you to go over some exercises that you can do on your own to help desensitize you to specific stimulus. I imagine you spend enough time together that it shouldn’t be hard to work into your routine from time to time.” They lived together after all. And then, at least, she could spend a little less time with Loki, and make more focused use of the time they did have.

Stretching, she got to her feet, rolling her neck and shoulders with a few snaps and pops before turning and holding out a hand to Loki to help him up. “For now, though, I think we can call it a day. I contacted Fury, and we leave for DC tomorrow morning.”

  


He jerked his head upwards to face her, not yet reaching for her hand, forgetting himself in the face of his shock.

“So soon?” He asked, dread and surprise both coloring his words.

He’d expected it would take longer, as had many of their exchanges. That SHIELD would need time to prepare to meet them. That they would need to ready whatever containment Fury might insist he be placed in.

After a moment’s pause, he accepted her offered hand and climbed to his feet, though he was careful to take a step backwards, away from her, in the process. He did not wish to loom.

Her anger, however, reminded him of past wrongs, yet again.

“I have not apologized,” he began, “But I should. For using Barton as a tool, for employing his knowledge of you, against you-- as a weapon. For the threats I made you, then. I would not act on them now, and I…. I regret having said what I did. I know you have no reason as yet to believe me, but I am trying to make things right, and… While I know it is likely impossible, if there is anything I can do to… to to make some form of amends. Well, you need only ask it.” His emotions were still uncomfortable on him, regret hanging from his shoulders like ill fitting garments, and it was made all the worst by how little she managed to emote, unless she chose to.

“I am trying to be honest, to be up front, to be open. It was-- is-- one of the conditions of my relationship with Steve, and I would not betray that in order to play you. It would be pointless, too-- we strive towards a common goal. Withholding pertinent information or lying about it does neither of us any good.”

He wasn’t… offended, necessarily, but it was an emotion akin to it.

“I appreciate your help. Truly, thank you, and I am sorry, again, both for what I have done before now, and… and for what happened today. All of what happened today. I will do what you think is best in this matter, because I do have great respect for you. The first mortal ever to have bested me… I do not forget such things, and I hope you do not mind my saying I admire you for it.”

He wanted to set her at ease, and to be sure that her anger was well and truly abated. If he was to be placing himself into her hands, he would not want to do so if she clung to her fears and furies.

  


Natasha blinked. This was getting... surreal. Like Loki’d had a complete personality transplant.

Of course, she’d interacted with him since the invasion -- at the meeting, and before, when she’d come to talk to Steve and Loki had balked at working with SHIELD, and when she’d inadvertently crashed pizza night to bring news about Schultz. He’d been, of course, more sane on those occasions than he’d been before. But previously, there had been something sharp and harsh about him still.

Now he was being... nice. More than just coldly cordial. He was sincerely and repeatedly apologetic -- and he _admired her?_

She didn’t entirely know what to do with nice. It wasn’t something she encountered all too often in her line of work; not without ulterior motives or strings attached. Part of her now was still trying to decipher what Loki’s angle was, unable to leave the suspicion alone, despite her rational mind believing he was on the up and up.

After regarding him for a few long seconds, she inclined her head. “Thank you. I... appreciate that.” And if she smiled just a tiny bit when she looked down to pack up the the polygraph, well, she _had_ just been complemented by the god of lies for winning a battle of wits.

 _Reformed_ god of lies. Who needed her help to get back into the practice of lying.

(It was the sort of thing one couldn’t make up.)

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve grown very good at moving on from the past and not dwelling in it. Grudges don’t suit spywork; your allegiances and alliances change too often. Barton shot me in the leg the first time we met.” She glanced up. “If you help us and do good, protect the earth and don’t cause trouble, then you and I? We’re good.” She put away the assorted devices into a bag that went with the machine, wrapping up the cables into neat coils. “As for DC -- not knowing what timetable we’re on, I figure it’s better to move quickly and be prepared than to get caught with our pants down when Thanos’ plans, whatever they are, go into action. The sooner we coordinate with SHIELD, recover the scepter, and gather information, the better.”

The polygraph all packed up, she paused, chewing her lip for a moment. “I... have some understanding of what it is to be made into something you don’t like. Into a killer, without having a choice.” Her gaze flitted back up at him. “I can respect how hard it is to take back that choice. To remake yourself into something else than what you were shaped as.”

  


His lips curved up in a thin, self deprecating smile.

“Well, I cannot speak for not causing trouble. It does seem to follow me whether I aim for it or not. But as for the rest…” He shrugged. “Do you suppose Barton would feel better about me if I allowed him to shoot me in the leg as well?” It was partially a joke, and partially a bid for gaining her perspective on how to treat with the most problematic of his companions. She was close to him, after all, Loki knew.

“Does Fury have any orders, in regards to my presence? Restraints or cells or other limitations? I will cooperate of course, but--” He gestured at the chair. “It is better that I am prepared.”

And better that he have a chance to prepare Steve. He had not forgotten the way Steve had reacted, watching him be chained, bound, guarded, and with men and guns around--

“And perhaps you should speak with Steve and explain to him what to expect as well. The last time we had dealings with SHIELD, we fled because we were shot at. It would be unfortunate if that were repeated, especially given our current theory and understanding of the situation, regarding who and what is behind the information leaks.”

He watched her put away her supplies and stood back, enough that when she started forward, he would leave the room with her, neither departing ahead-- presumptuous-- or falling in behind her-- perhaps seen as threatening.

Just the knowledge of being in the same space as someone who broke down and read situations the way the courtiers of Asgard did was helping him to revive rusty habits of attentiveness and decorum. He needed to be on his most aware, though, so that was good. Both for SHIELD and for Thanos.

In a manner, she was already helping. And it helped, too, that he was left alone with her, rather than with the others who had grown used to seeing him behave in a certain way. He could be calculating, to a point, here. Try it on and see how this melded with his current awareness, his current scope of right and wrong.

He knew his thinking was often flawed, as far as Steve was concerned. And he knew that he was trying to err on the side of caution as much as possible… but very soon the margin of error would become razor’s edge thin, and if he could not regain his balance by then…

He refused to think further on that.

  


She gave an amused huff of breath at Loki’s suggestion that he let Barton shoot him. “I wouldn’t tempt him,” she remarked, sliding the bag containing the machinery over her shoulder and adjusting the strap so it didn’t dig into her collarbone. She would definitely be talking with Clint about this experience shortly. Maybe not every detail -- there were some he didn’t need to know, and she actually found herself respecting Loki enough to be willing to offer him some privacy on a few matters -- but the overall apology and tone of the meeting she could convey. She knew Clint was still adjusting to not completely hating Loki, and that he wasn’t ready to deal with befriending the guy anytime soon. But perhaps...

“Maybe, after DC, you could try talking to him. Though have me or Steve run interference first -- don’t just surprise him,” she warned. “If we have to work together, it would be ideal for both of you to at least be functional around each other.” She didn’t like the idea of Loki in the field at all, and it would be hard as hell for Clint to get used to, but she’d rather he dealt with his feelings about Loki while they were safely in the tower than deal with them in the line of fire when distraction could be deadly. Especially if Steve pushed forward with this whole notion of making Loki an Avenger.

It seemed Loki wasn’t going to be the only one needing some exposure therapy.

“I don’t know any specifics about what SHIELD is going to have for security,” she told him as she approached the door. Not that she’d divulge all the details. And yet... Loki had a point. The more he knew, the less he’d panic, and a panicking Loki wasn’t going to make anything better for anyone.

“The shot taken at you last time was unauthorized. Unless you do anything perceived as extremely threatening, I don’t imagine it should be an issue a second time. Fury wants this to go smoothly as possible, to re-establish some form of cooperation between SHIELD and the Avengers, so he won’t risk alienating Rogers like that.” She shrugged, stepping out into the hall. “There will be heightened security, but you can probably expect it to be more in line with a visit from a hostile dignitary than the detention of a violent criminal. Nothing so overt as physical restraints -- though there will be eyes on you at all times.”

She paused as they approached the elevators. “I’m going to charter Stark’s jet for a ten am departure. We’ll leave the tower at quarter of nine to get to the airfield. You should be packed and ready to go by eight-thirty. We can go over any other necessary information during the flight. If you could pass this all on to Steve, I’d appreciate it.”

  


He nodded, keeping pace with her while carefully maintaining his distance.

In the elevator, he stepped to the side, affording her her space as well as he was able, given the smallness of the room.

His lessons in etiquette were all but demanding that he offer to carry her supplies for her, but he thought that she might see it as demeaning-- she was more than capable.

So instead he repeated, to be certain: “Packed by eight thirty, leave here at quarter of nine, ten o’clock departure.” He wondered how long they would be gone, but fortunately he did not have much to bring-- he still only had his few suits, a selection of shirts… and his few dresses, which he assumed he oughtn’t bother with. SHIELD would be overly confused, or diverted, and what’s more, he didn’t trust them enough to want to give up all of his potential means of escape and disguise.

“I will see that it is passed along. Thank you for planning this, and for arranging the… these sessions, and thank you for your… patience. I know this cannot be considered anywhere near an ideal situation for you, or the others.” He shrugged, forcing himself to keep from apologizing yet again. He was sure that by now she was tired of hearing it.

He was certainly tired of saying it.

His floor came up first, and he paused with his hand holding the doors open, unsure if there was more that needed said.

So he just nodded at her.

“We will see you tomorrow morning, then, Agent Romanoff. Thank you again.”

  


She inclined her head, a faint, polite smile on her lips. “I’ll see you in the morning, Loki.”

In the meantime, she had a lot to think over. The doors slid shut and the elevator resumed its ascent as she reached into her pocket and thumbed the small recorder.  
A lot to think over. And a lot to plan.

 


	50. Fifty

The recycled air in the plane cabin was stale and carried with it the faintest smell of oil. It was apparently an unpleasant aspect of air travel that even Stark’s luxury jet couldn’t escape.

Though, given the seats reclined, there were no screaming infants, and the in-flight breakfast consisted of fresh, fluffy pastries and real fruit (not from a little plastic cup), Steve could hardly complain.

He wasn’t likely to get shot down and have to jump without a parachute either.

Natasha had quietly briefed them while they’d been taxiing on the tarmac, filling them in on who would be meeting them, and where they would divide up. Thor would make a more public entrance through the main lobby, drawing attention, before being escorted to debriefing, and then onward to rendezvous with Dr. Foster. Steve and Loki would be met with an escort in the garage and enter through the lower levels, before meeting with Fury and Hill. Steve had been adamant that at any hint of violence on SHIELD’s part they would be leaving, and Natasha nodded, assuring him that she didn’t anticipate that being a problem.

Steve wished he had her confidence. Still -- this would go a long way toward repairing his relationship with SHIELD if all went well, and with getting the world prepared for the impending threat posed to it.

They’d descended into awkward silence not long after, though. Whatever had happened in Natasha and Loki’s session the night before while Steve had been unpacking boxes and packing bags, they didn’t seem to want to chat much now. And Thor sulked across the aisle like a looming raincloud, occasionally stealing looks at Loki when he was otherwise distracted. Thor wore his armor, and Steve made the tactical call to wear his uniform, but Natasha was in plainclothes, and Loki wore one of his suits, which made for a strangely varied tableau.

As the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, letting them know it was safe to disengage their seatbelts, Steve did so and stretched out, bumping his knee against Loki’s. “How’re you doing?” he murmured. His own nerves were humming, and he could only imagine what anxiety might be gnawing at Loki, given his past experience with SHIELD.

  


Sleep had done a great deal towards making Loki less jumpy, less temperamental. But he clung to some of his uneasiness.

There would be eyes on him at all times. Romanoff had warned him of as much the night before. He’d rather expected to make it to DC before that proved true, but it seemed that Thor would not be able to control himself between here and there.

He hadn’t needed to do anything with his seidhr that morning, and so he was comfortably aware that he had enough to erect shields against bullets, should that become a problem, or move them-- at least he and Steve-- if he had to.

What he could not do, however, was turn Thor’s eyes aside.

And all that he could think of was Steve after they’d fled, Steve in the hotel room in Pennsylvania, Steve who was afraid and had been broken down to tears at the prospect of losing his ties to SHIELD.

And they were returning now to restore them.

He should be glad, should be pleased for his partner’s sake.

He couldn’t be, though.

Still, when Steve asked, he did not want to let the selfishness show through. Not for Steve, and not for the prying eyes of Thor and the no doubt attentive ears of Romanoff, so he smiled.

“I’m fine.” He said simply with a shrug. “And you? How are you?”

He hoped at least one of them was truly excited for these developments. He would prefer that that be Steve.

  


“I’m in good company,” Steve replied, reaching between them and letting his fingers settle over Loki’s, where their hands both rested along the seat. “Got a bit of the jitters,” he confided a bit more quietly, but with a quirk of his lips. He didn’t want Loki to worry unnecessarily, but he also didn’t want him to think Steve completely unaffected and careless.

It was strange, to feel like he was heading into the lion’s den and going home, in the same stroke.

Well, former home.

SHIELD had been the closest thing he had to home when he’d been thawed out. The legacy of his friends and loved ones, enduring past their time. It had been a center. A purpose.

But he had a new purpose now; one SHIELD could hopefully help with and be a part of, but not one that they dictated. And home was an apartment full of boxes and the lingering smell of pizza, not SHIELD-issue housing.

The plane bumped up and down through a patch of turbulence, and Steve found himself looking out the window at the clouds outside.

He’d taken some time to meet with the others who weren’t coming before their departure. Bruce and Tony were hard at work in the lab drawing up schematics for a case for the scepter, and crunching numbers on the possible locations. Tony had also pulled him aside to show him the progress he was making on Loki’s armor -- Steve had been briefly worried, in the aftermath of the meeting, that Tony would have second thoughts on that project, but apparently his concerns had been unfounded. Clint had been a bit cooler toward him, a bit more aloof, but said nothing about the whole ‘Avenger Loki’ debacle, instead grunting a farewell as he gulped down his coffee.

Through occasional gaps in the clouds, he could see patches of the ground far below, the highways like threads and the cities like sprinkled gravel on the swath of greyish green that was the landscape. They’d be in DC soon enough -- it wasn’t a lengthy flight by any means -- and heading to SHIELD immediately while a chauffeur on retainer for Stark took their bags to the hotel. SHIELD, of course, could provide accommodations, but Steve didn’t figure Loki would sleep well under their roof again, and booked them a room instead.

Across the way, Thor cleared his throat, and Steve looked up abruptly. For a moment, Thor looked as if he wished to say something, but then seemed to think the better of it, looking away and then rubbing at an invisible spot of dirt on his hammer with the edge of his cape to cover for the aborted attempt.

  


Loki followed Steve’s head turn and scowled openly at Thor for the way he interrupted. Bad enough that he had been forced to tell Thor about them to even be allowed this contact with Steve, but if he was going to react thus each time he saw them touch, each time he felt excluded from Loki’s relationship--

Loki looked angrily away from him. He had known Thor would not approve. He was just prone to anger where the Odinson was involved. Prone to falling into easy annoyance.

“I am sorry for your jitters.” Loki answered softly. A wicked, perhaps cruel thought came to him, and though he hesitated for Steve’s sake, he also realized they would lose the opportunity for a time, soon, and that he should act on such impulses now, before it was too late.

“If there is any way I can help ease your worries…” He breathed the words out in his bedroom voice and leaned in, trailing his fingers across the lines of Steve’s jaw, while he let his gaze linger on his lips.

Had Steve been less uncomfortable about displaying affection, Loki might have run a teasing hand up his thigh, thrown his legs across his lap, or begun kissing him loudly and wantonly.

But this, he thought, was almost more effective.

Thor, watching, knew Loki to be a sexual creature, but would be unused to seeing him as a tender one. The soft words and gentle touch would no doubt be like thorns to him. And as for the Widow…

No doubt she would be able to read the disquiet that Loki’s more demonstrative attentions would have brought to Steve. And it would of course register as an alarm, a sign that all was not as they presented it, not as it seemed. Loki would look overly forward, perhaps to the point of aggressiveness, and not to mention the way Steve would then be forced to push him away-- no, better, he thought, that he keep to his more subtle weapons.

And again, it was odd to be thinking this way, the return to examining his actions from multiple angles a strange sensation, something like stretching muscles after being still for too long.

He kept finding things he had fallen out of the practice of doing, things that had once been commonplace, even necessary for him. It made him uneasy, because he could not be sure what he might be missing. What more he might have forgotten, that would give him away.

  


Steve blinked, startled by Loki’s forwardness in such close quarters with others. Of course, he had to remind himself, it wasn’t a secret anymore... Thor and Natasha both knew, so they didn’t have to hide it. And it wasn’t as if they were being _obscene._ Tony and Pepper could be every bit as affectionate without anyone objecting.

But it still felt odd, getting Loki’s sultry voice in his ear when his brother was only a few feet away, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Steve gently took hold of Loki’s fingers from where they traced over the side of his face, pulling them away and giving them a quick squeeze. “Later,” he breathed as quietly as possible, glancing over at Natasha, who was very pointedly looking at her phone.

For all that they could be open here or in the tower, they were about to enter a more public space -- one where he was still unready to out himself. And, for all that he enjoyed any and all closeness with Loki... now was perhaps the time to practice restraining themselves a bit more. They wouldn’t be able to hold hands at SHIELD after all.

“So,” he said, voice sounding a bit too loud to his own ears. “How’s the weather looking in DC?”

“Cool. Partly cloudy,” Natasha answered without looking up.

“Right. Okay.” Steve nodded.

So much for starting a conversation...

The PA turned on as the pilot mildly informed them all that they would be beginning their descent shortly into Washington, DC. Steve silently thanked God that this was a short flight.

  


Loki frowned, but withdrew, his eyes darting over to see if he could catch Thor watching.

He was staring ahead, his jaw tight. Good. He deserved it.

Steve, on the other hand…

“Don’t worry.” He said lowly, addressing Steve directly instead of ignoring his discomfort. “I am not going to humiliate you in front of SHIELD.” His petulance was partially born of the feeling of rejection that surfaced, small and sharp, but mostly it came from his own sense of regret; he’d known that he could make Steve uncomfortable. He hadn’t thought so little would do it, but…

Steve had said he was anxious. Loki wasn’t helping matters by being petty, by using Steve as a prop for upsetting Thor. He huffed out a sigh and sank lower in his seat.

Perhaps he _was_ more anxious than he’d thought, himself. He supposed his nerves did tend to make him more likely to lash out, though it was a testament to Steve that he did so in so mild a way.

Still. They were nearly there now. He needed to be on his best, most sane and chivalrous and politically sound behavior. Talking to Fury and SHIELD was going to be enough like walking on eggshells if he wasn’t upsetting his allies as well.

“I’m sorry,” he said even softer, angry now at himself for acting so carelessly, so spitefully. “I promise-- I’ll behave.” Not for Thor’s benefit, though. If he and Steve made Thor uncomfortable, then he would happily remind him as much as possible of their closeness.

He just would need to remember to keep it out of Steve’s sight-- and away from the prying eyes of the agents of SHIELD. They had no business knowing, and Loki needed to support Steve in his fear of being found out, his discomfort with people knowing about them.

As the plane began to angle downwards, swooping lower in a controlled banking arc, Loki moved his hands on to his lap, further away from Steve.

He didn’t want him to regret bringing Loki. And he didn’t want to miss out on meeting Peggy, on holding Steve’s hand while he visited the woman who haunted his mind. Not for some stupid spat.

  


Steve made himself smile, though his stomach turned slightly as the plane dropped in altitude. “It’s okay. And you wouldn’t humiliate me, it’s just... I’m not ready for the world to know that about me?” It wasn’t even about Loki, really -- all other things being equal, Steve would defend him and their relationship to the death, the hell with people who didn’t think he deserved it. But as far as Captain America being known as a queer fella...

Well, he just wasn’t there yet.

They all buckled in for the final stages of the descent, and the plan bumped on to the runway not long after, bouncing a few times before eventually taxiing to a halt. A car met them right on the tarmac -- a shiny black SUV, and for a moment Steve had an unpleasant pang of deja vu -- but when the driver got out and nodded to them, he recognized Agent Tanner.

“Captain,” Tanner said with a brusque nod.

“Agent,” Steve replied with a tilt of his head, grateful that SHIELD had sent someone who hadn’t been actively hostile to him and Loki. A very deliberate choice on their part, he was sure, though he chose to take it as the olive branch of sorts that it was.

It was agreed that Thor would take shotgun so he wouldn’t have to squeeze in next to everyone else, and the rest of them took the back, with Steve in the awkward middle seat through some fluke of logistics. Faint jazz music drifted through the car’s sound system, and Tanner hummed along tunelessly as he pulled out of the airport campus and on to the highway.

  


It was nice that this was already going differently than when they had been retrieved the last time for transport back into Fury’s clutches.

There were less men. No visible guns. It was Tanner-- Loki remembered with a flash of chagrin the last time he had seen the man.

“You were not injured in my-- ah. Haste, I hope?” Loki asked carefully, attempting to start some form of conversation, some departure from the quiet. “I apologize--” he broke off, realizing that even explaining why he’d done what he did may violate the rules of SHIELD’s operations, may betray some classified information.

Did Tanner know that he was not dependent on the sceptre? That is was missing? That Steve had touched it? That he had been hurt, before Loki took him and disappeared? Was he confused by the lack of shackles and back up?

There were so many questions he should have thought to ask, and only too late did he realize that keeping his mouth shut would likely be for the best.

Even if that meant appearing to be the uncaring villain he had been, at least for a while longer.

Or perhaps especially for that purpose. He was supposed to be relearning how to keep up appearances, after all.

He drew himself up, changing his posture and bearing. He was meant to be proud, distant… remorseless. He shot a glance at Steve from the corner of his eye, and wondered what he would think of him, if he would realize, understand…

Of course he would. Steve was brilliant.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Tanner replied, a bit stiff, and with a single backwards glance in the mirror. Loki saw him look to Loki’s face, then saw his glance dart to Steve before returning his eyes to the road. The silence became even more profound, as the question ended Tanner’s humming.

With an inaudible sigh, Loki turned his face to the window.

Even as they pulled up before the building, and Thor exited the car, Loki was preparing himself.

His shirt had gone to wrinkles on the flight, but with a subtle twitch of his fingers, he set it to rights, making his appearance more severe, more restrained. If it didn’t seem as if Steve had changed him over much, it could not seem that they were too close.

Loki wished he had thought to suggest to Steve that he remain closer to Romanoff. After all, Loki had heard the vile words that Scofield had accused Steve with. An entire room of men had. But if he were to keep closer to a woman, make a show of it almost…

Too late now, though. They were pulling into the lower levels.

  


When the SUV came to a stop, Steve began to reach for his seatbelt, only for Natasha to put a hand on his arm and shake her head. Through the tinted windows, he saw a door open, and Maria Hill strode out.

“Mr. Odinson,” she said with a curt nod, as Thor opened his door and got out. “If you could come this way, please...”

Hill and a few agents flanking her in uniform walked Thor into the building, and the door closed behind them. The SUV started back up, now with just the three of them in the back as it pulled deeper into the bowels of SHIELD. Steve fidgeted nervously, chewing his lip until the car came to a halt, and Tanner and Natasha both reached for their doors.

Steve found himself looking around for any signs of snipers, but the space they’d reached was less spacious, and more well-lit than before. There were several agents present as an escort -- enough to indicate wariness, without outright paranoia -- but they kept their distance as Natasha led them in.

Steve wished he’d reached over to give Loki’s hand one last squeeze, kicking himself now for not thinking of it in the privacy of the car. But now they were out in the open, and he forced himself to keep his eyes forward as he walked down the corridor toward the elevator.

Natasha slipped an access card into the reader to open the elevator doors, and the three of them stepped in, with two of the agents -- wearing suits, not tactical gear, Steve observed with approval -- breaking away from the rest to follow them in before the doors whisked shut and the car began to rise, numbers above the door ticking upward until they reached the executive floor.

A few more corridors and two security checkpoints later, they were at the door to a familiar spacious office. One of the agents touched his earpiece, then nodded. “Director Fury will see you now.”

Steve set his jaw, then took the leading step into Fury’s office.

“Director.”

  


Loki followed Steve, glad to, as the familiar tiles of the floors reminded him of the times he had been led through them in chains. Shot at in them. Pursued. Had fought his way through them to get to Steve, whom he wasn’t sure was alive, then. These halls did not hold good memories for him. And they were not in the same places, true. The guns were not as visible.

But Loki was under no false impressions that they were safe.

The elevator was small, and Loki could not help but think of how much more difficult it would be to escape from within one. Such thick walls and such little space… he resisted the urge to shudder.

He’d not counted on the dread that would fall over him, walking in here; the fear that he would never leave again. And the people surrounding him… this would not be an easy meeting, he was sure, on any of them. He did not need to be watched, did not look forward to the suspicion and humiliation that would surely follow.

When they had finally made their way through all of the sub-chambers, and were at last standing before the director of SHIELD, Loki had to suppress a scowl. He was posturing, from the moment they walked in the door, his back to them, his hands clasped behind him.

As though he had nothing to fear from them, that they were so little threat that he could show them his back. No matter that the very presence of their guards spoke to the contrary.

This was a game. A show. And it was one that Fury played often and well.

“Welcome back, Rogers.”

Not Captain. He’d been verbally stripped of his rank. Not Steve, because they were not friends, or friendly.

Loki was silently infuriated.

This was Steve being punished for Loki’s actions. He’d been the one to pull them away, he’d been the one to take them out of SHIELD’s hands. And true, they had gone to the Avengers together, but…

“Good afternoon, Director.” He interjected, coldly polite, despite not even having been acknowledged.

He had little patience for this game, when they had real matters to address.

  


Fury turned his one eye slowly toward Loki, brows slightly raised.

“Loki,” he said simply. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised we’ve seen as little of you as we have.”

“Considering what went down the last time we were here, I’m not sure how that would be surprising,” Steve interjected in a low voice.

Fury turned back to him, then sighed. “While it’s true that we had armed agents on high alert the last time he was here, that trigger should not have been pulled. No shooting order was given; an individual operative got a little... jumpy.” His expression hardened. “Needless to say, he’s been demoted and reassigned to a significantly less pleasant detail. Though the issue remains that you took an interplanetary war criminal from SHIELD custody and ran off with him, Rogers.”

“Believe me, that’s the least of our issues,” Steve replied, chin raised. “I don’t believe there’s a legal warrant of any kind out on Loki and since I’m pretty sure there’s no official record of him even being on Earth these past few months, I’ll be interested to see what charges could stick there. So why don’t we skip that song and dance and get to the real reason we’re here?”

Fury looked briefly surprised, and if Steve didn’t know better, he could swear he saw a flicker of amusement on the other man’s face. “Very well. The real reason.” He circled around to the large desk by the window and sat down, gesturing for them to do the same with a set of chair sitting across from him. “Have a seat.”

Natasha spoke up. “Is this a secure place to talk?”

Fury’s eyebrow lifted, and he inclined his head. “Initiate code dark.”

The background hum of several technological devices cut out, and the windows dimmed as polarizing filters activated. Steve thought he caught the sound of a click behind them by the door.

“It is now,” Fury said, leaning back. “Now. I admit, you said some rather intriguing things on the phone a few months back. I’m sure you can understand that at the time, they did seem like the ravings of a delusional mind-controlled lunatic?”

Steve’s jaw twitched. “I trust I don’t look like a delusional lunatic now?”

“No,” Fury mused, rubbing his chin. “You don’t. And I have Ms. Romanoff here backing up elements of your story, which is troubling.” His eye darted between the three of them.

“Would it make you feel better to know Clint gave me a concussion the other day?” Steve asked archly.

The corner of Fury’s mouth twitched. “Surprisingly, yeah. It kinda does. Now...” He leaned forward over the desk, expression sobering. “Talk to me about this Thanos guy.”

  


Loki settled in and allowed Steve to do as much of the talking as he could, only interjecting with bits of information that they missed, which were few and far between.

If the threat were not so real and terrifying, Loki would have taken great satisfaction at the growing grim expression on Fury’s face, and the way this his single eye danced back and forth over their faces, as if expecting at any moment to be informed this was all a particularly tasteless joke.

Once they were finished, Fury sat back in his chair, his hand rubbing his chin as he absorbed all that he had heard.

“So what is it you recommend? What’s your plan of action, here?” He asked, and though he turned his head to look at Steve, it was Loki his gaze ended up on.

Sensible, Loki supposed, because of them he had spent the most time with this threat, but…

“We intend to reclaim the sceptre.” He spoke clearly, careful not to phrase it as a request. “I have been working with Stark and Banner, and we have devised a way of tracking the sort of power it exudes.” That was a gross simplification, but he did not want to give too much away.

“But given the security issues SHIELD has been experiencing of late, we intend to do so without anyone who is not necessary. Your house seems to have a traitor in it, Fury. We have no room for such uncertainty and divided loyalties in this.” He was taunting him now, the words a far gentler version of what he might once have said, but necessary, he thought, for the role he was playing.

He did not look to Steve, did not want the disappointment on his face to dissuade Loki from his act.

“Once we have control of the sceptre,” he pushed on, “I want to use it to open a line of communication with Thanos. To learn as much as possible in regards to his plans, and how we can stop them from coming to fruition.” He had to be so careful now, knowing that this was the part which Fury was most certainly going to object to.

Only he had as little choice as the rest of them, and Loki knew it, even if Fury had yet to see that as the case.

“So let me get this straight.” Fury said, and Loki realized he would not be disappointed in his expectation of Fury’s reaction, based on his tone of voice. “You want me to just let you run off, with my blessing, without any overseeing other than Agents Romanoff and Barton, and you think I should be okay with just handing you the object that you have been after since you got here, so you can commune privately with this person you claim is the biggest bad we have ever seen? That sounds an awful lot like you asking me to _trust_ you.” Fury said, and his words were all but barbed. “Do you trust him?” He asked, turning away from Loki.

  


“I do,” Steve answered, firmly and honestly.

“And I wasn’t asking you,” Fury said, gaze drifting all the way over to Natasha.

She had been fairly quiet during their explanation of events, letting Steve take the lead and Loki fill in details where necessary. It was almost easy to forget she was there. Her expression remained blank and unreadable for several seconds as she mulled over her words, and Steve shifted his weight uncomfortably in his seat, waiting for her verdict.

“I can understand the hesitation in wanting to give Loki the same weapon he used to try to take over our world,” she began after lengthy seconds, brow faintly furrowed in concentration. “But at the time, the scepter’s main usefulness to him was allowing him to rapidly accrue key tactical allies -- namely Barton, who had access to resources and connections, and Selvig, who had the scientific know-how to work with the Tesseract. Everything else he had going for him was magic and durability. Assets he still has now. And if he had the scepter...” She shrugged. “He doesn’t need it. He has key tactical allies. Every weapon he had on him and at his disposal during the invasion is in his hands now, barring the Tesseract, and he hasn’t done any harm this time around.”

Fury looked thoughtful. “And that’s reason to trust him?”

“No.”

Steve turned to her in horror and betrayal, but before he could protest, Natasha pulled out a file from her jacket and set it on the desk, flipping it open. “But this might be.”

News clippings scattered out; photos of mourners at the memorial wall, close up photos of pieces of gold stamped with runic symbols and knots, and write-ups about the ‘Gifts from the Dead’ and the ‘Enchanted Wall’ in Bryant Park.

“Loki is a talented liar. But I’ve seen through him before, and I’m reasonably positive that his remorse is genuine.” She glanced briefly over at Loki before returning her gaze to Fury. “Even if he does take the scepter and run, I don’t think we’ll be looking at any large-scale civilian casualties as a direct result. If Thanos is a real threat, then we have a lot more to lose, and so does he.”

  


He froze in his seat, staring down at the scattered news stories before him.

It shook him, realizing that he had not been as attentive as he should have been, with the work he did at the memorial. He wondered how many of the names had been spoken for by now, wondered what the families were using the gold for, how much it was worth, here… He bit down on the inside of his lip and looked to Romanoff, surprised.

After the problems that had arisen when Steve brought forth the idea of making him an Avenger, he took it to mean that he wasn’t trusted by those around him, even still. Which was, to be fair, unsurprising; he’d hardly done anything to deserve their trust. The absence of wrongdoing did not make him good.

And Romanoff had the least reason to trust him of them all, save Barton. As such, her speaking in his favor, even steeped in suspicion and logic driven as it was, came unexpectedly. It wasn’t precisely heartwarming, wasn’t a vote of confidence by any means, but it was… helpful. Good, he supposed.

“You feel bad for killing all these people?” Fury asked, lifting up one of the articles and holding it so that Loki could see.

He closed his eyes, escaping from it the way he was developing a habit of doing, before he realized that this was a test, and forced himself to look.

“Yes.” He told him, frankly, keeping his voice and face as honest and open as he could. This kind of emotional nudity was its own form of armor, he was finding, and one that he was slowly learning to employ for his own good. “I would not repeat the damages now, if I could keep from doing so. And I have certainly developed a respect for life that I lacked, at the time. So I do regret it, yes.”

“...Alright then.” Fury put the clipping down and turned to face Romanoff.

“You want to work without SHIELD because we have a mole-- that makes sense. I won’t send in other agents; you have a good team already, and I would rather not risk losing more people to this than necessary, if it turns out everybody’s wrong about Loki, here. But I want full communication, same as any other mission you’ve run on for us. As liaisons, part of your job is keeping me up to date. Off the books, fine, but I do want to stay on the same page as you. We clear on that?” He asked.

Loki noticed that Fury included himself in the everybody who might be wrong about him, a silent sort of approval.

“One problem,” Romanoff returned, and Loki looked at her, surprised. That seemed like exactly the sort of relationship they wanted with SHIELD. Unless she thought she needed to tell Fury about he and Steve. He darted a glance at his partner, concerned.

Romanoff pressed on, though.

“I don’t want to work as SHIELD liaison any more. I’m an Avenger, same as everyone else on the team. Full time. You need to find someone else as a go between.”

  


Steve blinked in surprise. He hadn’t seen that coming -- any of it. Although...

Although he’d pushed Natasha and Clint away because of their affiliations with SHIELD. Enough to make them question whether they even still had a place on the team; a place with the Avengers. And then he’d gone on to offer a place on that same team to Loki. So maybe it did make sense; maybe he ought to have seen it, from when the only time he’d bothered to reach out to Natasha had been for her SHIELD connections and access, and not for her friendship.

Biting down on his tongue in shame, he certainly wasn’t going to fight it now.

Fury sat back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at her. “That’s where you’re declaring your allegiance, Agent Romanoff?”

She inclined her head. “You’ve known that since Clint and I helped Steve steal that quinjet off the helicarrier.”

He hummed, reaching up and tapping his chin, looking critical. “So you want an official SHIELD agent liaising with the Avengers? Someone fully briefed, but formally on SHIELD’s payroll, assigned to work with your team without being on it?”

“That’s correct,” she replied.

“So basically, you want another Coulson.”

The room went silent, and Steve could swear the temperature had dropped several degrees. He fought the urge to look over at Loki.

“That’s correct,” Natasha echoed a moment later, voice a little quiet, a little more strained.

“Hmm.” Fury pushed his chair back. “I’ll look into the available options. Though I hope you’re all a bit more careful with Phil’s replacement,” he added, shooting Loki a bitter look, then standing and beginning to pace toward the far end of the office.

“I’ll go through and see who we can rule out with complete certainty from this mole issue,” he continued. “Make sure we keep a secure, non-compromised line of communication. We’re currently running through lists of agents who were recruited from other organizations who might be double agents.” Natasha stiffened at that, but said nothing. “Seeing if anyone might have even distant connections to organizations like Cybertek, Ten Rings, the Rising Tide--”

“HYDRA?” Steve asked.

Fury paused and turned. “HYDRA’s been defunct for a long time now, soldier. They fell apart after the war, and the soviets and half a dozen other groups rose up in the vacuum they left.” He shook his head. “You did good when you took out Schmidt. Cut the head right off the organization.”

  


Loki swallowed.

_Another Coulson. Be careful with his replacement._

Another test? Or something more punitive-- Loki had stolen a good agent from Fury, and now he was taking even more. Romanoff, Barton, Steve… but they were alive. They were still around to fight. Coulson… he knew the name. Of course he did. It wasn’t one that was on the wall; Coulson hadn’t been part of that. He’d been part of SHIELD. And he was a death that Loki had not made reparations for.

And now who sounded unremorseful about it? Certainly not Romanoff.

But it reminded her of one more reason she should not trust him. Should hate him.

Followed shortly by Fury seemingly indirectly claiming not to trust her, either. Loki felt his hackles rising on her behalf. Whatever pointed game Fury was playing, he seemed to be lashing out, sharp jabs at each of them in turn. It was childish. Particularly now.

He had to let that line of thought go, though, because they were returning to active problems-- problems that Loki could have a hand in fixing.

And Fury seemed certain it was not HYDRA whom they had to worry about.

“We have tracked the power outputs from the sceptre, and they coincide with bases that Steve remembers destroying.” He said evenly and slowly. He did not want Steve to think that he was not supported in his belief.

Of course, he realized too late that he had referred to him as Steve-- not Rogers or Captain Rogers-- a small slip, and one that he could only cover by refusing to acknowledge it. But he’d been annoyed by the way Fury said ‘soldier’, as if it was the sort of pet name you gave a child, something to look down on. Not something you would say to allay a concern.

Loki had used it as such, once, referred to Steve as ‘soldier’ when ordering him to care for himself. The memory caused Fury’s use to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

“And are you at all familiar with hydras, Director? Because I can promise you, cutting off the head is hardly the way one goes about fixing that particular problem.” He spoke quietly, well aware that this was not the beast that he was used to hearing tales of, not the same thing at all, but the idea remained. With any group organized enough, the loss of a leader would not put an end to it.

Loki filed the name away, though. Schmidt. Worth remembering, he thought, but odd that he didn’t think Steve had brought it up before then. He would have to ask, perhaps, sometime when it seemed appropriate.

  


Fury gave Loki a disbelieving look. “Am I getting a lecture on mythology from a Norse God?”

“Sir,” Steve began to interject, frowning. Fury held up a hand to cut him off.

“HYDRA had bases all over Europe from what I understand. It’s possible a completely different group has repurposed one of them. But I’ll get our analysts to compile a list of any groups that had any past HYDRA affiliations so you can cross-check them against your results, if you think it’s a viable lead.”

Steve let out a huff of air. “Thank you, sir. I don’t know if it’s a direct connection, but I’d definitely feel better following up on it, if only to rule it out.”

“I think we’ll all feel better when we know where that shiny piece of mind-controlling mayhem went,” Fury grumbled, “and when it’s been secured.”

Steve pursed his lips. On the one hand, he agreed -- having the scepter in safe hands, back with the Avengers, would mean no innocents would be hurt by it. But at the same time... Once they had the scepter, Loki would use it. Loki would go right back into Thanos’ grasp, facing torture or death, and Steve would be unable to do a damn thing to help him. The thought filled him with pure dread.

“Can we get access to some of those dossiers now?” Natasha asked. “It makes more sense to get them while we’re here than risk other channels.”

Fury gave a stiff nod. “I’ll have some agents escort you down to a secure briefing room on one of the computation levels.”

Steve frowned. “Why a briefing room? Why not here?”

“Right here? I’m completely off the network,” Fury explained, gesturing to the dimmed office. “Can’t even get cell reception here at the moment. A secure briefing area will have localized network access to the data you need.”

Steve admitted, that made sense. “Alright,” he agreed.

“Terminate code dark,” Fury announced. A moment later, the room brightened and the hum of technology resumed. Fury crossed back to his desk and hit a few keys on his computer. “Should be arranged. I’ll have a liaison meet with you in the near future, once we’ve secured a candidate. In the meantime -- Romanoff, I trust you’re still able to pick up a phone? Rogers seems to have forgotten, but I hold higher hopes for you.”

Natasha looked on the verge of rolling her eyes. “We’ll keep you updated, sir. And quid pro quo.”

Fury snorted. “Quid Pro Quo.” He straightened up. “Is there anything else I ought to know, Rogers?”

Steve chewed the inside of his lip. “We’ll let you know the minute we know anything about Thanos, but in the meantime, it may be wise to start stockpiling global defense measures. Subtly, so as not to cause mass panic, but enough that if we end up on an accelerated timetable, we won’t be unarmed and unprotected.”

“Agreed,” Fury said simply.

“And I have a question...”

Fury looked at him expectantly. Steve fidgeted. “Agent Ferra--”

“Has been in complete remission and is currently undergoing tests to re-establish her field competency,” he replied, with perhaps just the hint of an honest smile. “Now if that’ll be all...”

  


Loki’s heart leapt at the mention of Ferra.

She was doing well, then. His healing had taken, and she was…. that was good. He was glad. She would be able to do as she pleased with her life. Return to work, do all those things she had wanted to… He felt a tiny smile pulling at his lips, and did not try to fight it down.

They stood, and Loki wondered what the appropriate parting was for a situation such as this.

“Thank you, Director.” He said. “I look forward to working with you.” He did not put any sarcasm in the words, and he could tell that it surprised Director Fury at the very least.

Fury just snorted at him, but honestly it was worth it for the momentary shock that seemed to touch his face before it disappeared again.

From the Director’s desk, something beeped.

“Agent Hill’s outside waiting to take you downstairs.” He told them.

“Then we will get out of your utter lack of hair.” Loki said, tone pleasant and he nodded as if it were the politest thing possible to have come out of his mouth.

Romanoff pulled open the doors and let them step out. There were a few more suited agents, none of whom Loki recognized, and Hill, whom he did.

“I’m told I’m supposed to take you to the seventh floor and set you up in a briefing room with data access. That sound right to you?” She was clearly questioning it, confused, but willing to obey… but it also served to keep them free of suspicions. Like at a medical bedside-- explaining before doing so that you did not startle or scare anyone.

“It does.” Romanoff agreed, and Loki shot a quick glance to Steve, trying to guess if anything seemed off. His face didn’t seem to suggest so, and so Loki gave a little mental shrug and followed them into the elevator.

The descent went quickly, thankfully. That many people that close together would be slightly disquieting for anyone, but it was particularly terrible when he knew how little room was needed to stab or inject someone. And for all that they had chosen to trust him, he had little enough reason to return their trust.

So when the doors opened, he was grateful. And when he stepped off the lift and experienced a slight feeling of vertigo, it did not seem like anything he should be overly alarmed about.

Hill entered the hall and selected a door, scanning her badge and hand to grant them access.

He hadn’t been overly alarmed before, but walking into that room made his stomach flip. It felt as though he had suddenly come to weigh twice his usual weight, and he looked at the others, worried, trying to understand what it was-- if they felt it.

“I think--” He said, restraining the stress in his voice, trying his hardest to sound normal.

And then the doors closed.

  


The elevator was crowded, but Steve tried to ignore his mild discomfort and focus on the positives.

Fury had agreed to everything, more or less. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but they’d made their case well and accomplished exactly what they’d come here to do. Natasha negotiating a new liaison was a bit of a twist, admittedly, but it would free her up to do more Avengers-related work and stay with them in New York rather than being the messenger between the two groups, which would have been a woeful waste of her skills. So he couldn’t complain there.

And Loki, while apparently unable to resist needling at the director a little bit, had behaved himself, and everyone had in turn behaved well toward Loki. Really, he couldn’t have asked for better. Assuming all was going well with Thor of course... Though given the lack of thunder or flickering lights, he was going to go ahead and guess all was relatively okay on that front.

In fact, the relief he felt from the optimistic look of things brought with it a bit of a rush, leaving him a bit giddy as they exited the elevator and walked down the hall. His head spun a little, but he chalked it largely up to it being lunchtime and not having eaten since the pastry on the plane.

The briefing room Hill led them into had heavily reinforced walls in hexagonal panels, and an array of humming machinery and screens. The hum was... odd. Seeping into his brain. He frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Which terminal can we use for access to the archives?” Natasha asked Hill. Though her voice sounded far away. Steve reached a hand out to the wall, leaning on it to steady himself. Something was off...

The wall and room seemed to tilt, and Steve staggered. His pulse thudded sluggishly in his ears and he blinked furiously, trying to swallow. “Oh,” he murmured as his vision blurred at the edges.

  


_Wrong._

It was wrong, whatever this was. He felt like he had giant dark spots in him, dead bits that were-- it was heavy. It was like being tied down and he felt-- he felt sick, like he might vomit, the pressure on his chest and stomach--

And he was so concerned with the discomfort of it that he didn’t immediately reach for his seidhr, but when he did--

He let out an undignified squawk. It wouldn’t move, it wouldn’t respond, it was like the magic, the seidhr, like it had gone dead in him. That was what was pressing down, growing heavy and sluggish and clotted within him.

“I can’t--” he was panting, nearly doubled over with the effort of trying to force his power to do something, _anything_ , through whatever kind of attack this was. His brow was beginning to sweat and he was panicking, and that was when he looked to Steve.

Whatever Loki was doing, whatever he was feeling, Steve was so much worse. And he couldn’t look deeper-- couldn’t change his eyes over to see why.

“Please, Steve--”  
He stumbled over to him and reached out, trying to steady him somehow, through the growing buzzing haze in his head. But Loki wasn’t stable either, was shaking slightly when he turned on the women, his fury shining through on his face.

“Stop this! Stop-- You’re _hurting him_. Not just me, if that’s what you want, that’s… not him, not Steve, whatever-- this room, this floor…. please, please, get him out of here, please…” He was appealing to Natasha first and most directly, hoping that she at least meant well. That she didn’t know about this betrayal. That she would not willingly hurt Steve.

Him… if it was only him, it would make sense, but none of this did. None of this made any sense. It was all wavering, and he couldn’t get them out of there. He was touching Steve, trying to move them again, trying to pull them away, and each time he tried, it felt like he’d become a string, wound too tight and plucked. His whole body was vibrating with the strain but the seidhr would not move.

Was this because they were-- had they targeted the both of them? How was it that neither Hill nor Romanoff seemed to feel anything? He was gasping now, fighting to brath, fighting to keep the pressure from making his thoughts even more muddled. He needed to figure out how to-- how to--

“What the hell is this?” Romanoff demanded, turning to Hill, just as angry as Loki, though not nearly so incapacitated. She was clearly shaken but--

His attention was pulled from them back to Steve, as he felt his body begin to slump further against the wall.

Loki stopped trying to fight with his seidhr-- it only hurt, only made him sicker, when he tugged at it. If he left it be, it was just a heavy weight, a sickness… He stopped fighting it to try and help Steve, to take him up. Hill was speaking but his mind could not settle on her words, could not keep track of all that was happening around him. It was all that he could do to focus on one thing, and right now that had to be his partner.

His strength remained, but his legs were unsteady, so that all he could do was hold him and try to prop him up, use himself as leverage.

“Steve?” He asked, worried, the word coming out almost as a whine. “Steve I need you to talk to me, tell me what’s-- what’s happening, tell me what I need to do, please Steve…” He was bargaining now, well aware that whatever was happening to Steve, it was taking a heavier toll on him than it was on Loki.

And he didn’t know if it was because he was human, or if it was something he had done, and he felt as though he were wading through deep snow. Unable to reach the necessary understanding quickly enough.

“Shut it off, shut it down, I don’t care what you need to do, abort this test-- something is seriously wrong with it, look at them!”

He heard Romanoff’s words and almost sighed, glad that she at least was on their side. But that was about all of the positive emotion he had room for, with Steve collapsing in front of him, and him left seemingly powerless to help.

  


Steve felt his knees give out, but somehow he didn’t hit the ground. Or, he did, but his fall was broken, slowed, cushioned...

Loki was there. Saying his name, holding him. Steve couldn’t help but smile; there was something familiar about all this. Lying in Loki’s arms at SHIELD while Loki fretted over him, while Steve was---

Oh.

“What’s...?” He frowned. He felt like his whole body was turning to lead. Like the strength was leaching out of him, as if the serum had somehow reversed and he was slipping back into his old body.

The thought brought with it a flash of panic, his heart skipping irregularly in his chest. He gasped for breath, but something constricted his chest, a heavy weight keeping him from getting a good lungful of air. The horrible familiarity of the sensation made his eyes widen, his heart flutter more frantically. “Loki--!”

Shouting. He could hear Natasha shouting, and someone else, but all the words were running into each other, a garbled incoherent mess.

_Stupid._ He was stupid to ever be optimistic. To ever think things would go well. Whenever they did, there was always a sharp drop ahead -- every moment of happiness a mere calm before a storm. Stupid to think this would go well, stupid to bring Loki where he’d be in harm’s way, stupid...

Steve made a noise of frustration, body twitching as his muscles, unwilling to respond to any conscious will to move, spasmed uselessly. And through it all was the humming, digging into his skull, oozing through his veins like tar--

And then it stopped.

Steve blinked, then sagged against Loki. “What the...?”

  


Loki froze where he was, shaken and shaking, as suddenly the pressure lifted away completely as if it never had been. But his breathing was still harsh, and--

Quickly, he turned his eyes downwards, focusing deeper into Steve, just in time to see the seidhr in him, the seidhr that Loki had put there, shivering and coming back to life, turning from a sickly gray to its usual vivid green, beginning to move with the flow of his krellr again…

He came back to himself, slow realization dawning.

“They-- you cut off my seidhr. Dampened it, somehow-- and the power that I put into him to save him… you _turned it off_.”

The horror of the realization manifested itself in his words.

“ _You were killing him all over again_.”

He turned himself to place his body firmly between Hill and Steve.

He knew his emotions were running hot, but he couldn’t stop to care.

“You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to-- to hurt him while punishing me.” He was quiet, the sort of fury he doubted any in this room had ever seen from him, the cold and deadly sort of anger that was moments from destroying everything around him.

And, judging from the way that Romanoff’s posture shifted, she could tell, could sense the change.

He needed to reel back. Needed to not harm these people, not take this out on Hill-- clearly it was Fury who was responsible, who had sent them here, but now… now he needed not to reveal to anyone in the room his closeness to Steve, needed--

_Steve._

Stupid. He should not have let vengeance distract him.

“Steve, are you--” He turned back around, glaring once more over his shoulder to keep them away from his back, now that it was turned to them. “Do you need anything? The seidhr-- is it.” He swallowed, trying to find his healing training, trying to remember how to push aside the rest and focus on his partner’s well-being.

“You remember, after you touched the sceptre before, yes? How it felt when you woke up, the first time, and I-- I had healed you? Remember when I told you I had filled your chest with seidhr to replace your lost krellr?” He spoke soothingly, aware that the memories were not good-- until they were, until Steve had kissed him then, the first time. But that was something he couldn’t talk about, couldn’t do now…

“Do you feel like that now? Feel strong again? Or is there… do you need more?” He didn’t want to pump his partner full of magic, not now that he knew that it could be used against him, that it could be taken away from him, the life drained from his body in the space of a few moments. It set the hairs on the back of his neck on end.

And worse, as his mind made more sense of this, he realized what had just happened.

They had tested experimental anti-magic technology on them, and it had worked. They had just learned that Captain America was susceptible to it, as was he. And there was still a mole, still an unknown person or persons stealing secrets. In theory the same people they would soon be fighting.

And SHIELD had just handed their enemies the largest weakness imaginable for both he and Steve.

“You have to destroy it.” He said, looking back at Romanoff, and he made sure the fear was plain on his face. “Whatever it is, you can’t let it get out.”

  


Steve felt like he was still getting his breath back after drowning -- that weak, heady feeling that came with the return of oxygen, and of something more. The sludge-like sensation was abating, as was the heaviness in his limbs, beyond the kind left in the wake of an adrenaline rush.

He blinked, trying to get his mind back into focus now that the humming wasn’t digging into his thoughts. Magic dampening -- it would explain Loki being hurt, he realized with a sickening feeling, remembering how Loki had described it back when Stark had proposed controlling Loki’s magic weeks and weeks ago. How they’d all been appalled to learn it would effectively be torture for him. But then why was Steve on the floor? He couldn’t use seidhr...

But then Loki’s words registered, explaining and making sense of it all. He nodded; he did remember, vaguely. Remembered Loki checking later, and the soft gasp when he’d found that his seidhr and Steve’s krellr had intermingled, the seidhr now a permanent part of him. At the time, it had been a warm thought -- that Loki had saved him, transfused him with his own magic, and now Steve carried a part of him with him forever.

Or, maybe not so much forever; the same part of him that could be hurt, it seemed.

“I...remember,” he replied, slowly sitting up. He felt winded, still, but there was no pain. “I’m fine now.” A part of his life force had apparently been smothered for a brief time, but just as quickly, with the flick of a switch, it had been turned back on and was, as far as he could tell, functioning normally again.

He took hold of the edge of a nearby desk and used it to leverage himself to his feet. Hill looked confused, and Natasha was pale, her mouth in a thin line. Steve scowled. “What the hell was that?”

For the first time, he noticed that Natasha held a cable in her hand -- unplugged from some power source.

Hill shook her head. “A completely unintended side effect.”

“Explain.” Steve ground his teeth together. They weren’t supposed to be harmed -- Loki wasn’t supposed to be harmed or threatened or restrained in any way.

Hill managed not to appear intimidated, squaring her shoulders. “We had originally pioneered technology to suppress anomalous power usage shortly after the invasion, when we learned that people like him--” she nodded to Loki, “--could use what we can only term ‘magic’ as a weapon. The prototype was installed in his holding cell. Although...” her expression soured, “it was obviously not as successful as we’d hoped. R&D kept studying readings on various energy and radiation outputs recorded during Loki’s time at SHIELD in order to refine and update the technology. Most of the high-security terminals in this level have been outfitted with magic-suppression as part of a trial environment for more comprehensive security. Given we’re potentially dealing with a different magical threat in the form of the missing artifact, I can only imagine Nick wanted to make sure these measures worked.”

“And this didn’t seem like something the Avengers should get a heads up about?” Natasha asked lowly.

Hill blew out a breath. “Loki had no reactions at all to our previous suppression technology. We didn’t anticipate any kind of negative response. And we _definitely_ didn’t think Rogers would be affected at all.” She said this last with a sideways glance toward Loki, then to Steve. “You have our apologies for that, Cap.”

“But you don’t need it now,” Steve insisted. “You can’t-- Loki’s on our side now.”

“But Loki isn’t the only magic user in the universe, is he?” Natasha asked quietly, gaze on Loki.

  


Loki could not help but scowling, his arms crossed as he stood beside Steve. Close. Maybe too close. But given the scare they had just had, given the way they were talking… if Loki needed to get them out of there, he wanted the option, now that he had the ability back. He would not move out of range of being able to touch him.

“You have a _mole_.” Loki said, completely ignoring their questions. “I am the only magic user you have on your team, and you have now created a powerful weapon rendering not only me useless, but--” he gestured at Steve as well. He saw these points registering on Romanoff’s face, saw her mind already beginning to whirl with potentials for fixing the situation. But that wasn’t enough-- he pushed on.

“You tested this on us without our permission, and in a place that I am certain is hardly so secure as to guarantee that no one else should see it. Even if your intent was only to test me, you did so with others in the room, and you did so not knowing what the reactions would be-- what if it had made me violent? What if it had-- what if it threw me out of this skin and into the other? I know you have record of the destruction a mere touch with that can do… and you thought any of this was logical, reasonable-- wise?” He was speaking quickly now, getting more enraged the longer that he thought about it.

“And above all this, you chose to do so immediately following the forging of a wary compromise, an agreement of alliance. Do you have any idea--” He cut himself off, refusing to move to threats, because Steve was no doubt upset enough, and because he wanted this partnership. Loki would not ruin it for him.

He clenched and released his fists.

“My body is not yours to experiment-- to meddle with. My core functions are not _toys_. They are not there for you to play with, to turn on and off at will. If you expect me to behave as your ally, you cannot knowingly….” He stopped to take a deep breath, and simply gave up.

He doubted, for all that they could only trust him once he felt remorse, he could not imagine that they would feel at all bad about what they had done. And even now-- Hill would apologize to Steve. Not to him. Captain America deserved their apologies. Loki did not. Never would.

But then, he was less than human, less than… he let the breath out and tried to keep his face blank.

“Captain? I think I would like to leave here, as soon as possible.” His voice was tight and his jaw was clenched when he stopped speaking.

Running away again, but… this was so unnecessary, so… so traitorous. And he did not even have the energy in him to be angry, because all he wanted to do was strip Steve down and check him over, ensure that nothing had been upset, that the krellr was flowing and he was truly well, that their tampering had not caused any more harm than what they knew now.

  


Hill’s expression was tight, with stress, anger, and perhaps remorse? Steve couldn’t quite tell. “We were unaware that was a _core function_ ,” she said stiffly. “We’d been given no information that led us to believe the outcome would be anything beyond quiet disarmament, and no objections to previous iterations of this technology--”

“Maria,” Natasha interrupted quietly.

Hill’s jaw snapped shut and she closed her eyes briefly, composing herself. “Again, apologies are in order. I’ll make sure to debrief the agents who escorted you and scrub the footage. Fury will be notified. We’ll take steps to keep this tech secure. This was a precaution born out of paranoia, _intended_ to be as non-invasive as possible,” she added, looking at Loki, “not an act of hostility.”

“Duly noted,” Steve said, resisting the urge to reach out and squeeze Loki’s shoulder. “All the same, I think we might do well to call it a day...?” If Loki needed to get out -- and the fact that he was holding on to his temper by an admirable thread suggested as much, even without the request to leave -- then it was Steve’s responsibility to get him somewhere he’d feel safe and calm.

“I’ll collect the files we need,” Natasha quickly stepped in. “You two go ahead. Someone at the front desk in the public lobby should be able to get you a cab.”

Hill glared at her, but said nothing, instead pulling out a phone from her pocket and tapping on it.

Steve nodded gratefully, starting to move toward the door, then hesitated. “What about Thor--?”

“Still in debrief,” Hill said.

“I’ll keep an eye on him and check in with you later,” Natasha told him. “Now shoo. Go lie down or something.”

“Cab will meet you in visitor parking in fifteen,” Hill said, putting away her phone. “We’ll be in touch.”

Steve nodded once again, then ushered Loki out the door into the hall, exhaling once they made it into the elevator and the doors pinged shut.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “That didn’t-- are you hurt?”

  


“I am fine.” Loki said tightly, with a quick glance towards his partner that he hoped would forestall any further questioning. He did not trust that they were not being watched, recorded… that this, too, would not be used against them.

“I am angry. I feel… betrayed. Disgusted. A little ill. But I am… I’m _fine_.” The word was bitten out, and he sighed, trying so hard not to take his ire out on Steve.

“When we are in a more _secure_ location,” He stressed the words, hoping that someone-- Fury-- was listening and growing offended, “I will need to check over the healing I did on you, and be sure that their tinkering with things they have no sense, no  _understanding_ of, hasn’t caused any lasting damage. Regardless of their precious _intent_.”

And if he could scowl any harder, his face might have imploded from the force of it.

He had so much he wanted to say to Steve, but not here, not where his words would be weighed and measured and, apparently, turned into weapons.

“I do not trust your SHIELD any more than they trust me, but for all of your assurances that they are the good guys… it is interesting to see which of us was first to plunge a knife into the other’s back, hmm? And it certainly did not take long.”

It was a gross mistreatment, and if this were the sort of thing-- if it had been Thor and not he, or if he had been here as a representative of Asgard, or Jotu-- no. Not that. But… if he were some form of dignitary, this would be enough to start a war between their peoples.

Whether it was meant to be invasive or not-- it would almost have been worse if he had not noticed, if there had been no way to know. Like picking his pockets, or… like tying him down. Chaining him to a chair…

He carefully moved himself away from that comparison.

He needed to cling to his anger, at least until they were free of this place.

The elevator let them out, and Loki was only too glad to be free of it, the torment of having Steve so close after all of that and so untouchable more unspeakably grueling than he wanted to think about, right at the moment.

“We should have the cab let us out near but not at our destination. I will take us the rest of the way-- I do not want them to be able to find us. I need to feel safe.” He spoke softly, moving his mouth as little as possible. He only hoped that any technology they might have on this common level would not pick it up.

But then, he realized that they _were_ on a common level. Unaccompanied. And he was not in any form of disguise. And he was with Steve.

And even Agents, trained as they were to be subtle, to be covert-- they were looking. Staring.

It made his skin crawl.

  


Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was glad Loki wasn’t any worse for wear. Though his anger was a whole new problem now. Even if they’d finally gotten Fury to trust them (with SHIELD’s help), that trust wouldn’t be of much help if it wasn’t reciprocated, and Loki lost all willingness to work with SHIELD in return.

“I think calling it backstabbing might be a bit harsh,” Steve murmured in reply. “It was stupid, yes, and you’re right that it was careless on their part. I’m not happy they did it. I’m not happy they have it; though they’ve been developing it for a long time now and had it in place probably well before we offered to come here. We did know to expect heightened security, and they _are_ showing us a lot of trust,” he reminded. “I genuinely believe they didn’t expect for it to hurt us.”

Hill might be a trained spy, and a bit hard around the edges, but in all the time Steve had known her, she’d been a straight shooter. It didn’t seem that anyone had anticipated the effect on Steve. And he could understand how, not knowing what Steve and the others did about what Thanos had done to Loki, turning off his magic could seem like a simple defensive measure, like taking bullets out of a gun, rather than an act of maiming.

One more reason why re-establishing trust and communication would be important. So they could avoid something like this in the future, he thought, stomach turning.

He didn’t argue any further once they exited the elevator, though. They could talk when they were alone again -- when, if Loki’s buttons got pushed, it wouldn’t cause a public scene. Steve nodded jerkily in response to Loki’s request to not take the cab to the hotel. A bit paranoid, perhaps, but not wholly unwise. And if adding a short walk to their trip made Loki feel safe, then it was worth it. They both had anxieties, he was sure, that could benefit from a few extra precautions.

Anxieties that, for Steve, spiked as they walked through the lobby full of SHIELD personnel.

Of course, many of them were still going about their duties, tunnel-vision focused on whatever task they were already on. But enough turned to look that he felt strangely scrutinized. It was the uniform, he tried to tell himself -- people hadn’t seen it around for a while, and it was the sort of thing that always drew stares. That was all. (He tried not to think about the way those gazes slid to his left toward Loki after a beat, or how some people froze or even took a step back as the two of them crossed their paths).

He didn’t make eye contact, didn’t balk; he may have sped up his walking pace slightly, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the stares. If he didn’t look, he wouldn’t have to see judgment or anger or betrayal or whatever else might be on the faces of the people he’d once called colleagues. And he knew that was cowardly and unkind -- many were probably just genuinely surprised -- but right now he just wanted to get him and Loki out, without risking seeing Murray with hurt confused on his face, or Scofield with a disgusted sneer.

He all but sagged with relief when they got out the door and found the cab waiting. Holding the door open for Loki, he climbed in after, then gave the driver an address he knew to be about a block and a half from the hotel they were staying at. The cabbie nodded, then pulled forward, driving them back across the bridge from the island and toward the familiar streets of DC.

  


Loki bit down on his tongue for the duration of the ride, his thoughts angry and defiant. He did not respond to the driver’s polite attempts at inducing speech, did not look to Steve or try to reach out for him. He knew that he would only be pushed away now, and he was hurting enough without the addition of that.

Stupid and careless, Steve called it. Because he didn’t think they meant it to hurt them.

Loki felt the words each time he replayed them, like tiny sparks of betrayal. But he would not speak of it, not now while it was so fresh, not in this car with someone they did not know… He waited until they had been let out, until they had paid and watched the car drive off.

Once they were alone again, he turned, scowling, towards Steve.

“I do not understand why you are trying to make light of this. It _is_ a betrayal, is has introduced new fears and worries to a situation fraught enough with them. And that you aren’t--” He bit the end of that off, though, bit the inside of his cheek.

The last thing he needed was to upset Steve, the only person who truly stood between him and SHIELD doing whatever they pleased. He needed to reign in his temper, but he also needed to put to words some of the fear he felt, some of the sickness that was in him that did not come from the death and rebirth of his seidhr.

“They did not intend to hurt you. That is true.” He said it quietly, jaw tight and refusing to meet Steve’s eye. “But they did not know what it would do to me, nor were they worried. Nor, when they learned, would they have cared, I think, save that you were suffering as well, and worse than me. If you had not been there, Steve, how long do you suppose they would have let it go on?” He lifted his chin, glad of his ability to speak of it, to say these things calmly and evenly.

“All they care is that they have a way of controlling me. And whether that is a machine or… whatever they have created, or, when they realize-- I do not doubt they will attempt to use you for it. And if you are so quick to take their side in this matter, it scares me to think how easily they may sway you against me.”

All he wanted was to touch and hold, to reassure himself that Steve was whole, there, and not going anywhere.

He scuffed the sole of his shoe against the pavement.

“Tell me where the hotel is, and I will take us there. I am tired of being where eyes can land on us.”

  


“I’m not making light,” Steve protested. “I’m just pointing out -- this wasn’t an attack. Overenthusiastic paranoia, yes, but given the precautions _we’ve_ been taking, we’d be hypocrites to reject them on that basis.” They were doing everything they could to check for a tail and throw off pursuit, after all, just in case. If the tables were turned and SHIELD had magic...

“They’re scared. Just like you and me. And right now, there’s someone out there with magical tech -- with the scepter -- and they don’t know who or how to get it, so they built protections based on what they do know about magical threats as a way to make it inert. I get it. I don’t like it, but I definitely get it. Hell, Tony had the exact same idea, and he would have built it too if he hadn’t known what it would actually do to you. Probably would have built it in half the time, for that matter.” It had been something Tony had brought up that very first night they’d been at the tower, after all. He hadn’t known -- _Steve_ hadn’t known how badly it would affect Loki. SHIELD had no way of knowing.

“And I’m not taking their side -- I’m trying to be objective,” he added, a bit hurt and more than a bit annoyed that Loki was being irrational about this. “When they took a shot at you? That wasn’t okay, accident or no. But this was another accident, and yeah, their track record is terrible and I’m not happy about it, but this wasn’t done to hurt us. People do stupid things when they’re scared, Loki.” He shook his head.

“If we hadn’t run off and the scepter hadn’t gone missing, they probably never would have bothered to develop this the way they have, so getting all worked up and jeopardizing this really fragile alliance over a mistake that didn’t leave any permanent damage isn’t going to make things better -- just give them more reason to be paranoid,” he finished grimly.

He _was_ upset. He would have rather Fury had disclosed the nature of the tech and its existence to them beforehand, or that they at least hadn’t tested it in such an underhanded capacity. And from a personal perspective, he hated the idea of someone having tech that could hurt Loki that way. But from a tactical perspective, he could understand why having a means to neutralize a weapon they didn’t know much about was something SHIELD would prioritize.

“It’s to the right, around the next block,” he answered, jerking his head in the direction he meant and sticking his hands in his pockets, bracing himself for the tugging sensation that accompanied Loki’s teleportation.

 

Loki felt the muscles of his face cease to move as Steve spoke, and he swallowed before reaching out and laying his hand on Steve’s arm.

He moved them, carried them to the hotel where he had hoped to rest, to unwind, and now it seemed they would be continuing their tradition of fighting in rented rooms instead.

But he let them off in the lobby, in the alcove before the doors of the elevator, that it might seem they had come from that direction to any who were casually looking on.

“You check in. I shall wait here-- we wouldn’t want to inspire anyone else to act in _overenthusiastic paranoia_ towards us, would we?” He spoke snidely, throat tight and chest heavy, and crossed his arms.

He did not see why this was to be a problem, why they were not seeing eye to eye. They had agreed to work with and aid in the protection of the realm, and then they had been attacked by the people they had made the agreement with, even as they worked to learn how best to help. They had endangered he and Steve, and had things gone more wrong--   
He could not stew on the same few thoughts; they were shaking him, making him more hurt and more angry the longer they kept circling, and if Steve could just… just agree, could stand with him and demand that nothing of the like ever happen again-- but no. _Overenthusiastic Paranoia._ Indeed.

 


	51. Fifty-One

When they reached their room, the first thing that Loki did was position himself between Steve and the bathroom. He did not intend to be ignored on this matter, as it wasn’t just _his_ health, _his_ continued well-being that was at stake.

“So. Overenthusiastic paranoia, you say. That is how you justify what happened. What they did-- what they chose to do to us. Well, I am paranoid, now. I am _paranoid_ that they have a weapon that will forbid me from fighting or fleeing-- it incapacitates me as fully as possible without them physically tying me down. Again. In fact, I would certainly prefer that they had, if they really found such security so necessary.”

He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it to land in a pile at the foot of the bed, far more careless than he generally was with his clothes.

“I am _paranoid_ that in that building, as we speak, is someone who could very well steal that technology along with the information that it is not just I who can be harmed by it, but you as well, and sell or gift it to our enemies. So I suppose it follows that if I were to tear the entire building down, send it crashing upon any and all who may be caught in the destruction-- it wouldn’t be an attack, as you said, it would be overenthusiastic paranoia, would it not? And could you forgive it so readily? Or do they get forgiven because they are good, and I do not because I am not? Or is it that their idle play that endangered my life and yours… that is acceptable, because they were _scared_? I am scared, Steve, I am horrified-- and you are defending those who hurt us. Hurt me. _Why_?”

He knew he should be trying to calm down, but he found himself unable to, anguish tearing its way into the anger he’d held so tightly to before.

“If they can make this, knowing nothing of what they have wrought, what is to stop them improving on it? What is to say that the next time I enter a room, they will not truly find a way to sever the connection between me and the Seidhr? Who is to say they do not find a way of stirring it up that it runs rampant inside of me-- destroys me from the inside out? Because they do not know what they are dabbling in, and they have found a way of doing so, but more, they have no concern with experimenting on me. You were a bystander, not expected to have any effect, but they know I am a beast, they know they can just… just rip pieces of me out. They had no qualms about trying. And it is them who is afraid?” He found himself pacing slightly, energy and anger and fear making him need to move.

“I will not go back into that building, Steve. I do not know what may be waiting for me the next time I do, hidden in their walls. I wish you would not either, but I know I cannot stop you. And I know that if they employ this new device, I will not be able to help you, get you out… will not be able to save you this time.”

  
  


Steve checked in, got their room keys from the wide-eyed clerk (regretting that he was still in uniform now), and got their luggage from where it had been dropped off earlier for them by one of Tony’s people, bringing the bags up to the room and setting them down just in time for Loki to pick up their squabble where it had left off.

He ground his jaw as Loki ranted on, trying to keep in his rising frustration. He knew Loki was frightened and distressed from what had happened -- from having his magic temporarily taken and from Steve’s sudden illness -- but all of this was completely counter-productive. He’d acknowledged that SHIELD had screwed up and he didn’t approve, but apparently that wasn’t good enough. He just didn’t think he could give Loki anything that was.

“I’m not defending them; I’m looking at it from their point of view, because I actually occasionally try to think about things from a perspective other than my own!” he snapped, irritation building to a critical point where he could no longer keep his mouth shut. “I told you, I don’t approve of what they did; but I understand it. Over two-hundred SHIELD agents died between the base that got destroyed and the helicarrier attack, so yeah, they’re going to want some kind of insurance when dealing with us.” He hadn’t meant to throw that number in Loki’s face, but it was hard to keep it from rattling around now that he had been back at SHIELD -- now that he’d had to pointedly avoid the gazes of agents who saw him walking with a man who, prior to reforming himself, had killed their friends -- now that he’d had Coulson’s death freshly thrown in his face, the memory of bloody Captain America trading cards rekindled in his mind.

“I understand why they did it, and I may not like it, but I can forgive it provided that they deal with it responsibly now that they know more. And I believe Natasha and Hill will. I think Fury will at this point, because he knows we need each other. We need to cooperate, Loki, and as someone who has to coordinate and keep everyone from killing each other, I don’t have the _luxury of taking everything personally_!” He grabbed his bag, hauled it up on to one of the two beds, and yanked the zipper open, roughly stripping out of his uniform and pulling out a change of civilian clothes.

“Thanos is the enemy. Not SHIELD. They might not be the best of allies, but they’re what we have to work with,” he growled, tugging a shirt over his head and undoing his belt. “We need to be able to collaborate with them. And yeah, there’s a mole, but they’re actively working on it, and I doubt that the guy is going to be stupid enough to make another grab for tech that high-profile, since it’ll only threaten his cover. Right now, they’re trusting us with the scepter. So we need to trust them with their security measures, at least enough that they’ll keep working with us to combat the threat Thanos poses.”

Jeans. New belt. Shoes, instead of the red boots of the uniform. He jerked the laces tight with abrupt and violent motions. “So maybe you can decide whether the threat of being rendered briefly powerless like the rest of us mortals is worse than the threat of my entire planet being annihilated. In the meantime, I’m going to go get food and call Natasha.” He snatched up his jacket and a room key and made for the door.

  
  


He stepped aside, surprised at his ire, at the way he lashed out with his words on this front. Loki was the one who had been wronged, here, and yet it was he who was being treated as if he were unreasonable.

Ridiculous.

He meant to let him go.

“Steve.”

He stopped him, still angry, still hurt-- but he would worry about that momentarily. He’d deal with the feeling like a noose around his throat that those words had created-- _over two-hundred Agents_ \-- he would exorcise those emotions once Steve had gone. He was supposed to be learning to hide them again, after all.

So he rubbed his hands over his eyes very briefly, and struggled to clear his mind, his voice, to get himself under control.

“Before you go, let me-- let me check your krellr, check the seidhr inside of you. We’re both angry and… and we should be, I think. But. Before you run away from me, at least let me see that you are okay.”

He wanted to keep arguing, to tell Steve that if he was rendered as good as mortal, then they might as well be making him useless for the cause of defeating Thanos. That it would be like being set on a shelf until they needed to use him as bait, kept locked up with half of his life, save for when he had to risk dying for his captors.

But it would truly do no good.

These were thoughts to comfort himself with, to tell himself that he was not wrong. But that was not what Steve wanted to hear-- needed to hear-- now.

“I’m sorry.” He ground out, “Sorry to have embarrassed you. Sorry that my reactions are selfish and that I take the luxury of being concerned for you, for myself. But give me five minutes of your time, I won’t say anything if you don’t want, and you don’t have to say anything either. Only let me see to it that you are not… that I am not going to lose you. Not that way, at least.”

He might though, lose him. To his duties, his responsibilities… the role he had to play in this fight. If it was Loki or SHIELD, Steve had chosen Loki before. But Midgard… of course he was not worth the rest of his realm. He shouldn’t be, he supposed. But that Steve might willingly choose to leave him, in favor of taking another side... That was a new thought, a new wave of terror that he made himself fight down. Not now. Not yet.

That was another luxury he would have to take in his own time.

  
  


Steve meant to go. To take a walk, clear his head, get some air -- maybe pick up some takeout -- but when Loki called his name, he stopped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

Leaving without letting Loki check would be stupid, in case something was off. And more than that... Leaving Loki here to worry just because they were disagreeing would be petty. Would be cruel.

He drew his hand back from the door handle a moment later and turned. “Okay,” he muttered, walking back and sitting on the edge of the bed.

He still felt sick, but somehow, he didn’t think it was from the seidhr-suppressor.

“They wouldn’t use it against me on purpose,” he said quietly. “They know I’m under my own control and we’re working toward a common goal. They won’t hurt me.” He looked down at his hands where they lay in his lap. “And hell if I’ll let them hurt you,” he added.

“I’ll talk to Natasha, make sure they disable those systems. Make sure they know that they’re not to be used on or against you. But at this point our best option is to keep working with them so they never feel like they have to use it.”

Justifying SHIELD’s paranoia with any retaliation or overreaction would only make things worse. And the more time they spent sniping at each other, distrusting each other and infighting, the less time they’d be spending identifying and combating more legitimate outside threats. If he could just get Loki to _see_ that...

  
  


Loki all but began shaking with relief. He’d been afraid that Steve would-- but Steve was better than that. Didn’t take the luxury of having his own emotions, of allowing them to rule him.

“I know they didn’t hurt you on purpose. That does not mean I must find it any less distasteful. That I should have any more confidence in them, just because--” Again, he stopped himself. He covered for the lack of an ending to that sentence by stepping closer, by easing Steve down onto his back, while his eyes turned inwards.

But the words were clear and plain in his head.

Just because Steve had been caught in the crossfire of them attempting to contain Loki.

“I never meant that this should happen, either.” He finally conceded. “If I had known-- I didn’t have any other options. You needed something or you would have died. And with your krellr the way it is, I do not know of any way to take my seidhr from you without… without causing harm. I never meant to create so great a weakness for others to exploit.”

He reached out and stroked at the seidhr inside of Steve, with the slightest bit of his own seidhr contained in the point of his finger. He watched as those points of light within Steve jumped and flared, then resumed their glow.

So bright, his love. Everything around paled in comparison to him. The power of life within Steve could put the sun to shame, and Loki remembered all of the years he had spent living in the shadows.

“You must not tell Thor of what happened this afternoon.” He said suddenly.

“He is… he would agree with me, I think. Loudly, perhaps destructively.” He thought for a moment. “Or… he may. On the other hand, he might be interested in securing use of such an item for Asgard. In either case, it is… it would be better he did not know.”

And having his vision so distanced helped him to say this, without having to worry that his face betrayed him.

He checked over all of Steve, as best as he could, and saw nothing, could find nothing, that seemed untoward. He ran his fingers through the eddies of his krellr, amazed, as always, that anyone could be so strong, so filled with light.

He let out a breath.

“It seems that everything has returned to rights. You should be as you have been. No lasting damage that I can find.”

He let his vision return to normal and stepped back and away, withdrawing his touch, though he _wanted_ \--

Yet another luxury he should be denied, that Steve could do what he needed to.

“I am done. You are free to go now.” He kept his words flat, as toneless as he could make them.

“I will be here when you return.” He assured him.

  
  


Steve exhaled as Loki leaned him back on to the bedspread, allowing himself to be moved on to the bed with the same trust as he always had before.

Trust. That’s what all of this mess came down to. Steve trusted Loki, but no one else did. And Loki trusted no one but Steve. So here he was in the middle, trying to negotiate between parties who were constantly threatened by one another, to fight an even larger threat, and in the meantime, he didn’t know the entirety of who he could or couldn’t trust.

And he was just... just so damn _tired_ of looking over his shoulder.

As Loki pulled his hand away, Steve reached out, catching the ends of his fingers with his own.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to,” he said quietly. It was a reasonable enough request -- Loki was right that Thor would probably react poorly. And maybe a tiny bit of him was relieved to find that Loki could admit as much -- that Thor cared about him -- even if he did follow it up with a less kind alternative. “And...”

He let go and sat up. “And I know you didn’t mean for any of this. It’s not your fault. If you hadn’t done what you did, I’d probably be dead, so don’t beat yourself up about it.” Having an obscure, magical achilles heel was a far better alternative to already being dead, as far as he was concerned. He certainly didn’t blame Loki about the unintended consequence of saving his life; this wasn’t about that.

What it was about...

Steve sighed, running a hand back through his hair. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I shouldn’t have done that. It was... It was unnecessary.” His temper had gotten away from him, whether from the stress of the incident or the anxiety from SHIELD or some combination of all of the above, on top of the residual nerves left over from the night before. And Loki, he reminded himself, carried all of that same stress; probably more. “I’ll get us some food while I’m out. We can talk more when I get back, when we’ve both had time to breathe. Or...” He shrugged. “Or not talk. Maybe just eat. Either way,” he said, standing up, “I have my phone on me if anything comes up.”

Talk a walk. Get food. Come back. And hopefully, everything would be a bit better once he did.

  
  


Loki nodded, silent and not trusting himself to speak, and waited for Steve to go.

Once he was alone, he stood still for a moment, before retreating into the same bathroom he’d blocked Steve from any opportunity of hiding in. He looked at his face in the mirror, and then away-- two hundred and more lives that he hadn’t made amends for, not even made a gesture towards an amend. So many more that he had stolen the life from.

Of course SHIELD felt just fine with treating him like a monster. Like so many other things, Loki had begun to forget, at times, that that was what he was. He had forgotten how to conceal the things he felt, how to not feel things. He had forgotten how to see situations from every angle at once. He had forgotten how to resist the physical discomfort that was given to him.

He’d become comfortable. Settled. He’d let his guards down and become weak. And all of these things that Steve considered luxuries, these were all luxuries that Steve had afforded him. Had taught him.

He wished he hadn’t known them, hadn’t come to appreciate the liberties, the feeling of being liked and respected and trusted-- it all existed in so small a space, in so shielded a world, and that had gone now, and he was left to be viewed as he ever had been-- a threat, untrustworthy, dangerous… with all of the weaknesses that care had shown him.

It had made it possible to love Steve, and he would always be glad of that, but…

He pulled his clothes off and started up a shower, craving something warm to remind him that he wasn’t emanating blistering cold.

He would work with SHIELD. He would have to. Steve would not leave Midgard, and without Loki, Fury’s forces posed all of the threat to Thanos that an ant posed to a boot.

So he would do as they needed him to. And he would study with the Widow and he would… would go to Thanos, convince him that he was as he ever had been. Just as monstrous, just as wicked.

And with the hot water scorching his skin and the thought of more than two hundred additional bodies piled over him… it didn’t seem so far from the truth as it had the day before.

It was good for them that he was so predisposed for evil. It would make falling back into it much faster, much easier.

Loki stayed in the shower until the water ran down, the heat leeching into a frozen stream, and only then did he come out, wrap himself in a towel and return to the main of the hotel room.

He pulled the thick curtains back from the window in the narrowest strip, and pulled a chair over that he might look through the sheer white fabric and into the world outside.

At least he wasn’t dripping on the bed, in the process.

  
  


Walking through the streets of DC again was strange.

Some of these streets he knew -- had driven down on his motorcycle or jogged down on his morning runs. He’d lived here, and so it was familiar.

But not familiar in the way New York was familiar. It didn’t have the same resonance. The same depth and layered meaning. New York had been home once, and then home again. DC, by contrast, was like a sort of waystation. Someplace he’d worked and someplace he’d stayed, but which, despite being visually familiar, rang emotionally hollow for him.

Well, save for SHIELD. But he didn’t want to think about or untangle the mess of emotions there. The confusing snarl of loyalty and betrayal, of feeling he owed something and feeling used, of wanting to cooperate and wanting to punch someone -- he didn’t even know who -- so hard they saw more stars than just the ones on his uniform.

He was still angry, even if he wasn’t as vociferously mad as Loki. It was just... He couldn’t afford to go off the grid and run away again, just because he felt betrayed. Just because his sense of right felt violated. Things were too large now, too important. Too many lives were at stake, and if he had to make certain calls about the risks he subjected himself and Loki to for the sake of those lives -- he didn’t want to, and he didn’t like it, but could he live with himself if he didn’t? Loki’s life shouldn’t be his to gamble with, he knew, but he’d made those calls with the lives of countless soldiers under his command.

He was a soldier still. A captain. He had responsibilities and, as much as it pained him, compromises he had to make. Working with SHIELD, even when they had the ability to take him and Loki down (maybe even especially so) was one such compromise.

It was the right thing to do.

Right?

He called Natasha, but the line went to voicemail. A few minutes later, however, he received a series of texts. Thor was wrapping up with debriefing, one read, and a few more let him know that the agents posted outside the briefing room where the incident took place had been debriefed about the necessity of secrecy, and the security feeds scrubbed. SHIELD was doing all it could to contain the anti-magic tech’s unforeseen effects. She would be meeting with Fury later, and expected to stay in DC for another day or two.

He texted back to thank her for the updates, groaning inwardly at the thought of staying that much longer. Already, he was missing New York.

He walked for some time, eventually feeling some of the anxious tension leaving his muscles, though a sense of unease still lingered, and likely would indefinitely, considering all they had to face. Eventually he stopped at a burger and sandwich joint, getting food and drinks to go, and went back to the hotel.

Making his way up to the room, he knocked on the door to alert Loki of his return before sliding his key in and opening the door.

“I brought burgers,” he announced. “You hungry?”

  
  


Loki looked up and back at the door, realizing that he had been staring out the window without seeing anything for some time. It had started to grow darker outside.

He shivered, realizing that he had dried and it was a little chilly, and he’d just… let time slip away.

Belatedly, he realized he had been asked something.

“I’m not, particularly, no. But please, go ahead and eat.” He answered, rising. Even though the rest of him seemed to be in turmoil, his words and movements were still graceful. Thank goodness for that, at least.

He knew he should eat; it had been a long while since the small repast on the plane, but he didn’t feel hungry, exactly. Only hollow. Not an empty hollowness, either, just a numb one.

He realized he should dress. His skin had dried with the passage of time, but his hair was still damp, still curling at the ends-- it was beginning to get longer. Perhaps he could trim it when they returned to New York. Find some scissors and take care of it for himself, so that Steve wouldn’t have to. Wouldn’t have to do everything for him. Wouldn’t always have to take care of him. He had been so ready to take care of this whole mess on his own, before… before Steve. Things had just grown so complicated.

“Did you… I know you meant to speak to Romanoff, did you learn what you needed to? Or… accomplish what you wanted?” He didn’t really want to open the can of worms again, but he thought it was better to say something while he pulled on his slacks.

He came around to sit on the bed once he was halfway decent, prepared to keep Steve company while he ate, hoping that he could at least put up a mask that would let him seem to be in spirits good enough not to ruin Steve’s meal.

  
  


Steve was a little surprised to see Loki in nothing but a towel -- not that he minded the view. The the damp curls of Loki’s hair, he suspected he must have made use of the shower while Steve was out.

He felt a faint pang of regret, for not having joined.

Sitting on the edge of the nearest bed, he opened the paper bag of food, pulling out two burgers, still warm in their wrappers, a carton of chicken, a few packets of condiments, and a couple of cokes. He was a bit concerned when Loki turned the food down; Steve was starving, and he had trouble imagining that Loki wasn’t at least a bit hungry.

Which meant he was still upset, Steve realized with even further regret.

“We texted. Here--” He pulled out his phone and brought up the messages, reading them aloud, barring the one about Thor. “Looks like they’re doing everything to make sure whatever leak they might have doesn’t catch wind about the seidhr supression’s effects,” he summarized, looking at Loki to try to read his expression.

He hoped for some measure of relief. Or maybe apologetic conciliation, since SHIELD was clearly making an effort to keep them safe from any fallout from the incident.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna at least try a few bites?” he asked, holding out one of the burgers, tipping his chin down and looking upward at Loki as he dressed. “Even just to humor your idiot partner?”

  
  


Realizing that this, to Steve, was the same as Loki’s earlier plea to check for problems with his krellr, he plucked the burger from Steve’s hand, unwrapped one side, and took a mouthful.

It tasted like cardboard, but he chewed and dutifully swallowed, ignoring the way his stomach churned, before handing it back to him.

“I am glad that SHIELD is doing what they can to right things. I am… sorry, for what I said before. I will return with you if you need me to, I will cooperate. I will try not to make things so hard on you. Try not to be so selfish.” He smiled, but all of it, the words, his expression, his chest, all of it felt a little empty, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“If we’re to be here for longer, we should perhaps alert the hotel, make sure we can arrange to keep this room for another day or more.” He tried focusing on something else, on plans for the future that did not involve him having to hope that each door would not lead to… to what had happened that day, plans that did not involve him walking into nearly certain pain and danger.

“And have you arranged for when you wanted to go see your Peggy, yet?” Or was she, like the rest, a luxury that had to be pushed away in favor of fixing the problems Loki had foisted off onto Steve’s shoulders?

Honestly. He couldn’t go a day without making things worse.

His throat felt tight.

“I will have the drink though, if you don’t mind.” He said, and reached out a hand to accept it.

There was one thing to be said for numbness; it certainly made keeping an even voice much easier.

  
  


Steve frowned when Loki took a single bite, but didn’t push it for now. If he was still angry, then nagging him wouldn’t make it any better.

“I’m sorry for what I said too,” he offered, handing one of the sodas over. “I’m... anxious, I guess. About trying to get everyone to cooperate. Trying to get the Avengers to be functional as a team and to get SHIELD to work with us and to get people to trust each other and it’s all-- it’s like every time I take a step forward there’s a half-step back.” He looked glumly down at his own burger. “I’m okay with you disagreeing with me on things and telling me when you think I’m making the wrong call. I value your judgement, and I trust you to be straight with me. Hell, you’re on the short list of people I _know_ I can trust,” he said with a mirthless smile and a faint huff of breath.

“I just need to know that even when we don’t agree, that if push comes to shove, you’ll back my play.” Peeling back the wrapper from his sandwich, he took a bite and chewed, then swallowed. “I wish I didn’t have to ask that of you. I wish I didn’t have to ask you to agree to things you don’t want to do or don’t see eye to eye on me with. And I swear, I don’t-- I’m trying to be careful and make the call that’s right for everyone. Weighing all the risks.” Despite his hunger, the food in his hands had lost its appeal, and he had to force himself to take another bite, chewing and swallowing mechanically.

“If you’re really uncomfortable with staying in DC, I can look into getting you a train ticket back to New York in the morning,” he offered. “I’m sure Tony would be happy to have someone pick you up at the station. Honestly, the meeting with Fury today was the most important thing we needed to accomplish. The rest, I’m happy to let Natasha see to, and then we’re just waiting on Thor and his friends.” He wasn’t sure what the situation with Dr. Foster and her associates was, but it sounded like there was a fair amount of debriefing to be done, and it made sense for the majority of them to fly back in Stark’s jet together.

“That said...” he paused, licking his lips. “If you don’t mind sticking around, I was planning on going to see Peggy tomorrow. I know you’re still upset now, but if you think you’d be up for it, I’d really appreciate having you with me.”

  
  


As Steve spoke, Loki found himself looking down at the drink that he held in his lap with the kind of concentration he reserved for when he was trying not to let tears come to his eyes.

Steve sounded like he wanted to send Loki home. Like he would prefer that he was gone-- or at least he did until he asked him to stay, to see Peggy with him, still.

It was important to Loki, meeting her. He knew it was important to Steve, but he also-- like the jealous fool he was, he wanted to see her, wanted to see the old woman she had no doubt become. Wanted to be certain that the love Steve had felt for her was not… not a threat. Not going to dethrone Loki from his seat in Steve’s affections.

“I will stay. And I will do what you ask of me. I promise.” He looked up at him, able to hear his doubts, his lack of confidence, when he explained himself. “You do a fine job of caring for many. Honestly, of the two of us, one would think it was you and not I raised for sovereignty.” He offered him a weak smile, then said the first thing there had been any real emotion in, since Steve had gotten back.

“I believe in you, Steve. If anyone can manage all of the problems we present, it is you.” And he promised himself, silently, to cease to be a problem. Not for him, not any more. He knew he could trust Steve. He could agree with anything he asked, and as long as it was within his abilities… Even if Steve had chosen, today, not to do the same for Loki. This was Steve’s realm, his turf, and he knew better what to do, what to say…

He reached over and hesitantly touched his partner’s shoulder, then his cheek, sliding his hand backwards towards his hairline and tracking the motion with his eyes.

His mouth twitched with emotion and he felt the tears starting to pool while he searched for the words to explain that he felt so glad, even now, when his insides felt so dark and cavernous, that there was always Steve, that he was always here. That he had somehow managed, so far, not to drive him off. Even after ruining things with the Avengers and then SHIELD in rapid succession. Even… even with the murder of multiple hundreds on the same hand that now rubbed over the soft skin of his face…

He didn’t have words for all of that.

And so he settled with what was quickly becoming his least favorite words.

“I _am_ sorry, Steve. I’ll try to do better.”

  
  


One the one hand, Steve felt relief. The coldness Loki had reacted with since they’d left SHIELD and since Steve had returned finally melted, and he was showing signs of affection that indicated the fight was over, finally.

But on the other, a small part of Steve squirmed at the way Loki suddenly went meek and acquiescent. He’d almost wished for more grumbling -- a begrudging acceptance of his apology, maybe a tiny bit of teasing. When Loki got -- got _small_ like this, it made Steve feel like he’d somehow bullied him into it. Which was not, and had never been his intention.

“I will too,” he said, hoping to make clear that he wasn’t placing all the blame on Loki, and accepted his own culpability in their spat. “And Loki...”

He reached up and took hold of Loki’s fingers where they brushed his face, holding them in place. “You know I love you no matter what, right? Even when we argue -- even if we end up hollering at each other and pissed as hell -- nothing’s gonna change that. Okay?”

Of course he wanted Loki to agree with him and follow his command, but he wanted Loki to do so because he could see Steve’s point of view and trust his course of action. Not because he feared Steve would hold his affection hostage or anything like that.

“Now,” he said, letting go of Loki’s hand, “I’m guessing the burger isn’t doing much for you, but I also grabbed some fries, and this here -- I might be a city boy, but even I know a chicken doesn’t have hands, so I’m not sure what ‘chicken fingers’ are supposed to be. But I hear from a reliable source they’re good with ketchup.” He pushed a little bit more of the food toward Loki, hoping he could get him to eat some more.

  
  


Loki looked down at the food and arched his eyebrow.

"Will you love me still if I leave the food to you?" He asked. He felt watery and weak yet, and his stomach felt as dead as his seidhr had earlier.

"I am afraid I do not feel... I just don't feel much like eating. Forgive me."

Steve reaffirming his love for him was... He knew. He hated that he doubted, that he was so used to doubting, to questioning. He wished he could turn that part of himself off. Perhaps SHIELD could devote their resources to that next. He cut that thought off, snide and petty and selfish as it was.

And he felt bad that he made Steve aware of his doubt. He had never done anything to deserve that kind of suspicion being leveled at him. But how could he express that these doubts were not Steve's shortcomings, but rather the pitfalls of his own mind?

"I know that anger will not pull us apart, astin min. I am not... My anger has run its course. I am only... It seems that at each turn I am finding more crimes I have committed against you. And I have no means of offering recompense for them, not even a gesture of apology. I have used all of my gold already. And my seidhr now must be reserved for finding the sceptre. Using it. And... And then for repairing afterwards. And yet there are over two hundred--" he choked on the number and fell silent.

He looked down at the food again.

"My guilt lays heavily enough in my stomach that I doubt there is room there for your chicken fingers, questionable or not."

  
  


“That’s okay,” Steve said, setting the food aside so it was no longer on the bed, clearing the covers off so he could move to sit closer to Loki. He’d eaten almost all of his burger anyhow, so the edge was gone from his hunger. “Just... tell me when you do get hungry? I can go grab something or see what there is for room service.” He wouldn’t push Loki to eat, but he’d make sure the option remained available, at least.

He inched closer to Loki, putting a hand on his thigh. “I shouldn’t have brought up those agents,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to-- I only meant--” he cut himself off, rubbing at his forehead with his other hand.

“You’re doing everything to make amends, Loki. I know that. Our friends know that. And maybe it’s not going to be enough for everyone, but... That’s something we’re just going to need to live with.” There was no way to erase Loki’s past actions. No way to bring the dead back to life. What was done couldn’t be undone; he could only hope to do better.

“There are a lot of people dead,” he agreed. “A lot of people in SHIELD, in New York, even in Germany. And that’s... It’s never going away. But there’s also a lot of people alive. And a lot of people you can help, that you can save.” He tilted his head to try to look Loki in the eye. “If you help us defeat Thanos? And he doesn’t wipe out the entire planet’s population? That’s seven billion lives, Loki. And you’ve already helped to save a lot. Just... just keep helping people where you can and when you can. You can’t undo what happened to Clint, for instance, but by working to recover the scepter? You’re helping to keep that from happening to anyone else. And that’s good. That’s...”

He paused and took a deep breath. “Sometimes during the war, I saw the casualty reports from the various parts of the front, and all I could think of was that those were all people I hadn’t helped. Soldiers I hadn’t protected. Civilians I hadn’t saved. And after, looking at the monuments to the dead all over Europe--” he hesitated. “I guess I have to remind myself, that nobody builds memorials to the people you help save.”

  
  


“It isn’t your fault, and please don’t refrain from eating for my sake. If I get hungry later, I will let you know, but for now…” He shrugged.

“I know all of this, I remember-- I know what I did. And though you seem to think that what we are doing now will help… does it truly count as saving people if it was you who endangered them in the first place?” He spoke archly, almost playfully, despite the subject.

His time alone with his thoughts had made it clear that this was his fault. He’d brought Thanos’s attention here, his murders, his butchery, they were what had caused SHIELD to create their seidhr cancelling machine… and so Steve continued to be hurt because of Loki, because of things he had done.

“I know my crimes. I will accept the punishment that comes with them. I wish you were not caught up in it, though. If I could just… if I could cancel everything out by taking the damage into myself, I would. But it has grown to be far more than I can handle. And I am sorry I have pulled you into this. And more, I am sorry to those seven billion people, the ones who I have thrown into harm’s way, without knowing them, without ever having seen them. The monuments to the dead are small in comparison to all of those who are waiting to be added to the list of my victims.”

He sighed and stood, moving back towards the window, away from Steve. Away from his warmth and his care and his touch.

“And I do not deserve the luxury of your comfort, or of my selfishness. So yes, I will work with SHIELD. I will do as you ask of me, I will… I will back your plays. And I will try not to cause any more harm in the meantime.” He turned his head to look back at Steve, where he had left him.

“I doubt I could bear to carry any further guilt, anyway. So you don’t need to worry that. I’ll-- it’ll be fine. Eat your dinner, be glad; we’ve reunited with SHIELD, we’re working with them and with their blessing. Tomorrow you will see Peggy again. Your life is coming back together, and the damage done by our flight is coming undone, despite my unthinking attempts to stop it.” He shrugged. “It all seems so big, but the small things that matter are beginning to fall into place.”

He could only hope it would be enough.

  
  


Steve shifted on the bed and frowned. “You said yourself, Thanos had some interest in Earth beyond you. And that he’s wiped out plenty of worlds before, before he even found you. None of that is on you, so you shouldn’t be blaming yourself for that. Anything he does, any violence he perpetrates -- that’s on his shoulders, not yours. You’re not forcing his hand.”

That Loki was blaming himself for even the most indirect of influences he might have had on all of this made Steve ache, and simultaneously made him want to shake Loki out of frustration.

He stood up, crossing over to Loki and standing behind him, wrapping his arms around his partner’s waist and pulling him close so his back pressed against Steve’s chest.

“Whether you think you deserve comfort or not, I’m giving it to you,” he murmured. “You’re a good person, Loki. The fact you care so much about all this -- that you _want_ so badly to make amends, is a sign of that. But you have time. You’re gonna live a long time, so you’ve got a long time to do good in the world. And... I know anything that happens going forward, you don’t want anyone to get hurt. I know you’re trying to help. You’re _good,_ Loki.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of Loki’s neck, squeezing him closer.

“I’m sorry about today. And I’m sorry that this is difficult and I’m sorry for the things I said,” he breathed, inhaling in Loki’s freshly-showered smell. “And I’m sorry I didn’t thank you. Earlier, you figured out what was going on and got them to shut off that thing before it did any more damage. So I owe you my life over and over.”

If Loki was going to take responsibility for all the evil Thanos and others did, though his indirect influence, then Steve would have to point out that any good that _he_ did was also on Loki’s hands, by the same logic.

  
  


He bit his lip and leaned back into Steve, hating himself for all of this. For his weakness. For his neediness. For how Steve, who he was trying to apologize to, felt the need to care for him.

He could argue, again, that endangering a life and then saving it hardly counted towards good, no matter whose life it was. He could argue that his hundreds, thousands of years yet, would far outlast the years of those whom he most needed to make amends to.

He didn’t know what was worse-- that he might live, that these people would never see the good he was doing, or trying to do… or the thought that one day, their children’s children will see only what he had become, that he would, in the future, be forgiven his sins by the forgetfulness of human history.

“I am glad to have you with me.” He said instead, meaning that he was glad Steve was alive. That he saw the bad of Loki and the good he was trying to be, and loved him not in spite of it, but because of it.

He thought of his anger, before, his morose hollowness now… and he hated it. He did not want to feel this. He wanted to feel anything but this.

Everything but this.

He took hold of Steve’s hand, lifting it from around his waist and raising it to his mouth. He pressed a kiss against his fingers.

“You did say I might ease your worries, later. I know I’ve not helped matters any today, but... “ He figured that Steve would turn him down. Push him away again, as he had that morning. The same way Loki had pushed him away the last time he was upset about having caused all of their problems.

“Will you let me now? Let me make it up to you? I want to.” He added, in case Steve wasn’t sure, in case he thought Loki was using this as a means of punishing himself. He’d denied himself food, already… this was the opposite. This was the luxury he couldn’t give up, even if he wanted to. And he never would want to.

  
  


He feared for a minute Loki would tense and pull away from him again; when he relaxed into Steve instead, his eyes fluttered briefly closed in relief.

No more arguing. No more fighting. They had enough pitted against them without butting up against each other as well.

He hummed at the brush of Loki’s lips against his hand -- soft and warm -- then turned Loki around and wrapped his arms back around him so he could catch those lips with his own. He kissed him long and slow, one hand snaking up his back to rest against the back of his neck.

For a few wonderful seconds, he was able to lose himself in that kiss -- in the softness of Loki’s mouth, the closeness of him and the heat of their shared breath. When he finally pulled back, he looked at Loki and brushed an errant curl of dark hair from his eyes.

“I... I’d like that,” he whispered. After all the stress and unease and the fight to try to control everything, only for that control to slip from between his fingers while the burden of responsibility threatened to crush him, he needed a respite. Needed to find solace in Loki. And if Loki wanted to, Steve wouldn’t deny him.

  
  


It was so easy, so right and calming. Touching Steve was like breathing when Loki felt as though he _couldn’t_.

“Is that all you’d like?” He asked softly, words gentle while he took the liberty of stroking across Steve’s jaw and down his throat, his touch becoming stronger, more sure. “Is there anything you want that I can give you-- anything at all that you need right at this moment?”

He knew that so many of Steve’s preferences stemmed from his feeling of always having to be in control. And he knew that after the last few days, that must be tearing at him.

Loki could stand to have control over something, right then. Not the sort that was inescapable, not… not the control that had caused Barton to hate him so, but…

“Do you want me to move you, to guide you and take charge of this for you? Do you want me to stretch you out and put this wicked mouth of mine to good use?” He spoke in words just above a whisper, the breath dancing between them and over Steve’s already kiss pinkened lips.

“What would you like, sweet boy? Tell me.” He let his hand drift back up to thumb over that utterly enchanting mouth.

  
  


Steve moaned quietly, barely more than a hum of breath, as Loki’s fingers brushed down his jaw and throat, tilting his head to give greater access. God, yes, he wanted this.

When Loki’s thumb traced over his mouth, Steve let his lips part under the touch, eyelids fluttering closed.

There was nothing that needed his attention. No imminent demand on his time or his leadership. He could take a little while, here and now, to escape it all. They had time and privacy and each other.

Just a little bit of an escape. That was all he needed.

“Yes,” he murmured, “I want... want _you..._ ” Anything Loki asked of him or did to him right now, he’d be glad of. Whether it was blindfolding him or taking him apart or anything else. He just needed that touch. That freedom from having to choose, to think.

He opened his eyes, finding Loki’s gaze and marveling at what a perfect shade of green they were. “Tell me what to do.”

  
  


“You shall have me.” He assured him softly, before breaking away and taking a step backwards.

“I want you to take your clothing off. You’re too beautiful to wear such simple things-- I would have you wrapped in finery or nude, and as we’ve nothing fine here for you now… I suppose nude it is to be.” He crossed his arms over his chest and ran his eyes down the length of his partner, trying to decide just what to do with him, to do to him.

“What do you think sweetness? Should I use some of the money that Pepper is paying me to put you in something nice? I imagine that you in a good suit would be devastating… or perhaps I should just buy something to lay you out on. Furs against your back while I press you down into them, silk sliding over your skin…”

He wondered if he had remembered to pack lubricant, or if Steve had-- if not he still had a little of his salve.

He smirked at the thought of finishing it off, and asking Thor ever so innocently to bring him more the next time he returned from Asgard.

He watched Steve move, perfectly content with the show, despite the way the lust was pooling low in him.

He might have a void through the core of his chest, but it seemed this would do very nicely to fill it.

“When you’ve finished removing those things from your body, you can help me out of my pants… and attend to the erection you’ve caused, while you’re down there.” He tried for stern, playful and not cross. He’d had enough crossness for one day.

  
  


Steve closed his eyes and tried to imagine the different textures that Loki was describing; the whisper of silk as it slid against his skin, inevitably soiled by their activities; the decadent softness of furs, warm and enveloping around him. It took a bit of imagining, since unlike Loki, he’d never had occasion to sleep on either -- coarse 120-thread-count cotton sheets were more his speed. But the fantasy still made his skin prickle. “Sounds... fancy,” he murmured. “Nice.”

Reaching up, he took hold of the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it upward, tugging it up his stomach, chest, over his head, and then slipping out of the sleeves and letting it fall to the floor in a silent heap. The temperature in the room was cool, and he could feel the faint current of air playing over the exposed skin.

Next came his belt, which he fumbled with for a moment before getting the buckle undone and sliding it out of the loops. He dropped his jeans and stepped out of them, catching the tops of his socks with his toes and pulling them off. Finally, he slid his briefs off, standing fully bare for a few moments for Loki to observe.

Steve had never thought of himself as much of an exhibitionist -- if anything, he’d always been timid about his body, and hated the extra attention it got -- but now, watching the way Loki’s eyes raked over him, he found himself enjoying the exposure for once.

Or maybe he just enjoyed the hungry look on Loki’s face. Either way.

He took a step forward, then slowly sank to his knees, running his hands down Loki’s sides to guide him, eventually coming to rest with his fingers along his lover’s hips, and his face inches from his groin and the telltale bulge behind his slacks. Steve paused, then leaned in and nuzzled at the bulge through the fabric, mouthing softly at it and looking up at Loki as his fingers hooked into his waistband teasingly. Part of him was curious, to see what he would do...

  
  


It was interesting, seeing how Steve had changed, how he no longer dawdled or just pulled his clothing off-- he took his time, but not hesitantly, and once he’d finished, he did not immediately spring to action, but allowed Loki a moment to look, to admire…

He appreciated that, appreciated the confidence that he now exhibited.

But when he took to his knees and chose to rub Loki through his slacks, rather than removing them as he’d been told to, Loki smirked.

Steve looking up at him was always so… so enthralling. It made him feel powerful, made him feel so aroused. He particularly loved when that look was coupled with his prick in Steve’s mouth, but at current, his disobedience was preventing that happening, though his fingers did linger at Loki’s waist.

Loki brought a hand down onto the top of Steve’s head and he tilted his own head back, inhaling through his teeth with a soft hiss, before the stroking touch changed, and he buried his fingers in Steve’s hair, taking loose hold of it and making a fist.

“It seems you weren’t listening to me, pet.” He murmured, voice deep and dark. “I asked you to take the pants off, _then_ attend to my cock. Will you do as I asked now, or would you prefer that we do something else?”

He arched his eyebrow and bent at the waist slightly, pulling his groin away from Steve’s mouth and pulling him backwards, bringing their faces closer together.

“Is it that you’re feeling neglected? Would you rather I reduce you to a shuddering wreck first, so that you are incapable of thought? So that you can do nothing _but_ what I ask of you?” He let go of Steve’s hair and stroked over it, smoothing the strands back down.

“Because if that is the case,” he purred, “I would be more than happy to take you apart.”

  
  


At first Loki’s hand on his head was gentle. But then the grip tightened and pulled at his hair, sending a thrill down Steve’s spine. He gasped faintly as he let his head be pulled back, the pain just enough to sting without hurting in a _bad_ way.

And then Loki was using _that_ voice -- the low velvet rumble that promised violent delights and made all the blood rush to Steve’s groin. He could feel his cock beginning to thicken between his legs, lips falling open as he breathed through his mouth.

And he found himself debating; fall forward, face-first on to Loki’s cock, dragging his pants down and repentantly laving attention on his bare length? Or see where this went, and find out just what the darkness in Loki’s voice promised? Truth be told, he wanted both. Wanted to see Loki’s head thrown back in ecstasy, the column of his white throat exposed as Steve sucked him; and he also wanted to feel that same throat constricting around him while Loki swallowed him to the root and wrang him dry.

And then, there was the third option...

Steve froze in indecision, licking kiss-swollen lips as his eyes darted up and down Loki’s frame. Should he--? Loki always told him to tell him what he wanted, and Steve always struggled. What if he said no? What if they weren’t ready, or this was a bad time, or what if it wasn’t what Loki wanted and he said yes? A thousand what-ifs willed him into silence, the quiet pause stretching on between them as Loki waited for him to answer.

“I was...” he paused, swallowing. “I was just thinking...” He looked up, steeling himself. “Just thinking, ah, of somewhere else it might go...”

  
  


Loki’s eyes snapped closed and he sought to ground himself, to keep his mouth from dropping open or his knees from giving way as his mind supplied just what his partner could mean by that.

He took a steadying breath and opened his eyes, certain they were blown out and darkened by now with his arousal.

His lips twitched before he could formulate a proper response.

“Oh?” He crooned lowly. “And where is that? Can you tell me? Tell me what you want me to do to you?”

He knew. Or thought he did. He _wanted_. But he wanted to be certain that he wasn’t reading this wrong, that Steve really was ready-- that he wasn’t just trying to appease Loki, to make him feel better.

This was a rather large step, primarily for Steve. Not only had he spoken up, but to ask for this, if it was… it was a large step. One Loki would be more than happy to take, once he knew more. But he knew that if he asked point blank, Steve would be embarrassed to the point of stammering and silence. And so he would have to exercise some of his recently reclaimed subtlety. And perhaps help Steve along, lest he be put off by his own speech.

“Do you want me to open you on my fingers, fill your ass with my cock? Is that what you’re asking me for?” He was intentionally crass, purposely crude-- he hoped it would make Steve feel easier about asking him for things, making his wants known. He rested a hand on the side of Steve’s face, supportive and possessive, and tried to ignore the throbbing of blood in his prick, the way his heart was hammering in his chest.

He ignored everything save Steve’s face, and that he watched intently for his answer.

  
  


_Tell me what you want me to do to you?_

Steve’s lips formed a tight line and his face flushed hot, the pink color spreading from his cheeks and down over his chest.

Dammit. Was he going to make him say it?

( _Could_ he say it?)

He’d been thinking about it for a while now, of course. The first day they’d made love, Loki had babbled about every act they might do, including burying himself inside of Steve. And then later, when he had ridden Steve, he’d wondered -- wondered what it would feel like with their places switched, how he could reciprocate that bliss. And later still, when he’d had Loki’s finger in him, crooking against that bundle of nerves that made him jerk and shudder, part of him had wanted more still.

This wasn’t that unlikely of a progression, was it? Not too rushed?

He knew what he wanted (was fairly sure he wanted at any rate), but the words died before ever reaching his tongue, trapped by shame he’d thought he’d shed by now. He burned with embarrassment. Charging into battle was no problem, but asking his lover to...

He swallowed.

And then Loki was talking again. Putting words to what Steve could not; he nearly slouched with relief, giving a silent but enthusiastic nod, cheek brushing against Loki’s hand with the motion.

  
  


Watching the tension evaporate from Steve’s frame, he knew he’d been right. Even without the nod, he knew. It had been a gamble, and he’d been afraid of scaring him, but…

But it was clearly a gamble that had paid off.

And the relief he saw in his partner’s face told him that he would need to tread gently, still, to be careful, though he would be in control.

Not that he would have it any other way.

“I would like that very much.” He rumbled softly. “My sweet boy… you have such good ideas, sometimes. Such a smart boy.” He moved his hand from Steve’s cheek to down under his chin, urging him to rise with the touch.

Once he had, Loki kissed him, delicately, gently, but by no means slowly or chastely. His tongue tapped against his teeth, slid over Steve’s tongue, across the roof of his mouth.

“Thank you,” He whispered, when they parted. “My perfect, precious partner… I am going to make you know pleasure unlike anything else.” He smirked, then let the smile grow into something more genuine, more excited and wondrous.

“Come with me.” He could have ordered him onto the bed, but elected instead to place a hand in the low of his back, in the dip where his waist was at its smallest.

He would not let him feel that he had been abandoned, not even for a moment.

Of course, since Steve had elected not to remove Loki’s pants, he would have to see to it on his own at some point, but that would not pose any sort of real problem. He had more to do, yet, before he would need to worry about it anyway.

He guided Steve to the bed they were going to share and pushed him down, until he was sitting on the edge.

“If you change your mind or need me to stop at any point, all you need do is tell me as much, understood?”

  
  


The smile on Loki’s face and the expression of his approval -- not dismay or disinterest or worse, disgust -- flooded Steve with further heady relief. He’d been right to bring it up then. Loki liked it, and was glad about it.

He let Loki guide him back up, and parted his lips when Loki kissed him, relishing the hot slide of tongues, the taste and feel and smell of Loki flooding his senses and invading his mouth. And while he felt the loss when they finally came apart, the smile that spread across Loki’s face was every bit as perfect, and filled him with something else entirely.

He didn’t doubt Loki’s promise for a moment. Steve might be clueless and prone to blushing at the stupidest things, but Loki knew what he was doing. He’d take care of him. Of everything.

God damn, he was lucky to have him.

The warmth of Loki’s hand at the base of his back was soothing and electrifying all at once. Steve allowed himself to be guided on to the bed, sinking down on to the edge and looking up at his partner in unfettered adoration.

“Okay,” he breathed, nodding in response to Loki’s question, reassuring him that he understood. He hoped that this wouldn’t be occasion for him to have to back out of something -- he _did_ want this, and didn’t want to screw it up by failing in any way -- but he had no desire to betray Loki’s trust either.

A thought occurred to him and he smiled. “There’s lube in my bag,” he offered. “Dark gray toilet kit.” He’d thrown it in there almost unthinkingly, not really expecting to need it, but figuring it would be better to have it and not use it than need it and not have it.

An instance of precaution that, for once, didn’t have any negative fallout, as it happened.

  
  


Steve’s smiles seemed to be catching. Loki felt his lips tugging upwards, and he hid the expression with an approving nod.

“I will fetch it, then. I want you to lay yourself out for me. Put the pillows behind you, if you want to lay on your back, so that you can look down your body and see what I am doing… so that you can watch as my fingers slide into you. Or, if you’d rather not look, you can lay on your stomach. Whichever you prefer, I leave the choice to you.”

It was such a small choice, but he didn’t want Steve to feel completely powerless, or that, just because Loki had agreed to allow him to make their decisions about SHIELD, he had no voice and got to make no decisions here.

He looked down at his partner, thumbing over his cheekbone affectionately.

He pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead and stepped away, loathe to leave him, but comforted that he was not going far. He dug through the bag in search of the promised lubricant. Finding it, he returned.

“Before I begin, I would like to clean you, as I did before. Is that alright?” He raised his hand, fingers poised to do his trick of banishment. But he stopped to ask, again, so that Steve would maintain a level of control, and so that he would know and understand what was going on. Loki wanted to be sure he remained present, that he didn’t retreat behind some haze of nerves or lust, at least not yet.

Plenty of time for that later when he was writhing on his cock.

  
  


The kiss to the forehead was caring and tender, easing some of the apprehension that welled inside of him knowing that _this was actually happening now._

Steve paused to think about the choice offered to him. On the one hand, he loved looking at Loki. His partner was beautiful, and he could hardly think of a more around sight. But on the other, he worried that being able to see everything -- each and every awkward detail -- might be a bit too much, and his embarrassment could eclipse his enjoyment and ruin everything.

In the end, while Loki was fetching the lube, Steve elected to grab two pillows -- one to slip under his hips to better position himself, and one to bury his face in -- rolling on to his stomach on the bed and making himself comfortable.

“S’alright,” he murmured, voice slightly muffled by the pillow when Loki asked him if he could do the spell. Steve had no desire to soil the bedclothes. As it was, they would probably need to use Loki’s seidhr to clean up after the fact; he’d booked a room with two beds for a reason, as they weren’t exactly here undercover. The hotel staff would probably be discreet, but he didn’t want to take chances, especially after the debacle with the press in New York.

He squirmed at the strange feeling in his lower insides as Loki’s magic did its work, then settled and tried to breathe normally.

  
  


He could see the tension in the lines of his back, and he frowned slightly, glad that Steve could not see him, but worried he had already done or said something wrong.

But no, Steve was going to tell him, if he did.

Nervous, then. Of course he would be; this was almost entirely new to him, save what little Loki had tried before.

Unfortunately, another downfall of this position, besides not being able to see Steve’s face, was not being able to get at his prick, for the distraction and relief that he might offer.

Still, he was not wholly at a loss here-- he knew he was thoroughly capable of making this work. But perhaps it would be better to address Steve’s concerns. After all, if he merely dove into this as it was, Steve would be too tight for him to do anything but cause him more stress.

So he flipped open the cap and poured some lubricant into his hands, warming it and leaving the tube beside his partner, in easy reach. He climbed onto the bed and straddled his legs, but did not seek to pry them open, nor to touch him. Not yet.

“You are far too tense, elskan. Would it help to speak to me of your concerns? I have a thought towards rubbing you down, easing your muscles and loosening you from your neck to your hips, before attempting to insert anything. Do you think that would make things easier for you? Or… is that too much time to think?”

He could not read him even half so well with his face turned away, which meant that he had to rely on Steve’s admittedly stunted ability to communicate verbally. But offering him options seemed to help-- then he needed only agree to one or the other.

“Even your breaths are strained, sweet boy. You do know we needn’t do this, don’t you? That there is no need to push yourself if you are scared, if you do not want this. I will not think any less of you if you have changed your mind.”

  
  


Not being able to see anything, Steve was reminded of being blindfolded. It wasn’t the same level of deprivation, as he could easily look over his shoulder if he wished, but he still found himself relying on feel and sound to guess at what was happening.

He heard the click of the cap opening, the faint squirt of lubricant, and then the snap of the tube closing again. He braced himself for the slick sensation between his buttocks as Loki climbed over his legs, mattress dipping beneath them both as he straddled him, but it didn’t come.

Again, a choice. But a choice with only two options; it made things easier, this way, and he wondered if Loki was doing it on purpose. If so, he appreciated it, and made a note to himself to say as much after the fact.

As for the choice presented -- he didn’t think he’d talk himself out of it if given a few more minutes, especially if those minutes involved Loki’s hands on his body. “That sounds good, actually,” he said, turning his head so his cheek lay on the pillow and he could see Loki out of the corner of his vision.

“I’m just a bit nervous. Excited too, I mean,” he tried to explain, worry spiking that Loki would no longer want to do this due to Steve’s anxiety. “It’s just new is all. I’m not-- I want this,” he insisted.

  
  


Loki smiled softly, unsure from the way Steve lay his head now if he could make it out, but wanting the expression to be there just in case.

“Then you shall have it. I’m going to take care of you.” He promised, and he rubbed his hands together, gathering the lube on his palms. He lay them gently at the tops of Steve’s shoulders and shifted his legs so that he was spread out, hovering over Steve’s ass.

He was hard in his pants and he could feel the body heat rolling off of his partner even through them, but he would concern himself with that later. Steve and his comfort was more important than an eager erection and the temptation of his form.

“Is there anything in particular that you are nervous about? Anything you are afraid of, or… any worry you may have? As well you know, I have been on both ends of this equation. If there is anything I can do to lay your mind more at ease, I would be happy to do so.”

He used his hands to attempt to ease his partner’s body, the same way he was hoping to calm his thoughts.

“I will not hurt you. I will not do anything without your permission, your agreement… your approval. And I will move as slowly as you need me to. I want you to enjoy this, to… to feel how good it can be.”

He pressed his thumbs in and down, then dragged them outwards from the center of his partner’s back.

“I love you, Steve.” He said. He knew that he liked to be called other things, but it seemed… important, somehow, to address him as himself. To remind him that he wasn’t some nameless sweet boy, some pet… that he was his partner. His Steve.

He leaned in and down and pressed a kiss at the top of his spine, on his neck, echoing the kiss Steve had given him when he’d retreated before.

  
  


Steve closed his eyes and breathed out happily as Loki kissed him. For all that he didn’t mind Loki taking control a bit more harshly at times, he was grateful that he was being tender right now. “I love you too,” he murmured. “I know you won’t hurt me... never hurt me...”

At least, not in any way that Steve didn’t want.

He could feel himself relaxing into Loki’s touch, the pressure of his hands. Bit by bit he eased into the massage, his body growing looser under the ministrations of those skilled fingers. He groaned as Loki’s thumbs dug into a spot of tension and worked it undone, leaving Steve limp and pliant.

“I’m not afraid,” he said quietly. “I think I’m just... It’s something new and different and I don’t want to mess it up or let you down. For either of us,” he clarified, thinking with a grimace about his disastrous first attempt to deep-throat Loki, and how distressed Loki’d been when Steve had choked himself. This seemed like something where he’d be taking a less active role, but all the same, he couldn’t help but feel some anxiety in regards to the unknown.

“But I trust you,” he added. He knew that any issue that might come up wouldn’t be a product of Loki’s handling. And he couldn’t imagine wanting to do this with anyone else, ever.

Loki’s hands hit a particularly sweet spot near his spine, and Steve made a muffled moan, melting into the bedspread.

  
  


Loki breathed out, a long exhale that he was sure Steve could hear, before he took in one just as deep, filling his lungs and repeating the process. Meditative breathing would help him to maintain control as well as calming the man under him, and he wanted to be sure that he gave Steve every bit of help he could. Three, four rounds of breaths like this, and he was ready to talk some more.

“You can’t mess this up.” He told him, keeping his voice low and soothing. “And you won’t let me down. I really don’t see how that is possible, here. You think because you are new to this that you will be bad, but you learn faster than anyone I know. You think that if we have to stop for any reason, it will be a failure, but how can it be-- stopping means that we care about one another’s comfort far more than fleshly pleasure. There is no hurry, nothing to say that we need go any further tonight than feels right, whether that means that I finish rubbing your muscles and we fall asleep in one another’s arms, or I manage to seat myself fully inside of you and make you come from my prick dragging over your prostate, or anything in between. As with any new thing, you mustn’t force yourself, mustn’t rush. Accept what you can do, and use it as a building block.”

He continued moving his hands, shifting lower now to get at the bottom of Steve’s back. He wasn’t quite to his ass yet, but it would not be long now, if he continued at this speed.

“I will understand, no matter what. And I will do as much or as little as you like, provided neither of us is coming to harm from it. But I don’t plan to let that happen. And so there can be no failure, there will be no letting me down. The only thing that would even _potentially_ make me unhappy with what we plan to do this evening is if you don’t tell me things, if you need to stop or slow down, and don’t communicate with me. But that’s it. I am glad to be with you, glad to have you. What we do beyond that is good, but hardly necessary.” He pressed another kiss to Steve’s back, this one in the middle, directly over his spine, and focused for a few seconds on just relieving the stress from his muscles, listening to Steve’s breathing and his own heart pounding.

When he reached the area where Steve’s cheeks began to swell away from the flat plains of his back, he stopped, and pressed a final kiss at the base of his spine.

“Now it is up to you. I can continue on-- slick my fingers and massage down between your cheeks, and then, slowly, work my way towards having one finger, then more, inside of you. Or I can stop. I can always stop. And I will love you no matter what, more than words, more than worlds. Only tell me what you need of me, what you want me to do.”

  
  


It took Steve a minute to realize what Loki was doing with his breathing, and only after he’d realized his own had slowed and synced up -- their bodies in rhythm with one another, before they even touched intimately. What anxiety his mind produced, his body released under Loki’s care. Under his assurances that Steve couldn’t mess up, that all would be well...

It would be good. It would be perfect, no matter what. How he’d come to blessed with a partner as patient in bed as Loki -- as willing to wait and pause, and make Steve’s comfort a priority -- he didn’t know, but he loved him for it so deeply the feeling was almost overwhelming.

Although the possibility of Steve falling asleep here on the bed before they even did anything was starting to be a real danger, he thought with a smile. The slow and steady movements of Loki’s hands were heavenly already -- a prelude of the bliss to come, provided Steve stayed awake for it.

Later, he could sleep, with him and Loki entangled in one another’s arms, limbs intertwined and breath mixing in between them.

Deft hands slowly migrated downward, and soon enough, Steve could feel the fingers tracing over his backside, the warm and gentle brush of Loki’s breath as he pressed a kiss to Steve’s tailbone. He shivered faintly, more in anticipation than from anything else, but managed to stay relaxed, limbs slack and muscles loose.

Again, a choice, giving him control, but only a portion of it -- only the need for one choice between two options at a time.

Fortunately, this was an easy choice.

Steve smiled. “I’m ready,” he murmured. “Keep going. Please.”

  
  


Loki licked his lips and did as he’d said, slicking his fingers further.

He shifted even further down the bed, checking behind him to be sure he had room yet, then took in the tableau. Steve was relaxed, laid out, ready for him.  
Well. Nearly ready. He’d put a pillow under his hips, which did lift him somewhat, but…

“I’d like you on your knees. The rest of you can stay as low as you like, but the angle-- it will be easier for the both of us, I think, if you don’t mind.” It wasn’t a direct order, he was still concerned with Steve’s comfort on multiple levels, both physically, for his knees and muscles, as well as for his hole, obviously, but he was also concerned with comfort for his mind. He wanted him to feel safe, even as he battled with the thrill he felt at the thought of Steve, ass up and presenting for him, a pose even more vulnerable and subservient than when he’d finally gotten him to kneel.

He restrained it, though, pressed down on the sheerly animal side of himself. The part that he had to wonder if others had, or if it was shades of his monster trying to come free. Either way, it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t let it. This was more for Steve, right now, than it was for him. As it should be. He’d have time to enjoy soon enough. For now he needed to keep focused.

He moved so that he was out of the way of Steve’s legs, so that he could rearrange himself, and he curled his fingers in, warming the moisture against his palm.

He returned to his careful breathing, silently preparing himself.

Steve was worried he would ruin everything, but there was no room for Loki to be nervous about what _he_ might ruin, what he might get wrong. Steve needed him not to be hesitant. And so he’d just have to be observant, to be careful, attentive.

Of course, that meant that there were no worries associated with this. None at all.

He pushed those thoughts away; that sort of bitterness had no room in their bed. Not now.

  
  


Steve blinked when Loki asked him to change positions, up on to his knees. He supposed that made sense... Though they’d had very different positions before, with Loki on his back, then on top of Steve. Still. Loki was the experienced one, so he would know best.

Loki climbed off of Steve’s legs, freeing him to move, and Steve took a few seconds before pushing himself up on to his elbows. He brought one knee up, siding his leg out sideways until the knee was near the level of his hips, then leveraged his weight on to his elbows and lifted his body up on elbows and the elevated knee, allowing him to get the other leg under him, then shifting his knees together so they were about hip-width apart, thighs vertical, back end in the air and limp cock dangling between his slightly parted legs.

It was an odd position to be in -- his ass presented as the highest point of him, vulnerable and exposed. But if he was vulnerable, he knew Loki wouldn’t hurt him; if he was undignified, he knew Loki wouldn’t deride him.

He thought for a moment about pushing himself further up on to his hands and knees, so his back would be level. But that would just leave him staring at the wall, and would get uncomfortable quickly, he suspected. He could stay like this on his elbows, with his weight more evenly distributed along his forearms.

Instead, he elected to slide his elbows back out until his chest met the pillow again, weight carried by his arms and shoulders, emphasizing the downward angle of his back. When he was down, he chanced a look back over his shoulder to look up at Loki, twisting slightly and aware of the way the shifting angle made his back arch downward and his hips move slightly forward. Part of him wanted to watch Loki’s expression -- for the delight of seeing him enjoying this, and perhaps, for some level of validation. That Steve wasn’t ridiculous. That he wasn’t just humoring him.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

  
  


He inhaled sharply.

Like this, Steve was so angular, so proportionally unlikely-- he looked like a carved statue from the museum, looked like the figures in the paintings that he had shown him.

Looked perfect. And sounded so unsure. It made the knot in his stomach twist and lurch, lust coiling within him.

“You’ve no idea, do you, what you do to me.” He asked, voice growing dark and velvety again. “What seeing you like this does to me.”

He considered leaning in, letting Steve feel his hardness, pressing it against him for just a little relief, a little friction-- but he didn’t want to scare him. Didn’t want to turn him away.

Particularly not when he already seemed so uninvolved.

It was hardly fair, Loki thought, that his cock was straining to the point of a sharp sensation, an almost-sting, and Steve should be here limp and waiting.

Well, he would have to change that.

Gently, he parted Steve’s ass, moving his fingers into the crack of his cheeks and downwards, until his middle finger touched his hole, ran over the tight knot of muscle there.

If he had been more experienced, Loki would have told him of the thoughts, the urges and temptations running through his mind, all of the things he wanted to do to him. All of the things he intended to do.

Instead, he stroked his fingers down, two together, and then back up, teasing. Helping him to become accustomed to his touch. He bent them and ran his knuckles across, not pressing in, not yet. Not until Steve grew more used to his presence here, until he relaxed a bit again, stopped feeling quite so threatened.

Not because it was him, he had to remind himself. But because Steve was new to it, because he was nervous. Because it was Loki’s job to put those fears to rest.

“You are more than okay. You’re so beautiful, Steve, my sweet boy, you are so perfect. So-- if you could see yourself--” He took another deep breath, trying not to sound as pressed for calm as he felt. “And I cannot wait to hear you, hear the little noises that you always try so hard not to make. Your voice is so beautiful, though, as beautiful as the rest of you. If you could see the way your flush tints your ears, the way it spills down your back… as if I were painting you with it. Like my touches somehow transform you into a canvas.”

He knew his fingers were stuttering along their route, and so he stopped with his vertical stroking and moved instead to tracing the edge, letting his fingertip drag against the folds of his skin, experiencing the texture of it. Wishing that he was more receptive to Loki’s mouth. He’d seemed-- but again, Loki needed to keep reign on his thoughts, needed not to indulge himself now.

  
  


The low sound of Loki’s voice, gravelly with desire, was all the reassurance Steve needed. A frisson of excitement crept up his spine at the words, the tone of them.

What he did to Loki, he’d said. And hidden in those words, between the lines, was the suggestion of what he’d do to Steve in turn.

Loki’s hands slipped down from Steve’s back to his cheeks, stretching them carefully apart and tracing down between. Steve inhaled -- _don’t tense don’t tense --_ at the intimate touch in that taboo place.

A fingertip traced over his hole, and for a moment, Steve thought to brace himself for Loki to begin to push. But he lingered there only briefly, continuing to trace up and down and around, exploring the flesh there like a cartographer mapping the contours of Steve’s ass. He exhaled into the pillow, trying to focus on the gentleness and affection in the touch. It was light, and reminiscent of the rhythmic massage Loki had applied to his back.

Then Loki was speaking again, and the praise he spoke had Steve blushing more -- the red on his face was hidden, but he could feel the pink creeping down his shoulders, just as Loki described it. Described _him_ like art, when always he’d been the artist, their roles reversed in this. He made a faint noise, muffled, somewhere between a keen and a moan. Most of his body was still relaxed, but with the delicate brush of Loki’s fingers against him and the _want_ in his voice, Steve found that at least one part of him was no longer so flaccid as the rest.

Loki went back to touching his entrance, and Steve shifted slightly, inhaling deeply. “More, there, please,” he said, speaking up so Loki could hear him. “And... would it be possible for you to keep talking? About how-- how it is for you? And what you want me to do?” He couldn’t see Loki like this, but he could hear him. “I love your voice,” he added.

  
  


Had he not been tested enough today? Or perhaps this was to compensate for his failings. Why else would fate have gifted him with a partner so… so appealing, so irresistible as his Steve?

“Of course.” He told him, though he felt breathless already. “Of course. What do you-- shall I tell you of what I see? How you’ve begun fluttering, your muscles unsure if they want to keep me out, as they have always been supposed to until now, or if they want to give me access. Shall I tell you of how your cock has finally shown an interest? How I am all but itching to reach down, to stroke you ever harder while my fingers continue loosening-- or do you want to know how much I loathe the closures of this world, how the zipper of my pants is a hard line over my cock, which has been hard since you asked for this, and gets more full the longer I touch you, the more I--” He exhaled on a huff, his own frustrations becoming obvious in his voice, when he did not want them to be.

Softly, he touched his middle finger to the center of Steve’s hole.

“May I?” He asked. “I’d like to start entering you now. Is that okay? And… will you allow me to stroke you as I do?” Two questions this time, but still simple. “Choices, I know. But you need only say yes or no-- I promise to listen.”

  
  


Steve groaned as Loki spoke and painted a picture in his mind, with every bit of skill Steve applied to his own art. Steve’s medium might have been pencil and brush, but Loki’s was words, and he crafted them well. He closed his eyes and imagined Loki’s cock, long and slim and rosy at its head, in lurid contrast to the pallor of the rest of him, and felt his own cock gradually lengthening as blood flowed to his groin.

And through the timbre of Loki’s voice, whose texture Steve cherished as much as any touch, he could detect a certain amount of strain -- some slip in control, because of him.

The notion was oddly satisfying.

“Yes,” he breathed, when Loki asked permission to touch him more. Inside, outside -- Steve just wanted the sensation of Loki. Wanted to hear that beautiful voice slowly cracking. Wanted to come apart as well, until he couldn’t think about any of the thoughts that plagued him. “Yes, god, please, _Loki_...”

  
  


He took that as a yes to both, and trusted that if he was wrong about that, Steve would say so.

He took up the lube again and let more slide onto his left palm, though he ran the fingers of his right hand through the gel thoroughly.

He adjusted, being sure he was balanced on his knees, and reached under, the slick of his palm coming into contact with Steve’s prick, and no matter how much he’d tried to warm the lubricant first, his hands were nowhere near so warm as Steve.

His perfect, beautiful Steve.

He inhaled.

“I know it seems the opposite of what you would think logical.” He said, calmly and evenly. “But as I press in…” He demonstrated, applying pressure, just a little. Not enough to hurt. Never that. “If you bear down, as if trying to push it back, it will help. But do not worry, if you find that difficult, or… or intimidating. We’ve all the time in the world.”

He closed his hand around Steve’s shaft, gripping it as firmly as he wished he was gripping himself just then, or perhaps a shade softer than that, and while he slid his hand up, he pressed, then stopped for the downstroke, then again, establishing a rhythm, like waves, like breaths, slow and easy, but constant and easy to anticipate.

No surprises.

“Your turn. Tell me what you feel. It doesn’t need to be much, just-- is it uncomfortable? Is it good?” He didn’t let his own anxiety become obvious.

  
  


Steve gasped at the cool feeling of Loki’s slippery hand against him, then had to fight the urge to thrust into his hand. It felt so good, after the prelude of more chaste touches -- the massage and gentle kisses to his spine -- to have his cock grasped directly. And of course, Loki had such smooth and supple hands, strong but delicate, that the slip and drag of his palm over him had Steve’s mouth falling open as he inhaled raggedly.

He was so preoccupied with the sensation, it took him a few moments to register Loki’s instructions to him, and the touch against the muscle of his entrance. “Push-- push back,” he reiterated, to show he’d heard and understood.

The pressure increased; not painful, but persistent all the same. Gradually increasing until something gave and he felt the moment where it breached him, slipping into his body.

He tried to breathe with it, to relax and make it easier, even though all his muscles instinctively tensed. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus instead on the feeling of Loki’s lube-slick hand wrapped around his cock, sliding up and down in a slow and steady rhythm. It still felt... strange. Foreign. Even though he reminded himself that it was Loki and Loki’s hand, which he knew intimately... those long, lean fingers he’d lovingly rendered in pencil, sleek and dexterous and gentle and strong--

Belatedly, he remembered to push back, sliding his hips slightly against Loki’s hand, muscles working inside and feeling, still, odd.

Odd, but not painful.

“It’s...” he paused. “Feels... strange. Not bad. Your hand feels so good on me,” he added.

  
  


“If you want to stop or slow, or… if you want more--” he demonstrated, speeding his stroking of Steve’s prick, “You can say so. I want to give you everything.”

Everything he had. Everything he was.

Or at least the good parts. The parts worth giving to Steve, the pleasures he’d known…

He angled the finger that was within his partner, tilting it and withdrawing a little, before pressing in deeper, enjoying the slide, the slickness, the heat… things he daren’t say to Steve, lest he grow too embarrassed. He didn’t want to ruin this.

“Your cock feels so good in my hand. Like it was made to rest there. It fits so perfectly, do you feel that?” And it did, it felt perfect. It _was_ perfect. _They_ were.

His mind felt shaken loose, disjointed, and he found his eyes fixated on the place where Steve’s body was accepting him, slowly still, but there just the same. He wouldn’t hurry, he wouldn’t speed it along. Not until Steve was ready, not until he asked for more.

“This is to move at your speed, with your comfort, elskan. Tell me when you want more. If you want more.”

 _Odd_ he’d called it. It was that, he remembered that much, the unfamiliarity of the sensation… but for a long while, he hadn’t liked it. It had taken time first to grow accustomed to the feel, and then to learn to enjoy it.

“If you don’t like it, it’s okay. Not-- not everyone does. Just tell me.” His asking sounded perhaps desperate, but not so afraid as he had worried it might.

  
  


Steve let out a faint “ah!” as Loki’s finger changed angles and slid deeper inside of him. It was a strange contrast -- the feeling of Loki’s hand enveloping him, and his own body enveloping Loki’s other hand’s finger in turn, squeezing down around him so that even with the liberal application of lubricant, he could still feel the drag against his insides.

It felt...

Well, it felt like he had a finger in his ass was what it felt like, which was a strange feeling. But it was Loki’s finger, and also Loki’s hand wrapped around his cock. The insertion itself wasn’t exactly enjoyable, but it wasn’t particularly unpleasant either. It was simply there. And the other sensation was _definitely_ enjoyable, and the penetration didn’t detract from that.

And, when Loki managed to get more into him, managed to touch that spot of nerves he’d shown Steve the first and only time he’d put a finger in him before now, Steve knew how electric it would feel. And _that,_ he wanted.

He pushed back on Loki’s finger with a vocal exhale until he felt Loki’s knuckles bump against him. There was a faint bit of burn from the friction and the tightness, despite the slick, but it wasn’t bad, necessarily. Perhaps not something he would seek out simply for his own pleasure with his own hand, but that wasn’t the point. The point was it was Loki. That he was taking Loki into him.

That was what he wanted the most.

“It doesn’t hurt. Just strange,” he replied. “I don’t _not_ like it.” It would be better once Loki found that spot within him, after all. And already, the pleasure of the touch against his swollen length was overriding any faint discomfort .

“I want more,” he said. “Want _you.”_

  
  


He wanted to laugh with relief, but didn’t want Steve to think he was laughing at _him_.

Instead, he just added a twist of his wrist to the end of that stroke, and an all but whispered, “Thank you.” Though whether he addressed Steve or some unknown force that was causing him not to make a complete mess of this, well. He didn’t really have the mental capacity to straighten it out right now. Maybe both.

He stilled his strokes, though, and lifted his hand to rest against the back of Steve’s hip.

“When you push, try doing so with just the muscles-- don’t move your hips, don’t try to take more in. Not just yet. You can-- you can build up to that, but if I push and so do you, it is harder to control… and sweet boy, I don’t think you’ve the slightest idea how tentative my grasp is on control, because of you, already.” He made the words teasing, deeper-- but they were true. He hoped Steve didn’t realize just how true.

He reached across himself to retrieve the lube without having to remove his fingers, and drizzled some liberally where his hand was seated against Steve’s body. He poured some at the top of his crack as well, before restoring the cap one handed, and using the extra moisture to ensure that his palm wouldn’t chafe his lover’s cock while he worked him open.

He twisted the finger inside of him until his hand faced upwards, while he returned his attentions below, and then extended another finger to brush lightly against where his rim gripped him, so tight, but so willing to stretch, so good for him.

“Once I’ve got two fingers in you,” He told him, so that he would not have the chance to become nervous. “I’m going to twist and turn them, explore every bit of you that I can reach. And we will find the place inside of you that will leave your legs shaking. And I am going to use it and your prick to bring you as close to the edge as either of us can handle. And then, when you think you’ll spill if I don’t stop-- only then will I add another, until you can open and take those three easily. And then I am going to fuck you.” He said it with a fierceness that might have been threatening were it not so fond, were he not so intently watching the lines of Steve’s shoulders, trying to be sure that he was not afraid, not upset by this.

“Does that sound… agreeable?” He asked, rubbing his fingers together as close as he could come without actively beginning to breach him with another yet.

“Say the word, and I will begin.” He told him, then, for good measure, “I just love hearing you tell me what you want.”

  
  


A noise of pleasure slipped from his lips as Loki added a twist to the grip around his cock, sending a thrill of pleasure up his shaft and into his groin. It felt so good, he couldn’t even bring himself to feel badly about pushing back wrong. He merely nodded, with an inarticulate “uh-huh,” trying not to think too hard on what Loki would be like when he lost his control completely. At least, not yet. He didn’t want to risk coming too quickly, spilling before Loki was inside of him -- before his partner well and truly lost control.

The lube dribbling down on him was cool against his skin, which verged on burning hot. He sucked in a long breath, then blew it out, eyes closed, sealing his lips against the whine in his throat as Loki twisted the finger, creating new sensations.

He flexed his muscles as Loki instructed this time, as counter intuitive as it sounded. The tightness the movement produced prompted a groan which rose in pitch as a second finger prodded at his entrance.

Loki told him what he intended, laying out the plan to prevent any surprises. Not being able to see what was happening, having no warning of any sensation before it was already happening, Steve felt thankful; but at the same time, Loki’s words made him want to whimper. The promise to explore him, to touch him throughout and find that sweet spot and render him a wreck -- he wanted it.

And when Loki said he was going to _fuck_ him--

Steve normally didn’t care for the vulgarity. He flinched at it from anyone else’s lips when it described his love life, for sure. He preferred to think of what they did as making love, as something sweeter and sublime. But right now, strangely enough, the word didn’t elicit disgust but rather sparked something primal. The thought of him and Loki rutting, filthy and wild and passionate, _fucking_ without shame or restraint, had his back arching upward as he moaned.

“Holy fuck, Loki,” he gasped. “God yes, more. More, now.” He wished they could hurry through this, though he knew Loki wouldn’t rush anything that could do Steve harm. But he wanted more than Loki’s finger in him, and he wanted it as soon as possible.

  
  


If he had been more aware of it, he might have counted on his hands the number of times that Steve had cursed, had used any words harsher than a ‘damn’. But in this context…

“And more you will have. Or perhaps, more correctly, it is more you will _take_.” And with that he sank his other finger in, the process eased a bit with the preparation he’d already done.

Once his fingers were both extended, and perhaps halfway in, he paused in his strokes again and leaned forward to put a soft kiss on Steve’s cheek, flushed like the rest of him, without Loki even having had to lay a hand on it, really.

He thrust his fingers forward, aiming towards where he thought the bundle of nerves ought to be, but there was no jolt in Steve’s muscles, so he was certain he’d missed. Disappointed, but not discouraged, he withdrew part way, twisting his fingers and scissoring them a bit, before he pressed them together again and plunged in.

That time, when his hand was pressed as far forward as he could make it go, he did not withdraw, and instead elected to angle his hand, to stretch Steve that way, to search for the spot he wanted-- the one he knew Steve enjoyed. The spot that would make this actually worthwhile for him.

“You’ll tell me when I find it, won’t you?” He asked, his own soft panting from held breaths near reverently tinting the words. He returned his hand to Steve’s prick, apologizing for having been slower than he’d like in giving Steve pleasure.

“You’re going to show me regardless, you won’t be able to stop yourself. I’m going to wring the reactions from you, and it will be absolutely beautiful, but your voice, astin min, your sounds… you’ll give me them, won’t you?”

  
  


Steve buried his face in the pillow as the second finger pushed past the fluttering ring of muscle to join the first, stretching him with a faint burn that edged on pain, but not enough discomfort for him to want to stop.

Still, with two fingers buried inside of him -- more than he’d ever had -- he felt stretched and full and for a fleeting second wondered if he _could_ take more. Fear spiked in him at that. What if the serum had messed up his anatomy and everything was just too small, too constricted for any more? What if he couldn’t take Loki? What--

He breathed, endeavoring to calm himself. Loki would tell him if something was wrong. Loki would know. This was just why they had to take it slow. Right?

His heart kept pounding, but at least now it wasn’t so much out of fear as out of... well, everything else. And Loki was a skilled distraction from Steve’s anxieties. His fingers were moving, slipping against the tight walls of Steve’s body, in and out and back and forth and they stretched him and explored. All of this sensation was new and foreign, and he fought not to squirm as Loki’s fingers pulled apart, straining him further open.

He was pretty sure he was starting to sweat a bit, the moisture on his skin catching the faint breeze from the room’s ventilation and making him shiver, despite the warmth burning just beneath. “Loki,” he breathed, eyes fluttering shut--

Then snapping open as his lips parted in a soundless cry, trapped in his throat as his entire body clenched.

“Gaaah,” he managed to gasp inarticulately when his voice found its way out of his throat, the fire in his nerves abating slightly. “There. That was-- there again!” The pressure on the spot was gone, but Loki’s hand still wrapped around his cock, full and heavy where it hung.

  
  


The answer, it seemed, was a resounding yes.

And, thankfully, he liked it. Wanted more of it. Loki was more than happy to give it to him.

“How is it, sweet boy?” He murmured, teasing still, beginning to circle the spot and synchronizing the pulls of his other hand to work against the contact his fingers made. “Do you feel it twisting through you? Does it feel _good_?” he rubbed a little harder, then broke away, backing his fingers partway out of Steve’s ass before returning the to the spot, this time the touch backed by the pressure of his thrust.

“Is it enough, elskan? Too much? Do you want more?” He could think of nothing but questions, until he remembered he was meant to be telling Steve how he felt, what he thought--

“You are so warm, so tight around me, so perfect and so strong. I can feel the way your ass is squeezing me-- like you are hungry for this, aching for it. Your body is beginning to work with me, to welcome me. You want the pleasure, and I want to give it. I am so hard now, so ready. And you are taking my fingers so readily that I cannot help but imagine you taking more, taking me. Taking the sort of false cocks I have used on myself in the past… I can imagine you opening yourself someday on your own fingers, showing me-- making a show of yourself, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

He rolled his fingers now, twisted his wrist where he was thumbing at the head of Steve’s prick, covering the tip of him in his own juices.

“I love watching you as you begin to truly enjoy this.” He murmured. “It makes me wish I could hold you here forever, never stop touching you…” The words were oddly sweet for the position they were in, but it helped to remind him not to let his inner savage out, not to hurry, not to move too quickly for him.

This needed to be intimate, needed to be so good for him-- needed to be perfect.

“Do you like this, Steve? Still want to continue?”

  
  


“Yeeessssss.....” he moaned, the words turning into a hiss as Loki’s fingers twisted and teased against the spot, sending a fresh jolt of sensation through his body.

“God, it feels... So good, Loki,” he panted, his breathing beginning to grow ragged. The swipe of Loki’s fingers over his swollen and leaking cockhead had his hips bucking, torn between thrusting forward into his partner’s grip or backward on to his fingers. It was a two-pronged assault, catching him from both sides -- in and out -- making it hard to tell where one source of pleasure ended and the other began.

Even with the maddeningly slow rhythm Loki maintained, Steve knew he’d eventually come from just this. He was trying to keep himself contained, exercising his will over his body to make it last, but there was a definite coil of heat in his belly.

He could come from this -- but he wouldn’t; not if he could help it, because there was the thrilling and slightly terrifying prospect of _more._ Of more stretch, more pain, more pleasure -- harder, faster, and deeper. He was halfway there already, his body loosening steadily under Loki’s ministrations. He wanted to take Loki, all of him, and give him back every ounce of bliss he gave to Steve.

“Feels-- nnngh,” he grunted, as Loki’s fingers brushed his prostate again, skirting the edge of it just enough to tease. “Feels amazing. You’re amazing,” he groaned. “I feel it -- feel you,” felt him in places no one else had been, nothing had been, and even Steve had never explored, feeling now a stranger to his own body, which jerked and quivered from the stimulation. “I want you, god, so much,” he babbled. “I love you. Want you. I want this; I want all of this.”

He wanted more pressure around his cock and more pressure against the sweet spot deep in him and he wanted to be surrounded and filled by Loki and nothing but Loki -- the feel of his hands, his skin, his cock, his breath on Steve’s neck; the sound of his voice, the slap of his flesh against Steve’s; the smell of his musk and his come; the taste of his kiss, plunging deep into Steve’s mouth--

Deep---

  
  


He sounded _wrecked_ , and Loki wished again that he had taken his back, that Loki could see his face, watch him coming apart under him… but this was good.

“Being so good for me. Always so good.” He murmured. He kept with what he was doing, garnering responses and memorizing these sounds, these textures, the weight of him in his hand, the way his sweat made his skin glisten.

“Are you getting close, sweetness? I need you to tell me, tell me when you think you are getting close to coming. Tell me so that I can back you down. I won’t let you come like this, no, but once I’ve got my cock in you…” He felt his own thighs begin to quiver a little at the thought, at the promise and the extended arousal.

He wanted to be in him. Soon. Needed it.

Needed Steve to want it.

“I’ve another finger to give you before then, yet, too. One more, can you take it, do you think? Are you ready? Want me to stretch you even further? You’re opening for me so well, taking so much of my fingers in. Going to look so beautiful with my cock up your sweet ass.”

For all that Steve was glorious in the nude, he thought he might be more beautiful still with Loki draped over his back, filling him as completely as possible.

“Can you imagine what it is going to feel like? Have you stretched out just perfectly, going to fit me like a glove. And I’ll be so hot inside of you, going to feel like I might burn you up. And then I’ll move, and you’ll be able to feel me in more parts of you than you knew existed. And you’ll feel that same pleasure, those same shocks of it, all through you. Going to make a wreck of you. Such a gorgeous wreck, going to burn the image of you into my eyes.” His own speech seemed to be losing coherence. But he was still so careful, speeding his thrusts only slightly through it all, not willing to be too rough, too hard.

  
  


Steve’s next groan pitched into a whine toward the end, as more pre-cum beaded at the slit of his cock. Loki’s voice was every bit as skilled at wringing reactions from him as his hands, and god, yes, Steve could imagine it. Could imagine him and Loki with their bodies so beautifully connected, so joined and close with nothing at all between them. No barriers. Not taboo nor bulletproof glass nor clothes or even air. Could imagine how wrecked he’d be, how blissed out he’d soon become --

Too soon, if he wasn’t careful.

Imaging Loki’s cock buried in him had his own achingly hard. And still, Loki’s well-slicked hand pulled at it, working at him with a slow and steady pace while the fingers of his other hand punctuated the same rhythm with electrifying jolts of stimulation. It was already so much...

“Too close,” he panted. “Ah, feels good, but... Need a sec...” He wasn’t at the precipice yet, but damn, Loki was pushing him toward it. And he couldn’t go over that edge yet.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on the the drag of air in and out of his lungs (not the drag of Loki’s palm or the drag of his digits), counting the seconds of each breath to steal back some control over his body and bank the fire of his arousal. Or at least tame it from a conflagration to a more manageable blaze. One that wouldn’t have him spilling on the sheets before Loki’s cock had even been touched.

He felt a measure of guilt there, knowing Loki had been hard for some time, and where Steve was dangerously near release, Loki had to be dying of frustration.

“Give me the third finger,” he said. He wasn’t entirely sure he was ready, but the sooner he was stretched, the sooner Loki would be in him and they would _both_ be enjoying this. And if it stung a little, the discomfort would at least help him keep from coming too soon.

  
  


Even if Loki had wanted to argue, he didn’t think he could. He didn’t have the presence of mind to.

So instead he just huffed out an, “Yes-- alright.” and withdrew his fingers entirely, in the interest of taking up the lube again. Unfortunately he was no longer coordinated enough to do it one handed, and so he had to pull his other hand away as well-- and the sudden change made it obvious to him that his wrists were feeling the toll of this position.

No matter, though; it was fine. These things happened-- more importantly, Steve’s hole was widened a little from when his fingers were within it, and that gave him the opportunity to drizzle some of the gel directly inside-- which would help, he was certain.

“I’m sorry it’s cold, sorry I’m not-- there--” the cap was closed and the lube all but thrown down on the bed. “Sorry I had to stop touching you. You’re driving me so wild, so mad-- I’ve no grace left to my name. Just an aching need for you, for your voice and your skin, for the way your back dips and your hips move--”

He’d said he needed a second, but then he followed it with all but begging for the next finger. At least that was what it had sounded like to Loki.

“I’m going to put three fingers into you now, alright?” He pressed his fingers together, not so that they were wide, but so that he had the middle finger above the other two-- tall, but just as narrow as it had been. No need to make this more traumatic or scary than need be.

He pressed the fingertips against Steve’s hole, and they sank in easily. He’d worked him well, was doing well.

“Look at you, letting me in so easily. Tell me-- tell me if it’s uncomfortable, if you need me to stop. I know you’re close. I’m going to try not to hit your prostate… but if you want me to, I’ll keep stroking you. If it helps. Just say so. I want it-- trying to make it good for you. Just want it to be good.” The words were slipping free of his mouth almost without filter now, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could continue on like this.

He wondered, watching Steve take him, if he could come in his pants, just like this, untouched.

It would be disappointing for them both, but it might be worth discovering another day.

“Still good?” He asked. He hoped that Steve wasn’t annoyed, hoped he understood that Loki was just checking in. Making sure.

  
  


Steve bit down on a yelp, making a sort of strangling yipping sound, as something cold poured right into him, runny and cool against his insides. Lube? It had to be. But the feeling it of it dribbling directly into his body without Loki’s fingers warming it first, rubbing it in, was jarring.

But jarring was alright. The loss of touch on his cock and the absence of Loki’s fingers both had him coming back from the edge now, the knot of arousal in his abdomen untangling somewhat. His erection remained heavy and hot, but in a more sustainable way. This was good, he knew rationally, but irrationally, the primal part of his brain wanted to snarl in frustration at the loss.

Not that he was the only one feeling frustration. Loki’s voice was rough with need as he narrated what he thought and felt, and Steve took some pleasure in the sound of his voice alone.

Steve tightened the muscles in his thighs, lifting his ass incrementally as he braced his arms and shoulders in preparation for the added stretch. And when it came, he was surprised by how much the addition of a mere finger -- one of Loki’s long and lyrically slender ones at that -- felt like so much more. He sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth as his body adjusted to the new volume filling him and twisting against the muscle where it flexed and clenched.

He focused on breathing, though his breaths were coming shorter now, and quicker. And as he could feel Loki’s fingers sinking in to the knuckles, he wondered how much different his cock would feel; how much thicker and longer and hotter. Three fingers felt like a stretch, and ached a bit, though with each plunge of Loki’s hand, the friction eased, his body adapting.

“S’good,” he slurred, licking his lips. Though it could be better. Soon. He squeezed back against the intrusion, willing his body to be ready even faster.

A thought crossed his mind, and he shifted himself, propping his front half up on one elbow and freeing his other arm to reach around behind him. He had to rock his hips backward slightly, almost bumping into his lover, as he worked a hand back and found Loki’s leg, trailing his fingers up the seam on the side of his pant leg, up to his belt and following the edge of the leather toward the buckle.

“Loki,” he murmured, slipping his fingers into Loki’s waistband and pulling him forward as Steve rocked back. “I think I... I want this. Now.”

  
  


He groaned-- and immediately felt bad, because he was meant to be restrained.

But Steve’s hand was so close, he was so close to being in him… And he was moving, shifting, and Loki could feel it-- as he’d moved back, Loki had pulled a little ways out of him, afraid to hurt him, but still able to _feel_ \--

He shuddered.

“Just-- just a moment.” He managed to grit out. “I’ll give it to you, I _want_ to. But I want-- just a moment.”

He needed to use these fingers in him, needed to prepare him. Didn’t want to hurt him, was in fact completely set against it. And so he put his hand on the small of Steve’s back, holding him still. And he pulled his fingers back again and pressed forward, angling to hit his prostate. He wanted to give him a reason to be patient, to let Loki do what he needed to.

“I just-- need to be sure I won’t hurt you, won’t… gonna make it good, going to be worth the wait.” He was mumbling, so absorbed in his task that he felt like he had very little mind left for what he was saying.

Three, four, a half dozen more strokes, and the gripping was less severe, there was more slide and less friction-- enough that he was more comfortable with the idea of-- of--

His mind all but balked, afraid to think it, too aroused not to.

“I need to take off my pants. I-- if you want-- you do not have to, but if you would like to try… you saw me, when I opened myself. You could feel yourself if you want. I’d like that. But you don’t have to.”

He pulled back, moved away, his hand lingering low on Steve’s back for as long as he could until he slipped off the bed.

  
  


“Aaaah!”

The sound slipped out as Loki’s fingers found the sensitive place inside him, igniting fresh sparks of arousal through his nerves. The hand on his back was firm, and Loki wasn’t taking orders from Steve, taking his own damn time before deciding Steve was ready. It filled him with frustration and want and love all at once.

His pulse thrummed loudly in his ears, pace spurred by excitement, apprehension, and desire all at once. He let his head fall forward, counting the number of times Loki slid his fingers in and out, in and out...

“ _Loki_...” he said, drawing his lover’s name out in a plaintive growl.

Then Loki’s fingers withdrew and Steve was left wanting for anything, for _everything._ He could feel a trickle of lube slipping down his perineum, and shivered, just as the mattress shifted with the loss of Loki’s weight.

Over the sound of his own breathing, he could hear the click of Loki’s belt, and the slide of fabric as he finished disrobing. Steve’s whole body seemed to vibrate with excitement and need and anxiety.

Finally.

“Love you,” he breathed, barely more than a whisper, not sure if Loki could even hear him.

  
  


He heard, and it gave him pause, a niggling concern that he’d had coming to the surface.

“And I love you. Love you no matter what-- this isn’t just because-- I want this, you know I do, but… do you still want it, are you certain?” He knew he sounded harried, but standing there, prick out, his partner laid out and moaning for him…

Loki was not a good person. His self control had faltered in his time with Steve, he’d been spoiled. And he could only take so much denying himself. He swallowed, hard.

He returned to the bed, resumed his place behind Steve, but kept his touch chaste, on his back-- he watched the way his hole was closing up again, though he had no fear of it losing its stretch. He was tight, he had healing, but Loki had not yet done any harm, and he intended to keep it that way.

Not to his body, and… not if this was something he was doing to appease him.

“I won’t do this unless you are completely sure, Steve. When we started you didn’t-- now you’ve a better idea of--” He didn’t have words for it, he was so frustrated, so incapable of thought.

So he pressed himself against Steve’s back as he had considered doing before, letting Steve feel what he was asking for, and he reached forward for Steve’s hand, guiding it back and down to touch his own cock.

“If you are at all afraid--” He started, then cut himself off, and just waited.

  
  


He paused.

He god damn _paused,_ and Steve was ready to go out of his mind.

He ached for more stimulation, be it around his red and leaking cock or against his prostate, and currently he was getting neither. He was ready, and he didn’t think he could have been any more clear about wanting this, and _somehow_ Loki was still worrying about him, hovering behind him and giving Steve nothing of what he needed.

When he felt warmth pressing against him, he hoped briefly that Loki had realized as much, but his cock remained agonizingly absent from where Steve wanted it to be. Instead Loki reached forward and caught Steve’s hand, guiding it to his length, where Steve wrapped his fingers around the hot and hard flesh. It was long and thick -- thicker than Loki’s fingers anyway -- and he’d be lying to himself if he claimed he didn’t have any apprehension about fitting it inside of him.

Apprehension. But also a need that practically had him crawling out of his skin.

He pulled down with a slight twist, managing, despite the odd angle and not seeing a damn thing, to rub his thumb over the dip beneath Loki’s head. As he did so, a keening growl tore out of this throat, primal and desperate.

“I’m sure. I want this. And I swear to god, Loki, if you don’t _fuck me right now_ \--”

  
  


The _sounds_ he made, the touch, _finally_ \-- he didn’t have it in him any longer to object or… or hesitate, or worry about motivation. He just gave up.

He filled his palm with too much lube, squeezed out too fast, and slopped it hurriedly on his length, very little regard paid to the sheets and the fact that fully a quarter of the bottle of lube was currently dripping-- it didn’t matter.

What mattered now was that the head of him was pressed against his all but closed hole, and it was moving, trying to take him.

“Remember to-- if you bear down with your muscles--” He stroked along Steve’s hip, bit down on his own lower lip, and used his other hand to guide himself in, moving so carefully and so slowly. He didn’t want to stretch this out, not to make it hurt or anything like that, but he wanted to give Steve time to get used to it, give him time to stretch around the width, which, he was sure he would realize quickly, was more than three fingers’ worth.

Maybe he should have tried working in his pinky, should have loosened him further--

That thought was derailed when his head slid into him, and he was able to think of nothing for a long moment.

Then he realized that the sound he heard was his own-- an embarrassing, almost relieved grunting sound.

He was supposed to be keeping it together, but he didn’t even sound like a person. He blanched, mind flashing to how he was defiling Steve, a frost giant--

He shut the thought down as completely as possible, and then lost it entirely as Steve’s muscles worked over him.

He pressed in a little more, only an inch or so.

“How-- is it okay?” He asked, able to feel his own sweat building on his forehead. He did not let go of his prick, though, held to the base tightly, not only to keep himself from coming, but also to keep from losing control, from just sliding home and possibly hurting Steve.

Even as much of an animal as he was now, he didn’t want that. Even as much as he _wanted_ , _right now--_ he took a breath to try and even himself out.

  
  


The wet sounds of lube and the snapping of the bottle’s cap told Steve he’d successfully conveyed his point -- and moments later, a warm, wet, blunt pressure against his entrance reaffirmed it.

He inhaled, feeling like he was at the very top of one of those wooden roller coasters on Coney Island, right before that first heart-stopping fall, and nodded. “Got it,” he mumbled, bracing for--

Pressure. Pushing. Softer and blunter than the tips of Loki’s fingers, and for a second Steve wondered if it would even go in. He could feel his muscles twitching, and he tried to do as Loki asked. For a few moments the furl of tissue held... then relaxed, enough for Loki to breach him.

Steve gasped, a breathy sound in his throat, then clenched his jaw. _Definitely_ thicker than fingers. For a second the stretch verged on pain, but as he breathed it grew easier. And over his own panting, he heard Loki -- heard the low noise he made, reminding him that this would be good for them _both,_ and it abruptly made the stretch almost enjoyable, heat pooling in his groin again.

Slowly, Loki pushed in a little more, and Steve could, despite the dripping lubricant running down his ass and legs, feel an exquisite drag from the snug fit of him. He groaned, clenching and relaxing around him, biting down on his lower lip. It ached, but it wasn’t a bad ache. And he could feel the tip of him so very very close to the sweet spot inside him...

“More,” he moaned. “So-- ngh,” he grunted. So big. So close. So much and somehow not enough.

  
  


Loki was shaking with the tension, with the fight to restrain himself, but-- but Steve wanted _more_.

He eased in further, shifting himself to try and be certain to brush over Steve’s prostate-- it would help, it would make it better for him.

That in mind, he released his hip, wincing as he saw his own fingerprints etched in white in his partner’s skin. It seemed he’d squeezed Steve as well as himself, in the effort of keeping calm. He’d apologize for it later.

He took hold of Steve’s cock, glad to feel that it hadn’t flagged. If it hurt him, it was not enough to detract from his interest… Loki exhaled harshly, relieved.

“So… so what?” He asked, not really in any position to be teasing, with as breathy as his voice was. “So hot? So hard? So… good, Steve? Because you feel good. So good for me, so…” His words devolved into vowel sounds, as he slid in further and must have encountered his prostate, judging by the clenching he experienced.

He slammed his eyes shut and held his breath, trying so hard to keep from jerking his hips into the squeeze, from thrusting in and bottoming out.

“Sweet-- sweet boy, do you know what you’re _doing_ to me?” It sounded strangled, even to him, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

  
  


Steve bit down harder on his lip as Loki finally hit his prostate, a whimper slipping out as his lover then wrapped a hand against his cock, giving him friction and pressure both where he needed.

The dig of Loki’s fingers against his hip was grounding and wonderful, but the glide of his palm against Steve’s arousal was even better.

Every part of it was almost overwhelming. The feeling that he might be split, that he was going to come apart -- the ache and the pleasure and the fierce need to hear more of Loki’s wrecked voice, to make him feel as much intensity as Steve was feeling. He clenched around him as another jolt hit the electrified spot inside of him, and already he felt so _full..._

“So good,” he echoed raggedly. “So...” his mind whited out for a few seconds, words failing him. It was so very good and so much and despite all the pleasure Loki had given him, all the absolute ecstasy, this felt so different and strange and incredible in its strangeness. He ground out a pitiful noise of want and frustration, eyes starting to water. “ _Fuck...”_

  
  


He shifted back and looked down, able to see himself where he slid into Steve.

He was a little more than halfway in now… and Steve sounded like he was coming apart already.

This was enough-- so much more than enough; if this was what Steve could take--

“I’m going-- gonna start moving.” he told him, warning him, preparing him for the new sensation.

He pulled back the slightest bit, watching as he came out of Steve’s hole-- not fully, but enough to give him some room. Enough room to slide back in, no deeper than he had been, not yet, deep enough that if his aim was true, he could just make Steve come like this, hand on his prick and his cock against his prostate. And he wanted that, he could feel his cock responding to the thought, to the feel of Steve, the friction that he was finally-- _finally_ getting.

He sank in again, eyes fluttering shut as he let himself get lost in the motion, though he kept his hand moving, kept pulling Steve off-- kept trying to make it good for him. But it was so good now, finally, and this was--

His mind bent, like this, he felt his heart rate, the sweat rolling over his skin, felt the heat of Steve around him, and the weight against his palm, he inhaled the smell of their sex and he could just drown in the sensations. Perfect, so perfect, so--

“Fuck.” He repeated. It was whispered, his voice too broken for him to really speak. “Steve-- oh fuck.” The bed was shifting with his motions, light rocking that was nonetheless rhythmic and created a backdrop of sound.

“Can you-- are you going to come like this? For me? I bet you look so beautiful right now. _Fuck_.”

  
  


Loki pulled out, then in again, and Steve shuddered at the stimulation -- the friction and the pressure and the heat, inside him and around his cock alike.

He let it all wash over him, blanking his mind and driving away everything but the feel of Loki. Everything but the heat in his belly and the fullness in his ass, everything but the rhythm of their bodies coming together.

Together.

Steve moaned -- they were so close, so unified right now. And it felt so _right._

His cock was rock hard now, and he knew it probably wouldn’t be long if he didn’t hold himself back. But part of him wanted to hold back, wanted to hear Loki groan first. Already he was cursing, the eloquence he’d spoken with earlier completely gone, his voice broken and words stumbling. He had to be close, didn’t he?

And Steve knew he _would_ come from this, easily, and wanted to tell Loki as much, but his voice caught in his throat at the next thing Loki said.

 _Beautiful_.

Loki thought Steve was beautiful and Steve thought the same of him, but he couldn’t see a damn thing like this-- and wasn’t that a waste?

Another thrust slid against his prostate and Steve keened, then gasped out:

“Stop!”

He panted as Loki’s hips stilled, pulling himself forward and pushing his upper body up on to his elbows. “Stop... wait....”

  
  


It felt like all of the air had been punched out of him, and not in a good way. He’d let out a wail, and then he’d begged him to stop.

He froze, every muscle in his body may just as well have turned to stone, and he felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.

He’d-- he’d hurt him, something he’d done was-- He took a shaky breath.

“Steve?” He asked, plaintive. “Talk to me, what did I… I’ll pull out, if you want, I just. I don’t want to hurt you any more, tell me what I.” He swallowed, and felt like he might cry. He should have known he couldn’t do this, couldn’t-- couldn’t do anything _right_ or _good_ , just a--

But he bit down on that. He needed not to let himself spiral inwards; needed to be the strong one-- he’d hurt Steve. Not the other way around. And he needed to take care of him, needed to fix things.

He felt his erection flag a little and couldn’t help but be grateful for it.

“Whatever it is, I will take care of you, I’ll put it right. I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t come apart right now. He’d save that for later.

After he made sure Steve would be okay.

After he tried to be certain he hadn’t ruined everything. That Steve wouldn’t-- _didn’t_ hate him for this.

  
  


Loki’d frozen, but hadn’t pulled out, leaving Steve to rock himself forward until he slid off the end of Loki’s length, the tip leaving a trail of slick down his perineum as it fell free. He ached at the absence and could feel the muscles fluttering around the sudden lack as he bit back a moan.

And Loki--

Oh. Of course. Steve cringed in guilt as he rolled heavily on to his side, the mattress bouncing and squeaking under him. Of course Loki would think Steve called a stop because something was uncomfortable.

He would just have to work extra hard to convince him otherwise, he thought with a grin, squirming to roll himself on to his back so he was in the spot he’d occupied, but facing the other way.

Loki was glistening with sweat, his hair curling further in the humidity the heat of their bodies had generated. He was gorgeous, eyes wide and bright, and Steve wanted to tell him so -- once he recovered his breath.

As it was he panted for a few seconds, red-faced and red-chested, before reaching out to Loki with his hands as if to pull him in.

“M’ fine,” he assured him. “Didn’t hurt me. Nothing wrong, just changed my mind...”

He slid his legs apart, biting his lip and then smiling up at Loki. “I wanna be able to see you. See your face when you-- when we....”

  
  


He’d hovered, throat tight while Steve turned and breathed, but he didn’t _look_ angry or hurt or-- He looked winded. He looked sex mussed. And beautiful... So beautiful. Loki didn’t understand.

Until he spoke, and suddenly Loki sagged with relief, he could breathe again and he was-- relieved, almost giddily so.

“ _Oh._ ” He breathed out, grateful. He sent silent thanks to any god or gods that might be listening, and moved forward over his partner, into his arms and between his legs.

“I thought--”

It had been obvious what he thought. He shook his head, then leaned in to kiss him.

“Next time, perhaps… perhaps more words.” He kept the chiding light, though, and nipped at Steve’s lip softly in pseudo-retribution.

The next kiss fell lower on his chin, and Loki angled himself to move back downwards before catching himself and growing angry at how he had been so ready to _assume_.

“Can I-- do you want me back inside of you, or should-- do you want something else?” He’d backed off of the high he’d been on by a bit, but at least he hadn’t entirely lost his erection.

“I’ll do anything you like, anything you want. Does-- I really didn’t hurt you?”

  
  


Steve managed to look sheepish when their lips parted, his expression apologetic. “Sorry,” he murmured. Unlike with Loki, words were not his forte in bed. He realized he should have been clearer, but... no harm done now, right?

Loki nipped at his lip and Steve hummed happily, tilting his head back as Loki shifted down, only to look back at Loki when he spoke.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he said softly, reaching up and running his hand against the side of Loki’s face, feeling the warmth of his skin. “It’s... it was really nice, just didn’t wanna spill before...”

He licked his lips. He hadn’t wanted to risk coming before he had a chance to see Loki’s face, see the bliss in his expression. And the amount of pleasure Loki had been giving him made that a rather high risk, and so he’d blurted out ‘stop’ with urgency Loki had then misunderstood for pain.

He’d be clearer now.

“I want you,” he said, looking into Loki’s eyes. “I want you in me, and I want us both to enjoy this so much we can’t move for an hour after. I know you won’t hurt me. If you did, I’d know you wouldn’t have meant to, and I’d heal anyway, so don’t worry. Just... Stop panicking and fuck me already, okay?” he said, smiling up at him as his hands slipped down to Loki’s hips. “I love you and I want this. So much.”

  
  


It was one thing-- one not so insignificant thing-- to hear Steve cursing in the heat of the moment, but something quite different to hear him say that _now_ , his breath regained and his head clear, and--

“Yeah. Yes, alright.”

He moved as he had planned to before, kissing his way down Steve’s chest-- though not so many kisses, not so slowly as he might have otherwise. Steve was already sweat slicked, the salt tang of his skin a flavor that would cling to Loki’s lips while he returned to his place lower, higher up than Steve, between his thighs.

He took hold of himself and stroked, pulling and willing himself hard again while he looked down at the still slick, still open hole that waited for him.

He lined them up and looked up at Steve.

“Love you too,” he replied, belatedly, he knew, but he began pressing in just the same, intent on having this, on doing this, and doing it correctly.

He felt Steve’s body gripping at him, but this time it did not feel as though he were trying to force him out so much as pulling him in deeper.

He nearly commented, but he realized that if Steve was embarrassed, he would be twice so now, the second time for his blushing. For his reaction.

So instead Loki let out sound, wordless noise to show his appreciation. And he stopped about halfway into his partner, where he had been before. Once there, he began to withdraw, and then pressed back in, the gentle rolling motion an easy one to fall back into. And this was easier, even, because when he fell forward, he could brace himself on the bed, rather than Steve. No more need to worry about leaving marks from his hands.

“How’s-- still good this way?” He was searching now for Steve’s prostate, the change in position demanding an equal change in the direction of his thrusting.

  
  


The feel of Loki’s lips on his skin had Steve’s heart leaping into his throat. He shifted against the sheets, a thin hum of enjoyment in his throat. It wasn’t the thing he craved, but it felt nice, and the display was so lovely to watch...

Almost as lovely as when Loki took himself in hand, working his shaft back to hardness. Steve watched him with hooded, hungry eyes, eyeing the glistening drop of pre-cum at his slit, tongue trailing lightly over kiss-swollen lips. The blunt tip pressed against him and Steve exhaled, eyes glued to Loki’s face to watch him as he pushed inward.

He didn’t know if it was the change in position or just the preparation, but Loki slid in easier this time, filling him and stretching him, but with none of the ache of before. And the noise he made had Steve’s own cock throbbing where it lay against his stomach, dripping just below his navel. He echoed the sound with his own groan, eyelids fluttering.

Slowly, gently, Loki rocked in and out of him, resuming a steady rhythm. But now that he could see, Steve realized just how much he was holding back -- at the apex of his thrust, he was only halfway inside of Steve. He realized he should have noticed, not feeling Loki’s thighs or groin against him, but it had slipped his notice before.

In some way, he felt vaguely cheated.

“It’s good,” he said, watching Loki and the subtle flicker of expressions over his face. He hadn’t felt the burst of pleasure from his prostate being touched yet, but he could feel Loki moving subtly on each thrust to try to find it, and had confidence it was a matter of moments before he was clenching and moaning again. He tried moving his hips slightly to meet Loki’s rhythm, and felt him slip just a tiny bit further in.

And that felt good too.

“You can go deeper, you know,” he said, mouth quirking a bit impishly. “I’ll take it.”

  
  


Loki huffed air out, lips twisting upwards while his eyes settled on Steve’s face.

“I wasn’t sure-- you stopped asking for more, and so--” He shrugged, but was secretly glad. It was difficult maintaining that depth, particularly with Steve beginning to move along with him, meeting his thrusts.

Like this, he could watch his face. Even if Steve couldn’t or wouldn’t tell him that it was too much, he would be able to see. Be able to judge from the way his lips would tighten and his eyes narrow.

But right now-- now he was so relaxed and open, so hungry for this… It made Loki’s blood return to a boil, how _ready_ Steve was.

He slid back in, slower this time, returning to the near crawl he had used to first penetrate Steve, but he did not stop until he was fully sheathed in him, inhaling sharply when he could go no deeper. He could feel the shape of Steve’s prostate, he’d found it by some miracle on the slide in, and it certainly was not hurting matters. Steve’s face-- he looked--

“You look so debauched, sweet boy.” He said frankly, returning to that now that he was not so concerned he’d harmed him. His face said very clearly that he had not.

He lowered his tone to a throaty whisper.

“Shall we see if we can make it worse?”

He slid out and back in, faster than he had done before, as his night’s worth of frustration returned, mounting again.

He was almost glad of their stop, their position change, because if not for that, he would have likely finished long before ever sliding fully into Steve.

He was still being gentle, still being careful not to put his force behind it, remembering that he was strong and his lover was human-- an amazing human, something beyond just human, but, even so… He did not know how much he could take, particularly here, where he was most delicate. Most vulnerable.

“If you want more, harder, faster-- I need you to tell me.” He told him, words peppered with breathy sounds. “I know I’m-- Might be too strong, so. Move at your speed.” His insides were clinging to him and moving, releasing and squeezing him as if encouraging him to spill inside of his partner, to fill him and paint his insides with cum.

He moaned lowly and let his head tip forward on his neck.

  
  


It was slow. Slower than he wanted, but at least it allowed him to savor it -- the drag and the stretch as Loki plunged gradually deeper, deeper than he or anything else had been before, deeper than Steve thought possible.

When Loki bottomed out, buried to the root, Steve felt so _full._

The pressure was almost too much -- almost uncomfortable, between the blood in his cock, the length inside of him, and the swelling of his prostate, but at the same time, it felt amazingly right. Like some part of him he’d never known was missing had been put into place; a puzzle piece from a jigsaw finally driven home.

Loki suggested debauching him further, and Steve only replied with a whine, squirming around Loki’s shaft as if he could somehow work it further in, joining them as completely as possible.

Then Loki was pulling out again and pushing back in -- still slow, though not as agonizingly so as he had before. At least now, he slid in fully on each thrust, though he still treated Steve like he was made of glass.

Ironic, given he was probably one of the most durable men on the planet.

Steve leaned up as Loki pulled back, feeling the change in pressure from the angle, and caught his lover’s mouth in a harsh, demanding kiss, sliding his tongue over Loki’s teeth, tangling with his tongue and then sucking it into his own mouth until he pulled away at last, dizzy for air. “All of the above,” he gasped. “More. Harder. Faster.” He felt almost hazy with lust, from the sight of Loki and the sounds he was making. “Stop holding back. I want... want everything you can give me.”

  
  


Loki gave out a soft, wordless cry, and this time when he pulled back, he slid home quicker, more confidently. Even though he was not confident at all.

He was ready to stop if he needed to, ready to fix things and apologize again-- he wanted, and it was getting so difficult to… to…

But Steve didn’t tell him to stop, and he’d been so demanding, so fierce, his lips and tongue trying to turn this into a battle.

He wanted to pound him into the bed, and then through it, if the furniture was as shoddy as it looked. Wanted to shake the bed through the wall with the force of his thrusts.

And he was afraid he _could_.

But Steve had said, and-- and it felt so good. So he kept his eyes open, no matter how they wanted to fall closed, kept his attention solely on his partner’s face, and withdrew, only to push forward again, harder. And back, and again--

It was a long, powerful thrust, a slow but strong rhythm. And he could see himself getting lost in it. But it wasn’t quite-- He wasn’t certain it was everything Steve needed. Not yet.

“Touch yourself for me, Steve?” He asked. “I need you to do it for me-- I can’t-- not that--” He huffed, annoyed at his own shortness of breath. “--coordinated.” He managed. “But it’s so good, for me, so-- so good, want it to be good for you. Give yourself what I would give you, what you want, give--” He stopped talking, again losing sight of his words when he struck Steve in the right way and everything within him clamped down.

  
  


The harder, deeper thrust had Steve trembling as it drove over his prostate, lips parting in a silent cry.

It felt fantastic. Loki was fantastic; his beautiful face flushed and dancing with emotion, pupils blown wide and glistening darkly, fixed on Steve with an intensity that would have been unnerving in other circumstances. The rhythm he set had picked up in pace, and his muscles rippled under the skin of his chest and legs as he rolled his hips forward in each thrust, a fluid motion at odds with the stuttering quality of his breaths.

Steve no longer made any effort to hold back the noises that Loki urged forth from him. Where once he’d have bitten his lip bloody to rein them in, he’d given up all shame now and let each thrust prompt a gasp or moan, forming a wanton litany of obscene sounds.

And when a particularly direct thrust sent electric pleasure singing through his nerves, Steve yelped loud enough that he belatedly wondered just how thick the walls were.

Wondered if right now he even gave a damn.

He reached down at Loki’s urging, wrapping a hand around his cock. Some of the lube from earlier had evaporated, but enough remained that the friction from his dry palm around the shaft wasn’t too harsh or painful. He moved his hand up and down, swiping his thumb over the head to spread the moisture there, hips stuttering on the downstroke.

“Faster,” he moaned. “God, Loki...” Felt so good. And now, more than just sensation and sound, he could see Loki, could watch him coming undone.

“Harder, faster,” he coaxed, rocking his hips into Loki at a slightly quicker pace, mirroring it with the movements of his hand as he jerked himself off. “Want you to-- unh,” he grunted, clenching around Loki in another burst of pleasure. “C-c-- ah! In me...” He felt like he was burning up, the heat in his groin growing tighter, the harsh warmth of his hand and the heat of Loki inside him all combining into an inferno. “Make... mark...” he panted, eyes glazed and beginning to water, “M’ all yours...”

  
  


It was the most vocal that Steve had ever been, and despite his intent to make him come first, to send him well over the edge before he followed, Loki felt the urge to finish rising in him.

He slid himself in harder, his hips stuttering as he tried to maintain even the slightest bit of control, but it was lost to him at Steve’s words-- his request that Loki come in him, make his mark on him. _Own him_.

Loki had no reserve left, and he pumped into Steve as though his life depended on it, as if he were fighting or trying to make a point, but that wasn’t-- wasn’t it exactly, he was just so close now, so nearly there.

“Are you-- are you close boy, you going to finish soon?” He knew he sounded a wreck, and he was certain he looked it too, his hair curling and sticking to his face, the exertion no doubt showing on his features in splotches of color and moisture.

Oddly enough, though he was putting more force into his thrusts, he felt like he had started going easier now, felt the strain of his constraint slipping from him as he gave in, and he found himself lowering down, closer to Steve’s body under him, his arms growing tired and his balls drawing upwards.

“I’m going to come. Going to-- to fill you with it, just. Another part of me inside of you, another-- mine, you’re mine. Not--” he grunted, trying to hold off, trying to get Steve to come first, but it was completely useless at this point.

“Coming.” He managed, forcing his arms back up, locking his elbows in place and thrusting through it as he felt himself emptying out. He felt his eyelids slip closed and opened them again, though it felt difficult, so that he could watch Steve, see what he looked like-- burn his face at this moment into his mind.

Steve as he was now, the first time that Loki had claimed him in this way.

“Mine.” He repeated. “My partner. My love. My sweet boy.”

  
  


Loki looked ruined. His voice was breathy and cracked, his motions more forceful and erratic...

He was perfect.

Steve whimpered as every thrust now raked over his prostate, driving deep and hard into him. He kept pulling at his cock, wrist moving almost frantically as he felt himself coming toward the edge, the feeling of heat and fullness reaching a peak beyond which he wouldn’t be able to hold on any more.

His eyes were watering now, and he blinked furiously to clear his vision so he could keep his eyes on Loki, the dislodged moisture trickling down his temples.

“Close,” he gasped. “Loki...”

And then Loki was spilling inside of him, and Steve’s eyes widened. He could _feel_ it -- feel Loki filling him even more, painting him and marking him, inside and out.

His.

With a sob, Steve followed him over the edge, back arching and head falling back as he came between their stomachs, white ropes of semen painting Loki’s skin and his alike. His body tightened and shuddered, spasming around Loki in the throes of orgasm, coming for what felt like forever (though it could only have been a few seconds), until the most violent shocks died away and he was left a quivering, sweat-drenched mess.

His breathing hitched and stuttered as he lay there, too wrung out to move or even speak.

  
  


Loki waited until Steve’s orgasm had died down as well, then carefully pulled himself free, the sensitivity of his cock likely nothing in comparison to Steve’s hole, which glowed a shade or three darker red even than his cheeks. Closer to the color of his mouth, which Loki realized he’d neglected far too much that evening.

Exhausted and drained both literally and non, he moved to the side and curled in close to Steve, ignoring the moisture on and between them both, far too concerned with stroking his partner with gentle fingertips.

Tears had sprung forth from his eyes again, but Loki was beginning to get used to that happening, not as worried this time that he had caused them with pain.

This was just a side effect of Steve experiencing all of the good that Loki was giving him. Appreciating it.

Loki stroked the tears away, though he had to lift himself on his elbow to do so.

He didn’t speak; didn’t even try yet. He was just happy to lay here for a little while. Let it sink in, for the both of them, what they had just done.

He was so filled with a sort of peaceful buzzing that it even held his more negative thoughts at bay, for the time being, the ones he’d pushed back and buried. He knew they were there, as they had been when they had started but…

He wasn’t exactly done yet. Not really.

He gave them a few more moments, then cleared his throat.

“Are you-- is everything okay? Can I get anything for you? Do anything?”

He had his salve, which would soothe Steve’s hole, if he could stand to have it touched. He could fetch the remainder of Steve’s meal, his drink, if he needed more of that… There were cloths for cleaning in the immediate sense, and maybe a bath to be run, for a little while from now…

His mind was turning it over, what more he could do for his partner before they slept, to make the next day easier on him.

Because Loki certainly hadn’t been easy on him.

  
  


Steve wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He’d felt almost weightless in the aftermath, like he was floating someplace just outside of reality, where things like time and matter were optional. It could have been seconds or it could have been hours that he just lay there... although, given the still warm and wet mess on his stomach, he realized it couldn’t have been that long.

Awareness of his body and surroundings slowly returned. He felt exhausted, his limbs unwilling to move, even if he’d wanted to. The was a deep soreness in his nether regions, but it was the kind of delicious ache that came after a good long run, and not an injury. Sweat and other fluids cooled on his skin, and his heart was gradually slowing to a stabler rhythm -- though his pulse still felt louder than usual.

And then there was Loki’s touch, anchoring him back to the world. His fingers brushed away the wetness from the sides of Steve’s face, his body curled in next to him.

Steve managed to turn his head enough to give him a beatific smile.

He felt worn out, but also serene now. Like the scorching passion between them had burned everything dark and bad away, purifying them both. There was no room for anxiety or bitterness in his mind now; nothing but a sort of peaceful rapture.

Together, they breathed and existed, and little more. And that was just fine. Just right.

Steve was almost disappointed when Loki asked him a question, since now he had to think and speak. But he considered the offer and licked his lips as he mulled on a response -- a response he owed Loki, along with so much more.

“I think some water in a bit,” he finally managed. “But for now, this is... this is nice.” He nuzzled into Loki, shifting a bit closer so he could breathe in the smell of his sweat and musk.

“I think we’re definitely gonna need to do that again,” he murmured. Then pulled back enough to see Loki’s face. “It was good for you too, though? You weren’t too...?” He knew Loki was apprehensive about hurting him, and Steve didn’t want Loki to be too anxious to actually fully enjoy what they did.

  
  


“It was wonderful, Astin min. And next time, it will be better. It is… It was difficult, trying to hold back for you, particularly once I could see you. And I had underestimated your durability. I know better now, and also… also I know that you enjoy it. Some don’t, and there was always that worry…” He shrugged, then resumed stroking the side of Steve’s face.

“But you were fantastic, and… thank you, Steve. It really was wonderful.”

His glow had been quick to fade, primarily out of concern for Steve, but still he lay with him, though his mind was, he hoped, spiraling in a very different direction that whatever routes Steve may be taking.  
Able to think in the quiet, he was also forced to confront the things that they had pushed down. And there were so many of them.

He felt... Better. Less numb. But he was still troubled by the thought that there were amends he had no way of making, and that Steve had to take so heavy a hand in his care. He couldn’t even call for food on his own.

And… he really felt that he ought to be able to give him something in return, somehow. Be good for something other than his knowledge in bed, his daily limits of seidhr. His familiarity with Thanos.

And that wasn’t the case. He had been utterly useless when they’d fled the first time, just as he was useless now. He didn’t know enough of the world. It was a limitation he could overcome, perhaps, with time, but that was time he didn’t know that they had. And the further steps they took against Thanos, the more reason he had to worry.

When they found the sceptre--

He sighed and curled against Steve harder, wishing his mind would turn off and leave him be. Leave him to his warmth and his partner and their safety of the moment, the physicality and the exhaustion from their sex. He wanted to just sleep here, lose himself in it, the way he had lost himself in their lovemaking.

“When you are ready, I will get the water and clean up, and then I think I would like to sleep, unless you need anything more from me. I have-- I have my salve which I can apply-- it will feel good if you are too sore, and I can draw a bath, if you’d like.” He was good for so little, he wanted to care for Steve. He was good, at least, for that. None could do it better than him. He was careful not to talk about that, though, careful not to betray his thoughts.

Steve was always so quick to defend him. He didn’t want him to have to.

Maybe, under The Widow’s tutelage, he would learn, again, how to close people out-- or at least, close Steve out of aspects… keep him away from the parts of Loki that the destruction and hatred festered.  
It wouldn’t be the same thing as being good. But he would be good for him… and that, he thought, was what mattered.

  
  


Steve snuggled in closer to Loki with a rumble of contentment. He could feel Loki’s spend dripping out of him when he moved, and he couldn’t help but smile. They would definitely be doing this again, taking turns in each position, as often as was reasonable.

“Don’t worry about the salve,” he told him, “I’m okay.” He didn’t doubt he’d still be a tad sore in the morning, but it would be a reminder of this. And this was a good thing to be reminded of. “But a bath might be good...”

They were both a mess, and the sheets too. The room had two beds, so they could sleep in the other to avoid the wet spots, but it was perhaps something best tidied up before morning, so as not to scandalize housekeeping. Loki’s seidhr, he knew already, could easily take care of the stains and erase the evidence.

A faint sense of self-reproach niggled at him for letting Loki do all the work -- both in their love-making and now afterward -- but Loki seemed happy to step into the role of caretaker, and Steve was too exhausted to argue. He enjoyed caring for Loki, so it would hardly be fair of him to deprive Loki the chance to do the same.

Taking turns. Partnership. That was what they had, after all, when they were together as a couple. Maybe in the field, Steve would need Loki to follow his orders and back his choices, regardless of his misgivings. But not here. Not now.

It was early still to go to sleep -- the sun was just barely down from what he could see through the gap in the curtains -- but the idea of curling up and sleeping all the same definitely had its appeal. Tony would be in stitches if he knew they went to bed this early, ‘ _like the geezer you are, Cap_ ’, but Tony wasn’t here, and nor was anyone else, and if they went to bed early Steve might actually get a full night’s solid sleep before he woke up in the early hours.

“I enjoyed it,” he sighed. “Sex is great. Sex with _you_ is great,” he amended. Funny that he’d gone for so long without it... Part of him regretted that he’d missed out on something so sublime for so many years (not that he’d had many opportunities). But he also felt glad that he’d waited; that he got to do this with Loki, who cared so damn much.

“I’m glad you were my first,” he mumbled quietly, laying a kiss on the smooth edge of Loki’s jaw. _My only,_ he almost added, because he could hardly imagine anyone else at this point.

  
  


That was worth it all, so far as he was concerned.

“I am grateful that you trusted me to be.” He told him, matching his tone for sincerity and gravity. “Tell me when you are ready, I will run the bath, and while you wash I will clean the bedding-- unless you’d like for me to wash you. I will, if you like.”

He did not want to be neglectful, to give even the slightest impression of abandonment. Steve would be cared for as much as possible, as best as he could.

Treated right.

He did not stop touching him, gentle unobtrusive contact. Enough to be present, but not enough to interfere, he hoped, with Steve’s after glow.

He looked at Steve’s face and had a hard time reconciling it to his worries. This was, after all, what Thor had been afraid of, wasn’t it? Loki defiling the Captain, Loki with his Jotun blood, ruining someone so good… but he didn’t look ruined, didn’t look upset. He seemed happy, comfortable-- glad even.

Loki had tried to make it good for him, and it sounded as if he had been successful. Even if, next time, he knew he could go faster, work up a sweat from something more enjoyable than constraint. But Steve seemed like he had enjoyed it. And Loki was already thinking about next time. Like there would definitely be a next time. Though Steve seemed like he'd be willing enough.

Not as if Loki was bad for him.

Not as if he thought poorly of what they'd done. Not like it was anything but natural, him, Steven Rogers, Captain America, leader of the Avengers, sleeping with their enemy, the murderer. The source of the current threat to their world.

"You are so beautiful. You always are, but now... Especially now. Just perfect. I wish I could keep you like this always."

Happy and safe and pleased with Loki. Glad of him.

Perfect.

  
  


“You’ve got me always,” Steve murmured, leaning in to kiss him, tender and lingering. “You’re stuck with me,” he whispered, pulling back only far enough for their lips to part, “as long as you’ll put up with me. To the end of the...”

He trailed off, expression briefly freezing, then recovered with a smile, rolling off and stretching out.

_To the end of the line._

Only those weren’t his and Loki’s words. He shouldn’t have said them. He should have...

“I think I’ll go for that bath now,” he said instead, sitting up. “And don’t worry, I can wash up on my own.” Not that he was opposed to letting Loki dote on him a little more. But Loki was tired, and the sooner they got the sheets cleaned anyway, the sooner they could go to bed.

Even if SHIELD didn’t need them in the morning, Steve had plans forming nebulously in his mind for the day they’d be spending in DC.

  
  


Loki sat up as well.

Steve had faltered.

 _To the end of the.._. End of the what? World? Their lives? Something sooner? Only it hadn't sounded like that. That wasn't the sort of thing one said after a lingering kiss. Not so tenderly as that had begun. He was afraid to ask, though. Afraid to know.

"I will go start the water. Take your time; I know that you will be sore. And do not concern yourself with any messes. I will see to them shortly."

He got himself fully vertical and into the other room, hurrying to get there ahead of Steve... And to put physical space between himself and Steve's slip, or... Whatever it had been. It felt odd.

A discordant note in the rest of what had been on the surface, a reasonably good time.

Funny though, he mused, as he tested the water, that he had blocked Steve from hiding here not so long ago... And now he was setting him up to relax in here, that he could hide from him in the main room.

  
  


Steve smiled, glad that Loki hadn’t pursued the slip. He didn’t want to talk about Bucky. Not now. Certainly not in the aftermath of what he and Loki had just enjoyed together. Bucky was... Bucky was all the things that he might have wished for once that could never be. Bucky was everything he’d lost. And Loki...

Loki was what he’d gained. What he had, and what he’d hold on to with all he could, unwilling to lose him too.

There was no business mixing the two in his mind.

He stayed on the bed for a little longer, until the cooling sweat on his skin became uncomfortably chill. Slowly, he got to his feet, wincing at the wetness tracking down his thighs and walking awkwardly toward the bathroom, where he could hear the water running. He was _definitely_ sore, now that he tried to walk. But he didn’t doubt the serum would heal him up fine over night.

Reaching the bathroom, he gave Loki a peck on the cheek. The bath wasn’t as luxurious as the magically-sculpted one Loki spoiled him with at home, but right now he didn’t care. “Thanks,” he said, giving Loki’s fingers a squeeze and then climbing into the filling tub. “I’ll be out in a bit and we can get some shut-eye. Maybe go out for breakfast in the morning?” he suggested. “There’s a nice little diner not too far from here.” It would beat fast food burgers, and hopefully Loki would be more willing to eat.

  
  


Loki nodded quickly, just to be agreeable.

He still wasn’t all that keen on the idea of food. In fact, if he never saw any again, it felt like it would still be too prevalent in his life. But then, he knew, he was not at his best at the moment.

“I look forward to it.” He murmured. “You relax a bit-- I think you’ve earned it. I’m going to go--” he gestured at the other room, not feeling the need to explain what he needed to do, yet again. Steve knew by now how it worked. He just lifted a washcloth from the bars that held them and took it into the other room without looking back at Steve, his beautiful Steve, literally dripping with the proof of their intimacy. The perfect imagery did not fit with the thoughts barraging him. And he had put them off, refused to acknowledge them, for long enough.

He wondered if Steve would be walking like that the next day, if any would notice.

If any would comment.

After all, they had been injured. He wondered how many would suspect Steve had been fucked, and how many would think that Loki had harmed him with sparring or some such thing.

But perhaps the serum in his lover’s system would negate it. And perhaps he could hurry the process along by healing him while he slept.

Loki would worry about that later.

The bed was, as he had said, a mess.

Lubricant and cum alike dotted the sheets, and when Loki had transferred the mess into the washcloth, he hesitantly returned to the bathroom, to rinse the signs of them away.

It would be odd, though, he thought, to come in and not make any talk.

“Does that feel better?” He asked, and once the water ran clean from the rag, he set about dabbing at the seed that he, too, wore.

  
  


“Mmmmmmm,” Steve hummed happily in response.

He’d stepped into the bath and sunk down into the rising water, letting the heat seep into his muscles and bones. Grabbing a second washcloth and a bar of soap, he quickly set about soaping himself down and scouring away the mess still clinging to his stomach and between his legs, scrubbing until he knew he was clean. He set the washcloth aside when he was done and leaned forward and turn the faucet off so the tub wouldn’t overflow.

Now clean, he let himself relax. Closing his eyes and resting his head back against the rim of the tub, he allowed the sound of the water sloshing lightly around lull him into a sort of daze --  he’d been in danger of drifting off into sleep entirely when Loki returned to rinse out the rag he’d used to clean everything off.

Sleep. Soon enough, they could sleep, pleasantly exhausted by their activities.

Eyes half-lidded, he watched Loki as he stood at the sink, still gloriously naked, wringing out the cloth and cleaning himself off, stomach still dotted with some of Steve’s seed.

“Thank you. Next time, I’ll do clean up,” he offered. It was only fair, after all.

He wanted to linger in the bath for as long as he could, until the water went lukewarm and then cool and his skin turned prune-like. But given how tired he suddenly felt, that seemed like a dangerous course of action. Better to dry off now and sleep in a bed, arms around Loki.

Slowly, with a faint grunt, he pulled himself up, water pouring off of him as he reached for one of the fluffy hotel towels to dry himself off with.

  
  


He shot a look over his shoulder, amused.

“Sweet boy, your cleanup is nowhere near so effective as mine. How about, instead, you take care of cleanup if I am short on seidhr?” He suggested. “Or simply do not concern yourself with it; after all, it isn’t as though it is truly work.”

It was the stuff of mere moments for him. For Steve, though, how long would it have taken? The bed would likely have needed to be stripped down, washed manually, hung to dry, and redressed in the morning. It was impractical to ask that of Steve when so easy an alternative existed.

The sounds of sloughing water made him look back at his partner. He looked overwhelmingly good, standing there, glistening and with drops rolling off of his skin, fit and tanned and perfect. Loki felt his eyes lingering across the muscled bulges of his arms, his chest-- he was strong, visibly so, and it looked commanding on him. Every bit of him looked utterly in charge, even now that Loki had turned him argr. How any could hold that against him-- he knew that Steve had, so far, been good at accepting himself, and that the majority of his concerns were with others’ acceptance, but… this was where others might be much less accepting of all of this. And they intended to go, tomorrow, to see someone who was raised at the same time as he was.

Loki fetched the towel for Steve and held it up for him to step into.

“I was thinking…” He began, not sure if it was fully wise to broach the subject now. “When we go to see Peggy tomorrow… would you rather that I come along as a woman? I know it will be quite difficult enough, your reuniting with her. If she comes from your time, and is as concerned about… about our sort of relationship as you have been…” He trailed off, not wanting to sound accusatory. “I don’t mind, is all I mean to say. If you think it would be better.”

Though of course he’d specifically decided against bringing a dress.

Well. He could always simply wear a shirt and pants, after all, especially among the women of SHIELD, it was not uncommon.

  
  


Steve paused in drying himself, considering the offer.

He could appreciate where Loki was coming from, and appreciated the thought that went into the suggestion. But at the same time...

Loki as a woman was awfully reminiscent of Peggy in many ways. And if he showed up to see her, bringing another woman with him -- a young, pretty woman with loosely-curling dark hair and a crisp accent -- would it be a slap to the face for her? Like she’d been replaced?

Of course, the resemblance between Loki’s female form and Peggy was coincidental, and nothing to do with why Steve loved Loki, and certainly he wasn’t a direct substitute for her, or for Bucky, or anyone else. But it would be cruel to do anything to lead her to think that was the case.

“I... no,” he answered at length. “Maybe illusion your hair or something small when we go out during the day, just to avoid notice, but...” He rubbed the towel over his hair, leaving it wild and spiky before moving down to pat dry his legs. “Peggy and I are from the same time, you’re right. But she hasn’t been frozen since then. If the world’s changed, I think... I think she’d probably be the sort of person to change with it, adapt. And besides--”

He licked his lips. “--Besides, I’ve expected the worst from a lot of my friends and been proved wrong. I owe her the benefit of the doubt more than anyone. I owe her the truth, the whole truth, if I plan to tell her. Even if she doesn’t approve...” he finished drying off and hung the towel neatly back on the rack. “Even if she didn’t, I don’t think she’d go telling folks or being cruel about it.”

Not her. Not Peggy. Peggy who had to fight against bias and being shamed for being a woman in the ranks, having every door shut in her face time and time again. She’d understand, surely. She was a good person like that. A kind person.

At least, the Peggy he knew was. There was no way to tell how much time had changed her, or if she would even remember him enough for it to matter. But he had to believe that much of her still.

  
  


Loki nodded, accepting his decision.

"Whatever you think wisest." He agreed.

He could not help but worry-- what would Peggy think of him? Of them? And if Steve was wrong about her, what would that do to him?

And worse, how would he want Loki to respond?

It made him angry-- ridiculously so, from naught to fury in no time--at the thought of how Steve had to fear it. It was one thing to be thought unmanly. Loki had been accustomed to that, and no doubt Steve’s time before his serum had treated him to the same familiarity with it, but… to be _hated_ for his love, to fear that his friends would abandon him or turn away from him for it…

“You don’t have to tell her, if you don’t want.” He said softly. “If you just want to… to see her, talk to her. Don’t feel as though my presence there demands that you explain it. It is enough that you go to her, that you get your closure. I didn’t mean to imply that you should, or that you had to tell her about who it is you bed, now.”

He winced at that-- it was the wrong word choice, and he knew it. Because Steve had never seen him as someone to just bed and be done with. Even though it was becoming increasingly obvious to Loki that it would have been easier for Steve if he had.

He shook the thought from his mind.

“Will you come to bed with me now, or… is there more that you need to do, yet?” He was clean enough for the time being, though he was certain he looked like a fool, wandering around small and flaccid and uncovered, when Steve was standing beside him, looking like he were the god, and not Loki.

Steve the leader, Steve the strength and the heart-- There was something of a tragedy in them, in how Steve was everything Loki had ever aspired to be. And the closest he could get to that was being a useless burden, and loving him. Giving people cause to hate him.

He rubbed a hand over his arm, pretending to have felt a chill, but really as an excuse to cover himself somewhat.

“I think sleep is what I need the most, now. So… unless there’s anything else I can do for you…?” He asked. He was hoping that would be it, that he could end this day on the relative high note they were at now.

  
  


Steve walked up behind Loki where he stood at the sink, wrapping his arms around him and putting his chin on his shoulder to look at both their reflections in the mirror.

“I don’t know how she’ll be,” he admitted. “Seventy years is a long time. I don’t even know how she’ll react to just seeing me, let alone hearing about my life now. Or if... if she’ll even know what’s happening,” he added quietly.

“I don’t want to lie to her. And I really like not having to lie about you to the people I care about. But I figure I’ll play it by ear, depending on how she’s doing and how much she can handle.”

Peggy was in her nineties now, and there was no telling just how well her mind had held up and what would overwhelm her. Steve didn’t want to dump more on her than she could process -- though it might be cathartic for him to share everything about him with her, making up for lost time, this wasn’t just about him. It was about Peggy too.

He tightened his hold around Loki’s waist, connecting his hands in front of him and kissing his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out as we go. And... thank you for coming with me. It’s easier knowing that, if it’s bad, I won’t...” he worried at his lower lip. “That I won’t be walking out of there totally alone.”

If Peggy, the last survivor of his past, was too far gone to reach, then the hope for the last link to his life before would be extinguished. Having Loki to remind him of his life now would help.

Having Loki helped so much in so many ways.

“But right now, bed sounds like a good plan,” he said, letting his arms fall away and taking a step back. “Shall we?”

  
  


There was something about he and Steve in the mirror-- it reminded him of when they’d made love this way, when he’d realized that Steve saw him as worthwhile, even when he didn’t. Steve’s eyes were bright, his posture relaxed, and he felt so good against Loki’s back. All of it raised his spirits ever so slightly, though whether that was because of the reminder of his realization or because some part of him craved the touch, this brief moment did more to make him feel better than anything else had so far. Particularly as he was trying so hard to make it seem nothing was wrong.

But that was exhausting. All of this was. The flight, the meeting, the device, the argument, the sex… it was all so much, and so many fluctuations in his emotions…

“I told you, you won’t have to be alone unless you want to be. Unless you ask me to leave you. Not now, nor ever.” He turned to face Steve.

He reached out and took his face between his hands, and kissed him.

“Bed.” He agreed, though he had no intent of doing more in it than sleeping. At least having Steve there, having him with him… all of this was better than he would have thought to expect a few short hours ago.

He supposed he should be thankful for that while he had it.

He led them back and pulled the blankets down on the unused bed, though both were equally clean at the moment, sliding in and allowing Steve to do the same.

His time taking care of Steve was done, for now. He’d done well for them both, Steve was okay, happy with him, their argument was a thing of the past, they were both safe after the threats of the day, and they were together.

This was what he craved, more than the sex they’d had or the food and drink, just this peace and this closeness. He relaxed into it and closed his eyes, glad that his mind seemed ready to allow him this little time for comfort and relaxation.  
Tomorrow would arrive soon enough. 


	52. Fifty-Two

As was usual, Steve woke first.

As was not usual, he woke feeling fully rested, having slept a solid eight hours, with no dreams to plague him. He lay in silence for a few moments, watching the pinkish light of sunrise filter through the curtains and listening to Loki’s soft and even breathing beside him, savoring the moment for its perfection.

But it couldn’t last, and he couldn’t lie here forever. He had things to attend to that he’d put off the night before. So after ten minutes or so, he carefully extracted himself from the covers, then got up and dressed and brushed his teeth as quietly as possible so as not to wake Loki. He grabbed some stationery from the nightstand and scribbled out a quick note, in case Loki woke before he returned (he didn’t think Loki would assume the worst by now, but figured it was safer to leave him a note so he wouldn’t worry), then slipped out the door, holding the latch as he closed it.

It was still early, the city waking up around him as he got outside. The air was warmer than in New York, but still crisp at this hour. Hands in his pockets, he set to walking, letting his mind and feet both wander as he worked off nervous energy.

He had no idea what he’d say to Peggy. How she’d react. What she’d be like now, after so many years. The thought of it was thrilling and terrifying alike.

And after Peggy, he still had SHIELD and everything to contend with. At some point, he and Loki would need to have a talk about Thor, if he and his friends would be staying at the tower. Steve needed a unified team, and he still had a mess in New York to deal with, what with Clint and everyone’s reaction to his Avenger-Loki proposal.

He sighed, wandering past a familiar café, just getting ready to open, and took out his phone to check the time.

No longer _obscenely_ early.

Figuring he’d chance it, he texted Natasha. She texted back almost immediately, and so he called her, glad that she sounded like she was fully awake already and thus not likely to kill him for waking her up. She had a hard drive, she told him, fully loaded with a dozen or so terabytes (under multiple layers of encryption) of SHIELD data for Stark to go through -- everything their analysts thought might be remotely relevant from the rather cryptic profiles she’d given them. Thor, she told him, was mostly debriefed, but Dr. Foster was being less than cooperative. Apparently, she’d had a previous run-in with SHIELD that had been vaguely antagonistic, and she wasn’t a fan of the organization at large.

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle at that, wondering if Loki and Dr. Foster might get along.

“ _Assuming we can finish authenticating her statement today, though, we can probably get wheels up and head back to New York tonight. There’s a runway opening for us around 10pm,”_ Nat continued. “ _Although Thor said he wants to talk to you about something first.”_

Steve frowned. “Did he say what?”

“ _Not to me.”_

“Alright then. I have something I need to see to today, but I’ll let you know when I’m finished, and maybe I can swing by and talk to him then.”

“ _Sounds good. Later then.”_

Not letting himself dwell (whatever Thor needed, he could deal with it later), Steve made the next call he planned for that day, the line ringing three times before someone picked up. “ _Oakwood Manor Residential Care, how can I help you?”_

As with Natasha, the conversation was quick and efficient, and a few minutes later he was able to thank the nurse who picked up, ending the call and circling around the block back to the hotel.

Traffic had picked up with the day kicking into gear, and he passed a few guests checking out as he made his way back to up to the room, though none of them spared him a second look.

He re-entered the room quietly, looking toward the bed to see if Loki was awake yet.

 

 

Loki rose while Steve was gone and threw the remains of Steve’s dinner the night before away, nose wrinkling at the faint smell coming off of the leftovers. He remembered a time when he had ignored that smell in the interest of keeping it with him in his cell, just in case-- just one more way in which he’d become docile, gone soft in his expectation that food would be provided.

He made both beds and checked the space over for anything that would make Steve uncomfortable for others to see.

The room straightened as best as he could, he decided that he should clean himself next, and showered, ridding himself of the last traces of their previous evening.

He did feel better, in the daylight, and he felt a sort of quiet calm about the things that had been yesterday’s worries. Perhaps it had just been a side effect of losing his seidhr, of feeling so helpless, but...whatever the dark cloud was, it felt as though it had lifted. He still had his concerns, they just didn’t seem nearly so dire.

Once out of the shower, he’d taken his time alone to play with his illusions a bit, mindful not to tax his abilities for the day, but… for his own amusement, he illusorily shaped his body to match Steve’s, laughing at how wrong his head looked on such bulk.

Dissolving that, he gave facial hair a try, before discarding it, too. Hair color was always the simplest thing… and it had been some time since he’d used his oldest guises.

So when Steve returned to the room, Loki stepped out of the bathroom behind him and smiled, waiting for him to turn, a shadow of his old trickery hidden in his eyes, which shone a brighter shade of green under the influence of the red of his hair.

It was a color that he had adopted for a time when first he came to Midgard, in the hopes of seeming less sinister, less like Thor’s shadow. He remembered liking it, liking the way it made him look. He liked it now.

He just hoped that Steve would, too.

“Did you sleep alright?” He asked, giving up on waiting. He had always been impatient, but he’d of course worried that Steve being gone might be partially because of a bad dream, and he was always afraid that who he was and what he’d done might contribute to them.

Not that he supposed Steve would tell him, if that were the case. But still.

“And how has your morning been so far?” He kept his tone bright, cheerful, but said nothing of the change in his appearance. He’d let Steve remark on that, if he felt the need.

 

Steve smiled as he caught sight of Loki -- redheaded now, but still otherwise clearly himself. The coloring suited him, even if Steve liked the contrast of his black hair against his pale skin best.

“Like a baby,” he answered with a grin. “I need you to wear me out like that more often.”

Considering how stressful the last few days had been and the unfamiliar setting, it was really quite surprising he hadn’t been plagued by nightmares; he chalked it up to the physical exertion of their coupling.

He moved over to his suitcase, tidying up a few things he’d left out earlier, including the now half-empty bottle of lubricant. “Morning is fine. Went for a walk, made a few calls. We may end up heading back to New York tonight if everything wraps up at SHIELD, so we can sleep in our own bed there.” Not that there was anything particularly wrong with the hotel beds -- they were plush and cozy -- but they were a tad narrower, being intended for just one person apiece.

“I called the place where Peggy lives now,” he continued. “The nurse on duty said she’s usually at her best in the afternoons, and her grandniece tends to come visit her mid-afternoon, so we might be best coming by after lunch.”

He closed up his bag and straightened up with a shrug. “Since we have time to kill, I was thinking... We could go get breakfast--” he wouldn’t accept no as an answer, given Loki had barely eaten at all the day before, “--and then visit a few other people I haven’t seen in a while. If you don’t mind.”

 

The idea of meeting yet more of Steve’s friends was a little daunting. Loki wasn’t the best at socializing on any given day, but particularly one that promised to lead to his meeting Steve’s former flame… he worried that he might find the wall of his social abilities.

Still, he was trying not to be a burden, not to cause problems.

“Whatever you want to do; I’m here for you today. And it makes sense that we do, if we’re going to be returning to the tower later-- why waste an opportunity?” He gave him a one sided smile, the sort that he knew made him look mischievous… and the asymmetry helped to make it look more sincere, he thought.

“I am glad to hear that you slept well-- we will have to experiment when we get home and see what other things might wear you out enough to facilitate a good night’s sleep.” And if that didn’t sound like Loki continued to be best, most useful to Steve in bed, he didn’t know what it did sound like.

“You said you knew of a place you wanted to have breakfast?” He asked, mentally changing the subject and hoping that Steve would tell him more of those they were going to see while they ate.

“And these others you haven’t seen… they won’t mind that I am--” He gestured at himself, at the clothes he wore and the fact that he was male and Loki… worried that any friend of Steve’s would be smart enough to look past the disguise and recognize him. Or at least that they represented yet more opportunities for Steve to feel rejected and hurt, or to feel he couldn’t acknowledge his and Loki’s closeness, at all.

Everything was so complicated on Midgard. To think he’d once thought it a simple place.

 

“I think I’ll hold you to that.”

Steve walked over to Loki and pulled him into a quick hug, giving him a peck on the cheek. Nothing lingering and intimate -- they needed to get a move on, and tumbling back into bed would be far too easy (God knew that impish grin of Loki’s made it tempting) -- but enough to show his appreciation. “Don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured.

Loki’s constant support, affection, and care had improved Steve’s life so much, he doubted Loki even understood. But he’d do his best to make it clear he loved him for it. For all of it.

“As for how they’d react to _us,”_ he added, smile turning a bit wry, perhaps a tad wistful at the edges, “I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem. Not this time.”

He didn’t really anticipate any reaction at all.

“Breakfast,” he announced, a bit louder to cover for the moment of sadness. “Right. Let’s go. You ready?” He crossed over to the door and held it open.

Already his stomach was starting to remind him that it was time to eat something.

 

Loki let Steve lead the way to the diner he’d mentioned the night before.

His confidence in his friends’ acceptance was reassuring, as was his casual show of affection, even though Loki knew that it was likely because he simply would not be comfortable showing it once they were out of the hotel room.

And so Loki did not touch him on their walk, did not stand too near, lest he make him feel anxious about being observed. He kept the talk light, focused on their surroundings and asked questions about the world-- simple things that it had perhaps not occurred to him to ask about before, such as the lines in the road and the lights at the corners.

At the diner they were seated at a table in the corner, their seats both plush and low, so that sliding in along the table was a humorous experience, and by the time they were able to pick up their menus and look at them, the laughter caused by the sound of pants against air laden rubbery seats had helped to make Loki forget yet more of his moroseness.

“So you have eaten here before?” He asked. “Have you any suggestions of what we ought to order?”

At the very least, he was not so anxious about placing said orders any more.

He supposed he’d at least managed to grow that much. It wasn’t a very large accomplishment, though, and he refused to try and make it feel like one.

 

“A couple of times,” Steve answered. “It’s close enough to SHIELD. Sometimes we’d get in late from an op and didn’t get out of debrief until dawn, so we’d go grab breakfast together on the way home. Usually we’d hit a place a bit nearer to the Triskelion, but the coffee here is a lot better.”

And he’d checked, as the hostess led them to their table, for any familiar faces from SHIELD. He’d found none. No one spared them much of a second glance either; there were a few men in suits (probably from Capitol Hill), a few yuppie types, and an older couple holding hands over their glasses of orange juice. Nothing threatening. No sign of recognition, either.

“They do real good omelets here too,” he offered, “though really, anything is fine. The hash browns aren’t the best I’ve had, but other than that, you can’t go wrong.”

The waitress -- a bubbly blonde whose voice tended to rise at the end of each and every thing she said as if it was a question -- returned with their drinks; coffee for Steve, and tea for Loki. When she asked if they were ready to order, Steve smiled and ordered the veggie and sausage omelet with a side of toast and a side of bacon to split, before turning to Loki with an encouraging nod.

It was nice, being able to go out like this and eat at a table. Like friends and equals. So many of their meals in DC before had been eaten on the floor, on either side of the glass, with Loki at the mercy of Steve’s selections, unable to make any choice about the food he was given.

The thought soured the coffee in his mouth as he sipped at it, despite the added sugar packets. He waited for the waitress to disappear before looking back to Loki. “Do you ever think about how it was when... back when we started talking?” he asked. “You don’t-- it doesn’t bother you, does it? How our dynamic was then?”

 

There had been too many options, but the moment he had seen that waffles with fruit and whipped cream were listed, he hadn’t had to look any further. Nothing would be able to top that, save the side of bacon he’d ordered. Together, they would help to make the day that much more bearable… so long as they didn’t turn in his stomach later.

He sipped at his tea-- too hot yet to take a real drink, but he really only needed it to afford him some time while he considered Steve’s question.

“Our dynamic?” He asked. “You mean my lying to you, planning to betray you at the first available opportunity and preying on your kindness, while you gave me more and more reasons to be grateful to you? While I found myself… growing into appreciating you? It bothers me plenty. Not, I suspect, for any reasons you might be concerned about, though.” He crooked his eyebrow at him.

“Why do you ask? Is something bothering _you_?”

He tried not to let slip any outward signs of the slight panic he felt, as he tried to recall how he had been, how he’d behaved towards Steve then.

Did-- if there was something Steve missed about that time, Loki was in the process of trying to return himself to being that person for when he worked with Thanos. He would just have to add whatever it was back in, too.

“I hope you do not feel guilty. As you said yesterday, you must take into consideration the organization’s point of view. The way things were… it was the only way it could have gone that did not end in sorrow for us both.”

Though… that part remained to be seen.

 

Steve took another sip of his coffee, and almost spit it out at the parts of their dynamic that Loki listed off.

That had _not_ been what he meant.

“Actually, I was mostly thinking about, well.” He licked a few errant drops of coffee from his lips, wondering how to deal with this sensitively without prompting any fresh insecurities in Loki. It had been easy to forget for a time, about how things had been between them when all this started. But being back in DC, back at the Triskelion, suddenly brought much of their relationship’s unlikely origins back to mind.

“I was thinking about how you were a prisoner. And you were kinda dependent on me since no one else was really looking out for you,” he explained, staring into the dark depths of his coffee cup.

“I just... I know that back in Asgard you were a prince, and you got to give the orders instead of taking them. And I know it must’ve been kinda degrading then, with the way you were treated for things like a haircut or a shower, and I was a part of that, and... and I’m sorry about that.”

He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Loki. “I know I asked you to listen to me and back my plays, but I want to make sure we’re clear that I meant that in the same way I expect any Avenger under my command to work together with orders. And that’s just... just for in the field, or dealing with things like alliances and all. Not for just between us. When it’s the team, I’m the captain, but when it’s you and me, we’re partners. I know I take the lead with a lot of things, but you’d tell me if I ever made you feel like I was bossing you around too much, right?”

He finally managed to tear his gaze up from his coffee, eyes flicking briefly up to Loki’s face.

 

He felt his temper rise, sharply and unexpectedly, and he bit down on his tongue.

“I am _not_ an Avenger, as you will no doubt recall.” He pointed out coldly, though he knew it wasn’t fair of him to do so. Steve had already been made to feel bad for having broached the subject when he did it at the time. But for some reason it seemed he continued to think of him as such.

“And I am not a prisoner anymore, that’s true… but I am no less dependent on you. It’s-- this is not my world. I do not understand fully how currency works, or how people get from place to place, with the way your roads are built. I cannot travel long distances on my own. And as you said, no one else is really looking out for me. We have those of our friends at the tower, but do you suppose if I were not living there, if we were not involved… do you suppose they would be ‘looking out’ for me? Or would they leave me to myself, the way they did you-- the way you were cut off from them, when we began speaking? When the threat has been dealt with, do you think I have a future with any of these people in my life? Other than you?” He didn’t know why he sounded so angry about this. He should feel sad, he thought, but at least he kept his voice down. Kept the words he was saying to a low hiss, that no one else would over hear. “And if I did decide to part ways with them now… how long do you suppose I would be able to go free before your organization came after me? Before I was forcibly parted from my freedom and caged again? I am not a prisoner, Steven, but I am not so very far from it.”

He stared down at him, eyes hard.

“If you want to know the most degrading thing about living here, it is that I have been rendered so useless, so utterly _dependent_. Such a burden. At least when I had orders to be given, even with my reputation of causing problems and having magic, I could do something to help, to make things better or make a difference. I had some power, some control. Here… I still cause problems and have magic, but I do not even know enough about most things here to have an opinion, let alone make judgments or take the lead. And perhaps following your commands will lead to me doing less harm, so I accept that, I--” He took a breath, finding himself running out of steam. He lost the fire in his voice and did as Steve had, looking down into the cup that he held.

“I do not know what to do. And if you did not take the lead, if you did not ‘boss me around’... I would probably be causing more harm. So. It’s not-- I am not a prince anymore. I know that. I just do not know what it is I am, exactly, now. Other than your partner. Nor,” he hesitated, then sighed, realizing it was honest, realizing that Steve did not want to hear it again, and yet knowing that it went together with all of this. “Nor do I understand why you would want me as such. I am really _just_ a problem.”

 

Steve’s chest clenched and his heart sank. Part of him wished he’d never said anything. That he’d left well enough alone. But if this was what Loki felt, what he thought of himself and the team...

They needed to talk this out. Before it got worse.

Granted, it would have been better to talk it out somewhere more private, but at least their booth afforded them some privacy, and Steve reached across to table to rest his fingertips over Loki’s. Easy enough to pull away if the waitress approached, but still touching, reassuring.

“You’re not a problem,” he hissed. “You’re... God, Loki. You’re not, okay?” He shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re taking some time to adjust. I did too. And I had a lot more resources and time than you’ve had. Between being in captivity and then being all laid up after the attack, you haven’t had a lot of chances -- you’ll get the hang of it sooner than you think. Hell, you already have! You can buy things and order food just fine, you’ve got a sense enough of how money works -- you paid the delivery guy -- and you’ve even technically got a job, so you can be financially independent once we’ve got the scepter and Thanos and everything taken care of,” he pointed out. “And on top of all that, you’re crazy smart, and I don’t doubt for a second that anything you don’t know, you can pick up real fast or fake your way through. So not knowing this world? Is a temporary problem. I give it a year, year and a half before you’re more comfortable here than I am.”

Seeing how good Loki looked in a suit, how fluidly he moved in a crowd and how eloquently he spoke when Steve was left floundering, it was hard to believe that he wasn’t already.

“And as for the others... you really think that little of them?” he challenged. “Bruce doesn’t have a lot of friends. He hardly talks about anything personal to anyone. And he opened up to you. Pepper? Pepper likes you a lot, or haven’t you noticed? There’s things she’s gone and done for you that are above and beyond what you do as a favor for a friend’s friend. She did that for _you_. And Tony might have taken some time to warm up to you, but I think he appreciates anyone who can keep up with that brain of his and snark right back at him, and you’re capable of both. He looks out for Bruce and dragged him back into his life after he tried to go back off the grid after Manhattan, so yeah, I think he’d look out for you even if not for me, even if he just did it through annoying the hell out of you. Thor would do anything for you to so much as look at him again without hating him, you know. And maybe Clint isn’t ever going to be your biggest fan, but that happens. You still have people who care about you, who wouldn’t let SHIELD lock you up again for no reason.”

He would have continued, but the squeak of their waitress’s shoes on the linoleum heralded her approach, and he pulled his hand back slightly to shut up and smile as she brought Steve’s eggs and toast, Loki’s waffle, and their shared bacon on a large tray, setting the plates down one at a time and asking if they needed anything else before leaving them once more.

Steve waited until she was out of earshot before picking back up:

“You’re not a burden either,” he said, some of his aggravation receding from the forced breather the arrival of their food had necessitated. “You’ve saved my life, Loki. Several lives. All those people in the park, and Agent Ferra, and you’ll save a lot more. You’re not causing harm, because you’ve got a better sense of what is and isn’t harmful, and you’re actually trying. I know I can count on you to do the right thing.”

There was a time of course, when that hadn’t been the case. When Loki’s sense of right and wrong had been unsettlingly distorted. But Steve no longer worried about that. No longer felt like he had to police the morality of Loki’s every choice.

“And honestly?” He picked up a fork but didn’t begin to eat yet. “The last few days when you and Bruce and Tony were in the lab, _I_ felt useless. I don’t have your seidhr or your knowledge. You can do things _none of us_ can. And maybe I get to take care of you with, with food and money and the real basic things like that. But you take care of me in so many more ways, it hardly seems even,” he finished with a shrug.

 

Loki wanted to scoff.

“You? Useless?” This tasted like listening to Thor mope about losing to one of the Einherjar during a practice bout when they were children. As if he did not realize that being beaten by one of the top fighters in the land was an honor-- one that Loki, who could not even best the lower ranked fighters, at the time, would have given most anything to experience.

“You are the only thing holding these people together. You inspire people just by being seen-- you are useful without even having to try. And yet you do, you try so hard, you apply yourself to every problem and it is what makes you so good, so great.”

His waffle sat before him, the cream and berries piled high, and yet he had no interest in it. Not when he had made Steve feel _useless_.

“You say it has taken you time to adjust-- I have had time. And in that time I have accomplished nothing. Oh yes, I can ask for food, I can hand over a plastic card to pay for it. How does that card convert into the paper currency of your realm?” He shrugged, the gesture almost comical in its exaggeration. “Do you recall when I meant to learn to drive a car? I still haven’t been bothered to do so. I can take the train to exactly one location, I can get from the tower to the park. So that’s good. Very useful. At least I can go stare at the names of the people I _murdered_ whenever I like.” He dropped his voice even lower for the last bit, mindful that they were in public.

“I cannot cook, cannot feed myself. I barely know how the fires on the stove top work, let alone what to do with the food in the refrigerator to render it edible, or even where the food comes from. I assume it does not merely manifest itself there-- it must come from one of those stores we have gone into before. The ones with bright wrappers that tell me naught of the insides and which are difficult to open even with my strength.”

He shook his head and spread his hands. “But thank goodness, I can ask a waitress for stew now without specifying the way I want my meat in it.”

He glared down at the waffle.

“My job is for Stark, and it relies upon his being able to tolerate me, his ability to balance what I cost him, both in energy and monetarily, in return for my knowledge. Without you, how long do you suppose either would last? His patience would snap, and eventually I would have given him enough information about healing, about seidhr, and I would no longer have any purpose, be good to him for nothing, save annoying him. And how long would it take them to learn all they needed to know from me, do you suppose? Just from my time in a cell, SHIELD has made seidhr canceling machines. How long will it take them to make ones that can manipulate it, machines to replace me, remove my usefulness? And you cannot tell me it stems from the people I have saved-- they would not be in danger, were it not for me.”

He pressed his hand, which was shaking, onto the tabletop, forcing it to still.

“And you tell me I think little of the others, particularly those who seem to like me, but have you ever stopped to consider why they do? Why you do? _I manipulate people_ . You know that. You have seen me do it, I did it to you! Would you ever have opened yourself up to me if you did not feel sorry for me? And have you any idea how much of that _I_ instilled in you? Emotions in others can be manufactured. I am trying not to, trying to stop using what I know to make others like me. You remember feeling sorry for me and it's coloring everything about us, even to this day. I made you feel protective of me, and bad for me, just as Thor's parents made him feel that he must protect and love me. And that is why I don't look at him now, I don't want to keep using that manipulation. I don't spend time around Clint because his dislike for me makes me feel as if I should manipulate him into liking me, and I don't want to do that because you've instilled in me this sense of _wrong_ , the understanding that all of my instincts are to do something that goes against your morals. You have grown in me this urge to _try_ and be better... but I'm not. I can tell you as often as I want that I am not, and you never believe me. And all that stops me, ultimately, from acting on those thoughts I have, the urge to do what comes so easily and naturally to me, is my love of you. So do I think that they would continue to like me, without the small bits of manipulation I use to make it easier to share a roof with them? I doubt it. And without your urging them, why should they expend any energy to go out of their way for anything for me? My job, I manipulated Pepper into getting for me-- do you recall? She was drunk and I used a party game to dare her into it. And that is merely one time, one example… How, then, is it that you can see me as anything _but_ a problem?”

He had been looking forward to eating, but his stomach was wound up now, twisting with tension. He sighed and lifted his fork, mirroring Steve’s gesture. He’d eat, or Steve would just have one more thing to worry about.

He just hoped he could do it now without being sick.

 

Steve took a deep breath, then let it out.

He’d let himself get wound up the day before, and he and Loki had fought. Fighting Loki and telling him he was wrong -- something Steve suspected a lot of folks had done over the years -- wouldn’t fix this. Beating him verbally into submission wouldn’t fix this, nor would guilting him into conceding. It would maybe stop the argument and buy them peace for a time, but it would be like slapping a band-aid over a bullet wound. It wouldn’t do much for long or take care of the problem.

“I don’t see you as a problem or a burden,” he reiterated softly. “And I don’t see you as useless. I’m really sorry if you’ve been made to feel that way, but I need you to know that I don’t think of you like that. I don’t even know if I’d have enough in me to even pull this team together for anything again, without you.”

He poked at his food, but didn’t eat. “You’re right that there’s things you could probably stand to learn. I’ve taken some stuff for granted and assumed you knew more about certain things than you do, and that’s on me. So when we get back, make a list of everything you feel like you need to know about, and we’ll make time for you to learn. Either I can show you, or JARVIS can find you books or videos to help you out. I don’t want you to feel helpless; if that’s stuff you’d feel better knowing and want to spend your free time learning, then we’ll make it happen,” he offered. “But just so you know; most New Yorkers can’t drive. And I know a lot of folks who can’t cook. And a frankly terrifying number of people have no idea how to manage money, so you’re not alone in a lot of that.” It might not be much consolation, but at least the gaps in Loki’s knowledge weren’t entirely unique to him.

He braced himself for the next bit, lowering his fork. “Also, I think you might be overestimating the effects of your ‘manipulation,’” he said. “Yes, you asked Pepper during truth or dare. But like you said, it was a game, and she was drunk. She could have easily never brought it up again, or claimed she was too drunk to remember. She didn’t. And technically, she owns the company, so you work for her, not Tony. And you’re a thousand year old god from another planet -- I’m pretty sure in a human lifetime, you’d only be able to pass on a fraction of what you know,” he added. “People are smarter and kinder than you give them credit for.”

“Besides that... letting people see the parts of you that let them like you? That’s not manipulation. That’s human social interaction, Loki. You haven’t lied since you lied to me about the scepter. And yeah, that was manipulative. And yeah, I fell for it.” He shrugged. “I forgave you for that a long time ago. It’s okay to let people see you being vulnerable, and let it be because you need comfort, and not because you think you’re manipulating them into helping you.”

He reached across the table, taking Loki’s fingers in his hand and squeezing them, deciding the risk was worth it. “You made me feel protective of you at first. And maybe some of that was a manipulation. But you didn’t control my mind, and I’m not _that_ naive. I can still make decisions about how I feel about people. I still feel protective of you now, and it’s because of a whole different lot of reasons, okay?”

If they weren’t in public -- if there weren’t a table between them -- he would have swept Loki up in a hug.

“Everyone’s got bad thoughts from time to time. Sometimes our first instinct isn’t a good one. I’ve wanted to deck a lot of guys who it would’ve been wrong to beat up on. It’s not your first thought that defines you -- it’s how you act on it. So no, I don’t believe you’re not better. I’m just not sure why you refuse to acknowledge to yourself that you _are_ ,” he said, shrugging and then letting out a sigh.

“I want you to feel safe. I want you to feel useful. And I want you to know that I couldn’t do any of this without you, so please, don’t think for a second that you’re a burden. Whatever I can do to help, to make you feel more safe and a part of things, please, tell me.”

 

Loki made a face.

"None of this is your responsibility. You don't have to educate me, and what's more, I couldn't help you to do so if I wanted to. I don't _know_ what I don't know. Which, of course, merely makes me twice as useless on that front.” He took a bite of nothing but whipped cream, trying to lighten his tone. But he failed, when swallowing made his throat feel tight, the way it did before one broke into tears. But he wasn’t going to let that happen.

“And it isn't up to you to try to convince me of the others’-- People being smart and kind... that doesn't matter stacked against motivation. My manipulations are their decency used against them, to coax them into caring for me, to goad them into pitying me, when their natural inclination is to fear me, despise me, to feel disgust at the things I have done. I can build a persona of myself that they can respect and like... But that doesn’t make it _real_. I assume that the objections, even the looks on their faces when you proposed that I be made an Avenger... They've no reason to be kind to me. You’re the only one who… the only one who I did not have to give reasons to. You were kind to me before I had even made a solid plan of trying to manipulate you. You made me your responsibility at SHIELD, and then you made me-- you accepted me as your partner outside of it. But my thoughts, my emotions… that isn’t. You have enough concerns without policing the dark parts of my mind as well. I told you I am going to be better. I will be. Can we not… can we just leave it at that? Enjoy our breakfast, go to see your friends? I am not going to embarrass you, I did not mean-- I didn’t mean to bring all of this up. But in response to your original question, I think you meant to ask if I resent you for giving me orders, for leading me. The answer in short is no. I need you to. I am grateful to you for that.”

He cut the waffle, perhaps a little more viciously than he ought to have. In his defense it had gone a little soggy, but…

He needed to stop this, to turn it around before he ruined _another_ day, just by being himself.

“You are wonderful, Steve, so supportive and compassionate and kind and good, you are so much of everything that I am not, that at times I am… nearly envious of you. People care, not only about you, but about what you think. You make people better just by being around them-- you certainly have done with me. People want you to like them, they… you make people want to be better. That’s power, truly, the core of it, you’ve a power that’s nothing to do with your serum, your muscles or the glow of your krellr or the swiftness of your thoughts-- it’s all to do with the goodness of your heart, and I suspect it is something you have had all of your life. You expect people to be good-- you say I underestimate peoples’ kindness, but you merely expect them to be good, and they respond by not wanting to let you down. So your saying that you couldn’t do this without me is… I am glad you think me helpful. I am happy to lend you whatever support I can. But ultimately it is you who makes it possible. Not I, or Tony or Romanoff, no one else can do what you do. I don’t think anyone else ever could.”

And that was barely a quarter of why he didn’t deserve him. But he knew better than to say so. He should have just kept his mouth shut before, shouldn’t have let his temper flare and get the best of him.

His lips twitched.

“I’m sorry that I snapped at you. It must be true, what they say of the fiery temperaments of redheads, after all.” He wiggled his brows towards his hairline, hoping that the slight buffoonery would make Steve smile, or laugh, or at least pull his attentions away from the more serious matters they had been discussing.

 

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle at Loki’s joke, relieved that he wasn’t so upset that he couldn’t make light.

He’d blushed a bit at Loki singing his praises, fairly sure Loki was overstating that aspect of Steve every bit as badly as he’d overstated his own predisposition to manipulation, but he wasn’t going to fight him on it. Much. “I just tend to be the right guy in the right place at the right time is all,” he said with a shrug, finally cutting off a piece of his omelet and taking a bite. “You’d be amazed how much of it is just sheer dumb luck.”

Luck that Bucky had dragged him out to the world’s fair that one night. Luck that Erskine had seen something in him. Luck that he’d found the 107th. Luck that he’d ever survived the ice at all.

And all throughout it, luck to meet the people he had. The commandos and Peggy and Bucky and the Avengers... And Loki.

“And don’t worry about it. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by bringing it up,” he said, reaching for his coffee and taking a gulp of it before taking another bite of his eggs. “It’s just... if there’s stuff like this that’s bothering you, I want you to know you can tell me. Don’t feel like it’s being a burden or anything, okay? I know some of it I can’t do anything about, but there’s some stuff -- like teaching you how to work the stove -- that I can, and the rest... even if I can’t fix it, if I know about the problem, I can avoid making it worse.”

He couldn’t cure Loki’s warped beliefs and doubts, but he could reassure him where he could, and be sensitive to his insecurities.

“I wanna make sure we deal with it together so it doesn’t end up festering and turning into something worse. So we don’t get bitter with each other and not understand why,” he added, picking up a piece of bacon and nibbling at it.

 _So we don’t turn into you and Thor,_ he had tact enough to keep from saying, though the image of Thor’s sad expression haunted his mind.

 

Loki nodded, happy that things seemed to have gotten back on track. But the idea of their relationship _festering_ did remind him of something.

“I… one other thing.” He was hesitant to add, but knew he should, and wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “As far as thinking back to how things once were. I-- with the help of the Widow, I am meant to be giving myself the facade of being as I was when we met. Not physically but. I worry it may spill over, and I do not want you to think that I am… taking steps backwards. Merely it is that I must prepare to meet…. Him.” He shrugged, dismissing it, well aware that Steve did not truly approve of this plan, and sorry to have to bring it up.

“It won’t cause any harm, I don’t think, it’s only-- if you see me acting differently. That may well be the source of it. And… perhaps at some point we can talk. About what you saw of me then, what you thought. How you perceived me, that I can best recreate it.”

He speared a strawberry on his fork and ate it, surprised that the calming tone of their conversation did make eating a little easier. It was sweet, almost overly so, and covered in a goo that seemed made of sugar, and Loki couldn’t be happier… until he lifted a slice of bacon and bit into it as well.

“As for the rest, I will try to tell you. Though it seems I have developed a condition where my first response to any emotion is to hide, and then tell you of it when next I can, so I don’t know you need to worry about festering. And you absolutely needn’t concern yourself with trying not to make it worse. It’s just my mind. I won’t shatter into what I was in New York the first time, not ever again.”

Not so long as he had Steve.

But again, he felt it was time to move forward, rather than back. And forward was where breakfast lay.

 

Steve frowned faintly, but nodded. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Loki emulating his former self, and he cared even less for Loki going up against Thanos... but if the former helped him survive the latter, Steve would suck it up and deal. Though he might check in with Natasha to make sure Loki’s act remained just an act, and whatever they practiced didn’t become too immersive or damaging.

“I appreciate the heads up,” he said. “And thanks. I’m glad you are telling me about things eventually.” He swallowed a piece of bacon and smiled lopsidedly. “And I like your mind. No breaking it allowed.”

He still worried about the fragility of Loki’s psyche, but it was at least slightly reassuring to know Loki didn’t think himself in immediate danger of coming apart.

The two of them finished their breakfasts, the unpleasantness now passed, and paid their tab at the front register before heading out and hailing a cab.

Steve gave the driver the address, then leaned back and watched the city through the windows. He could see the outlines of the various monuments in the skyline, familiar in their own way, and beneath them bustling restaurants and storefronts, assorted shops--

“Could you pull over?” he asked abruptly. The driver did so. “I’ll be right back,” Steve said to him and Loki both. “Keep the meter running!”

He jumped out of the cab and ran over to the small florist’s shop he’d caught sight of through the window, getting back in less than a minute later with a bouquet of pale chrysanthemums.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized. The cabbie just shrugged and grunted, then pulled back out into traffic, and it was only minutes before the Triskelion loomed to their right as they crossed the Arlington Memorial Bridge.

When the taxi came to a stop, Steve pulled out a few bills with which to pay the fare before sliding out and holding the door open for Loki with one hand and the flowers with the other.

 

Loki could not help but be confused by the flowers’ presence. They were not for him, and that was fine; Steve did not tend towards that sort of courtship before. His gestures were not so easily matched that you could simply find them by the roadside. So why should he begin now? And for whom?

He supposed if his friends were ill, it was the sort of thing one might bring into a sick room. Fresh plants were an oft used boon for the healthy, to mask the smell of the sickness. Usually gifted to those who were ill, under a guise of friendship. Loki was familiar with the practice, but that seemed even more unlike Steve… and if they were sick, he would imagine Steve might have asked him about doing what he could for them.

Loki tapped into his seidhr and checked its levels, just to be certain of how much he had before going in…

But where they stopped, there didn’t seem to be… it was not at all what Loki had been expecting.

There were signs which told him of where they were, and he felt the blood leech ever so slightly from his face.

“This is… a place for your dead, isn’t it?” He asked Steve, uncertain and afraid that he would find yet more names here, more that he had killed. He stepped a little closer before he remembered himself and leaned back away.

Of course, Steve wouldn’t take him to such a place knowingly. Unless this was his idea of having Loki make the reparations he’d spoken of-- was this where the SHIELD agents had been laid to rest? Or-- He had said there were more people he had not seen in some time.

Loki wondered if ‘some time’ meant since before he’d frozen.

Either way, he felt like he’d gone off balance again, and he looked to Steve, his partner, his captain, for guidance.

 

Steve nodded as they stood outside the front entrance. “Arlington National Cemetery. It’s where a lot of soldiers in this country’s history are buried. Over 400,000, going back to the Civil War,” he explained, keeping his voice quiet although they weren’t yet technically inside the grounds.

“Some of the commandos are buried here,” he added. “Not all. Monty and Jacques both ended up buried back in Europe. Jim Morita’s family had a service out west. But Dugan, Jones, and Colonel Phillips are all here.” He stuck one hand in his jacket pocket, fidgeting idly. “I used to come around here pretty often to pay respects, after I thawed out.”

 

The first time he’d seen the names of his friends, who’d been alive and well when he’d seen them what felt like scant weeks before, it had been like a blow to the gut. The tangible evidence that they were all dead and gone... He’d been a mess for a week. After that, it had steadily grown easier, though. Sometimes, he could even walk the grounds and just enjoy their solemn serenity, without feeling like someone had yanked his heart out of his chest.

But it always ached, just a little.

And when he found out there had been a memorial to him, well. That had been just plain surreal. And humbling.

“You don’t... you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want,” he offered, realizing belatedly that a cemetery might not be the kind of place where Loki would feel most at ease. “I’m sorry, I realize I didn’t say...”

 

Loki shook his head, almost more afraid of being left here than he was to go inside.

“No, I-- it’s fine. I was only surprised. That’s all. I want to come in with you.”

He wouldn’t mention his fear that Steve had brought him here to force him to make peace with the ghosts he’d made. It seemed that Steve questioned himself more than Loki wanted as it was, he certainly didn’t want to add to it.

Especially when it was his own mind causing the problem. He supposed that it was just so accustomed to being used to hurt others that, with him trying to keep from doing so, it had none to harm but him.

“I recognize some of those names from your drawing book… did you ever come here for that? To draw? Or… what is it you did, when you came to visit?”

On Asgard, one did not linger over the bodies. They were burned, and some were sent to the stars. There were no burials such as this, no great expanse of ground filled with corpses. It seemed as if it would be unhealthy. Unclean. But then, Steve did say that many of the graves here were old. Older, even, than the people that Loki knew now.

Midgardians and their mortality was another thing that he did not fully understand.

Asking about being interred seemed inappropriate now, though. He would have to remember to ask JARVIS about it later.

Meanwhile, the thought of Steve here, alone in this new time, not reaching out to the living, but forced to mourn those that he knew all at once… Loki frowned.

“Does this place offer you peace?” He asked softly. “Or do you seek something else, here?” Was this a reminder of all that Steve stood to lose in his current time? Was that why he came? To give himself a reason to continue to fight? Or was it to do something else? To honor his friends? To ensure they were not forgotten?

Loki could not think of a happy reason that Steve would want to come here, but just the same, he was willing to follow him. Stand beside him at the graves of his friends.

Steve would do more for him, know what to say. All that Loki could do was reach out and touch his shoulder briefly, hoping he understood that Loki abstained from holding him only in the interest of preserving his comfort, since they were in public.

 

Steve shook his head. “Went a lot of places to draw, but not here,” he answered, leading the way in while keeping his voice hushed in compliance with the signs requesting silence and respect. “It never seemed... appropriate.”

Drawing in his case might have been an act of respect for those he’d lost, but in this place, where so many laid interred, and so many came to bury their loved ones, it felt indulgent. And so he abstained, merely standing in silent reflection during his visits.

Though right now he was left reflecting on another question.

Did it give him peace? Sometimes, perhaps, yes. Other times, it was like picking at an old scab to reopen the wound. “I come here to remember,” he replied softly. “I can honor them. Remember them. This place... it doesn’t let you forget. And so long as someone is left to remember...” It was the same in some ways as the sketches he kept, but starker. Less nostalgic. His drawings recalled moments of life, but this was a place that spoke of what had been sacrificed.

“They’re all soldiers,” he murmured, as they left the entry area and stepped out on to a path that wove between acres and acres of open green land, marked with countless pristine rows of white tombstones, each commemorating someone who’d served.

The ones who fell before. The ones who fell after. Those who died old and in peace long after serving.

Beyond being the resting place of his friends, this place reminded him that these were the men and women whose legacy he carried every time he took up the shield.

They moved in relative silence through the cemetery. Steve had been here enough that he knew where they were heading without need for a map, though no matter how many times he came, the sheer expanse of the place always caught him a little by surprise. Though scenic copses of trees helped to break it up, adding a sense of beauty and preventing the place from being too bleak.

Somewhere, he could hear the distant sound of a bugle playing Taps, signifying a funeral service in progress as some soldier was given his final honors.

Eventually, they reached the section that was first on his usual route. Carefully, he picked  his way between the graves, moving down and counting the rows under his breath, then turning right and counting the paces again before reaching the marker he’d intended.

 

✞

CHESTER T. PHILLIPS

COL USA

WWI

WWII

KOREA

DEC 3rd, 1876

JANUARY 19th, 1952

 

Carefully, Steve pulled out a third of the flowers, bundled them in one of the cones the cemetery provided, and placed them at the grave before straightening up, stepping back, and saluting.

 

 

As they walked, he felt stiff.

Steve’s words were soft, and the place commanded a feeling of reverence. He didn’t want to speak, or be overly loud, not only because the signs asked that he not, but also because he didn’t want to make Steve feel that his being here was inappropriate.

Though it probably was.

 _They’re all soldiers_ , he repeated silently to himself.

Any of these could have been Steve, no doubt likely had come close to being him any number of times, throughout his life. Rows and rows and rows on for as far as he could see, everywhere that there weren’t natural obstructions, trees and the like, or roads to allow access.

He watched Steve leave flowers on the grave, one like every other, save that the name meant something to him. Save that it was someone Steve cared for. Had cared for.

Loki watched him straighten and salute, and he wondered if he ought to as well. But, he wasn’t one of them. Wasn’t a soldier or a Captain, not even of this world. Had these men been alive when he had arrived, they may have come to fight against him. He could have killed them. Would have, without a thought.

Somehow, these ideas did not make him ill or churn the disgust in himself that he’d felt before, maybe because the silence of this place absorbed it, or because these were such old deaths, People who had died so long before that Steve was left to be the guardian of their memories.

And Loki, still as wicked as he had ever been, in truth, thought first of how he could use this to manipulate Steve into being more careful. After all, if he was the one who remembered them, and he died…

But Steve wasn’t putting himself into danger, not at the moment, and not lately.

Loki held his tongue and watched, followed… let Steve honor his friends. Tried to wrap his head around the concept of visiting the dead, not to speak, only to lay flowers.

He wondered who this Phillips had been, what his life was, outside of those few lines of text. What he had done and who he mattered to.

If not for Steve, _would_ he be forgotten by now? And how many of those here were, because they had not had the good luck, the good fortune of having known Steve?

But the graves were well kept, clean and free of growth or apparent decay. He supposed there was something to be said for being buried with your fellows. It seemed soldiers respected other soldiers enough to preserve their memories as best as possible.

He wondered what Steve thought, staring down at those he had no doubt looked up to, once. It was sobering and sad-- all of this was. He didn’t understand what Steve got out of coming here, save pain. But he seemed to have wanted to do this. Had chosen to come here.

But at least he had been right; these friends would not object to their closeness. Couldn’t.

So he stepped in closer and lay a gentle hand on the back of Steve’s shoulder, just in case he needed him. Nothing too intimate. Only a reminder.

He was here. He was with him. Steve was not alone.

 

The gentle touch on his shoulder was warm -- a reminder that even here, with the dead, he still had loved ones among the living. He turned to Loki and, with no one around to bear witness but mute graves, placed his hand over his and gave it a squeeze.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Phillips had died in Korea. The old codger could have retired easily after VE-day, but hadn’t, and he’d been killed in action.

Dugan and Jones had lived for several more decades, though, and their graves were in another section.

It took a lot of walking, and at one point Steve had to pull Loki and himself aside and off the path, standing with heads bowed in respect as a procession for a funeral made their way past. Steve’s throat clenched as he watched the soldiers and mourning family make their way past, and some time later, when he heard the salvo of gunfire saluting the fallen, he stopped and took a moment to breathe, head bowed once again in honor of whoever the soldier had been.

Whatever his name, he’d be spending eternity in august company.

The next grave they came to was inscribed _GABRIEL JONES._ He’d been even younger than Steve during the war, born a month later than him in August of 1918, though the date of death on his tombstone indicated he’d lived to a ripe old age, passing in 2004. Once more, Steve separated out a section of flowers, setting them down, though there were other, slightly wilted flowers present -- left by Gabe’s family, no doubt. It brought a faint smile to his lips, knowing at least someone else was visiting him here, and once more, he saluted.

One third of the chrysanthemums remained when they finally came to the third grave. _TIMOTHY A. DUGAN,_ the headstone read. Died in 1989. A small and familiar seal of a stylized eagle had been etched toward the bottom of the stone, and Steve smiled sadly down at it as he laid the last of the flowers there. SHIELD was the legacy of his friends, after all.

He snapped off one more salute, then, hands empty and idle, sought out Loki’s fingers to squeeze. He looked to him, eyes full of gratitude, and nodded. “Just one more,” he murmured, as they made their way back to the path.

It took more walking to make their way around to the memorial amphitheater, with the sun slowly rising toward its zenith by the time they arrived. But there was one last place left where he needed to pay his respects.

The always-present guards in their crisp uniforms stood at attention on either side of the tomb, the cordon preventing any visitors from approaching too closely, but Steve didn’t mind keeping a respectful distance. Even this far, he could see the letters on the tomb easily.

 

_Here rests in honored glory an American soldier known but to God._

 

 

Steve’s face was enough to break Loki’s heart thrice over, and he still didn’t understand why he should want to be here. Particularly as they watched an entire team of sorrow filled people who were there to add another person to this veritable forest of small white rounded stones.

There were a good many observances here that Loki did not know; silence and bowing of heads, standing stiff and still, hands folded, the salutes… He did not know which were meant for him as well, and which would be invasive for him to mimic. So he tried his best to remain silent, observant, respectful and not intrusive, but it was easy to believe that even his presence here was just that.

He wondered if he oughtn’t have just waited for Steve outside, like he’d offered-- maybe he’d realized too late his mistake in bringing Loki to such a hallowed space.

Then again, none had objected so far.

As they found their way to the final place Steve intended to take them, Loki found himself even more confused.

Men stood there in their crisp clothing, watching over a burial place for someone who lacked so much as a name. It was odd to see such reverence to those who were known, but for one who was not at all…

Loki would have asked Steve about it, but he felt sure that the guards would object. After all, the signs had asked for silence. And he did not want to see their reactions if it was not given. Even, or perhaps particularly, by the company that Captain America kept.

And so Loki stood in silence, head bowed but eyes raised to watch Steve, to take cues from him. And waited for all of this that he could make no sense of to be finished.

This was not the same sort of feeling as the memorial had had-- there, at least, there had been sobs, tears, people laughing on the lawn before it, children playing. Here it was all so solemn, so _correct_ , so disciplined.

But then, they were all soldiers. In death as in life, they lined up together, each equal and the same, unremarkable from their fellows.

Loki quietly hoped that Steve did not want to be placed here when he died. He deserved more than to blend in with the rest, for he never had. Not to Loki.

That thought, too, seemed best kept to himself, though. Not just for the silence, but for their peace together as well.

 

Loki’s presence at his side was solid and comforting, but unobtrusive. He didn’t speak or fidget, allowing Steve time to stare and to reflect. To let his eyes fall from the large sarcophagus to the marble slab set in the ground to the left, bare but for the dates of the war.

 _His_ war, at any rate.

His and Bucky’s.

He didn’t have a grave to visit for his best friend. Apparently, there had been a small memorial in Brooklyn, but the graveyard had been dug up and relocated and with all the loss and the shuffle, he hadn’t really bothered to track it down. Not when there wasn’t any real part of Bucky there.

Not that there was any part of him here. But... whoever the unknown soldier was in that vault, he _could_ be Bucky. And if not, he was the lost loved one of someone else who would never have a grave to visit. Someone who deserved to be stood over and mourned.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there. But when he came back to himself, he realized it had to have been a while, as the soldiers at attention shifted to perform the changing of the guard, and a few other visitors had congregated to watch the ceremony.

Steve waited and watched as the relief commander announced the changing of the guard, and the sentinels performed the elaborate ritual, handing off responsibility to the fresh rotation, standing to attention to defend the final peace of the soldiers honored there.

When it was over, Steve finally broke away, nodding to Loki in gratitude, and heading back toward the cemetery entrance.

“Thanks,” he murmured. “For being there.” For being patient, and standing with him without word of complaint, though it couldn’t have been comfortable.

 

He waited until they were out of the gates, then murmured a soft, “Of course.”

He paused for a few beats, then added, speaking slowly.

“I think that one of the things I should research when we return to the tower is human burial rites. They are… very odd, and very different than what I am accustomed to. And I would hate to think how I might have blundered if you were not with me. If I accidentally happened upon such a place on my own.”

So long in silence had left his jaw feeling oddly sore; he didn’t think he’d been clenching it, or at least, hadn’t realized that he had. But the proof was in the ache.

He elected to ignore it.

“But you--Do you-- how do you feel now?” He wondered if there was something he ought to do, anything he _could_ do to cheer Steve, to shake him out of his solemnity, before they were meant to be at Peggy’s home.

“If there is anything I can do… I would have you happy again, cheerful, for your meeting with your Peggy.” His mind went again to how his jaw hurt from being closed, and flashed quickly to a way to make it hurt for very different reasons, but that was potentially the _most_ inappropriate thought he’d had so far that day. And that was saying a lot.

They reached the area where they had been left by their driver, and he was relieved to see a small line of others, waiting to take the next traveler to their next destination. Loki hung back, letting Steve handle that part, the way he let him handle everything else that he did not know how to do.

And he certainly had no idea where they were going.

It seemed funny, now, the way Steve worried that his taking charge was damaging to their relationship. It couldn’t be further from the truth; Loki would be utterly lost without it.

 _As lost_ , he was startled to find himself thinking, _as Steve’s face had looked when they stood before the stones of those he’d known._ And that was an odd thought, the sort he didn’t generally have. One which acknowledged him as something akin to useful.

Steve’s words from that morning must have sunken in, after all.

 

“There’s a lot of variation in burial rites,” Steve said with a shrug. “Military funerals, for instance, are different from civilian ones. And every religion has its own traditions. Generally, if you adhere to any posted rules and just stay quiet and respectful, you’re fine.”

Peace and respect. The dead deserved that much.

And the living...

Steve looked up at him and smiled, though it was a little forced. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, then let it out, trying to expel all the lingering grief with it. His chest felt achy and hollow, but despite the sorrow, there was a sense of accomplishment. “I’m all right,” he told him. “I’m... a little sad, sure. But that was something I needed to do. And I’d have been a lot more upset with myself if I hadn’t.” He hadn’t been there to be a part of his friends’ lives. But he didn’t doubt that they’d mourned him when they’d believed him dead. He owed them as much in turn; it was his duty as a survivor.

If he’d come to DC and been right across the river without paying his respects, it would have felt neglectful. The guilt would have gnawed at him more than the grief.

And besides, now he was able to visit the one person from his past life who was still alive. And in that light, whatever heartache might come of visiting Peggy would be accompanied by the reminder that at least he had a chance to visit her once more face to face, and not as a name carved in marble.

“Just having some company is...” he paused, then chuckled. “I always made it this thing I had to do myself. By myself. Like no one else would understand, or like it would be cheating somehow to bring a friend. But having you around was... it was good.”

He wondered, far from the first time, how the guys would have reacted to Loki. If they’d have hit it off. He was sure Loki would have given Phillips a conniption fit for sure, but then, Steve had given the man even more gray hair on a regular basis. The thought tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he flagged down a cab. “We’ve got a little time we could kill. Is there anything you want to do before we see her?” he asked, feeling a little badly that he’d monopolized their morning.

 

Loki shrugged.

“I’ve no idea what there is to be done here. I did not see much of this place, if you recall…. and those I knew aren’t likely to be glad to see me.” He frowned, but caught himself. “Is there aught else we _should_ be doing? I’m not… keeping you or I from being useful somehow at SHIELD, am I? Because, as I said, I’ll go back if there is something…” He trailed off, not wanting to reopen the previous day’s argument. He looked away, feeling awkward about backtracking, as well as for offering, even though he didn’t truly want to return. He huffed a little, berating himself for his stupidity, his selfishness. Especially today, which was supposed to be about Steve, and helping him to do what he needed to.

“Besides that, I’ve no agenda today, other than being there for support when you see her. But… if I may, it wouldn’t do to bring the sorrow of the dead into the room of the still living. It seems… unfair. Particularly as you have visited them so often, and her not at all. Perhaps you ought to have the driver stop, that you may bring her flowers, as well. And then… perhaps we should walk among those who are full of life, just to remind yourself of the opposite side of what you have fought for. What your friends fought for. Remind yourself that it isn’t all cold stones in straight lines… that there is warmth and joy and laughter that you defended. That you are still defending.”

There had always been those fighters who had returned from a battle to drown their sins and their griefs in mead and ale, and then there had been those who buried them in willing flesh, and still others who found relief in the arms of their families. Loki knew that it wasn’t quite the same in this case, but after the spectral heaviness of the cemetery, it seemed a good way of balancing it out.

And given what had happened the last time they’d drunk, he thought it better not to offer that option. Not with more yet waiting on them to do, and especially not if they were to see Thor and his woman later that night.

Loki had to work particularly hard to keep from scowling at that prospect.

 

“No, nothing else we need to be doing,” Steve answered with a shrug. Well, there were probably things that needed his attention, but there was little enough he could do from DC, with his team somewhat scattered. Today was a day to wait for SHIELD to be done with Thor and his friends before heading back to New York, which meant it was a day for him and Loki to spend as they wished.

Though Loki had a point about not wanting to see Peggy while his heart was still heavy from visiting the cemetery. Somewhere full of life...

He smiled. “You know, I think I have a good idea of where to go.”

The cab ride was a short one; they might have walked the distance, but this was quicker and involved fewer attempts to cross traffic. The driver dropped them off and Steve pulled out a couple of bills for the fare and tip before stepping out along the long, green stretch of park they’d arrived at.

He’d gone running here many times, often in the early dawn when there was no one else around. At midday, the National Mall was a bit more crowded, though not distressingly so. Despite the cool weather, there were a few families picnicking, tourists snapping photos of the monuments, college students handing out fliers, and a few politician types in suits eating their lunches and enjoying the sunshine before winter fully fell.

This was still a place of monuments, of course. Most of the city was. But they were more emblems of pride than of sorrow -- barring, of course, the Vietnam memorial, which Steve made sure to give a wide berth, deciding Loki had no need to see any more walls covered in the names of the dead.

He led Loki down the path, pointing out the various memorials and monuments, giving a summary of each and its history. At one point he caught sight of a street vendor selling kebabs, grabbing them each one apiece, and setting them down on a bench near the reflecting pool to eat. He kept his wallet out after paying, though, in order to remove the various types of currency and show them to Loki, indicating the memorials around them that appeared on the backs, or honored the men whose faces decked the fronts, explaining how currency worked as a promise of value, even if the paper didn’t have the value of use that gold or silver did. You couldn’t make a crown or jewelry or gilded halls out of paper money, but you would use it to buy the materials that could, he said, for instance. And that promise was backed by the federal bank and the US government, whose seat was right here in DC.

Not that economics was his forte or anything. But he understood enough to teach the very basics. He could at least do this for Loki, who was humoring him so much today.

“So each of the kebabs was five dollars. I gave the guy a ten,” he explained, pulling out the bill with Hamilton’s face on it, “but I could have given him two fives. And the five, here, has that building--” he pointed toward the Lincoln memorial, “--right on the back.” He held the bill up so the memorial appeared just above its printed imitation, smiling.

 

Loki had understood the numeric power of the bills, but as for what they were counting against-- that had puzzled him. The promise that the paper was able to purchase gold made some sense, he supposed, though it did leave him to wonder why they did not simply use gold in trade, as Asgard did.

Though, admittedly, humans were a weaker race, by and large. He could not imagine a small child bearing the gold necessary for a journey without experiencing discomfort.

And the pockets of their clothing were small, and the majority of them seemed not to bear satchels. So he supposed paper currency made sense, in a lazy sort of way. Like showers.

The kebab was good, but the monuments verged back into the realm of confusing.

He tapped the paper, careful not to tear it.

“That one is sensible-- a memorial to a man bearing his face. Your Washington monument, though… I assume the man bore no resemblance to that, and it isn’t a sword blade up from the ground, as I thought at first. Why that shape, what is the meaning behind it? How does it equate to--” He rifled back through and found a one from the bills. “This one?” He asked, before peering closer and discovering the name on the small ribbon at the bottom.

Well he had remembered correctly, so that was a plus. It did not make things make more sense, though. And he flipped the dollar over, admiring the fine detail of the small lines, but he had yet to see a divided pyramid with a hovering cap anywhere near here. He nodded at it and arched an eyebrow.

“We have a good deal of symbolism as well-- but all of it sensible. Symbols to stand in for names or concepts… most of which I feel could be divined by looking at them. These are nonsensical so far as I can tell-- not to mean that they are not valid and worthy works, but… what do they mean?”

He wasn’t frustrated, at least, only curious. It would be hard to feel too negatively, he thought, given the space, the life around them. It was perfect, exactly the sort of thing he had had in mind. And Steve had grown more talkative, clearly glad-- proud, even-- to be showing Loki the sights of this city, despite it not being his own.

Loki let his gaze drift across the lawn.

There was someone with a plastic disc that they sent spiraling through the air to a friend, and Loki watched its progress for a moment, before turning back to something far more interesting.

“When we return to New York, will you take me to see your Brooklyn?” He asked.

They had always spoken of going, but… especially after a day out like this one, it was plain that they could. So there was no reason why they should not, so far as he could tell.

 

Steve chuckled at Loki’s questions about symbolism. “Honestly? I’m embarrassed to admit, I don’t actually know.” He knew there was something about masonic symbols and some of the stuff was rooted in ancient whatnot, like pyramids and all that, but if it wasn’t a building or a person, his mind more or less categorized it as useless decoration. “The numbers are the important thing to know. Everything else I reckon is mostly just complicated on purpose to make it harder to counterfeit.”

He took a brief break from his explanations to finish off his kebab, crumpling the paper and foil it had come in into a ball and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He watched Loki as his gaze tracked a couple of folks playing frisbee, and relaxed back into the bench.

“We’ll go to Brooklyn,” he said, slightly disappointed in himself that he hadn’t yet made time to do so. “I’ll take you to Prospect Park. It’s nice, you’ll like it. And maybe we can walk through Williamsburg, and then go down to where my neighborhood used to be. We can also go get some really good pizza there, if you want -- there’s a few places that are supposed to be fantastic.”

It would be fun. Another personal part of himself and his past to share with Loki. A piece of where he came from, even if it was just an echo of the place he’d known.

It’d be interesting to see what had stayed the same.

He checked his watch and gnawed on his lip. As pleasant and relaxing as sitting here on the Mall was, it was noon, which meant they were entering into his narrow window of time to see Peggy. And he’d put it off more than long enough. Trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, he stood, collected his and Loki’s trash to put in one of the nearby bins, and smiled. “Well. I guess it’s about time to get going,” he announced. “You ready?”

It was an easier question to ask of Loki than himself.

 

Loki took to his feet immediately, loathe to keep Steve longer than necessary, lest it seem he was unwilling or nervous about it as he admittedly was.

“I am.” He said simply. He watched Steve rid them of their rubbish and fell into step beside him.

He’d managed to keep his thoughts away from the idea of Peggy for most of the day. But now that they were approaching the actuality of seeing her, meeting with her…

He had a lot of questions he would have liked to ask, rules about interactions in the homes for the elderly, what sort of degenerative problems those who could not slow their aging might face. What he should do to keep her from hating him.

But none of this seemed like things that he should concern Steve with. Not when he, no doubt, would have his own concerns.

And it felt unkind to draw his attention to those, either.

“What is she like? Your Peggy, I mean. As you remember her.” Steve had spoken of her before, a little, but now that they were preparing to go to her… it seemed much more relevant. And it felt kinder to her if he could say that Steve had told him of her. That he thought of her.

Provided he got-- or was invited-- to say anything.

They came even again with the area where the taxis congregated, and Loki let Steve pick the one that was to convey them, as he had been doing so far.

 

Sitting in the back of the cab, Steve smiled nostalgically.

“She was smart. Strong. We were the same age, but she always felt older than the rest of us in a way -- she had a kind of... wisdom, I guess? And poise.” He stared forward through the windshield, but without really seeing.

“She always managed to look like she was in complete control. Posture, restraint, class. She could hold together incredibly under pressure. And she had this way of just sort of commanding respect. Not by getting up in anyone’s face about it -- just by being really good at what she did. And she deserved even more respect than she got.”  He shook his head. “She didn’t take crap from anyone though. First time I ever saw her?” he grinned. “An infantryman -- guy twice the size I was then -- talked down to her because she was a woman, and she _decked_ him. Laid him out in one punch.” And that was a memory he would cherish for the rest of his life.

“I’d have been dead before ever seeing actual battle if not for her,” he added. “When I found out Bucky and the rest of the 107th had been taken by HYDRA, I was ready to walk to Austria to get them back. I would have been shot within a day, probably. Peggy didn’t try to talk me into staying behind, but instead, got Howard and stole a plane and flew me in so I could airdrop in behind enemy lines,” he recalled. “Without her, there wouldn’t have been any Howling Commandos. And she was pitching in and helping with analysis in the war-room always, even came with on some field operations -- she was... She was amazing.”

Looking down at his hands, his smile flickered. “And she could also be... She was tough as nails, but she wasn’t all hard edges. She knew how to say the right thing. She was compassionate. And she... she _saw_ me. I mean, before. When I was--” He gestured vaguely.

When he was _invisible_ , she’d actually looked at him. With something more than pity. She’d seen him and knew him as Captain America, but also as Steve from Brooklyn. And she cared about him as both.

 

Loki listened and felt his heart sinking a little.

She sounded wonderful. Helpful and useful in ways he couldn’t be, and kind and caring in ways that he simply wasn’t. Ways he could pretend to be, but only pretend. Good in ways he would never get to find out if he could be-- would _he_ have seen Steve before his transformation into the man he was now, the _shape_ he was now? And… in control. Capable. Loki was neither of those things. Not anymore.

And he couldn’t help but wonder if he would do the same-- or if he would have been the one trying to tell Steve not to go, that it was too dangerous. Then again, he knew it would only be trying; when Steve got his mind set on something…

And he knew Steve’s mind was set on him. It was an anchor that he was incredibly grateful for in the turbulence of his thoughts. But he could not help but wonder if Steve wouldn’t be better if Peggy-- then-Peggy, _his_ Peggy, were in Loki’s place now. How much more might have been achieved if he had her at his side.

He swallowed and looked out the window beside him.

This was the sort of person that Steve loved. The sort of person that he no doubt thought Loki was, or could become.

He ached with that thought, but pushed a small smile onto his face, for Steve’s benefit.

“She sounds like she was amazing. I’m sure she still is.” He hoped so, at least. Hoped that she was everything Steve could hope for. He couldn’t wish otherwise; that was too selfish, too jealous, even for him.

“And it sounds as though I owe her my thanks for looking after you until I could get here, until I found you-- or you found me, as the case may be.”

 

Steve smiled, reaching over to squeeze Loki’s fingers. “I’m sure she’d be just as grateful for you keeping me in one piece now.”

Strong. Smart. Kind. Loving.

He had a type, it seemed.

“And we should probably thank Maria Hill one of these days,” he mused. “Technically, she’s the one who found you. On the monitors, I mean, the day you broke in. I wouldn’t have known otherwise.”

Such a slim coincidence, that he’d been in the right place at the right time. The right recruiting office at the right moment for Erskine to see him; the right unit at camp Lehigh for Peggy to oversee training; the right room with the right security footage playing to see Loki disguised as himself infiltrating the Triskelion. So many chances to have missed meeting two of the loves of his life.

He supposed he needed to be more grateful for just how lucky he was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is posted with all due respect to the brave men and women who have laid down their lives in the service of their country, and those who are interred at Arlington National Cemetery.
> 
> We'd also like to thank Agent Mal, who wrote a short fic inspired by Little Talks, which can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4299231)!


	53. Fifty-Three

The facility, when they reached it, was in a large brick building covered in ivy with white wooden colonnades out front, nestled away in a quieter neighborhood of the city with tall hedges, away from the noise of traffic. A white sign with engraved and painted lettering proclaimed the location “Oakview Manor,” -- a bit pretentious, Steve thought, but at least it looked nice enough to keep up with the name.

Peggy deserved someplace nice.

And as they walked up the steps to the porch (bypassing the ramp that allowed wheelchair access), he could see where a number of rocking chairs sat, allowing the residents space to sit and enjoy the outdoors, and beyond that, a glimpse of a garden in back. He wondered if she sat out here, soaking in the sun and listening to the birds over the distant noise of the city, or if she brought a book and absorbed herself in whatever she might be reading...

A small bell tinkled as they entered, and a nurse at the immaculate front desk looked up. “May I help you?”

“Hi, yes. I called early this morning, ah. I’m here to see Peggy Carter?” Steve said, tucking his hands into his pockets.

The nurse frowned. “Carter... Carter...” She typed something into her computer. “Would that be a Ms. Margaret Carter?”

“Yes, that’s her,” Steve confirmed.

“Alright! And you must be her... grandson?” she asked.

Steve flushed. “No. Um. I’m a friend.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, just sign in here--” she pushed a guest registry toward him, “--and I’ll take you right up!”

Steve quickly signed himself and Loki in, then passed the book back to the nurse, whose nametag proclaimed her name to be Tanya. She paused by the elevators, but then led them up the stairway instead, apparently judging them to both be sound enough for the steps, unlike many of the residents. They continued down the hall, passing an elderly man on a walker, and then she paused at a room to the right. Lightly, she rapped on the door, then poked her head in. “Ms. Carter? There’s someone here to see you.”

Abruptly, Steve’s heart began hammering in his chest, the pounding of blood in his ears almost drowning the muffled reply.

Tanya turned to him and smiled. “Okay. Have a nice visit, and please don’t hesitate to hit the call button if you need any help from our staff!” she told him, giving his arm a pat and then retreating down the hall.

Steve lingered by the door, heart in his throat. He looked to Loki, wide-eyed. “Um...” he hesitated. “Would you mind... I hate to drag you here and ask you to stay in the hall, but... just until I can see if she’s up for it, would you be okay out here?”

There was a windowseat with cushions just down the hallway, overlooking the back garden, with a few books and magazines spread over a little end table.

  


He’d been ready to follow him in, but he just as quickly stopped the motion, though he was afraid it showed, the slight jerk as he came to a stop betraying his intentions.

Still, he summoned a smile.

“Of course.” He told him. “Take as long as you need.” He looked back the way they’d come, after the woman’s retreating back, and then stepped in, just to lay his hand on Steve’s arm.

“I will be here if you need me. But you do not have to bring me in if you don’t want or… if you think it best for her that you not. I will be just fine.” He gestured at the seat by the window. “But if you want me to join you, you need only say so. I’ll be here.”

The house was grander than he’d been expecting, and he was glad of it. It meant that Steve could not feel badly for Peggy, would not insist on changing her living arrangements, bringing her back with them. It was good that she was receiving good care. It was better still that they would not need to provide it.

Selfish, again.

He took his touch away and stepped back, nodding at Steve encouragingly before he took his seat.

He’d waited this long for his partner. A little longer wouldn’t hurt anyone.

  


Steve smiled at Loki gratefully. “Thank you,” he murmured, and then, as Loki stepped back, he pushed open the door.

For a moment, he thought he had the wrong room. A figure lay in the bed by the window, propped up on pillows, but where Peggy had been so full of life and vitality...

This wasn’t Peggy. Couldn’t be. Rich dark brown curls were replaced with pale silver, and where her mouth had always been painted perfect crimson, the woman in the bed had white and bloodless lips, crinkled and colorless.

But when she turned from the window and looked at him, her eyes were dark and quick -- the same bright eyes he’d known from before, glimmering faintly with amusement. “I was wondering if you were going to stand in that doorway for the rest of the day,” she remarked, and though her voice wavered with age, there was still that crisp, English accent he’d recognize in an instant. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Steve swallowed, stepping forward. Everything was dim and softly lit, natural light diffused by the pale green curtains. A vase of lilies sat on the bedside table, and for a second, Steve kicked himself for not remembering to stop for flowers on the way. He took a breath, then forced a small smile. “Hi, Peggy.”

She blinked, then her eyes widened, lips parting in disbelief.

“Steve?”

A trembling hand reached out toward him, and Steve closed the distance, sinking into the chair next to the bed and taking her hand in his, running a thumb over the bony knuckles there. “Hey. Yeah. It’s me.”

“You’re alive?” Her eyes brightened with tears as her voice cracked. “You came back!”

His throat tightened, and he had to concentrate on not squeezing her hand too hard -- he could feel the bones through her skin, fragile and bird-like. “Yeah,” he managed. “I came back.” _After I made you listen to me die._

“It’s been so long...” She looked like she still couldn’t believe it, like he was a ghost.

He couldn’t blame her. Sometimes he felt like a ghost himself.

The guilt welled up, and he took a shaky breath. “Peggy, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” Sorry he’d put her through that. Sorry he hadn’t come sooner. Sorry that they hadn’t had more _time..._

She smiled sadly, eyes shining, and pulled her hand out of his grip to reach up and brush her fingers against his cheek. “As well you ought to be,” she told him.

Steve gaped, until she chuckled:

“You are _very_ late for that dance.”

 

He let out a chuff of breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of relief. “Well, you know, I went to find the Stork Club soon as I woke up, and it ain’t there anymore.”

“Not for a while now,” she said. “Though I think we’re past my dancing days now anyway.” She gestured to the bed she laid in, legs covered by a knit blanket.

“Nah,” Steve told her, leaning in. “When you’re feeling up to it, I’ll make that dance up to you. We’ll just make sure to have the band play--”

“--Something slow,” she finished, crows feet crinkling at the corners of her eyes. After a moment, though, her smile faltered. “Oh Steve. What happened? All we could hear was static...”

Still gently holding her hand, he explained. About putting the plane down. About the cold, and then nothing, believing honestly that he’d been dying. And then waking up in a room that was just _off,_ and running out into Times Square and finding out it had been seventy years. All the while she watched him and listened attentively, expression a mix of understanding and pity.

“Oh, my darling. That sounds dreadful,” she murmured. “It must have been quite a shock.”

He looked down, embarrassed now that he was complaining to her of his woes. “It was. But... Well, the future, er, present isn’t so bad. Lot of things got better.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “And you were lucky enough to miss the seventies.”

He looked up and caught the teasing look in her eye. “What, you don’t think I would have pulled off sideburns and a leisure suit?” he asked, and she burst into laughter, her head falling back and looking for a moment like the Peggy he knew.

He wished he’d had more chances to make her laugh like that. Wished they’d had more to laugh about in the time they’d had.

“It’s incredible, though,” she said softly after collecting herself. “You look exactly the same. Like you haven’t aged a single day...” Her face fell. “And here I am all old and shriveled. I’m sorry, I must be ghastly to look at. I wish you didn’t have to see me like this--”

“Bull,” he chided, lifting her knuckles to his lips and pressing a kiss there. “You’re gorgeous as ever.”

That earned him an affectionate eye-roll. “Alright. I take it back. You aren’t exactly the same.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“You’re not quite as terrible at talking to women.”

He grinned. “Well, trust me, it ain’t from practice.”

“I imagine that would have been hard to come by over the years,” she remarked, settling back into her cushions with a faint sigh.

Steve looked around the room again. It was softly lit, pleasant. There were some medical instruments and monitors, but they were unobtrusive enough that the place didn’t have a clinical feel. The walls had a light, paisley pattern, and a few non-descript paintings hung, along with a lovely black and white print of the Brooklyn bridge. A shawl hung over the end of the bed, and a pair of slippers on the floor and the cane leaning against the wall suggested she could still move around more or less under her own power, despite her age. Not that Steve expected much of anything could keep Peggy down if she had her mind set on something. The dresser and the side table were both adorned with framed photographs, containing everything from new pictures -- a smiling blonde woman sitting with Peggy over a cake whose candles spelled out 94 -- to old black and whites, including a familiar image of the commandos.

And in the very back, in a small frame, he thought he saw something familiar. Frowning, he reached back and plucked the small, simple frame from the back of the forest of photos, and grimaced.

“Aw, hell, Peggy. What would you keep this for?” he asked, looking at the picture of himself, bony and scrawny, sweat-spiked hair standing in all directions as he wilted in the sun of camp Lehigh. There had to have been better photos of him even then.

“A girl’s not allowed to keep a picture of the first man she fell in love with?” she asked archly.

“Yeah but, there had to have been ones where I looked less--”

“--Like I said. _The man I fell in love with_ ,” she added quietly.

Steve stopped, blushed, and put the photo down. “Where did you even get that?”

“Stole it from the SSR files,” she answered nonchalantly, though with a hint of mischievousness.

And he didn’t even doubt her. He smiled, shaking his head. “It’s nice to see you have so many pictures. You... Folks come visit you a lot?” he asked, not sure if he was trying to assuage his guilt or not for failing to visit so far.

“Mmm. A fair number,” she answered. “My grand-niece Sharon works nearby. She comes around often enough. Sweet girl,” she added with a smile. “I do believe she inherited my right hook.”

Steve grinned. “Sweet and formidable, from the sound of it,” he said, relieved. “You’re happy here, though?”

“There are worse places to end up,” she said with a shrug. Then, seeing his stricken expression, smiled and waved a hand at him. “Oh, don’t fret. I’m old, is all. I’m happy enough. I’ve had a good, long life, and they take care of me here. The food isn’t entirely rubbish, the garden is nice, and George from across the hall plays a passable game of chess on his good days.”

“You play chess?” Steve asked.

“Mmm,” she hummed, smiling wryly. “I have for a long time now. Though it’s a nice change of pace to play with a smaller board and pieces that aren’t flesh and blood.”

“I feel like there’s some stories there...”

“Oh, so very many. Be a dear and pass me that glass of water, would you?’

He did so, hand hovering in case she needed help supporting it as she drained the last of the water, then took the glass back and set it aside. “Tell me. About your life,” he said. “I know I missed out on all of it, but I’d love to hear about it.”

Her expression grew somewhat distant, though the laugh lines at the edge of her mouth remained fond. “I stayed with the SSR. After the war. Though away from the commandos and Phillips and with you gone, no one took me seriously...”

He listened as she told him about the men of the SSR who expected her to be a secretary (working not to ball his hands into fists all the while), and also how she used that invisibility to her advantage. How she helped get Howard out of a scrape involving a group called Leviathan, and some time later joined him, Phillips, and Dugan to form the beginnings of SHIELD.

“We lost Chester in Korea,” she said sadly. “Thought we would lose Dum Dum a few times, traipsing around the Eastern Bloc, but he somehow always managed to pull through by the skin of his teeth. Though I remember one time he came back with a bullet hole clean through the top of his bowler hat.”

“He kept the bowler hat?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fairly certain they buried him in it.”

Steve thought of the grave he’d visited and left flowers on, then thought of Dum Dum clinging to his hat well into the afterlife, and couldn’t help a watery smile. “I imagine he’d have been happy with that.”

She’d stuck with SHIELD through Korea, the Cold War, Vietnam, and retired around the fall of the Berlin wall.

“The world changed so much,” she murmured, looking off into space. “Though I suppose I don’t have to tell you that.” She looked back to him. “You said SHIELD found you in the ice?”

“As far as I know,” he replied. “I worked for them up until recently.” Part of him cringed at that admission -- that he’d turned his back on the organization that had been Peggy’s life’s work -- but she only snorted.

“You must’ve had more patience for those bureaucrats than I did,” she replied. “Too much bloody red tape. Too much politics. Everyone is willing to fight to keep the world in order but no one is willing to fight for its soul anymore,” she declared, then sighed, glancing toward him apologetically. “Here I go ranting on like a mad old woman.”

“It’s all right. I think... I think I know what you mean,” he said. “It all seemed simpler, back then. Knowing what was right and who the bad guys were.”

“Shame none of them have the decency to emblazon themselves with tentacled skulls and swastikas anymore,” she replied dryly. “Would make our lives easier.”

“Heh.”

“The world has changed, Steve. You haven’t, though. You still know what’s right,” she told him, patting the back of his hand.

He blushed, then looked away. “So, other than SHIELD and your work...”

“I married, eventually.”

“He was good to you?”

“I hardly would have said yes if he wasn’t,” she laughed. “He was a good man. A good soldier. You would have liked him, I’m sure.”

“Just knowing he treated you right, I like him already,” he said. And alright, maybe he was a tad jealous, that someone else had got to marry Peggy. But she deserved someone to take care of her. To be there for her when Steve couldn’t have been. “Any kids?”

“Heavens, no.” She shook her head, perhaps a bit mournfully. “We talked about it once or twice, but with my work and all the looming wars... Knowing just how dangerous the world was, how many threats there were the public never even knew about... I couldn’t imagine raising a child in that. And there just wasn’t the time, and by the point that I was ready to settle down a bit more I wasn’t able to... well.” She picked at the edge of her blanket. “It wasn’t meant to be. My brother, though, moved to the States from England, with his family.”

“I never knew you had a brother,” Steve mused quietly.

“He was very cross with me when I joined the war effort,” she said. “He was younger -- too young to get away with enlisting, even if our parents let him -- and he took years to forgive me for taking all the family glory.” She shook her head in amused disbelief. “He had a son and a daughter. And later on, grandchildren. So I got to be Aunt Peggy and play with the little devils whenever I came to visit. With all their lot and with Howard’s boy too...”

Steve jerked. “Howard’s son? You mean Tony?”

“Little Anthony, yes. Not that Howard paid him much mind as the years went on,” she added, brow furrowed. “But Edwin did his best to raise the boy, and I visited him as a young thing, before he went off to school.”

“Edwin...?” Steve asked, still reeling at the idea that Tony must have known Peggy when he’d been a child. Probably never even made the connection... Would Steve, if he hadn’t been frozen, have been Tony’s great-uncle Steve?

“Edwin Jarvis,” Peggy supplied, coughing to clear her throat. “Howard’s butler. And a good friend.” She smiled wistfully. “I was blessed to have several of those, over the decades. Though there was far too little time with some of them...”

Jarvis...? Then that would mean-- Steve would have to ask, when he got back, if he named his AI after the butler from his childhood. He wondered if Peggy knew; if she’d appreciate knowing some part of her friend endured, even if only in name, still taking care of the man he’d helped raise.

When he glanced up at Peggy, though, her eyes were welling with tears, and her chin beginning to quiver. “Peg--”

“I’m so sorry, Steven,” she said, voice strained. “I thought... We all thought you were dead. I told Howard we needed to let you go. Needed to stop looking, though he never did. We mourned you and we thought we were letting you go--”

“I know,” he said, clasping her frail hand between both of his and ignoring the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Peggy.”

“I thought you were _dead_ ,” she repeated, not quite a wail, but clearly on the edge of weeping. “I let you go. I gave up on you, and you were still out there and I, I just _moved on_ \--”

“Hey,” he interrupted, reaching forward to brush a lock of silver hair away from her face. “Hey now, you did right, Peggy. I was gone. I was... The fact I’m alive is nothing but a fluke, okay? My heart was frozen, it wasn’t beating. And you-- I’m glad, Peggy,” he insisted, his own eyes prickling.

“I’m glad you moved on. Because you deserved so much better than waiting and hoping.” He smiled at her, and it ached. “You were happy. That’s all I need. Alright?”

She smiled back, a tear slipping down a weathered cheek, which she reached up to wipe at. “Alright,” she echoed. “All... Alright...”

“I’m glad you had someone,” he repeated. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be a part of your life, but I’m so happy it was a good one.”

“It has been,” she replied gently, coughing again and settling back.

“And what about you, Steve?” she asked, eyes drying as she peered at him. “Do you... do you have someone?”

“You’re not gonna empty a pistol at me again if I say yes?”

 _That_ got a laugh. “Not this time,” she replied. “I feel so bad that you’ve woken up as we’re all on our way out. It’d be... I’d be happy to know you weren’t alone.”

“I still got you, don’t I?” he teased, though his heart clenched a little at just how true it was, that he’d come back to life just in time for the last of his loved ones to--

“And I have friends. The Avengers. I actually live downstairs from Howard’s son,” he told her. “There’s Bruce, and Pepper, and Natasha-- you’d like her, I think -- and there’s...” he paused, gaze darting down. “There’s, ah. There’s someone.”

Peggy gave his fingers a squeeze. “I’m glad,” she told him with a soft, kind look. “What’s she like?”

“Ah, wellll....”

And there they reached the awkward part. The part he’d been doing his best not to think about, insisting to Loki he wasn’t worried, because if he worried about it he’d probably make himself sick.

She raised her brows at his expectantly. “Yes?”

“Well, I’m... They’re... Not really ‘she’...” he fumbled. “Ahm. It’s a man.”

He didn’t quite have to courage to look her in the eye. But then she chucked a finger under his chin, forcing him to look up as she smiled beatifically at him.

“Then tell me about _him.”_

That was it. No shock. No reproach. Not even the slightest tightening around the edges of her smile. She seemed amused by his discomfort, but that was all.

He thought he might start shaking.

“He’s... He’s great,” he stuttered. “He’s actually out in the hall waiting, if you’d like me to ask him in so you can meet him?”

“Steve!” she admonished, lightly swatting his arm. “All this time and your poor bloke has been sitting bored in the corridor?”

He pushed his chair back to get up. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, grinning as he made for the door, opening it and sticking his head out into the hall, waving Loki over once he got his attention.

  


Loki had been sitting, staring at the same page for what felt like a short infinity, straining to hear what might be going on… hoping things were going well, and terrified that they were going too well.

He imagined Steve walking back out and asking him about using Asgard’s knowledge to rejuvenate his first love. To make her as he had remembered her, to give him the chance to have the life he’d lost, or at least some small part of it.

Would he? If Steve asked, would Loki do that for him? Help her and know that he was giving up the future they’d spoken of, the life he’d imagined, in the process?

He supposed that a woman, even one that had been old, with her years reversed… Peggy could give Steve the family he wanted. The one that Loki could not supply him with. Adopted or otherwise, at least Peggy would be human. Able to give a child a proper home, give Steve…

But that thought trailed off, became too sad. Because Loki could not imagine what he would be doing, if that were the case. Could not imagine where his life would take him, where he would live… what he would do with himself, now that Steve had ruined him from the person he had been. If he couldn’t be with Steve… If that were no longer an option...

But then Steve opened the door, gestured that Loki should come in.

He stood quickly to hide his concerns and straightened his clothing, wanting to be presentable. Wanting to be likeable. Wanting to be someone that someone Steve cared about as much as Peggy would approve of. Wanting to be something other than who and what he was, but unable to change it.

This was important to Steve, and so it was important to him, too. He was nervous, and sitting out here had only made him more so.

But he needed to do this for them both. He wiped his palms on his pants and gave Steve a smile.

“Everything is going okay, I take it?” He asked. Then he hesitated. “When I go in am I… are we just friends?” He kept his voice low and spoke quickly, so that she would not hear. He just needed to know who he was meant to be to Steve, what role he needed to play.

Whoever Steve had told her that Loki was, he would be. It was that simple. It needed to be.

  


Steve gave Loki’s hand a squeeze when he got close enough for Steve to reach out and take it. “She knows,” he replied quietly. “It’s okay. More than okay. She wants to meet you.”

She was okay with it. With him having someone, with that someone being a man -- and now he knew he shouldn’t ever have doubted, but he was so happy and relieved all the same, because this was _Peggy,_ and what she thought... well, it mattered to him. And, he suspected, it mattered to Loki too.

“Just go ahead and be yourself,” he told Loki. “Be us.”

Opening the door further, he tugged Loki into the room, then turned back to Peggy where she sat up expectantly, scooting up against her pillows.

“Loki, this is Peggy Carter,” he announced in a slightly louder my voice. “Peggy, I’d like for you to meet Loki.” He looked sidelong at Loki and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “My partner,” he added.

“It’s a pleasure,” Peggy said, gracious smile in place. “Do come sit. There’s another chair by the dresser. My apologies for Steve’s dreadful manners, making you sit out in the corridor.” She said the last with a teasing scowl in Steve’s direction, and he lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender as he sat back down in his chair.

  


The air of geniality that surrounded him upon his entering was not what he’d expected. He’d expected suspicion, a cool sort of reservation. Instead Steve was told off-- but they’d both decided it was best. That didn’t seem fair.

And when Steve had introduced him, she hadn’t flinched or faltered in the least. She was exactly as Steve had said. In control, poised… exactly as Loki had feared she would be.

“I’m afraid the pleasure is to be entirely mine,” He told her, a self deprecating smile pulling at one side of his lips. “But it is very nice to meet you. Steve’s spoken of you often, since we met.”

He pulled up the chair that she’d motioned to and brought it closer, amused to find that her accent came with a lilt not entirely unlike his own-- leaving Steve the odd man out.

Seated, Loki took the opportunity to look at her-- really look.

He’d seen Steve’s rendering before, but that had been a drawing of a memory of a woman. This was reality on its own. And this was a sort of oldness that Loki had never truly had a chance to see, up close.

The only person he knew who aged was Odin, and he aged in relation to the rest of Asgard-- his age receding when he slept. When he was able to have a proper Odinsleep.

This though, was a sort of settled in age, it had a heaviness to it, a depth, visible in the lines of her face and the pigment of her skin. Obvious in her movements, slow and calculated and almost weak looking, if not for the dignity she clearly had.

It made him feel sad, but also scared. Would Steve become this way? Was he going to be forced to watch his decline into this, or something like it?

He kept his emotions off of his face, hidden behind a slightly bashful smile.

“You must excuse my absence. It wasn’t Steve’s manners-- I thought it best you were allowed to make your greetings between yourselves. I didn’t want to intrude.”

Peggy scoffed. “Hardly. I’m told that you’re a part of his life now. Difficult to intrude as such.”

Loki ducked his head, though he felt a grateful smile blooming, something far more honest than those that had come before it. “Even so.” He insisted.

She turned her eyes to Steve.

“He seems very polite, almost shy. How have you ever managed not to embarrass him half to death?” The aside was clearly meant to put Loki at ease, and he couldn’t help but find himself walking right into it.

“Tell me about yourself,” Peggy said. “What do you do, where do you come from-- how did you meet?”

She spoke with the air of someone who expected a story that was sweet or funny.

Loki glanced at Steve, feeling slightly terrified.

But he’d said she knew. And he’d told Loki to be himself.

“I’m-- I work for Stark Industries as a development consultant.” He wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say. It wasn’t a lie at least, so that was good. But the rest…

“I am… I come from a place called Jotunheim, though I was raised in Asgard. And I met Steve…” this was the hardest part. “We actually met on opposite sides of a fight. And the next time I saw him, he ended up saving my life. So…” Loki shrugged. “We’ve taken turns ever since. I’m not entirely certain at this point who is in whose debt. But… I suppose one doesn’t count that with love, do you?” He tried to keep his voice light, while veering away from being too high.

He looked over to Steve and lay a gentle hand on his leg, possessive, but fond.

Peggy looked between the two of them.

“No,” she said softly, but her voice was warm and rich with her own memories, her own stories. “No, you don’t. I don’t know how I would have expected any differently, though.”

Loki couldn’t help but wonder how long she had been here, that she didn’t seem to know who he was-- did she know what he’d done?

Should he tell her?

He glanced at Steve, hoping for some confirmation that he’d done the right thing, said the right thing.

  


Loki seemed nervous -- understandably, as Steve would be pretty shaken meeting anyone important from Loki’s life in similar conditions -- but Peggy must have sensed it, and replied in such a way to dispel any awkwardness. They were both polite, kind, not insincere in the least... And in that moment, his chest swelled with overwhelming love for both of them.

Looking at them both was a strange study in contrasts; Peggy’s age to Loki’s near-eternal youth; his sharp features to hers, softened with age and wrinkles; his coloring, stark and smooth, to hers, faded and slightly mottled by time, and her recumbent posture compared to his, upright and taut as a wire.

But the both of them spoke similarly, in accent and cadence, speech refined and indicative of intellect. They were both schooled in politics, in etiquette.

He wondered if Peggy would find Loki a more-than-passable chess opponent.

He tensed a bit when Peggy asked how they met, wondering if he ought to step in with a lie (potentially upsetting Loki by treating their actual meeting as something to cover up, secreting away his past), or with the truth (potentially distressing for Peggy, and likely to make the entire situation awkward -- “yes, we met in Germany while he was trying to take over the world, and he made a go of killing me with a spear”).

But before he could make up his mind and say anything, Loki stepped in and managed to walk a delicate line between both options. He spoke the truth, but in such a way that key details were omitted or played down to paint a more palatable picture. They _had_ met on opposite sides of a fight, and they’d saved one another many times since then. There was the matter of world domination, of course, conveniently glossed over... But those had been the actions of the Loki of before, and Peggy was meeting the Loki of _now._ And everything Loki told her was far more relevant to the portrait of the man he’d become -- the man Steve loved -- than the person that he’d been.

“We both live in New York, now,” Steve offered. “Loki’s been needling me to show him around Brooklyn.” He looked over at Loki with a grin that indicated he didn’t mind said needling in the least.

“As well you should,” Peggy said. “I lived there for some time myself after the war.” She smiled distantly. “I kept expecting to see this yellow-haired slip of a man getting into fights in every alley I walked past...”

“Fewer alley fights nowadays,” Steve told her. “I promise.”

The look she leveled at him implied she found this hard to believe, before she turned her attention to Loki. “If you’re tasked with saving his life, I’m afraid you must have your work quite cut out for you. He doesn’t make it easy.”

  


Loki laughed-- genuinely, laughed.

“I’m told I have you to thank for seeing him through til now, so I suppose you would know… though in honesty, it seems like I get hurt more than he does these days.” He raised a brow at Steve and shook his head. “Alley fights…” he said lowly, loud enough that he thought she should still be able to hear him and his exasperation, but low enough for it to sound like him grumbling to himself.

“And what of yourself?” He asked, turning the topic back to the much safer subject of the woman in the bed. “Steve tells me the two of you met before--” he gestured, mainly as Steve’s chest, and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you were part of the alley fights as well. You seem far too dignified for that.”

He knew what Steve had told him, of course, but it would put her at even more of a disadvantage, and it was presumptuous besides.

Not to mention, he thought Steve could benefit from knowing about her thoughts at the time, what she remembered.

And it would help him to know just how good he had to be, to still be seen as the better option, as worth waiting for, when Steve nearly had her-- had this.

“They brought him in-- Abraham Erskine, he brought Steve in, as a sort of bid for the place of test subject. He was a good head and a half shorter than every other man in training, but damned if you didn’t show them all up. All courage and fire and giving it your all. You know, he used everything he had, mind, body, heart-- and that was why they chose him. That was why you got picked.” Her words alternated as her eyes slid back and forth, speaking first to one, then to the other of them.

“And even though he wasn’t any good at all at speaking to women--” She gave Steve a teasing grin that made something tighten in Loki’s chest. “--he was polite, kind, honest. I met him watching men try to drag him through the mud, sometimes literally, and fell in love watching him shine through it.”

The words fell from her lips with a sort of pride, and Loki swallowed, able to see the woman she had been once showing through in her eyes, in her smile.

He didn’t have any words, but thankfully Steve had been right about her graces-- she saved him again from embarrassment.

“Fortunately, it seems that Steve doesn’t have much need for talking to women while he’s got you around.” She told Loki, and he felt as if he’d suddenly been given permission to breathe again. Or perhaps to love Steve-- which at this point may well have counted as more necessary than breathing.

“I’d advise you keep him around,” She said archly, her face turned back to Steve. “He’ll take care of the manners in your relationship.” She smiled at Loki and he returned it, honestly glad and grateful for her saying so, even if he knew that wasn’t really the case.

But she wasn’t done yet.

“For the record, however--” She looked to Steve and her mouth twitched upwards, as though with a shared secret between them. “I have been in more than my fair share of alley fights. Just not with him.” She nodded in the direction of his partner, and Loki chuckled.

  


“Probably won more of them too,” Steve replied with a grin, his cheeks still burning from Peggy’s earlier praise.

Of course, he remembered giving it his all in training, but it hadn’t felt like his ‘all’ was all that much. Erskine’s sympathy for little guys went a long way. Even Steve’s minor victories had simply come from necessity; he’d brought the flagpole down to get the flag, not because he felt he had to prove his ingenuity, but because he was pretty sure he’d have dropped dead if he had to run all the way back to camp. And when he’d jumped on the training grenade, well, he hadn’t been thinking about nobility and sacrifice. He hadn’t been thinking at all, he just... jumped.

And there had been so very much mud. Mud in his uniform, mud in his boots, hell, he’d been cleaning mud out of his ears and even more unmentionable places. Mud and dust and sweat and sometimes blood, wondering each day if Bucky had been right and the army would kill him before the Germans did.

But he remembered... He remembered climbing into the back of that jeep, trying to hide that his legs felt like jelly and were about to give out. And he remembered the way Peggy had turned around in the front seat and looked at him -- not with confusion or pity or disparaging amusement, but with genuine interest and curiosity. Like he was more than just the dud recruit.

He remembered how his heart had picked up and sped faster for reasons that had nothing to do with running twelve miles.

“And don’t worry,” he added, looking back to Loki and gripping his hand, interweaving their fingers. “I don’t plan on letting him go anywhere without me, long as he wants me around.”

He’d fallen in love with Peggy and then lost her before he had a chance to make a life with her. It wasn’t a mistake he intended to repeat now that fate had seen to give him a second chance at falling head over heels for someone incredible. And having Peggy’s tacit blessing made it all the better. Knowing she didn’t begrudge him finding someone new, and that she’d had love a-plenty in her life too.

It was comforting. But still...

Steve squeezed Loki’s fingers in his, reassuring himself that this, he could still hold on to.

“You really do make a handsome couple,” Peggy remarked, looking at the two of them. “Very--” she broke off, coughing, lifted a trembling hand to her mouth. “Very-- hrm.” She sputtered for breath, her cough a wheezing, rattling thing, and Steve frowned.

“Can I get you some water?” he asked, concerned.

She shook her head, eyes briefly fluttering shut as she caught her breath. “Sweet tea,” she finally managed to say. “Downstairs. In the kitchen...”

Steve pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll go get you some.” He smiled at her, then Loki in turn. “I’ll be right back,” he said, making for the door.

His footsteps were still just barely audible in the hall when Peggy turned her attention on Loki, smile ebbing. “You promise you’ll take good care of him, won’t you?”

  


Almost before Loki fully understood what was going on, he was left alone with the old woman, who had been coughing in a way that was enough to knit his brows with concern.

The idea of being left here with her was horrific-- what if she died while he was with her, what if old age just… caught up with her now? It would look as if Loki had done something, as if he had killed her, killed Steve’s last--

But as her coughing eased and her smile faded, Loki heard her question, and it took him away from his own panic.

“Of course. I won’t let anything happen to him. I will-- I’ll care for him to the absolute best of my abilities.” He paused, then reached forward to touch her hand, to pat it gently in much the same way he had countless times to reassure Steve.

He was curious what her skin would feel like, dry and firm and brittle, he assumed, from the way it folded over itself, from how thin it looked… but she was soft, warm… smoother than his own skin, and he was reminded of river stones, rubbed smooth with time.

“You can have my promise that I will.” He told her, and before he could remove his touch, she’d turned her hand over, seizing his wrist in a surprisingly firm grasp for someone who looks as though she couldn’t even stand on her own.

“Good.” She said firmly. “Because if you harm him, I can guarantee that I will be the least of your worries. And you would not be the first to have nightmares about me. There would be absolutely no place for you to hide, and no where that you would be safe.” The words were strong, her voice steady, and there was not a hint of the harmless, teasing woman that he had seen before. She wasn’t kidding, and it did not even occur to Loki to doubt her. He could not help but wonder if she had been coughing before only to have an excuse to get Steve out of the room, to be left alone with him.

His eyes were wide, though, and he was afraid to pull away-- though he knew he could-- for fear of hurting her.

“It won’t be necessary, really.” He told her, fighting to keep his voice even and losing that fight magnificently. He could hear the way his tone rose halfway through, and thought he must sound like he was a snivelling weakling. What a wonderful impression to give.

And the entire situation was distressing. Her fragility, her fierceness, her accusation that he meant to harm Steve-- he’d thought she didn’t know who he was, but now he wasn’t so certain.

She stared him in the face, her eyes darting between his, obviously searching for any glimpse of a lie, before she nodded and released him, and just like that her calm, cool, kind side seemed to settle back into place.

“So,” she said, as though she were simply changing the subject. “Tell me a bit about Asgard. Where is that, exactly, and what’s your family like?”

And the most maddening thing was he still didn’t know if she had the slightest clue of what and who he was.

But he was shaken by the moment of change, yet, and he took a few seconds before he began speaking.

“I-- it’s-- very remote from here,” he began, then, cottoning on to the challenge of not saying anything too revealing-- in case she didn’t know-- he felt his composure returning as his mind engaged. “Our borders are carefully maintained-- there is really only one official means of entry and gaining access to it is… difficult to say the least. Though there are other paths… that is how I tend to travel, since my comings and goings are usually against my father’s wishes, and he is… somewhat in charge.”

For ease of everything, he decided to avoid the parts where he was not truly related, was a monster-- for the first time since he’d fallen into Thanos’s hands, he actually _wanted_ to lay claim to being an Odinson. If only to impress her, to make her think him an acceptable match for their Steve.

“And… what of yourself?” He asked, trying to squirm his way out from her attentions. “I am not overly familiar with the geography of that part of the world-- where do you come from?”

  


She raised her eyebrows, multiplying the wrinkles in her forehead with the gesture. “Originally? England. London, precisely. Though I’ve lived in the States since the war, barring a brief period of time spent working in a few embassies,” she mused, her eyes twinkling. “It’s across the ocean and a fair bit away, though not so far, I imagine, as an entirely different world.”

Seeing the look on his face, she chuckled. “I’m old, darling, but I haven’t gone blind and deaf yet. I might need spectacles to read the papers, but read them I do. A friend of yours, I think, was on the telly recently making a mess of my old hometown.”

  


He gaped for a moment, but then recovered his composure.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to presume…” He trailed off. “Yes, Thor-- I also saw him on the television. He’s doing well now, I think.” He shrugged. “Though I would hardly call him a friend, I do apologize for the mess he made. It is, with him I’m afraid, about the usual level of destruction.”

He bit down on his lip, before forcing himself to continue.

“Though I assume by that logic that you know I am not so very far behind him-- or, I have not been, in the past. I also would assume that is the reason you were so fervent in your need to hear from me that I intend Steve no harm. I can assure you, for as much as my word is worth to you, it is true. I do genuinely love him, and I would genuinely die before I see him harmed.” He let his emotion color the statements, needing them to be as convincing as possible.

  


“If you’d been a saint canonized by the Pope, dear, I would have still threatened to break your legs if you hurt him,” she informed him, mouth quirking upward. “I believe you.”

She reached out with her other hand and lightly patted the back of his, before withdrawing it to cough into, making a face as she cleared her throat. “I’ve heard your name before. But if Steve thinks you’re alright, well... Not as if I’m ever likely to hear the full story in here,” she remarked, settling back. “And what’s past is past, whatever it is you’ve done. And the past is not for young things like you and Steve to dwell in.”  She smiled mournfully. “Leave that to us old folk. You have the whole future ahead of you still.”

Her gaze tracked slowly away from Loki, settling on some point beyond the walls of the room. “Such a large future now... So much noise and so many worlds... People from beyond the stars, and monsters. It’s more wonderful and terrifying than we would have dreamed, and we were such avid dreamers, too...” her voice weakened and trailed off, as if she were caught up in events far away.

  


He watched her-- watched and listened as she went distant, and was unsure how to react.

He nearly wanted to argue, wanted to protest that youth had nothing to do with it, that he was her age a hundred times over.

But that seemed… more than unkind, it seemed like rubbing her nose in her own misfortune, being born where she was. Growing old.

And more, he was taken aback by what she said.

_people beyond the stars, and monsters._

He swallowed hard, wondering just how much she knew, how much she could guess just from seeing him. Just from talking to him.

Was it so glaringly obvious as that?

He opened his mouth to ask, but she began coughing again, and this time she shook from the force of her own body. She sat up, then leaned down, nearly folding in half from the power of her fit. He sprung to his feet and moved in closer, a hand on her shoulder while he hovered, unsure what to do and how to help.

“I’m sure he’ll be back in just a moment with your tea.” He assured her. “Is there-- can I get you anything else? Is there anything else that will help you?”

He wanted to, he realized. Wanted to help, to take some of her pain away. But he wasn’t sure how one would go about treating someone for being old. And… and more, he wasn’t sure she would be receptive to it.

_and monsters…_

He pulled his hand away, slowly, concerned and afraid that Steve would come back and think he was horrible, because he hadn’t _done_ anything to help.

  


It took a little longer than he’d meant to get the tea, but Steve returned as quickly as he was able without spilling it from the clear plastic glass the attendant in the kitchen had given him. He could hear Peggy’s faint coughing as he got to the door, and winced, hoping the fit hadn’t lasted the whole time he was gone.

“Hey,” he said, sliding the door open. “Sorry about that -- I took a wrong turn on the way to the kitchen and ended up in the den and this lady named Ida asked me to help her find her cat, who apparently died about twenty years ago--”

Peggy looked up from the bed, eyes wide and lips parted. “Steve?” she said hoarsely, “you came back!”

“Well of course,” he replied. “And I got your sweet tea.” He held the glass up as evidence, then moved to put it on the bedside table, only for Peggy’s hand to reach out and grab his wrist with a frail grip, the trembling of her fingers tangible against his skin.

“You’re alive,” she whispered, staring up at him in wonder. “It’s been so long...”

Steve’s heart sank.

“Yeah, Peggy,” he said softly, sinking into his chair again and taking her hand, doing his best to smile despite the unbearable weight forming against his ribs. “Of course I came back.”

“So long...” she murmured, tearing up, her shoulders shaking with small tremors.

And if it had been bad enough the first time...

“I had to come back,” he told her, voice just above a whisper, not trusting it not to break. “I still owe you that dance.”

  


Loki watched, confused at first and then mildly horrified.

“You’re very late for it.” She told him, smiling through her tears as she reached out for Steve, and Loki flinched.

The worst of it for him wasn’t the woman and her memory as it fled… it was Steve. Steve and the sad smile, the way he swallowed-- the heartbreak he was clearly experiencing, and how terrible he was at hiding it.

And if she didn’t remember Steve being there-- he wondered if she would remember him, remember that she had decided he was okay, because Steve thought he was okay. If she didn’t remember that conversation, then he might seem a threat.

But he didn’t know what to do, if he should speak to her, or if he should attempt to leave, to give them space, while Steve made his amends for waiting so long to come to see her, again.

But he did not want to abandon Steve that way, not when he was clearly so upset by this development.

And Loki realized he had no idea if this was common in the elderly, or if this, too, would seem to be his fault. Taking away memories.

Loki moved, slowly, so as not to startle her, back to his chair, circling around behind Steve to give her as much space as possible.

Once in place, he cleared his throat, alerting her as politely as he could to his presence.

“Hello, Peggy Carter. My name is Loki-- it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said it calmly, the way he imagined that she would react to this situation-- the way he imagined Steve would want him to. He made his voice as warm and kind as possible.

Steve had gone straight to acting as though she was right, as though her lack of memory meant that they truly had not been reunited until just that moment.

“Steve brought me here, but… would you like me to give you a few moments?” He asked both of them, turning from Peggy to Steve, so that if his partner wanted him to stay, he could tell him as much. And if he needed to deal with this on his own, well… Loki did not want to be in his way.

  


Peggy looked at Loki in confusion, as though he were a total stranger. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, “I... I don’t...”

She trailed off, and the look of bewilderment on her face twisted the knife Steve already felt like he’d been stabbed with.

“It’s okay if you want to,” Steve told Loki quietly. As much as part of him wanted to cling to Loki like a liferaft right now, he could hardly blame him for stepping back from all this. And it would be cruel to overwhelm Peggy, who already looked so lost.

“Steve,” she whispered, mouth twisting. “Oh, Steve, I’m sorry--”

“Hey,” he said, looking back to her. “Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, voice warbling. “He made his choice, Steve, it wasn’t your fault.”

He froze. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words emerged.

“You don’t have to follow him, Steve,” she continued, tears slipping down the grooves worn by age into her features. “You don’t have to follow him down...”

A small tapping on the door interrupted, and Steve surreptitiously wiped at his face with his sleeve before turning, throat working as he tried to dislodge the painful lump that had formed. “Yes?” he croaked.

A nurse -- not Tanya, but a middle-aged woman with close-cropped hair -- poked her head in. “It’s time for Ms. Carter’s afternoon medications,” she said, her voice melodic and soothing. “Also, Peggy, you’re a very popular lady today. I just saw Sharon at check-in.”

“Sharon...” Peggy repeated, faraway.

“Could we,” Steve paused, swallowed, “could we have just a minute?”

She hesitated, then smiled. “I’ll be back in two.”

The door remained ajar, and Steve looked back at Peggy.

“Peg, I gotta go--”

“Steve,” she protested, “Don’t, we have time--”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, round object. He’d kept it close at hand for years now, always in his inside jacket pocket, salvaging it from when they’d first thawed him out and bringing it with him on the run. Opening up the battered compass, he handed it to her, showing her the faded black and white portrait it contained. “I want you to have this,” he told her. “I kept it all this time, see?” He tried to smile.

Tried.

She looked at it almost reverently, inhaling as she lifted and examined it. “Oh,” she breathed. “You had this on the newsreels...”

“Had it on me always,” he affirmed.

A few seconds passed where she said nothing. When she looked back up, her eyes were still bright with tears, but she managed a better smile than he had. “Keep it,” she told him, handing it back and placing it in his hand, closing his fingers around it.

“Peggy--”

“You’ll never know when you could use a little direction,” she said.

“The needle doesn’t work any more...” he tried to argue.

But she just laid back and smiled.

“Goodbye, my darling.”

Without looking, Steve could feel the nurse hovering in the doorway again. He swallowed, hard, then stood, giving Peggy’s hand one final squeeze. “I’ll talk to you again sometime soon,” he promised, then stepped back toward the door.

It was hard not to feel like he was somehow running away.

  


Loki followed, unsure how to part with someone that he didn’t know, that didn’t know him. But what he’d just seen between them, it had seemed invasive, his presence. That had felt private.

And so he was fleeing from it almost as much as Steve was.

Out in the hallway, Loki took Steve’s elbow in his hand, stopping him from retreating any further.

As much as he wanted to be out of these walls, suddenly, in the sunlight of the outside, he needed to be certain-- first--

“Are you alright, Steve?” He asked lowly, well aware that there were nurses all around and he daren’t say anything too private.

He had a whole host of questions, about whether or not that was common, about whether he should have done anything-- should do anything now-- but it was most important, to him, that he know that Steve was going to be okay.

When she’d… when she’d reawakened, or whatever that was called, when she had mentally returned to them, babbling about Steve following him down, Loki had been unable to breathe. Bucky, he knew. It must be.

And bad enough that Steve woke from nightmares about the man, but… to have this woman, the last of those he’d known-- accusing him of…

And worse, Loki’s budding fear, his doubt-- _had he?_

He swallowed all of that down.

Later. He’d be concerned about that all later.

Right now there was Steve. And whether she remembered or not, he had promised Peggy that he would care for him.

  


He reached up and rubbed at his mouth and jaw with his hand, looking away from Loki. His breathing was coming a bit too fast and a bit too ragged, and his eyes prickled hotly.

_We have time..._

Only they didn’t. They hadn’t, and they never would, and now it seemed what time they had would just be erased when he walked out of her line of sight. He felt like he was being choked, crushed -- his throat ached, and his stomach flipped.

“I don’t know,” he replied quietly. “In all honesty, I... I’m not real sure.”

He leaned against the wall, lingering in the hallway, not wanting to stay, but also unwilling to leave.

It had been going so well. So bittersweet, but... She’d given them her blessing, and she’d liked Loki, and she’d told him about her life. It had been a bit sad, but there had been warmth, and something resembling closure.

Then it crashed down, as she looked at him like it was for the first time in seventy years, all over again.

The nurse emerged from the room, and Steve took a rapid step toward her. “Excuse me,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low. “Sorry, I just-- I was just in with her, and then I left to get her something to drink ‘cause she was coughing, and when I got back,” he broke for a moment, gnawing on his lip. “When I got back it was like she forgot I’d been there just minutes before.”

The nurse -- Marilyn, her nametag said -- eyed him with growing sympathy. “Oh, hon,” she said. “Did nobody tell you about her condition?”

“Well, yes...” he frowned. “I mean, I knew she had some trouble with remembering things, they said. But she was fine before! She remembered things _I’d_ almost forgotten about--”

Everything with Erskine and Project Rebirth and Camp Lehigh. Everything about how they’d been together, during the war. She’d been lucid and sharp as a tack. She’d been Peggy -- _his_ Peggy, if a little older and worn away by time.

Marilyn looked between him and Loki, brow furrowed. “Well, with this disease, the older the memories, the more they remain intact. It works backwards, you see. The farther back you go, the clearer the memory. Ms. Carter here has an easier time remembering things from when she was younger, but she has a lot of trouble with her short-term memory. Both accessing it and manufacturing new memories. Sometimes things just... they don’t stick the first time or two around.”

Steve’s heart sank. “So, she won’t...” He swallowed. “She won’t remember I was here?”

The idea of having all of this just erased, wiped away like it had never happened for her, while he tried to relive it over and over in the hopes of doing right by her so she wouldn’t think he’d left, wouldn’t think he’d forgotten--

She looked at him sadly. “I can’t say for sure. But we’ll try to remind her. She might be able to recall it easier some times than others. But if you’re able to follow up, it might help.”

He nodded, numbly. “Thank you.”

She reached out and patted his arm. “She’s lucky to have folks who care about her like you.”

The words were sweet, but hollow in his mind. He nodded again, stepping aside so she could make her way on to the next patient’s room.

He looked over at Loki, unsure of what to say or do.

  


Loki frowned, listening to the nurse’s explanation, then watched as she left, aware that Steve was watching him.

“I… do not know anything of such an illness.” He admitted finally, unable to face him, unable to stomach the thought of disappointing him this way. “I can research it, try to find a way of helping her, but there is nothing I can do right now.” He let his eyes drift up to Steve’s face, already cringing a little.

“I’m sorry.” He felt like he was failing him, again. Consistently, daily, he managed to do that.

A thought occurred, though, and he hesitated to voice it, afraid that it was something stupid.

“If… if repetition will help her, perhaps if you were to make a recording of yourself? She told me, while you were gone, that she watched the telly… Perhaps if you provided a message with your face, your voice… something that she could watch again and again… until it remains in her mind, or even if it doesn’t… that way she can always have you, as you have always had her.” The way Loki carried the photo of herself and Steve from their date out together. From the night Steve had given him the tags that rested against his skin, even now. Tags, he realized, that Peggy had never worn. That was an oddly, selfishly, soothing thought.

Steve still chose him. She was old and her mind was flawed, and no matter how kind she was, how good, how poised… Steve had chosen him.

The compass had been a surprise. He didn’t know why; it seemed natural that Steve ought to keep a reminder of her, but… that he was never parted from it… Loki had never known about it, had never noticed, and how many times had he stripped him out of his clothes? It felt like he had never cared enough, never paid the attention… Well, he was paying attention now. He wondered if Steve kept a similar token of Bucky, and again, he had to worry that Peggy was right. That Steve had chosen to go down, not because he had to but because of what he’d lost. Because of who he was.

Loki vowed silently that he would never cause Steve that much pain. Not ever. He watched him carefully, wondering what he was thinking. Wondering if it had occurred to Steve to blame him, yet.

And he was able to see the way Steve was worked up. Not that he could blame him. Still, he reached out for him, took hold of him in a way that would not seem too familiar, if they were observed, but it was enough. Contact, a reminder of his presence. Just a hand on the back of his shoulder, the way you did to guide someone… or comfort them.

“Do you want to leave? She will not be alone long; the nurse did say she had another visitor coming. If you need to be away, I cannot think of a single person who will hold it against you. Particularly not me. But if you want to stay, if you want to try speaking to her again… only tell me if you want me with you, or if you’d prefer that I stay out here. I want… I want you to be okay. Whatever that takes.” He rubbed his hand over his back, trying to soothe, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to help very much until they were away.

Until Steve had had time to work out in his mind what this meant.

  


Steve nodded stiffly. “I think... I think we probably oughta leave,” he replied, voice strained. He didn’t want to stay; to go back in only for Peggy to look at him in wide-eyed, heartbroken awe all over again.

The idea of making a recording wasn’t a bad one, though he wondered about the logistics of getting it to Peggy and how he would record it and what he would say... it was something to think about. Just not now. Later. He could ask Stark about recording technology... or maybe just write a letter and take some photos. Tangible, tactile things in analogue formats were more familiar. They were things Peggy would remember, maybe. She had photos on her nightstand, after all.

He reached up to where Loki’s hand rested on his shoulder and placed his own hand over it, giving it a hard squeeze, grateful that he didn’t have to worry about accidentally hurting Loki, crushing fragile bones in a moment of carelessness. Loki was solid and enduring, and Loki was functionally immortal. In seventy years, Loki would remember everything. He’d be the same.

It was some solace.

“I don’t... I don’t expect you to fix it,” he said softly. “Don’t think you even could. I mean, not like you can fix old age...” And if he knew anything, it was the inexorability of time, which would move on and ravage everything in its path no matter what. Anything done for her at this point would be a patchy stop-gap, just staving off the inevitable for a tiny bit longer.

But it was kind, all the same, for Loki to offer, and Steve tried to convey his gratitude when he looked up at him.

“Thanks,” he told him hoarsely. For offering. For coming.

For staying.

Somewhere in the building, an old grandfather clock doled out the hour with a low and sonorous tone. Steve could hear voices downstairs, and knew they should go. Natasha would be expecting his call, and he’d need to talk to Thor, and they should check out of the hotel and get their things packed up to head back to New York that night...

He let go of Loki’s hand and headed toward the stairs. On the way, they passed Nurse Tanya, and with her, a blonde woman of about Steve’s age, loosely-wavy hair falling down around her shoulders. She looked familiar, and it took him a moment to recognize her as the woman from the photo on Peggy’s nightstand. He knew it would be polite to stop and say hello, introduce himself or _something_ , but instead he kept his head down and hurried past, trying not to pay it any attention as she did a double-take and stared after him.

He signed them back out at the front desk, and then they were back out in the fresh air, the cool breeze making it slightly easier to breathe.

There was little traffic on this street, and no taxis. He realized he should have called ahead for a cab to pick him up, but he hadn’t thought of it in time. There was a busier intersection a few blocks away, though, where he might flag one down, and so he started off down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, trying to focus on the asphalt beneath his feet.

  


_Not like you can fix old age_.

And there it was.

And Loki failed his own test, held his tongue, said nothing of the offerings of Asgard, did not make the effort… was selfish. Even after promising to try not to be, or to be less so.

Because if he could… Steve would be forced to choose, to make a choice. And Loki knew that good usually triumphed, in such decisions.

He followed Steve, silent, lost watching him sharply for signs of what he should do, or say, or offer… and lost in his own thoughts.

They set off on foot, and Loki did not question it or argue. He knew that Steve went for his walks, his runs, to escape from the sorrow and upset that clung to him from his dreams. He just hoped that they would serve equally well for what happened while he woke.

He found himself trying to think of positives to the situation, ways of brightening Steve’s face, but they all seemed insensitive, unkind. He swallowed them back, and ended up staying silent for far longer than he wanted to be. More than seemed right, or comfortable.

Once they were a good distance away, and the sound of cars and other life had enveloped them, Loki cleared his throat.

“I am glad.” He said, finally. “That you did go to see her. Even if it will weigh on your mind, and even though it turned out to be upsetting… at least you cannot feel guilt for it any longer, for not having gone. And you know that she hasn’t-- can’t-- hold it against you. And… Until it didn’t, it went very well. She was pleased, proud of you. Happy for you. That’s the part of her you should remember to focus on. The part that is her, and not what her body has done to her.”

He took a step closer, so that he could lower his voice.

“She loves you Steve. She always has. And she will for so long as she has the mind to do so. It is your duty to remember your friends, the ones we visited this morning-- she has done her duty, remembering you. Even when she cannot always remember the rest, she remembers you. You were right-- she is good and kind and wonderful. And beautiful. But you must try not to be sad for her. She has led her life, a full life. And… you cannot be sad for that when she is sad for your not having done the same. It’s disrespectful. And I get the sense she’d break your legs if she thought you were being less than respectful to her.”

He offered an uncertain smile.

“When we’ve seen to all we need to do, when the fight with Thanos is over, we will try again, if you like. However many times as needed, until she can remember that you’ve returned. But she will _always_ remember that you love her. And that’s what is important, isn’t it?”

For him, it was the most important part, but it was hard to say-- Steve did not speak easily of his griefs, his hurts… Loki felt very much as though he were reaching in the dark, trying to bandage someone bleeding out, without being able to see the wound.

  


Loki... godammit, Loki was right. Pressure tightened Steve’s throat, building up until he let out a quiet noise somewhere between a sob and a chuckle.

“I know,” he replied, then swallowed again and took a deep breath, trying to get his emotions back under control.

“I keep trying to tell myself that-- that the last part was the disease, not her. The parts before were Peggy.” And they’d been good, as Loki said. She’d been happy to see him, she’d had a happy life without him, and she was happy for him and the life he had now.

He sighed. “I just... I knew that there was a chance she’d have trouble remembering, but I figured if it was bad, she just wouldn’t recognize me when I walked in the door. After all that, I thought we were out of the woods, and the doctors just exaggerated it, you know? And then--” he shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting it all to slip away like that.”

The feeling of being blindsided, when he _should_ have known better, was the worst. As was the knowledge that Peggy’s condition was deteriorative, and maybe, if he’d come sooner... maybe a year ago, his visit would be a memory she could hold on to. Only he hadn’t come a year ago. He’d been too afraid and he’d put it off, and while Peggy was still alive--

Of course, a year ago he wouldn’t have had Loki. Wouldn’t have been able to show Peggy he was alright, and she didn’t need to have any regrets about him. A year ago, he’d be walking alone right now.

He wanted to reach out and grab hold of Loki, pulling him into a hug and burying his face into his shoulder; wanted to hold on to him for dear life. But there were too many people around now for such a gesture to remain inconspicuous, so instead he just bumped up against Loki, rubbing shoulders in a gesture that might easily be interpreted as fraternal affection.

“I’m glad you got to meet her,” he added. “I’m glad she met you. Even if...” he paused, looking away. “Maybe it’ll come back to her later. When she’s had a rest.”

It was wishful thinking, more likely than not. But he had no real idea how this sickness worked.

“Let’s get back to the hotel,” he said, stepping on to the curb to try to flag down a cab to take them back. Being out in public was oddly exhausting at the moment, and he felt like he had very little energy left.

  


“Alright.” He agreed softly, eyes on Steve’s face all the while. He wasn’t certain that he had helped, but at least Steve was speaking now, was coming out of his head.

And he didn’t sound… didn’t sound like he would try to follow her, at least right now, if something happened. Not the way she’d accused him of trying to follow Bucky.

He wondered if she knew that, or if it was just a fear of hers, manifested by her mind.

He’d have to think about it… but he didn’t think he’d have any choice _but_ to think about it.

A taxi stopped and they climbed in, Loki remaining silent while Steve gave the man the address and name of the hotel.

The driver had an interesting accent that Loki had a hard time understanding, on occasion, and after a few attempts at engaging them in conversation, which Loki thought it seemed clear Steve was not up to, Loki took over the small talk, maintaining the charade of a polite and interested out of town visitor, while keeping an eye on Steve.

He looked so drained.

But Steve… if he kept him happy, that wouldn’t be a concern, would it? He wouldn’t have to worry about Peggy being right, as long as he could keep Steve firmly rooted in the joy of life, even now, under the threat of death… Loki clung to that thought desperately.

Was that why he’d been so upset when Loki had spoken of letting go, of… of expecting to die? What he’d done had been so much more heroic, but was it because he had experienced the same feelings?

Loki was realizing, more and more as the day went on, how utterly unequal they had been, how Steve knew so much about Loki’s fears and hurts, and how Loki knew so little of Steve’s in return. And that was his own fault, his own self-absorption causing him to be blinded to the suffering his partner was keeping hidden.

But, too, was the fact that he _was_ keeping it hidden. Loki suspected it was him trying, oh so nobly, to shelter Loki from it, for fear of hurting him, or burdening him, but… but he shouldn’t. Loki _should_ know. They were partners.

The ride was over quicker than Loki had expected, for which he was grateful, and once Steve had paid and they had returned to their room, Loki shut the door and locked it with a finality, closing the rest of the world out.

He let his hair darken as he crossed the room, and wrapped his arms around Steve as soon as he was within reach.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t think he needed to.

  


Steve sank into Loki’s arms, wrapping his own around him in turn and pulling in close. He lowered his face into Loki’s shoulder, blocking out the world and letting out a shuddering exhale. He didn’t weep, but his shoulders quaked.

The cemetery. The residential home. The whole day had been full of reminders of all he’d lost; Phillips and Dugan and Jones, who were all gone, and Peggy, who was half-gone already, and Bucky, who they never even found to give a proper goodbye to, who he couldn’t visit even as a grave -- he didn’t have a compass or any other memento beyond a few old photos, and his own memories, and the only place he had to mourn at was a tomb to the countless unknown and unidentified soldiers from every war this century.

Because there was always another war. Phillips had died, what, seven years later? Already, there had been another conflict. And another. And another. And how many more would Steve have to fight in?

He breathed in the smell of Loki, feeling his warmth slowly seeping through Steve’s clothes, and he slumped into it, trying to shut his mind up and concentrate on the arms around him. Seconds dragged on into minutes and he didn’t want to let go.

But he knew he would have to eventually, and finally managed to disengage, pulling back enough that he was no longer buried against Loki, but still close.

“Thank you for being with me today,” he said. “I... guess that wasn’t exactly a fun day out on the town.” His mouth twisted downward. Selfish of him, to drag Loki along with him through all of that.

  


He felt like he couldn’t do anything but hold him, and so he did, stroking gentle circles into his back.

When he was finally ready, Loki let him pull away, though he wanted to keep him close, to hold him there and never have to face the fears he had, that he might have lost him that day.

Instead, he shook his head, a small, sad smile flickering to life on his face.

“You’d have done the same for me.” And would likely have done a better job at it as well, he thought, but did not say.

“Is there anything-- anything that I can do now, anything you want or need, or think would make you feel better?” His mind went first to baths and massages and blow jobs, but honestly he would be happy with anything, just now, that would wipe that look off of Steve’s face, take the vulnerability and sadness away from him.

Not because he was supposed to be strong, but because he deserved happiness. Deserved someone who could make him happy.

“I don’t want you facing anyone else-- any problems you may have to solve today, any business you may have to attend to, they aren’t as important as being certain that you do not suffer through them. Mistakes are made when minds are not at ease, or at least better than yours is now. Do you… want to talk? About this, about today… I will listen, if you do.”

Listening, it seemed, was something he did not do enough of, and he needed to offer more often, to make time for that. Along with everything else he had failed to do so far.

  


Steve shook his head. “You’ve done more than enough,” he replied, a bit sheepishly. That Loki had let himself be dragged around DC to visit graves of people he’d never met and to sit at Steve’s side as he talked with his old flame, then waited patiently while Steve tried not to break down completely. And now he was offering more.

“I have to call Natasha in a bit anyway. I said I would when I talked to her this morning,” he added, clearing his throat and moving to start packing up what little remained to put back in their bags, tidying up the room and leaving some cash on the bedside table for the maid. “Apparently Thor needs to talk to me about something before we head back, so I’ll need to go take care of that.”

In a way, it was almost a relief to know he’d soon have the distractions of the team and the chaos of new faces in the tower to deal with. Getting everyone back to New York, going over the intel, planning an operation -- it wouldn’t leave him much time to wallow.

Glancing to where Loki still stood, he realized he hadn’t addressed Loki’s other offer.

“I don’t even know what I’d talk about at this point,” he clarified. “It’s... I know some of it’s pretty self-evident. And some of it we’ve talked about before...” The loss of his life before had left old wounds that would never quite heal. And now matter now rich of a new life he built, the scars would ache. Even with new happiness, he would be plagued by the ‘might have beens’ and he hated himself a little for it. Loki deserved better, after all.

With that thought, he sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at Loki. “You know that... that even if I miss them, it doesn’t mean--” he stopped, trying to find the right words. “I’m so glad I have you in my life. You’re not a replacement or... I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

  


Loki didn’t think he managed to firm his face quickly enough, didn’t manage to hide the flashes of surprise and shame that he felt before he made himself look away, before he turned his face as impassive as usual.

He felt badly enough for feeling these things. That Steve had known-- or been able to guess-- and his own eyes averting was more than enough confirmation… and Steve shouldn’t have to deal with that on top of the rest.

What he must think of Loki, that he knew he could be so petty, so jealous, as to turn Steve’s own sorrow against him in this way. It was a surprising show of insight into a part of his character that Loki was still somewhat certain that Steve turned a blind eye to. And he couldn’t tell if he was grateful or uncomfortable for it. Perhaps both, in some odd combination.

And the hardest part was, he didn’t know if it was worse that it had occurred to Steve, that he was thinking about it consciously, or that Loki had assumed if that was happening, it would be… accidental, at best. Unintentional, certainly.

But with how little Steve spoke of his emotions, his fears, his hurts, Loki realized it was difficult for him to know what he thought, especially with these sort of matters.

“If you don’t need to talk, we don’t have to.” He assured him, easily sidestepping the tangle of emotions that sprung forth at Steve’s insistence that he wasn’t a replacement. A trade.

He didn’t have a good answer to that. So instead, he just said, “I love you. I just want you safe and happy, and all the rest is less important.” He frowned, though.

“Whatever it is that Thor wishes to speak to you of, I hope it is nothing too strenuous. And… if it is about me, and something I have done, I apologize.” Then he felt the need to clarify-- “To you, not him. I assume he deserved whatever it was. Deserves.”

Though the fact that Thor needed to talk to Steve-- and Steve’s wording-- _I’ll need to go take care of that_ \-- meant that Loki should stay here.

Well, what was a trip to DC without being left alone in a room for unknown periods of time? He supposed he should be grateful there was at least a television and a full bed, here.

“I’ll wait here until you return for me.” He said, proud of the way he kept his tone even and the words free of inflection. “Do we still plan to leave tonight?”

  


“As far as I know, yes,” he replied, though he added a half-shrug, since he wasn’t wholly sure. It seemed they were playing things mostly by ear with however everything was wrapping up with SHIELD, but given he hadn’t heard otherwise, he assumed the plan to leave tonight was still in effect.

And some other time, he might have smirked a bit at Loki’s offhanded assurance that Thor deserved whatever unspecified slight might have been committed against him. But given how raw he already felt, and how pained Thor had been the last time he’d spoken with him, Steve only grimaced. “I don’t know what Thor needs to talk to me about. Just that he wants to talk,” he explained. “Nat didn’t give me anything more.”

He guessed it had something to do with Dr. Foster and her team, and it could just be amount housing or something similarly banal. But then, given Thor had spent the last two days with SHIELD... it was possible he’d heard something about Loki’s imprisonment there that troubled him. Or it could be something else entirely.

He sighed, running a hand back through his hair. Loki’s bitterness toward Thor was something they’d need to address. That kind of outright contempt wouldn’t do the team any good.

“Is there anything he could say or do that would make you be okay with him?” he asked abruptly. “Anything that would help smooth things between you two? I know you’ll probably never be close the way you used to be,” he quickly added, “but is there any way the two of you could start over and maybe be friends, or allies in some capacity?”

  


Loki blinked rapidly, surprised by this line of questioning.

“I don’t know.” He said softly. “He is… he is a living reminder of everything I have lost, all that I was once promised. Every lie I have been told. He was everything I-- all I strove to be. And I am further from that than ever. And his care for me relies upon making believe that at least some of those lies have truth to them.” He was silent for a long moment.

“I know I have been… unkind to him. I know it has upset you and made things more difficult. I will attempt to be… polite. But if his complaint is that I do not seek out his company, that I am not close with him… I am not ready to be. I do not know if I ever will be. I won’t cause more problems for you, though. Whatever his complaint may be, make the assurances you need. I will… back your plays, as you asked. To work with the team. Only do not ask of me that I see him as anything more than part of your team.” There was a resignation that sat heavily in his chest-- a loss, of sorts, of the liberation he felt when he antagonized Thor. But there was also a plea there.

He wanted to make Steve’s life less difficult, wanted to be less selfish. But he did not want to lose what he was building, what he had made of himself, in the process.

And he did not want to allow Thor close, that he might find things wrong with him, things he had overlooked before, now that he knew… now that--

“And… as you are going to see him, I. How is--” he gestured downwards, taking in the lower half of Steve with his hand motion, “--everything?”

He hadn’t noticed any limping but just the same… He recalled Thor when he learned of them, and his inability to decide who he was more concerned about defiling the other. After the previous night, though, he didn’t want Thor to decide suddenly that Loki was a threat to Steve, somehow.

  


Loki’s insistence that he could never see Thor as anything more than a member of Steve’s team -- he didn’t even say a team-mate, Steve noticed -- came as a bit of a disappointment. He’d hoped for something more to go on. Some answer that held the key to maybe reconciling the two of them. For the team’s sake, for Thor’s sake... and for Loki’s sake as well. He couldn’t imagine holding on to that much resentment for someone he’d grown up with for so much of his life. And after the day he’d had today, Steve couldn’t help but wonder about second chances.

He’d never be able to see Bucky again. Would never be able to have that brotherly bond. It had taken so little -- one moment, one choice -- for everyone from his past to be gone forever. But Loki had the chance to make up with Thor. To speak to the people he’d once loved, without fear they’d forget him moments later. Loki had that chance, and yet...

It wasn’t the same, he had to remind himself. He couldn’t be angry at Loki for squandering the opportunity when the context was different. Not when he’d asked Loki to be such a different person from who he’d been before. But it still frustrated him, and the knowledge that he’d have to talk with Thor one on one and tell him he had no idea how he could make amends made his heart sink.

But, small steps: Loki agreed to try to be polite. That was at least inching in the right direction, and the same was all he’d asked of Clint in regards to Loki simultaneously. If he could get everyone on the team at least civil to one another, it would be a start.

“I don’t think he’s complaining that you don’t come spend time with him,” he pointed out cautiously. “When I last talked with him, he, ah. He wanted to know what he could do on his end to make things better. And I think he’s willing to try to approach things with you differently -- treat you differently -- but he just needs to know where to start. So, I mean, if you end up thinking about it and come up with anything that might help, I can pass it on.”

That was the most he could do, really. For either of them.

He blinked in slight confusion as Loki gestured to his waist and legs, not sure what he was referring to-- until it clicked with a pang of embarrassment. “Oh, um. Everything is fine. All business as usual.” He’d been a tad sore that morning, but the serum had healed up any minor damage done, and he’d all but forgotten about the ache that had lingered the night before.

“I should let Natasha know we’re all set,” he mumbled, partly to Loki and partly to himself as he pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text, informing her they were back at the hotel and done with other business for the day.

  


He dropped the subject of Steve's health; he trusted him to tell him if things were otherwise, and more, he didn't want to talk about it. That, coupled with Loki not having noticed aught awry in his gait, made him reasonably certain that Thor would not notice, either.

Loki watched as Steve did what he needed to, pondering his words.

What could Thor do?

 _Nothing_ , was his first thought. _Undo the damage, take back the knowledge that he had gained._ But he couldn’t do those things. No one could.

“If Thor…” He paused. “Anything I could ask of him would force him to change. More than is comfortable. And I… it isn’t an easy transition and I would not wish it on him. Not after having to go through so much changing of myself. But. If he will give me distance and watch… Everything I am doing is to prove myself. As who I am, who I have become. Until he has something new to replace the image of me that he has with… I don’t think that he and I can… We will not work well together. Because I will be fighting what he expects. And he will be fighting my objections without fully understanding why." Loki shrugged and looked away.

"It isn't important." He told him. "It doesn't matter to me. I lost him long before I learned that I never truly had any of them."

He did not want to feel sad. There had been enough sorrow for one day. And he thought that he was being reasonable, even logical about this.

"I am sorry for his loss. But it was not his responsibility to console me when we grew apart. And it cannot be mine for him, now." He had more important things to worry about. Like Steve.

And Thanos.

And himself.

He almost wanted to ask if Steve had any orders for him, any assignments for while he was gone.

But he thought he might make a point of going out on his own. He was meant to not be a prisoner. And if there was anything going to remind him of that fact, it was the argument he'd had with Steve, the reminder that for all the liberties he presumably had, he failed to take advantage of them, out of comfort or fear... It didn't matter. He had identification and a credit card. He could at least try his hand at passing as human.

And who knew when the next time he would have the chance would be.

"Will you call me when your business is concluded?" He asked, already planning ahead.

  


“Will do,” Steve answered, just as Natasha texted him back to let him know she was on her way and would pick him up shortly.

God, cellphones were convenient. He remembered when if you wanted to tell someone you were coming by, you just awkwardly showed up on their doorstep and hoped like hell they weren’t busy. The number of nights he’d been up late worrying about Bucky when he stayed out, when a simple call would have helped him sleep easy... well, it didn’t matter now, he supposed. But he appreciated the convenience all the same, and it always surprised him how many people expected him to be some old-fashioned holdout against technology. He and Loki, both accustomed to vastly different levels of communication tech, had both adjusted and used their phones easily. Even Thor, he was pretty sure, had a phone now.

And he wanted to say more on the subject of Thor, but he wasn’t sure what more there was to say. At least, not without kindling another fight, and they’d had enough of those in the last twenty-four hours. He sighed. What Loki had told him was close enough to what he’d told Thor -- that he needed to look at him differently. But time would only tell if that approach actually worked. And with Loki avoiding Thor like the plague, it was hard to say how much of a chance Thor would have to prove he was seeing things differently.

“From what I’ve seen of Thor, he’s been willing to make a lot of changes in his thinking and behavior,” he ventured. “And... Change can be good.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t discount his ability to do it on his own, is all.”

And that was all he planned to say on the subject for now.

He stood up, stretched, checked for his phone, wallet, and keys, then walked over to Loki and pulled him into another hug, though not as desperate or enduring as the last. When he pulled back, he gave him a kiss. “I’ll see you soon.”  
He paused by the door before walking out of it, looking back over his shoulder. “Love you,” he added, before going down to meet Natasha.

 


	54. Fifty-Four

Speaking with SHIELD was not an unpleasant experience, but nor was it an easy one. The truly bolstering thought that got him through it all was the knowledge that at the end of this, he should be reunited with Jane.

And it was only two days’ worth of explanations, after all. But it did make him miss Loki. Loki who, after their adventures, could always be trusted to tell the tale and make it make sense, even when it hadn’t in the thick of things. Loki who could straighten out things, while simultaneously making them more convoluted. He felt a pang of sadness.

Loki, who would have nothing to do with him.

Thor could not say the same of his abilities with words, either. He felt that he left the Midgardians with as many questions as answers. But he did what he could.

And Jane waited at the end of it, so he was motivated, if he hadn’t already been by his want to help them.

First though, before he could take her back to the tower, where he was certain she would be of much aid to the studies that Tony and Bruce were making… he needed to speak to the man who, he had realized, was something along the lines of being his brother’s keeper, as well as his lover. As well as Thor’s captain. As well as his friend.

Romanoff had told him that they would come to find him, when she returned with the Captain in tow. And so he was left to his own devices… and that was how he found himself in the dining hall-- their ‘cafeteria’.

There was no alcohol to be had here, he’d come to learn, to his bemusement, and the apple juice was neither fermented nor magical in origin, but he did not mind. It reminded him of the diner they had eaten at in Puente Antiguo. He hefted his mug, already drained of coffee, and smiled at the memory.

He’d gone through two of the sandwiches they had given him, when an agent approached.

He looked up at her, wary but no less friendly for it.

“Hello,” He said, certain that she would speak her mind. One thing he had noticed of the females here was that it was almost akin to dealing with an entire army of Sifs. They did not dance around matters as most of the women of his father’s court tended to.

“Agent Romanoff just called to say that they had arrived, and asked that you meet them in the chair room on level 9. I can lead you there, if you would like. If you’re done here.”

She spoke with such an air of calm that found Thor nodding in agreement without hesitation.

“Thank you, yes. I apologize though; I do not know your name?”

“I’m Agent Sinem Kavak. Pleased to meet you. This way, please.”

He rose and followed her, confident in stride, though the knowledge of the conversations to be had lay heavy in his heart.

  


Natasha picked Steve up outside the hotel in a black C7 Corvette. He’d raised his eyebrows at her as he climbed into the decidedly not non-descript ride, but she merely shrugged.

“A girl gets to play with toys every now and again,” she pointed out. “We’re not undercover.”

“Not in this ride, we’re not,” he remarked, buckling in. A moment later, he was glad he did; Nat had a lead foot, and the engine roared as the car surged forward like some kind of mechanical predator.

Whatever the car lacked in qualities of discretion, however, it made up for in speed, getting them to SHIELD promptly. Natasha parked in the subterranean lot, though on one of the more brightly-lit, low-ceilinged levels that didn’t call to mind the sniper incident. Or at least, didn’t call it to mind as viscerally.

As was often the case with Natasha, Steve had to wonder if that was coincidence, or a carefully calculated decision on her part.

Natasha had her phone out as she stepped out of the car, murmuring to whoever was on the other line for a few moments before pocketing her phone. “Thor is in room 917 waiting for you. let’s go.”

“You don’t need to walk me the whole way, you know. I think I remember my way around well enough,” he told her. He’d worked here for over a year, after all.

“Yeah, but they revoked your clearance when they thought you were compromised, so good luck swiping in everywhere.” She rolled her eyes slightly as she made for the door to the elevators, and Steve scowled; he hadn’t thought of that.

She escorted him up to the ninth floor, and checked in room 917 before nodding to him, sliding her card in the reader to unlock it. “I’ll catch you later.”

And then she walked off, leaving Steve to open the door, finding Thor sitting expectantly at an otherwise empty conference table.

“Hey,” he said, entering and taking a seat. “How’re you doing? Everything okay?”

He didn’t think SHIELD would be unwise enough to try any untested security protocols on Thor, but then, he hadn’t expected them to try them on him and Loki either, and it seemed worth checking in.

  


His brow furrowed.

"I am well. You sound as though you expected otherwise though... I hope I did not inspire distress. But... Yourself? Are you well?"

He could not help but feel concerned, since the readiest wrong he could imagine visited upon the Captain was Loki.

And he did not want to fear him. But... That was, he supposed, why they were here.

Even so, it seemed rude to ask that so soon into seeing him... And unkind to presume. He wanted to ask after Loki as well, but again... He did not want to make Steve think he did not value him as much, now, as he had before.

  


“I’m fine,” Steve assured him, grateful that at least nothing was overly wrong. Thor seemed a bit concerned, but that had more or less come to be his default expression since he’d returned to Earth to find everything had gone a little insane in his absence, so Steve didn’t know whether he was looking too much into it. At the very least, he didn’t seem angry, or otherwise too distressed.

“Spent the morning visiting some folks,” he added, figuring that if things weren’t in crisis, he could make an attempt at small talk. “Walked through the park. Saw an old friend. We’re ready to head back to New York whenever things are set with you and SHIELD and your friends.”

He trailed off, realizing he didn’t have much more to say. He didn’t want to talk about the cemetery or Peggy in detail, having just managed to get his mind _off_ those morbid topics. He certainly wasn’t going to get into the details of yesterday’s activities with Thor either.

Which left rather little to talk about, save for Loki, where Steve had no good news to give him. So he figured it would be best to just move on to the reason he was here:

“Natasha said you needed to talk to me about something?”

  


"I do." He said, all pretense of a lack of agenda fading.

"I... Have concerns. In regards to the lady Jane and her friends, and our return to Stark's home in New York."

There was no easy way to say what he needed to, and as much as he did not want to push himself further away from either Steve or Loki... But there was more at stake than his or their respective comforts. And as it was, his future with them seemed troublesome enough, with or without accusations.

"In the past, my-- Loki." He stopped to regather his thoughts.

"Loki has threatened harm upon Jane. As a means of punishing me, of hurting me. Once, I would not have believed him capable of it, but that was before his attempts on Jotunheim and Midgard, and before he visited such damage upon the mind of my friend, Erik Selvig. I worry... Has he ever spoken to you of his knowledge of Jane or any ill will he may harbor toward her?"

He felt terrible, speaking of Loki thus, and to his lover no less. But with Jane, with his own love, his beloved, whose life was already short enough without the tampering of a vengeful Loki to make it less... He could not afford not to.

  


Steve’s first instinct was to assure Thor that obviously there was no threat; Loki was a good person now and wouldn’t harm an innocent woman. He even felt a small spark of indignation on Loki’s behalf, since he was apparently right about Thor only viewing him as his past self, guilty of past misdeeds.

And yet...

And yet, when he opened his mouth, he immediately snapped it back shut, recalling how viscerally Loki had reacted to Thor’s “mortal” as he called her, how disgusted he’d been when speaking of her.

But that contempt wouldn’t stem to him actually _hurting_ her, surely... He had to believe in that.

“He doesn’t particularly like her,” he ventured, choosing his words with caution. “But... I think it’s more a matter of principle than anything personal. And I think that if he’s this hell-bent on pushing you away and denying you, then that means that he’s gotta rationalize denying any emotional investment in her and your friends too.”

If Loki expressed jealousy of Dr. Foster, then he’d have to acknowledge he still wanted Thor’s attention, cared about Thor’s affections. And their conversation from earlier made it clear he wasn’t ready for that.

“I don’t believe he’ll actually cause any harm,” he quickly added. “He’s not-- he’s not that spiteful person anymore. He wouldn’t hurt innocents. And I think he probably feels awful about what he did to Selvig -- he regrets everything from the invasion pretty deeply.” He certainly felt badly for what he’d done to Barton; and Barton was a trained combatant, not a civilian professor.

He shifted and frowned. “I’ll talk to him if it looks like it might be necessary. I’m pretty good at getting through to him, or at least getting him to listen. If I tell him to back off, he will. But I don’t think I’ll need to.” He certainly didn’t want to have to.

  


Thor listened, but he watched as well, and the way that Steven had to start speaking, stop, choose his words with care… it told the same story as he did. There was no concrete guarantee. No absolute certainty.

And Thor was unhappy and uncomfortable about allowing Jane to share space with someone as unpredictable as that. Even if Steve thought Loki to be beyond it.

Even if Loki did truly feel regrets; Thor had yet to see any expression of such.

“And Jane? What should I tell her? To avoid him? To attempt to befriend him? I assume they will be working together. She has too many questions that he is the best person to answer for her not to seek him out, I believe. She is curious, above all else, brilliant and with an urge to learn. The brother I knew would have liked her but this-- How can he dislike her without knowing her? He has always given the ladies of my past a chance at least, to gain his approval, or to lose it.”

It seemed unfair, though he was not one to bemoan that often-- unfair that Jane should be punished for what-- not even he had done, but what his father had, what Loki held against his family.

“If I spoke to him of her… asked him not to punish she and her companions for my misdeeds… for the misdeeds of my father. Do you think it would help matters?”

Thor tried imagining how that conversation might go. How Loki would react to him now. And he was troubled to find he didn’t know, wasn’t sure. Likely with hands balled into fists and anger in his words and pain on his face.

The last thing Thor wanted was to lose either brother or his love. There had to be a way of assuring that they were safe, that he would not have to fear their proximity. And he needed help ensuring as much.

Needed Steve’s help, specifically.

“I do not want to tell her she is home in a place where she may not be safe. It would be wrong of me to ask her to stay somewhere under the threat of harm. Surely you understand.”

After all, there must have been a time when Loki had not been so accepted as he was. Thor wondered what that must have been like, how Steve would have protected Loki then, or if Loki would even have allowed it. If he had been cooperative or…

But Thor was not part of that, not privy to that. He could only worry now about the future. And about Jane.

  


“Don’t try to tell him what to do,” Steve blurted.

The idea of Thor going to Loki and pleading with him based on what he feared Loki might do before Loki actually did any of it, based on his past self -- Steve couldn’t think of anything _more_ likely to set Loki off. “Honest, that’ll just make it worse. I’ll talk to him if need be.” He shook his head, sighing. “There’s conversations I think you and Loki oughta have someday, face to face. But that ain’t one of them.”

Better that Steve or someone else mediate for now. The tower was getting to be a crowded place, and with the stability of the entire team on the line, well. It seemed like Steve would have to get used to having the weight of that responsibility back on his own shoulders, after the reprieve of the last 24 hours.

“He won’t hurt her,” he stated, and of this, he felt certain enough to make a declarative statement. “Not physically. I can’t guarantee he’ll be pleasant or nice or want anything to do with her. But he won’t jeopardize the team and he won’t take it out on someone defenseless, if he does have any latent anger. And again, I don’t even know if that much will be a problem.”

It could be that Loki would swallow everything down and be a perfect gentleman for all Steve knew -- he was complicated like that, and full of surprises. They hadn’t really talked about Jane -- only Thor -- so Steve couldn’t know for sure where he stood on that.

“Truth be told, the tower is probably one of the safest places for her,” he said. “Security there is top of the line. I mean, yes. There’s some risks associated with living there. Being floormates with the Hulk isn’t without a slight chance of... you know. But Loki hasn’t hurt a soul beyond self-defense since he got to earth, and I don’t believe he’d put a dent in that track record. And...” he hesitated, knowing SHIELD was watching. “Look, when you showed up in London and took Dr. Foster away, it was on the news. At this point, the whole world knows she’s important to you in some way. So if anyone on earth wanted to get to you, be it to hurt you or to control you, they might start by going after her, since she’s your main link to earth.”

And his greatest vulnerability, he avoided adding. He was sure Thor was already all-too-aware of the fragility and mortality of the woman he cared for. There was no reason to rub it in.

“I can’t really advise you on what to tell her for how to act,” he said, slumping a little in his chair. “I don’t know. My guess would be not to tell her anything that would make her act unnatural... insincerity tends to put people on edge more often than not. But I honestly don’t have the best advice for you there just yet. If I find out anything, or Loki indicates anything, I’ll pass it along, though.”

  


Thor nodded, solemnly absorbing the Captain’s every word.

“Thank you, my friend.” He said.

“I appreciate-- I do not mean to worry you, or cause any offense, either in you or Loki. I only wish to be certain that those I care for are… I realize that the company we keep may protect her from the outside world. It is those within that cause me the most fear. But if you say that he will not be violent… well, they may say all they wish to one another, and as long as no hand is raised and no harm is done, I will be satisfied.”

Of course, it would be _better_ if they were perhaps at least friendly, even if he could not be friends with Loki-- though the thought hurt-- but he thought that Jane would know better than to antagonize his brother… and if what Steve said was true, then at least he would sleep easy knowing that he would not have to choose one over the other, though he knew Loki was very against him, anyway.

He hesitated once more.

“How is-- how is he? Is he… I am glad he does not intend to harm Jane or any innocent, but… what of those he considers less innocent? Such as myself, my family… all of Asgard.” He knew that Loki was otherwise engaged here, but… as long as he had Steve here, as long as he was not angry and was answering questions…

“Your plan now is to grant him the sceptre, the means of contacting this Thanos-- the same Thanos with whom he bargained for Asgard’s demise. You do not think he would attempt to trade his home now for his old one, do you? Again, I do not mean to offend, but he gives me no insight to his motives, and I must think of my people, as well as my brother. Loki. Damn.” He rubbed at his mouth, self conscious for his slip in front of this man.

“Sorry. I am attempting to train myself from it. It is taking time, though. It will take time.” He looked away from Steve, smoothing the hurt from his face as best as he could.

  


Steve couldn’t quite pretend it didn’t bother him that Thor still thought the worst of Loki; but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t get it either. Hadn’t he been unfairly mistrustful of his own friends when it came to Loki’s safety? “I understand,” he told him. “I did the exact same thing looking out for him. Being a bit paranoid and beating myself up for it, because I was worrying about what the people I also care about might do.”

A small shrug, and a mirthless half-smile. “We protect the ones we love.”

Or tried, anyway.

For all that he counted himself firmly in Loki’s corner, Steve couldn’t help feel bad for Thor. Sympathize, really; that divided sense of loyalty was something he knew too well, trying to juggle the needs of his team with the needs of his partner, when the two were all too often in conflict.

Furthermore, Thor didn’t have the luxury of knowing Loki, of having the chance to get to really see the man he’d become now -- and Loki hadn’t given him any chance to see him since he’d changed -- so Steve could hardly hold it against him that he still thought of Loki in an outdated context.

He paused and thought about Thor’s question. Given what Loki had said at the team meeting, he could understand where Thor’s worries were based. But he needed a way to reassure him that didn’t sound overly hopeful of naive...

“Well, first off, I think he hates Thanos right now more than he hates Asgard. Thanos manipulated his anger toward you and Asgard as a way to use him. Hurt him,” he explained with a grimace. “He wouldn’t go back to him for real. And as for innocents...” He thought back on an earlier conversation he’d had with Natasha. “Loki got hurt badly a while back because he used himself as a human shield to protect people, rather than fighting back, because he didn’t want to hurt anyone. Even the people attacking us.”

He felt that illustrated an answer to Thor’s concerns well enough.

  


That... Did not sound as reassuring as the Captain seemed to think it would, primarily because Loki had never before hesitated to stop or hurt those trying to hurt him.

He could not imagine what had been done to him to create this kind of response, that he would not even fight his attackers. And that was worrisome enough, given that he would not dream of asking Steve that-- it was far too close to a personal accusation.

But then, was refusing to fight, to protect himself and using himself as a sacrifice, as a shield, so very different from releasing his hold on Gungnir had been? Than allowing himself to fall beyond the edges of Asgard?

He supposed it was good to know that Jane and his realm, his home, were safe. But his brother...

"How badly was he hurt?" He asked. "And is it possible-- do you believe Loki wishes harm upon himself? Wishes to die? I have seen him give up like that once before. When he fell. He is too young... Men on Asgard sometimes develop such thoughts, such wishes, with the marching of their years. But Loki is... Is he in danger from himself? Is he in danger of allowing Thanos to hurt him?"

  


Steve looked down a bit guiltily. He’d had time to process the aftermath of Loki’s injury, and he hadn’t meant to bring it up flippantly; it had just become a reality of their shared history that they’d successfully overcome.

But for Thor...

“It was pretty bad,” he confessed. “We didn’t-- At first we weren’t sure he’d make it. It took a couple weeks before he could walk, even with magic and healing.” Even with Steve donating krellr and Loki’s seidhr, and the best medical minds at Stark’s disposal.

And as for whether Loki wished harm on himself -- Steve couldn’t give a straight answer. Not one Thor would want to hear, anyhow. His mind flickered back to his own nightmares of Bucky falling, only it suddenly wasn’t Bucky, but Loki, not falling but letting go. The image haunted him even though he only knew about it second hand; he could only imagine how bad it was for Thor.

But it still haunted Steve because he _knew_ how many times Loki had come close to giving up since. When he’d been ready to go to Thanos when he’d believed Thanos would recover the scepter at the expense of Loki’s life; when he’d stopped eating and made no effort to escape when he’d thought Steve was gone and left him with Scofield; when he thought Steve meant to kill him, after Barton first came, and hadn’t even protested.

Like he thought he deserved it.

Things were better now, though -- right? Loki knew Thanos didn’t mean to kill him right away, and that gave him a reason to keep fighting back and not just sacrifice himself. He had friends, people to live for -- Steve. He was loved and, okay, things were difficult sometimes, but--

“He...” Steve broke off. “He might.”

And god, he hated saying that. Hated acknowledging it or even thinking it. But Thor deserved to know, and if someone else could keep an eye out for Loki who cared about his welfare, Steve wouldn’t pass that up.

“I don’t think he’ll hurt himself,” he clarified. “He’s not-- Things are better than they were. He’s not as angry or isolated, and he doesn’t call himself a monster as much--” though could part of that only be for Steve’s own benefit? “--And he has people looking out for him. But he’s willing to put himself at risk, I think.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, staring at the fake woodgrain of the tabletop. “Like-- I dunno. Like it’s punishment.”

Like all that guilt and remorse that Steve had encouraged him to feel when he’d been initially unrepentant was catching up and threatening to bury him. And Steve had to go and make it worse the other day by mentioning 200 SHIELD agents. _Idiot_.

He looked up at Thor. “I won’t let anything happen to him,” he insisted. “I won’t.”

  


Thor squeezed his eyes closed, struck by the double blow of the truth and his utter helplessness; his inability to do anything to keep Loki from feeling that way.

Suddenly all he wanted to do was gather Jane into his arms and bury his face in her hair. He just wanted to stay that way forever.

But that was no more an option than Loki's self sacrifice.

"I wish things were different." Thor said softly. "Wish my parents would not have lied, that I would not have grown up helping to make him think that his kind are all monsters. I wish I could help him now. But I know he will not allow it, even if I were capable. And... I know he would likely be upset that you have told me this. So thank you, twice over-- for telling me, and also for being there, for caring for him, when others won't. Or cannot."

This conversation had inspired a bone deep weariness in him, and he knew he would spend some time thinking on it.

"You have quieted my concerns for Jane, for which I also thank you. I wish I had reassurances to offer you in kind in regards to your lover, but... All I can do, Captain, is ask that you keep him fighting. Keep him from giving up. I wish I knew how to help, but..." He shook his head.

Loki, even when so broken and in pain as this, and perhaps especially then, would not appreciate his care or see it as anything other than an annoyance.

And as Steve continued to remind him, Thor knew this Loki not at all.

"If ever there is anything I may do for you, though, any answers or insights I may offer, little help as that may be, I would like to help. As much as I can, any way that I can. Only tell me."

He would not end their conversation without giving Steve the opportunity to pose his own questions; make his own inquiries.

  


“Oh, he’d be pissed as hell if he knew I told you,” Steve agreed dryly. “I just... I’d rather have him angry and okay than the alternative.” Hopefully Loki wouldn’t need to know this conversation took place. Not that Steve liked lying to him -- but this was just... Thor needed to know. Steve needed someone to know.

“I wish things were different too,” he added. “For both of you.”

A little part of him was a bit selfishly glad that things turned out in such a way that Loki wound up in his life. But he could at least hope to maintain that much while fixing the future.

“We’ll both look out for him. And Bruce and Tony will too, I think.” He frowned, recalling that Bruce might be able to provide better insight. “Uh, and self-destructive tendencies... They don’t just happen to older folks here. It’s not an age thing,” he clarified. Not that Steve really had much to do with headshrinks or psychoanalysts -- he put in the bare minimum for SHIELD to clear him for duty -- but at least he had the option available. It sounded like Asgard didn’t even have a concept of it.

He tapped his fingers against the table and licked his lower lip, considering Thor’s offer of information. There had been something he was wondering, that he’d meant to ask. Now seemed as good a time as any. “Is there anything you can tell me about Frost Giants?” he asked. “I mean, anything accurate, scientific. Not just the wartime propaganda.”

  


Thor frowned thoughtfully.

“I can tell you that, for all my insistence that the only thing they desired was war, when we went to Jotunheim, the King, Laufey--” He let his eyes slide guiltily. Loki’s father. Whom he’d killed. Did the Captain know? He could not help but wonder how much or how little Loki had told him of his past, of his misdeeds. He knew Loki could be convincing in his omissiveness. But… he also supposed that whatever he had chosen to share with Steve, it was best he not give more.

He would not risk upsetting whatever balance the two had found.

“I came seeking a fight, and Laufey told me-- told us, for I had taken my friends and Loki along with me-- he bid us leave, lest we start things in motion for a full out war. He did not want to fight, did not want the deaths it would cause. I have thought often of that-- I had thought them bloodthirsty and mindless, but that was not the act of a creature possessed of either of those traits. It was the words and actions of a king. And when we went too far, when Odin came to collect us and begged that the skirmish end there… there was regret from Laufey. When he told him we had done too much damage. I think his people would not have accepted less than a war, then. That he may have felt trapped into it. But… I have not had overmuch exposure to them. Save Loki. And while he didn’t know… he is capable of incredible thoughts, of magic beyond what any of our peers can do. There is much I think could be gained if we could but return to Jotunheim. But… Jotunheim, last I knew of it, had no king. I would not be surprised that the realm was still in upheaval.” He shrugged and looked away again.

“And I do not know how accepting my people would be of such an alliance. After the last war, the stories circulated, until they were taken as fact, as truth. We have always known that the Jotnar are only monsters. What knowledge of them, what understanding we may have had before that, it has been lost to the years. Or else buried under hard feelings and the losses our people took to their weapons and ice.”

  


Steve nodded along, then sighed, frustrated. It seemed Thor knew nothing more than Loki, and while Thor was at least inclined to interpret things more positively... Loki refused to think of Frost Giants as anything but monsters, and would find some method to rationalize any evidence of saving grace.

He supposed he ought to be grateful that Thor had been able to let go of those biases; that he wasn’t rejecting Loki for his birth, that he was willing to rethink his perspective on the Frost Giants and acknowledge them as something more than monsters. Not that Thor’s opinion held much weight with Loki; but it held weight with Steve, and he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to handle sharing a team with him if he’d been otherwise.

But where he knew he ought to be grateful, all he could manage to feel was agitation and-- yes, and _anger_. Because how did a society supposedly as brilliant and good and superior as Asgard manage to be so bigoted for so long?

“All of you on Asgard really did a number on Loki,” he grumbled, a bit spitefully. It wasn’t fair, he knew -- Thor was raised in that environment and never knew better, and none of this was his fault. But given Steve couldn’t stomp into Asgard and give everyone else there a piece of his mind--

He took a deep breath to calm his temper, running fingers through his hair. “Sorry. I just... I wish I had something to show him. Some kind of proof that his birth doesn’t make him...” He trailed off, unwilling to say ‘monster.’ If he never heard the word again, he wouldn’t mind. “I just don’t think he’ll even listen to me on the subject at this point, since I’ve never even met any other races.”

  


Thor spread his hands.

“If he would listen to me, I would tell him as well. But I think we both know that he wouldn’t. If anything, as you said, my speaking to him could only make things worse. I wish I had not helped to make him feel-- I wish I had known. That we had. But wishes matter very little, especially where Loki is concerned. And though he refuses to see himself as my brother...” and that hurt. Cut him deeply. Because he would do anything for him, had always thought them close, had always loved him as a brother, whether they were related or not, or even of the same realm, the same species--  
“...I do still care for him. About him. I would still see him happy, or at least at peace with himself. I know Loki-- or I knew him. And contentment never seemed to be part of his nature. But I hope that that, too, has changed.”

And what he wouldn’t give to have been able to see those changes coming around, to help be the cause of them. To have been there for his brother.

But he’d thought it a kindness to give him his space-- both for his own good and to keep him as far from the eyes of Heimdall and Asgard as possible.

He just wished that the changes would not have been so exclusionary. That he could still be part of Loki’s life, in a way that went beyond strained politeness and growls and anger.

“I have no immediate plans for return to Asgard, for I will need to get Jane and Darcy settled first. But at some point, I will go back-- to visit my mother, and to speak with Odin. If there is anything I might bring, any...I do not know the library half so well as Loki, but if there is something you or he thinks can be of help to him, I will do my utmost to obtain it.”

He wasn’t sure what else he could offer, what else he could do.

He stood.

“Let me know. And… if there isn’t anything else that needs discussing… I think I’d like to check on Jane, if you don’t mind?”

  


“I know you care about him,” Steve assured him, reaching out to place a hand on Thor’s arm. That much was obvious, and even if Loki insisted he didn’t care, Steve cared, and he appreciated it. He hoped someday Loki would be able to as well, but for now...

“I’ll keep trying to get through to him. But for now, he still needs space. And to just be allowed to interact without your shared past hanging over him.”

That was what Loki had asked for so far. And given all the other stress he was under, Steve didn’t want to add to it by encouraging Thor to do more just yet. Maybe after they had the scepter and a solid plan. And speaking of a plan:

“Focus on anything about Thanos, or the Gauntlet that was stolen,” Steve reminded him. “Anything that can help us in this fight, or understand who and what we might be going up against is key. Beyond that...” He paused, then shrugged. “If you stumble on anything about the frost giants that isn’t just war and scary bedtime stories, it might... It might be helpful. But for now, concentrate on intel.”

They had priorities, after all.

He pushed back his chair and stood, moving to the door and then pausing. “We’ll see you at the airstrip. Thanks for... I appreciate you talking with me. About all of this.” That Thor was still willing to talk with him meant a lot to him as a friend, and that he felt safe coming to Steve with his concerns meant a lot to him as a leader. Hand on the doorknob, he looked back at him with a faint smile:

“If it helps, sometimes, he is genuinely happy.”

  


\----

  


They arrived at the airport ahead of schedule, which Loki did not mind. The rushing around was the worst part, as far as he was concerned, of their past traveling.

He’d gone out, walked around the town, and discovered a few things of interest. His pocket had gained a few new treasures. And he felt a little more at ease after that, though he had worried about what sort of mood Steve would return in.

He’d been sure to be back at the room before Steve had come back, too-- he didn’t know why he felt the need to hide that he’d been out, but he did not question the urge. He just acted on it.

Perhaps because of where they were, or how tense everything had been… it didn’t matter. No harm was done.

None, at least, as far as he was concerned. He hadn’t asked what it was that Thor wanted to speak of, almost afraid to know, but he realized that perhaps he should have, when they arrived at the gate, and Thor was there as well, with his mortal from the news, another woman, and Erik Selvig.

Loki stopped short, mindful of his involvement with the man, and how much Barton hated him for what he'd done.

Was this... Had Steve known? He tried to quash the feeling of suspicion and betrayal. Even if he had, it would not matter...it would change nothing. He would have no better idea of what he should say or do than he did now. And Steve had more important things to worry about. No doubt his visit to Peggy still weighed heavily on him.

Loki lagged behind, watching carefully but also careful to hold himself as non-threateningly as possible. He didn’t want to look dangerous, though he was certain that just by being there, he would seem that way.

His eyes were drawn, again and again, to the woman. The other he paid little attention to; Thor’s woman, however, was… small. Fragile looking, as he had noticed before. Plain. And unmistakably human. He saw her look up and take in their approach, and saw everyone else following suit.

He bit back his grimace and averted his eyes.

“Steve?” He asked quietly. “How long before we leave?”

Of course it would not truly be getting away from them.

  


Steve didn’t know the answer, and looked to Natasha, who stood at his other side and who he suspected had overheard Loki’s question.

Natasha had been the one to drive Steve, Loki, and herself to the airport in a SHIELD issue black SUV, now parked on the tarmac, while Thor and company had been given a ride by Tanner. Steve wasn’t sure how SHIELD intended to get the SUV back since Tanner could only drive one vehicle at a time and Natasha was coming with them, but he figured that it wasn’t his problem for once.

“About half an hour before take-off,” she answered, checking her watch. The attendants from the plane were presently loading up their luggage on to the jet -- it seemed Dr. Foster and company had some larger bags than the more-or-less overnight kits the rest of them had brought, and so there was a little more to load. “We’ll be on the plane soon enough,” she added. “We’re just waiting for-- ah. Here we go.”

Steve heard the rumbling of a familiar-sounding engine before he even turned. A black-clad, helmeted figure was zipping down the tarmac toward them on a motorcycle. Steve tensed slightly, but avoided moving himself bodily in front of Loki only because Natasha seemed to expect this new arrival.

The figure came to a stop, and Steve frowned. The engine of the bike _had_ sounded familiar. It was the same make and model as his own.

No, he realized with a spike of alarm, noting the dented handlebar. It _was_ his own.

He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, the figure reached up to pull its helmet off--

\-- and shook out her brown hair with an audible noise of relief. “Thing was squeezing my head,” Hill muttered, dismounting from the bike and running fingers back through her mussed hair as she tucked the helmet under her arm. “Here ya go, Rogers.”

She tossed the keys, and Steve snatched them out of the air. “You know, usually I prefer Kawasakis,” she commented, “but your Harley has surprisingly good acceleration.”

Steve arched an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose I’m getting it back with a full tank of gas?”

She made a snort that wasn’t quite an answer one way or the other. Natasha tossed the keys to the SUV over, and Hill caught them. (So _that_ was how SHIELD was getting the car back...). A few attendants from the plane broke away from stowing the luggage and moved to transport the bike on to the plane.

“Consider it something of an apology for yesterday,” Hill told him. Steve nodded in response; he _had_ missed his bike a bit. Maybe he could teach Loki how to ride...

“And one more thing,” she added, stepping closer and reaching into her jacket. She pulled out a set of plastic cards and handed them over. “Avengers security clearance update. Figure I can trust you to hand these out.”

“Yes ma’am,” Steve answered, taking them and tucking them into his own pocket. He could appreciate this for what it was; a goodwill gesture and symbol of cooperation. Their alliance was off to a rocky start, but at least SHIELD was making an effort.

“We’ll be in touch,” she told him, nodding to Natasha, and then heading to the car, just as the pilot stepped out on to the ladder up to the plane and announced that they were ready to board.

Loki seemed tense beside him, so Steve reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Home soon,” he murmured, as Thor and company boarded first. Natasha followed, and Steve and Loki were left to bring up the rear, entering the cabin last to claim the seats nearest the door.

  


He watched the spectacle of the motorcycle and keys being presented to Steve, and appreciated that this was saving him from actually having to speak to Thor’s mortal.

He appreciated, too, the way that Steve had apparently been surprised; the way he stiffened in reaction to it… it meant that Loki could not feel so alone in his blind sidedness.

But Loki did not miss that the apology that SHIELD proffered was not made to him or for him. It was all about Steve. Smoothing things over with him seemed to be the priority. And as much as Loki might have objected, once, he was glad that they were working to make Steve happy. He elected to turn a blind eye to the way they were neglecting his own hurts.

He knew, from experience, that they did not care. Only Steve did. And if he objected, it would only cause problems, both for he and Steve and for Steve in general.

He turned his face away as the others went up the steps, and noticed that Dr. Selvig was not to be coming with them, having failed to board the plane, and that once he’d seen those he knew off, he had followed Hill towards the car, with only a backwards glance spared for Loki and Steve.

And it was silly of him, contradictory and hypocritical, but he almost would have preferred that there had been introductions. Even if not as a relative of Thor’s, it seemed odd not to exchange names and greetings. Not even with Steve, who was standing right beside him and did not deserve to be ignored, and who, Loki thought, may not have met them yet. Unless he had been introduced to them at SHIELD earlier that day.

But it made sense, and he knew it did. In Thor’s place, he would not have done any differently. Would have kept those he loved away from the threat that someone like Loki posed.

It was hardly a consolation, though, and so when they got aboard the aircraft, he kept his eyes down, not even raising them to see if any of them were looking at him, or to see where they were sitting. All he needed do was find his seat and get into it.

Seated beside Steve, near the door of the craft, Loki could settle, could turn his view to the window or the space immediately before and beside him-- which kept his focus close and tight, and kept the others out of his sight, if not out of his mind.

But there was Steve beside him, and he could put a smile on for him and hide the discomfort he felt.

“So,” he tried, strain in his voice the only thing betraying his being less than pleased by how things had gone. “I take it that was your vehicle they returned to you?” It was polite, little more than small talk, but it would occupy him well enough.

  


The layout of the plane was such that they weren’t in rows as in a commercial airliner, but rather in a more lounge-style seating, meaning some of them were facing one another, and Steve could see their new companions plainly. He’d noticed that the man they were with had remained behind, leaving the rather petite, pretty woman with mousy brown hair who he presumed was Dr. Foster from her proximity to Thor, and her friend -- a girl with darker hair, glasses, and earbuds dangling around her neck. He’d been too preoccupied with the bike to say anything or approach them on the tarmac, but now that they were in close proximity, he wondered if he ought to say hello.

Loki spared him from having to make introductions, though, by initiating a private conversation between them.

“Yeah, my bike. It got impounded along with the rest of my stuff, I guess, when we went on the run. I guess Natasha couldn’t fit it in the truck when she moved my things up.” The full return of all his possessions, more or less undamaged, including his bike, was more than he’d expected. And having his own transit was nice, since it meant he wasn’t dependent on borrowing from Tony if he wanted to get out of the city.

“You know, if you want, we can take it for a spin tomorrow, or in the next couple days,” he added quietly. “If you shift into your other shape, the both of us oughta fit well enough. We can take it out to Brooklyn, maybe some of the outer boroughs. If you need a break from the lab, I mean.”

When the pilot came on the intercom informing them they’d be taxiing to the runway for takeoff momentarily, Steve was already thinking of places they could go, and the likelihood of successfully teaching Loki how to ride a motorcycle without killing himself. But his thoughts were interrupted when the dark-haired girl sitting across from them piped up.

“So, are we all just going to ignore the elephant in the room?” she demanded, rather loudly. Dr. Foster stiffened next to her, her expression one of almost resigned mortification. “And by elephant I of course mean the crazed supervillain who tried to kill us that one time with a fire-spitting robot, and who then tried to blow up New York? You know, the one sitting across from me? Because it’s not weirding me out or anything...”

“Darcy!” Dr. Foster hissed, glancing at them nervously. Next to her, Thor looked to Steve, his expression bewildered.

  


Loki looked up, startled at first, and then his brows lowered, and he had to fight not to look so murderously at the young mortal. And she was young, he realized. Hardly more than a child. Or at least he thought-- he’d not interacted overmuch with the women here, and their relative life spans were still somewhat bewildering. But regardless of her age, he worked on smoothing his face out, putting on his mask of bland disinterest.

It would not help matters if he seemed like the man that had tried to kill her.

Well, it was close quarters, he was bound to have had to speak to them at some point, though that was hardly the introduction he would have chosen.

“Apologies-- Darcy, was it?” He was speaking politely, but his words still had a touch of insolence to them, a bit of a bite.

“I can move, if you would find it more comfortable. It is not a long flight.”

So much for the idea of pleasant rides to Brooklyn at Steve’s back. He could only hope this would not turn into a fight. He couldn’t think of a good way of ending one here. And he could hardly leave. The velocity of the plane would have him land very messily if he tried to travel.

  


Steve gaped at the girl. Loki, to his immense credit, didn’t bristle or turn overly unpleasant. But the tension in the cabin had abruptly thickened to the point it could have been cut with a knife.

“Yeah, cause a few extra feet will make a world of difference,” Darcy remarked, folding her arms. Steve couldn’t help but notice that despite her words, she didn’t seem all that distressed. Her attitude was more nonchalant than anything, so why she was raising a fuss--

He had to step in here. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Steve Rogers.” He held out a hand.

Darcy looked at him, and her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Right, Captain America. Totally had a lunchbox with you on it when I was in kindergarten.” She took his hand, shaking it with a firm grip. “Darcy Lewis, Intern.”

Steve let her hand go and held it out in turn for Dr. Foster. “Oh,” she said in surprise, then reached forward to shake, biting her lip in nervousness. “Jane Foster. Just call me Jane though. Or Dr. Foster. Actually, no, just Jane, please. And I’m so sorry about Darcy--”

“---Lies, you love me.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jane, Darcy. Allow me to introduce you to Loki,” he said, gesturing to him. “I understand the source of your reservations, but believe me, Loki isn’t the man you may have encountered before. Not any more. He’s been living and working with the Avengers for a while now, and helping people. You’re in no danger; I trust him completely,” he added, looking sidelong at Loki, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile.

“Oh. Um. Well that’s... great!” Jane piped up, though the expression on her face didn’t quite match the enthusiasm in her voice, and she still eyed Loki a bit warily.

Darcy leaned forward toward Loki, putting her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees as she fixed him with a skeptical look. “So, no more incinerator-faced robots? Or making our friends go totally loco? Because that was super not cool.”

  


Loki shot Steve a grateful look and a small smile before turning to face the problematic child.

"No more, no."

He thought that at this point the less he said, the better off they would be. The less that the others would find objectionable or worrisome. The less that Thor could hold against him.

“I am… sorry, though. For the things I did before. And glad that you were not injured. I can assure you that you will not come to any harm at my hands, if I have any say in the matter.”

He could not help but bristle as Thor’s mortal-- Jane-- flushed and flustered her way through greeting Steve.

He scowled at her and ignored her enthusiastic lie about her acceptance of Steve’s vouching for Loki-- though it was at least somewhat offensive, if not because she doubted him, then because she was lying, and doubting Steve, of all people. He did not offer his hand, did not murmur platitudes. Just watched, attempting to seem both calm and unthreatening. And he didn’t want to let them know how the entire idea of being forced into a small space and addressed by these people, here, made him uncomfortable.

He looked quickly over to Thor, trying to gauge what he thought of the exchange.

If only he would control those he insisted on bringing with them, it would be better. Easier.

He leaned back, putting as much space between himself and the talkative one as he could.

“As I am sure you will soon become aware, if you are not already--” he glanced over at Romanoff, looking to her for guidance, or maybe permission, though her face betrayed nothing, and so he was left to plow onwards alone.

“We have much greater concerns now than petty squabbles over inheritance--” He glanced again to Thor, then down, “Or aspirations of domination.”

He shrugged, keeping his movements small, easy and with as little power behind them as possible.

He did not want to scare these people. He just wanted them to leave him be.

  


“Greater concerns?” Jane asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

Steve looked over at Thor, who shrugged helplessly. _Great._ Apparently, either Thor hadn’t had much time with Jane and Darcy on their own, or he’d taken Steve’s suggestion not to tell them anything that would overly influence their behavior to mean not to tell them _anything at all._

He wondered if Loki being on the plane had come as a total surprise to them too; if that was the case, then their reactions were actually surprisingly mild.

“I’m sure Thor can fill you in when we get to Stark tower,” he offered. “We were actually hoping you might be able to contribute some of your expertise, Dr. Foster. Dr. Banner spoke highly of your work.”

Jane blinked, her expression lighting up from wariness to delight. “Bruce Banner? Really?” She beamed, then elbowed Thor in the side. “See? This is why we don’t have SHIELD whisk me off to Norway when anything interesting happens, or try to coop me up on Asgard. I’m _useful,”_ she chided. Thor made a show of looking humbled, but as soon as Jane looked away, his expression turned fond as he gazed at her.

“So, is it a particle physics thing?” Jane asked, attention returning to Steve.

He made a face. “I honestly only have a very watered-down layman’s grasp of it,” he admitted. “Tony, Bruce, and Loki are the scientific minds at work, so they’ll be able to explain better than I ever could.”

Jane’s joy ebbed a bit, and she bit her lip, glancing back at Loki. “Oh. I didn’t realize you were a scientist... Though, I guess that does make sense. Thor said you were a talented magic-user, and if magic is just an incredibly advanced manifestation of our science, then--” She broke off, seeming torn between caution and fascination. “I, um. I look forward to working with you.”

  


He shook his head, unwilling to give her the wrong opinion. She didn’t actually seem at all excited to work with him, but it was best that she not expect as much from him as she seemed to be trying to.

“I am hardly a scientist, Doctor Foster.” He told her frankly, aware that while Steve had been granted permission to use her given name, he had absolutely not. “I am not particularly useful in the field of explanations, I think, because so many of the basic concepts are yet beyond your grasp. Stark and Banner will be able to help you to understand what they know so far; I merely provide the anomalies for you to measure and attempt to derive sense from.”

He demonstrated, gesturing and creating a soft, brief light that flickered out with the twitch of his fingers. A childrens’ spell, used for reading by past bedtime. Harmless. But a reminder just the same that he was something beyond their idea of normal.

“Oh.”

Jane looked over to Thor, then, and he realized that Thor was as well-- something alien and other. And yet he passed as human much better, his strength and longevity and the power of Mjolnir the only things showing him to be beyond their capabilities.

Unlike Loki, who could not fit in on one realm, let alone two.

And the way Thor looked at her, openly fond, almost doting, nearing worshipful… would he have looked at any Midgardian woman the same way, had he fallen into her lap? Or was she somehow special, somehow different?

He glanced sideways at Steve, reminded how guilty he felt at the thought that his Peggy had fallen in love with the person he was even before he had become something beautiful. And Loki had no way of knowing if his reactions would be the same.

He would never get to take that test, which, he realized, was probably for the best.

He’d be likely to fail it. To miss out on the best thing to ever have happened to him.

He found himself staring down at his feet, withdrawing into himself.

He should have done as Steve had suggested, taken a train on his own. He considered, for a moment, turning himself invisible and riding back that way, allowing them to think he had gone on ahead, but he would not be able to explain it to Steve, and he had already abandoned him to awkwardness once, at the meeting a few days prior. He wouldn’t do it again.

And so he sat and stewed in the discomfort, aware that he was the cause of it and powerless to change that fact, even if he had had the energy or the care necessary to do so.

  


Steve didn’t know what else to say, and it had been a long day, so he decided not to push his luck and didn’t say anything at all. Darcy pulled out a mobile device to fiddle with -- a phone or an iPod or something to that effect -- while Jane and Thor spoke in muted voices. Natasha had somehow procured a magazine and appeared to be reading a National Geographic piece on a recent volcanic eruption in the Philippines. Loki had gone quiet, and Steve couldn’t be sure if he was sulking or merely enjoying some introspection, and whether trying to engage him would be a comfort, a distraction, or an irritation.

He considered giving Loki’s hand a squeeze, reaching out for a reassuring bit of touch, but the proximity of the two strange women stopped him. Not that they seemed like the types to object -- Steve was starting to learn which demographics were considered more tolerant than others -- but they’d only just met, and they were still getting used to the idea of Loki not being evil and not trying to kill them. Adding on knowledge of their relationship to that... well, it might be a bit much.

Though, despite his desire to keep his sexuality contained, if the women were going to be living in the tower, they’d probably find out sooner or later. He chewed the inside of his cheek; tomorrow, he’d try to talk to Thor. Maybe see if they could be subtle for a couple days while they got used to things.

That was smart, right?

Or was he entirely overthinking this?

When the jet finally touched down in New York, Steve almost sagged in his seat with relief. He couldn’t get out of the plane fast enough, and despite knowing that it was polite to let ladies go first, he was out the door like a bat out of hell as soon as the hatch opened.

The air in New York was cooler, crisper, and he breathed it in gratefully after the stuffiness of the cabin. He looked over at Loki as he got out and smiled.

“Home again.”

The team was all back in one place again. And come morning, they’d get a fresh start putting things together, going over intel, and training up to be a cohesive unit.

Come morning. Soon enough.

  
  
  


 


	55. Fifty-Five

It was late when they arrived back at the tower, and that had allowed Loki to beg off from spending any more time with Thor’s mortals.

But the next day had seen them with an announcement that Stark and Banner needed to see the Avengers team-- needed to discuss a new development with the technology that they had been working on.

And so the lot of them were back in a conference room, staring down again at a map, projected onto the table there.

Apparently at some point while they were gone, one of the blips they’d detected had begun flaring up, becoming active or reacting to something.

The first time had been the middle of the day, two days prior, and Loki’s first thought was that it might have had something to do with his seidhr being interrupted; darkened.

And, it seemed, that was at least partially true.

“See, thing is, though,” Tony started, “We know this one is you-- it’s at the tower now, but when you left, we were able to track your movements. You served as a real good way of testing out our abilities in tracking and getting our readings to be as exact as possible. We could find your hotel room, follow you to the cemetery-- we tried to keep it down to a few moments of tracking, didn’t want to make you feel like we were spying-- not my game, that’s a Fury move, so sorry for that, even so, but.” Stark trailed off and Loki shrugged. He’d thought they were likely to be being observed by SHIELD while there, he didn’t see this as particularly different, and he was anxious to hear what it was that the pulsing light indicated.

“You sputtered out for a minute, so I reached out to Nat, and she explained what had happened.”  Stark looked absolutely concerned, and Loki shook his head no, ever so slightly, his eyes sliding over towards Thor.

Who, so far as he knew, still had not been told about their little ‘mishap’.

And though Loki knew that Stark had reason to worry-- was gratified, even, for how upset he seemed at the prospect-- they would need to discuss that in private.

He saw Tony’s eyes slide towards Thor as well, then back to his display, obviously grappling for what he had been saying.

“The other marker?” Loki prompted.

“Well, when you came back online, this blip here did too.” He pointed out the one in France-- the one that Steve had focused on before.

“And since then, it’s been all about acting up. Not regularly, but pretty often in the last day or so, we’ll get a surge. We’ve been recording them as much as possible…” He shrugged. “Seems like that’s the most likely culprit for being the sceptre.”

“And even if it isn’t,” Banner added, speaking up for the first time since Loki had come into the room, “Whatever it is is active and should probably be investigated-- whether it was set off as a reaction to you or not.”

  


  


Steve frowned deeply. “If it’s behaving erratically, then something must be interacting with it.” And if it was the scepter, something could very well mean _someone._ Some poor idiot might be getting his mind torn apart on that broken world right now; the thought made him queasy.

He had hoped for a little more time to get the team together and work off some of their rough edges before they went on a recovery mission. But as it was, the scepter had been in unknown hands long enough. If they had a lead, they needed to jump on it. And if someone was using the damn thing, they needed to do that as soon as possible.

He grimaced, staring at the point of light located over Europe.

“How probable is it that it’s the scepter?” he asked.

Tony ran a hand back through his hair, scratching the back of his neck. “JARVIS cross-referenced all our results with the data on the drive Nat handed me last night. I think we’re able to rule out some of the other blips with reasonable accuracy. Assuming there’s no overlap, I think our odds are good. And even if not, this is something off SHIELD’s records.”

Steve nodded. “How close are you with that containment system?” he asked, not looking up.

Bruce made a face. “We have a bare bones prototype almost complete. We’ll need at least a day though, to run simulations and reinforce the materials.”

A day. A day to put together a mission and get his team ready for the field.

_Once more unto the breach..._

“Tony, Bruce. Focus on the containment. And get as much information on the location -- satellite photos, land surveys, local records -- as possible. Pass anything you find on to Nat and Clint.” He turned to Romanoff and Barton. “I want you two to get me a recommended plan of approach as soon as you can. We should all meet this afternoon on the training level to run a group simulation as a warm up. Clint, do you have something for us?”

Clint nodded. “I got a few scenarios.”

“Good.” Steve licked his lips, focusing on the dot. “We’ll need to be ready to head to Europe within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

  
  


Loki felt as though the ground he stood on were shaking.

Everything had moved so slowly until now, and now everything was happening so quickly.

A day. Perhaps two. And then what-- another day or more, and he would be facing Thanos. Alone.

He looked over at the Widow and saw that she was looking at him. He nodded at her, certain that they were thinking along the same lines.

They’d yet to do any actual work, and he needed her to be able to reassure Steve if he tried to change his mind once they had the sceptre. They would have to talk later. Have to address the things that troubled Loki, later. And without any preparation at all, this would be a do or fail test.

But that was a concern for later, likely after the training session that Barton had arranged for them. He could only hope that Barton would not betray Steve’s trust, and that there was no ugly surprise awaiting him in this scenario.

If he were even included in it.

He had no idea how to ask that, though. But… he would have, before. And he needed to return to being that person, now. He took a deep breath and squared himself, making a point to turn his voice as near commanding as he could.

“I assume I’ll be needed for testing your containment systems. Is that before or after you want us all on the training level? And, Romanoff… perhaps we can work together thereafter, if you are not seeing to other things?” He turned his eyes to each member of the group in turn, brow arched.

And then… he needed to speak to Steve. But he could do that later, before they slept. In private.

  
  


Steve gnawed on the inside of his lip. “Tony, Bruce -- let Loki know as soon as you’re ready to test the prototype so he can help you with that. I’ll send out a memo when we have the training level set up. I imagine you guys will be able to use a break by then.” He didn’t imagine they’d be completely done, but perhaps some physical exertion would allow them to reset and approach the problems they encountered with a fresh perspective.

“I’ll call SHIELD and see about borrowing a quinjet. Even if we aren’t requisitioning personnel, they’ll probably be willing to support us with equipment,” Natasha offered. “Stark’s jet is fast, but ours is faster.”

“Good call,” he replied with a nod in her direction.

Mentally, he formed a checklist: team cohesion would be addressed through training to warm them up; Natasha and Clint would be planning their entry; Natasha would be covering transit, and working with Loki in the meantime; Tony and Bruce were doing digital reconnaissance and engineering containment. With luck, they’d be all prepared when the time came to get boots on the ground.

“Pardon, Captain,” Thor rumbled softly from the end of the table. “But what of Lady Jane?”

“Is she an engineer?” Tony asked him, before Steve could say anything.

“Nay,” Thor answered. “She has built her own equipment, from what I understand, but her main interest is the stars...”

“Then it might take a bit too long to fill her in and get her up to speed for it to be worth it,” Bruce admitted with a regretful look. “At least for right now.”

Steve had to agree. As much as he hated to waste a resource, he wasn’t sure how applicable Dr. Foster’s skillset would be to their prep. “Thor, go ahead and brief her on the situation with Thanos and everything we’ve been doing to counter the threat,” he offered. Thor wouldn’t be much otherwise occupied, and she would need to know sooner or later. Just because she couldn’t contribute much right at this moment didn’t mean she wouldn’t be invaluable later. “Just make sure she knows this is completely classified. We don’t want to start mass panic.”

Thor nodded. “I understand.”

“Alright.” Steve placed his hands on the table and stood. “Unless there’s anything else, let’s break and everyone get to work. We’ll reconvene this afternoon. Good luck.”

He waited until the others filtered out before catching Loki’s eye. “You alright?”

  
  


He nodded jerkily; now was not the time for talking of fears and worries; they may have run out of those moments already. Now was the time to make all preparations that they could, plan as best as possible, and not allow Steve to be any more concerned for Loki than he would be on his own.  
That in mind, Loki stood a little straighter.

“I am going to go check in with the scientists, and I will bring sandwiches, knowing how prone they are to forgoing their midday meal. Don’t forget to eat, yourself. We’ll all be needing our strength, soon enough.”

He approached just long enough to place a gentle, chaste kiss to Steve’s lips.

“I will see you for our training!” He chirped, perhaps a bit too cheerfully-- he’d become a fool for over compensation-- but he hurried out before Steve could question him further, or wonder about it too much.

He did as he’d said, and gathered sandwich materials from the common refrigerator, before going down to the lab to lend his abilities.

They ate while they worked, and the other two had made a surprising amount of progress in his absence.

A suspicious amount, in fact, until Stark revealed with some chagrin that, upon hearing from Natasha the reason for Loki’s disappearance from their map, he had near-instantly gone after the plans for the device.

“Not to use on you!” He hastened to assure him. “Just for this. But… if I can ask, what did it do to you-- and are you okay, after that?”

“Once it returned, both Steve and I were fine, but… when it negated the life of my seidhr, it was…” He shuddered. “It was terrible. And since I used so much of my own power to fill the gaps in the krellr Steve lost at the hands of Thanos, he took it far worse. It was like he’d suddenly been emptied of half his body’s lifeblood.” Loki shook his head. “When you have the time, I would love if you might find a way of negating the power of the thing. SHIELD-- Agent Hill-- tried to assure me that it would not leak, but clearly that is not the case. And if we are exposed to it again, I do not want to have Steve’s life endangered by it.”

He could see the gears begin turning behind Stark’s eyes, but Banner snapped his fingers.

“Tony? That later, this now.”

With a chuckle, Tony turned his attentions back to the box-- armored on the outside like it was made of the same stuff as his suit, and insulated inside with a foam that, when a sample was put under the microscope, was comprised of tiny cells, each boasting a miniaturized version of the device that had, apparently, put Steve and Loki out.

As terrifying as Stark’s possession of it was, the fact that he had already improved upon it was even worse.

Just one more time that Loki was more upset that he was right than he would have been to be proven wrong.

He swallowed his worries on the subject, though, and pushed through the work with Banner and Stark, until the call came in for the training.

  
  


Clint, as it happened, had been busy in their absence. An entire empty level of the tower (Stark had yet to fill all the real estate his building provided in the aftermath of the renovations) had been converted into a kind of training ground, with mats in one corner, and various obstacles arranged across the rest, forming areas of shelter, barricades, and blind corners throughout.

Steve helped him put out the finishing touches after lunch, and then had JARVIS summon the rest of the team down.

Training started off with a series of individual bouts. One-on-one sparring sessions that helped to gauge individual skillsets. They started with simple hand-to-hand, then tried out different combinations adding in Steve’s shield, Tony’s armor, and other accouterments. Following the sparring, they broke up into two teams -- Steve, Thor, and Clint on one with Loki, Natasha, and Tony on the other, and Bruce abstaining to record the proceedings as referee, on the grounds that Hulk was really more of a weapon to be pointed in the direction of anything that needed destroying than a teammate.

The scenarios that Clint had constructed were variations on some of the war games Steve remembered from boot camp, or even childhood; Capture the Flag, King of the Mountain, and some where they raced against the clock to complete an objective, or prevent the other team from completing theirs.

They changed up the teams periodically, and Steve tried to keep an eye out on how the various pairings cooperated. He was hesitant to put Thor and Loki on a team together since two Asgardians hardly seemed fair, but when he tried it out, they didn’t dominate the field nearly as badly as he would have guessed -- each was a force to be reckoned with, but they kept their distance from one another, operating as individuals and not a unit.

Tony and Loki paired effectively. Natasha and Clint, of course, were like two halves of a whole, and Natasha’s style complemented nearly anyone’s, including Steve’s. Steve and Loki moved well together, and Steve and Thor fell into a rhythm as well. Clint was good at covering Stark’s flank (something Tony needed to work on), and when paired with Thor, no one could get anywhere near the two of them. But when placed on a team with Loki, Clint’s focus noticeably diminished, and he spent more time gauging his teammate than his opponent.

It was... concerning.

When Steve, Tony, and Loki’s team successfully conquered Clint, Natasha and Thor’s ‘castle,’ Steve called a break. They were all sweating, Tony’s armor was slightly dented from a hit of Thor’s hammer, Clint was sporting a nasty bruise on his jaw from where he hadn’t paid attention in an earlier bought and caught Natasha’s boot to his face, and the training floor was, quite simply, a mess.

“Alright, everyone hit the showers. Good work,” he told them. “Bruce, can I talk with you when you get a second?” He figured Bruce may have noticed more from the sidelines than he had in the melee, and he could use a second opinion. Though he suspected his doubts would only be confirmed...

  
  


He hung back, not needing to shower since he hadn’t worked up a sweat at all, though he could feel the Other Guy grumbling a little about all of the action and adrenaline and pheremones floating around, but he had a solid grip on it.

“Sure thing, Cap.” He said lightly, watching the rest go.

Even in just walking, it was easy to see the fractures in the group; Clint hurried out ahead of everyone else, and Natasha followed, more restrained, but clearly concerned, to those who knew her. The two of them would likely have their own form of debriefing and wind down, and he wouldn’t really be surprised if they did so by hitting one another more.

Tony had an arm slung over Thor’s shoulders, but that didn’t prevent the big man from looking back at Loki, who was hanging back, letting the others go out before him, obviously hoping he’d be called out to stay behind as well.

Bruce sighed, drawing even with Steve and letting the door close behind the others before he said anything.

“He’s… not really working out, is he?” He asked, and though he kept his voice soft, he didn’t bother specifying who. He figured they both knew.

And it was delicate-- Steve would be protective, defensive of his partner, of course, but the team needed defending too. Bruce just wasn’t sure he was the guy to do it.

“I think he’s a little too used to working on his own. Unless it’s you, he’s…. not much of a team player. And… I don’t see any major changes from when we fought in the park. If this was a real fight, he wouldn’t have made any killing, or even seriously wounding blows. He didn’t even fake it, the way Tony did, when he’d lift his hand up like a repulsor to the face-- I don’t know.” He finished out a little lamely.

“And Clint… he’s too busy watching his back, with Loki on the team. Even Natasha missed a few beats. And Thor was so busy trying to cover Loki’s back… he didn’t really cover anyone else’s. Hate to say it, but in this scenario, the only one who performed consistently was Tony, and he’s not usually someone I’d call ‘consistent’.”

He looked Steve in the face, trying to gauge how angry he’d be about this, if he would try to fight and excuse what Bruce had seen.

“For his sake, as well as the team’s… I think it would be better if he didn’t come.” He hazarded. “Everyone’s going to need to be at the top of their game, walking into who knows what.”

  
  


Steve’s posture sank in on itself and he nodded, turning to Bruce with a regretful smile.

“I know.”

He’d seen it in action. Seen how whichever team Loki fought on invariably lacked cohesion, barring the team-up of Steve, Loki and Tony. Saw how some of the others were... off. And how Loki held back, how he didn’t go into the training with the kind of intensity a real fight would demand.

And if Loki held back in a real fight -- if he let himself get hurt, like Thor feared, like _Steve_ feared, then that would be on him for putting Loki into a combat zone.

“Tony used to not be a team player,” he reminded him. And wasn’t that ironic, that Tony was now the most at-ease member of their team? “It doesn’t mean he won’t work out in the future. But...” He sighed. “Getting his comfort level and the comfort level of the team up to performance is going to take more time than we have.”

They would need more training. More sparring. And of course, more time spent working at the conflicts that still existed between Loki and various members of the team. And God only knew how long _that_ would take.

He wiped at the cooling sweat on his brow. “I... just needed to hear it from someone else. Someone objective.”

Bruce was the even keel of the team by necessity, and perhaps the most impartial. And if Bruce confirmed his suspicions, well. Steve knew what he needed to do. For the sake of the team, and Loki’s sake too -- even if he might not see it that way.

“Guess I get to break it to him,” he said with a grimace. He lightly clapped a hand to Bruce’s shoulder as he walked past. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to. But it could wait until later. At least until after a shower.

  
  


Left to his own devices, he did as Steve had suggested and showered, though he did so in their apartment rather than in the showers off of the training room.

He thought it was better that way. It would give them the chance to get away from them… give them the time to talk among themselves where he wouldn’t have to hear it.

And they wouldn’t have to see him.

He shuddered at the very thought of that-- Steve found him attractive, but these were people who went out of their way, even during practice, to avoid touching him. No matter how clothed he was.

He sighed, and summoned forth his gift to Steve, running his fingers over it while he walked back to the elevator, and then from there to their shower.

He was nervous. Mainly about the sceptre, about what he would need to do when they recovered it, but more importantly, more pressingly, he was nervous about his upcoming meeting with Romanoff… and with Steve’s reception of the present.

The one was easy to write off. He’d be tied down, and he’d just have to-- to school himself into calmness. Lie convincingly; he had centuries of practice. Once he got back in the stride of it, it shouldn’t be that hard. He could do it, he was sure of it.

The other part, though…

He worried it would look too much like jealousy, would be too soon after… after learning that Steve had had such a remembrance of Peggy. That it would be all too transparent what he was doing.

He tucked it away, back into his pocket, nerve running low as he stripped and sluiced the sweat off.

It had gone… fine, he supposed. He had managed not to injure anyone, nor to run afoul of any ‘training accidents’ accidental as they truly might have been or not, and so he counted it as a win. And it had felt good, to be moving again, to be working with a group, joining in a fight, imaginary or not-- knowing that he had these people, his friends, now, to fight alongside. It helped, knowing that for this at least, he didn’t have to go alone.

Once clean, dried, and dressed, he called up to JARVIS.

“Will you have the Widow alert me when she’s ready for our training?” He asked.

“ _Of course.”_ The AI acknowledged, and he found himself giving him a jerky nod of thanks.

Thirsty, and not sure how else to pass the time at the moment, his limbs as loose as they were and his body restless with the knowledge that soon there would be no peace, no stopping… he pulled a bottle of juice from their refrigerator and poured himself a glass.

A glance at the clock told him that it would be dinner before too much longer. No good returning to the lab, then.

He wondered who was handling the food for that evening… if Thor’s mortals would be there as well.

At the thought of eating opposite the loud child, his stomach dropped a bit, and he wondered if there were something down here that he could prepare, something that would allow him not to have to be there. But then… part of the point of his training with them had been to create a feeling of unity.

Not eating dinner with the rest of the team might jeopardize any headway he had made, that day.

He shook out his hands, jitters from the fight and the rest of what lay in store for the evening making him anxious. He paced back and forth, short bursts of long strides, and decided that perhaps he should go back up to the shared floor, try to put in an appearance-- see if maybe he was wrong, if Tony and Bruce thought it would be best if they went back to work after all.

  


Tony ended up ordering a veritable smorgasbord of ethnic food from various spots around midtown for dinner, summoning everyone to the penthouse when it was delivered. Steve had been going over the information Nat had sent to his tablet on the various locations where they’d found magical indicators, and he was ready for the reprieve when it came.

Everyone had taken the time to bathe and change in the interim, though Tony’s hair was spiky and messy, as he hadn’t taken the time to dry it neatly or comb it in the least. He, Pepper and Bruce were already in the penthouse when Steve arrived, followed by Natasha, with Clint only a moment behind her.

“JARVIS, did you page the space vikings?” Tony asked.

“I have informed both Mr. Loki and Mr. Odinson and his guests of the meal.”

A few moments later, the elevator opened and Thor walked in, along with Darcy and Jane, who had a somewhat nervous, skittish air about her as she followed Thor to the couch, staying glued to his side.

Steve suspected that she’d been made aware, then, of the looming threat of an actual destroyer-of-worlds with his eye on Earth. And really, he couldn’t blame her.

Darcy, by contrast, seemed either oblivious or unaffected. “Ooooh, spring rolls!” she cried, snatching up a plate. “Awesome spread.”

“Dig in while it’s hot!” Pepper encouraged with a smile, handing plates out to the rest. “I hear you all worked up an appetite today.”

  
  


The call for dinner came in just as he was leaving the apartment, so he thought his timing couldn’t be better. He had to wait a moment for the elevator to come back down, which he thought meant it was likely that Steve would already be there-- everyone else (save Thor, he supposed) lived on that level, so he was sure that he wouldn’t be the first.

And he wasn’t. He was the last to arrive, actually, but that was fine. Tony had seen to it that there was plenty of food.

And Loki was in a… well he wouldn’t call it a good mood. His cheerfulness was no less forced now than it had been earlier, but it was a good cover for his nerves, he thought. He felt like every worry he had was just as worked up as he was, and that sent them all jumbling through his head together, making him feel frantic, in a way, though he knew himself to be standing quite still.

“I see you’ve been taking advice from Thor on how to fill a table.” He commented, aiming the words at Tony and filling the strange quiet that his entry seemed to have created. He thought that this-- acknowledging Thor without scorn, without rancor… that was what Steve wanted him to do right? Work with Thor as a team member.

And having done so, he could likely go back to safely ignoring him.

He nodded at Pepper.

“We-- most of us-- yes, it was a good practice.” He told her, a half smile creeping over his face. He felt suddenly as if he’d missed a stair, or expected one that had never been.

“You guys have Chinese food in space?” The loud one asked, and just then Loki couldn’t be gladder of her.

“Nay, not as such, I think Loki meant only that it is not a proper feast until the table groans with as many colorful dishes as this one does. It’s truly a marvel, Tony. Thank you.”

Tony waved it off, and like that, Loki felt the tension seemingly evaporate.

Plates were handed out, and when Loki got his, he couldn’t help but look furtively at the others’. He was hungry, but didn’t want to seem greedy.

He kept his selections about even with the-- with Darcy’s and Bruce’s. None should object to that, he reasoned.

The table was too full of dishes, and so once the plates were filled, he found himself following the others out into the den area. Thor was sitting in Steve’s usual seat, and Loki had to work to restrain a scowl-- but he felt his brows climb when his gaze flicked over, and he saw Darcy sliding in close to Bruce. Very close. Almost invasively so.

He looked to Thor’s woman, expecting her to say something, but she seemed preoccupied with Thor. So he looked back to Banner and arched a brow enquiringly.

Bruce looked unsure what to do, and Loki remembered their talk about how he did not favor loudness in others.

Better, then, that he perhaps divert Darcy’s attentions his way.

He shot a glance to Steve, then back at Bruce, hoping the look could communicate his intent, and sank down to sit on the other side of the glass coffee table from the girl.

  
  


Steve was a little surprised when Loki didn’t sit beside him, as was their norm -- he wondered briefly if Loki was concerned about them being out to Thor’s friends -- but then Loki caught his eye and cast a conspicuous look at Bruce, and Steve connected the dots. Loki had seen a possible stressor in Darcy’s presence, and positioned himself to run interference.

Steve couldn’t help feeling a surge of pride in him. Even if he wasn’t ready to be a part of the team in combat, Loki _was_ watching their backs. It gave him hope.

He’d served himself up some lo mein and some curry, and a skewer of teriyaki or two, confident he could go back for seconds -- even with two gods, he doubted they’d be running out of food anytime soon.

“So, how was Washington?” Clint asked as he shoved a dumpling into his mouth.

“Washington was fine,” Steve answered with a shrug.

“We didn’t get to see _anything,”_ Darcy grumbled, her full lower lip sticking out in a pout. “I wanted to go see the monuments and stuff, but as soon as the suits cut us loose we were out at the airport. Totally lame.”

“Well, it’s not a terribly long train-ride if you want to go back,” Jane pointed out, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “If it means that much to you.”

Darcy’s pout vanished immediately, and she popped a steamed shu-mai into his mouth. “Nah,” she answered, then grinned. “The sightseeing here’s not so bad,” she added, turning to Bruce and waggling her eyebrows, causing him to nearly choke on his drink.

 

 

Loki hid a scowl behind his mouthful of food, but hastened to swallow it, that he might chime in.

“And were the sights of London so grand, that you feel an immediate need to replace them?” He challenged, voice teasingly low and soft. He was well aware that his accent here served to be mistaken often enough for being European, and after staring at the maps of the magical points for the last while, he was coming to be at least a little better at Midgardian geography.

“London was _okay_.” She told them, clearly enjoying the attention, and Loki took back his previous thoughts of gratitude towards her existence. “Little cars, little streets-- tall guys, but sorta like sticks, you know?” She let her eyes travel down him, sizing him up before flicking away, and though she did not appeal to him at all, particularly as he had Steve, he felt her lack of interest in him as a reminder of his own physical shortcomings.

Her eyes had returned to Bruce, though, and she went on.

“Which is fun for once in a while, but I like big, strong guys. You know, the kinds who look like they could really do some _damage_ if they wanted to.” She smirked, and Loki understood now why so many people had offered, time and again, to wipe the expression from his face.

“ _Darcy_ , that’s _enough_.” Thor’s mortal hissed at her, and Loki gave her a small, grateful nod, which coincided with Darcy sighing.

“Yes, mom.” She shrugged, though, unperturbed, and looked over to her other side, where Romanoff and Barton sat at the corners of two different couches, though near one another.

“While we were in Washington, I was able to see some of your monuments-- though I have to say, I found the tiny portraits of them on the backs of your dollars almost of more interest.” Loki tried steering the conversation to something safer, something more or less unable to offend. Under the table, Bruce bumped his foot against Loki’s knee, and Loki glanced his way to find him nodding as well.

Loki flicked him a quick smile.

“Perhaps when we leave to go retrieve the sceptre, Thor can find you similar pictures of the area surrounding our target.” He offered, smiling benignly, though it felt tight on his face.

The words made Barton scowl, but made Thor smile, and Darcy merely stared for a second incredulously.

“Did you just tell me you’d send a postcard?” She asked.

Behind her, Romanoff made a sound like a muffled laugh at Darcy’s indignance.

  
  


Poor Banner was turning increasingly red, and Steve couldn’t blame him -- he could feel heat prickling under his skin in sympathy, knowing he’d be flushing crimson in the other man’s shoes. He tensed a little in irritation when Darcy’s eyes raked over Loki’s body -- though he knew it was just theatrics, he didn’t appreciate anyone making disparaging remarks about his lover, knowing just how sensitive Loki was -- but Loki continued to handle the situation with diplomatic aplomb. He didn’t seem ruffled, and he stepped in easily to rescue Bruce, with grace that reminded Steve that he had, in fact, been raised in court.

But when Loki mentioned recovering the scepter, Steve inwardly flinched. Of course, he hadn’t had a chance to speak with him about it yet -- or anyone other than Bruce -- but it was a reminder that they’d need to discuss it sooner or later. The longer Loki believed he’d be going, the more distressed he’d be when he found out Steve intended otherwise.

Bruce glanced over at him as several of the others chuckled, raising his eyebrows. Steve pulled a face -- _I know, I know_ \-- and took another bite of food to try to distract himself.

“So, Dr. Foster,” Pepper interjected, “how are you settling in? Is everything all right with your rooms?”

“The rooms are amazing!” Jane replied with an enthusiastic nod. “I can’t believe you had that whole space for us to just move into! It’s like, twice the size of my old apartment. Thank you so, so much for putting us up like this, especially on such short notice--”

“It’s no trouble,” Pepper told her. “Tony, I think, is enjoying having all the extra company around. He gets to be social without dealing with the paparazzi. What was it you called it when you built all the extra apartments?” she asked, turning her attention to Tony. “Operation Slumber Party?”

Tony snorted. “It was Operation _Clubhouse,_ Pep. Way cooler.”

“I like Operation Slumber Party,” Jane commented with a grin.

Darcy perked up. “Does that mean we get to have pillow fights?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “In your own rooms, sure,” he said dryly.

“Now I’m having the weirdest mental image of you and Lokes hitting each other with pillows at terrifying velocity,” Tony mused, only for Pepper to step on his foot and give him a _look._ “Gah, what?” he asked. “That was like, almost totally innocent!”

  


Loki turned to look at Steve, trying to gauge his comfort with this line of talk, but at least everyone was being… jovial, almost. There was a sense of camaraderie, despite his discomfort with Thor, and Barton’s with him.

All day, it had done wonders, this feeling like part of them, though he knew he wasn’t, still, in name.

And so he arched his eyebrow, steadfastly ignoring Darcy’s slight open mouthed stare-- had Thor not told her? Well, more fool, he, though he did appreciate that he had tried to have some care who knew-- and focused on the other part of Stark’s statement, the part that did not linger over long on he and Steve sharing an apartment.

“And you suppose any pillows could stand such treatment?” He asked. “Perhaps when you finally finish making those pants you promised to Banner--” He started, before realizing his error.

Too late, however.

“Pants?” Darcy asked, perking up.

Bruce groaned and busied himself in his teacup, looking more than a little like he was wondering if he could drown in it just to escape.

“Tear proof pants.” Tony provided, ever helpful. “The Other Guy’s not particularly easy on jeans.”

Darcy grinned hugely, then shifted her attentions back to Loki, then to Steve, and he watched her smile fall away in favor of giving them hard, considering looks, and Loki’s concern with her shifted from Bruce’s discomfort to the potential that she was one of those who believed, as Steve feared, that men should not be together.

“So… Captain Stars ‘n Stripes and Prince Watch the World Burn, huh?” She looked to Thor. “How come you didn’t tell me your brother was dating Captain America? That’s adorable. Though,” she flicked her attention back to Steve, “The women of the world weep.”

“I am not,” Loki said slowly and clearly, “Either a Prince, nor Thor’s brother, if you could refrain from referring to me as such.” He kept the words calm and polite, and realized this may well be the first time many of them would hear him say as much with a level tone of voice.

But, it did distract from Darcy’s words to Steve, and that was his aim.

  


Steve winced a bit when Tony slipped up, but he didn’t feel any of the same paralyzing panic he might have mere weeks ago. Maybe it was the knowledge that, no matter how Jane and Darcy might react, the overwhelming majority of those in the room would immediately come to his defense and support. His main worry wasn’t judgment, but rather discretion -- Darcy seemed the sort to say whatever she happened to be thinking, whether it was supposed to stay secret or not. And given how easily Tony had accidentally alluded to their relationship...

Loki corrected Darcy about his title and standing, and though his tone was perfectly civil, his disavowing Thor prompted the latter to frown and look away, putting a bit of a dampener on the mood of the room.

Steve sighed, figuring he might as well take advantage of the sober moment to address another point of seriousness: “If you don’t mind,” he said, looking from Darcy to Jane, “we’re not exactly public about... _us_. Everyone who knows is in this room, and I’d really like to keep it that way for the time being.”

“Oh, of course!” Jane assured him, smiling brightly. “I mean, I don’t even know who I’d tell...”

“That’s because you’re boring,” Darcy pointed out, then mimed zipping her own lips shut. “Not to worry. What happens in Avengers Tower stays in Avengers Tower.”

“Stark Tower,” Tony corrected.

Bruce snorted, pointedly looking around the room. “Sure. You keep telling yourself that.”

“You _have_ effectively made it a base of operations for the team,” Natasha said.

Clint smirked. “An Avengers... _Clubhouse_ , you could say?”

“You kept just the A on top of the tower where it used to say Stark,” Steve added. “Don’t tell me you weren’t planning on changing it anyway.”

Tony threw his hands up in the air. “Alright, alright, Avengers Tower! I was just gonna wait to rechristen the damn thing until I used up all the mailing labels I already had printed with “Stark Tower” on them.”

“I already ordered new ones,” Pepper informed him as she nibbled on a spring roll.

“You’re a godsend, Pep.”

“I know.” She smiled, then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“So, I’m guessing you two met professionally...?” Jane said, looking to Tony and Pepper, who nodded in tandem. She then turned her attention over to Loki, then Steve. “Can I ask how you two met? I mean, other than, you know... The world-taking-over-bit.”

  
  


Loki scowled internally, but adopted the most lovesick face he could muster, purely for theatricality.

“It was all _very_ romantic,” he began, heaving a put on sigh. “I remember like yesterday. I’d just popped down to Midgard after starving and bespelling myself half to death, to steal a powerful weapon, and Steve captured me and helped SHIELD to put me in a cage.” He laughed, low and flirtatiously, his entire tone seeming as though he were speaking of entirely different circumstances. “And I suppose the rest is _obvious_.”

He shot a beaming grin at Thor’s woman, though it did not reach his eyes, and let her see as it ended abruptly, before turning back to his plate.

“How about you?” This time it was Romanoff who broke in, and when Loki glanced up, he saw Pepper frowning at him, and he shrugged slightly and tossed her a wink, which did nothing to appease her. Over his head, the Widow had continued.

“I guess you got to know Thor when he first came to Earth, back in New Mexico. How’d that happen?”

“I uh… I hit him with my van, actually.” She said, and Loki wasn’t sure if that was the cause of her embarrassment, or if some of it was in reaction to the tone of his answer. Both, he hoped.

“Twice.” Darcy added, just to help. “Once in the storm that happened when he fell to Earth, and once outside of the hospital when we came back to get him.”

“They were accidents!” the woman said, looking at the others, her cheeks bright now with proof of her discomfort. Loki liked it; it was a good shade on her.

“It’s okay, I think most of us have tried to kill at least one other person in the room a time or two.” Romanoff reassured her, and Thor chuckled at that, ruining Loki’s fun.

“What are your plans for after dinner, Romanoff?” Loki asked, attempting to keep her from further mollifying Thor’s mortal. “I’d like to fit in at least one… lesson, if you have the time, tonight?”

“Of course.” He watched her snap straight into her duty, a work mode that made her sit straighter and her voice become more even. “We can leave from here to do it, if you want.”

He watched Barton as he observed the exchange, and wondered what he thought of Loki and the Widow, working alone together. His face gave nothing away, but perhaps that was because he simply never looked pleased.

  
  


Steve frowned at Loki’s tone as he recounted a rather grim description of their meeting. While technically accurate, it was... harsh. And did not detail how they’d actually come to be a couple. Steve wasn’t sure if Loki felt uncomfortable divulging those details, or if he simply wanted to make Jane squirm, but the friendly playfulness that characterized most of their banter was conspicuously missing. Steve recalled his warning to Thor that Loki might not be nice, and grimaced. It seemed he’d been right to do so. Later, he’d talk to Loki about it. Along with the mission.

So many conversations to _not_ look forward to.

Fortunately, it seemed he’d be spared from that particular chat a little longer, as Loki arranged with Natasha to work on... well, whatever exactly they were working on to train Loki up against Thanos. Which seemed like a better use of time anyway, as Loki would be in a position to use the scepter once they recovered it, even if he didn’t come along to fetch it with them. Giving him something to work on in their absence would be good. Productive.

“How’s the containment coming?” he asked Tony.

“We’re getting there,” he answered with a half-shrug. “Pepper’s gonna make me sleep at some point, but I can probably have something for loverboy here to test out first thing in the morning. And if it works, then we’re in good shape.”

“Good.” Steve nodded. That was good. If they had all the equipment they needed by noon, they could be in France by nightfall tomorrow, in time to make their approach in the cover of darkness. And it wouldn’t even be the first time he’d be jumping down into potentially hostile territory within French borders in the middle of the night, though the hum of the quinjet engines was less grating and loud than the coughing whine of the planes they’d leapt out of in the war, hoping to hit the ground before the Germans spotted their parachutes and used them as targets to shoot at...

“Cap?”

Steve jerked, blinking as he looked up. “Mmm?”

“You had a thousand mile stare going there,” Bruce said, brow furrowed in faint concern.

“Sorry, just thinking about the operation,” Steve explained, finishing off the beef on one of his teriyaki skewers. “Lots to do.”

“No kidding,” Tony agreed, setting aside his empty plate and standing with a rather theatrical stretch. “Good dinner, all, but I think Brucie and I need to go hit the lab for a little longer.”

  
  


Loki turned to look at Steve as Bruce called his name, seemingly out of the blue, but he was already shaking off whatever expression he’d worn.

His explanation of the distractions that came of coordinating seemed sensible, though, and he sent him a sympathetic look. He did not envy his partner his position in this situation, in these circumstances.

He thought again of his gift, and felt the return of his worry as to whether Steve would appreciate it, whether the timing was right… but he’d save it for later. It certainly wasn’t something suitable for here and now, in front of all the others. Not when Steve’s own token had come after a night out, during a beautiful and well planned dinner.

At the very least, he knew he should wait until they were alone. Perhaps he could rub Steve’s shoulders before hand, play the song they’d danced to, when they had eaten the food Steve had made...

He let part of his mind move to planning, but pulled the rest of his attention forward again, to where Tony and Bruce were excusing themselves, Bruce looking far happier to go than Loki was altogether comfortable with, though he could safely blame that almost entirely on the loud girl, Darcy.

“If you need me before tomorrow morning, have JARVIS alert me?” He asked, after Tony and Bruce’s retreating backs, and Tony paused, letting Bruce go past to nod.

“You got it, Loki.”

“He probably won’t though.” Pepper said, a note of warning in her voice and pointed at Tony. “Because he has an early bedtime tonight.”

Loki fought not to smile at the reminder, and Tony turned his hand into a puppet, mocking Pepper’s speaking. But he gave her a fond glance and returned to deliver a peck on her cheek before retreating again.

Loki looked up to Romanoff.

“When you have eaten your fill, I am ready as well. But I will wait for you.”

He’d not eaten as much as he could-- as much as he probably should-- but then, he did not want his stomach heavy for the tests she may put him through. And judging by the still tall piles of food on the table, he would likely be able to eat more afterwards.

But first, he had to get through this. Had to lie, convincingly, to the Widow, in order to gain permission to use the sceptre, once they returned from retrieving it. In order to keep Steve safe.

Suddenly, he was not at all hungry for more.

 


	56. Fifty-Six

She’d eaten fairly quickly, not having been burdened by conversation, content instead to eat and watch the new dynamics unfolding. So when Loki informed her that he was ready, Natasha scooped the last of the curry and rice up off her plate, then set it aside atop where Banner’s and Stark’s had been piled.

“I’m good to go if you are,” she informed him, sliding off the arm of the couch where she’d been perched.

Most of the others were still eating, she noted -- Steve and Thor were both likely to go back for seconds from what she’d seen of their appetites, and Clint had loaded his plate up with enough food to suggest his eyes had been too big for his stomach. Pepper hadn’t taken much, but she was busy being the gracious hostess, and engaging Foster in conversation about the transatlantic flight from London.

She and Loki wouldn’t be particularly missed if they scooted out early, she figured.

“Good luck,” Steve said, offering them both a smile. “I’ll see you later, Loki.”

Natasha began padding down the hall, heading to the elevators. When Loki caught up, she gave him a curt nod. “I have some things in my suite, if you don’t mind us setting up in there.”

  


The idea of working with the Widow in her own suite did not appeal. It was on the same floor as all the others, for one, and not at all soundproofed, not as isolated as the room they’d used before had been.

But, no doubt, that was why she liked it better. And if that was where the supplies she needed were-- well tonight was to make sure he was still the liar he’d been for centuries. No reason not to start now.

“Of course.” He said smoothly. “Lead the way.”

He followed her into the elevator and down to where her rooms were, puzzling over the odd sense that she might be trying to show him trust-- after all, these were her rooms, her private places.

He’d been protective of his own since adolescence. He could not imagine that anyone so secretive as she would not be similarly protective. And so being invited in to them felt…. it contributed to his slight warm feeling, his feeling of acceptance.

Though he knew that may not have been her intent. He could be misreading it, and it may all be simply for the sake of convenience. But either way… it seemed they were there.

  


The rooms Tony had given her were below the penthouse, but above Steve and Loki’s floor. It was a small suite, meant more for temporary living than as a full-time abode, but it had all the amenities she needed; a living area, bedroom, kitchenette, and a full bathroom. The decor was the modern and somewhat minimalist decor Stark preferred, as he’d outfitted the place for her, with no real personal touches, but that suited her fine.

Natasha didn’t like to leave a trail, or too many details lying around to be exploited. She had over a dozen safe houses scattered across the globe, and each one was just as capable of being “home” as the next. No sense in getting attached.

She opened the door with a simple finger scan and ushered Loki in, turning on the light. “Normally I would start slow and work up a gradual tolerance to triggering stimuli over the course of a few weeks,” she explained as she walked into the living area. “But given the timetable we’re on, I figured you might want to jump in with both feet and accelerate things.”

Loki didn’t strike her as the patient sort. And while she was here to help him, she wasn’t going to molly-coddle him. If they ended up pushing him past what he was comfortable with, it wouldn’t be the first time. And she doubted it would be the last, considering what they intended to do if this worked.

All the furniture in the living space had been pushed up against the walls, with a simple straight-back chair with arms at the sides in brushed chrome standing in the center. “Let’s start off with you seated,” she indicated, moving into the kitchen to recover a bag of supplies she’d acquired earlier.

  


Seeing the chair, sitting isolated in the middle of the room, nothing else nearby, made it seem all the more intimidating. Loki swallowed, but said nothing, not trusting his voice.

When she walked away, he made a point of looking around the room, of looking for any signs of humanity in her living space, but-- he wasn’t certain whether or not he was surprised to find them. Everything seemed empty and sterile, and not the sort of empty that his and Steve’s apartment was, where they had simply not yet gotten around to purchasing furniture or decorating…

This space was furnished, but left without any sign of personality or preference.

Even his and Steve’s hotel rooms had had more of themselves in them.

And it was difficult to tell whether she lived this way as a habit, by preference, or had cleaned any trace of herself out, in preparation for his arrival. Then again, she hadn’t been there long, either. Maybe she had also just not gotten around to it.

But then, there wasn’t even signs of her disgusting Russian beers, signs of food, trash that accumulated… it was as if she lived here, but only as a spirit. Other than the rearranged furnishings, it looked as though she hadn’t even touched the space.

And all of that was disconcerting in its own way, but doubly so when he knew that, right now, he was only waiting for her to return, to tie him to this chair, and test him for reactions that he could not afford to show.

He wished he knew more of how the measuring machines she had used before worked; if he did, he could cheat them. But he had not prepared properly for this. He huffed and fell backwards, spine striking against the hard chair back.

It couldn’t take them too long. All he had to do was get through this, and things would be okay. He could do it.

He hoped.

  


Natasha brought out the polygraph, as well as some silk rope and restraints that may have been used for more recreational purposes during an undercover stint once upon a time. Nodding to Loki, she pulled up a small coffee table and set up the machine, but paused before hooking him up.

“Now, if you want, we could just practice restraining you and working on your environmental triggers, and nothing more,” she explained, watching his expression to see how he reacted. “If that’s all you want to focus on right now, that’s fine.”

Considering how badly Loki had reacted before, she wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to keep this session focused on just one thing. But if they wanted to be more aggressive...

“The other option, and this is what I brought the poly for, is we do a mock interrogation while introducing environmental stressors. No pain,” she quickly clarified, “but varying levels of physical restraint, and maybe turning the lights down.”

She took a step back, then dropped down into a crouch, so she wasn’t standing over him anymore, but rather resting on her haunches. “This will give us a sense of how well you can think on your feet and focus on selling a lie when confronted with... discomfort.”

Tilting her head to the side, she regarded him critically. “Preference?”

  


He let out a breath, then beamed at her, much as he had done to Thor’s human pet, before. It didn’t reach his eyes at all, and it felt altogether too tight on his face.

“When I speak to Thanos it’s to be all or nothing. I don’t see why this shouldn’t be the same.”

They were bold words, and he lacked the courage of his portrayed conviction, but he thought this was probably a test. Backing down from what she’d prepared for would be as good as admitting he wasn’t ready-- wasn’t suited for the job.

And that would likely mean them trying to send Steve.

So he nodded and put his wrists up to rest on the arms of the chair.

“Jumping in with both feet, then. Like you said.”

Of course he’d _prefer_ not to. But if he could make it through this, then he could maybe have some more to eat, he could take a warm shower, could spend some time with Steve, give him his gift… and after they slept, or wore one another out, and then slept-- probably smarter with Steve’s nightmares-- he’d help Tony and Bruce and be useful, and then they would all go together, get the sceptre… and the threat that had been hanging over him for months now would be addressed. There’d be no more guessing.

And even if it didn’t all… work out. At least, after this, it should be good. Should be nice, one last _good_ night.

He inhaled deeply, and then let it out again, breath harsh over lips that suddenly felt dry.

“Alright. Ready when you are.” He told her.

  


Natasha waited a few moments, then nodded. There would be no take-backs and no safewords in the situation they were rehearsing for; if he said he was ready, she would have to trust him and move forward.

Silently, she hooked up the polygraph, starting with the clips on his fingers and the blood pressure cuff, waiting to wrap the wire around his chest until last, and standing behind him for a few beats as she secured it in place. She thought she might have heard his breath hitch, but there wasn’t the same level of flailing panic this time as before, which she took as a good sign.

She almost asked him how he was doing, but then bit back on it. For Loki to succeed in this, he couldn’t rely on outside reassurances.

Circling back around, she stood by the polygraph and turned it on, watching the readings.

“What is your name?” she asked to start off with, getting a baseline.

  


It was not a comfortable experience, and he was pressing down hard with his foot to ground himself, which already felt like cheating, his teeth digging into the soft tissue inside of his cheek while she set everything up. He tried to force himself to relax, when she left his view, and had limited success with it.

By the time she had finished preparing the machine, he thought he could speak.

Until she did.

He was certain she thought that she was starting off easy, but already-- his name. He wanted to laugh.

“Loki.” He told her, frank and humiliated by the monosyllabic answer.

Not Odinson. He’d rejected that, been rejected from that. And not Laufeyson, he would never accept it, truly. Loki of no family, Loki of no people. Loki of no land. Loki of nothing.

But that was a familiar hurt. He breathed it out through his nose, trying to let it go, and well aware that worse would be coming.

  


Natasha’s eyes flitted from Loki’s face -- which looked a bit paler than usual, though that could be the result of dim light in her suite -- to the readings from the machine. There was a slight leap in the output as Loki answered, indicating his stress, but the answer was true as far as she knew.

Now that she had a reading of him telling the truth, she needed a different reading to compare it to.

“These first few questions are just for diagnostic purposes before we actually start,” she explained. “The first question I ask here, I need you to answer truthfully. The second question, I need you to deliberately lie when answering.”

She waited for his acknowledgement before continuing, eyes returning to the readings on the polygraph. “Where were you born? And what was your favorite subject as a child?”

  


Loki nodded his agreement, but a moment later, scoffed at her questions.

“I was born on Jotunheim, I suppose. More specific than that, and I’ve no answer for you.” He tried not to sound upset about it, but he didn’t think he’d done a very good job. He bit down on his tongue in retribution, reminding himself what was at stake here.

“And my greatest joy growing up was all of the wrestling matches against Thor.” He continued, his voice going sickly sweet, as he’d done before, though with no hint of flirtation to it. Purely sarcastic joviality.

He dropped the voice, though, and studied her face.

“Is that what you needed?”

The lying had felt… good. Steadying. He was eager to get to more of it.

  


Natasha didn’t need to know Loki as well as Steve did, or much at all, to know for a fact the latter statement was a blatant lie -- just like she’d asked for.

Which made it strange that the first answer blipped on the screen, but the second barely fluctuated.

Strange. Interesting, too.

Though it made the machine mostly useless and this diagnostic a waste of time. She wondered if it had to do with Loki earning his moniker ‘God of Lies’, and that he was simply more at ease with fiction than reality. Though, given how much posturing and fiction and falsehood had defined his life, she had to wonder just how much he could tell the difference. If he too struggled to find the line between the mask and the face beneath it.

She brushed her hair behind her ear, frowning, then walked away from the machine, pacing slowly across the room. The polygraph wouldn’t do much good, but she didn’t need it. She placed more trust in her own eyes and ears after all.

And now it was time to get into character.

She paused, turned toward Loki, then let her expression harden, lip curling slightly. When she spoke, she let her voice drop slightly lower, her consonants sharpening:

“You haven’t checked in with your allies in a long time, _Loki,”_ she said, taking a step forward and reaching for the rope, picking it up and running it through her fingers. “Where were you? What have you been up to?”

  


He flinched at the sudden change in her voice, in her posture-- flinched at the lack of answer or warning. But then, that was what this was supposed to be about, wasn’t it?

“There were-- _complications_ .” He spoke carefully, words clear and clipped, and he found himself trying to lean forward, trying to adjust his body language, but the readings prevented him. “My captors experienced an upheaval of their own, and it necessitated some distancing. Why, have you missed me?” He doubted he would be so cheeky, so bold, in his real dealings with Thanos, but that was fine. This was to make the others-- to make _Steve_ confident in his abilities.

His eyes tracked her hands, though, followed the slide of rope through her fingers, and knew, without doubt, that he would suffer under it, somehow. Whether she hit him with it-- which he doubted; she’d said no pain, and no doubt she would hesitate to return him to Steve marked with lashings-- or choked him with it, or simply tied him down more… honestly he wasn’t sure which he ought to be hoping for at this point. All he knew was that he wanted her to get it over with.

He had a shower to take, and he clung to that thought. Not even something great, like holding Steve, but something mundane. He would only up the reward he promised himself if he felt his control wavering.

But he could handle this. After all, she was _just_ a human.

  


He was composed enough to be snide. _Good_ , she noted with approval. So far, they were doing much better than their last session, in terms of Loki maintaining his composure. The answer slid glibly off his tongue, evading the truth without actually lying, and redirecting to throw his interrogator off guard -- a well-used tactic, and once she’d often employed herself.

But she didn’t miss the way his eyes gravitated to the rope; she could use that against him, she decided, wrapping the cord around her hand in slow movements, pulling it taut until her knuckles were white from the strain of it, keeping eye contact all the while. _That_ would give his imagination something to run with, while she took a second to consider her reply.

It was a challenging role, as she hadn’t the faintest idea what this Thanos was like or how he could react. So she couldn’t play at being Thanos; but she could play at being an interrogator, and being a threat, asking the kinds of questions Loki might expect and still finding ways to make him uncomfortable -- perhaps not the same as Thanos might, but enough to test his fortitude all the same.

She let her pacing turn more fluid, stalking around him with the grace of a predator, slowly and deliberately circling around and out of his direct line of sight where he sat.

“I’d expect you to adapt better to complications,” she remarked archly, then sidled up behind him. “These captors of yours. Tell me about them.”

She slid the rope around and let it drape over him, hanging very loosely over his chest as she held the ends behind him, offering plenty of slack for now.

  


He felt his nostrils flare as the rope went over and around him, but he clung to his words.

“SHIELD, if you recall, is the name of the organization.” He said it snidely, because it was something he knew that she knew, and more, something he would expect Thanos to remember. “They were the ones who assembled the team who defeated me-- the team who destroyed the Chitauri. I expect at least some of that is familiar.” On second thought, he would be trying, when he did see Thanos, not to remind him of his failure. He pressed on, to hide it as best he could.

“I was held for a time in a glass cage, tricking them until I was allowed to contact you. After you had contact with another of theirs, however… suspicions rose. The one you spoke with, he was one of my principle jailers. It doesn’t look particularly good when you damage the man I was spinning my lies to.” He would have shrugged, giving up his own fault, if he had been free to.

“I was moved away from their holding, and away from the sceptre, and when I finally talked my way back to it… well it seems it had been stolen. Their organization is hardly so organized as they would like to think, it seems.”

All of this was true, without building any importance upon his relationship with Steve. Thanos, he thought, would likely be more interested in the weaknesses he had observed at SHIELD from within, than he would be one lone soldier.

At least, he hoped that would be the case.

  


“Your stunning failure would be hard to forget,” Natasha purred. And alright, maybe she was enjoying this _just a little --_ she wasn’t cruel and didn’t like causing Loki undue pain, but rubbing in that little tidbit did provide a modicum of satisfaction.

(Mewling quim indeed.)

He was performing admirably, though. If she’d been a secret witness to this exchange rather than a participant, she might have been alarmed that Loki’s allegiances may truly have shifted. Once more, he deftly twisted and misrepresented the truth, using facts to paint a facsimile of reality colored with fiction. All without actually betraying anything crucial about them.

But so far, there had been relatively few stressors. Facing down his torturer, she doubted Loki would keep the same composure, which meant it was time to turn up the heat.

And for all that his snark made for an effective shield to hide behind, Natasha had to wonder how effective it would be against a being of such immense power as he and Steve claimed Thanos to be. Would he be amused, or insulted?

With that thought in mind, she looped both ends of the rope around Loki from either side, so the cord now draped three times across his chest instead of once. “No one likes a sycophant, myself least of all,” she murmured, then slowly pulled the ends, tightening them. “But I have to wonder if your antagonism and bluster speak to a greater shift in your loyalty...”

  


That-- Loki’s mind was attempting to lose itself, at the feel of the rope pulling across his chest, tightening… but this was Romanoff. He was in Avengers Tower, his home--

“Loyalty?” The word came out uneven, and he scoffed, trying to make it seem more incredulous than uncomfortable. “To whom? The family I never had, or the people who locked me in their cell, and then took me further from the source of your power?” The words lacked the sting, and he knew it was primarily because of the restraints.

“I do not see how one can be both antagonistic and sycophantic.” He pointed out, trying to engage his thought processes. “If anything, I am only--” he cut off, needing more air in his lungs. And he knew the bindings were not particularly tight, not tight enough to be keeping him from breathing. He gasped hard, then forced himself to sit straighter, pushing his chest out, attempting to create a false increase in size, to give him more room to breathe.

“Only annoyed that it has taken this long to get my plans back on track. But what of yours? You said the last time that I was not the only person to have failed you-- Am I to take it that you have regained your lost ground? Is everything--” He did not have words to ask, and did not know that he would dare besides. But he needed to-- that was important.

He was starting to forget why, though.

“Have you new orders for me?” He asked instead.

  


The ropes were definitely having an effect. Despite the lack of pressure -- Natasha sincerely doubted she could smother him even if she tried -- Loki was struggling for breath, voice coming out strained.

But he still kept on the ball, deflecting the conversation on to Thanos’ plans, digging for information. That was the purpose of giving him the scepter after all. It was, granted, not the most subtle line of questioning, but his request for orders helped allay suspicion, painting him as an eager underling.

Natasha pulled tighter on the ropes until all the slack was gone, and tied them in place. “A pawn has no reason to know the layout of the board,” she remarked, voice dry with feigned disinterest. “Do not concern yourself with things so much larger than yourself.” She wasn’t about to make this easy for him.

Walking around to his front, she regarded him coolly, then picked up the restraints for his arms. “Reconnaissance,” she told him. “You are my eyes and ears on that world. Tell me of its strengths and weaknesses. What are its defenses?”

  


Loki watched as she lifted yet more restraints and had to close his eyes, even if it was just for a moment, trying to find where his intelligence had gone, where his mind lay while he was facing being strapped down, while he was supposed to be finding out information.

“I would know more,” he gritted out, “had you not drained The Captain, ruining my plan of getting closer to my captors. I had all but convinced them that I was reliant on the sceptre, that I would die if not given access to it regularly, until you chose to pull him here.” He swallowed another breath of air quickly. “But if there is anything in particular you need to know-- as I said, SHIELD has its problems at the moment, traitors among them. Beyond that… the Avengers, made of a select handful, including the one you spoke to. Their weapons are nothing too advanced. Explosives and projectiles, and the vehicles that contain such things, some of which fly. The M--” he stumbled over the word, then forced it out anyway, “The monster I told you of before. If you have specific knowledge you need me to acquire, though, only tell me, and I shall work to have it by… by next time.” The last words came out on a gasp, and he pressed his eyes closed, so he would not have to face her approaching with the restraints.

Then he realized how much worse _not_ being able to see was.

He just needed to do this. Needed to accomplish enough to satisfy her. And he thought… it was going well, he thought. In spite of his struggles.

He didn’t know how long she intended to continue, how much more she intended to push him, but…

His heart was hammering against his ribs, his breathing was shallow, and he could feel the cold sweat beading on his brown and beginning to roll down his back. And still, he thought-- he thought he could get through this. Could make it work.

  


Loki was slowly coming unraveled. But slow was good. If he could actually keep it together long enough to make contact, get information, and get out before he was made or had his mind melted, then that would be ideal. With luck, he wouldn't even be chained up in actuality. This would just help him practice performing under pressure.

None of the information he'd divulged thus far had been overly critical. Natasha wasn't thrilled about the idea of spreading news of SHIELD's mole, but being too useless in his information would be suspicious.

The act of promising information for 'next time' was an effective stalling tactic as well -- provided next time never came to pass. If Loki made that play, there would be no second trip. At least, not without carefully arranged intel to sacrifice.

She took one restraint and clipped it around his forearm, attaching him to the chair on that side. "These Avengers. They defeated you before. Tell me more of what to expect..."

  


_No._ His mind snarled, and he had to fight against the expression that tried to take his face, against the urge to fight her off when she attached him to the chair.

No to the restraint and no to the question.

“They’re just simple humans. One-- The Hawk, he has a bow, rudimentary weaponry. He-- I cannot win his trust, like the others’. I wronged him too greatly.” It was hard to separate himself now-- His mind was fixed on the point where his arm was latched to the chair, and he found his eyes sliding downwards, and his fingers digging into the arms beneath them to keep him from physically objecting.

“Stark-- The man of Iron. He-- it is only a suit around him. Inside he is just as human as any other, running about at our feet.” And the memory of the humans running around below him, while he rode one of the Chitauri chariots through the skies above their city-- he had to stop and breathe, remembering the names on the memorial-- the names of those he’d killed that day.

“There is-- the Widow. She is--” He coughed, temporarily pulled from the pretense by his awareness that he spoke of the woman currently interrogating him. Instinctively, he moved to appeal to her pride, her vanity. “She is skilled. In persuasion, and secrets, and knowledge. She can-- she-- also. Merely human.”

He pressed on, not waiting for her reaction; afraid of it.

“Then there is Banner, the Hulk. He is. He is also human, save that… there was an accident. He has been mutated… his anger renders him a-- a beast, a monster.” The words felt bitter on his tongue, and he could not help but hear himself in them.

“And there is their leader, Ste-- Captain America. The one you took. He is… human, but made more by their scientific meddling. Something in his blood--” He broke off, veering away from that subject and cursing himself for having said that much.

“They are a team, and they will act, with or without the permission and instructions of any outside force, for the good of their world.” He did not mean for it to come out sounding like a challenge, but it did. He clenched his fist, and nearly quailed when the restraint bit into his flesh, tight enough that if he continued straining, he might bruise himself, that if he pulled too hard, he could make himself bleed. He tried to relax the muscles, but now there was an added layer of tension.

If he did not succeed, he would have to hide the physical proof of his failure from Steve. Could not touch him for fear of the illusion rippling away.

“These Avengers, this group of humans-- of what importance are they to you?” He gasped out, words rasped through his panic.

He was shaking, trembling slightly, now, and each tiny motion caused his arm to rub against his binds, his chest to strain against the restraints.

Damn, This was, this was all wrong. He was going to fail, she would see him shuddering and call an end to it, and he couldn’t allow that.

He bit down on his bottom lip, hoping that a minor pain would give him something else to focus on, something other than his mounting terror. He bunched his fists again, squeezing his fingers together until he was in pain from that source, too.

How much longer-- how much more-- did she plan to--?

  


“They are a threat. The first and strongest line of defense must be dismantled,” she pointed out, watching him carefully. He was nearing the edge of keeping it together. She had to be careful now, and be ready to cut him loose. She had a knife clipped to the back of the belt that would slice through the ropes easily, and the keys to the restraints were in her pockets. It would be a matter of moments to get Loki free if he fell to pieces.

Though, part of her wondered if she wanted an unrestrained and violently panicking Loki free in her apartment.

“Their small number thwarted your plans and an army of Chitauri. I have no intention of repeating _your_ mistakes,” she continued, picking up the second set of restraints, but not applying them just yet -- just moving them in her hands within Loki’s line of sight.

Accelerated breathing. Expanded pupils. Slight perspiration. Increased heart-rate. It would be clear to anyone interrogating him that Loki was deeply anxious; though given he’d been tortured, it was possible he might still have these reactions as a loyal subject.

Perhaps too unwittingly loyal? She frowned deeply at his details of the team. Some of it seemed lucid enough -- he tried to downplay their strength, though he still managed to play to her own ego in his description of her (she had no illusions that he respected her more than the rest). But he also let slip key details; something he’d need to be aware of.

“You’ve done well,” she said coldly. “The Hawk and Widow will be easily killed with no extraordinary defenses, picked off on their own. I’ll have my forces aim to disable Iron Man’s

armor, leaving him useless. Banner, we simply need to neutralize before he has a chance to access his rage. And the Captain, well...”

She held Loki’s gaze, knowing she was sliding the knife in where it would hurt most, recalling what Rogers had said about his experience with Thanos. “Maybe I can bring him here for another little visit. One not so rudely and prematurely interrupted.”

She leaned forward, snapping the last restraint in place. “As a reward,” she murmured, “I might even let you _watch_.”

  


Loki’s stomach fell out and he thought for a moment that he’d gone blind, his panic spurring him to thrash against the restraints.

“ _No_.” He growled it, his voice bottoming out as low as it could go, rasping through the mental image of Steve like this, Steve in the hovering chair, restrained, hurt, Steve--

Steve had come back nearly dead, and it had been the measure of seconds, and Loki’s terror then mixed with his terror now, the feeling of guilt and fear that had sent him crashing against the walls of his SHIELD cell sending him to fight this, mind slipping into fragmented awarenesses-- the chair he was in tipping to its side, his arm wrenching in pain-- Thanos’s hand reaching in, in to pull the sceptre free, reaching in to tangle in his seidhr-- Steve shaking, his krellr spilled across the worlds, his chest dark and empty and his breaths shallow.

“ _Hvis du mein ham jeg vil brjóta deg_.” He was screaming or hissing or-- he couldn’t hear himself.

Would he be restrained while they killed Steve slowly, or would he be expected to stand and watch? To-- to _help them_ ? He was shaking now, convulsing, and his stomach heaved and roiled. Would Thanos even have any idea what he was seeing, what he was doing-- _could_ he see the way Steve shone so brightly, or did he just sense the power and want it? Would he see Loki’s seidhr mixed in among the rest? And now he knew, he would guess--

Loki slammed a shield up around him, trying to curl inwards, trying to save himself as much as he could, trying to keep Thanos from using him to hurt Steve, because if he did--

He could hear Thanos laughing, the same laugh he’d made when Loki had first begun to scream, and Loki threw his head back, hitting it against something hard, something he could fight against. He leaned forward and did it again.

  


....Shit.

When Loki yanked against the bindings, Natasha knew they’d reached his breaking point. His cover had cracked, he’d shown his hand, and that meant the exercise was over. He’d snarled gutturally, and she hesitated as she moved forward to undo the restraints and let him know they were done. But Loki’s twisting and thrashing only increased in violence, the chair tipping over with a loud crash.

“Loki!” she called out, trying to keep her voice low and even despite the stirrings of panic. If Loki lost himself and forgot this was fake, forgot she wasn’t really a threat--

He hissed and shrieked something she couldn’t understand, in gibberish or some language she didn’t know -- and now he was spasming, and дерьмо that wasn’t good.

“Loki!” she repeated, dropping to the ground next to him and fumbling for the keys to undo one of the cuffs. “Loki, I need you to calm down! Listen to me. We’re done. Steve is okay. I’m going to--”

She barely got the right-hand cuff loose when something slammed into her, driving her back. Dull pain lanced through her back as she landed on it, several feet away, the breath driven out of her. Had Loki struck her? She blinked, sitting up; Loki was still twisting in the chain on the floor, seemingly oblivious to her.

“Боже мой,” she breathed, crawling over. “Loki, take a deep breath--”

She reached out, but her fingers struck a barrier that sent an alarming and unpleasant humming sensation all the way up her arm, resonating in her bones. She withdrew quickly, staring at the shimmer in the air between her and Loki. “Eбать.”

And then Loki threw his head back, slamming it into the floor with a loud thunk that made her flinch, in surprise and in sympathy.

This was bad.

“JARVIS?” she called out. “Get Captain Rogers here _now._ Tell him it’s an emergency.”

She couldn’t get through to Loki. But if anyone could, it was Steve. And as Loki slammed his head back a second time, Natasha swallowed hard, inching back and trying not to think about how quickly this had all unraveled...

  


Steve had just finishing unpacking the last of the boxes, more or less (a few had wound up stacked in the closets for later, but overall everything now had a place) and was admiring his handiwork where he’d hung up a few pieces of art on the walls, when JARVIS came on line.

“ _Captain Rogers?”_

“Yeah, JARVIS?”

“ _Ms. Romanoff would like you to come to her quarters immediately. There is an emergency situation involving Mr. Loki--”_

If the AI said anything more after that, Steve didn’t hear it. A feeling like ice water ran down his spine, and his own heartbeat suddenly became deafening. He took off at a run, and despite his sprinting, it felt like he was slogging through waist-high water, too slow by far. He bolted past the elevator, not willing to take the time, and yanked open the door to the stairwell, taking the steps three at a time up a floor to the next, dimly aware of JARVIS giving him directions to the right room, two doors down on the left.

And all the while, a million scenarios, each increasingly dire, flitted through his mind. Emergency. Was someone hurt? Had Natasha hurt Loki? The other way around? Had someone else infiltrated the tower and attacked them both? Had Loki been taken? Had--

He skidded in the door, to find Natasha crouched on the ground with a look of panic on her face (or what he had come to recognize as panic for Natasha, which was an expression of clear unsettledness), and in front of her, tied to a tipped-over chair and thrashing on the floor, was Loki.

“He won’t snap out of it,” Natasha quickly explained. “He freaked out and I can’t get through to him, and I think he’s going to hurt himself. There’s a shield spell or something...”

Steve took a few steps and dropped to his knees, reaching out to Loki and encountering the barrier. He grit his teeth, but held his hand in place. “Loki?” he asked softly, and then louder; “Loki, can you hear me? It’s Steve. Look at me, please...”

  


He managed to pull one arm free, though something dangled from it-- he paid that little mind, his fingers scrabbling with the other bindings, nails skittering over slick rope and tugging until he could twist the metal around his wrist, but behind his eyes it did not matter-- He couldn’t get to Steve, wouldn’t be able to help him, to save him-- he was hurt, blood trickling down from his nose and mouth while his fingers brushed over the sceptre and Thanos stood over him, laughing, while the women who pulled, who hit and tore and burned, advanced on his partner--

But Steve’s voice came, calm and removed from that. Calling for him.

Loki let his head fall still, terrified that it was a trick of some kind. The thudding noise he’d thought was his head hitting against his restraints hadn’t stopped-- it had to be something else, then, something fast and dull sounding, his heart beat-- too fast--

His lungs felt like they had been crushed under a great weight, like Mjolnir rested again on his chest, and though he panted heavily now, none of the air seemed to be making it into him.

He listened, not entirely certain that he’d actually heard Steve’s voice, that it wasn’t another memory or another tool to hurt him. Carefully, slowly, he opened his eyes, ready to shut them again, to block out the sight of broken worlds and floating horrors.

But the light was wrong for that, and the angle, and Steve-- with his hand against a barrier, like his hand against the glass of the SHIELD cell.

“Steve?” His throat hurt, and he was still wary, though he knew he had no reason to be-- it was Steve. But Loki was confused about where he was and why he was--

tied to a chair in Romanoff’s quarters, being tested for his ability to face Thanos, to use the sceptre and learn for them the Titan’s plans for Midgard. For Steve.

 

To protect Steve.

 

He stifled a sob with his fist and closed his eyes again, though this time not out of fear, but humiliation.

He’d failed. Monumentally. In such a way that the Widow had had to call in Steve, had had to-- And Steve had seen. Knew.

He swallowed and dropped his shield, turning his face into his own arm, so that he wouldn’t have to look at the disappointment on both of their faces.

He’d let them down. He’d let everyone down.

He was silent for a long moment, then gathered his composure.

“Untie me.” He commanded, keeping every element of emotion out of his voice. He wanted to disappear again, to hide in a small dark space for as long as he could stand it, the weight of his own failure pressing him into the floor, the shadows. Wanted to go back, to… to fight through it, to take it back and try again, over and over, until he could prove that he could do it, that the time they had spent being kind was worthwhile, that he wasn’t a complete loss, a complete waste…

...but he was. He was, and now they all knew it, they would all have to face it, address it. He held himself still, containing his shakes as best as he could. He was a mess. He was shamed and embarrassed, and he just wanted--

He didn’t know what he wanted now, and even if he did, there was no way he deserved it.

  


Loki stopped slamming his head into the floor and opened his eyes, responding to Steve’s voice; it filled him with relief, prompting the adrenaline to ebb from his system and leaving him shaky in its wake.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here. You’re okay,” he said softly, after Loki managed to croak his name.

The state of him made Steve’s chest ache, knowing he’d been this scared-- this _terrified,_ and he hadn’t been here.

With a shimmer, the shield fell, though Steve waited a moment before reaching out to touch Loki, figuring he might need a second to himself before being bombarded with more stimuli. The fact that he didn’t even seem capable of meeting Steve’s eyes was... well, alarming. Not that this whole goddamn situation wasn’t alarming.

Natasha approached almost silently, then pressed something into Steve’s hand. He looked down to find a knife, and the keys to the cuffs in his palm. Glancing over at her, he might have glowered or given her an angry stare, but the furrow of genuine concern between her brows as she looked down at Loki prompted him to smooth his expression out into a blank mask. He wasn’t thrilled that whatever she and Loki had done led to this -- and they would _definitely_ be talking about it -- but he owed her the benefit of the doubt before leaping to conclusions about whatever transpired.

He made quick work of the remaining cuff, then sawed through the ropes, pulling them away. Handing the knife back to Natasha, he scooped Loki up before he could protest and pulled him into his arms, holding him close.

“It’s alright,” he murmured. “You okay?” It was a question now. He didn’t know what happened or how much damage Loki had managed to inflict on himself -- he couldn’t imagine his head was feeling too good with the way he’d whacked it on the floor.

  


“I’m fine. Put me down.” That lie, that perfect, pointed lie. The only one they allowed.

He didn’t have the strength in him to glower or flatten his voice completely, but even so he knew he had to-- needed to get away from Romanoff, needed to talk to Steve. If he could get him alone, maybe he could-- he needed to find a way to spin this. To make it seem less than it was. To get him to agree to let him use the sceptre still.

If he could just get him to agree, he wouldn’t be able to go back on his word; that wasn’t how Steve worked. So if he promised Loki that he could use the sceptre, Romanoff wouldn’t change his mind later. Steve wouldn’t break a promise.

But he also couldn’t make an enemy of Romanoff. Not now.

“Thank you, Agent Romanoff. If you will excuse me, though, I think I would like to go back to my rooms.” He looked at Steve while he spoke the end of that, however, and used his arms to push gently away from his partner. He didn’t want to hurt him, or offend him, or make him think Loki was rejecting him.

But he needed his dignity, and he needed a little time to think how he could mitigate the situation. He didn’t know though-- Steve was concerned, even Romanoff was. And his arm hurt, from where he had landed on it while it was bound to the chair. His head hurt, his throat hurt, his side hurt… he wasn’t fine. He was horrified. Pointless and useless and he couldn’t even stand being tied down and asked to answer questions. She hadn’t even--

“For the record, she didn’t hurt me.” He told Steve firmly, well aware that saying so only dug him deeper, but he felt the need to be sure that Steve didn’t hate his teammate, either. “You didn’t hurt me.” He told her, attempting to sound certain and reassuring. He couldn’t tell how well he succeeded though, with as schooled as she was at keeping her face blank.

  


Steve felt a pang of surprise as Loki demanded to be let go. Usually, when Loki was distressed, it helped for Steve to hold him. To be in physical contact. But this was apparently not the case right now, so Steve loosened his hold and let Loki pull away, trying to keep the worry from his expression.

Loki’s claim that Natasha hadn’t hurt him was reassuring -- he hadn’t expected she would, but knowing Loki wasn’t holding anything against her and didn’t perceive whatever happened as an attempt to harm him made the situation at least a bit better. Steve nodded, gaze flicking over to Natasha, whose face was once more unreadable.

“We can talk more another time about what happened,” she told Loki, voice calm and quiet. “To recap; nothing more. Whenever you’re ready.” Whatever composure she’d lost when Loki had been convulsing and out of his mind on the floor was now firmly back in place.

“I’ll meet you downstairs in a couple,” Steve said. “I’ll be right down -- just gonna help Nat tidy up.” And get some answers while he was at it. He moved to right the chair from where it lay, pulling free the scraps of rope while he was at it.

  


For all that Loki didn’t want to be alone, he couldn’t think of a way of objecting that would make him look to be just as fine as he was meant to. Instead, he nodded sharply and gained his feet, the experience making him clumsy, though he was careful to walk as confidently and normally as he could, his spine held straight and tall and his face composed to look like a mirror of Romanoff’s.

“Don’t-- don’t take too long.” He said.  
What he meant, though, was _Don’t make up your mind before you speak to me._

  


She watched him leave and waited for the door to swing closed behind him before letting her face fall back into an expression of concern. Something more human, to speak with Steve, and now that she wasn’t at risk of causing any further reaction from Loki…

She exhaled loudly.

“Well. That was-- I didn’t expect that. Obviously.” She hastened to add, gesturing at the chair he’d sat back upright.

She paused, then, and searched his face.

“Are _you_ okay? And… do you believe that he is?”

That Loki had responded so quickly to Steve’s voice was even more than she had expected; she’d known that Steve would be able to reach him, eventually, but she had thought it would take time, and involve coaxing him out of a panic attack. Instead, he’d all but gone limp at the sound of his name from Steve’s lips, and that was concerning in a different way, if Thanos could do as Loki had said, if he could manipulate memories… how easy would it be for him to make it seem Steve was asking Loki for intel, giving him orders…?

She put that line of thinking away for the moment, though, and focused on the matter at hand.

Her eye fell on the cuff that Loki had managed to mangle with his bare hand, and she shuddered a little at the thought that it might have been her. If he had grabbed her instead of falling sideways, would she even have managed to call for Steve?

She’d known Loki was dangerous, volatile, emotionally dependent on Steve, and strong… but this was somehow not what she had expected. When he’d reacted before, it hadn’t been violently. And when she’d hit against the magic--

\--she had remembered Clint, his eyes empty and his face blank, under Loki’s control. She swallowed.

And worse yet was that Steve would have to make calls, based on all of this. She felt her eyes flicking over him, getting a read on what he was thinking, what he felt about it all.

What a mess.

  


As soon as Loki disappeared, both Steve and Natasha let their calm dissolve. Steve raked a hand back through his hair as he let out a quaking breath; all three of them were obviously shaken.

“I’m...” he shook his head. _Worried._ He hadn’t seen Loki in that bad of a state for a long time, though there had been definite moments of high stress lately, from SHIELD to Thor and Barton to the fight they’d had while drunk... He’d seen Loki distressed, but he didn’t think he’d seen him that much of a wreck in a while.

And Loki had, gently, carefully, pushed him away.

“Thanks for calling me,” he said, instead. He appreciated that Natasha must have summoned him via JARVIS as soon as things went dramatically south, and appreciated that he’d been the one to deal with things and diffuse the situation, rather than Barton or the whole team being called in. (What a disaster _that_ could have been...)

He turned and looked at her. Part of him was instinctually irked at her, in response to his protectiveness of Loki. Something she had done had put him in that state. But then, his rational mind reminded him, he’d _asked_ her to work with Loki to prep him for use of the scepter.

Something that clearly wasn’t going as well as could be hoped.

And though she did her best not to let it show when something got to her, he knew Nat got nervous around Hulk and other types who had the sheer brute strength to crush her when her subtler skills weren’t effective. She had to be a bit rattled.

“Are _you_ okay?” he asked. “And can you give me the rundown on what happened?” He could form a general guess, but he couldn’t afford right now not to be fully informed.

  


She nodded, appreciating his calm, even despite letting it be obvious that he was unsettled.

“I’m uneasy, I guess. He didn’t actually throw any magic around in practice today, so I wasn’t ready...That’s the first time I’ve actually had it aimed at me.” She didn’t like it. “I haven’t seen him in action as much as you. It’s jarring.” She spoke like she was reporting, and in a way she was. As such, it only seemed right to be blunt.

“The magic thing still freaks Clint out. Freaks me out a little too… _less_ , obviously, but still. As for what happened--” She shrugged and nodded at the rope in Steve’s hands.

“Like you discovered back at SHIELD, he doesn’t take well to being restrained. Turns out that’s how his lessons, his _training_ , went. And since we’re going tomorrow, in theory, to go after the sceptre, he wanted to go as far as we could, push his bounds. Last time we had to stop, too, and he was… he was upset, but not this bad. Not like this.” She looked directly at Steve, not trying to feign an apologetic tone or face.

“I tied him and I questioned him, in a way I thought he might encounter. Asked about why he hadn’t checked in, about SHIELD and the rest of Earth’s defenses. I asked about us, about the Avengers. He was already starting to crack then, but he didn’t call it off, he kept pushing, so I kept going. He talked about our weaknesses. And I told him…” Outside of the moment, outside of the role and the setting, she was sure it would sound cruel, like she was pushing too hard.

Like she’d been trying to crack him. She was tired of being the person everyone was wary of, and she didn’t want that from Steve again. Didn’t want to have to see that from her friends.

“I told him how everyone could be taken out. Offered to let him watch when they neutralized you. That was what did it. I must have triggered something, maybe he remembered a similar threat, or just got overly upset at the prospect. It didn’t seem like he was falling too far into the role, he never called me Thanos, though he talked like he was speaking to him… but he kept appealing to my vanity when he spoke of ‘the Widow’ to me, so I figured we were doing okay. I guess not.”

She shrugged again and took the ropes, casually moving to throw them away, while carefully creating distance between them and arming herself with something akin to a weapon, in case Steve also got suddenly violent when upset.

She’d had enough surprises for one night.

  


Steve grimaced at Natasha’s mention of her and Clint’s shared unease with magic. Getting them more comfortable with Loki and his use of magic would be one more item to add to his ever-burgeoning to-do list; if they both balked any time they saw Loki’s powers at work, it would make it difficult for Loki to operate at peak efficacy in a fight, given where his primary skillset lay. Another reason Loki and the team weren’t ready to be in the field together.

Though the fact that Natasha seemed unharmed at least suggested that whatever magic Loki had thrown her way hadn’t been intended to hurt.

He nodded as she recounted Loki’s issues with being tied down, with his _training._ Steve was aware enough of that, and it made sense, in a rather disconcerting way, why Natasha would use it against him now, while simulating a potential encounter with Thanos. He balked a little, but it was what he and Loki both had asked of her -- to help prepare him and his defenses.

Better that Loki panic and melt down here in the safety of the tower, where Steve could arrive and calm him down, than out on that shattered world where a misstep could cost his life.

But as Natasha told him what she’d said that had set him off, Steve felt something in him shrink and shrivel with guilt. Loki had broken when Natasha, in-character, had threatened _Steve._

It wasn’t flattering. It wasn’t romantic.

It was... horrifying, really.

Because in trying to help Loki, trying to save him, Steve had insinuated himself so deeply into Loki’s life and made himself so integral to his functioning, that a threat against Steve had him in a complete fit. He’d fashioned him a previously non-existent Achilles’ heel in his own image. And if worrying about Steve was what got Loki hurt...

He pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to groan. It felt like every time he put out one fire, he ignited another. Like he couldn’t actually move things forward helpfully or fix things worth a damn. And yet somehow, for some god-forsaken reason, everyone looked to him to lead.

To keep them safe.

“I’m gonna go down and check on him,” he said. “I... thank you for working with him. I don’t-- I don’t blame you,” he quickly clarified. “That wasn’t-- we need to know what he can handle for this.” _Even if I hate seeing him pushed to that point._

He looked around the empty, sterile suite, which really wasn’t all that messy since there was nothing much to mess up in the first place. “I’ll let you get on with the rest of your night.”

She nodded, but stopped him just the same.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do. It’s probably best that he not go out in the field tomorrow without at least getting to talk it over with me, since I was the one who was leading the session. If you want to be there, too, of course, that’s up to you and him, but… we don’t send out Agents for a new mission til they’ve been debriefed and decompressed from the last thing. And this got way bigger than intended.” She softened her voice then, and reached out to pat his arm, a little awkwardly. “And… if you need to talk, after. I’m here for you, too, okay?”

  


He nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I know.” In response to both things she’d said. He appreciated her, for all that they occasionally ruffled each others’ feathers. She was one of the few friends he had in the modern world, and she’d been there for him longer than most.

“I actually have been meaning to talk with him since earlier. About not going,” he admitted. The latest incident just confirmed what he’d already talked over with Bruce.

He forced a thin smile for her benefit. “Guess I’m off to have that fun-filled conversation. I’ll see you later.”

He saw himself out, took the stairs down (without running, this time) and made his way back to the apartment, making sure to make some noise as he let himself in so Loki wouldn’t feel ambushed.  
Making his way into the living room, he stood with his hands in his pockets. “So, we should talk.”

 


	57. Fifty-Seven

He hadn’t managed to make it far, too busy staring glumly at how, just in the short time he’d been otherwise engaged, Steve had managed to turn their home into… into truly a home. There was furniture, lamps-- even some art. He’d spent a good few minutes looking at but not seeing the painting that hung on the wall between the living room and their bedroom.

And he was still there when Steve came back. He didn’t react to Steve’s movements, didn’t turn or make any move, until Steve spoke.

_We need to talk._

“We should.” He responded, before he moved to face him. “It was an accident. I’m sorry; it won’t happen again.” He made his voice light, as if the ‘accident’ had been no greater than stepping on someone’s foot, knocking something over.

Which he had done, in all fairness. He’d just tipped over a chair. No real harm done.

“Besides, we still have time. Once we bring back the sceptre, I can have another meeting with Romanoff, and I’ll get better at it, you’ll see.” He firmed his jaw, the same way he had seen Steve do countless times, contriving to look as determined as possible.

“I won’t let you down, Steve. I promise.”

He wondered if he should go to him now, hold him, let Steve hold him, let him murmur his words of comfort. Patch it up, smooth it over… they could get back on track with the evening he’d wanted to create for them.

  


Loki was obviously still tense. He held himself stiffly and only turned when addressed, portraying a sense of... mildness? That couldn’t be anything but manufactured, considering what Steve had walked in on minutes ago.

Steve sighed, hating himself for what he was going to -- what he _needed to_ \-- say.

“I know you’ll get better,” he said. “In time. With practice. And I know it was an accident and you wouldn’t throw magic at Natasha on purpose.”

He needed to make it clear to Loki that this wasn’t about not trusting him, not about pushing him away because Steve didn’t think he was good enough or anything like that. Even if maybe it was, a tiny bit -- just not in any way Loki had control over. In no way that was his _fault._

He took a deep breath, bracing himself. “But look, about the mission to actually get the scepter... I think it would be best for you to sit that one out.”

And there it was: the words were out in the open, and he couldn’t go back on them now.

 

Loki gaped, taken by surprise.

“What?” He asked, stunned out of his smoothness and rendered at a loss for words. “You can’t-- the one has nothing to do with the other!” He shook his head. “ _You_ are the one who wanted me to be part of your team, _you_ wanted me to prove myself to the world…” He was shaking again, and his head ached, and this wasn’t going at all like he’d expected.

“I-- that was different, a different situation. That is nothing like what we were training for with the rest of the-- with your team. And I wouldn’t have hurt her, I-- it was only a _shield_! I am in control, I will be tomorrow as well.” He sounded petulant, he was wheedling, he knew, but he could not wrap his head around Steve’s words, could not understand-- he knew he’d ruined things by being so weak in the chair, but he’d not thought--

All of the warm feelings of belonging, the edgy joviality that he’d felt before, it all came crashing down on him, and he shuddered, suddenly feeling cold and hating it. He wrapped his arms around himself.

“Do you not want me to be part of your team? Have you changed your mind?” It made sense, after their meeting, after the others-- no one wanted him there. He meant to speak softly-- he felt sad… but the words came out angry and accusatory, and he felt that, too. It was all so mixed together, and his chest felt tight and his head kept _pounding_ \--

 

“I haven’t changed my mind!” Steve insisted, stepping forward and reaching out to rest a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “I want you on my team. I do. And I know that you weren’t trying to hurt Natasha--” he doubted she’d have escaped unscathed as she had if Loki had actually meant any harm, “--but you just went through something really intense, which would be enough to throw anyone off their game,” he finished, gnawing at the inside of his lip.

Natasha was right about an agent needing to decompress. Throwing Loki into a high-stress situation when he still had that level of terror fresh in his mind would be reckless. And if Loki had that far to go before he was really ready to deal with the scepter after they brought it back, then he was probably best left to focus on that and that alone.

He sighed. “Look, even if-- even if all _that_ hadn’t just happened...”

Damn, this was difficult. He’d known it would be, knowing how easily Loki assumed the worse, how fragile he was in some ways. But the expression of utter betrayal on his face made everything ten times worse. “I want you on my team,” he repeated. “Just... Not tomorrow. Not yet.” He frowned as he tried to work out the best wording for what he needed to explain, to hopefully ease the look of confused indignation from Loki’s features.

“I was keeping an eye on everyone in training this morning,” he began. “Bruce was too, and we swapped notes after. And I think everyone’s come a long way as far as you’re concerned, and I think there’s a good chance that we can make the team work. But it ain’t there yet. Right now, Barton spends more time looking over his shoulder than he does looking for the enemy in front of him, and Thor is too preoccupied watching your back to keep an eye out for anyone else’s.” He didn’t even get into Loki’s own independent style of fighting, how it failed to mesh with the others, in anyone’s case but Steve’s.

“I’m sure it will be there in time, but tomorrow is-- it’s premature, Loki. It’d be too high risk.”

 

Loki stared at him as the blood rushed to his face, his humiliation apparently incomplete without a full outline of his failings. And what was more, it wasn’t just Steve who found him lacking, not just the Widow who saw his weakness, but Banner… Banner whom he liked, Banner who he considered himself close to, a friend… and they had all concluded, apparently, that he was…

was...

 

_unworthy._

 

It was like something inside of him had snapped, like the sadness and anger he’d felt had burned out and given way to pure icy numbness. It washed over him, seeped into his core, filled the empty space that had come of his loss--the loss of a friendship with Banner, the loss of his sense of being part of something, being part of this...

“ _Too high risk_.” He repeated, pulling away from Steve’s touch for the second time that evening, though he didn’t think he had ever craved it more. He just wanted this to stop, wanted it to end, wanted to curl up in Steve’s arms and let the tension from his work with the Widow abate. Wanted him to take back his words, but they couldn’t have that, now.

Instead it was the treasury all over again, save that the promise of this life was being ripped away from him so _gently_ \--

“I understand. I understand that it is as it has ever been-- I am the outsider, and no matter how much you or Thor or anyone else insists that those around me are friends, the moment it comes to _trusting me_ , everyone decides that they cannot.” Hot angry tears burned at the edges of his vision, and he ignored them.

“But I suppose this is my fault; I should know better, to know not to be lulled into-- into expecting any differently _._ I just never expected as much from _you_.” He snarled the word, putting a few more feet between them as he stepped back, angry and hurt, feeling trapped, but still sensible enough to know that if he harmed Steve, he’d never forgive himself. No matter how much pain Steve was causing him now.

“So go on, out with it-- what’s the supposed fear? What do they-- what do _you_ think I will do, if you take me out with you? Am I too violent? Do I enjoy causing pain? Is it the marks I’ve left on you? Or is it to be another case of--” He had to stop, to let out a cold, bitter, angry little laugh, “--another case of _overenthusiastic paranoia?_ ”

 

Steve flinched at the coldness and anger in Loki’s voice. “What? No!” he protested, taking a half-step back. “Loki, it’s not like that at all-- where are you even getting this from?” he demanded, worried and somewhat irked that his words were being twisted so far from his meaning; into something cruel, when he was trying so hard to be kind.

“Everyone is working on trusting you, Loki. They are. It’s just not instinctive for the whole team yet, and in battle, that’s what we rely on,” he tried to explain. “It’s nothing you’ve done wrong, it’s just-- it’s new and it’s different and everyone is still adjusting. We need time to really train together, get everyone comfortable. And I--” he broke off, shaking his head. “I’m supposed to be leading this team. Everyone needs to trust me to make the call in the whole team’s best interest. If I order an operation with a team lineup we haven’t fully trained for that’s going to leave some members distracted or compromised, I’ll be putting them in danger.”

He’d been making a lot of calls in the past few months that put Loki first. But the fallout from some of those decisions... He didn’t regret whisking Loki away from SHIELD, couldn’t really, not after all they’d gained. But some of the choices he’d made had come back to haunt them. Failure to consider all his fellow Avengers and their concerns had almost led to the dissolution of the team with Natasha and Barton only barely deciding to stick around. Failure to cooperate with SHIELD had led to them panicking and developing tech that could seriously hurt him and Loki both, and right now playing nice with them was his best means of making sure they never felt the need to use it in perceived self-defense.

If he put Loki’s wish to be included before the team’s safety in a sensitive and potentially dangerous operation... What fresh disaster would he be living with in the aftermath? What damage would he cause that he might not be able to repair? If he lost everyone’s trust in his judgment all over again, lost the Avengers, lost their best allies against Thanos--

“I don’t want anything bad to happen that will cut your shot at being a part of this team short. I don’t want-- I don’t want to put anyone at unnecessary risk. Not with something this big. You’ve gotta be able to see that,” he said, reaching forward to try to take Loki’s hand.

 

“Have I?” He asked, pulling his hand away and stepping back still more, deeper into their living room.

Where they’d danced, where Steve had told him of his fears, his dreams-- where now he was telling Loki of all the things he’d said that he apparently didn’t mean.

“You speak to me as if I am a lack-witted child.” His head was agonizing now, and he felt a bit like maybe he was going to be ill, but his anger, his fear-- he had no opportunity to coddle himself, no chance to recover from the physical aches.

“I am not incapable, I am not useless, and I am not an idiot. Everyone needs to be able to trust you, you say. What of me? If you do this-- if you set this precedent, then it will always be this way. _Not this time Loki_ , and _Stay behind Loki_ and _It’s for your own good, Loki_ \-- Do you not see how you are putting them at risk without me there? How I could shield each member of your team from anything-- from bullets and fists and knives-- How making them feel that they are justified in their mistrust of me--” He choked on the words.

“I can keep you safe. I can keep them safe. Why don’t you want me there? _With you_?”

 

“I _do_ want you with me!” Steve argued, voice lifting slightly in volume as he fought against the rising frustration and hurt clenching in his chest. “That’s what I’m trying to say -- Hell, if this were just you and me, there’s no one else I’d rather have watching my six, but this is a team operation, Loki, and...” he trailed off, running a hand back through his hair.

“Loki, Nat told me what happened. I know... I know you freaked out because, because she threatened me,” he said, swallowing. “And I get it-- when you got hurt in the park, I went to pieces. But what happens when we split up, and I get pinned down somewhere while you need to be watching Tony’s back, or Clint’s?” he challenged. “Are you gonna be able to hold down your position and stay focused?”

If anything happened to Steve and Loki lost it, the whole team would be left in harm’s way. And if anything happened to Loki and Steve was the one to lose his mind....

“Even if your shields do protect everyone, that’s something we need to _practice_ with, or no one’s gonna know how to fight optimally with that in the mix. You can’t just throw soldiers into the field with new weapons and armor without ever using it and expect things to go smoothly; not for an operation this precise. You’re a new variable for the team in the field, Loki. We need to know how to optimize that.” And then, hopefully, they’d be better than ever. But if everyone was bracing themselves for Loki’s shields to fall or if Clint and Natasha were flinching at every green surge of magic-- there wasn’t enough trust now for that. They needed to build it up.

“We need them to trust us both. You saw how people reacted when I first suggested bringing you on as an Avenger. Not everyone was against it, but... Right now, if I act like my loving you is informing my decisions rather than actual tactics, it’s gonna make everyone lose faith in my judgment. If they don’t trust me, they could lose trust in you by extension, and this whole thing will be doomed from the get-go. If we take it slow, show we’re willing to prioritize the team’s functionality and then train with you in the group until it comes naturally and no one’s off-balance, they’ll have no reason to mistrust either of us. It’s for the best long-term,” he insisted, silently pleading with Loki to see reason, to understand and accept it and not fight him on this.

 

He wrapped his arms back around himself, squeezing to try and control the shaking, his fingertips digging into his skin and the ache only a little distraction from the pounding of his head.

“And so this is to be another of your plays I must back, is it? One that I get no choice and no say on-- it’s to be your decision, and with that made, I am supposed to-- what? Wait here for news of you? Worry alone in the tower while you and your friends, your _team_ , go out after the thing that is my responsibility? The problem I caused?”

The sensation of being treated like a child returned, this time with all of the resentment that he’d felt when he truly was surfacing strongly at the forefront of his emotional mess.

“You can’t just do this, can’t swoop in and take everything from me and then run off and leave me here, alone. Can’t take every choice from me and leave me unable to follow you! You worry about the long term-- what if there _isn’t_ a long term? If this goes wrong-- what if the sceptre pulls you in again? Would you have one of your friends try to free you? They would only be caught by it as well. Then what? Then we’ve lost you, lost the Avengers… this is my fight, and I have always intended to handle it myself with your help. Now you wish to write me out of it altogether!” He couldn’t tell now if his shakes were caused by tension or anger or fear or some mix of all three, and he was so tired, the throbbing almost a continuous pressure behind his eyes now.

“You make it seem as if I am so selfish, attempting to talk you into letting me come-- _you_ are selfish, Steve! You want me to be safe here, the same way you wanted me to leave you if trouble arose, when we first came to the tower. You worry about how others will see you now, about their trust for you and your reputation-- and you would choose that over sense, over logic and propriety-- _this is not their fight,_ Steve. If you fear for them, leave them here-- let me come with you. Let us take care of this.”

 

Steve’s frustration mounted. Loki was acting like Steve was kicking him out into the cold, or locking him away -- like he was being a tyrant, when all he wanted was for everyone to come home safe at the end of this--

“ _I’m_ selfish, for not putting your feelings ahead of everyone else’s lives?” he demanded. “Are you even listening to yourself? You’re asking me to abandon all responsibility to this team because you don’t want to sit by yourself for a few hours!” He raked a hand through his hair again, this time more violently, practically yanking at the strands. “Pushing away the team is what got us in this whole mess in the first place, and you’ve seen that every bit as clearly as I have. I owe them as much as I owe you, and I can’t...” he trailed off with a wordless noise of aggravation.

“I’m not taking away every choice!” he protested. “I’m taking away _one_ choice, Loki. One call, on one operation. And frankly, if you’re so eager to be a part of the team, you’re going to have to accept that part of being on it means following orders, even if it means sitting out the occasional mission!” he snapped, the hypocrisy of Loki’s objections gnawing at him. “I get that this isn’t what either of us wanted, what either of us hoped for, but we have to work with the reality here and not just force our wishes on to everyone else when their lives are on the line. Hell, fifteen minutes ago you were out of your mind and slamming your head against Nat’s floorboards just _playacting_ about having and using the scepter to talk to Thanos. What reason do I have to believe you’re less compromised about this than anyone else?”

If Loki fell apart in the scepter’s presence -- if he or anyone else got hurt because Steve made one more poor call by bringing him into the field --

He shook his head. “You’ve got plenty to do here while the team is in the field. Like working on keeping calm over the thought of meeting Thanos, so when we do bring the scepter back, it’s not going to be for nothing.”

 

“You’re selfish for putting _your_ feelings before everyone else’s lives!” Loki felt as though he’d been slapped-- he had that same gaping expression on his face, the same light headedness. The only thing missing was the actual sting.

“If they can’t trust me, and I cannot guarantee their safety, then they should have no part in solving the problem I have created. You can trust me-- or I thought you could. Was I wrong? Is that what this is about?” He stepped in closer, refusing to back any further away, refusing to run from this fight that was now definitely that.

“Is this punishment for DC? Are you trying to test my loyalty, my obedience?” The words came out more of a snarl than he’d intended them to. Steve was staying so calm, for the most part-- it was driving him mad.

“I am not part of your team. You saw to that before, when you broached the subject at a meeting about my crimes, when you allowed SHIELD to experiment on me without repercussion from our end, and you are doing it again now. You say you want me with you, and then you do everything you can to keep me away!”

He knew he couldn’t be thinking clearly. Not with the way his head felt. But he had to hope he was at least making sense, that with the sudden well of horrible emotions in him, he wasn’t just spewing nonsense. It didn’t feel like it, though, didn’t feel like nonsense. It all felt real enough.

It hurt too much not to be.

 

Steve reeled, trying to fathom why Loki was suddenly so full of spite and ire and mistrust of his intentions. Had something more happened with Natasha? Or--

“ _Is_ this about DC?” he asked, trying to put it all together, trying to make Loki’s behavior make sense. “Loki, I had nothing to do with that, I had no idea-- you know I’d never approve of them doing that to you!” So many times he’d gone out of his way to forbid anyone actually experimenting on Loki, when he’d been in SHIELD’s custody. And when the magic dampeners had kicked in and Steve had been the one falling to the ground, feeling like the life was being smothered out of him, hollowed out like he’d been after Thanos had torn through his mind...

“We can’t attack people just for being scared, Loki, even if they cross a line. And yeah, they did, I admit that. It wasn’t right, and I’m mad they hurt you even if they had no idea what it would do. But we cut them out and left them in the dark and they were afraid, and giving them justification? Making them believe they were right to do what they did, and actually _use_ that tech to hurt us the ways it can? That’s the last thing we can afford to do!”

And sure, it hurt to compromise, and if it had just been him, small and scrappy and alone against a bully, Steve wouldn’t have hesitated to throw a punch. But it wasn’t just him, and the bully wasn’t one clear and deserving target, and he had people counting on him.

Hell, they had a _world_ counting on them.

“I told you, we can’t push everyone away on this. Not now. Not after...” He shook his head. “Maybe you and I could get the scepter back on our own, but what then? What team are we gonna be left with? We have so much more to deal with after this one mission. We need the Avengers, we need SHIELD, and we’re going to have to make some sacrifices. This isn’t just your mess anymore.” He looked at up at Loki and set his jaw forward. “You can’t just yell at me and twist everything I’ve done or said to guilt me into bringing you along!”

 

“I _shouldn’t have to_!” He shouted back, then brought a fist to his mouth, immediately quieting himself.

He turned away, partially to calm himself down and partially to turn his face from Steve, his emotions all too apparent now that he was so horrible at hiding them.

“Do you remember why we kept my seidhr, my abilities, a secret from them? It was because we were fleeing them, because they were the enemy, for a time. I had _assumed_ that once we created a partnership, I would be sharing that intelligence with them. I _thought_ they might-- might treat me with more respect. Like an equal. Like a partner.” He laughed again, that brittle sound that he hated, like all of his world might come apart at the sound. He turned back, trying to keep his voice even, his face calm. He felt as though he were hanging on by a thread.

“Though what would I know of that? At least Thanos asked me before he began his lessons-- your SHIELD cannot even be so polite as that. And afterwards-- afterwards when they apologized to _you_ , promised not to do it to _you_ again-- nothing about me, no assurances, no promises, no remorse-- and you said nothing. And when the Avengers do not want me, when they feel they cannot trust me, you say nothing. And I cannot speak-- I have no voice in these matters. I’m meant to have some in our partnership, in _us_ , but when I speak to you, like in DC, like now, then I am twisting things and making you feel guilty!”

He felt his hands balling into fists.

“Why must I ask permission from you, why must I give you the power to take choices from me? Why should I, Steve, why should I follow your lead or trust you so much, when you cannot-- _will not_ \-- do the same for me?”

 

“I’ve trusted you plenty!” Steve protested. “Anything I’ve had to take over or argue with you has been to protect people! To protect _you!”_ He could feel his throat tightening, breaths beginning to come raggedly in what he’d once known as a prelude to an asthma attack, though at least there was no longer risk of that now.

Hadn’t he shown his trust enough? Breaking Loki out of SHIELD, running away with him and going on the run, putting everything he had into the promise of Loki’s rehabilitation -- he’d even let Loki see him and have him at his most vulnerable, in ways Steve couldn’t imagine ever trusting anyone else. And somehow, none of that was enough.

(Would anything he did be enough? Or was he doomed to always be letting someone down, spread too thin to cover all his responsibilities and still keep Loki content...)

“I’m sorry about SHIELD, I am, and I’ll ask them to make a formal apology to you if that’s what you want--” he barely remembered the aftermath in all honesty, shaken as he’d been, and who had been apologized to for what -- “But right now, we’ve only just started mending that fence. There’s work to do, on both sides, and I’m trying _really hard_ not to jeopardize that.” And if SHIELD knew the full extent to which Loki mattered to Steve, how important he was and how close they were... It had been hard enough coming out to those he trusted. The last thing he needed to do was give SHIELD more cause to be suspicious of them, more ways in which to hurt them if their alliance went south.

“I’d die for you, Loki. In a heartbeat. I’d believe it was worth it, too. But you can’t ask me to risk anyone else’s life. And I’m not willing to risk yours unnecessarily either,” he pointed out. “I can’t get someone under my command killed again, I just... I can’t do this...” He swallowed the lump creeping up his throat. _So please stop asking me to._

 

He sounded so emotional, and Loki’s first response should have been to push down the anger and the pain and see to Steve; should have been to set aside the argument, swallow the bile rising in his throat and comfort him. But he wasn’t that good, wasn’t worthy enough or kind enough for that sort of response.

“What have you trusted me with, Steve? With being your secret? With not saying anything while trespasses are made upon my person? If you think this is about an apology, about whether or not you would die for me, you haven’t been listening at all these past few months. And you haven’t been listening to me _now_ , clearly; I. Am not. Under your _command_ . We were meant to be partners, were we not? That was the agreement. Partners. To stand beside one another. As equals. With compromises, yes, but this-- what right have you to dictate to me my life? Whether the risk is necessary or not, why-- why should you choose your team above your _partner_?”

He lowered his voice again, aware he was getting loud, letting his feelings seep into his words. He made himself quiet, made the things he had to say much more intimate.

“Do you remember, before we came here? How lonely you were? How abandoned? Do any of them care about you, any more than they care about me? Do they trust you? Or is it that, like you, they sense potential for danger? Have you been with me all this time only to keep me from doing harm? Have they harbored us to keep us under their watchful eyes?”

He stopped and looked over Steve’s face, took in his expression.

“I was there when they were not. I have supported you even when none of them did. And you have _failed_ Steve. Failed to support me. Failed to keep me safe. You did not really expect that I would just nod and agree with you, did you? Do you truly think that you have tamed me so, declawed and made a pet of me?” He moved again, pacing now, stalking like the animal they both knew he was, eyeing his partner like he was prey.

“Have you considered what is to become of me while you go off after _my_ sceptre? You would leave me behind, alone, and trust-- as you did before-- _trust_ that SHIELD will not come, will not drag me off, will not drain me of my power, or worse, this time. They have given no assurances that they will not. _And you have not asked for any._ And you suppose that I am to feel grateful, to feel safe, being left here?”

 

Steve’s eyes widened in slowly-growing horror as Loki spoke, twisting the knife in Steve’s gut with cruelty he hadn’t expected, hadn’t believed to be in Loki’s character any longer. The man in front of him, though, wasn’t speaking and acting like his partner. This was more like the stranger from Stuttgart, and it chilled him.

He could see what Loki was doing -- appealing to Steve’s fear, of losing Loki, of losing their relationship, of failing to protect him. Fear of being alone again, of being abandoned by his team... He seemed to be going after every angle, every weakness, trying to worm his way past Steve’s resolve.

And it _ached._

“Why are you being like this?” he asked, voice low and strained.

 

Loki drew back, feeling again as though, with those few words, Steve had hit him.

“Have I ever given you the impression I was otherwise? No, Steve-- why are _you_ being like this? Why are you so willing to-- to do this to me? What’s changed, what have I done to deserve this? Am I wrong? Have I not worked-- have I not changed as much of me as possible, have I not made strides to be as good as possible--and for what? I was respected, powerful, feared-- now my hands are tied by my love of you that I cannot so much as demand not to have my seidhr taken from me, my very purpose for being here in the first place denied-- and _you_ do this to me. You have made me this-- weak and worthless, and when I try to amend it, to do what I am meant to, you tell me I am unreasonable. Selfish. Unworthy. That I cannot be trusted. That it is _nothing I have done_ \-- you are trying to be kind and I wish you would not. It is not what I have done but what I cannot ever do. I cannot ever be good enough, can I? Cannot be worthy of your team or your acknowledgment or SHIELD’s respect, cannot ever move past my evils because that is what I am, isn’t it? This is what I am. This, that you shrink from, that even now I can see that you loathe.”

He had to stop to pull breath into his lungs past the ache of his chest. He reached up, his hand resting on Steve’s tags, where they sat against his skin, over his heart.

He feared Steve would demand them back, now that he had clearly, at long last, seen what Loki had always known he must, in time.

He clenched his hand around them, through his shirt, and thought of another necklace-- the one he’d meant to give Steve tonight, on the eve before they were to go off to battle together for the first time.

As equals and lovers-- as partners.

Tears came again to his eyes and he swallowed, hard, not trusting himself to speak for a moment.

 

“I never said you were unworthy or untrustworthy!” Steve exclaimed, voice tight, temper crumbling. “You’re putting words in my mouth, but dammit, you _are_ being unreasonable. I’ve explained every reason why this is the best choice logistically and you’re not listening, because it isn’t what you want to hear, and instead you’re... I don’t even know what you’re doing! Do you really think saying those things is going to get me to think I _should_ bring you? That all this--” he waved to the space between them, “--is helping _anything?”_

If he’d had doubts about whether or not leaving Loki behind was the right call before (and between Thor’s worries about Loki’s self-preservation and Bruce’s observations about the team in training and Loki’s meltdown just now with Natasha, he had many), he certainly couldn’t imagine bringing him to be a good idea now. Not if it took so little for him to become like this.

“Less than two years ago you _killed thousands,_ Loki. Not everyone is going to get past that, and they certainly aren’t all going to get over it any time soon. I don’t believe it’s what you are, and I do believe you deserve a second chance, but I can’t change the fact that it happened and wipe out all the consequences and all the damage. We have to live with that,” he said, then shook his head. “None of this was ever going to be short and easy.”

Watching Loki’s hand clamp around the dogtags, he feared for a moment he was about to rip them off, rejecting them and Steve both. The thought made his insides go cold. “All I’m asking for is for you to be patient. That’s all. Just more time.” He was angry and he was pleading all at once, hoping Loki would just _understand..._

 

He felt that same sinking feeling in his gut, that same crumpling he’d felt back in their hotel in DC, when Steve reminded him just how many he’d murdered--

_you killed thousands_

 

And he’d let that hurt, then. Let that matter, because he knew that was what everyone saw when they looked at him. Loki the would be conqueror, slayer of innocents. But that had been different, that-- that had been everyone _else_. This was much worse.

“I don’t expect ‘them’ to be over it, don’t expect ‘everyone’ to forget. I just thought that perhaps by now _you_ might know better.” He could not keep the hurt out of his voice, could not keep the tears from falling, even as he spoke and the anger filled his words. “I do not ask that it be easy. I ask that I be given a _chance_ and you-- you promised me one, and you are reneging on that promise. And for what? Because no one can trust me-- because you have not given me the chance to show I can be trusted! That will not change by locking me in your tower. By letting SHIELD cast me still as the villain, by acting as though I am something not worth defending, not worth arguing for--” He cut his words off.

“You’re right.” He snapped. “This is getting us _nowhere._ I hope your team can care for you the next time Thanos chooses to rip you out of your body. I hope they know better than you did how to handle powerful objects-- hope that you can master the ability to transfer your lifeforce to them, when they make a mistake. But then, at least you can _trust_ them.” He could feel his heartbeats behind his eyes, his headache elevated now to something more, something intense and painful and severe.

He reached into his pocket, wondering if Steve thought that he would attack him-- if he thought so little of Loki now. He clenched his hand around his gift and pulled it free, fist shaking with his emotion and exhaustion.

“I cannot give everything and ask for nothing; cannot back your plays and let myself fall when you choose not to support me in return. But I can give you this-- I meant to give it to you tonight at any rate. I wish you _every_ success.” He gritted the last out.

He did not know where he would go, only that he needed to leave, to be away from this, to escape his feelings of-- of too many things. Anger and hurt and fear and regret and betrayal.

He took a step back and tossed the necklace to land in a gleaming pile at Steve’s feet.

“I hope thoughts of your _team_ will get you through your nightmares tonight.” He knew he was being petty, and hurtful, but he didn’t care.

_He_ hurt, and clearly that mattered very little.

He didn’t wait to hear what else Steve might have to say, what other restrained, calm, logical thing he might think would fix things between them.

Loki pulled in on himself, and was gone.

 

Several seconds passed after Loki vanished before Steve realized he was holding his breath. Shakily, he let it out, staring at the space where Loki had been.

The very, very empty space.

He’d known this conversation would be difficult; that Loki would react poorly. But this?

He’d never expected it to blow up this horribly. For Loki to be so incensed, so intractable--

The pressure that had been clenching in his chest and throat finally hit a breaking point, and with Loki no longer present, Steve’s grip on his composure cracked. Eyes prickling hotly, he sucked in another breath--

“ _DAMMIT_!” he shouted, voice impossibly loud in the emptiness of the apartment. It was slightly cathartic, but not nearly enough, and only the knowledge that Pepper would be upset with him if he put holes in the drywall kept him from taking it out that way.

All he’d wanted was to make the smart call, the one that would eventually work out best for everyone. To keep everyone safe and to smooth out some of the damage he’d caused by prioritizing Loki ahead of everyone else. And he’d thought-- he’d thought that if he explained, if they talked, Loki would see why. He didn’t figure he’d be particularly happy about it, of course, but Loki had always come around before...

But not this time. And it left Steve with a sickening feeling in his gut. Groaning, he sank down on to the couch and buried his face in his hands, swallowing down dread.

They hadn’t had a fight this big before, had they? They’d fought and had spats before, about the sceptre over shawarma, over the idea of kids, and back in the hotel. But this... This felt different. Harsher. Colder. And Steve had been trying so hard not to turn this into an epic fight (to no effect), and then Loki had bolted, and it left him feeling helpless. Impotent.

(Was this how Loki felt all the time? Did he truly hate being here with Steve so much?)

Doubt dug insidious claws into his mind as he breathed raggedly into his hands.

They’d... they’d be alright. After Loki had time to cool off. Wouldn’t they?

(This wasn’t... This wasn’t ending things, was it? Loki hadn’t said as much, though he’d implied he wouldn’t be there next time Steve got hurt. But he hadn’t claimed to hate him, and after everything they’d had, everything they’d been through--)

Steve blew out a breath and rubbed his hands over his face, dragging them back through his hair with another long groan. Loki had spoken of Steve’s team being what carried him through his nightmares, but he doubted he’d be able to even get to sleep at all tonight. He leaned back and let his head fall against the back of the couch with a thunk, stretching his legs out in front of him.

A small tinkle as his boot nudged something reminded him of the item Loki had thrown, and he frowned. Sitting up, he leaned down to retrieve it, frowning at the small object.

It was a pendant of sorts on a chain -- similar in size and shape to his dogtags, though the metal was thicker, the oblong of it a fair bit narrower, and instead of numbers stamped into the surface, it bore a jagged, symmetrical shape etched deeply into the metal. Steve stared at it in puzzlement for several seconds, until he rotated it horizontally and recognized the shape of a recorded soundwave, having watched enough surveillance recordings to know the look of it.

He ran a thumb over the etching several times, breathing deeply. Finally, he got up the courage to speak, though his voice still felt tight:

“JARVIS?”

“ _Yes, Captain Rogers?”_

“Can you scan the etching in this necklace and play me back the audio an identical soundwave would produce?”

“ _Certainly, Captain. If you could hold it out for several moments for my sensors...”_

Steve did so, waiting for the AI to do its work, watching a shimmering line of blue light as it emerged from some unknown projector and scanned the room, Steve and the pendant along with it. A moment later, JARVIS spoke up again:

“ _Audio playback has been generated. Playing now.”_

Steve bit his lip, tensing as he heard Loki’s voice. Not in person, of course -- it was tinny and distorted, but still unmistakably Loki, both in tone and in what it said:

 

 

“ _...My sweet boy.”_

 

 

Steve’s fingers balled into a fist around the necklace, until he felt the corners dig into his palm.

Loki had meant to give this to him in a romantic gesture -- something personal and intimate and sweet -- and now.... and now instead Loki was mad as hell, and while Steve knew he’d done the right thing asking Loki to stay behind, it hardly served as any consolation.

He ran his thumb over the engraving for long silent minutes, staring at it and trying not to replay every ill-thought word from the fight over in his mind, before finally giving up and getting to his feet.

He needed to go to the gym. To run or hit something; anything to burn off this miasma of guilt and apprehension that threatened to smother him. And maybe, he told himself as he grabbed his gym clothes, by the time he’d got back, Loki would have calmed down a bit. Seen reason.

Come back.

Or at least... maybe Steve would be tired enough to, if not fall asleep, at least clear his mind enough to stop Loki’s words echoing in his ears over and over until the sun rose.

 

 

(He could hope.)

  


 


	58. Fifty-Eight

“You and your boys didn’t leave much, huh Cap?” They’d set the jet down a mile or two back, and the rest of the Avengers were hiking it in, but Tony got a pass, thank goodness. This thing wasn’t really made for taking strolls in.

He was flying over their target area, and though the satellite pictures had been kinda spotty-- unsurprising, given that the entire area around it was abandoned, and it was basically in the middle of nowhere-- it was clear from this much closer how much of a mess it really was.

There had clearly been some kind of explosion here, a while back. And just as clearly, nature had been in the process of taking over since then. But Tony wasn’t interested in the foliage.

“I got a door over some steps leading down… It’s a few feet west of the most intact archway, when you get here. And under it, getting readings back for a lot of rooms, a lot of halls… counting about...twenty people, maybe twenty five? On the first two levels. If there’s more under that, I can’t see. It’s all built old, a lot of heavy metals and clunky construction. Probably original bad guy bunker feature-- I bet it was the selling point as far as real estate was concerned. They just don’t build ‘em like this anymore.”

The suit was displaying for him a fair bit of movement, but nothing that looked or came off as panic or defensive actions.

“Looks like they haven’t spotted me yet. No rousing in the nest, just day to day stuff. Sceptre’s in there, for sure, can’t tell which floor. Hopefully I’ll have a better read once we’re inside.” He doubled back, moving up a little higher, just in case.

“Where are you guys, ETA wise?” He let his eyes drift over to the symbols to the right of his heads up display, watching to see who spoke first, and who ended up talking over whom.

Group field trips were always so much fun. Especially with as weird as half of them were being about this one.

 

“We’re about half a klick out. Be in position in ten,” Steve answered over the radio, keeping his voice low.

Though it had been early still when they left New York -- Bruce and Tony had been able to successfully test their containment device, which Thor now carried over his shoulder, first thing that morning. But with the difference in timezones, by the time they got into European airspace, the sun was low in the sky; now as Steve, Nat, Clint, Bruce and Thor tromped through the forest, the setting sun painted the brown leaves still clinging to skeletal tree branches with golden light for a brief period of time, before everything would soon be reduced to crepuscular gray. Underfoot, the ground was hard and frosted over, crunching softly beneath their steps, and the air was crisp, smelling vaguely of something Steve could only identify as agricultural.

It would have been pleasant, almost scenic, if not for the sense of urgency and the knowledge they’d all probably soon be getting shot at.

They were all suited up -- Steve, Natasha, and Clint in uniform, and Thor fully armored -- save for Bruce, who had on a jacket and hiking boots, but otherwise wore his usual attire. It had been decided that he would hang back to provide backup as needed; Steve hadn’t been thrilled about leaving behind one of their heavy hitters, but had respected Bruce’s concerns about the damage a mind-controlled Hulk might do if whoever repurposed the bunker had the scepter to turn on them. Worse came to worse and one of the others got turned, they could rely on Hulk to take any of them out -- he didn’t think he could say the reverse.

Moving through the terrain, Steve had a vague sense of deja vu. He couldn’t say for certain if he and the commandos had come through this way, or in this light at this time of year, when they’d blown the base to hell back in 1944. It was possible that just the knowledge that this had once been a HYDRA base was was instilling a false feeling of familiarity in his mind. All the same, the hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he caught himself looking over his shoulder to comment about as much to Loki, before remembering himself.

Loki hadn’t come back the night before, though JARVIS had confirmed he was still in the tower, at least. Steve had made a go of trying to sleep in their bed after working out to the point of exhaustion, but even then, it was too big and empty. Come dawn Loki was still keeping his distance, and so he’d been forced to take off with no goodbyes, however strained, between them.

All the same, Steve had made sure to bring the necklace Loki had thrown the night before with him. If Loki returned to the apartment, he wouldn’t find his gift left there, rejected. And maybe, knowing Steve had it with him would make reconciliation easier when he got back. Even if it did Loki no good, the weight of it, lying against his chest beneath his uniform in the same place his tags used to hang, was reassuring.

(Like a physical embodiment of the hope he’d have something to come home _to_. )

He was the first one to the ridge over the ruins, where the trees ended and rolling hillocks of grass took over, growing over rubble where once there had been a warzone, rendering the place eerily pastoral. He waited for the others to catch up, and nodded to Bruce, who appeared slightly winded. “Banner, hang back here in case we need you for backup, and report if you see any outside movement.”

Bruce nodded, and Steve turned his attention to Clint. “Ready?”

Barton grinned, reaching back and lightly fingering the fletching of his arrows to identify the one he needed, then drawing it out to nock it against his bow.

The arrow in question, Clint had explained as they briefed on the plane, was able to emit a small, localized pulse that would briefly disable any and all electric or magnetic mechanisms. Such as those in the door they now had a line of sight on, and any nearby surveillance equipment.

“Now’d be a good time to get out of range, Stark,” Clint murmured into the comm as he aimed, then let the arrow fly.

It struck the door and stuck, emitting a faint whining hum that made Steve’s ears pop. He waited a second, then nodded to the rest and signaled forward. Natasha took point, with Thor directly behind her, as they entered the open space and moved quickly toward the entrance.

 

“At some point we’re going to have a talk about what ‘range’ is on those things-- for now though, count yourself lucky the suit’s hardened.” Tony told Barton through the suit’s communicator. He switched it off, muting himself from it momentarily while he scanned for any sign that the people inside had any idea what was going on above them.

“JARVIS, make note that I should research shaping EMP charges-- like shaped audio.”

“ _Noted, Sir.”_

Security was lax here, almost stupidly so-- no, _definitely_ stupidly so.

“A lot of their systems are down, and they’re trying to figure out why. Cap, you have a preference which one of us moves the giant piece of dead metal?” Tony landed, approaching the rest of them. “No one’s swarming this way yet. so I don’t think we need to worry about bottle-necking too much. “

The door wouldn’t be light, but between him in the suit, Steve, and Thor, they had three superhuman lifters here, so it wouldn’t be that big of a problem.

“We have a hall straight ahead from the base of the stairs, not sure where it leads, no one in it right now, and we have one to the left that branches off into a couple of rooms. That’s where we’ve got the first ten people we should encounter, unless they have some shielded rooms I’m not seeing.”

He allowed for the mistake, but he didn’t get the feeling that was likely. This thing was old, all of the construction was, and they had shut down all of the communication systems. Good luck to those inside, trying to call for backup right about now.

Thor stepped forward, looking grim, and Tony frowned, thinking of how much that had just become the guy’s default face. He wondered if him talking to Loki about it would do any good; though the guy had been conspicuously absent, both on the trip and this morning for goodbyes, and he’d refused to talk to them any more than was needed to test the shielding on the sceptre’s transport case.

His eyes darted to Steve, well aware that likely meant trouble in paradise, but he shrugged it off. Not the most pressing thing right now.

“Allow me, Captain.” Thor said, and hung his hammer off his belt, which, Tony also noted, he’d love to check out later, see if there was some sort of science or magic holding the damn thing up, with that beast hanging off of it.

He put his hands flat against the bulk of the door and used his body weight to leverage it sideways, sliding the massive thing into the wall with nothing but sheer strength.

Impressive.

Natasha moved in beside Thor, checking out the hallway, gun out and light on, looking for anyone coming there way, but like Tony had said--

“Hey! What--” Someone from inside must have seen the light and raised the alarm, but Natasha tazed the guy with something that shot off from the wrist of her un-gunned hand.

“Clear for now, let’s go!” She called, checking back over her shoulder for Steve’s say so.

Tony realized that out of all of them, it’d be Nat and Clint who knew best how to play by the order of command rules, so maybe it was a good idea to emulate them. That in mind, he looked to Steve as well, waiting for the order to get in there.

 

Steve’s gaze was briefly drawn to the inside of the thick metal door Thor had ripped away from its hinges, falling on the familiar seal of a tentacled skull stamped into the steel. He suppressed a shudder, reminding himself that HYDRA had been gone almost as long as he had, and while the memory might be fresh for him, it had crumbled in the interim where he’d been asleep. And while the ruin of the exterior of the former base was a reminder of that, the electric lighting strung along the ceiling of the preserved interior did a lot less for his sense of unease.

Natasha and her Bites made quick work of the first person to run across them before an alarm could be fully raised. Steve frowned, noting the man wore tactical armor almost identical to the mercenaries in the park.

He looked down the hall, calculating the best strategy from the intel Stark provided. “Iron Man, Thor, Hawkeye -- take the rooms to the left. Take out any resistance and radio in if you find anything important. Try to use nonlethal force; we don’t know who these people are and we need to know more,” he added, glancing at Thor with the last part. He suspected Tony and Clint, while deadly in their own right, had a better awareness of human frailty than Thor probably did. “Widow and I will scout ahead down the central tunnel. Let us know when you’re cleared out and we’ll hold up so you can come regroup with us.”

Splitting up would ensure that no one emerged from the second passageway to hedge them in and cut them off from the entrance. Being cornered was bad enough. Cornered underground was worse. And whatever was deeper in the facility, Steve didn’t want to wait too long and give whoever was there too much time to prepare.

“Sounds good,” Clint said, hefting his bow. “We’ll be right behind ya.”

Steve nodded to him, then Natasha. “Ladies first?”

She snorted. “How chivalrous,” she drawled, and began picking her way down the stairs.

 

All said, Tony was pretty pleased with the way the team dividing had gone, this time. He got a distance guy, which… ok, not actually all that useful in an underground bunker with not much maneuvering space, but at least he was quippy and not likely to hit Tony for being a smart ass, as he invariably wound up being in stressful situations like this. And Tony also got the god of having a hammer and knowing how to use it, so, hey, he counted it as a win.

“Thor, buddy, you wanna take the lead?” He asked. “Arrows and I will stay back, because we don’t really know what might be in there, as far as stuff that weapons could upset.” Things that maybe repulsors and handguns, like the ones that Clint was pulling out now, might destroy, or render unstable. This place was pretty old, after all, but clearly some of the things inside of it had been updated. Like the bad guys.

“Gladly,” Thor said with a grin, and Tony really hoped that he had taken Cap’s words about nonlethal force to heart. As they stepped over the guy that Romanoff had taken out, he was glad he was on this team, and not theirs, either way.

There were three doors, and he lowered his voice as they came upon them.

“Left door, looks like bunks, three people.” He was scanning through the walls for heat signatures now. “Right, empty-- at least, no people. End of the hall right, we have four sitting down, two standing.”

“I got the three.” Clint said. “You two go on-- we’ll attack simultaneously, keep from having alarms spread.”

“Yeah, sure, you take the guys laying down on the job.” Tony quipped, but he did push Thor along with him, towards the end of the hall, just outside of the doorway. “Alright, on three, we go in swinging. And remember big guy, tap them _gently_ with the hammer, hmmmkay?”

“Three!” Clint announced, clearly having had enough talking, and he opened the door into the sleeping quarters. Tony rolled his eyes, unseen in the helmet, and stormed into what turned out to be the cafeteria.

“Put your hands up, we’re the good guys!” He announced.

Immediately, every man in the room reached for their guns.

“Or we could do this your way--” He began, dropping his hands to aim toward them and powering up the repulsors.

Beside him, Thor sighed heavily and hefted his hammer into the air, several small sparks jumping forth-- teeny tiny lightning bolts, which nonetheless found their targets and sent each man sprawling.

“You didn’t--” Tony began, approaching one nervously, but Thor shook his head.

“They merely sleep.” He explained.

“Top floor’s cleared.” Clint announced striding through the doorway, one hand on his earpiece. “No sign of the sceptre-- or any sort of armory. What’s it look like down there?”

 

Steve wound up taking the lead ahead of Natasha, despite her lightness of motion -- his shield held in front of them both made for better protection against anything they came up against.

The corridors were made of old concrete, cracked in places where long-ago explosions had shaken the very foundations of this place, allowing moisture and the smell of earth to seep in, musty and dank. The yellow bulbs overhead provided flickering illumination, hardy enough to have survived the disruption caused by Clint’s arrow, but not bright enough to keep the place from feeling like a crypt.

They moved quickly and silently, keeping their eyes peeled as they descended another set of steps. There were two doors -- one to the right, and one ahead. Natasha nodded to the one at the right, and Steve inclined his head, before turning and kicking it down.

The three armored men inside looked up from the guns they were cleaning, then scrambled to reassemble their weapons.

They never got off a shot.

“Did you upgrade those?” Steve asked, nodding to Natasha’s bracers.

“Tony’s not the only one with toys,” she pointed out with a shrug, then frowned at the armory they were standing in. “And it looks like SHIELD isn’t either. There are pretty high tech for a bunker in provincial France.” Reaching into her suit, she pulled out her cell phone and snapped a few pictures. “In case any of this is from schematics that got leaked,” she explained. “Might help us narrow down the molehunt.”

Steve nodded, shifting his weight impatiently until she finished.

The next door led them down a further hall, deeper into the bowels of the bunker. His earpiece crackled to life with Clint’s voice.

“Found an armory,” he answered lowly, “but no scepter. Minimal resistance. Looks like this place goes on for--”

“HEY!”

Steve lifted his shield just in time as they rounded a corner and shots rang out. Cursing under his breath, he ducked back around, taking shelter behind the wall with Natasha.

“I count five,” she said. “Heavy tactical gear. I have a grenade--”

“I don’t wanna bury us,” Steve said, shaking his head. “This place is old and already has structural damage.”

“Right. Well. How do you wanna play this?”

He set his jaw, then whirled around the corner, throwing his shield and catching the first opponent in the jaw with it, before it ricocheted off the narrow passage walls into a second man before bouncing back into Steve’s hand in time to deflect a hail of bullets from the remaining three. Charging in, he bashed one in the face, flipping over him and catching the fourth with a kick to the throat.

He turned to take down the fifth, just in time to see him drop, Natasha standing over him with an eyebrow raised.

“Show off,” she accused.

“Like I was going to let you have all the fun.” The corner of his mouth quirked up.

And just then, a klaxon began to blare.

Steve startled, then looked down the hall to see one more man slapping at a bright red button embedded in the wall as a bulkhead further down began to drop, sealing the rest of the hall off.

“Oh no you don’t,” Steve growled, throwing his shield. It took out the remaining man in the tac-suit and sent up a shower of sparks from the alarm mechanism before bouncing back to Steve’s grip, but the door was already sealed, leaving them with a dead end.

“This is Widow,” Natasha said, reaching for her earpiece as the alarms continued to blare. “We might have hit a slight hiccup.”

 

They casually stepped on the first guy Natasha had knocked out, seeing him stirring faintly, and nothing puts a guy back down faster than an iron boot to the head. Gently, of course-- no one wanted to peeve either Cap or Natasha any more than they had sounded over the radios.

And when they got down there, it was easy to see why.

“Can we not push this one aside as well?” Thor asked, and Tony could only shake his head no.

“Lowered from the ceiling huh?” Tony asked, eyeing the area. “There wasn’t much further beyond it-- but--” He looked around, scanning through the walls and floor as he did so. “Must have been some stairs. We have another floor directly below us, and it’s a little bigger. Spacier. More room to move around. Has… maybe four big rooms? And we’re right over one of them. I don’t have much of a way of taking us down there, though, beyond maybe slowly melting through--”

Thor was gently pushing him aside, and all it took was three hard taps, and they had a perfectly serviceable hole.

“--So I guess I’ll be flying everybody out, then.” He muttered, and Hawkeye patted him on the shoulder.

“Could be worse.” He said cheerfully, and Tony just shook his head.

“What’s it look like down there?” Clint asked, clearly hesitant to stick his head in where the rubble was still falling softly. Tony couldn’t blame him.

“People are running this way, I would advise we get down there now if we’re gonna do that.”

Again, Thor took the initiative and swung down, his hand on the rim of the hole only widening the opening a bit as he fell to the floor below.

Tony shrugged, and Clint followed.

“I’ll bring up the rear.” He told them. “I’m a little heavier than you right now, and I don’t want to risk more damage happening.”

 

When Thor smashed a hole through the floor in the middle of the hallway, Natasha looked at Steve with both brows raised. “ _Structural damage?_ ” she mouthed.

Steve just shrugged helplessly. It wasn’t like they had many other options at this point. And before she could add anything scathing, he followed Clint down through the hole, dropping into a roll and coming up with his shield in front of him in time to push in to one of the security personnel readying a gun at the intruders. Thor had already laid two out, and Clint had another arrow nocked before Nat and Tony brought up the rear.

For a brief moment, Steve wondered if they’d somehow been horribly turned around and ended up outside -- though logic dictated they had to be deep underground by now. The space was open-- cavernously so, compared to the claustrophobic tunnels they’d just exited-- and brightly-lit. The old HYDRA subterranean halls had been repurposed with little extra remodeling, but the chamber they’d broken into was far more modern and technically outfitted.

A lab, Steve realized after a moment of looking around for threats, only to find the majority of the people panicking around them wore labcoats instead of body armor. They’d found a secret underground lab in an armored bunker deep underground. And in the middle of it--

Steve felt a faint chill at the blue glimmer of the scepter, where it was poised on a pedestal, surrounded by a clear container.

He was promptly distracted, however, by the crowbar being swung at his head.

Ducking in the nick of time, Steve swung his fist and clocked out the scientist who’d launched himself at him, providing a reminder that guys in labcoats weren’t necessarily harmless.

Voices shouted all around them, some in English, others in an amalgam of European dialects. Steve picked out a few words of German and French -- “ _Arrêtez-les!”_ and “ _Zerstören alles!”_ \-- in the clamor, and silenced a man shrieking in what may have been Russian with a solid smack from his shield as he fought toward the scepter.

“Thor, you have the container?” he shouted.

“Aye!” Thor called back, swinging his hammer and obliterating the gun of a man who stared in shock at his suddenly-empty hands, before turning and fleeing right into Natasha’s path.

 

All hell broke loose in a sort of scurrying lab-rats kind of way, and for a minute, Tony wasn’t a hundred percent sure what was up, until the nerds got their feet under them and decided that they should be attacking, and some guys in getups more like the folks upstairs started showing up to help.

He managed to knock out a few just by raising his arms for them to run into at the right time, or at least he sent them floorward, groaning. He was proud of how many of them knew to stay down.

Smart little boffins.

He watched Nat drop another guy, but it was Clint’s terrified squawk that brought his attention back to the sceptre. And if things weren’t so deathly still, all of a sudden, he probably would have mocked Hawkeye for taking his codename just a bit too far.

The words, though, died on his lips.

One of the black clad security guys had knocked the case off of the stand that the sceptre was on, and he held it in both hands, the tip of it facing forward.

Tony couldn’t help thinking of that same damn spear going through Phil’s chest. But more immediately, Clint was trying to get away, trying to scramble back from the guy, who was aiming it at him.

But he tripped over one of the downed eggheads and fell to the floor, face up and eyes wide with the sort of horror that Tony would never have imagined on the Agent’s face.

“No one move!” A heavily French accented voice shouted. “No one else touch the artifact, stay back!”

But the man holding it lurched forward, and he heard, very distinctly, Clint whispering,

“ _No… not again_ . _**Please** _ _not again..._ ”

Like a plea, like a prayer. Begging.

He was shaking and terrified and Tony was reminded all too much of what he looked like when he had an episode of his own. He couldn’t stand any more of it.

It seemed Thor had the same idea, because they both started forward at the same time, but the French guy, the head researcher, Tony assumed, grabbed hold of Thor’s arm.

“No wait, look--” He directed their attention back at the man with the sceptre, who had gone still and rigid. His mouth fell open in a silent scream, and blood began to positively pour out of his nose. As they watched, his eyes, too, turned red. Filled with blood. He shook and quivered, and then the sceptre fell to the floor and he fell to his knees, clutching at his head so hard that his fingers dug into his scalp.

It almost looked like he was trying to tear his own skin off, and Tony could just make out Barton scuttling backwards across the floor-- away from the sceptre-- when the guy’s head…

It didn’t _explode_ so much as collapse in on itself, didn’t shoot chunks outwards or anything, but it didn’t keep the moisture in, either.

Barton still ended up covered in blood, and Tony had never seen the guy-- who wasn’t _big,_ mind you, not huge, but somehow still intimidating for all that-- he’d never seen him look this small. And frankly, he couldn’t blame him.

Still, surrounded by hostiles and in an underground bunker in the middle of France… not the best place for him to have the kind of breakdown that it looked like he was building up to.

Tony thought fast, but Natasha thought faster, and before he could even make sense of things, she was there standing over Clint where he sat now, on the floor, her weapons out and pointed at the two men standing closest to her.

“Unless every one of you wants to end up like your friend there, I suggest you get to your knees and put your hands on your head.” She said it lowly and evenly, but even Tony, less trained in subtlety than the average human being, could hear the truth of the threat in her words.

She was worried about Barton, and Tony couldn’t blame _her_ , either.

 

The look of naked terror on Clint’s face made Steve’s stomach plummet. His teammate was in trouble. One of _his men_ was in trouble. And Steve was paralyzed on the far side of the lab with no way to close the distance in time--

Then the man holding the scepter went stiff and people started shouting--

And in the aftermath, Steve was left staring at the bloody remains, breathing through his nose in an attempt to get control over his stomach before he retched.

The heart-stopping fear he’d felt seconds before was gone, but in its place was cold and creeping horror. They’d known there was danger in touching the scepter without protection, from their first up close experience with it on the helicarrier when it had warped them all into fighting, to Steve’s encounter with Thanos when he’d touched it at SHIELD. But none of them had anticipated anything as violent as this.

Thinking back to the splitting pain in his head when Thanos’ minion had dug into his mind, Steve felt nausea creeping back up his throat. If it had continued -- if Loki hadn’t pulled him away -- would his skull be the one caved in like paper maché?

And even worse -- if he _hadn’t_ touched it and everything that happened between him and Loki subsequently failed to take place... would Loki have allowed that to happen to himself?

He had to turn away, before he started imagining Loki with blood streaming from his nose and eyes. “Thor, you have the container?”

“Aye,” he replied, subdued.

“Good. Tony, secure the thing.” Steve crossed over to a bank of desks and monitors, grabbing an abandoned white coat from where it draped over a fallen chair, crossing up to where the corpse lay and spreading the cloth over the remains to hide the condition of the body from view. Crimson rapidly began to seep through the fabric, and he grimaced, looking up to where Natasha crouched next to Clint.

She looked similarly somber, but nodded to him, indicating they were -- or would be -- alright. Steve stood, then got to work securing the prisoners, restraining those who were conscious and herding them all over to the far wall, dragging the unmoving ones over to lie near them. The task was mercifully distracting, and once he’d completed it, Steve felt a little less unhinged. Reaching for his earpiece, he adjusted the frequency to reach outside the bunker, hearing a faint hiss of static.

“Bruce, you read me?”

“ _I hear you. Everything okay down there?”_

Steve made a face. “We’ve secured the bunker and we have the scepter. There’s a pretty extensive laboratory down here -- you and Tony are probably the best suited to figuring out what they were working on, if you feel like coming on down.”

“ _Sounds fun,”_ Bruce replied dryly. “ _I'_ _ll be right there.”_

 

Tony wasn’t certain what to do, and Steve didn’t seem to be in an order giving kind of mood, at least for a couple of long moments.

He hesitated a bit, then ended up helping drag the unconscious guys over to the wall, as well as aiming his repulsor in an unspoken threat at those who stood there on their own.

“Bruce buddy, only fair to give you a heads up, there’s two floors, then a hole, a third floor, and then a guy who turned into a mess, so. You know, come prepared.” He added, after Steve stopped talking and it was obvious he didn’t plan to continue.

Natasha nodded at him, and he shrugged, not sure what they were communicating, exactly, but feeling like they were doing a damn good job of it.

She was talking quietly and quickly to Barton, and there was a lot of it he missed, but he saw that her hands were moving too-- the guy must be really rattled, he figured, if he wasn’t up to his usual standards in lip reading.

He considered asking her if they should maybe go for a walk, when Thor pressed the containment box into his arms. He looked down at it for a second, then back up at Nat and Clint.

She was urging him to stand up, anyway, and Tony thought it was probably for the best that he was moving before anyone touched the sceptre again.

He approached the sceptre and the corpse and sat the box down, kneeling as he did so, and giving himself some silent congratulations for the knee pads he’d had the good sense to install.

Once the box was open, he withdrew a couple of flexible latex sheets, embedded with the same stuff that was in the lining of the carrier-- the magic nulling tech SHIELD had come up with.

The idea of using it on someone like Loki was icky, but the idea of using it here? Tony was totally fine with.

He was less happy at the state of the sceptre, dripping as it was with dead dude’s blood. He couldn’t exactly put it in a tech heavy box like this one all wet like that-- so he ended up using some of the not yet reddened lab coat that Steve had put there to wipe as much off as he could, though he couldn’t help feeling like some kind of weirdo grave robber, while he did.

Satisfied that it wouldn’t damage Team Pseudoscience’s prototype, and eager not to have to touch the thing any longer than necessary, he slid it in place and covered it over with the sheets, then popped the lid down and slid the locks in place.

Satisfied, he stood it on end.

“I even included handy carrying spots, look at that.”

Almost on cue, Bruce dropped down into the lab below, and Tony had the good grace not to make fun of graceful landings while getting to his feet next to a dead person.

 

Steve turned to Bruce as he got up and dusted himself off, looking around.

“Huh,” was all he said, taking in the lab and the mess it contained.

“I’m sure folks will be questioning these guys soon enough,” Steve said, nodding to the guards and scientists, “but I’d like for us to have a handle on whatever it was they were doing here before anything else swoops in and gets a look. In case anything needs to be contained.”

Meaning: in case anything the men here managed to find out or invent as a result of tampering with the scepter couldn’t be allowed to fall into SHIELD or anyone else’s hands. Steve had learned his lesson with the Tesseract; fool him once...

Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets, bobbing his head. “Okay. I’ll, ah. Take a look.”

“Thanks. Tony?” Steve raised his voice slightly to get Stark’s attention. “The computers -- They’re a bit of a mess, but see if you can get anything off them.” Ricocheting bullets had taken out a number of them, screens darkened and cracked, and those that were still on displayed blue screens that boded poorly. But if anyone was able to extract information in spite of the damage, Steve trusted it would be Tony.

“Nat, Clint -- can you keep an eye on these mooks?” he asked, jerking his head toward the prisoners. “Maybe see if Hill has ideas about what to do with them.” The quinjet could hardly transport prisoners, and the Avengers didn’t exactly have the authority to take foreign nationals into their custody.

“Captain,” Thor spoke up, catching Steve’s attention. “There appears to be another passage to the rear...”

And sure enough, on the far side of the lab another door stood slightly ajar. Steve frowned. Hopefully, it lead nowhere of importance, and they were done with this whole mess. But if any of the scientists here had made it out, or if there were additional artifacts secreted away, Steve wasn’t about to leave loose ends just lying around.

“Thor, come with me. We’ll clear out the rest of this level.”

And once they were done, hopefully, they could all finally go home and breathe easy for a while.

 

This, Tony was more than happy to help with. And with the badass twins keeping an eye on the baddies and the armor still in place, he didn’t have the slightest fear of turning his back to them. Even if Clint was still operating at something like a quarter capacity, and Natasha was on the phone. Whatever. Not even a problem. If he was any of those guys, he’d be quaking in his boots too hard to even lift a weapon, provided any of them managed to keep one on him.

He watched Cap and Thor head out into the rest of the place, and figured if anyone was bad guy proof, it was pretty much those two. So long as they didn’t get into a fight over who loved Loki more or better or whatever…

He ended up taking one of the intact screens and dragging it over to a not smoking tower to get a semi-working computer, but some asshole had managed to activate a kill switch. It locked him out, and who knew whether it was even worth getting at what lay beyond? For all he knew, and from what the screen across the room looked like, it may well be fully wiped.

He started tapping away at the keys.

He couldn’t have been at it for more than five minutes, long enough to hear Natasha saying that there was backup a good fifteen minutes out, when he tapped his way through their stupid security.

His gloating was cut short, though, as the screen went dark, and a flickering logo appeared.

“Oh, oh fuck. Bruce, that’s-- I’m not wrong am I?”

“What? What are you talking about Tony, that’s… oh.” Bruce peered over his shoulder, and froze.

“Yeah.” He said, the word heavy.

“Hey Cap, I have bad news for you.” He said over the radio, eyes never leaving the red skull-and-tentacle image on the screen. “Know how much you hate being right, but…”

 

The door Thor had pointed out led into a narrow hall, cleaner and less musty than the tunnels above, but still poorly lit. Steve hit the switch on the wall a few times to no avail, grunted in annoyance, then led the way in, Thor following close on his heels.

On the upside, there didn’t appear to be another lab, or any more people. On the downside, the hallway appeared to go on for quite a ways. Steve frowned, wondering if this was some sort of bolthole passageway -- if any of the scientists had scrambled as the Avengers had made their entry, sneaking out the back while their attention had been otherwise occupied.

The thought of any information on the scepter making its way out into the world unchecked wasn’t one Steve wanted to have plaguing his mind when all this was over.

The floor remained more or less level, however, rather than appearing to break away up toward the surface. A few doors to the sides led into empty, or mostly-empty storage rooms when Steve tried the handles. It was about 100 feet in that the corridor intersected with another, perpendicular tunnel, older in appearance. Remembering the trouble he and Natasha had encountered earlier, Steve lifted a fist as a silent signal to Thor to hold up, then carefully checked around the corner in both directions to make sure they weren’t about to run into any more enemies.

 

Nothing.

“All clear,” he breathed. “You take the left, I’ll take the right. Radio in if you see anything.”

Thor nodded and turned down the left-hand corridor without a word, and damn if it didn’t always surprise Steve how a guy that big could move that quietly. He took the right, and padded down the silent, mildewed tunnel, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the damp.

He would be happy to get up to the surface once they cleaned everything here up. Both to get away from the subterranean odor, and for the chance to get back in communications range with the rest of the world. His phone was on the jet, and maybe, now that everything was over and they had the scepter and the team was safe, he could call Loki on it and let him know. As angry as he’d been, he didn’t want to make him worry longer than needed. And maybe once this whole mission was in the past, they could move forward and patch things up.

Maybe... Maybe take a weekend off while Tony and Bruce went over everything they recovered from the raid, and go upstate. If Loki felt trapped in the tower, it could help to get him out of it for a while. Or maybe Natasha would know of a small, low-risk operation he and Loki could take on, so Loki could have a sense of proving himself in the field while the others continued to adjust to his presence. They’d schedule training rounds, iron out the kinks in the new dynamic... They’d make it work.

He’d make it up to him, Steve assured himself, padding further down the grimy hall.

A door to the left a little ways down yielded a narrow broom closet when he opened it. Another corner, and he headed up a few steps and found a door to the right. The handle was locked, but a swift blow from his shield forced it open, and Steve had to suppress a cough at the draft of dust-filled air that caught him in the face when he pulled it open. The room beyond was somewhat larger, full of old filing cabinets.

Odd. Judging from the tech in the lab, Steve would have figured that all the files would have been digital. Though given the dust on the cabinets as he ran his fingers over them, these were probably left over from the bunker’s previous inhabitants.

His suspicions were confirmed when, after wrenching open one of the drawers, he pulled out a yellowed folder stamped with HYDRA’s official seal.

The radio in his ear crackled and popped. Steve thought he heard Tony’s voice, but with this much earth and concrete around them, the signal was weak. He frowned, putting the file down and touching his ear. “Say again?”

Crackle and static. Steve’s frown deepened. “Tony?”

Nothing.

Steve sighed. Probably best to head back to the lab, or at least back into communications range, before anyone worried. Sliding the cabinet back shut, he turned --

“Nngh!”

Steve made a choked noise of surprise as a gloved hand covered his nose and mouth and a sharp, searing pain stabbed into the side of his throat. He slammed his shield outward, catching something with the edge, then whirled to face his attacker. But he misjudged the motion, somehow, staggering to the side, balance shifting precariously...

Another hot flare of pain, slightly lower, and Steve’s vision began to darken, the room spinning around him.

He opened his mouth to shout for Thor, Tony, anyone-- but his tongue wouldn’t obey. None of his muscles would; his shield slipped from numb fingers with a clatter and he crashed back into the wall behind him, legs giving out as he dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

Steve couldn’t move, couldn’t fight. Couldn’t do anything but watch through blurred vision as a shadowed figure knelt beside him and stuck a third needle through his skin.

And then the shadows were complete.

 

“So I guess you guys got some ‘splainin to do.” Tony said, swiveling (insomuch as the chair could; it was more of a slow, creaking grind) to face those lined up against the wall.

“You know what this symbol is for? Or did you just see it on a wall somewhere and think that it looked nifty?”

Kinda hard to believe, but hey benefit of the doubt; not everyone grew up with a dad who practically built shrines to Steve Rogers, the Howling Commandos, and the comics about their triumphs against the Red Skull and HYDRA.

“The question is, do _you_ know?” An angry sounding man returned, and Natasha turned her gun on him specifically at his tone, but it didn’t stop him. “If you cut off its head, two more shall grow to replace it. Hail Hydra!”

Around him, most of his people looked nervous. He started to take a step forward, and Natasha dropped him with a sharp tap on his skull from the butt of her gun.

“Guess that answers that.” She said grimly, nudging him back against the wall with her foot as he fell. “Steve’s not gonna be pleased. Speaking of-- Steve? We didn’t get confirmation, you headed back this way?”

They all waited, but no response came, and Tony met Bruce’s eyes, registering the concern there, then turned to Natasha, looking to her for orders.

“Thor?” She said next, and he answered promptly, voice coming through in everyone’s ear pieces.

“Aye?”

“Is Steve with you?” She asked. “Can you see him?”

“No, the Captain and I parted ways at the fork in the halls. Shall I go after him?” His voice came in tinny and a little pinched, and Tony raised his hand a bit.

“It might be that he’s not getting any signal thanks to some old Nazi tech. But just to be sure, why don’t Thor and I go together?”

Nat gave him a nod, but not one of her grateful ones. She was all business right now, and that, more than anything, put him on edge.

Because they all knew that what they had going for communication should be good for miles of range, whether that was in air, underground, or under water. Nazi tech wasn’t anything. Still, no reason to rouse the troops.

“You wanna head back to where you guys split up, and I’ll meet you?” He asked Thor, standing and letting the poor chair have a break.

“Alright.” Thor responded, and Tony lay a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“We should see if we can maybe get someone to open that bulkhead upstairs.” He said to the room at large. “I don’t wanna be stuck handing people out to the authorities one at a time through a hole in the ceiling, when they arrive.”

Bruce nodded, and he _did_ look grateful. Because Bruce was a good friend and not scary 60% of the time.

Also probably because it gave him something to do, and this couldn’t be easy on his nerves.

“We’ll be in touch.” Tony said, then went out the way the other two had, fully intending to ramble into everyone’s ears.

He ran into Thor standing at a T shaped intersection of hallways, looking wary, and Tony didn’t think he was much better off, truth be told. Fortunately he, unlike everyone else, got a mask to hide that.

“I have Thor.” He said into the radio. “After you.” He told the other man, gesturing like they were just going for a little walk. Thor gave him a hard side eye, but took the lead just the same.

They followed the hall, taking a couple of stairs, and discovered a tiny little closet-- and how much would Tony have paid to catch Steve making out with suddenly-there Loki in that closet, with Thor in tow?

But no such luck. They moved on and found a filing room, left open and empty, and almost continued on past it, when Thor put a hand up, physically stopping Tony from leaving.

“Stark.” He said. “Look.”

“What is it?” Natasha asked, her voice in his ear reminding him that there were people waiting, people not seeing this.

“It’s his shield. Not him. Just the shield.”

His voice was shaky, and he gestured at Thor.

“Better grab that, big guy. He’ll want it when we find him.”

But Tony’s brain was already going numb a little, because why would Steve just drop it?

“We’re ah, we’re going to go in deeper. See if we can’t get eyes on Cap.” He told the radio, and once Thor had the shield tucked onto his arm, they continued down the hall, forcing open door after door-- but no good. Supplies, here and there, mostly old, like this was the storage branch. Some guy’s spank bank of dirty mags the only recent addition.

And finally, at the end of the hall, a set of stairs that led up to a door that was open, and waving a bit in the wind.

“We’ve got a back exit.” He said slowly, “And still no sign of Cap, or anyone else. Thor, go join the others; I’m going outside this way, and I’ll do a fly-over, see if I can see anything.”

But other than him spotting the good folks coming to meet them with a collection van for the bad guys, there was nothing to see, no sign of anyone.

 

 

No sign of Steve.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that cliffhanger, we'll be taking a brief hiatus as we figure out how we're going to be dealing with the formatting of upcoming chapters, and rebuild a bit of our buffer. Little Talks should be back within a few weeks; you can track our #Little Talks Fic tag on tumblr, or subscribe here if you aren't already to find out as soon as we're back. We're sorry for the delay, and Lena has posted some [fluffy art to tumblr](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/post/127190562134/pants-are-overrated) to help serve as a balm for this chapter's end. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, we've reached the one year anniversary since we first started writing Little Talks; at the time, there was no plan, no plot -- just a tumblr post asking if anyone felt like RPing, and a setup of "Loki tries to get the scepter from SHIELD and Cap stops him." One year, a few dozen google docs, and nine-hundred-thousand plus words later, we're still going strong and loving every minute. So thank you all for your support and readership of our joint pet project. We look forward to there being a whole lot more!


	59. Fifty-Nine

Though the floor numbers on the elevator climbed, Thor felt as though he were watching them count down, each numeral and floor bringing him closer to the task he dreaded.

“You sure you don’t want me to handle it?” Stark asked quietly from beside him. He’d changed out of his armor in the jet, and had his hands in the pockets of his civilian attire, though he continued to fidget. “I mean, it might, ah... That is to say...”

It might be better coming from a friend, Thor knew he meant. Though he hesitated to speak it aloud, since such a thing would imply (accurately) that Loki no longer considered Thor a friend.

No longer considered him anything.

“I thank you for the offer,” he replied quietly, “but it was I that had Captain Rogers’ flank and allowed him to go on alone. It is I who should bear responsibility in... in informing his loved ones.”

In informing Loki.

“Okay,” Stark answered quietly, running a hand over his stubble-covered jaw. “Okay. But, uh. If you need backup, or, you know. If you need to talk after, I’ve got, like, ten bottles of booze stashed around the lab.”

Thor sighed. “You may well need ten more,” he rumbled.

They’d stayed in France well into the night searching for Rogers. Stark and Thor had both taken to the skies to search for any sign of those who may have taken the Captain, and Romanoff put her considerable skills to work in an attempt to coax HYDRA’s people into giving them something useful. But as the morning dawned gray on the horizon, there remained no trace of the Captain, and they were forced to hand over the containment of the bunker and its occupants to the authorities and return to New York.

No trace, that was, but Steve’s shield. Thor looked down at it in his hands with a heavy heart, and closed his eyes as the elevator came to a halt, feeling like a condemned man headed to the executioner’s block.

“Good luck,” Tony murmured, as Thor finally steeled himself and stepped out, crossing the distance to the chambers that his brother and Steve Rogers shared and hesitating with his fist hovering over the door...

 

It had been odd, sleeping in one of the guest rooms, but he hadn’t been in any fit state, by the end of their argument, to go any further than that. He’d managed not to be sick, but it had seemed a near thing at the time, with the way his head had been throbbing and his ears ringing in the sudden silence of that part of the tower.

He’d ended up curling on top of the bed covers, arms wrapped around himself, and too absorbed in his misery and discomfort to do more than summon forth a potion for his pain. It wasn't enough, but it was all of the comfort he could give to himself.

The next day he’d returned to their rooms when he was finished testing-- and approving-- the carrier for the sceptre, and had stayed there in the hope that he would be able to have some time alone with Steve before he left, but either he’d been angry still, or he had run low on time, or it had just not occurred to him to seek Loki out.

They’d left, and Loki hadn’t had a chance to apologize.

He was still angry, still embarrassed-- humiliated, even, and… still convinced that he wasn’t entirely wrong. But he knew he had things he needed to say, regrets he had to express; he’d been cruel. And he could only hope that Steve would-- _could_ \-- accept his apologies.

Though that vitriol had built in him over the years, unleashing it was still relatively new. He didn’t think he’d ever done so to Steve before, nor would he ever have meant to. But he hadn’t been in the best of places-- he knew that. He shouldn’t have-- they should not have had that discussion then. Not when he was already so ill at ease and fragile feeling. Not when even now his head had a slight ache to it, and then it had been-- but that was no excuse. And he should not have approached the situation that way. And now Steve was gone, off to take care of a problem he’d created.

It had not been a short or easy day for him. He’d spent it in their rooms, and though he did put some time into working on the journal he’d begun for SHIELD, about plants, medicinal uses of them, and descriptions so that they might find similar strains native to Midgard if such things existed…

Even though he knew that working as he was now, to try and help people, more people, good people, innocent people like Ferra, whose suffering came not from choices and decisions, as his did, but because of their own bodies…

He still felt useless. Pointless. Like Steve’s words about how he was strong and intelligent-- as though he had proven them all wrong in a single day. And every fear he had about losing him had come to a head while he tried to concentrate on the uses of berries in medicines.

Steve was out there now, with his team, seeing how each and every one of them was better than Loki, in some way. And he would come back and realize that the loathing he’d felt the night before was a new constant, that Loki was everything he had always tried to pretend that he wasn’t. That tying himself to Loki had been a mistake.

They hadn’t been apart like this since SHIELD had sent him to New York on a train, and Loki was in holding. Not since just after he’d healed Ferra.

And even then, Loki had had a means of communicating with Steve. They’d spoken through the pager. He’d laughed to himself about the lunchbox that Murray had found. They had… they’d _flirted_.

Now, though, he didn’t even have that. And he daren’t call the Starkphone, lest he interrupt something, or give Steve away. Lest he cause him to be injured or distracted, and get him hurt.

He didn’t even know how long they would be gone.

Dinner time had come around, and here he was, the idiot who could turn the stove on, but who did not know how to prepare any food upon it. The fool who could pay for pizza, but did not know how to make it come.

Miserably, he had just ignored his hunger, hating that he would, at some point, have to bother Pepper about it. Would have to beg her for food, after she had worked all day, all the while pretending he did not know that things were falling out from under him. That he could well be losing Steve to his senses. He’d gone back to bed for a time, and hours had passed before his stomach woke him.

He put it off for as long as he could, but finally couldn’t any longer. It was no longer as completely early as it had been when he’d woken, but it was still early, still-morning cold, the time before the sun had quite finished banishing the night’s settled temperatures.

With a sigh, he opened the door to his apartment-- only to see Thor there, fist raised to strike.

“What-- you’ve returned I see. Did Steve--? Did Steve send you?” His first thought was that Steve meant to send him away-- or summon him, but he played at nonchalance. The way he felt his stomach plummet, he didn’t think it could go any further. Until he saw that Thor bore Steve’s shield.

“Thor? What is--” He broke off, eyes flicking upwards to Thor’s face, going silent in the hopes that Thor had something to say that was less horrible than Loki might fear.

 

Thor startled as the door swung open unprompted, revealing Loki -- who seemed as surprised to find Thor standing there as Thor had been by the door opening.

And of course, Loki’s first question was of Steve. Before, perhaps, that might have sparked in him a trace of envy; where Thor had once been Loki’s bosom companion, Steve alone now occupied Loki’s thoughts and heart. But instead of jealousy, all he could feel was guilt and an aching sadness for his brother.

Thor’s mouth went dry.

“I...” he trailed off, swallowed, and tried again.

He meant to tell Loki that they had every means of search already underway. That Fury and Lady Hill had been informed, and Romanoff had stayed in Europe to contact every one of her considerable networks. That they were doing all they could, and it was simply a matter of time.

He meant to say all that, but the words that fell from his lips were far briefer:

“Loki, I am so sorry.”

 

His eyes went wide, then he clenched them shut. He was dizzy, his head was spinning, and it felt as if he were falling again, the ground beneath his feet there, but dissolved into nothingness.

“No.” He said it softly. “No, that isn’t, Thor that is _not an answer_ . What-- Where is _Steve_?” He sounded angry and he took half a step forward, dragging the shield out of Thor’s hands and using it to gesture with.

“Where is my partner? What have you done with him?”

He didn’t care if it was fair or not. Thor couldn’t just walk in and say _sorry_ and expect that to be enough. Not if this was--

 

Thor let his grip on the shield loosen, allowing Loki to pull it away with little resistance. If it was the only part of Steve he could give him...

“We do not know,” he answered, looking down. “We had taken the enemy’s bunker. Secured the scepter and subdued our enemies. The day was... the day was won.”

He shook his head. Victory had been theirs, with only minimal blood shed. Right now they ought to be upstairs carousing, drinking to their successful campaign and regaling Loki, Pepper, and Jane with tales of valor. There ought to be celebration. But instead--

“Lady Natasha and Barton were keeping an eye on the prisoners whilst Stark and Banner examined the products of their research. Capt-- Steve and I went to check a tunnel. To make sure there were no other stragglers,” he explained, voice rough. “We... he recommended we split up to cover more ground. Then he stopped answering his device. Stark and I went to search for him and all we found...”

He nodded to the shield in Loki’s hands, then forced himself to look up and meet Loki’s eyes.

“We believe he was taken by an old enemy.”

 

Loki felt his mouth shake, his mouth quivering slightly until he firmed it, eyes tearing up while his face was pulled into a horrific grin, a parody of pleasure.

“And so the day is still won for you, isn’t it? You just packed up and came back, left him to this-- this old enemy-- to his fate. You were there-- _how dare you return here without him, how dare you--_ ”

His words fell away and he had to fight the panic he felt, the horror-- Steve was out there. And his _team_ , whom Steve would abandon Loki for, had abandoned him, in turn. Like Loki had said, like he’d told him not so long ago.

And Loki could not help the tiny part of him that asked if that would have been true if _Loki_ had not been the one waiting here for him.

Drawing himself up, he locked his emotions away.

The Avengers did not want him as one of their number, and Steve may not want him  at all after all of this, but he would not _abandon_ the man he loved, and he would not allow them to simply _give up_ , to return with his shield as if it were a body, as if Steve were--

He could not even think it.

“You are in my way.” He told Thor coldly, trying already to sort out the plans he needed to make, the things he needed to do. “JARVIS, Where is Stark? I need to speak with him immediately.”

 

“Stark said he would be in his lab,” Thor supplied, before the machine could answer. “He intends to scan any and all communications he can access for any word of Steve’s whereabouts. And Romanoff has remained behind overseas to seek out those who may have knowledge relevant to those who have taken him. Barton I last saw as he was liaising with SHIELD,” he all but babbled by way of explanation as he could see Loki closing off.

He’d see Loki harden himself like that so many times before, in recent years he’d almost come to believe that he truly felt nothing. Almost let himself forget that Loki grinned viciously when he needed to conceal his hurt.

And it could hardly be concealed now. Thor knew better, and could see beyond the brittle mask.

He reached out and put a hand on Loki’s shoulder.

“The day will be won when Rogers once more crosses this threshold, safe and well,” he told him. “Not a moment sooner. We are doing all we can, Loki, to find him. But many hours have passed and he might well be anywhere in the world by now, so we returned to where Stark had greater resources at hand. And...” he paused, then gave Loki’s shoulder a squeeze before withdrawing his hand. “And you deserved to know of what happened. Face to face.”

 

“To _know_!” He spat, flinching backwards and half raising the shield, bringing it between himself and Thor, to discourage him from touching him any more than he had.

“To know, but to what end? Am I to be asked to do nothing, to wait while you and _your team_ locate him? Go after him, again without me? If he had just allowed me to go with him, if he would not have _abandoned me for you_ …” His snarling was making very little sense now, and it was damp besides, tears leaking from his eyes and down his face. He was beginning to shake, his fury and his loss fighting for dominance within him. And he could not afford to allow either to win, not now.

“I will not be rendered helpless by you or anyone else. You will let me go to Stark, and I will have use of his plane, and it will take me to where you lost him, where you lost Steve, and I will go after him, and I will not come back until--” He choked.

“How long?” He asked, aware that the flight must have taken time, their fruitless searching more. Many hours, Thor had said.

“How long has it been since you spoke with him last?”

Loki was not a great tracker. Hogun had been the best of their group for that, before. But he would learn. He would search all of Midgard if need be, he would--

He stopped again, another thought coming, and one that terrified him beyond belief. He’d not thought this could get any worse, and yet…

“The sceptre. Do they yet have it? Do those who have Steve also have the sceptre? Or did you manage to retain what you had won?”

If they had gotten it back, if they held both… Steve could well be dead now, or worse, in the hands of Thanos. But if not…

If not there was nothing Loki could do with the weapon, for fear of Thanos incapacitating him before he could help Steve, before he could find him.

“You wished to tell me face to face, Thor. Well, here you are. Speak up. Tell me all that you know, and then be gone with you. I’ve plans to make, and places I need to go.” He made his words as hard and cold as he could. Hard and cold as the planet he was taken from at birth.

 

“He went missing around sundown. I am... unfamiliar with the ‘time zones’ of Midgard, though Banner did his best to explain them to me, but I believe that in the place he went missing, it is now midday.” It was exceedingly odd to him, that it might be dawn in one part of Midgard, noon in another, and dusk in still another, rather than either night or day as it was on Asgard, though Banner had assured him in the flight over that it was due to Midgard’s spherical shape. All he had to know for practical purposes, though, was that it was roughly six hours’ difference between New York and the bunker.

“There were no signs of a struggle. No blood, or indication he’d been wounded.” No sign Steve had put up a fight either, which was odd. Steve was a mighty warrior. He would have had to have been ambushed dishonorably to have been taken down by a lesser foe. But still -- if he had merely been rendered unconscious, that was preferable to being gravely injured. That had to be reason to hope.

“And we have the scepter,” he added. “Dr. Banner went to deliver it to Stark’s vault as soon as we arrived, and by now it is secure.” Though it was the whole purpose of their venture, it now seemed like a paltry condolence in light of what they managed to lose.  And mention of the scepter brought to mind the violent death he’d witness of the soldier who’d picked it up. “You should know, though, in the bunker. There was a man who sought to take up arms against us with the scepter. He...”

Thor frowned. Of course, he’d seen far worse happen on the battlefield, encountering all manner of vicious weaponry and vile curses. But the man’s bloody death still left him unsettled; not because of the gore, but because of how many times Loki had held that same scepter. How many of his friends had handled it or stood near it during the invasion. If all that time, such a fate had been inches away from any of them -- the thought made him want to shudder.

“It is a dark and wretched thing,” he finished, looking away. _And I hope you do not mean to handle it, now or ever again_ , he kept himself from saying.

“Please, Loki, I understand you are upset. You have much reason to be, and we are all sick at heart with worry for Steve. I know I am hardly one to chide anyone for their recklessness, but I beg of you, for his sake, not to do anything rash,” he implored. “I know it was never his intention to abandon you. Only to keep you safe,” he added, remembering his discussion with Steve at SHIELD, and the subsequent guilt he’d felt on the plane, suspecting he’d contributed to Steve’s decision to leave Loki behind. He couldn’t help wonder now, if it had been Loki to enter that tunnel with Steve, would he have cleaved to Steve’s side, unwilling to let him go off on his own? Would Steve be safe at home now?

Or would it be Loki who was missing instead?

 

He turned his face from Thor.

“That dark and wretched thing once nearly killed Steve… I know its prowess.” He said it gently, because he could imagine all too well what the Avengers must have seen. What Steve must have seen, before he-- but no, he couldn’t allow grief to take him. He squared his shoulders and pushed his anger again to the forefront of his emotions.

“And I am glad at least that you managed to keep it. This way I know it is not Steve being forced to wield it.” He snapped. “It is more than I would have hoped, given how well you have destroyed everything else. Did I not say that the greatest threat to the home I had made myself was you?”

He knew he was being cruel again, but he was shattered. And that it was Thor to bring this news-- they had not come together, as they had to congratulate him for his health, nor even sent someone he liked, someone who--

 _They sent the only person who cares for you now._ He reminded himself. Not everyone was in the tower, but even if they were-- Banner passed judgment that caused him to be left here alone. Romanoff feared him and his magic, after his mistake, after his shameful display of weakness. Barton and Stark each held no great love of him… and Steve was gone. All he had left was Thor. He set his jaw.

He could only hope that Stark would not deny him the tools needed to find Steve. And, he realized, he may be better off speaking to him. He would have better information, a better understanding of the world. He was annoyed that the Widow was not there, for he trusted her to know as much, if not more, of where they ought to begin searching. Perhaps he could join her.

He would find those responsible for Steve’s absence, and he would make them pay, and he would bring Steve back and…

\--and he felt his face go ashen as the blood fled from it.

The last things he had said to him… the last words Steve had heard from him, had been so hateful. So selfish and spiteful and untrue.

How he wished he could turn the time back, sneak aboard invisibly, follow them to their mission. Stop this from having happened. He would lie to Steve a thousand times sooner than allow this-- but he could not.

And if the only person to wish to speak to Loki now was to be Thor…

“Find him, Thor. Speak to Heimdall, if you must, I do not care if he sees me, if I must return to the prisons of Asgard or worse, only find him.”

He brought his free hand down to rest on the shield, tracing over the star in the center with his fingertips.

“I would go to speak with the man of iron now. You should go tend to your mortals, and be glad that _they_ , at least are--” He stopped himself, unwilling to cross that line, to become so spiteful as that. Steve wouldn’t approve.

 

Thor looked down at his feet at Loki’s accusations, unable to bring himself to refute them or protest. He was right, after all. If they hadn’t split up -- if Thor had remained at Steve’s flank --

The what ifs would haunt him until Steve was found, he knew. One way or another.

“I will do everything I can,” he answered quietly. “We all will. And we _will_ find him, Loki.” He wanted to reach out again, to clasp the back of his little brother’s neck as he had so oft before, but withdrew his hand before it ventured far from his side, suspecting the gesture would not be welcomed.

“I will get out of your way,” he mumbled, stepping aside to clear the doorway. “But, if there is anything you need, br-- Loki.” He looked up hopefully. “You know how to summon me.”

 

Loki stared down his nose at Thor for a very long moment, then sighed.

“If you can find him, if you can bring him back to me, _brother_ , you will not find me ungrateful. But go now, see to your mortals.”

He could not afford to push Thor away, particularly if his requests were met with resistance. He would need Thor to act for him, to gain access to things, such as information and transport… And it helped, he knew, to sweeten the bargain with what Thor wanted more than anything. Which, at the moment, seemed to be Loki’s approval, his closeness… his care.

For Steve, in exchange for him, Loki could try.

He retreated, unwilling to make any more gestures of kinship or parting, and lay the shield on their bed, on the side Steve usually slept on.

How he wished that he would go upstairs and find him sitting in his spot on the couch, the entire thing a joke, a trick, one of Odin’s kind of lessons, to teach him humility and appreciation.

But he already knew that would not be the case. No matter what he had said, he knew Steve better than that. Knew that he would never--

He returned to his door and pulled it closed behind him, then punched the button on the elevator and climbed in, headed for Stark’s lab, and the hope of aid from those who cared, if not for Loki, at least for his partner.

He let his hand drift upwards, and clasped the tags around his neck, quietly hoping that wherever Steve was, he was safe, well… and that he knew that despite their parting, Loki was coming. Would not stop looking for him. Not ever.

 

\---

 

Tony swore as he spilled hot coffee over his hand, quickly putting down the pot and wiping his scalded fingers off on his shirt.

“Dammit,” he hissed, nursing the reddened skin and realizing his hands were still shaking.

Gods and supersoldiers might not need sleep, but Tony was neither. In spite of Pepper’s best efforts, he’d only grabbed a few hours of shuteye the night before the mission before getting up and slipping out of bed to finish up work on the scepter containment unit. Now, more than twenty-four hours later, he was regretting that choice. He’d been too stoked to sleep on the plane over, and too stressed to sleep on the flight back. His body and brain were both running on fumes, and in any other situation, he’d be passed out on his couch by now.

But Steve was AWOL, probably nabbed by some HYDRA whackjobs, and how the hell could Tony sleep when Captain goddamn America needed his help?

So instead, he was burning himself with coffee as he tried to caffeinate enough to stay awake and keep looking, keep working on the algorithm that would transcribe and comb through radio transmissions on a multitude of frequencies for any key words that might pertain to Cap or HYDRA...

He heard the door to the lab hiss open, and figured it was either Bruce, similarly unable to bed down, or Thor, coming back from delivering the news. “I’m about to put a fresh pot on if you need--”

He turned and stopped short.

 

“Your coffee is disgusting. That isn’t why I’ve come.” He spoke shortly, treading lightly around the subject.

“Congratulations on the success of your containment cells, by the way, they seem to have done their work very nicely, as none of you wound up enslaved to the whims of Thanos, or whatever it is your mortal bodies do when met with power you cannot hope to hold.”

He stalked deeper into the room, recalling the first time he’d come face to face with Tony in this building.

There were no windows here for him to fear being thrown from, but it was at least partially his fault that Loki had not been allowed to come along, that Steve was gone now. He stalked him like prey in his own home and got a sharp thrill from the power he felt, doing so. Playing the man this way.

“Thor has just told me about Steve. The plane that we took to return to DC, would it be possible for me to borrow it? As you can imagine, I’ve… reasons to be interested in going to France.” He did manage to at least sound pleasant, keeping his stress, his fear and the concern that he was here only to be denied as far buried as possible.

“I would need a pilot also, to get me there, and any information you might have, I would appreciate as well. Thor is an idiot and does not know aught of Midgard or the men who now hold Steve. What do they want, from whence do they herald, and how may I destroy them? Even if you cannot move on them, I am not bound by your laws, and I would have my partner returned to me.”

His uncertainties were being funneled into a sort of lazy anger, the sort that boiled under the skin but was restrained, for angry as he may be at Tony for his part, he was not the one who offered Steve harm now. He was unimportant, save that he may be useful.

And to that end, Loki looked at the bright red blooming to the surface of Stark’s fingers.

“Give me your hand.” He asked, imperious, and lay his own out to take it.

 

Tony let Loki take his hand, brain still scrambling too desperately to catch up to come up with a reason not to.

“You’re welcome to go to France, buddy -- weather’s a bit nippy this time of year but the wine’s still great -- but I’m not sure what you expect to find,” he said, a bit numbly. “Everything in the bunker’s been cleared out. I’m having a lot of it shipped here, but the only thing you’d see there is an empty set of tunnels, a trashed lab, and a rather picturesque field in the provincial countryside. Trust me, we combed over the place. There’s no sign. Thor and I both spent a couple hours doing fly-overs of the whole area, Barton and Natasha interrogated everyone there, and I even got JARVIS to scan security footage for facial matches from pretty much every camera in the province.”

He’d been busy in the eighteen hours since Steve disappeared. Not particularly successful, but busy all the same. With his unburned hand, he rubbed at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He figured he might have to deal with Thor doing his best impression of a kicked puppy, but when Thor had signed up for Telling Loki duty, Tony had assumed he’d be off the hook for talking down a pissed off god.

A pissed off god who’d apparently bypassed rage and hysteria into a rather disconcerting calm practicality.

Dammit.

“Look, Lokes,” Tony said, looking the guy in the eye. “If there was anything left to go on there, anything at all, we’d be there right now. We exhausted every lead on site. That’s why we’re back here. And trust me, the second I find anything, you’ll know. We all want Steve back, and we’re gonna get him back, okay? All of us. But it’s gonna take some digging, because the guys who we think took Cap? Haven’t supposedly existed since the forties.”

 

He scowled, but turned his attention first to pulling the sting from Tony’s hand. He summoned a gel forth from his pocket, removed the cork and left both pieces to hover where they sat, while he smoothed his fingers over the skin, leaving the salve behind. It was not based in seidhr, merely a water heavy plant turned to pulp which helped with burns. Drew the heat out.

“You’ll forgive me for saying, but ‘as soon as you know’ has been after the hours of your fly overs and the hours of your trip home, for me. How is it possible that they could leave no sign and get out from under your very noses? Your people cannot travel like I can, and Steve is not by any means a light burden for someone with average strength. But more, how is it that you can not know of these people? The records that you have, that SHIELD has… how is it possible that they have avoided it? And is there so much unclaimed land here that such an enemy as can have a base like that might continue to be unnoticed? Surely the people nearby would have seen activity.”

He might not be Steve, but he did know some things of tactics and commanding men.

“You took some of them alive. Let me go to where the Widow is, let me aid her in their torture. I will strip the secrets from their very bones if I must, but some of them must know who has him and where they are taking him.” He felt like he was becoming desperate, but he needed to be able to do something, and, if things were as Stark made them seem, he was fast losing ground.

 

“No torture!” Tony snapped. “I don’t care if they deserve it, we’re better than that. Absolutely no torture, got it?”

Maybe _he_ had deserved it (and according to some he definitely had) and maybe he hadn’t, when they’d been waterboarding him in that cave in Afghanistan, but he remembered it all too viscerally and wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Not even (probably) HYDRA. The fact that Steve was gone less than a day and Loki was already sliding into suggesting they get out the thumbscrews was--

Ok, no. That wasn’t fair, he told himself, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eye sockets. If it had been Pepper who’d been taken, Tony would already be dangling some schmuck off the balcony by his ankles and threatening to cut important bits off until he started talking. Loki wasn’t regressing into his wicked ways here. He was just scared, and desperate. And Tony got that, he really did. But with Steve missing in action, it looked like it was falling to him to be the voice of morality and reason.

And hell if that wasn’t a terrifying thought.

Almost as terrifying as telling a desperate, panicked Norse God “no.”

“Look, even if you did have access to them, these guys? If they’re anything like the old HYDRA, they’re all zealots. Fanatics. Bugfuck crazy, all of them -- in the ‘take our secrets to the grave’ kinda way. You won’t get shit out of them, and that’s if they even know anything.” If Natasha couldn’t get it out of them, well, Tony wasn’t putting his money on anyone else.

“As for how we didn’t know about them-- HYDRA was disintegrating people with Tesseract-based weapons back when the Allies were still trying to keep their automatic weapons from overheating and melting their own barrels,” he explained. “They were kinda ahead of the curve, even in the 1940’s. Granted, we had Cap, so that gave us an edge, and he took out their head honcho right before he went for a dip in the arctic. Apparently the old SSR got pretty intense about rooting out the rest, and as far as anyone knew, by the 50’s, HYDRA was old news.”

He shook his head. “Obviously, someone missed something along the way. But I’m guessing, the guys who were smart? Who could cover their tracks and get away with not being noticed? They’re the ones who survived. And from the looks of it, they spent the last seventy damn years getting even better at covering their tracks and operating under the radar. The fact that we found one of their old bases still in use at all and got the scepter back from them after that many decades of total invisibility is nothing short of a... miracle....”

He trailed off, then dropped into his chair rather abruptly. “Son of a bitch. It was too easy...”

 

Loki thinned his lips, pressing them together.

He hadn’t remembered Stark’s aversion to torture-- well, more than usual aversion. His reaction to Loki speaking of his rough treatment at Thanos’s hands had been… illuminating. He should have thought; should have known better, and cursed his mind for being weak. For being distracted. But he would not promise not to employ torture. He would do anything he needed. He’d merely assumed that the Widow was already using that particular tool. His mistake.

But Stark’s words trailing off made his mind grasp for other things.

“Was it? Do you suppose it was intentional? That they intended to bait us-- _you_ with the sceptre and use it to lure out Steve for the taking?” It seemed too fraught with problems to be true. “How did they know you would even find them? Had I not worked with yourself and Banner, we would never have known of that facility, nor any of the other locations. Was it too easy, or did they underestimate your technology, because it hadn’t been paired with my seidhr before?”

He shook his head.

“And even if they did intend this-- how would they guarantee I would not come along? They cannot possibly know the scope of my abilities, and even had you gone in with backup from SHIELD, there would be too many variables… it makes no sense. Especially given that they lost the sceptre to you. I would think they would want to keep both. Would make plans intending to do as much.” He squinted, though.

“But you say that they have had tesseract based weapons for a long while?” His mind was running with that, wondering what that could mean for Steve-- what they could be doing to him.

How they were no doubt threatening him even now…

“What could they want of Steve? Or do you suppose they intend to leverage someone with him? You, or SHIELD, or your government…?”

 

Tony groaned, leaning back in the chair. “I don’t know, maybe?” It seemed clear for a moment, before Loki brought up all the reasons it might not be.

“I mean, the timing is weird, right? That we only got a blip right after you and Steve were at SHIELD and... well, SHIELD pulled a SHIELD,” he pointed out. “Steve and Natasha said at the meeting that they have a mole, right? What if it’s connected? They had to know if the Avengers and Fury were working together again, we’d have to know that you weren’t the one with the scepter.” And that they’d pool resources to find the damn thing, sooner rather than later. Would HYDRA decide at that point the scepter was too hot of a commodity to hold on to? Was letting them clear out a cell and take the thing their way of unloading it?

But that didn’t really make sense, given the power the thing had. Granted, that power was kinda useless if it melted the brains of anyone who held it, though that couldn’t happen every time, right? Loki had been able to use it before, and they’d smuggled it out of SHIELD somehow. But if it was bait for a trap, they must’ve thought Steve was a worthwhile trade.

“We don’t know how bad that security breach is. How much they knew about what we were doing. But if they suspected we’d found them and were waiting for a chance to nab Steve, that would explain how they pulled it off so smoothly. I mean, if it wasn’t a set-up, why use an old HYDRA bunker?” he asked. “They could have set up shop anywhere in the world, and they picked a spot from the war guaranteed to light up on Cap’s radar?”

Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe they’d caught HYDRA with their pants down, and grabbing Steve had been a desperate act on their part.

But if they were so desperate, why hadn’t they been sloppy enough to catch?

“They could want him as leverage,” he acknowledged, switching to Loki’s other question while the back of his mind kept working on the trap/not-a-trap issue. “Captain America is a national symbol. Abducting him is basically on par with stealing the Declaration of Independence, minus the Nic Cage shenanigans. So, as far as dealing a blow to the American psyche, he’s an apt target. And beyond that...”

He frowned, deeply. “Steve’s basically the most successful science experiment of the 20th century. A lot of people have gone to a lot of lengths to recreate the serum that made him special.”

 

Loki thought of Banner and nodded solemnly.

“All of this is just conjecture at this point. The important thing is that we find and retrieve him before they accomplish whatever it is that they intended to do with him, or any plan they may develop.” The frustration in his voice was unmasked now.

“Whatever I can do, I suppose I must ask that you tell me. I’ve… I have nothing that I can offer, that I know of, at this point.”

He found himself reaching up again, rubbing his fingertips over the chains at his neck as he thought.

“It does seem likely that what SHIELD did to Steve and I is connected in some way to the sceptre. I wonder if it, too, responded to the sudden cessation of its connection to me. After all, I felt it, before, when Steve used it, for lack of better words, but I did not feel when whatever you did happened; I do not feel it now, though it should feel-- cut off? Nullified, perhaps even dead. Perhaps the cancellation device at SHIELD severed my tie to it. And perhaps those fools noticed. It may explain its activity thereafter. They were poking at it, as you would do.”

As they were no doubt ‘poking at’ Steve now.

He forced his hand down, before he allowed it to tighten into a fist. His thoughts, he knew, were likely to cause him unrest until he could see this done with, until Steve was safe, and he was certain he would remain that way.

And Steve, wherever he was, was alone, no doubt scared, and the thoughts he had to keep him company were the things Loki had accused him of before he had left. The sharp barbs that he had flung at him, unthinking. Uncaring.

The bones in his hand creaked and he made himself relax it.

“If… if there is nothing I can do, truly, I will leave you to your coffee and your burns, and your computations. I do not want to be in the way at all.”

Particularly because even the distraction he had served thus far may be postponing their finding Steve moment by moment.

He felt at once utterly lost, at a loss, filled with fear and grief and guilt, and so much of that was so selfish, so based in his own concerns about himself, his safety, his position and future, without Steve there… and he felt horrific for it. But the thoughts of Steve were even worse, and made him feel more hopeless still.

“I’ll be-- in our apartment.” The words came out strained and on a croak and he turned his back to Tony, embarrassed by his own display, his own inability to hold it together even long enough to have a _simple conversation_ \--

But when he turned, there were Pepper and Thor’s human, and his stomach plummeted, realizing that Stark had not been the only witness to his weakness.

 

As much as Tony didn’t want to see Loki going off half-cocked after Steve or committing atrocities against humanity, he couldn’t help feel like he’d done something wrong when Loki’s shoulders sank at the realization he had nothing he could do.

“Like I said, as soon as I know something, or if anything comes up you can help with, I’ll let you know. Cross my heart,” he promised, because he owed the guy that much. “And thanks for fixing my hand, by the way. You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it, I do,” he babbled, wishing he could somehow throw enough words at Loki to make it better, to talk him into looking less crushed. Though he suspected nothing short of Steve rematerializing in front of them would accomplish that.

He was still grasping for something to add, something to say (though his brain fizzled and came up agonizingly empty for once), when the door hissed open again, and in strode Pepper.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she quickly crossed the lab, though she was dressed in jeans and a simple cardigan in lieu of her usual sharp business attire. Still, she looked infinitely more put together than Thor’s girlfriend, Foster, where she lingered in the doorway, dressed in an oversized Culver University hoodie and what may have been pajama pants.

“Thor just told us about what happened,” Pepper stated, the color high in her cheeks and her eyes bright. “Are you okay?”

“We’re all in one piece,” Tony replied, “We’re all looking--”

Before he could say anything more, though, Pepper had her arms around Loki, pulling him into a fierce hug.

“We’ll find him,” she said, voice low but firm. “I swear.”

 

Loki stiffened in her embrace, his eyes resting on the other woman, the one in the doorway.

But at her words, he could not keep his face from falling, and so he turned his head into her hair to hide the tears that fought their way up into his eyes.

She was kind. They were all being kind, and they had no reason to, now, now that…

And he _knew_ , knew that they did not want him, or at least that the Avengers did not. But Pepper-- Pepper had never been anything but kind, had never shown him any hint that she was anything other than glad, to have him there, to help him…

“We _have to_.” he told her, trying to be quiet, but missing the mark for a whisper, the words coming out on a keening moan. Behind her shoulder, he brought his fist up to his mouth in an attempt to silence himself.

He needed to pull it together, quash this reaction and bury it and be useful however he could, to whoever he could be, or he would… he didn’t know what he would do. Likely fall into a puddle of despair and self loathing and prove useless _and_ a burden to all of those who were trying their best, those actually capable of _doing something_.

He wanted to stay here, to hold her and let her hold him, to absorb the comfort of the moment, but he could feel Stark’s eyes on his back, and knew that he could lift his head to see Thor’s woman watching-- he wondered if she would have something to say to him for the way he was trying to manipulate Thor, the way he had offered his brotherhood in trade for his partner, in return for Thor all but turning him in to the Asgardian throne. To Odin.

He wondered how fast the idiot was to spill his problems to this mortal, this…

Gently he pulled away, pushing his face back into the mask he needed to wear right now, though he did take Pepper’s hand and let it rest in his own, with a squeeze of gratitude.

“I was about to leave.” He explained, attempting to excuse himself.

“I--” He stopped, aware again of the woman watching, and how she would no doubt report what she had seen to Thor.

He straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, ignoring the small tears he could feel at the edges of his eyes.

“I made some headway on my medical writings, while the Avengers were gone. I will bring them to you in… sometime soon.” He corrected himself, unsure when next he would be ready to venture forth from his apartment-- their apartment-- though he knew it to be empty and cold, without Steve there.

Still, at least he would be surrounded by Steve's things,by signs of him.

He hesitated, though, a tiny edge of fear tracing down his spine that worried that he should earn his keep, especially now that Steve were not here.

“If you wish to send someone down for the papers, I would be happy to hand them off sooner.” He hurried to add, in case she wanted that, in case she needed proof that he could still be of use to them. In case any of them did, Stark or Thor’s woman…

He let go of her hand and brushed at his eyes, unable to take the weight of the liquid there any longer.

“Sorry.” He muttered, still discomforted by the entire situation, still uneasy with the audience he held, when he was in no state to be seen, let alone heard.

 

Pepper reached up and put a hand on Loki’s cheek. “In your own time,” she assured him. “If you want me to send someone, I absolutely can, but I imagine you have a lot of other things to focus on right now.”

She frowned, brows knitting together delicately and the lines around her mouth deepening. “It goes without saying that all of the resources of Stark Industries are at your disposal,” she said, glancing sidelong at Tony before returning her attention to Loki, lifting her other hand so she was cupping his face in her grasp on either side. “And if there’s anything you need, you know where to find me. Okay?”

Standing on her toes, she tilted Loki’s head down to press a kiss to his forehead.

In nearly any other situation, Tony would have been burning up with jealousy to see Pepper putting her lips on another man. But it was such a motherly kind of kiss, and the guy looked like he needed some kind of comfort so badly, Tony couldn’t bring himself to begrudge him.

Hell, if he thought Loki would tolerate it, he’d hug the sumbitch himself.

“I want to help.”

Tony blinked, and they all turned and looked to where Foster stood, now a few paces into the room, twisting her hands together. He’d almost forgotten she was even there, until she’d spoken up.

“Well, for right now, we’re focusing our search on Earth,” he remarked dryly. “But if we wind up exhausting all terrestrial possibilities and need to start looking for Cap in space, we’ll give you a call.”

Foster scowled at him, then stepped closer with her chin jutting forward stubbornly. “Just because my specialty is astrophysics doesn’t mean I don’t have other applicable skills,” she said, voice firmer. “And just because I’m not a supergenius with billions of dollars and my face and name plastered all over everything doesn’t mean I’m not smart or resourceful. I have a PhD, I’ve built nearly all of my own equipment from scratch, I’ve hunted down phenomena all over the world, I’ve had to invent entirely new methods of monitoring meteorological anomalies and write my own computer programs to analyze them, and I’ve done it all on a grant budget composed of peanuts with a single intern who failed out of Physics 101. So when I say I want to help, it’s because _I can help,_ if you let me.”

Her eyes blazed, and for a moment, it was clearer what a guy who probably palled around with Valkyries saw in her.

Tony blinked, mouth hanging slightly open. “Um. Okay...”

Foster’s fire flickered, and she tugged at the cuffs of her sweatshirt. “Look, I know... I know I just got here and I’m not a part of any of your team. But Captain Rogers is Thor’s friend, and from what I know of the guy-- I just want to help you get him back.”

“Tony,” Pepper murmured, looking at him darkly.

“I said okay!” he protested, hands up. “Look, you said computer programming, right? And monitoring? What do you know about radio frequencies?”

Her face lit up almost immediately. “A fair amount, actually. My dad was a ham radio buff, I grew up with the stuff.”

And that was... actually useful. If he could get her working on the algorithm he was writing, then maybe she could make some progress on it while Tony crashed and grabbed an hour of sleep. It’d keep things from coming to a screeching halt, at least. “Right. Pull up a chair, doc.”

 

And that hurt, insult to injury, that Thor’s human woman could be of more use than Loki could in finding his own partner.

But he’d not even understood a good quarter to half of what they’d said. And as kind as Pepper was, it would not patch his inability to _do_ anything, to help Steve.

 _His_ Steve.

When it was more his responsibility than any of theirs. But they had claim on the Captain, in ways he did not. Could not, as an outsider. And even this other outsider, this new person… at least she came outfitted with applicable skills, capable of aiding those who would, ultimately, actually save Steve.

“I have nothing to focus on right now.” He assured Pepper, and reached up to take her hands, pressing a kiss to the knuckles of both of them before releasing her. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He managed not to scowl at Thor’s woman, but only just.

If she helped to return Steve to him, he would be indebted to her, and as much as he could not stand the thought, he could stand Steve’s absence much less.

He turned sideways, careful not to so much as brush her with his clothing when he moved past her and into the hall.

He did not stop, his strides covering as much ground as possible without him breaking into a run, until he stood across from the elevator, tucked out of sight.

He did not push the button, taking the moment to himself to lean back against the wall and bury another sob in his fist.

He’d come up here to make demands, to go out after Steve, but they had no idea where to look, and he could not aid in it, could not even take part, because he was uneducated. Did not know enough of Midgard or its technologies to be useful.

Did not know enough of working with the others to warrant being present when Steve had been--

He clenched his eyes shut and tried to clear his thoughts, tried not to think of all of the ways he deserved to suffer for everything that was being done against Steve now.

He might have even been more focused, more able to defend himself, had he and Loki not quarreled--

But breathing. Loki had to focus on that, and then… and then what? He had no idea. No hope of knowing, or even understanding, if they did find something, if they did tell him… he would need it explained to him like an infant.

Like the useless burden he was, as if the trouble that chased him was not enough.

He squeezed his eyes closed tighter and just tried not to cry.

 

“Loki.”

Pepper had watched him leave the lab, and then, on seeing that Tony and Jane were already engrossed in Tony’s explanation of what he was working on, decided to follow. She’d needed to head to the elevator anyway to go back upstairs take care of the cleanup for breakfast, and then in an hour or so, she could double back and drag Tony away to force him to get a few hours of sleep; he’d be no good to Steve or anyone else if he was dead on his feet.

And so she was only a little behind Loki and rounded the corner to see him only just barely holding it together. Her heart ached in sympathy.

She reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. “I meant what I said,” she told him quietly. “If you need anything, even if it’s just a friendly ear, you can call me.”

Getting Loki to take her up on that offer would be difficult, she knew, but at least she could make it clear as possible that he had support in this. Her lips thinned. “When Tony was kidnapped several years back, it felt like the middle of my world was ripped out. He was missing for... well, a long time. A lot of people gave up on him, but he made it out and came home. And again, more recently, when he disappeared after what happened in Malibu...”

She trailed off.

“My point is, I know a bit of what you’re going through. I know it hurts. And I know that no matter what, there’s hope. Steve is smart, and strong, and resilient. And you both have an amazing team who will go to the ends of the earth to get him home.”

 

He flinched when she spoke and struggled valiantly to summon his composure, to force himself back into hiding behind that mask.

He stood straighter, but he knew the illusion was not fully in place. Still, it was the best he could do short of expending his actual seidhr. And at the moment, he knew he shouldn’t.

If they figured out where Steve was, Loki would want every drop of seidhr available to him, just in case he could use it to get Steve back.

His vanity had no place in stripping that away.

And worse still was how kind she was being, how much her words hurt him because of it.

“I don’t know how to survive without him.” He told her, hanging his head. “And I know his team cares for him, and that they will all try to find him, but I cannot help but think that it should be me. Every pain he suffers should be mine, and every bit of work that Stark does to try and find him... It should be my responsibility. The sceptre is my responsibility. Steve is my responsibility. _My partner._ ”

His hand curled into a protective fist over his tags.

“As for us both having a team, I suppose you were not told then: the Avengers do not want me. I was refused as part of the team. That is why I was here and not with them, why I--” He could feel the pressure of tears coming and he looked down and away.

“I appreciate all that you do for me, for us, all that you have done.” He said softly, looking up to meet her eyes. “But I think it is best that I stay as far out of the way as possible, until they can find a reason to need me. _If_ they can. I don’t want to cause delays in the search for Steve.”

His stomach roiled at the very thought, or perhaps for other reasons, but he could not bring himself to care. He pressed his palm against it, silently demanding that his body cease to create distractions.

For all the good that would do.

 

Pepper frowned. Tony had mentioned that Steve had proposed Loki as an Avenger, but he’d made it sound more like the topic had been put aside as ‘under consideration’ than flat out rejected. Whether this was Tony being a poor communicator or Loki assuming the worst, though, she had no way of knowing.

“From what I understand, the Avengers didn’t take you on a field mission, Loki. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t a part of this effort, and a part of the family presently living under this roof,” she pointed out. “I’m not an Avenger. Neither is Jane. But we’re both doing anything we can to help.”

Jane had barely been awake for more than twenty minutes, stumbling out of her suite still half-asleep on hearing Thor was back, and she’d still followed hot on Pepper’s heels when she’d declared she was heading down to the lab. Pepper didn’t know her terribly well just yet, but in light of the little display in the lab just now where she’d told Tony off, she was definitely beginning to like the girl. Especially since Tony was going to need the extra help; he wouldn’t be taking Steve’s disappearance well, and she knew she’d have to brace for that.

But right now, it was Loki’s emotional collapse she needed to focus on.

“They do need you,” she added quietly. “Maybe they don’t see it, but they do. Right now, if it were anyone else gone, Steve would be... Well, he wouldn’t be much use in the lab, and he wouldn’t have contacts overseas. But he’d be checking in on Tony to make sure he doesn’t work himself to death, and he’d be keeping an eye on Thor so he doesn’t beat himself up too badly; he’d be holding the team together in a time of crisis, making sure everyone stayed focused and optimistic. And you?”

She looked him in the eyes. “You know Steve better than anyone here, Loki. You know what he’d see, what he’d say. And you definitely know how much it would mean to him to have someone he loves and trusts looking out for his friends when he can’t.”

 

He bit his lip, holding back the things he wanted to say, the half-formed thoughts about how disappointed Steve would be with any small amounts of care that Loki could summon, with how he would object already, just from Loki’s manipulation of Thor and the way he could not hold himself together.

“I can’t be Steve.” He settled on. “I can’t fill in his space, nor would I want to… it would be miserable of me even to try. I cannot care for his friends, because of those, Stark will not listen, Barton hates me, the Widow… I think has developed a… I owe her an apology, and even then she may be uncomfortable around me for some time. Thor… wants too much from me. Banner… I have not spoken to yet. But he was chief among those who did not want me there, and so I do not know if he wants me near him, either. And how could I convince them to care for themselves, how could I even begin to care for them? I can’t even… Steve taught me to turn a stove on before he left. But acquiring food, preparing it… I cannot stop Steve’s nightmares when he is here, and now he isn’t, and they must be so much worse. And if I cannot even help the one man that I would turn this world inside out for, how can I help anyone else?” His words had become jumbled and plaintive, and he shook his head.

He lunged forward and hit the elevator button, eager to end this, to go and hide his face and his mind from the rest of the world.

“Stark is lucky enough to have you, and Thor’s mortal being of use will no doubt please him. I--” He hesitated. “I will speak to Banner later, when I am not afraid that I will overflow with emotion and send his stresses too high. No doubt they are bad enough at the moment, and I would not inflict myself in addition to the burden he already bears upon his restraint.”

 

She gave his shoulder another squeeze. “I know you aren’t Steve. None of us could be. But I believe you can help take care of the things that matter to him while he’s gone. And that includes taking care of yourself,” she reminded.

She made a mental note to see to it that he ate. It was within her power to take over that responsibility of Steve’s, at least.

“Lunch will be in the penthouse at noon,” she told him. “If you aren’t feeling up to it, I can have JARVIS send something down to you, though I hope I’ll see you there.”

She doubted there was much more she could say right now that would reach Loki, but it was a start. She’d have to keep an eye on him.

On all of them.

The elevator doors dinged open and she took a step back, releasing his shoulder.

“Try to get some rest.”

 

He gave her a jerky nod and fled into the waiting lift, allowing himself the rudeness of taking it, when he was sure she had places to go as well.

Then again, perhaps she needed to return to Stark and the mortal, needed to tell them what he’d said.

At least he had manufactured an invitation to food; he’d managed that much, through his manipulating and his emotions.

But he felt guilty for even that, for allowing them all to see him like this. For being more of a nuisance than a help.

For being a burden, atop his uselessness.

The elevator trip was short, and he left it and went to his rooms, glad that he could, that he had a place to lock himself away.

He wanted to scream and rant and cry and destroy things, wanted to curl himself into the shield and lay there, with the smell of Steve close to him. Wanted to wake and find this was all a dream, some horror built solely in his mind.

But it was not. He knew that. And the numbness was setting in.

He’d spent so much time recently, trying to remember what the Loki in the cage would do about things, how he would have reacted so short a time ago…

But this, at least, he knew the answer to.

When he’d thought Steve was dead before, he had simply given up. Let himself become a wraith, a hollow person… Even less of a person.

But Pepper was right, and he knew, too, how Steve would react if he came home to find that Loki had given up, again. Would worry for him, instead of caring for himself. And Loki had to have faith, had to believe that Steve _was_ coming back, that they _would_ find him, and soon.

In the mean time, he needed to latch onto something. Anything.

He looked at the clock over their cold stove. Nearly four hours until lunch.

He could lay here and cry, or he could throw himself into the medical work he had promised Pepper, at least until he had the opportunity to eat.

And that sounded… if not better, at least it should help keep him from dwelling. And if Steve were to return to them harmed, it might give him some knowledge of those who could help, with whatever they could do.

It would have to be a start.

 

\-----

 

At noon, Loki jerked out of his concentration when JARVIS announced to him that lunch was ready, and Ms. Potts requested he come to it.

He was hungry, horribly so-- he hadn’t had much to eat in the last couple of days, and his worry over Steve made him all the less concerned with his own eating. It didn’t seem fair that he should be at liberty to have such things, when he had no idea how Steve was being treated.

Suppose they did not realize how much he needed to take in each day, how much food his body required. Or suppose he refused to eat, as Loki had, at first.

And yet he was so self-centered that even these thoughts could not fully trample his appetite.

He took the elevator, hoping that lunch would be a quiet, sparse affair, with each retrieving their food and going their own way.

He didn’t know why he bothered hoping for things; it seemed he was destined only to be disappointed. There was a small spread out, sandwich ingredients, simple enough, though there was easily enough of them there to feed two dozen people.

Or Steve for perhaps a day, if he ate as he should.

He tried to push the thought away.

He was going to be fine, he told himself. His friends were going to get him back.

And yet… And yet it was amazing how Bruce could not seem to meet Loki’s eyes, and how Thor looked only guilty and sadly hopeful-- like he wanted Loki to ask him for help, for reassurance-- which Loki desperately needed. Or felt like he should need. But not from Thor. Not from any of them. Not where they could see and would judge him for his reactions, as they had judged him unworthy of fighting beside them, unworthy of accompanying them, when they allowed his partner to be taken.

He averted his own eyes, well aware that becoming angry, making them feel guiltier than they were, or accusing them of their shortcomings would do no good. It would only distract them from their focus, and make it longer until they found Steve.

So he shot a thin lipped smile at Pepper and did not turn when the elevator arrived with Stark, instead lifting a plate and moving to the end of the table, surreptitiously eyeing the others’ plates to estimate what it was polite that he take for himself.

Thor, of course, had loaded his with a monstrous thing that he would no doubt have difficulty opening his mouth wide enough to eat. Jane, beside him, had something more modest, still stacked high, but not at all ungainly. Pepper, similarly, had something filling-looking, but small. Bruce seemed to be more on Thor’s side, his plate holding two sandwiches, the first of which he was halfway through already.

Loki wondered if that was not, perhaps, part of Banner’s guilt-- he’d known those who ate for comfort. He did not ask, though. He did not know where he stood now with Banner, but that would be a sure way to be on the wrong side.

He hung back, willing Stark to begin to dish himself, so that Loki might follow suit. Stark having paid for it all, no doubt he would be the ideal person to model his consumption after. He did not want to look as greedy as he felt, after all.

And he felt like they were all watching him, waiting for him to do something, to suddenly crack with Steve gone and attempt to kill them all, or…

He didn’t know what. But he could feel his skin crawling with the silent attention. He kept his eyes down, so that he would not have to acknowledge it. Would not have to reveal that he and Steve had fought, that he knew what they had said-- what they had decided about him, before they left. He did not want their apologies or their promises that all would be well.

He did not want to be there.

He only wanted enough food to silence his stomach’s protesting, and his partner, returned to him. His partner above all.

 

Bruce stole a furtive glance up from his largely-demolished sandwich as Loki approached the table.

While Thor and Tony had both been willing to be the one to break the news to Loki, Bruce had deliberately stayed silent. Not because he didn’t want to be there for him, but given how close Steve and Loki were, he knew how difficult a situation like that would be. How emotionally charged and... risky.

He figured the last thing Loki needed on top of losing his boyfriend was getting smacked around by the Other Guy.

Though maybe, if Bruce had been less afraid to let the Other Guy out when he might have actually been useful, he might have picked up on something. The Hulk had an incredibly acute sense of smell, among other senses -- would he have been able to tell something was wrong sooner?

Not that he could take it back after the fact. And he couldn’t exactly let the Other Guy loose on the French countryside now like some kind of homicidal green police dog in an attempt to track Steve down. Right now, he mostly could stay out of the way and not be a distraction, helping in the lab where applicable. His usefulness had largely run its course when he’d delivered the scepter into Tony’s vault and had JARVIS lock the damn thing down.

Loki, at least, looked... Well, Loki was here. With people, and food. That had to be a good sign, right?

He took another large bite of sandwich without even tasting it, staring blankly at his plate as he chewed methodically, then swallowed. “There’s an empty seat here,” he offered to Loki, forcing himself to look up and briefly meet Loki’s eyes, nodding to the chair beside him.

 

He wondered if they had discussed it ahead of time, decided it would be safest to have Loki seated beside the person who could most easily restrain him, if the need arose. He swallowed and nodded, not trusting his voice, but once he had made himself something-- without actually paying overmuch attention to what it was-- he took the seat offered.

Maybe it would put them at ease. Even if it meant that he sat up straight and kept his emotions tucked carefully away while he ate, probably faster than he should, given how little was on his plate. He probably looked as though he did not want to linger, and that was true but… He slowed his bites, taking time to chew thoroughly.

He kept his eyes on his plate until he could not stand it any longer, the silence and the feeling of eyes on him-- he knew that she wasn’t the only one, but it was easiest for him to flick his eyes up and catch Thor’s mortal staring. He stared right back, face hardening into a glower, until she looked away.

Thor looked between them, brows furrowed, and opened and closed his mouth a few times, but clearly he did not know what to say-- nor, it seemed, even who he should say it to. He merely reached out and took the woman’s hand.

And then it was Loki’s turn to look away and swallow hard.

It felt like having his nose rubbed in it, and he did not want to look at Pepper and Stark, either, did not want to see her concern for him stamped across her face.

No doubt she would force him into resting after this, or at the very least would spend some time trying to convince him to take care of himself.

It seemed that Banner was the safest person to turn to, after all of this. But Loki’s words stuck in his throat.

He wanted to ask if there had been any progress, but Stark had said he would tell him right away, and that seemed rude to question, to doubt so publicly.

Loki could not find in himself any small talk, and even if he could, it would only sound disingenuous.

So he huffed out a sigh and ate another bite before daring to look up.

“Thank you,” he told Pepper. “For lunch.” He added so that it would not seem unnecessarily meaningful.

Even the loud one was quietly picking her bread apart with her fingers, and he wished he could just will her into speaking. Just to cover up the silence with some noise, some sign of life. Anything.

 

“Yes, thank you. It’s delicious,” Bruce quickly added, jumping on the benign conversational opening and lending his voice to fill the awkward silence, punctuated mainly by chewing.

“Oh. You’re welcome,” Pepper said, looking briefly taken aback. “I just put another food order in, so I’ll be keeping the fridge up here fully-stocked for anyone who needs anything. You’re all more than welcome to help yourselves. And JARVIS can arrange individual food deliveries if you’d like anything delivered right to your suites.”

“You are a most gracious hostess, Lady Potts,” Thor told her with a serious nod.

“You should see her throw a gala,” Tony commented, squirting mustard on to his sandwich. “She took an empty function room and had a black tie affair set up in under two hours once. It was surreal.”

“What’s surreal is you remembering it, given how much champagne I seem to recall you drinking that night,” Pepper teased.

And for a brief second, everything felt almost normal. The whole gang sitting down to a shared meal, teasing and joking and being companionable. But it was a fleeting bit of levity, as the smiles died away and Tony covered his mouth in a yawn, the reality of the situation crashing back down.

The reality that their number was presently several short.

“You know,” Foster spoke up, “I have a pretty good handle on the program right now. I can keep working on the targeting parameters if you need to lie down for a bit. I can only imagine how jetlagged you all must be.”

“Yeah, you guys kinda look like extras from The Walking Dead,” Darcy piped up.

Bruce made a face. “Thanks.”

“I think Tony will take you up on that, Jane, thank you,” Pepper cut in, taking advantage of Tony having a mouthful of sandwich before he could swallow and protest.

And remarkably, Tony didn’t seem to have the will to fight her on it. He _did_ look half-dead, and while Bruce had managed to pass out on the plane for a few hours, and Thor had the stamina of a god, he hadn’t seen Tony take a break since they’d got up to work on the scepter box before sun-up. His eyes were underscored with shadows, and they had a faraway, haunted look.

Thor looked a bit more together, but there was a similar weariness hanging over him, his usual bright and sunny aura completely gone.

Bruce hadn’t even bothered looking in a mirror since they got back, but he suspected he also looked like hell.

It was like HYDRA hadn’t just stolen Steve, but the vitality of the Avengers along with him, leaving a group of poor dead-eyed suckers systematically shoveling food into their mouths on silent autopilot.

 

Pepper’s insistence that JARVIS could arrange for food to be brought to their rooms seemed odd, when the rest of them made a habit of eating here. But, he supposed that was mainly for his benefit. After all, he _was_ the outsider, even more so than Thor’s mortal and her loud friend. If he ate alone, they would not need to be wary of him, to look at him as if they feared him again.

He’d thought them beyond that, but he supposed that with the goodness of Steve stripped away from him, he must seem doubly as wicked, as ugly and undesirable. He tried not to take offense, and just accepted it. After all, it was plain that were he not here, they would be able to laugh and joke, to have levity and some break from the bleakness of the situation.

And he felt so unkind for despising their tiny signs of merriment. It would be good for him not to have to face it.

“I will likely take you up on the offer of food deliveries. Thank you.” He kept his words polite and distant, well aware that he’d likely be seeing very little of them, then, until they had need of him.

But, that was as it should be. At least he would not feel so guarded as he did now, both by himself and by those around him.

And he would not need to feel like he was intruding, or being measured as a threat, he would be able to just… exist.

In the quiet and the empty of his own space. Their space. Only… missing something. Someone. Everything.

He was glad, too, that Barton was not here, because he could not imagine him being easy to be around now. And Loki did not wish to fight, to quarrel or cause disruptions or distractions. As he always did, and was his nature.

Glumly, he finished his sandwich and stood.

He didn’t feel unwelcome, exactly, save that he _did_. He didn’t know quite how to part from them, either. And so he cleared his throat.

“Thank you again for lunch.” He told the table at large, though he looked only at Pepper. “If you’ll excuse me…” He didn’t offer any excuse, any reason for him not to be there. It wasn’t as though he had anything to do. But he did hesitate, and even turn back.

“If… any news, or any need of me develops, please call for me immediately. Whenever that may be. Regardless of the hour.” He glanced into each of their eyes in turn, hoping to impress upon them his earnestness, his sincerity… his desperation, as quietly and civilly as possible.

He did not want to guilt Stark into denying himself sleep, or anything of the sort, though, so he did not say any more. He merely let his shoulders fall and walked away, the lump in his throat feeling as though none of the food he’d just eaten would reach his stomach at all.

He tried to tell himself that he was not fleeing, but the relief that he felt the moment the doors of the elevator slid closed betrayed the truth.

It was short lived relief, though, as the worries that lunch had brought to the surface began to torment him. His mind flew in circles as he let himself back into their apartment.

How long _would_ they allow him to stay, if Steve could not be found? How long did he have of a grace period, if Steve was found, and could not forgive him for the way they had parted?

And if Steve was found, but was… was no longer alive. _He is mortal, after all._

They had discussed his faith, but Loki had no idea how to make the proper arrangements. Did he want to be placed beside the other soldiers that they had visited? Would he be given the proper rites of a Catholic? What were those rites? Who performed them?

He couldn’t allow himself to think of that, though. Couldn’t let himself wander down that path, because it wasn’t-- Steve wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. Had to be alive.

It seemed so ridiculous, not being able to contact him. There had been the pagers, first, and then the phones-- He had his phone, didn’t he? And Loki had made a point not to call it.

Could it be that--?

Holding his breath and hardly believing it could be so simple, he pulled his own Stark phone out, then dialed the number that Steve had programmed in himself.

It rang once, twice, three times. Four. Five. Then--

“Hello? This is Steve--” Loki gasped out a sob, only to break into full tears when his voice continued. “I can’t answer at the moment, but if you’ll leave a message, I’ll return your call as soon as I can.”

There was a several second pause, and then a shrill tone.

Loki held the phone to his face and cried, sinking down onto his knees and rocking himself, until the call automatically ended, once the recording time had reached its max. He stared at it numbly, then dialed again. And again, after a short wait, there came his partner’s voice.

“Hello? This is Steve. I can’t answer at the moment--” This time, as soon as the tone sounded, he pressed the button to hang it up and dialed again. And again.

He wasn’t certain how long he knelt on the floor of their kitchen, listening to a short recording of Steve’s voice. Too long. He ran out of tears, and his body stopped shaking eventually, leaving him still and empty and broken feeling.

He threw the phone away from him, angry now. It wouldn’t bring him back.

What if-- what if he _hadn’t_ been taken? What if Steve had just… had enough. Had enough of Loki and the trouble he caused, the danger he brought with him? What if Steve had decided that he would be better off alone?

He couldn’t just…tell him it was over, realistically, could he? Not without making arrangements. Probably placing him back in another cell. Somewhere he could come to have Loki use his seidhr, and use the sceptre, but where he would not have to… to coddle to his feelings, or listen to the barbed words that Loki loosed on him, where Steve would not have to let his friends pay for everything, or else support Loki on his own money.

Maybe he had finally realized that Loki really was useless and monstrous and…

The necklace, Loki thought suddenly, irrationally. If Steve had taken the necklace with him, he couldn’t hate him, could he?

Loki looked around at the floor of the kitchen, then all but leaped to his feet to go and search the living room. It was nowhere in sight-- but if he were Steve refusing a gift, where would he put it?

Loki’s pillow? The kitchen counter? The table? In the pocket of Loki’s jacket, or his vests, in his shoe…

He searched everywhere, even turning out the trash can in their kitchen and the one in the bathroom, before he sat back and took a deep breath.

Perhaps he had taken it. Maybe he knew-- no, Loki _knew_ he knew how much he loved him. Steve was his partner, and they-- they both loved one another. He wouldn’t-- if that changed, he wouldn’t just run off, wouldn’t leave without saying good bye-- and even if Loki couldn’t quite believe that for his own sake, he knew that Steve would never punish his friends like this for Loki’s wrong doings.

Which meant that he _must be_ taken. Though who could be strong enough--?

Loki wrapped his arms around himself, feeling frozen, and decided to bathe to warm up. Perhaps with some heat back in his body, he would feel better. Less numb, less…. alone.

He stayed in the bath until JARVIS chimed to alert him to a food delivery for his dinner.

It wasn’t until he was wrapping a towel around himself that he realized that he no longer smelled of Steve. He’d washed away the last of Steve’s touches, and ridiculous though it was, it felt like a brand new loss.

Dinner was a large serving of something akin to the shawarma that he and Steve had had before-- and quarreled over.

And even the upset of his stomach, remembering yet another time, another example of when he had done everything all wrong, ruined things, and been too proud and dumb to make things right when he should have… even though it made his appetite feel lessened, he was still hungry enough, and there was so much, and there was no one here to watch or judge him.

He ate it all in giant bites, hardly chewed enough to keep him from choking. He finished every trace of the meal and then sat still for a few long moments, before the feeling of fullness washed over him, and he felt disgusting. Piggish and pointless and physically ill from eating too much, too fast.

He dragged himself off to their bed and lay himself down in it. It felt too empty, too cold. Wrong. All wrong without Steve.

He took hold of the tags, one in each hand, and lay with them pressed as close to his heart as he could get them, while he tried not to hate himself too much. He knew how Steve felt about such thoughts, and how sad or angry he would be to discover he had been the cause of them, however indirectly. However unwillingly. Loki wouldn’t want to do that to him.

 

It was difficult, though.

  
Eventually, he slept.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The first thing Steve became aware of was the pounding in his head. It throbbed in his skull, pulsing pressure on the backs of his eyeballs, which burned as he pried his lids open and blinked against the blur that encompassed his field of vision.

Though the light was enough to make his eyes water, the illumination surrounding him wasn’t particularly bright, and it took him several moments to make out his surroundings. The room was roughly ten feet wide, maybe fifteen deep, with a single metal door set in the wall opposite him, and a drain in the center of the floor. A flickering yellow bulb hummed where it hung from the ceiling. Everything was concrete, hard and cold...

Cold...

_Dark and cold, the water climbing, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move--_

Steve dimly registered the sound of his own gasping, reedy and thin. His head spun and the pounding increased and for a few moments, he squeezed his eyes shut, just trying to breathe. He wasn’t in the plane, he wasn’t in the arctic...

He didn’t know _where_ he was.

Opening his eyes again, he licked his cracked lips and moved to brush some of the hair out of his face. Or tried.

Something clanked and held him in place, which brought him to greater awareness of his own body -- how his hands were suspended over his head, something around his wrists, cold and unyielding. How the cold of the concrete against his back bit right into his skin because his clothes had been taken from him.

The realization of his own nakedness only sent his pulse back up, though he managed to keep from hyperventilating, pulling his knees up toward his chest and his heels together in an attempt to preserve his modesty, though there was no one else present.

He stopped, then snorted at himself. Clearly, he was thinking less than straight if that was his priority right now; waking up bound, naked, and alone in a strange place, and immediately worrying that someone might see his johnson. No, the priority ought to be _getting the hell out of here_ , regrouping with his team, and figuring out what the hell happened.

The last thing he could remember was being in the old WWII bunker after they’d got the scepter back. There had been... a tunnel? And the lights were shoddy. Beyond that...

Steve frowned. He remembered nothing beyond that, which wasn’t a good sign. His chest seized for a moment, wondering if his team was alright; if they’d been ambushed, and the rest were similarly chained up somewhere.

He coughed, then called out: “Hello?”

His voice, though a little hoarse, was strangely loud in the small space.

There was no reply. If his teammates were here, they either couldn’t hear him or couldn’t reply.

None of the options seemed terrible comforting.

Craning his head back, Steve looked up at the shackles around his wrists, giving them an experimental tug. They held, so he tried again, harder now, leveraging his weight against them. Everyone always seemed to underestimate the ‘super’ part of supersoldier, so there might be a chance he could pull free, and then--

_“They will not break.”_

Steve froze, then jerked his head back down so hard he almost gave himself whiplash, looking around the room.

 _“The shackles,”_ the voice clarified, sounding vaguely amused. _“They were designed with you in mind. Or one much like you, and then modified. Though you are welcome to waste your strength on them if you wish.”_

The accent was vaguely eastern European, though Natasha would have been a better judge of it than him. And the quality was tinny, distorted -- Steve stopped looking for a person and began scanning the walls, until he found the speaker set into the corner where the voice was being projected. And beside it, the beady black eye of a camera.

He glowered at it. “Who are you?”

There was no answer.

“Hey!” Steve shouted, yanking on the shackles to punctuate. “Who are you and what do you want?”

Still, silence. Steve scowled, then slumped back against the wall, still glaring at the camera. Being ignored like this was... unexpected. Though not wholly unfamiliar.

Whoever took him, though, must have done so for a reason. He’d find out soon enough.

So Steve settled down to wait.

 

And wait.

 

 

And wait.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are back from hiatus! Thanks for bearing with us.


	60. Sixty

He jolted awake early-- so early the sun had not yet risen and the night’s chill still lingered.

His first thought was that Steve had had a nightmare, that is was his partner’s upset that had woken him. He reached out, groggy and half asleep, but his hand fell on nothing.

Steve wasn’t there. He was gone now. The nightmare was Loki’s, and it was real.

He sat up and drew his legs to his chest, unable to stop staring at the empty space beside him. He put a hand out shakily and lifted Steve’s pillow, holding it close so that he could almost feel the texture of the casing on it… but not touching it to his body. He could smell Steve, and as much as he wanted to bury his face in the scent, he knew he’d be destroying it if he did.

Suddenly, he needed to be moving, needed to do something. He needed to walk.

And he knew, for all that Steve had said that he wasn’t a prisoner, for all that the Avengers hadn’t reacted to his leaving when he bespelled the wall… he knew that he was hesitant to leave the tower unaccompanied, or without permission.

It sounded alright when he told himself it was to keep from becoming lost, but in reality, it was because he felt he shouldn’t. And now--

Now he didn’t give a damn about what he should and shouldn’t do. Steve wasn’t here to worry about him, to be disappointed in him.

He dressed quickly and quietly, in all of his layers, and changed his hair to blonde and his face to something rounder-- just enough not to be recognized, in case the tower was being watched by those who had taken Steve, or by SHIELD, or whoever else may be spying on them.

The thought gave him a slight shiver of unease-- the thought that someone might have seen his broken state the day prior, his frantic clutching to the phone.

He considered not bringing it with him, but decided that at the very least he should have that, in the event one of the tower’s inhabitants found him missing and needed to find him to demand to know where he’d gone.

He still was not versed in how to use the city, how to get around. He had his card with him, the identification that Pepper had given, but he did not know where he would ask to go, even if he did find a car to take him.

And so instead he walked to the only place that he knew how to get to, passing men on ladders, burying street poles under layers of red and green shining ribbons and sparkling baubles. He ignored them, though, ignored the foamy white being drawn on windows as he walked by, until he found himself at the park where he’d been injured.

The grass had been leveled and replanted, and it grew in now uninterrupted, as though there had never been a battle here at all. But the wall still stood, dark and sad and alone.

He found a bench nearby and settled himself there, able to sit and stare, without being close enough to work out any of the names.

If the people knew Steve was missing, would they make a memorial for him? A statue of the Captain? How ironic if they placed it here, too, and the lasting impressions that he and his partner left on this world were as a hero and a monster. But then, perhaps it was better that they didn’t. Loki’s monument would remain here, isolated and depressing, just as he was.

No one hovered near it that morning, save him. And that early, he was not surprised. The sky was brown with the first signs of light, and he almost wished it would stay that way. No sunrise could be complete, the sun had no chance of competing with the way his partner shone.

Loki shut his eyes, keeping the tears in as best he could. He could almost imagine, if he squeezed his eyelids shut hard enough, the vividness of his krellr, the way he glowed with brightness beneath his uniform. So beautiful and so good and so full of life and hope and kindness...

He must have nodded off like that, though, because when he woke, it was brighter out. Less cold. And there were people around. Children playing. He rubbed at his eyes, unaccustomed to the brightness.

A small child, short and thin and ethereal in the way of waifs on any world, was looking at him, his wide brown eyes staring. Loki arched an eyebrow and dropped his hands into his lap.

“Yes?” He asked, voice hoarse.

“Your face is weird.” The boy said. “Why’s it doing that?”

Puzzled, it took Loki a moment, then he remembered that he was wearing a mask, and the boy was reacting to it wavering from his touch.

“Doing what?” He asked archly, daring the boy to try and explain.

“It was all wobbly. Stopped now though.” The child shrugged his shoulders. “Why you sleeping on the bench? You homeless?”

“No, I…” Loki stopped, because he was. Steve was home; he’d told him as much. But that wasn’t what the boy was asking, and he wouldn’t know, couldn’t understand. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here. I suppose I just woke up too early. Why are _you_ here?” He asked, hoping to curtail any further questions.

The boy lifted his ball.

“My sister used to bring me here to play soccer, but now she’s with angels, so. I play and she watches.” He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, the most logical. Loki sucked in air.

“Is she… is she one of the names on the wall?” He asked.

“You mean from when there was aliens?” He pointed at the memorial, and Loki winced and nodded. “Nawh. She was working at the bank, the one that got all taken over, and Captain America saved ‘em.” He sounded proud of that, like the fact that Steve had touched his life even in so distant a way made it worth being proud of.

“You like Captain America, huh?” Loki asked, trying to sound kind, but quietly hoping that the child would go on, would speak more about Steve.

“Yeah! My friends and I like to get together and play the Avengers. I get to be Tony Stark. And we kill all the bad guys and kick alien butt and we save the day. What about you, who’s your favorite Avenger?”

“I’m partial to Captain America myself.” He said with a small, private smile. It was… uncomfortable, to speak of him this way, to speak to a child whose name he had not even asked, nor did he particularly care to.

“Is that why you come here? Captain America had a big fight with a bunch of guys in an airplane here not that long ago!” The kid told him excitedly. “Man I wish I coulda seen it.”

Loki got a chill. He turned his face away from the boy, who was happily recounting what the news had told him of the attack. But Loki’s attention was caught by something else.

Across the lawn, an elderly man approached the wall and stroked his hand across the name of someone he’d known. The word began to glow, and Loki shivered.

The boy turned to look, then turned back to Loki, squinting suspiciously.

“Hey, yeah, that’s what your face was doing. What--”

Loki stood suddenly.

“Beg pardon. I have to go. Enjoy your soccer.”

He hurried away, mind turning over and over. Steve touched lives and saved them, and Loki stole them. And people ended up dead just the same, like the boy’s sister, like the man’s… whoever they had been. Like Steve could be, even now. Like Schultz had tried to make Loki die.

Steve fought so hard to be so good, but what good did it do him? If he weren’t so good, would he be gone now? Would those who took him have any interest in him at all?

Loki was angry, and he knew it made no sense, could not even name what he was angry _at_ , save the fact that this was happening. That Steve was gone, had been taken, that he didn’t deserve it.

He began the return trek to the tower, avoiding speaking to anyone else, which, despite the number of people on the street, was hardly difficult.

It was easy, easier even here than it had been in Odin’s court, to feel isolated in a crowd. Half or more of the words tossed around meant nothing to him, terms and slang for ideas he wasn’t a part of. A dozen or more languages that he understood from his Alspeak-- he could reach out to so many people. But he chose not to. They meant nothing.

And he was alone on a world where his only connection to it was currently missing.

He wondered, if he reemerged as himself, as Loki the villain, with the explanation that it was only Steve who kept him under control, he wondered if those who took him would give him back, to save their world.

But then, would Steve want him-- would he even want to come back, at that point? And what would become of Loki, made aware, made to feel all of the hurts that he inflicted? Would he survive turning himself back into that kind of monster?

He let himself quietly through the lobby, then into the elevator, dropping the mask for the scanner to permit him entrance.

As cocooned in his thoughts as he was, he didn’t even stop to consider the time, or whether he might have been missed, until the doors opened.

 

“Look, he can’t have just gone poof--”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Tony. I asked JARVIS to invite him to breakfast, and he said he was gone,” Pepper said.

Tony ran a hand back through his hair. First Steve, and now Loki was AWOL. Though Tony had his suspicions that the latter was directly related to the former, and not because Loki got stolen away by HYDRA.

Shit, if he was off on a one-man rampage...

Tony had thought he’d talked him down off the idea. Thought he’d made it clear they were doing everything they could, and that going all lone action hero was useless and probably going to just get him and a lot of other people hurt. And when _Tony_ thought it was a better idea to think first and wait for backup, well, that was saying something given his usual approach.

Not that he could blame him. Part of him wished he could just jet off in the armor and go tearing around Europe until he found Steve; he knew in his logical mind, though, that he was more use to Steve here, in the lab. Working with the team, and Pep, and Loki, and SHIELD--

Except now Loki was apparently missing, and he was doing something stupid... Tony should have seen it. Should have got through to him. He didn’t want to tell Nat and Clint he’d lost the guy. Didn’t want to tell Thor, either. And despite Loki being one tough cookie, Tony couldn’t help think of how he’d looked in that hospital bed. If Loki got himself killed looking for Steve, and they got Steve back only to break the news...

“JARVIS, start scanning camera feeds. I want security tapes, I want news footage, I want--”

“ _Mr. Loki has been located, sir.”_

“--tapes from-- wait, what? Jesus, that was fast--”

“ _He is in the elevator, en route to his floor.”_

“Thank god,” Pepper murmured, shoulders sinking in visible relief.

Tony scowled. “Oh, hell with that. Nah. Send him here, stat.”

“ _Yes, sir.”_

Pepper arched an eyebrow. “Tony, if he’s back in the tower--”

“Then I want to know where he was,” Tony snapped, brushing past her and out into the hall, down toward the elevator banks.

He was standing with his arms folded over his chest when the doors opened.

“What the hell, Lokes?”

 

At the question he jumped, head jerking upwards as he looked around.

“Sorry, I must have hit the wrong-- I meant to go to my own floor.” He’d been distracted, he knew. Though he could not imagine what had prompted the mistake. He had no intention of being anywhere near here. Anywhere near Stark, lest he start questioning if he really needed Loki around, either.

“Your floor.” He corrected sheepishly. “I meant-- I was going to our-- my apartment.”

Even his tongue had become helpless, and he knew he had said too much already.

But then he saw this for what it was--

They weren’t comfortable with him leaving. Stark thought he might have done harm, caused problems… and while he could admit to himself that that was all he was capable of, he still felt offended when others implied as much. So this confrontation-- it hurt.

They truly did think of him as a glorified prisoner, exactly the way Steve had insisted he wasn’t. He crossed his arms and waited for Stark to say something, anything, that he could then pick apart and toss back at him.

 

“Yeah, I got that,” Tony grumbled. “Would it have killed you to check in? Let us know you were back? Or hell, that you even _left?”_

And how long had he been gone for, anyway? He’d forgotten to ask JARVIS. Pepper had only called him to breakfast about half an hour ago, but nobody had seen him since his dinner got delivered last night. The guy could teleport, so God only knew where he’d been in the meantime. And if he’d gotten into trouble, none of them would have been the wiser. Not until it was too late. Just like--

Tony bit down on the inside of his cheek, glowering to cover up the burgeoning feelings of unneeded panic. Loki was back. Everything was fine.

Which meant he could go from freaked out to pissed off.

“I mean, jeez, Rudolph, you’re sneaking in like a teenager who spent the night smoking pot under the bleachers. Where _were you?_ ”

 

Loki scowled.

“I’ve asked you to call me by my name, Stark. I’ve even bent so far as to acknowledge ‘Lokes’. As for where I have been; why is it any concern of yours? You were not awake when I left-- none were. I woke early. I had my phone, if you would have bothered to call, rather than expecting the worst of me-- ah, but I’d forgotten. All of the good’s left me now, hasn’t it?” His voice became tight.

“I did not know that I needed to _sneak_ in and out of my own home, or I’d have taken measures that you should not discover my absence. _My apologies_. I shall be more careful next time.” He was hurt and angry, and it was surprising how the remembrance of what it was like to feel this way caused him to remember how to use this tone, this snide politeness that he’d all but shed in his time with Steve.

“Unless you had more to say on the subject?” he asked, and took a step back, raising his hand towards the button that would lead him to his own floor.

 

“Why is it any concern of mine?” Tony repeated. “Well, gee, I dunno, _Prince Loki, your royal testiness,_ maybe because I already have one teammate missing, and when another goes off the grid, _that’s cause for damn concern.”_

And okay, yeah, he probably would have thought to call or triangulate Loki’s phone eventually, but he hadn’t expected the guy to have it with him. Who the hell slipped out before breakfast for anything normal and mundane anyhow? Aside from crazy people like Steve who jogged or whatever.

Still. He’d built up steam and there was plenty of it. “I’ve got all my resources clocked out right now tracking down Steve, and I don’t have anything free to look for a second person,” he snapped. “Hell, yesterday, you were ready to go haring off to France and asked me to give you a jet! And you think it’s unreasonable to expect you might not have just been going out for coffee?”

And dammit, he wanted to shake the guy. He made an inarticulate sound of frustration, then took a step back, shaking his head and breathing out a huff of breath.

“Frankly, I don’t have enough energy or sanity to deal with another friend of mine up and disappearing, so if you could kindly avoid giving me a heart-attack over that, me and the ‘ol ticker here--” he tapped on the ARC reactor “--would kinda appreciate it.”

 

Loki froze for a solid few seconds, even forgetting how to breathe.

He stepped forward, out of the elevator entirely this time, using his height to glower down at Stark all the more furiously.

“I. am. not.” He began, the words a growl, “a _teammate_ . I am no part of your team, or _I might have been there._ I might have stopped--” He stepped off, fists balling up. He was afraid he had said too much, overstepped his bounds-- friend, he had called him. But when had that come to be true? Stark had been the least willing to partake in the surprise that Pepper had arranged for him after he’d been injured, his reluctance patently obvious, even through Loki’s discomfort and misunderstanding. Did he think Loki had forgotten? Did he think that because Loki had followed his command in his lab, it made them _friends?_

Or was it that he only used his friendship as a means of manipulation, a way of leveraging, of _controlling_ Loki, or keeping track of him under the guise of concern?

Well, he _was_ concerned. But not for Loki. Concerned for the next group of innocents to be turned into a wall, Loki supposed.

It hurt more because the thought had crossed his mind.

He took heavy breaths.

“I carry this phone more out of respect for your ease of mind than anything else. It’s not as though _Steve_ is going to call it suddenly, is he?” The words came out sharper than he’d intended. “Perhaps instead of assuming that with him gone, I now lack all moral compass and am off setting fire to the countryside, or whatever ridiculous scenario you might have been envisioning, you might actually _try_ treating me as a _person_ , rather than a mistake waiting to happen-- like a weapon ready to explode. Unless you wish to lock me away as you have the sceptre, keep me here until you’ve need of me, lock me in the Hulk’s room so that you can know always where I am and what I am doing.” His voice rose at the memory of the technology that Stark now held, what he was capable of-- how he could just _turn off_ Loki’s seidhr if he so chose.

Just as he’d wanted to when Loki had first arrived. When they had arrived, he and Steve.

“Though I suppose that appeals to you doesn’t it? After all, it was your initial condition for my being allowed here-- I suppose we must return to that, with my partner, _my keeper_ , so removed.” He arched his brow.

“So, Stark? Where’s my newest prison to be?” He sounded hysterical, and he could hear the way his voice was fraying, even as his mind did. And yet he offered no violence, did not so much as raise a hand to stop Stark from doing whatever he pleased.

Steve would never forgive him if he hurt one of his friends. His teammates.

 

“Stop. Okay? Just stop.”

Tony had listened with growing incredulity as Loki ranted; because, sure, okay, maybe Tony was overreacting a little. He’d only slept a few hours and was still running by and large on coffee and desperation. But Loki? Was downright delusional here.

“I don’t know if Steve puts up with this bitter, everyone-hates-me diva shtick. Bless his spangled heart if he does. But I don’t have the patience for it right now, so just stop.”

He glared Loki down, well aware that he was probably tempting the guy to squash him like a bug.

(Tony could only be the ‘reasonable’ one to a certain degree, after all.)

“Maybe you’re not a card-carrying Avenger yet. It’s a pretty small club, and we were gonna hold off talking about maybe giving you probationary status until after all this crap with the scepter was over with. But you know what? You sleep under the same roof, you eat at the same table, and you work to fight the same bad guys as us, so as far as I’ve been concerned, yeah, you’re a part of the greater team. Unless you’ve decided you’re not. In which case--” Tony held his hands up in a gesture partway between surrender and washing-his-hands-of-this-shit.

“And what is this about locking you in the Hulk’s room? We were past that like, the day after you got here!” He shook his head. “I’m not treating you like a weapon -- except for maybe a loose cannon, though that’s a bit more figurative,” he amended, mouth twisting. “Am I worried you’re gonna run off and do something moronic? Hell yes. Mostly because it’s taking every ounce of willpower I have not to do something moronic myself, and I have Pepper to glare some sense into me. But you?”

He leveled a finger at Loki. “You disappeared in the middle of the night, and for all I know, you’d gone and gotten yourself killed running after guys who took down _Captain America_ without a fight. Am I assuming the worst? Yeah, sure. Maybe. Because the worst is already happening. And I don’t wanna be the guy who, after we rescue Steve, has to tell him his boyfriend went and died looking for him.”

He doubted Thor would be sucker enough to volunteer to be the bearer of bad news twice.

 

The shock at Tony’s insistence that he was part of the team after all knocked him out of his righteous fury, surprised him out of the self loathing he had begun floundering in. He did not get his hopes up; he knew better now, remembering how happy he’d been the day they’d practiced together. Only to have it ripped away from him, then.

But he took a sobering breath and tried to rearrange his face into something more neutral.

“If I could merely run after those who took Steve, there is not a power on your world that could stop me. But I have limits. Which is why I had to ask for your plane. So I suppose…” He leveled his breathing carefully.

“To clear matters up: Am I allowed to leave the tower?” He thought they should start there. “Or does that require supervision? Steve had told me I was free to come and go as I chose, but I realize he may not have cleared that with you, so.” Loki's shoulders slumped. There was some amount of defeat to this, asking, rather than telling Stark to mind his own business, to go fuck himself…

But he was right. There were people out there who had Steve, and maybe they would be interested in taking control of Loki, too. And maybe he wasn’t the most logically minded person just now. And he could only imagine how ruined he would be, if he were in Steve’s place and if he returned to find that Steve had-- no, he wouldn’t do that to Steve.

So he could play by the rules of the house, which meant asking permission. And trying to be logical. He put his emotions away, turned them off as completely as he was able.

“I appreciate that you do not intend to actually lock me up, but if you ask me not to leave without obtaining permission first, I will comply. Though you should know that I do not leave the tower as myself, and as I said-- I was reachable, had you made the effort.” And while there was an element of reproach there, he kept it mild, not trying to start the fight up again.

He was tired. Stark looked exhausted. And they did not need to be fighting one another when someone out there had Steve. This was precisely the sort of distraction he had been hoping to avoid creating.

 

Loki seemed to calm down, or at least, shut whatever he was feeling off behind that kinda creepy wall he put up sometimes. It was better than yelling, though, so for now, Tony would take it.

“You’re allowed to leave,” he clarified, relaxing a little as he reached up and ran an anxious hand back through his hair again, then down around his jaw to scratch at his goatee. Which was starting to grow into a full-on beard at this point. Damn, he needed to remember to shave.

“I’m not interested in playing warden here. You got enough of that song and dance back at SHIELD. Just-- if you do head out, let JARVIS know where you’re going and how long you expect to be gone. That way, if anything happens...” he trailed off and sighed.

Of course, Steve had only been out of contact for _minutes_ and he’d vanished from the face of the earth. But at least this way, there was a little better chance they’d know sooner if another member of the team got grabbed. “I just want everyone to check in regularly so I can keep tabs on all of us until we’ve found whoever took Steve and nailed them to the wall. So, um. Good job with hanging on to the phone. Keep doing that, and, ah, sorry.”

He grimaced. Yeah, definitely overreacted back there.

“I’m gonna go back to work for a bit. Jane finished up the radio program and we have that running, so I’m working on programming some crawlers to do deepnet searching in case there’s some dark web activity out there with information we can use.”

He was better at tinkering with machines and code than with people anyway.

 

He hadn’t been expecting an apology from Stark, and he wasn’t fully prepared for it. He caught himself staring, perplexed, and cocked his head a bit, before he shook himself out of it.

“I do not fully understand any of what you just said that you were going to be working on, but… thank you for it. And I would advise that you make a point of checking in with Pepper once you’ve finished that. No doubt she will have some more glares for you. I am sorry I caused you distress. If I decide to go for any more mind-clearing walks, I will tell JARVIS or wait until someone else is awake, and tell them myself.”

He lifted the phone from his pocket, though.

“And if in doubt, I will endeavor to have this always nearby, since I want to be able to be told when there are developments. Regardless of what those may be.” He hesitated, certain that he was stating the obvious, but…

“Steve… had his phone with him, as well, and while I do not profess to know much of their workings, is there not a chance that you might follow it somehow? I suppose any who took such a device would be too glad to have access to the information within it to discard it out of hand.”

At least he hoped so.

Then again, Stark was master of such technologies. Perhaps he had already tried it.

 

Tony shook his head. “That’s good thinking, R-- Loki, but trust me, if all we had to do was triangulate a cell signal, we would’ve had Cap home in time for dinner.”

Still, the fact that Loki had figured you could track a phone all on his own was pretty impressive, so he had to give him credit. “That’s actually a pretty common technique for finding people -- through satellites or through a line trace. But if Cap did have his phone on him, that’d be the first thing they’d get rid of for that very reason.” Steve was boring as hell and didn’t keep anything more interesting than take-out menus, a solitaire app, and his email on his phone, from what Tony had seen.

But some of the other Avengers did, and while they all made a point to keep them encrypted--

“We left all the civilian devices on the quinjet when we landed,” he admitted. “Switched to comms only for the field. So, if you want, we actually have his phone...”

It seemed a little premature to be giving Steve’s possessions back to his loved ones -- that was morbid and funerary and not something Tony wanted to think about -- but if it made Loki feel a bit better, Tony would feel like an ass for holding out.

 

Loki felt the blood draining from his face.

Tony had it.

Loki had called over and over again, and Tony had had the phone.

At least he’d ignored it, hadn’t mentioned it to him-- or worse, wrecked things further by answering or calling back.

“I--” Did he want the phone?

He wasn’t certain, couldn’t tell if it would hurt more or less, when the next time he called it, a ring echoed from his own room.

“Maybe so. Thank you.” He tried to remain polite, to sound grateful.

All he felt, though, was slow and dull.

“I’m going to go back to my room now, but maybe later-- at dinner, or after, if you would… I am going to speak to Banner when I wake again. I have not yet, but I suspect he has things he needs to say… or else is afraid to say. Or he thinks I blame him, I am not sure… but things seem uneasy and I would mend that, if I can. Provided I can manage not to damage your tower in the process.”

He wasn’t sure how far the checking in extended, but he figured he ought to have the grace to tell Stark this much, if it would ease his mind.

“I will send word if plans change.” He finished softly, though he doubted he would go out again any time soon.

 

Tony nodded. “Alright. Well, if you feel like swinging by the lab at any point, you’re more than welcome. I apologize in advance for being a crappy host. And I’m sure Brucie could go for some company.”

Bruce was, despite his many claims that he didn’t have the temperament for it, better at this sort of thing.

“I stowed Steve’s go-bag around here somewhere, it had his phone in it. Whenever I dig it up, I’ll leave it in the kitchen for you to pick up.” Saving himself a trip down to Loki and Steve’s floor, and forcing Loki to visit the kitchen. Pepper would be proud of the latter part.

“See you around,” he finished, clapping a hand to Loki’s shoulder, then turning to head back to his lab.

 

Loki returned to his own space, grateful now for the solitude that had driven him to discomfort a few hours previously.

It seemed that he was letting his thoughts spiral again, letting them go out of control. Stark considered him a member of the team. A friend. And he could not help but try to find fault in that, find the lie-- he needed to learn to take some things at face value. If only for his own comfort. If only for now.

Or perhaps not; particularly not if he still intended to face Thanos.

Would the Avengers push him for that, he wondered, if Steve was not here? Before Steve could be found? The likelihood of him doing it after Steve returned, if he did-- of course he _would_ , when he got back, Loki knew, there would be a dozen reasons that he shouldn’t take up the sceptre. But if he didn’t, whatever Steve was going through now would be for naught.

But Romanoff was half the world away, and Loki knew, they _all_ no doubt knew, that he was not ready. And if Steve didn’t come back…

He shook the thought away as completely as he was able and stripped out of his clothes, returning to bed when he realized just how truly exhausted he felt.

Though, he realized as he lay there, it was difficult to say whether it was exhaustion or concern and sorrow that weighed so heavily on him.

He wasn’t certain if his mind drifted off, or if his entire body did, but either way, he knew that time passed. The sun changed positions and the light crept across the floor, and he felt disinclined to move or rise, though he knew he should. He stared at the shield, where it lay, propped against the wall.

Steve wouldn’t want him to lay here. Steve would want him to get up, to speak to his friends. To help, however he could. To do his best. That was all Steve ever wanted of him, that he do his best. That he try to be good. That he try.

And so he hauled himself out of bed, dressed, and did his best to become presentable, with the intent of calling upon Banner.

And, he thought, perhaps best to call ahead. See if Banner even wanted to see him.

“JARVIS?” He asked, glad that the computer would not judge him for the hesitance in his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Will you see if Doctor Banner is otherwise engaged, and find out for me if he is willing to see me? Tell him I will come to meet him, if he is available.”

 

Bruce was no stranger to paperwork. He’d dealt with a lot of it in academia, especially in his undergrad when not nearly enough of his institute’s records had been digitized. And then again, when he’d been on the run, most of the clinics he volunteered with had all their files in hard copies -- if they had them written at all.

Still, the boxes upon boxes of musty files from the bunker now sitting around him on the floor in stacks were a bit daunting.

If HYDRA had been dead and defunct, they might have just passed them off to SHIELD to pour through for anything sensitive, before shuffling them off to some intern to archive for historical purposes.

But now, knowing HYDRA was very much alive put a different spin on things and raised the stakes. Finding out a group that the _nazis_ thought were a little off their collective rocker had been secretly active for the last half-century made their records, however old, a much more sensitive subject. So they’d taken the files with them, along with as much of the research from the lab as they could salvage, and brought it back to the tower to keep it from falling in the wrong hands. And where Bruce wasn’t particularly sure how else he could help with finding Steve just yet, he’d volunteered to go through the yellowed, aging papers.

If nothing else, at least it was more likely to put the Other Guy to sleep than anything else.

 

He narrowed his eyes at another report, the writing scrawled in almost illegible German, before laying the paper on the scanner for the computer to scan, clean, and digitize for translation. It was the hundredth or so he’d scanned in the last hour, at least, and his vision was beginning to water. So when JARVIS spoke his name aloud, Bruce jumped and looked up eagerly.

“Yes?”

“ _Mr. Loki would like to know if he may join you, unless you are otherwise engaged_.”

Well, that was surprising. Bruce blinked. “Yeah, sure,” he said, getting to his feet and groaning as pins and needles traveled through his legs. “It’s a bit of a mess in here, but I’ll get the kettle on. Tell him to come on up.”

His living room had been taken over by HYDRA files, but he shoved enough of the boxes aside to clear a path to the couch. The kitchen of his suite, which Tony had insisted on finally fully moving him into while the others were in DC, was thankfully still reasonably tidy.

 

Once he’d gotten permission via JARVIS-- something that made it difficult to tell, he realized belatedly, the level of welcome he would receive-- Loki headed to Banner’s new room.

He didn’t realize that he had a new one; Loki had been too self absorbed, even before this had happened. And the only way he knew now was because, for the second time that day, JARVIS took him to a different floor than he’d expected.

After giving the voice instructions to tell him, at least for the immediate future, what floors he was being brought to, he departed the elevator and followed JARVIS’s directions to Banner’s door.

He stood awkwardly outside for a few long seconds, wondering how to address his concerns and uncertainty.

They had spoken before, and it was… it had gone well. It had helped him. He needed to find out now if there was anything he could do to help Banner, though. And he wasn’t entirely sure the best way to do that. Or if he were even qualified.

Still, all he could do was fail. And if Banner did not want to face him, at least he would know.

He had a feeling it had to do with Banner’s advising Steve not to bring Loki with them, not to allow him to come and fight. Perhaps he knew, too, that Loki’s being there might have stopped this happening.

Loki wasn’t even certain whether or not he blamed him, whether he wanted to. It would be so easy, of course, assigning blame would mean that he had someone to direct his anger at, a target for his emotions to spill over onto.

But Bruce was not the one holding Steve, keeping Loki from him, and if Loki did not retain his calm there was no guarantee that Banner would be able to, either.

He bit the inside of his lip and knocked, hoping against hope that he would not be leaving here in need of medical help, that Bruce didn’t blame him in turn… that everything would be alright.

 

Bruce opened the door at the knock, smiling weakly at Loki. “Hey,” he said. “I just put water on for tea, if you’d like a cup.”

He stepped back, leaving the door open for Loki to follow him in.

Bruce had taken one of the east-facing rooms on this level, in the suite with the most windows. The natural light and open spaces, painted in pale and neutral tones, made for a calming atmosphere; something he desperately needed in light of his... condition. He’d been thinking about getting some potted plants and succulents for an indoor garden of sorts, though that would have to wait until his living room was no longer dominated by 1940s paperwork.

He led the way into the kitchen, which was decorated with a pale marble counter and clean white wood, inviting Loki to sit at the small round table with him.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

About what, he wasn’t sure, and he had the creeping feeling that he wouldn’t be able to help with whatever it was. But he’d told Loki before that he was welcome to seek him out if he needed to talk, and so he could, if nothing else, listen.

 

Loki looked curiously around at the spread of papers everywhere. They seemed old, fragile-- like they ought to be bound, though even from here he could see the way the type on the page was often a bit askew, lines with neatly printed x’s all across them… these were not book pages. He wondered what they were for, and why they were here, but did not want to ask, lest he seem rude or invasive, when he was trying to refrain from being either.

“I wanted to ask after you. I had not--” he did not want to imply that either of them had been avoiding the other, particularly since Loki had been avoiding everyone, but Bruce’s difficulties so much as looking at him seemed to persist, even now, the man walking away as soon as he acknowledged him, speaking to him with his back turned while he made himself busy tending to a pot of water that had yet to boil.

“I wasn’t certain how you fared, after the… less than well fated outing. While I’ve admittedly seen less of everyone, it seems that I have seen less still of you. I thought you may be...avoiding me. I only wanted…” he trailed off and looked down at his own hands, glad now that the counter somewhat separated them.

“I wanted to see if there was anything I should or could do or say to make things better. That’s all.” He looked up hopefully.

“I can’t bring Steve back, obviously. If I could… well. But. If there is any way I can help. He wouldn’t want me moping about in our rooms. He would want me doing whatever I could. So, I thought this seemed the place to start.”

 

Bruce blinked a few times, trying to figure out what was going on as he slowly withdrew a pair of mugs from the cupboard, setting them down on the table.

Loki was... checking in on him?

Whatever reason he’d thought Loki might’ve had for coming here, that hadn’t even been on the list.

“I’m, um. I’m okay,” he ventured cautiously, getting out the sugar and honey, then picking a couple of teabags out and setting them in the cups. “It’s... I mean, I think this whole thing is rough for everyone, in our own ways.”

Tony was dealing by being obsessive, Thor was wallowing in guilt, Natasha founds reasons to avoid everyone, and Clint hadn’t spoken a word the entire flight back across the Atlantic.

“I was just there as backup,” he blurted after a moment. “I waited outside, came in at the end when it was all over but the clean-up. The Other Guy never made an appearance. Seemed like everything was all taken care of. I wasn’t needed.” He chewed his lower lip, then looked away.

He’d been useless. And he’d been right there when Steve walked off and probably hadn’t even looked up from the lab equipment he’d been examining to get a last look at him. If he had, he didn’t remember it.

“I’m basically no good for anything unless you want dubious science or indiscriminate destruction,” he remarked, the dry levity of his voice belying the bitterness in the words.

 

Loki nodded, not entirely surprised. As Banner said, they were each taking the loss differently.

“At least you were judged useful enough to _be there_.” He replied, matching Banner in tone. “If you want me to tell you it is all fine, I can’t. It isn’t. If you want me to hold you accountable, I’ve already decided that it isn’t productive. I want to be angry, but I want to be angry at the correct people, the ones actually responsible for this. I can hold no judgment over you; I wasn’t there. And even if you were fully, completely and directly at fault-- it wouldn’t bring him back.” He was trying to be kind-- but that didn’t mean that he should fall in with Banner’s misery. Stark had refused to do so for him, and it had actually-- surprisingly-- helped.

Not entirely true. He could hold judgment _because_ he wasn’t there, but this could not fully be about him. It was about Steve. He needed to remember that.

And he needed to remember the dangerous ground he was treading upon; if he’d been unlucky, if Stark had been in a worse mood, he might have done much greater damage that morning. He’d forgotten how to step lightly around great troubles, how to behave as he had when he was in court, and if anything were to test his ability to recall those skills, it would be managing not to anger Banner too greatly.

Considering the last time they had had a quiet chat he’d almost transformed, this would be a challenge. Fortunately, Loki as he remembered himself was in a habit of rising to challenges.

“Besides, I think that you will find that if those who hold him do not come forward of their own accord, it may well be dubious science to help return Steve to us. And if they do, well.” He smiled like the predator he could be. “Indiscriminate destruction does not sound completely unwelcome, so far as I am concerned.” There was bite there, anger, but again, not at Banner. He needed to focus and he needed Burce to focus, so that they could make their emotions useful. It was what Bruce did all the time, converting anger and fear into something better.

He leaned back, breaking the eye contact he’d held for perhaps a moment too long, and stared around the room. He meant to volunteer his help in cleaning, or reading through the piles, or whatever it was Banner was doing, provided he could understand it.

Until he realized that tucked into a corner between two large crates of yet more papers was a cushion, housing--

“I know I haven’t been the _most_ attentive, but when did you get a dog?” He asked, and when the beast looked up at the word, he gave Banner a _look_ , which implied that ‘dog’ had better not be the creature’s name.

“And is that what all of these papers are for?” He’d thought them yellowed with age, but found his nose wrinkling as another possibility arose.

 

Bruce flinched at Loki’s words about accountability, reminded that he’d been the one to discourage Steve from bringing along a seventh man. But, as Loki went on, he was... curt, but reasonable. Focused. Not overly sympathetic, but Bruce certainly didn’t feel he had the right to expect him to be -- and he was far from snappish or cruel.

And as for the thought of loosing the Other Guy on the evil bastards who took Steve and put them through all this... Bruce could feel him in the back of his mind, grumbling in agreement and approval.

Some people just needed to be smashed.

Still, he couldn’t help shake a sense of guilt. For not being useful then and not being useful now. For things he knew perfectly well weren’t his fault, but for all his logical understand that this was the case, couldn’t shake the need to cringe in shame at the thought of them. Maybe it was because enough of the pain and destruction he’d seen _had_ been his fault, or he’d been told it was as much.

But if Loki wasn’t going to lay blame on him, he could hold his tongue and wallow in his own time. No use in making things worse by derailing Loki’s sensible attitude.

He poured the hot water, almost spilling a bit at the abrupt non-sequitur.

“Hmm? Oh! He’s not mine,” he hurriedly explained. “He’s Clint’s. I’m just dogsitting while he’s in DC.” While most animals tended to shy away from Bruce (he suspected they sensed the apex predator just under his skin), Clint’s dog was happy enough to nap or put his head in Bruce’s lap to demand petting without any seeming reservations. It had a mellow temperament, so when Clint had asked him if he could feed and walk the thing, Bruce had agreed.

“Lucky!” he called, pitched his voice higher than its usual register, and then clicking his tongue. The dog perked up, one chewed-up ear lifting, then got up and padded over, nails clicking against the flooring as he approached the table.

Bruce reached out and gave him a scratch behind the ears. “Good boy,” he said, then looked back at Loki with a sheepish smile. “And no, as far as we’ve seen, he’s housebroken. The papers are all files we found in the bunker. I’ve been going through and digitizing them for Stark.”

 

“You would think the man would have found a faster means of getting words from papers onto screens, by now.” He remarked mildly.

He didn’t miss that Banner had not commented on the actual reason for his presence, though he didn’t know he could blame him. It was not an easy topic, not the way the dog was.

So let him have a little time-- he was making tea, and Loki could hardly leave it undrunk; it would be rude. He’d thought appealing to the logical side of Banner would be best, but he realized that he knew precious little of how the man worked and thought. He would have to try a different tack.

In a bit.

“I didn’t realize Clint had a dog, either.” He murmured, aware that if anything that was worse. He knew Clint disliked him, hated him and feared him… and living so close, he should have been making efforts to keep astride developments in his life… for Loki’s own comfort.

The dog-- Lucky-- had apparently finished receiving scratches from Banner, and came to Loki for them next.

He held his hand out before his nose, then spoke softly while running his fingers through the short coarse hairs of his back.

“Can I ask though-- Before you all left, Steve and I… quarreled.” He’d not said as much to anyone else yet, but he had the feeling they had to have known, anyway. Steve was not very good at hiding his emotions. If he had gone angry into the mission, they should all have known. And if that caused him to be reckless…

“Can I ask how Steve was, before… on the flight perhaps? Before you got there? Did he seem upset? Or scared? Distracted?” Or like he hated Loki, he thought, but did not say. He stroked the top of Lucky’s head, the hair there much silkier, no doubt smoothed by hands until it was. Clint probably spent a lot of time with the animal. Looking at the dog kept him from having to face Banner, and gave him a sort of false bravery. He took a breath and asked his next question.

“And… why did you advise against my presence? Again, I am not… I just want him back, and want to know what I need to do to… be better.” He let some of his weakness shine through in his words and tone, let his sadness come through. His concern and his feeling of being lost. Of having lost... Bruce's regard, along with his partner.

 

Bruce wasn’t sure how Loki would react to Lucky (and the similarity of their names was almost cause for Bruce to smile, just a tiny bit), knowing how... fastidious the former could be. But he reached out almost immediately to pet him, apparently unfazed by the dog’s scruffiness or his connection to Barton.

“I think he’s a recent acquisition. Stray who followed him home,” Bruce answered, blowing on the surface of his tea before taking a tentative sip, then lowering the cup.

“Steve was pretty quiet on the plane,” he said, weighing his words. He’d wondered if something was up, suspecting that the conversation Steve had needed to have with Loki would have been... difficult. But it was hard to tell how much of it was just Steve’s pre-mission focus. “He mainly just concentrated on the briefing, going over the maps and satellite images with us, then doubling back over the plan. After that, he grabbed an hour or so of shut-eye before we landed -- said he hadn’t slept much the night before. But he didn’t seem too off, or emotional or anything.”

Bruce had accepted it at face value, more concentrated on his own jitters and general hatred of small aircraft.

“You know how he is. Even if he’s upset about something, he doesn’t like to bleed on anyone else,” he pointed out, sipping more tea and wincing as it scalded his tongue.

And ok, maybe wincing a little at having to answer Loki’s next question.

Of course, Steve had probably explained his reasons to Loki for why he wasn’t coming, and apparently threw Bruce under the bus somewhere in that explanation. Something that had him a little irked since he _hated_ getting dragged into other people’s confrontations. But given that he had weighed in on the decision, he supposed he’d have to deal with it now.

“Steve asked me to keep an objective eye on the training,” he explained, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them against his shirt so he wouldn’t have to look Loki in the eye. “The team wasn’t bad, but there were... rough spots. Places where people weren’t meshing. And a lot of it was folks adapting to you being there. Tony and me, we’re used to having you around, we’ve had time to get comfortable and get to know you. But Clint and Thor have only been around for... what, about a week? Romanoff about the same.”

And after a week of living with Steve and Loki in the tower, Bruce and Tony had still been wary and on edge with the idea of Loki even being under the same roof as them, let alone the same team.

He sighed. “This team... it takes a while to sort itself out,” he said. “When we were first assembled, we were a disaster. Natasha was focused entirely on getting Clint back and I scared the hell out of her. I didn’t wanna even be there. Thor just wanted to get you home, and Steve and Tony were at each others’ throats nonstop. You know that; you saw it yourself. Made it work to your advantage. Hell, we were so dysfunctional, we just about took ourselves out for you in the beginning,” he mused. “We didn’t fully trust each other, we weren’t all cooperating or focusing on the same goals, and we didn’t work together effectively. And a lot of people got hurt or died on the helicarrier because of it.”

He held his glasses over his tea and let the steam fog up the lenses before wiping them off on his sleeve once again and returning them to his face. “We managed to pull together out of sheer desperation once the Chitauri hit Manhattan, but those were pretty extraordinary circumstances.” It was easier to trust someone when the world was ending and you had nothing to lose, after all.

“Still. It took some time. And if we’d had time to train together and get comfortable, we’d have been much more effective from the beginning.” Setting aside the fact Bruce wouldn’t have allowed himself to be recruited at that point for anything short of the end of the world, of course. “So, having some first hand experience with the kind of collateral that can happen when a team isn’t working well...” he grimaced, “I recommended we didn’t bring you out with us. Not yet.”

 

Loki nodded and lifted his own mug of tea, scalding his mouth to hide his expression.

Banner was right, of course. The Avengers were a team built to fight against him… of course there would be hesitation. And he had been the cause of those deaths, that harm that Bruce had spoken of.

He felt as if a frown were trying to etch itself permanently into his face.

Below him, Lucky made a soft noise, a barely vocalized whuff, and butted against his legs.

“I appreciate your honesty.” He told the other man softly, when he was certain he could speak without, as Banner called it, bleeding on him.

And how apt. That was exactly what Steve did, tucking his hurts away and hiding them so that none would see, or worry. The way he had run from Loki all those times, into the bathroom, out of the room, away from their bed and his nightmares.

“I was… angry at Steve, when we had that conversation, that… that fight. I was unkind. And I didn’t know how much of what he said might be fueled by anger. But.” He let out a small huff of his own and reached down to rub at Lucky’s ears. “As usual, he was merely telling me things as they are. No malice. Just..” He felt his throat catch and didn’t stop speaking before a small sound emerged.

“I always say the most hurtful things,” He told Banner by way of explanation. “Even when I don’t mean them. Especially then. And I-- didn’t get to talk to him before he left, didn’t get to--” _To fix things. To say goodbye._

Loki’s eyes were growing moist, and all he wanted to do was slump onto the floor and bury his face in the dog’s fur. But he was better behaved than that. More civil.

He took a drink of tea, using the hot liquid to force back the tears and the lump that had grown in his throat.

“Sorry. It seems while the dog is housebroken, I’m not.” He put on a small wry grin, unsure whether or not the expression quite hit the mark. He breathed in deeply.

“I did not come here to make you defend yourself, nor to try and make you feel guilty, though I’m afraid I’ve done only that. I’m not particularly good with feelings-- not my own, and especially not others’. Steve said--” but he stopped. It didn’t matter what Steve said. “Steve was always so much better at this. Is so much better at this. I only wanted… wanted to be certain you had not come to hate me, that my continued presence here would not stop you doing what you need to, would not make you hesitate to bring him back. But that fear seems to have been pointless. You are far kinder than I give you credit for, and I both thank you and apologize for that.”

It was easiest to say these things without looking at Banner, easiest to devote his attention to the brown eyes and tawny fur of the creature staring up at him so trustingly.

“Your new friend seems to like me. If only he could convince his master to come around as well, I would have one less worry. Still… As you said, he is hesitant. And I deserve that.” Mournful though he sounded about it, he knew it was true. And it was good to know that the reasons for his exclusion had been purely tactical, on Banner’s side of things. The man had not lied, and neither had Steve.

Loki breathed a tiny bit easier for that.

 

Bruce watched Loki with sympathy.

“Clint’ll come around, I think,” he said, quietly, lifting his tea and holding it, letting the warmth seep into his fingers through the ceramic of the mug. “He just needs some time. He’s been nursing that grudge for well over a year, and it’ll take more than a week for him to let it go.” Patience was obviously not Loki’s strongest suit, but, well, hopefully the knowledge that there was light somewhere at the end of the tunnel would help. Even if Clint had been jumpy as hell with Loki on his team during training, he’d never once turned an attack on him during the bouts where they paired up, which counted for something in Bruce’s mind, given how much he knew Barton had wanted to kill Loki at one point.

“And there’s nothing that will stop any of us from bringing Steve home,” he added. “We wouldn’t-- even if you--” he stopped, frowning, trying to find the words. “I don’t hate you, Loki. Not for what you did _then_ \-- and if I did at one point, a little, I don’t anymore -- and not for anything you’ve done since. And I wouldn’t take it out on Steve if I did. Which I don’t, just so we’re clear,” he fumbled.

His heart ached for Loki as he teared up and talked about how he hadn’t said goodbye. Bruce had felt much the same when he’d taken off after... after the first incident, not so much as a word to Betty. Of course, he’d had the chance years later to -- well, not exactly _make it right,_ but at least talk to her. Make it clear he never, ever wanted to hurt her like that. And she’d known.

She’d known...

“I’m sorry,” he said, adjusting his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not... people aren’t my forte. Talks like this aren’t... Steve’s a lot better at this, you’re right,” he sighed. “But I think part of the reason Steve is good at it is because he’s got this sense for people, you know?”

He finally looked up. “I’m sure wherever he is now, Loki, he knows whatever you said was said in anger and you didn’t mean it. And I bet he’s just looking forward to coming home to you.” He didn’t doubt for a second that when they got Steve back, Loki would be the first person he asked about. “He loves you,” he added. “Really loves you. Even _I_ can see that, and I don’t think any one fight is gonna shake that even a little.”

Another sip of his tea, and he frowned; as good as tea was, it was getting on toward noon, and he could do with something a bit more substantial than boiled leaf water. “Are you hungry? I was going to heat up some lentil soup for lunch.”

 

Loki had to look away again, to keep himself from reacting to Bruce’s words about his being loved.

Steve had told him as much, over and over, shown him a thousand times. And he was so ungrateful, so distrusting… He found his fingers seeking out the shape of Steve’s tags, like they were some sort of lifeline to the man. As if he could reach him through them. But they weren’t. They weren’t and he couldn’t. Couldn’t reach him at all.

And he’d promised, so long ago back in the cell, that if ever Steve had gone away for any reason, he wouldn’t stop eating because of it.

“I do not know what lentils are, but as long as they are not overly spicy, I would… appreciate the food. And the company. No matter how good you think you aren’t at people. And no matter how ironic you may find it to sound when I tell you how calming of a presence you are. I… am very glad. That you aren’t driving me away, when I know it is likely the easier option. So thank you.”

Looking down at the dog, Loki had a thought, though knowing whose dog it was, he was hesitant to speak up.

“I realize you are busy now,” he said, gesturing at all of the papers, “and until such a time as I can be of use, I am not. I was wondering if you’d mind-- if I mightn’t help by taking Lucky out, for a bit, during the day. Just a walk, a small one, just to stretch his legs, and give me reasons to--” to leave his rooms, to get out of the tower… “to get some fresh air every now and again.”

He shrugged, as if it were merely an offhand offer, as if he was not all but holding his breath for permission.

After all, Tony could hardly be angry at him for going out if it was only for a few minutes, and with the obvious reason of taking the dog out. And he wouldn’t technically be alone, with Lucky with him. Technically.

But without the ability to leave without being questioned, he knew he would begin to chafe under the restraint of the tower.

 

Bruce smiled and looked away. He didn’t blush like Steve did, but he had a pleasant warm feeling when Loki thanked him, glad that even if he’d been of no help to Steve, he could at least make things a bit less terrible for Loki. They were all going to need to hang tight to each other with the current crisis, after all.

He got up and opened the fridge, pulling out a tupperware of soup he’d made up a couple days ago, and then a saucepan, pouring the soup into the pot and then setting it on the stove to heat in time to have both eyebrows lift in surprise at Loki’s request.

“That would... be great, actually,” he replied. “JARVIS? Grant Loki access to my rooms when I’m not around.” It wasn’t as if he kept anything sensitive in here -- the only formulas he was paranoid about resided in his lab, and he didn’t believe Loki would take advantage of the access. “I’ll be sure to leave his leash and collar by the door. I’m sure he’d really appreciate it,” he added, reaching over to pet Lucky’s back end.

Really, it would be good for Lucky and Loki both. Fresh air was healthy, Lucky would get walked properly, and Loki... well, dogs were good for loneliness. And with Steve gone, Bruce could only imagine how isolated Loki was probably feeling.

He gave the soup a stir.

 

He stifled his show of surprise at the easy agreement and the casual way that Bruce gave Loki permission to be there, when he was not.

Such a gesture of blind trust, from so private a man as he… it meant a lot. Unless, of course, Loki was over thinking _this_ , too. He did not want to go around pushing his sudden solitude into a new way of manipulating people. But then, he also did-- because he could use it to his benefit, to be sure he was told, was kept in the loop in regards to Steve.

To try and get them to work harder at whatever they were doing. To get them to include him as much as possible, so that he was not so utterly alone. And so that he could know things, learn, understand, perhaps be of some help...

But then, that was why it was better that he be around the dog. At least he could not harm him with his words or his moods, could not influence the dog into doing anything or being anything but a dog. And he was capable of being genuinely helpful where the dog was concerned.

Which automatically made him better at this than anything else so far.

A vast improvement on his life since Steve had been taken. All because of Barton and his stray. He would have to remember to thank him, when he got back, for it.

“Perhaps when we’ve finished, I’ll take him out for his first walk… but in the mean time, what is a lentil, exactly?” There was an air of ease that he could feel now, and he relaxed into it. Neither of them seemed to be waiting for anything from the other now, so near as he could tell, and it was good. Better, at least, than it had been when he’d come.

He counted that as a success, and took a silently celebratory drink of his tea.

 

Lentils were simpler than feelings and personal dynamics.

Bruce could talk about lentils with no issue. He smiled.

“Lentils are legumes. They grow in pods, sort of like beans or peas, on lentil plants, and they’ve got a lot of protein, which is good when you’re a vegetarian or just don’t eat much meat...”

He idly stirred the soup and kept talking, the conversation growing easier as they switched to less-charged topics, such as the origins of various foods and variations in human diet. And for a little while, with bowls of hot and savory-smelling soup finally dished up and served between them, it was possible to almost forget about the worst of what was happening. Enough to believe they’d maybe all get through this with their sanity and friendships intact.

  
And in spite of his relative uselessness compared to the others, Bruce felt the faintest thread of hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note, we put together a Little Talks Playlist that you can listen to [here](http://8tracks.com/lenatheoddity/carry-our-bodies-safe-to-shore) (also rebloggable on tumblr).


	61. Sixty-One

It was such a simple thing, and it made him feel so much better, that Loki would not have been able to imagine any way that going out with Lucky would cause him harm, if you had asked.

But unfortunately, if he had stopped to think about it, he wouldn’t have been surprised. He also would not have been able to guess that the cause of the hurt would be Steve himself.

Or as close to him as Loki could get.

The third time that Loki had taken Lucky out for a walk, they had been outside for only about half an hour, and there had been an altogether too familiar voice coming from one of the shops next to the tower. He wasn’t expecting it, and when he heard Steve, he stopped in his tracks, surprising Lucky and causing the leash to yank at him just hard enough to cause him to make a faint noise of protest.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Loki apologized to the dog quickly, then maneuvered them closer to the window with the television screen inside.

On the TV, Steve was talking from behind a podium, not in his red and blue uniform, but in what was unquestionably a uniform, and he was clearly uncomfortable-- clearly to Loki, but the speech itself was going smoothly. Impressively so, for someone such as he, who was not fond of such roles.

At first, Loki thought he had been found, that the speech was in gratitude to those who had rescued him, and his hand all but flew to his phone where it lay in his pocket, but the video was interrupted by a news announcer, speaking of how one of the men that Steve had apparently been honoring in his speech had been promoted, or given some new title or some such thing-- Loki didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

He stared at the screen a little longer, in the hopes that Steve would come back-- and then shook himself when Lucky pulled at his leash, eager to continue their walk.

“I think we should head back.” Loki murmured.

Lucky didn’t understand, probably, but he didn’t resist. He was a good dog, and Loki told him as much, glad that at least he had someone to talk to so that he did not end up rambling to himself.

When they arrived at the tower, though, he realized just how fragile his calm had been, and just how shattered he felt. He let his illusions fall when the doors of the elevator closed, and he addressed JARVIS.

“Please tell Stark that I’ve returned, and am safely within the tower.”

But rather than go to one of the other floors, rather than risk having to take his already fragile emotions to Banner-- he wouldn’t. Steve tried so hard not to bleed on people, Loki didn’t see how he had any right. Especially when he did not do them half the good that Steve did. There was no balance, no evening of the scales. Only Loki, bearing trouble and bringing his failures for others to clean up. As he always had.

He took Lucky to his floor and let them into his apartment, reassuring the dog as thoroughly as he could while he removed his leash. In a daze, he filled one of Steve’s pots with water for Lucky to drink out of.

Then Loki excused himself, feeling foolish, and returned to his room, crawling into his bed and curling up into himself.

It would be easier, he thought, if the rest of the world knew that Steve was missing. He would be able to see their concern, see their mourning, and he wouldn’t feel so alone.

But then again, he felt horrible-- sick and sad and repulsive, for wishing his hurt on others. It would not actually make him any better, would not change matters… The tears welled in his eyes, hot and full. He buried his head in his arms and lay that way for a few minutes, until he felt the bed dip beside him, and his heart positively stopped.

Then a wet nose burrowed against his cheek, snuffling loudly, and he tensed and sat up, screaming in a wordless roar, and pushed the dog aside.

But Lucky whined and crawled closer to him again, crouched low to the bed, and Loki felt his heart breaking a little further. He was immediately contrite.

“I’m sorry. Here, come here-- I’m sorry Lucky, good dog.” He rubbed at his head until Lucky stood up like usual and draped himself across Loki’s lap, tongue lolling out of his mouth while he seemed to smile.

Loki sat that way, stroking the dog and staring at the shield, his mind almost blank, for a very long time.

It wasn’t until there was a knock on his door that he realized how long, exactly; he’d lost hours to this position, and he could tell when he stood and his legs and back complained of the stiffness that had settled in.

 

Clint was a little bit pissed off.

Not full-blown hollering and throwing punches pissed off, or seething, putting-so-many-arrows-in-the-target-dummy-it-looks-like-a-porcupine pissed off. He was too goddamn tired for that, having barely been able to sleep in the past couple of days. But he was definitely _irked._

He got back from DC, back to Stark Tower, which was, as far as he was concerned, _ground fucking zero_ for the scepter since Stark and Banner didn’t want to hand the thing over to SHIELD to bury. Not that Clint could quite logically blame them, considering how colossally SHIELD had managed to screw the pooch on that the last time around, but still. He didn’t want to be under the same roof as the damn thing. Hell, he was happy not being on the same continent. Or planet.

Could Thor just go throw it off into space for them or something?

So on top of insomnia and general agitated anxiety, when he came back and headed next door to knock on Banner’s suite to ask for his dog back, it turned out Banner didn’t have him.

Loki did.

Loki. Had Clint’s dog.

(And somehow, Banner didn’t see anything wrong with this.)

So Clint’d had to go back down a floor and knock on the door of the last person he wanted to deal with right now, when he already felt like a frayed livewire. After a second’s pause, he rapped against the door again, grinding his teeth so hard his jaw ached, hoping the jerk hadn’t gone and done something awful to the poor mutt.

 

The second knock came when he was barely at the door of his bedroom, and it sounded a little more urgent, and so he found himself all but sprinting to open the door, Lucky trotting happily along at his heels.

The door opened onto Barton, though, and he flinched.

“I-- Hello, Barton. I didn’t realize you were back.”

Lucky nudged him aside, headed straight for his master, and Loki stood aside to let him go, quickly realizing why Barton had come.

“If-- I’ll fetch his leash.” He said, changing the direction of his sentence part way through.

He had a feeling that his offering to continue walking him-- his request to do so, really-- wouldn’t be all that well received. Not considering the glower that Barton’s face seemed permanently pressed into. At least when it came to Loki.

It still smarted, though, losing the purpose he’d managed to glean just from walking Lucky, losing the only reason he had to go outside, so soon after having gained it.

 

Clint was surprised but relieved to see Lucky more or less as soon as Loki opened the door (though decidedly less surprised and relieved to see Loki) and reached out immediately to pet the dog, checking him to make sure he was alright. Everything was normal as far as he could tell -- his dog didn’t appear traumatized or in the least bit worse for wear for spending time with the tower’s resident Prince of Darkness, and judging from the way he was enthusiastically licking Clint’s hand, hadn’t been brainwashed into a psycho attack dog.

He looked up at Loki, narrowing his eyes at him as he fetched the leash that Clint had left in Banner’s care.

“Just got in,” he answered. “Came to get my dog. Imagine my surprise when I hear Bruce handed him over to _you,”_ he grumbled, watching Loki with evident distrust.

Even if he hadn’t messed with Lucky, there had to be something going on here. Some angle.

“Didn’t really figure you for a dog person.”

 

Loki didn’t know what he could say that would disarm the situation, but he settled for the truth just the same.

“Bruce has been busy, and there is little else I could do that would lighten the load. And I love dogs. I’ve always loved dogs. Most animals, for that matter.” He shrugged lightly. “They have always liked me more than people have.”

He offered the man the leash, but held onto it to keep him from just taking it and running away.

“Not that I can blame them.” He added. He looked critically at the other, then paused before finally asking. “How have you fared? I do not imagine it could have been easy for you, going to retrieve the item that I used to make a puppet of you, and losing the Captain that you had just regained in the process.” He frowned and released his grip on the leash.

“I am… sorry. That what I have done continues to plague you. That you can not feel safe, even when I fight alongside you. At least you can rest assured in the knowledge that the sceptre is secure and in Stark’s care. I haven’t touched it, and, until Steve is returned, I will not. You have my word on that.”

Selfish though the oath was, he hoped it helped at least a little.

 

Clint arched a disbelieving eyebrow at Loki’s claim to love dogs, but didn’t dispute it. Instead, he looked down at Lucky. He’d heard somewhere that dogs were supposed to be good judges of character, but Lucky seemed to be dropping the ball in that department.

Though, given he’d followed Clint home simply because he’d fed him pizza, one could make a case for Lucky’s judgment being permanently compromised.

He looked up sharply when Loki asked how he was doing -- how it couldn’t have been easy -- thinking he was being mocked. That the jackass was finding a reason to twist the knife, a reminder what Clint had been through while taunting him for having gone to pieces in the bunker--

But the smug expression he clenched a fist to punch right off Loki’s face... wasn’t there. And Loki kept talking.

Apologizing.

Clint stiffened, teeth clenching again, and he didn’t trust himself for a few seconds. Of course, he was hard pressed to well and truly believe Loki wasn’t playing him. Wasn’t playing all of them. No matter what Steve and Nat said, that suspicion kept lingering in the back of his mind, entrenched and unshakable. But hell if he didn’t look sincere, or as close to sincere as he suspected Loki got.

He didn’t really know what to make of that.

Stalling, Clint dropped into a crouch, sitting on his haunches and scratching behind Lucky’s ears, putting his full attention on the dog now licking his chin.

“I guess someone told you about what happened with the scepter there, huh,” he muttered, wiping dog saliva from his jaw with the back of his sleeve.

 

Loki felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, unsure if he should believe Barton-- likely as unsure of that as Barton was of whether or not he could believe Loki himself.

“No.” he said softly. “No one-- It has been effort to get any information about your mission from them.” he huffed out something approximating a chuckle. “I suppose I’m not cleared for it. As such… If you do not want to tell me, I could hardly blame you. But--” And here he had to choose his words carefully, well aware that he could cause more damage with what he said and did.

“However little you may be able to believe me-- I do want to help. To… atone, if I can, if you will let me.” He carefully did not say that Steve would want it of the both of them. He did not want to manipulate this man.

“If you can tell me what happened, exactly… I may be able to explain it, or… or tell you how to keep from repeating the experience. Did it hurt you?” He was hesitant to be the one to try and do this, but no one else could.

“Did it-- did you touch it?” The worry that Thanos may now know of Barton, as well as Steve, created a slew of new concerns, but he tried to hold them off, hoping there was another answer.

 

“Oh, _hell_ no,” Clint replied immediately and with a shudder, before he could stop himself. “If I’m never up close and personal with that thing again, it’ll be too goddamn soon.”

And yet, he’d said that before, and still, the damn thing kept finding ways into his life. Showing up at SHIELD and nearly killing Steve. Winding up in HYDRA’s hands and getting pointed at him... again...

_Not again--_

Lucky whined, nudging at his hand with the top of his head, tilting his head to the side.

“Good dog,” Clint murmured, burying his fingers once more in warm and reassuring fur.

He didn’t really want to talk to Loki about this. Didn’t really want to talk to Loki ever, despite his promise to Steve that he’d do his best to play nice with the guy. Not shooting him, after all, was a long way from being _buddies_ or some crap. He wasn’t ready for that, might never be after what he did.

Only now it wasn’t just him. Loki had been safe behind, thousands of miles away, and _still_ Clint had wound up on the wrong end of his mind-control stick. Which wasn’t fair. At all.

Lucky huffed, then moved away from Clint, turning in a tight circle to lick at Loki’s fingers where they hung at his side. Clint glared at the dog for a second, then straightened up, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the wall, nonchalance of his posture belying the tension in his whole frame.

“One of the HYDRA guys picked it up. Came at me,” he stated plainly, as flatly as he could. Like he was describing the weather. “Maybe I just have one of those ‘mind-control-me’ kinda faces or something.” He shrugged. “Anyway, he, uh. Leveled the thing at me... And then his head imploded.”

 

As easy as it would have been to look away and take the welcome distraction that the dog provided, he understood that he needed to treat with Barton as earnestly and attentively as he could.

“I know it may not help to hear it, but the only reason I chose you was the way you did not balk, did not flinch… you watched and listened and learned before you sprung to action, unlike those around you. You seemed that you would rather be calm than jumping immediately to fight. You showed heart. And even in the state I was in, then, I knew enough that I knew to value that. It had nothing to do with your face, I promise.” He tried for levity, but knew it was dry.

“The sceptre-- it does hold some sway. You have seen it before; when it asked Steve to touch it, when it caused strife among those near it. This is Thanos’s influence. His mind is linked with that of the wielder. And when it is not being touched, Thanos is searching for the next person to bear it. It could be that the sceptre sensed in you that possibility… or.” And this he did look down briefly, before firming his resolve and saying it anyway. “Or it remembered you. Could feel its mark left on you-- not literally, but. Magic often leaves a residue, faint but present. If I heal someone more than once, I can sense myself having been there before.”

Lucky was still demanding attention from him, and so he stroked along his head gently, fingers playing over the bump at the back of his skull.

“I do not know what caused the damage to the man who held it. I do know that Steve bled from his nose, after he-- you saw. And he is stronger than most men. It could have been the strain of too great a power for his body to handle… or it could be that Thanos felt his mind and found it unappealing. And so he just…”

Loki shrugged and clenched his fist, rather than describing it.

“But Tony and Bruce have it secured, in a container that even I would be unable to magic my way out of, if I tried. You should be safe here, and you can feel secure in that. You have my word.”

 

Clint slouched further against the wall, feeling a little nauseous. “So what you’re telling me is there’s a chance that now that thing’s got a taste of my brain, it’s gonna keep targeting me?” he asked. “Any asshole who picks it up is gonna zero in on me from now on?”

He was hard-pressed in that moment to think of anything more unfair. Or more personally horrifying. He didn’t want any kind of connection to the scepter, any residue or-- or--

He buried his face in his hands briefly, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes and then dragging his fingers down his cheeks. Part of him was half-tempted to ask Loki if he could scrub that residue off. If he could clear away the magic with some other kind of magic, free Clint from whatever was making him the scepter’s preferred target. Except that would involve asking Loki to perform magic on him, and there was no way Clint was that far gone. Not when Loki had been the one to choose him in the first place, for deliberate reasons. This was all his fault, after all.

(But between being in close quarters with Loki and close quarters with his old weapon, Clint definitely knew which he’d pick.)

And Loki was trying to... reassure him? Giving him his word (worth next to nothing as far as Clint was concerned) and reminding him of all the safeguards. Even, in a weird, messed up kinda way, complimenting him for the reactions that made Loki choose him as a puppet in the first place.

“Did you know?” he asked lowly. “When you... when you did that to me. Did you know it would leave some kind of permanent trace?”

 

“I know how my own magic, my seidhr, works… but that is and was something of a mystery to me. The metal itself has amplifying properties, but the stone, the focal point… that seems imbued with something completely different. No other magic that I know can so burrow into your mind, can open a door-- and I learned, I learned by-- with you. I didn’t know. But… I would imagine it will only focus towards you if you are nearest, or at least nearer to it than anyone else with a stronger connection. You were on the wrong end for it to have bonded too fully to you. I cannot speak to the circumstances, but…”

He paused and thought quickly.

“I have helped Tony and Bruce to create a magic dampening product-- SHIELD made one to negate my connection to my seidhr, and Tony found a way of miniaturizing it, and with Bruce’s help, we have made it specifically attuned to the only two magics we know of now, mine and that of the sceptre. You might ask for some kind of amulet or bracelet… some wearable protection. I would not be able to shield you, then, in the event of an emergency… but I could not do anything else to you, either… and it should also nullify the sceptre’s pull to you.”

It was the best he could do, the largest olive branch he could offer-- immunity to his own power.

And it stung, the same way it had when Steve had seemed at first so repulsed by his seidhr. It hurt that he had managed to single handedly show this man only the hurts that could be caused with the power, and that now, no healing or good that could come of it would ever be respected. But that was entirely his doing, and he would have to live with it.

Looking down at the man crouching against the wall, he was stricken with the thought that Steve had done the same, time and again. That Steve had often shown his vulnerability just like this. That Barton doing so before him was… it was unlike him. Like he had lowered his guards.

Were it any other Avenger, he would not hesitate to ask him inside, to offer to make tea-- he was able to do that much, he thought. But he doubted that would be welcome now.

Especially without Steve here, to make it feel less like a trap.

At least Barton had Lucky, which, Loki realized with a pang, was probably why he had seemed so upset over him being here when he returned. Barton relied on Lucky the same way Loki had been beginning to. He should have known better, and he felt disgusted with himself, seeking comfort from the other man’s familiar, or likely as near as the people of Midgard got to them, at any rate.

“It was strong enough, just SHIELD’s version, to hurt Steve when my seidhr was shut down, because I have healed him using it in the past. I can only imagine the ways Stark has improved upon the design.” He meant it to reassure Barton, as much as he could. Make himself seem like less of a threat. Hopefully allow the man to sleep easier. He owed him that much at least.

 

“Huh,” Clint grunted, in neither appreciation nor rejection.

The notion of some kind of personal anti-magic field -- one that worked against the scepter and Loki both -- actually held significant appeal when he thought about it. Clint was pretty used to relying on Stark’s tech, where SHIELD outsourced so many of its contracts to Stark Industries anyway, and if it meant not having to watch his back, not having to live with the constant threat of having his own mind taken from him again, Clint would wear a goddamn anti-magic candy rainbow friendship bracelet.

The weird thing though, was Loki suggesting it, when he had nothing to gain from it in the least.

Except, perhaps, Clint’s trust.

He regarded the other man critically. Loki seemed to be doing his best to be... nice. And Clint didn’t know if he wanted to believe in this new Loki or not. He’d told Steve he’d try, and he’d managed to cover being civil, figuring he could maintain enough distance that if this whole Loki thing blew up in everyone else’s faces, he’d at least be out of the blast radius. But actually forgiving Loki would mean more than Clint was sure he could handle.

Because if Loki was one of the good guys now, where did that leave Clint? Some jackass antagonist? Or worse, another victim, doomed to be the universe’s chew-toy whenever some fresh magical baddie cropped up?

He idly scratched at a spot under Lucky’s chin, then stopped.

“So, no good dancing around what happened. When are we going to go check out the other spots on the map, see if they took Steve there?”

 

He didn’t know what to say or do or how to react. Barton could leave but wasn’t doing so. He wasn’t betraying his feelings much, keeping his face turned toward the dog and his answer monosyllabic.

But after a few moments of awkward silence of Loki wondering what he was waiting for, if he was supposed to be doing something… his silences were almost more disarming than Romanov’s, because while he knew what she was doing, her eyes measuring him, testing for lies and weaknesses, Barton was a mystery, his thoughts unreadable.

“I-- the other spots?” Loki asked, not entirely sure what Barton was asking. “You mean when we found the sceptre from the map we made of--” It clicked, a moment later, and his eyes went wide.

“You think we could find Steve with it.”

That was brilliant. They hadn’t thought of that yet, but why not? They should be monitoring to see if any of the other spots had become-- no, they wouldn’t react, the Avengers had won the sceptre… but still, if those were places that the sceptre had been, maybe they were places that might serve as cells for Steve. Little glowing flags for potential hiding spots for the men who had taken him.

Loki stepped forward, his impulse to hug Barton, but he drew up short, mindful that from him, even in joy, such a display, such contact, might be seen as anything but innocent.

“I-- I should go speak to Bruce or Tony or both, ah, would you-- I don’t suppose you wish to come along? I’m not certain--” What he could do, whether he was interested even, but… it seemed rude not to invite him, to rush away after--

“Unless. Unless there was more you wanted to know, more questions you might have about the sceptre. I know that I am the last person you would seek reassurance from, but being as I am the only one with the knowledge to give it… I owe you at the very least any peace of mind I can afford you.” Even though he was all but jumping beneath his skin, his muscles tensed to dash out the door.  
And he could tell Lucky realized something was of interest. He was getting excited, too, agitated, playful.

Which reminded him--

“I took Lucky out perhaps four hours ago, for a short walk. He may be ready for another-- or possibly dinner. I didn’t have any dog food set aside for him here, so.” He spread his hands apologetically, then paused.

“Thank you.” He said it with every ounce of sincerity in him. “I-- really, for the idea, for this chance of finding him, _thank you_.”

 

The way Loki’s face lit up in sincere joy was _weird_ , and made something in Clint’s chest squirm almost uncomfortably. And if he felt the corner of his mouth twitching just a little -- well, he was allowed to be happy about a possible lead on Steve. SHIELD hadn’t been able to come up with much, so if Stark’s tech with Loki’s magic could tell them where to look, it was a good start.

“Don’t thank me; it’s your mojo,” he answered with a shrug, skin heating a little at Loki’s profuse gratitude. “And you can go ahead and try it out with Banner and Stark without me.” If Clint followed along, there was a good chance Tony would want to start poking and prodding at him for lingering traces of scepter energy, and he wasn’t sure he could deal with that right now. Maybe later, he could ask about that anti-magic tech. But not now.

Better to keep things focused on getting Rogers home.

The mood had shifted, some of the tension bleeding out of the air, or at least, replaced with a more hopeful chord. Lucky was grinning, tongue hanging out as he panted, tail thumping against the doorframe. He bumped his nose against the leash even as Loki suggested taking him for a walk again, and Clint sighed, taking the leash end and clipping it to his collar. “Alright, alright. I’ll take you out,” he murmured to the dog, smiling a little more. He looked up at Loki and hesitated, then gave him a short nod. “Good luck with the labrats up there. And...”

Aw, hell with it. He said he’d play nice, after all. Loki really seemed to be trying, sounded sincere, and even Natasha seemed to think he was on the up-and-up.

“And thanks for looking after my dog,” he added grudgingly.

 

Loki gave Barton an honest smile, something he wouldn’t have thought possible, and inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“It was my pleasure. He’s a very good dog.” The latter, of course, was aimed more at the beast in question than his master.

“You go ahead and take the elevator-- I need to put shoes on before heading off to the lab.”

True enough; Stark did not like to allow him in barefoot, and more, Loki did not want to push his luck, content to leave the encounter on this up note, rather than the awkward, half strained quick conversation that a shared elevator would necessitate.

And he didn’t mind waiting for it to come back.

He might be able to help, might be able to find Steve-- that was massive. So much bigger than anything else around him just then. Now not only did he owe Barton for the wrongs done against him, but also for this chance. He would have to think of how best to repay him for it. But later.

Now it was more important that he got his shoes on and tidied his bed, just to be certain that Barton had time to make it down to the lobby, before he left and pressed the button to go to Stark.

 

\---

 

They were staring at the map, the dots glowing brightly, each one a potential candidate for where Steve had been taken. Loki did not know if it was just their emotional entanglement in the situation, or if it was that they had not thought of this because unlike the sceptre, Steve was not a magical artifact, but whatever the cause, all three of them felt horrible for having overlooked what seemed so obvious in retrospect.

They still had the other dots that had been there before, each one another potential HYDRA base. Each one possibly holding his partner. And just staring at them, trying to decide where to attack, was enough to make Loki edgy with a need to _move_ , to _do._

He restrained himself though, and had been steeling himself to say something for a few long minutes now. Spent a few minutes seeking composure; steeling himself to speak.

“I want to go with you.” He said it frankly, finally, the words a challenge. “I don’t want to stay back, not on this one, not for-- I need to be there when we find him, in case he’s hurt. I can heal him, I can shield you-- I’m an asset. And I am not waiting here for news. Not again. Not this time.”

He hardened his jaw as he’d seen Steve do several times, and glared back and forth between Stark and Banner, daring them to try and stop him.

There weren’t that many dots. And it couldn’t be that bad to have him with them.

He found his eyes lingering on Banner, well aware that it was he who’d had the most sound objection to it before. But surely he couldn’t-- wouldn’t-- deny Loki this. Not now.

Bruce looked to him, then back down.

“Where do you propose we start?” He asked, and Loki almost grinned with relief-- it had been that easy, and yes, it was likely more out of guilt and concern than it was out of a real wish that he be there, but just the same.

“Hang on, now.” Stark spoke up, and if looks could kill, Loki would have had one more victim to add to his lists.

“Woah, relax, no one’s stopping you. I just think that we should have the whole team here. Clint just got in and Natasha wasn’t supposed to be too far behind him. I am not making any decisions or plans without every brain available to us. Especially since as far as operations go, those two have a lot more experience staging one than I do, and since most of my plans involve being loud and noisy, it’s probably better that we, you know, not.”

“It would be better that we not, yeah.” The three of them turned their heads, almost in unison, to see the Widow standing casually just within the door of the lab.

“I take it you guys turned up something that we didn’t?”

“When we went looking for the sceptre, we got all of these leads for that kind of power signature. Given how long HYDRA had it, who knows how far they came in… if not reproducing it, at least using it. And if they moved it every time someone blew up their head...”

“The force you know as magic tends to leave behind a residue, and that is what we have tracked. This is the Sceptre’s signature, which means that it was that sort of magic that left these markers, and potentially, these are all HYDRA locations. Which would mean that Steve may be in any of them.”

Romanov came closer, but pulled out her phone and pressed buttons on it as she came, not needing to look at the screen.

“I’m having Clint fetch Thor.” She told them, eyes flicking to Loki’s, then away.

He cursed himself, realizing that the last time she had seen him, he’d pushed her away with a barrier that she was not accustomed to, her first exposure to seidhr with him directly. And in doing so he had failed her tests and proven himself to be a threat, in one fell swoop. Not to mention giving her reason to take Barton’s fears and hatred of his abilities to heart in a personal way.

She would not want him with them, certainly. Would no doubt tell the others what he had done, if she hadn’t already.

He did not think that Thor would dare to speak against his going, Banner had already said he should, Stark had agreed… he should still have the majority of the group’s acceptance, even if both Barton and Romanoff spoke against him. But he wasn’t entirely sure that they would allow it if they learned that he had-- however accidentally-- leveled that same magic against one of their number.

Barton, at the very least, had seemed more willing than usual to be civil, and if that was because of Loki’s loss, his floundering-- it was hard to know. So he turned the focus of his attentions to the Widow, curious to see what she might do, and oddly calm about it, as well, detached, in a way. He could do as he wished. They could not stop him from joining them if they could not see him, and he would not stay back this time, wanted or invited or acknowledged or no.

“So what were you thinking, insofar as where they’ve got him?” She asked, leaning in to look at the map.

Loki’s eyes followed the curve of her body, well aware that for all of the casual ease she exuded, she was prepared to strike out at any of them, at any moment, if need be, and he knew that tension was in place solely because of him. He made her uncomfortable, even when surrounded by her friends.

And she was trying valiantly not to show it.

“We had hoped you might tell us, actually.” He spoke quickly, cutting off any other attempts at it. “Yours is the best tactical mind we have, at the moment. It would be foolhardy not to employ your abilities where they are most useful.” He spoke respectfully, and he could see the look that Banner and Stark traded over it, but thankfully they did not comment.

Romanoff’s lips twitched, but her eyes slid back to the map.

“This is the next closest point to where Steve went missing from,” she said, pointing. “If I was going to take Steve, I’d want to pin him down as quickly as possible. Whatever they did to get him out of there, either he would have been fighting them or incapacitated, and in either case, they’d need to make sure they had him firmly under control before he broke free. Which I doubt they could do sustainably while on the run.”

Logical; sensible. And it wouldn’t make sense to move him, if they didn’t feel they had to.

“If he isn’t there, it will also provide them one less place for them to take him. Destroying the rats’ dens is a good way to keep them out in the open.”

“Or a good way to scare them off the map. Probably smartest to do this fast and hard, keep them from disappearing.” Barton spoke from the door, and Thor loomed behind him. Loki refused to tense himself, refused to let them know just how worried he was that ‘we’ did not include him.

He was not going to request permission again.

"Then we will." He said firmly.

"And whatever is there that gives off the signal, I think we should consider neutralizing." Bruce added. "As a secondary objective only, of course." He added, meeting Loki's eye.

“That isn’t important.” Loki challenged, sure he sounded cross, but hardly minding. After all, it was his partner that they would be dragging their feet about rescuing, if they took the time to find and contain the items which had given them the locations in the first place.

“Well, it doesn't help to leave behind weapons-- potential weapons-- that they could then stab us in the back with.” Romanoff answered smoothly. She kept her voice even and logical, and Loki knew that some of her control now was out of worry of what he might do if he objected.

Chastened, he nodded, acknowledging her point, but he did not back down.

“I would rather we regain Steve and _then_ concern ourselves with whatever else we may find. If we can take the area once and quickly capture the items, fine, but if we cannot... if it demands time and attention, _I for one_ am not willing to give it. Not when we do not know what they have done-- what they are doing to Steve. And what they may do when we begin drawing closer to them.” Loki tried to keep his voice even and keep from glaring as much as possible.

“Loki's right. We need Steve, everything else is on hold. If we can put the sceptre on ice, we can wait on trying to figure out what makes the magical blips we see.” Tony pointed out.

Barton visibly shuddered at the mention of the sceptre, and Loki felt a pang of conscience.

“Should we put the sceptre on ice, though? It did sound pretty pressing when you were making your case for gaining access to it, back before we knew it was gone.” Loki could sense that Romanoff was digging, pressing the knife to his throat to judge him, though whether in retaliation for his carelessness in their training, or as a test of his loyalty, he did not know. It hardly mattered; his answer would not change.

“I will not chance rendering myself useless and helpless by addressing Thanos, if Steve remains unfound. If I did, and then he turned up… I would not be able to help him, as I could now. I will see him well before I even begin to address the problem of the sceptre.”

It was a selfish standpoint, and no doubt one that Steve would chide him for taking. But Loki would not be budged, and Steve was not there _to_ chide him, to be disappointed.

Once they found him, Loki would be happy to listen to his chiding. Happy to see the way his brows drew together and his lips turned downwards at the sides-- he’d be _glad_ to take any criticisms Steve may have… He’d be glad of anything, as long as he had Steve.

No one seemed particularly surprised by his words, but no one seemed thrilled, either.

“If we’ve decided where we are going, I would suggest we decide when.” Romanoff finally said. Loki caught her eyes on him and thought he knew what came next-- this was the part where she told him to stay; to wait.

“Immediately.” He supplied instead. “As soon as we can be ready.”

“Jet’s fuelled up and good to go, we can be out of here within the hour, I imagine, if everyone else can pack that fast. Say get together by eight forty-five, leave by nine?”

Thor nodded, and Loki saw the way he was edging around the others, trying to move closer to him. He wasn’t having it, though, had nothing to say to him. So Loki nodded curtly.

“Call for me when we are prepared.” He ordered, leaving no room for argument, and with a curt nod, excused himself, brushing silently past Thor as he left.

If they needed to talk about him, now was the time that they should do so.

He’d give them that at least.

He could be ready instantaneously, his armor in his pocket and able to be pulled on with no effort at all. He did not need anything else. Only Steve.

It was only perhaps thirty minutes of waiting in his apartment, thirty minutes of nerves and anticipation, before JARVIS summoned him.

The flight was nice, primarily because he chose to sit between Bruce and a wall, giving no one the ability to speak to him, though he saw Thor’s eyes lingering in his direction often enough.

But Bruce seemed not overly fond of flying, or at least like he was meditating, and that made the others inclined towards leaving him-- and by extension, Loki-- alone.

So he was ignored and he ignored them, his thoughts turned inward and the tags cradled between his fingers.

He worried that he may rub them flat before they reclaimed the man they belonged to, and made an effort to put them down, only to take them up again a few minutes later.

If the motion bothered Banner, he showed no sign of it. And if any of them thought less of Loki for the visual reminder of his own vulnerability, they were not fool enough to say so.

When they landed, it was altogether too quiet. Tony and Thor went ahead, then called for the rest of them to follow.

The building was old, bricks rounded into smoothness by time, and the building itself apparently fallen to disuse. There was no roof, and part of the upper floor had caved in. Loki spared little time for admiring the architecture, however.

Beneath what could be seen on the surface, again underground, there was a large basement full of modern technology, clean white fixtures and flooring, and a dozen men in labcoats, bent over a bank of small blue-glowing cubes.

Loki pried the doors off of their hinges, uncaring who knew he was there. He wanted them to come, wanted them to fight and to lead him straight to Steve.

The others hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with how he approached the attack, and he knew he was not working well as one of the team, but again, he that didn’t matter. As long as none of Steve’s friends was injured by his actions, he knew it would be fine.

Once he’d worked his way inside, the men who attacked them incapacitated but never killed, Loki cast barriers over each exit they found, preventing any inside from escaping, and left the Avengers to do their work of investigating and detaining. There was one important thing that was missing, and he intended to find him.

Once the rooms were all cleared with no sign of Steve, he turned himself thinner than air and stepped through the walls, in search of hidden rooms, passages… places they may be holding him. Places they could be hiding a prisoner.

Each step, every breath, saw him growing more and more frantic as it became more and more apparent that there was nothing left to discover. But he didn’t-- couldn’t-- just give up. What if they were only a few feet away, and taking away his captors saw Steve abandoned, unable to escape or call for help… no, Loki would be certain that he was not there, before they left.

Long after they had rounded up the HYDRA workers and herded them upstairs, to be held in a great glowing sphere of Loki’s shields, Loki continued scouring the place, believing-- hoping that they had missed something.

During one of his solid moments in the main room, it was Romanoff who stopped him.

“He’s not here, Loki.”

He could see Barton hanging back, watching them warily, and it made Loki stop before he could truly begin to snarl. He took a deep, shaky breath. No doubt he did not want to be on the surface, so near to where others were held in the same sort of barriers that Loki had once locked him in, and no doubt he would rather not be here either, save that he valued Romanoff above most things.

Loki tried to calm himself, for both of the present Avengers' sakes.

“He has to be. It doesn’t make sense for him not to be. We’ve just missed something, there has to be-- another room or a hidden door…” He gestured around, though he knew he'd checked over everything, multiple times. Even to his ears, his words were weak.

“They all say he’s not here. You’ve searched everything. None of Tony’s scans can find anything. He’s. Not. Here.” She looked him in the eyes. “But SHIELD is. They’re here to pick up the HYDRA goons. So I need you to release them. But I need you to do it from down here, if you can. There are a lot of people up there-- we were closer to the town than we realized. Some kid saw Tony doing his fly overs and brought all his friends.”

Loki's stomach dropped, aware of what she meant though she wasn't saying it.

“I will be invisible on the way back to the plane, then.”

It wouldn't do for him to terrify anyone else, either. It may already be too late, given the blatant display of his powers.

“Probably for the best.” Barton spoke up. “Come on, Loki. Let's go home, go back to the drawing board. There must be something we missed.”

Surprised by Barton's unanticipated kindness, Loki sighed, then nodded.

“I can release them whenever, though if I am above ground, even invisibly, and one attempts escape, I can recapture them. It may be wiser.”

“They're surrounded. If you can let them go and give us ten minutes, we'll be ready to leave. And you can come up whenever. Just find a way to let me know where you are-- we don't want to leave without you.”

The statement was punctuated by Romanoff casting a glare in Barton's direction, appearing to imply that he had at least suggested it, but Barton raised his hands, his expression seemingly innocent.

“I will follow you up and wait in the plane for you.” Loki told them, trying to break the tension and hide the wave of helplessness he felt.

They were failing Steve even as they spoke, and he had to be more concerned at the moment with not being seen than he could be with finding his partner.

For a flash of a moment, Loki hated this world, its rules and the things it had taught Steve, the things he had to fear. For that moment, Loki wanted nothing but to raze it all to ash in search of the man he loved.

But he buried that feeling. It was too strong and too harsh. He could not allow it of himself. Not while he knew that he was not thinking straight. He was hungry and exhausted and disheartened-- crushed by his own destroyed hopes that this was the end of the search.

He shuddered and let himself blink out of sight, not certain he could control his expressions any longer.

“We'll check and make sure nothing's changed before we take off.” Barton reassured him, his eyes looking to the wrong spot as Loki moved towards the exit.

“I appreciate that,” he said, voice echoing back from his current location and causing Barton to jump and Romanoff to narrow her eyes. But if either said anything more, he did not hear it. He was already halfway up the stairs when they began mounting the bottom most step.

The sun had dawned, the air still cold and wet from the night they had spent looking in vain.

He shivered, though whether it was from the chill or from the sight of the ring of armed agents surrounding the HYDRA captives, he wouldn't have been able to say.

Without a sound, he waved his hand, almost negligent in his release of the men. But he was glad, fiercely so, that the guns were trained on them.

If they were shot, if he watched them executed where they stood, he did not think that he could summon even a glimmer of sympathy for the lives lost.

They had taken Steve from him. They deserved whatever horrors befell them. Though he knew Steve would hate that he could so much as think that.

He turned his back and walked away, entering the jet and leaving SHIELD and the Avengers to be the heroes. He had no patience for goodness. Not now.

He curled in on himself, taking solace in the position and the comfort it afforded, as well as the invisibility he maintained.

He could see Thor looking for him when finally they returned to the vessel, and he could not even muster the small joy he might otherwise have gained from the Odinson's concern.

“Loki? Are you onboard?” The Widow called out, once the rest were loaded, and Loki took a long moment, evening out his voice, before responding.

“I am.”

She nodded, seemingly satisfied, and while Thor looked taken aback and Barton scowled, she didn’t seem overly concerned.

For once, he was glad to know she couldn’t read him-- there was no body language for him to police, no guards to be erected.

He could sit and let his face do as it would, without fearing judgment or worse-- pity.

His fingers found the tags again, and the soft sounds of the metal clinking against itself and the chain sliding through the holes were soothing to his frayed nerves and heart numbed partially-- but not enough-- by his disappointment.

He had failed Steve, was failing him even now, and his own terrible luck was pulling the rest of the Avengers down with him. No doubt it was his fault that they had not found him. If he hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t been selfish, if he hadn’t forced himself upon their company, fate might have been kinder.

“So… seems to me that these things--” Tony spoke, hefting one of the small cubes where it lie in its own little insulated box. “Give off the same sort of energy as the sceptre. But the key there is giving it off-- it’s a power source. Steve isn’t. He’d have remnants of the contact-- traces of power, but he doesn’t make more of it. My guess is that we need to figure out a way of changing the map we have, and tuning it into a different range.”

“You used some technology to find me by the radiation the thing gave off when Loki was all… crazy evil.” Barton said brusquely. “Can’t you use that again?”

“That’s sort of what we’re working with.” Bruce replied, breaking his silence. “But what Tony’s saying is that Steve wouldn’t radiate anything. We need to figure out a way of tracking things that touched the sceptre, rather than sceptre copies.”

“You’ll have overlap.” Romanoff reminded them.

“We’ll figure it out.” Tony assured her. But he didn’t sound sure.

“Loki will be able to figure it out.” Thor added. “None are so wise in the ways of seidhr as he, nor so crafty in finding new uses for the old magics.”

Loki scowled, though Thor would not see it, the childish and unsubtle attempt at flattery only causing his annoyance to spike.

And he felt useless because if he could not-- if he could not get his mind to wrap around it, if he could not banish the emotions he had…

Ah, but there it was. He was feeling, caring, and it was in the way of his intellect. Steve would be saved now if Loki didn’t love him so. Didn’t care for him.

“Romanoff.” He spoke into the sudden silence. “I think I would have another lesson from you, if the last did not-- if you are still willing.” They were seeking to return him to as he had been, before Steve. And with him gone, he could already feel the slide as Steve’s residual goodness faded from his heart.

But he had never been sharper than when he was at his cruelest. Perhaps it would help him to find Steve, would help him to bring him back to them.

“I-- we’ll talk when we get back.” Romanoff did not agree to it, but nor did she dismiss it, and Loki nodded to himself. He did not make any further sounds for the remainder of the trip, his thoughts too frenzied and too dark to allow him much comfort among these heroes.

He’d once told Steve, laying on a bed in Stark’s healing wing, disfigured and paralyzed and a mass of naught but blood and aches, that he would rather die than lose him. He smiled grimly, where no one could see.

Perhaps it was time to speak with his ‘brother’ about using Asgard’s abilities.

Damn the consequences.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was no means of telling time in his cell, so he couldn’t be sure how many hours dragged by, and how much of the passage of time was just elongated by his own boredom. He tried pulling at the shackles as hard as he could, straining uncomfortably against the wall. There was enough chain for him to stand, though he had to leverage his forearm against the wall and turn toward it, his hands kept close to the concrete, a little over waist-height. Otherwise, he had little reach with which to change positions. Sit or stand, hands hanging in place. And no matter what he did, the shackles didn’t break, and stayed bolted firmly to the wall.

Not that it didn’t stop him from giving it his all, wrenching against them until his hands and forearms were black and blue, his head reeling and breath coming hard.

And that was odd in and of itself. The dizziness, the relative weakness, the persistent headache. He didn’t feel well.

Drugged, probably, he told himself. Whatever they’d hit him with to take him out must be lingering in his system. Making his head ache and his eyes water.

 

 

He waited.

 

 

He might have slept, but every time he grew too drowsy and began to doze, his body shivered, jolting him awake. Any time he slid too far down the wall, the pain in his shoulders gre acute, and he had to sit up properly to alleviate the pulling of the cuffs.

 

 

He waited.

 

 

It didn’t take long for him to mentally catalog every inch of the cell. There were four long cracks in the concrete -- two in the wall on his left, one near the door, and one in the floor, though all of them were thin, likely after the cement had dried. There was a side-web in the top right corner nearest him, though no spider. There was a speaker set in one corner, with a camera, and on the opposing wall, a vent, though it was far too narrow for him to attempt an escape through. Same for the slot-like panel in the lower portion of the door, probably intended to deliver water and food.

As time dragged on, Steve found himself eying that panel an awful lot, willing it to open.

His lips were dry and cracked, mouth cottony from the drugs, and his stomach was beginning to grumble. He hadn’t eaten since a protein bar on the plane -- a day ago?

 

Two?

 

 

 

(He waited.)

 

 

 

He tried calling out again, shouting for his teammates’ codenames, and then shouting to his captors, glaring at the camera.

“Rogers, Steven G.,” he announced after a long silence, chin raised. “Captain. 987654320.”

Name, rank, and serial. A reminder, that he was a prisoner, and had rights under the Geneva convention. Rights to food and water.

Rights that were thoroughly ignored.

No food. No water. No release from the wall.

To keep his sanity, he made lists in his head.

He recited all fifty states in the union, and their capitals. All the presidents, first and last name, from Washington to Ellis. Multiplication tables. As many countries as he could name (though some of them probably weren’t countries anymore, given how much the maps got redrawn while he was in the ice).

He silently named every street in his old Brooklyn neighborhood. The name of every establishment he’d picked up food from in DC for Loki when he’d been in his care.

And then, once he’d let himself think of Loki (something he’d tried not to do, knowing how fiercely that wound would hurt when he pulled the scab off), he thought of all the things he would say; the apologies he’d make when he saw him again, and the things he’d do to make up for it. Every place he’d take him -- the Uffizi, the Louvre, the Royal Gallery -- every romantic dinner he’d cook --

As soon as he got out of here.

As soon as his team found him.

(If, a nasty little voice reminded him in the back of his mind, they were still alive...)

(If whoever had blitzed him in the bunker hadn’t gone on to pick them off, with Thor separated from the others, Tony distracted, Bruce in his non-Hulk shape and Clint still half out of his mind with terror...)

He squeezed his eyes shut. No. No, that wouldn’t happen. They were okay. They had to be. And with the amount of time that had to have passed by now, it would just be a matter of time before they smashed down that door with grins on all their faces, joking about his wandering off and how they couldn’t take him anywhere.

Just a matter of time.

(Time where Loki was left at the tower, alone, waiting for a phone call that never came, waiting for the only friends he had to return from a mission gone horribly wrong...)

 _No_.

Steve took a deep breath and let it out, starting the list over with Alabama, Alaska, Arizona...

  


He tried shifting to stand now and then, or angling his hips as he sat so his weight wouldn’t rest on the same places for too long, stretching out his legs and folding them in varying positions to try to get some sense of motion. But the constant suspension of his arms led to a steady ache settling into his shoulders and neck, and a chafing against his wrists, the cold pressure of the wall on his spine a constant background discomfort.

But worse were the pangs of hunger, and the thirst.

It wasn’t like he’d never been hungry, of course. The gnawing, constant emptiness inside was something he’d been familiar with at many points in his life. He’d lived off emergency rations at times in the war when they got caught out and away from base during a bombing, and even before he’d enlisted, remembered food being hard to come by at times with war rationing. Then in his teens, with money being tight, there had been times he recalled watering down the soup so much it was barely more than weak broth, to try to make it go farther. He and Buck would scrounge for coffee ground to recycle, since the weight and warmth of a hot cup of joe in their stomachs was sometimes enough to pretend they’d had a meal, at least for a little while before the hunger returned.

But then, at least, he’d had water. Water in his coffee, water in his soup, or water plain from the pump.

He would kill a man for water right now, he was pretty sure. His tongue felt swollen and dry in his mouth as time stretched on, lips cracked, and something crusty and foul accumulating at the corners of his mouth where he couldn’t scrape it away. The pain in his head grew, like a drill keening into his skull.

“If anyone’s listening,” he said, voice scratchy, “I could really use a drink of water.” He figured it was worth a try, though he no longer expected anything to come of it.

If anyone was listening, they didn’t give a damn.

And still, he ached and felt weak. Weaker than he ought to. Though, was that just his body burning through its reserves faster because of the serum? Five times the metabolic rate meant he ought to have cleared out any drugs from his system hours (days?) ago. But five times the metabolic rate also meant he needed five times as much fuel; fuel he wasn’t getting any of.

He shivered, pulling his knees up to his chest to try to conserve the warmth of his own body.

Time passed, and even without food and drink, another problem gradually became pressing.

He shifted uncomfortably, trying to change positions to alleviate the pressure. But it only built, and as hours dragged past, the discomfort became sharper, more urgent.

He looked up at the camera and glared. He wouldn’t beg them for anything. And yet...

“I need to take a leak,” he said.

No answer.

He held out for another hour before giving in, face burning with shame. He closed his eyes, refusing to look anywhere near the camera as he let go his bladder, only briefly grateful that his nakedness meant he had no clothes to soil, as urine ran down to the drain in the center of the room.

He didn’t speak to the camera any more after that.

 

 

There was nothing to measure the passage of time by. No meals or interaction. No variation in the light from the lone hanging bulb that seared its outline into his retinas, such that he could see it even with his eyes shut.

It was like time had stopped.

Until, suddenly, there was something.

Steve had grown so accustomed to the silence that when the slot in the door scraped open, the noise was deafening, and he jumped enough to wrench his arms painfully at the motion.

His heart leapt as something -- a bowl -- slid in and skittered across the floor, something moist slopping over the edges a bit.

 

Food.

 

The slot slid shut before he could think to say anything, and he scrambled to get on his knees and lurch toward the bowl--

\-- only for the restraints to catch him, holding him back.

He pulled, uselessly, yanking at his bonds with increasing desperation until he could feel blood running down his wrists. And still, the bowl with its meager contents lay just out of reach.

He could _swear_ he heard someone chuckling on the other side of the door.

Tears welled up in his eyes, but didn’t fall, as he stared at the bowl, stomach aching fiercely, mouth parched. It was hardly any different than if they’d given him nothing at all, and he felt his face twist in rage.

“Fuck you!” he shouted, unable to get much volume through a throat that felt like sandpaper.

As usual, there was no reply, and Steve sagged back against the wall, taunted by what he could see and not have.

 

 

(he waited)

 

 

Later (the next day?) when he woke from fitful dozing, the slot scraped open again, another bowl sliding through. Despite himself, he tried to reach for it again, this time stretching his legs to see if he could catch a toe around the brim.

He did, and, carefully, managed to pull it over with his feet. But without the use of his hands, unable to bend forward, he couldn’t lift it, and only succeeded in tipping it over on the ground in front of him, the smell of the watery gruel making him dizzy.

Shutting his eyes, he counted back from a hundred to keep himself from weeping in frustration.

 

The next time a bowl slid through, he didn’t move.

 

 

There wasn’t any point.

  


 


	62. Sixty-Two

They had not, in fact, spoken when they had returned to the tower. The Avengers had been exhausted, and Loki had known better than to push.

Not in that venue. He needed to seem unfeeling, needed to make himself so, but if he did not apply it carefully, he would only raise their suspicions. And so soon after blatant displays of power and being denied a place on their team, or even aboard their ship, he could not afford to further alienate himself from them. He still needed their cooperation in locating Steve, and needed them to trust him when he was found, that he could properly care for him. He needed them to trust him to help bring Steve home, before they found out that Steve and he had-- until he knew whether Steve still wanted him or not, after the way he’d behaved.

So Loki had retired to his rooms, walking directly from the door to his bed and banishing both his armor and clothing on the way. It was too cold, too empty for him to remain that way, and he returned to his tunic and pants, his Asgardian underclothes long since shed in his efforts to be more a part of Steve's world, in his attempts at fitting in.

But he had no need to fit in, at the moment.

The rest were no doubt doing as a team should, checking one another over for distress, both in the mind and body, but… he was not part of that. Part of the team. Not part of the care they afforded one another. He was an outsider who had been brought in by Steve, and without him…

...he missed it. Missed the gentle words andmissed being touched, missed the way he would check in, ask if Loki was okay. He even missed what he had had before then, with Thor, with Sif and the Warriors Three. At least, while he’d still been the outsider then, there was some pretense of care, some attention to his wellbeing. Here-- well, at least they saw him fed and housed. It was better than he deserved, probably.

He slept only lightly, drifting in and out and the night passed slowly in hours which dragged out for far too long.

He waited until decently late the next day, did not so much as try to contact any of the others until past noon, and edging onto one.

Plenty of time to eat and for her food to settle, he rationalized. At least he made an attempt at being considerate, even while he knew his actions were mainly for his own benefit. But there was no one else to care for him now, so he would have to take the next best thing.

When he had cleaned the space until there was no sign of him or his antics-- until it looked as it had before Steve had left-- and run through every distraction he could muster for himself, he cleared his throat.

"JARVIS, will you ask the Widow if she will have words with me now? Provided, of course, that she is alone." The last thing he needed was an audience.

He thought how he must have looked, how he would likely look again, tied down and whimpering and cowardly, and imagined convincing any but she that the experience should be repeated.

" _Right away, Sir."_

And all he could do was wait and hope that she would not refuse him.

 

Natasha skimmed over the emails from Hill with a faint frown, sipping her coffee. The prisoners taken in the previous day’s raid were still being processed, but so far, none of them seemed aware of anything that would lead them to Steve. Still, Maria promised to keep her posted about that, and about the ultimate whereabouts of the power sources they’d confiscated.

Stark, of course, had offered to put them in his secure vault, unwilling to give SHIELD ‘any more toys to lose.’ But that idea had been voted down on the grounds that putting the power sources and the scepter in the same location meant potentially putting too many eggs in one basket if Stark’s security wound up compromised. So Maria had promised to oversee their containment personally, and would send Natasha the coordinates once they were secured so she could have Tony remove them from the potential results on the map.

Beyond keeping up with SHIELD, Natasha had stayed up late making calls to the other side of the globe, following up with assets and contacts from throughout her career, but nothing had turned up yet worth reporting. There were a few _other_ unsavory tidbits of information, of course -- but nothing relevant to their current priorities.

And finding Steve had to be a priority. The failure of yesterday’s recovery mission was... well, it had hurt. And with Loki’s unwillingness to move forward with the scepter and recon into Thanos without Steve’s safe return, it wasn’t as if they could proceed on any other front, even if they were so inclined.

She sipped her coffee, letting the bitter taste pool on the back of her tongue. They needed Steve.

And Steve needed them, she had no doubt -- sooner rather than later.

“ _Ms. Romanoff?”_

She stiffened, muscles tensing at the voice that broke the silence in the split second before she registered that it was just the AI. “Yes?”

“ _Mr. Loki wishes to speak with you if you are not otherwise indisposed.”_

She lowered the tablet, then drained the rest of her coffee. “Sure. I’ll be right down.”

Getting up, she changed quickly out of her sweatpants that she’d lingered in and into jeans, before making her way down to Loki’s -- and Steve’s -- apartment.

 

When the machine reported that she was on her way to him-- rather than ordering him to her apartment or to the other room they had used-- Loki's knee jerk reaction was to all but snarl.

He didn't want to entertain, didn't want to let more people into his space.

Not while the smell of Steve lingered, not while everything he had of him was in these rooms, all around him.

But he relaxed; it was probably meant to be a show of goodwill on her part, allowing him to stay where he was comfortable.

He cast a quick eye around, but he had spent so much of the morning cleaning that nothing remained to be done.

He considered donning his human clothing, but there was little point, so far as he was concerned. She knew what he was. He had no need now to impress her. In fact, if he did as he was meant to, she would just be disgusted by him. Reminded of who he had been, what he could be.

What he was capable of and what he had done.

He deserved the reminder, and more, he thought it may be easier for him. After all, if he was going to be looked at with suspicion, if they were going to treat him as a potential threat, then perhaps he would feel better if he felt he deserved such treatment.

And if she was going to be afraid of him and his magic, well, she had seen it in action the day prior. Perhaps her fear would be considered wise. Barton, certainly, would think so.

Besides, if ever there was to be a valid test of his abilities in falsehoods under pressure, this would be the truest measure. And if she could twist his mind into the calm and clear thinking that came of apathy, of emptiness... he was halfway there already. Perhaps, if he achieved it, he could finally be of use.

Judging the timing to be nearly right, he strained to hear the faint ding of the elevator doors opening. From the front room, in the total silence that surrounded him, it was only just barely audible. And yet when it came, he moved immediately to the door to allow her in.

 

She didn’t even have to knock before the door opened and Loki stepped aside to allow her entry.

Natasha took a moment to scan the apartment out of habit, noting that everything she’d helped Steve move in was now unpacked and tidied away, and wondering if that had been Steve’s handiwork, or Loki’s way of distracting himself. She suspected the former, since Loki looked... haggard. If he’d slept, it hadn’t been well. He wasn’t in his armor anymore, but his clothing, though casual, definitely appeared Asgardian.

Interesting. A conscious choice to distance himself from his Earth life? Or a source of comfort through familiarity?

“JARVIS said you wanted to talk,” she said, making her way down the front hall and into the living area. She turned back and looked at him, tilting her head slightly to the side.

It would be polite, and in the vein of feigning kindness, to ask how Loki was holding up. But she didn’t bother, because the answer was plain enough.

Instead, she simply asked: “What’s up?”

 

He felt at odds now with her ease; he'd expected, for some reason, hesitance. Or resistance.

But then, he should have known better. Her mastery of herself and her emotions was the reason that Steve had suggested they work together.

"I know that I said I would not handle the sceptre until we see Steve returned to us." He began without further nicety, "but he was captured while retrieving it, and while we are here, I at least can be of no other use than continuing with the process we had begun. I would not see his loss go to waste, if you are amicable to resuming with where we had left off. If I am not distracting you from something of more relevance."

He pursed his lips, then pressed forward just the same.

"I do not think you need fear me lashing out again by accident."

After all, his worst fear, the very reason things had gone so poorly before, the threat of losing Steve-- it had happened. His nightmare was the world they were living in.

And, he thought, he may have a better chance of succeeding in passing her test, with nothing left to lose.

And if not...

If not, then he would experience something worse than life was now. It would perhaps make his current state more bearable. Almost a relief to return to, afterwards.

"Even when you were at the other side of my power," he added, realizing he hadn't truly clarified, "it was not an attack. I was only shielding myself. I meant you no harm. I mean you none now."

 

She pressed her lips into a thin line, regarding him.

It had been obvious enough once she’d got over the initial shock that Loki’s magical force-field had pushed her back as a side effect, not as the intended effect. She didn’t doubt that Loki could have done far worse if he’d put his mind to it.

The fact that he hadn’t was partially reassuring, but not enough to compensate for the fact that he _could._

She wasn’t crazy about the thought of resuming these exercises. But Steve had been the one to ask her to do them, and it was true that Loki still had a long way to go before he was ready to face against Thanos. Just because Steve was missing didn’t mean the world had stopped turning, or that the impending threat was gone.

“We’ll try some variations in tactics this time, I think,” she said. “We went pretty fast last time. That was a mistake.” She’d pushed too hard, too much, without finding the fine line of Loki’s limits. Proof that while capable, she was hardly perfect; she made mistakes.

She just tried not to ever make the same one twice.

“Between the physical aspect and the verbal one; what do you think set you off last time?” she asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded.

 

He hesitated, unsure how to put it words to it in a way that she would not object to.

"It was... Both. The combination of the two. But also... the circumstances. There was... I felt that if I didn't-- if I failed to keep my composure, I was under the impression that Steve--" he broke off. "I have to master this, lest he come to the conclusion that I can't, and he is the only other whom we know is capable of handling the sceptre. If we get him back and his first decision is that I should allow him to risk--"

He blew out a harsh breath.

"You threatened Steve. You told me I should watch you hurting him. It was a tactic I'd not anticipated. I had tried not to consider it. Now... I have spent more than a little time thinking about it. As such, what happened last time... it won't happen again."

Even though, to some extent, he almost wished that it would. Wanted to be forced to pay for failing to work properly with the team. For failing the last test she had given him. Failing to keep Steve safe. Failing to find him. For all the things that may be happening to him now.

He set his jaw.

Surely she could find some new sore spot to press in on. Some new way in which he was inadequate.

"Thanos has no reason to suspect-- and I intend to give him no sign of our involvement. If it is a continued concern, we can address it when we have Steve home safe. But as for the rest of it...That I leave to your discretion. Hurt me as you think best benefits our cause." He shrugged and peered at her, trying to seem as bland and unaffected as possible.

 

Natasha felt the faintest pang of guilt; she’d deliberately planted a seed of dread in Loki’s mind about Steve, knowing that he was Loki’s weak spot. And now that dread had been realized not long after, with Steve disappearing.

She thought about trying to reach out with a gesture of comfort, and some assurance that they’d have him home safe soon enough. But where Steve could have said the words and imbued them with conviction, Natasha knew better; they’d ring hollow coming from her, and she respected Loki’s mind enough to recognize he’d see right through it.

“You threatened Barton, back before,” she pointed out, recalling her and Loki’s first face-to-face long ago. She said it without malice or resentment, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “It was an effective tactic. Almost threw me off. And that kind of threatening is useful for gauging loyalties, so it’s something to prepare for and learn to defend against.” Something she’d grown good at over the years, though given the methods, she almost regretted encouraging Loki to harden himself the same way.

“Let’s just... focus on the physical response for now,” she ventured, shifting her weight.

If things went south again and Loki panicked -- well, if he needed to be physically restrained due to an instinctive physiological response, Thor was just down the hall. But if he got trapped in his own mind, she suspected Steve would be the only one capable of bringing him out of it. Without him here, she wasn’t going to chance it.

“Do you have a solid chair we can use?”

 

He was not so readily flattered as to think that her words were anything more than the next best thing to an apology that he did not want and she would not give. Surely others had leveled such threats against her before he had. Still, it was… kind of her to say, in its own strange way.

“I--” he began, then stopped, looking to the chairs at the table.

Steve’s chairs.

He wouldn’t risk breaking one of them. All of the furniture was Steve’s, come to think of it. He worried at his lip for a moment, then nodded decisively.

It would not tax him too greatly, and at current there was no plan of their leaving, no idea where to seek Steve next. It wouldn’t hurt him to create a space for this.

“This way.” He told her, and led her to the empty room-- What he wanted to turn into Steve’s studio, but they hadn’t had time-- Loki hadn’t made the time, before…

He swallowed the guilt, glad that she would soon be ripping it from him, along with every other horrible emotion that was pushing back beneath the mostly-calm exterior he was trying to present.

The room was utterly empty, and all he could think of was what he had done here with Steve, the day that Thor had battled with the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim in London.

It seemed only fitting that he was about to be tied down here, too. Made to feel small and helpless. Fitting. And hopefully equally, if not more cathartic than that had been. Then, he’d had to be so aware, so careful… but if she would take control, he could simply take the punishment she would bring. The lessons she would give.

He created a chair-- not the one he usually called into being, not a replica of the comfort that he had provided in SHIELD’s hold, the one based on his favored library seat. No, now he pulled forth from memory one of the high backed chairs from the head table in the banquet hall. Sturdy and strong, equally able to hold the girth of any Asgardian as it was to remain intact in the likelihood of being smashed over another feaster’s head.

Solid, she had asked for. It was that. Rigid, too, hard-- strict. He let it stand in the middle of the room, then looked to her.

“What else do you require?” He asked, hand raised to comply with her requests, whatever they may be.

 

Natasha managed to avoid flinching when Loki called forth his magic. Granted, given her last experience with it, she suspected she’d earned a pass -- but right now, a lack of trust would only undermine what they were doing, so she schooled her face into a mild, faintly impressed expression.

(Though if Loki could call furniture out of thin air, she found herself wondering what the hell she and Clint had schlepped all Steve’s belongings up here for.)

She could, of course, offer to go fetch her own supplies. She could also have offered to go use her apartment again, or a spare room as they had the first time.

But right now, she was letting Loki have some measure of control in setting up the scenario; some stability to build on, since his bedrock had been torn away from him these past few days.

“Just rope,” she said. The restraints had been mangled by the last attempt anyway, and Loki could tear free from the rope if need be. Cutting through it would also be easier than trying to fumble with a key in the face of a panicking god.

She stepped forward to inspect the chair, running a hand over the smooth grain while admiring the workmanship. The carving featured elaborate knots of a distinctly northern European style, and she suspected many chairs in Asgard had this look.

Asgardian clothes, and now an Asgardian chair. Curious.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she informed him.

 

He frowned, eyes darting down her form to take her in.

She wasn’t readable. It made it difficult for him; he might as well be speaking over the phone, to someone he could not see.

“Only rope? What of your machines, your chains… do you not want something new beyond what we have already used?” He sounded plaintive, already despairing of her answer. If she meant to make this easy, meant to give him a simpler lesson because Steve was not here…. then this would not accomplish what he needed. He needed to learn, needed the relief that being broken would bring.

And this had seemed like such a sure way; a way to achieve it quickly and safely, without endangering himself, without taking away his ability to help Steve, if he were found immediately.

“You needn’t be concerned. I can build for you or bring to you whatever you need, and there is no need to limit yourself to mere rope. I am not-- I realize things have changed, but you should not treat this as any different from the other lessons you have given. I cannot get better if you choose to mollycoddle me.”

The moment he said it, he was struck with the remembrance that the word had come from Steve. Steve had permeated every aspect, every facet of his life, and now everything he did was a reminder that he wasn’t there.

He needed this to work, needed the distraction from her. He clenched his jaw, willing her to agree. To just go back to how things were-- to pulling him tighter and tighter until he snapped and leaving him a sobbing mess afterwards.

 

Natasha’s brows pulled downward.

“I’m not ‘mollycoddling’ you,” she informed him a bit sharply. “I want to focus on building up your tolerance to individual anxiety-inducing stimuli separately before trying another combined scenario. Working up your resistance to one trigger at a time, breaking the issues down into manageable parts.”

If they could get Loki to panic less when restrained -- something he’d improved on last time, though there was room to work still -- then other factors would hopefully fail to build on that fear, snowballing into the kind of mindless terror he’d melted into last time.

But if Loki was going to balk at her methods for failing to be suitably extreme, that would certainly make this more difficult.

 

He watched her face shutter off and felt his own responding in kind.

“I was built into what I am now by being reduced to something small. And you expect to replicate it by allowing me to take easy steps, by breaking it down into something manageable? Aren’t you afraid that we don’t have the time that such a program would necessitate? Wouldn’t you rather just--” he gestured to the chair, sending ropes draping over it, like she’d asked for, but then, against the wall, he created a selection of additional items. Whips and floggers and those electrically charged sticks the SHIELD agents had carried, reproductions of the swords they had borne when they came after his Jotun form, flails and other replicas of Asgard’s armory.

Instruments of pain. And they were situated behind the chair, so that when he was in it, he would not be able to see her taking them down, would not have any idea of what she chose until she let him see-- or feel.

“You’re meant to be preying on my fears-- how can ropes compare to losing Steve? How do you expect to bring me something worse than that, if you intend to only target one problem, one weakness? How will that be effective at all?” He kept his voice soft, well aware that the impassioned way he was speaking could easily lead to him losing control of his volume if he weren’t careful.

“You need to do more than that. You know that, don’t you?” He demanded that of her, certain that she must have realized. Sure that she was withholding her abilities for a purpose, even if he didn’t know it yet.

 

She tensed as Loki summoned instruments of pain. Instruments of torture. Everything from modern ones she recognized, to the downright medieval.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled;

_This_ wasn’t what she’d signed up for.

It was becoming clearer now, what Loki actually intended. Not to be helped or made better, but rather the opposite. She wondered if the choice to summon as Asgardian chair and wear his old clothing had been deliberate, to distance himself and remind her of his otherness.

And once more, she’d been reduced. Not an ally, and not a friend, but something more simple and brutal... as always.

Her jaw clenched, and she looked him in the eye. “No,” she said simply. Her voice was low and quiet, but firm.

“I know what we need to do to prepare you. This isn’t it. But the fact that you’re not listening to me or trusting me makes it clear this isn’t about preparation, is it?” She maintained eye contact, biting the inside of her cheek to maintain control. “This is about something else, and I’m sorry, but I am not going to give it to you.”

 

He scowled.

“And what, pray tell, do you suppose it is I want from you? Pity? I am not attempting to play on your emotions, Widow.”

What good would that do? Looking pitiful before her had never done him any good before. It had only alarmed Steve, brought him running. And now he couldn’t come, what good would it do? It certainly wouldn’t make her protective of him-- nor did he need her to be.

“What do I have to gain in asking this of you, and what else would this be?”

His heart was thudding hollow and slow in his ears and in his throat.

She was trying to deny him this, when he _needed_ it. How would he face what lay ahead without it?

“Please.” He tried appealing to her, “Just… as it was before.”

 

She watched him plead, and behind the smooth mask she’d spent a lifetime carving, felt emotions bubbling.

Anger. Some pity, yes. And a deep sadness. Because what people wanted from her never seemed to truly change.

“No,” she repeated, shaking her head. She moved to the door, then paused, one hand on the frame.

“I am not a weapon,” she said quietly. “Not for the Red Room. Not for the KGB. Not for SHIELD... And not for you. I’m not a tool for you to hurt yourself with, and until you’re able to look on this as something other than that, we’re done.”

She didn’t wait for him to say anything more, walking out the door and down the hall to take her leave.

 

He watched her go and let her, silenced by the sudden guilt that he felt like the weight of Mjolnir on his chest.

_I am not a weapon_.

He had been, too, he knew better, and he’d said it to Tony, or something very similar, not so long ago.

She was not a weapon, but he had been trying to use her as one.

He considered using the tools on himself for a brief, fleeting moment, but he already knew that the pain he inflicted would break his concentration. It would be useless, wouldn’t give him what he was seeking.

What he had wanted from her.

And as for what this was meant to be-- it was meant to return him to as he had been, before Steve, before… before love, before he had let himself care.

He could not help but think, bitterly, that it seemed he had achieved that much on his own. He was becoming callous again, hurtful. He was already so far from what Steve wanted of him-- and still not far enough to be _of use_.

He shut his eyes and pulled himself together, drawing his spine straighter and his pride’s shreds into something resembling order.

Turning himself into a bloody mess would not fix anything, and he had certainly wronged Romanoff enough that he had things he would need to think on repairing with her. But he needed to bring Steve home, first and foremost, and he needed to do it now, before the darkness creeping over him became irreversible, before he lost himself to it, and the pressure of all of these dark feelings turned him inside out.

He could not find a release-- at least not without harming someone else in the process. The Widow had made that clear enough. And he’d made promises to Steve, which, no matter what else he might do, he did not intend to go back on. Not without Steve around for him to talk to, to apologize to and ask permission of and…

He needed him back.

And he knew only one sure fire way to achieve that. Dangerous to him, certainly, and likely to end with him locked away, his powers bound, unable to reach Steve… but it would be better, wouldn’t it? Knowing he was safe, not only from his captors, but from the darkness that was filling him now.

That in mind, he left his rooms, left his comfort, and went in search of the person he had thought himself least likely to ask for help.

 

Thor had been fiddling with the remote, trying to get the television to display anything other than what looked like a monochromatic blizzard, when a knock arrived at the door.

He frowned in puzzlement. Darcy was in her room down at the other end of the large suite, as he could tell from the faint music muted by the walls. Jane was in the lab, last he’d seen, and she had no reason to knock, Stark having granted her full access to these rooms. He could not think of much reason for the others to call on him, as he’d been largely left to his own devices since they’d returned from their initial excursion, barring the raid in which they’d failed to find any sign of the captain.

Unless.... unless there was a fresh lead? Thor lowered the remote on to the coffee table and stood, crossing over to the door, picking up speed with each stride. If one of his companions had come to fetch him, to give news of another chance to recover Rogers--

He opened the door, expecting to see Stark, or perhaps Romanoff. But instead, he found himself blinking in stunned surprise at the last person he expected to see on his doorstep.

“Loki,” he said, then floundered, unsure of what else to say, fearing that he might misstep with anything more and send Loki skittering away like a spooked animal. “Is... Is there news?”

 

"No." Loki answered. "And it is for that reason I am here. I will not-- we cannot be reliant on their Midgardian means of finding him. There is too much at stake, and were I not on Midgard..."

If he weren't there, Thor would have gone to Heimdall right away, would have found him already by now.

If they attracted Heimdall's gaze, though, it seemed likely that he should notice Loki's presence. It was because of Loki that they had not yet found his partner. It was awful and unacceptable, and he would not allow it.

"I want you to go to Asgard. I want you to ask Heimdall to find the Captain. I will hide myself from his eyes, and if he does find me... I will bear the consequences."

He lifted his chin, daring Thor to challenge him. Hoping he would, really. He was afraid of what they might do if they found him, if they took him.

But he was more afraid of what he might do if Steve did not come back. What he could become.

He wanted someone to care. Someone to notice what was happening, the way he was dangling, again, over the void-- and how this time, rather than him letting go, the darkness was coming up to greet him. But he also didn’t-- he didn’t want to be any more of a burden, didn’t want them to have any further reason to think him weak and wicked and evil. Didn’t want to give any of them any further excuses not to want him, or allow him to be part of them.

And he wanted the fight that Thor could provide. He was antsy, itching for it. He remembered the ache of past quarrels,and he thought that would do very well to distract him, to pull him back and ground him here. Something, some kind of pain to mire him in this moment-- something other than the hole in his chest that the void was sliding through.

And if there were reason to fight, then he was not turning Thor into a weapon. The fight would merely be a means to an end.

And in the end, it was finding Steve that was most important. Above all else, he needed Steve back. Steve would know how to stop this. Or he would wash his hands of him, and Loki would have no reason to keep resisting.

But Steve would be saved.

Heimdall could do that.

So he stared down the man who called him brother and wished for compliance, for an argument, for conflict and conflicting responses.

And he knew it was unfair of him, that no matter how Thor answered, he would be hurt, would be disappointed.

He just couldn't allow himself to care.

 

Thor inhaled, unsure of what to say.

Loki had asked this of him before, in his panic when he’d first heard the news, and Thor had done his best to calm him without making promises of any specific nature. In truth, he’d been dragging his heels and finding reasons not to return to the Realm Eternal just yet, hoping that they wouldn’t have to call upon the Gatekeeper to find Steve.

But their options were diminishing, it seemed, and with each day that Steve’s whereabouts remained unknown, the hopes of finding him without greater aid dwindled.

But to call Heimdall’s eye to Midgard...

“I will go,” he said cautiously, “if you are certain. Heimdall’s eye has been turned from Midgard with all the chaos wracking the other realms since the bifrost’s destruction, but to call his attention here would put you at risk, br-- Loki. Hidden or not,” he explained, wishing he could reach out and clasp a hand to Loki’s shoulder, but unsure if such a gesture would be tolerated or not.

“But,” he added, “if this is truly what you desire... I will not deny you.”

 

He had to force himself to bite his tongue. He had agreed, and that would mean his partner would be returned to him. That was what he wanted. And he should not feel so robbed of his chance to gnash his teeth and spew his hatred. But the fact that he did only proved that it was as he feared. That he was becoming a worse person too quickly with Steve gone. He'd been cruel to Steve before he was taken. And he wanted to do it now to Thor. He did not learn. And he did not get better, did not become more good, no matter what Steve had hoped.

"It is better that I be at risk of being found, rather than whatever they are doing to Steve being allowed to continue. I have no faith in his safety, nor in whatever purpose they have taken him for."

He was still using Thor, he knew. And so he tried to think of what he could do for him, what he could give in return.

That was where he had erred, before, with the Widow. He had offered her nothing in return, had treated her as a weapon, a thing without wants and needs of her own. A thing, which she was not. A being devoid of feelings.

He needed to prove that he was capable of good. Even if only to himself. Even if the good was calculated and false. So he thought quickly.

"Surely you understand, brother. Your own mortal must be of equal importance to you. You would not let her languish in the grips of those who oppose us. And I cannot do any differently for Steve." He made it sound like an entreaty, but he knew he had him. This was his reward, what he wanted-- his claims to their brotherhood returned, acknowledgment of his woman, some proof that Loki cared for him yet. That they were on the same side, not divided.

It tasted bitter, but the lies flowed sweetly from his tongue, his words less burdensome for their insincerity.

And if Asgard did choose to descend upon him, he could only imagine that the grace of Thor would help to lessen his punishment. There was no harm in this. He stood only to gain. And yet...

And yet this feeling of disgust he felt in his chest was not the thing he had so craved.

Still craved.

 

For the second time in as many minutes, Thor found himself briefly stunned into silence.

_Brother._

He’d made a pointed effort to avoid using the word, knowing how Loki shied away from it, catching himself earlier in the nick of time. And yet it slipped from Loki’s lips now, an acknowledgement at long last that all was not completely gone between them.

He swallowed hard, not trusting himself to speak for several seconds. He nodded instead, then spoke once the swell of feeling had subsided enough. “Aye, I understand.” Finally, unable to help himself, he reached out and gave Loki’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “I will meet with Stark this afternoon to see if-- if there are particular places he and Banner think would be best to seek out first. If Heimdall has reason to turn his eye further afield from here, it will lessen the danger for you. And help us find Rogers all the sooner,” he added. “I can summon the bifrost tonight.”

Though how long he would be caught up in Asgard once he departed, he couldn’t say. A host of responsibilities would undoubtedly descend upon him the moment he arrived, which could prove a challenge to extricate himself from. But if this was how he could best be of use, to his friends, to Steve, to his _brother --_ well, then that was what he would do.

He hesitated, opening his mouth, shutting it, then finally opening it again to speak:

“Would you... care to come inside?”

 

Loki hesitated, unsure how far his charity and patience should and could extend, respectively. He did not want Thor's touches to cover the places that Steve's hands had been, did not want to be happy when Steve couldn't possibly be.

But he daren't pause too long, lest Thor sense his falsehood. So he put on a slightly strained smile, the expression too tight, he knew, because his face had not felt like this around Steve.

"I've nowhere else to be." He answered, becoming aware of just how true his words were only as he said them. He’d been accepted, to an extent, primarily because of his loss. But Pepper was right-- he needed to behave now as Steve would have. And as Bruce had said, Steve would not bleed on anyone. He was so terrible at that, though, after all this time having his emotions be the building blocks of his and Steve’s-- everything. Their communication, their understanding, their love.

The thought of Heimdall looking further afield did make him feel less afraid, and yet he worried, too. They did not know where Steve was. Suppose he were close, suppose...

"And wherever they say to look, I still would ask that he scour the entire realm. I will not be able to rest until he is found, nor should any of us. No matter the cost to myself... I would rather see me imprisoned knowing that I will find a way to escape, than leave him in whatever situation he is in. I am desperate, Thor. And while I appreciate your concern, I am not so important as he. Not just to the Avengers, but to the safety of this realm as well."

He shrugged, then realized he didn't know--

"Is your lady here? And her loud friend?" He did not know how he should act around Thor, but he thought that he could play at it better, play on his sympathies better, if he were alone than he would be able to in their presence.

 

Thor shook his head. “Darcy is in her room, in the midst of a ‘marathon.’ I do not anticipate seeing her before supper. Jane is in the lab, and I believe I may have to forcibly extricate her from it to ensure she eats,” he relayed with a sigh, sinking down on to the couch after leading Loki into the living area of the chambers he’d been afforded.

Loki’s acceptance of his offer had come as yet another in a string of surprises, anomalous enough that Thor felt vaguely concerned that something was amiss, but he feared he might end his luck by overthinking things, driving Loki away with his suspicions. As it was, much of his fears and distrust surrounding his brother this past week or so had proved misplaced. Perhaps... perhaps Loki was simply lonely and in need of distraction, given all that had happened.

If Jane were missing and Thor was unable to do anything about it, he doubted he’d have remained as calm and collected. The storm that would have resulted would topple buildings and drown harbors.

“I will tell Heimdall to be thorough,” he offered, then frowned. “Although it feels odd asking him to turn such an eye of scrutiny toward Midgard, after all these months...” he trailed off, looked away, then shook his head. “At any rate. I intend to visit the infirmary while in Asgard. If... If Mother is awake, is there any message you would have me pass on to her from you?”

 

Thor was being far more thoughtful than Loki had credited him with; was having far more thoughts than he would have expected him to. And not a one was to do with his own honor, or proving his prowess, no talk of glory... Just care, for others, which he had always had, but...

But he'd changed.

And Loki felt his eyes slide away as he realized that he had no more given him the chance to prove as much than Thor himself had given Loki.

"Tell Heimdall that the Captain has vital information, tell him that you misplaced him, tell him that I arranged his kidnapping... Tell him whatever you must. Only get him to look." He truly did not care. Even a lie, despite how bad Thor was at them, would do. If Heimdall would only bring his partner back, Loki would trade anything.

His freedom. His life, if it came to it. And gladly, to see Steve safe. In the midst of their fight, hadn’t Steve said the same for him? That he would give up his life, and count it worthwhile? How could Loki do less?

And suddenly his small compromises, being here, calling Thor ‘brother’-- it all seemed too easy, too wicked… Both too little and too much at once.

He bit down on his lip.

"And tell... Tell mother." He did not know what he should ask that she be told. He had many questions, none of which she could-- would-- answer before, and none of which were appropriate for her bedside when she was ill.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and blew it out, hard. He owed Thor and Frigga this much at least, owed them this small gesture of peace.

“Tell her that I am sorry. That she is my mother, the only one I have ever known. That I love her. Tell her… tell her that I am close to being happy, finally, and that…. that I hope to one day be someone she can be proud to call son.”

He could feel his throat tightening, and was distressed to find no lie in his words, nor in the dampness of his eyes.

He looked away, then back up to Thor, unwilling to let him think that Loki had gone completely soft.

“I do not know what you believe, Thor, what you must think of the changes you see in me, but know that I would give everything for the life I had to be the truth, for… for Jotunheim and your coronation and our fights… for none of those things to have happened. And none of what followed. I would give anything for that-- save Steve. And for him alone, I do not regret the path that has led me here.”

He held his gaze and voice steady, then sighed, unsure what more to say, what more _needed_ said.

 

Thor kept his mouth shut, having learned through time and experience the value of holding his tongue, thinking his words through and _listening._

Something he had failed to do for Loki for so many years, he realized all too late.

Brother. Mother. When he’d told Loki of Frigga’s injury in the battle, Loki had refused to call her anything but her name. In the days that followed, Thor had all but despaired of Loki ever acknowledging his family again. His heart now swelled with gratitude, to know that despair had been premature.

“I will tell her,” he said softly, reaching out and placing his hand lightly over Loki’s, keeping his grip loose so Loki could pull away if he wished. “And I know it is not my place to speak for her, but I imagine if she were here and saw...” he paused, swallowing. “If she saw the man I am starting to see now, I am sure she would already be proud.”

After all, Loki was willing to put his own safety, his own _life_ on the line for someone he cared for; for a mortal. Hadn’t that been what Thor himself had done for Mjolnir to deem him worthy?

(And the thought of just how _unworthy_ he’d been before, not only of the hammer but of so much he’d taken entirely for granted, believing himself _owed_ \--)

“I too regret much of what has happened,” he said, shaking his head ruefully. “I should never have dragged you to Jotunheim. Should never have--” He broke off with a sound of frustration and sighed. “It is all too late that I have been made aware of the flaws in my actions. In my character. It is something I am... working toward remedying. I know that there is little I can do now to rectify the mistakes of the past... or my failures as a brother.”

He looked down at the floor for a moment, the admission hanging heavily in the air. While he knew the entirety of the blame didn’t lay on him alone, time spent with Jane and with humbler company than he’d kept for so many centuries had opened his eyes to just how callous he’d been for so very long. “I cannot fix or undo what has been done, to my chagrin,” he continued. “Cannot go back and find you in the void. Cannot take back the cruel words I said in our youth. And for this, I am sorry. But... I am glad that despite it all, you have found a path that brings you happiness, brother. A good path. Even if it is one you choose to walk without me.”

He looked up and met Loki’s eyes, then reached out and clasped a hand around the back of Loki’s neck, cradling the base of his skull. “Whatever is in my power to help Steve, to bring him home to you, I will do. You have my oath.”

 

He had to fight not to pull away. For all of Thor's words, he was still bitter-- it was nothing for Thor to simply accept that he could not undo his wrongs. He did not have to spend the rest of his life with each person he met whispering about him, about what he had been as though it was his present and his future as well. Even at his worst, he had still been the golden son of Asgard, destined to be king.

And he wanted to hate him for it. Wanted to keep his distance and refuse to care. But Thor was giving him his word, his oath, to bring Steve home. And knowing what his word meant to him, knowing that he would not stop until he saw Steve safe, no matter what happened to Loki... It felt easier.

Only that hadn't been what he'd said, exactly, was it? And Loki had spent many years manipulating the exact wording of his own oaths.

"Bring him home, Thor. That is all I ask. See him safely returned, and I will face judgment if I must. I would meet the abyss and all that followed again, before I considered living in a world without him in it."

The words seemed honorable, but they were a cowardly truth. If Steve was truly gone...

Frigga would not be proud of him, he knew, no matter what Thor said in his sentiment addled kindness. She had always seen Loki the clearest of any he knew, and no doubt she would look at him and see that darkness, ever present, only hiding now behind a mask of good. See this supposed honor he was showing, and see it for the desperation it really was.

For all that he was helping people to think better of him, being hurt and angry and cruel, knowing how that still lived within him, somehow it felt more honest.

He did not want to be there, suddenly, wanted to be in the woods outside of the Asgardian walls, running with abandon, letting the pain and fear trail after him. But there was no such place here, no way to pull these feelings out of himself.

And that was horrific in its own right, because he knew now what happened when he allowed his darker emotions to fester. And yet it seemed he was to have little choice.

The Widow would not hurt him, Thor would not fight him, Banner would not blame him, and Stark did not like his leaving.

He was caged here to await news, from the Avengers before and, after tonight, from Thor. Damn, but he was tired of waiting. Tired of being useless.

"Thank you." He forced himself to say. "For your aid, for your support. For being here. Brother." It was stilted and difficult to get the words out, but he said them. And if it sounded off... He hoped it passed as his own sentimental turn, and not the bevy of emotions that he was battling.

 

Thor couldn’t help but smile a little at Loki’s thanks, though the expression remained tempered with sympathy. He felt, in fact, a small pang of guilt that he was reveling in the rekindling of their brotherhood, when Loki had only turned to him in a time of crisis when he was clearly suffering.

“After all the times I failed to be there when you needed, I believe you are greatly owed,” he pointed out. “If there is anything else you require, or any way I can help before my departure, you have only to say it.”

He pulled his hand away, electing not to press his luck with continued closeness. “And... It is my sincerest hope that it does not come to that. To your being parted from him.” His brow furrowed at the thought. “I cannot imagine Steve would approve of my letting anything happen to you, just as you wish for nothing to befall him.”

And despite all Loki had done, despite all the harm he’d caused Thor -- seeing him here, happy and no longer gripped by madness and the need to wreak destruction, he couldn’t bear the thought of his brother cast back into a cell and left in solitude until his mind broke apart once again. It had been a more tolerable prospect back when he’d thought Loki lost to him for good. Now, however... Now he was seeing glimpses of the old Loki.

Or, he reminded himself, recalling Steve’s words, a _different_ Loki. Perhaps not the same as the brother he’d once known -- they’d both been changed by time and experience too much for that -- but no more the madman who’d attacked Midgard either. A new Loki.

 

He wondered which of them Thor was more likely to choose, if it came to it, which loyalty's pull he would feel most strongly.

And of course, regaining their supposed familial ties would only strengthen his leanings toward Loki. He did not want that.

"Whether or not Steve approves, if the choice must be made-- bear in mind that Steven is not yet thirty. In the span of a human lifetime, he has not yet lived his by half. And while none-- while few would miss Loki..." He trailed off.

"I do not intend to give in without a fight, even should Heimdall drag me back. I will not go quietly. And you know me, brother-- they will not be able to hold me for long." He offered him one of his long unused grins, his trickster's grin, face engaged by the promise of mischief. The falsest expression he had worn in some time, for no part of him felt like smiling.

"But you must trust that I can care for myself. You know now what I have lived through thus far... You know that humans have limits, even one so exceptional as Steve."

If he couldn't be there, he wanted the strongest protection for Steve that he could imagine.

And while it did not escape his attention that his first impulse was to recruit Thor, as Thor had not done with Loki in his fight, he would not burden that with any meaningfulness. Thor was strongest and the only one present with even so much as an inkling of seidhr's uses and abilities. He did not choose him for their history together as family. He chose him because he knew that he could appeal to his honor and rely on his word. Because he was useful.

Not because they had once trusted one another with all of their most important and dangerous of follies. And certainly not because he was wise enough now to know better than to trust Loki with his own.

Which reminded him...

"Enough of this, though; there is nothing more you can do before you reach Asgard. So tell me of the Dark Elves. What were they like, how did they live-- how did they fight?"

They were creatures from legend, and he and his brother had always told one another stories to ease their fears before.

Before when they were-- when they had believed they truly were brothers.

The thought brought a nauseating wave of nostalgia home to his chest, with sadness trailing in its wake.

 

Thor wanted to protest when Loki claimed few would miss him -- Thor himself had missed him more than enough, thinking his brother dead in the void, and Frigga had wept bitterly for weeks, nigh inconsolable at the loss of her youngest -- but held his tongue. He was beginning to recognize which arguments with Loki would be futile. At least for now. He’d fought Loki on his delusions enough with little success, and while it wasn’t typically like him to back away from a seemingly-unwinnable battle, Thor was beginning to see the value of a more tactical approach.

What was the phrase Erik had told him once? Discretion was the better part of valor? A curious Midgardian phrase...

“Considering the ease with which you slipped Asgard’s dungeons, I doubt there are any who could hold you for long,” he agreed instead, inclining his head toward Loki. Though given the current wreckage that was the state of Asgard’s dungeons, he doubted they could hold any.

The thought, along with Loki’s next question, brought him back to dark memories of recent events. His expression clouded over.

“They fought viciously,” he answered, voice dropping to just above a growl. “I know not how Malekith and his regiment survived the last war, but the Realms would have been better off if they’d perished. One of their brutes put a sword through mother’s back, like a coward. They are merciless, ruthless mon--”

He broke off before he could finish the word.

 

_Monsters._

 

The creatures to be vanquished in children’s tales. Tales like he and Loki had heard as children, though the Dark Elves hadn’t been the only villains...

He took a deep breath. “Forgive me. I am... The wounds are still fresh, with Asgard still laid to waste from the battle. Ask me again when my temper has had time to cool, and I will try to afford you better answers, less colored by anger.”

 

Loki had almost been lulled into relaxing, into how easy it could be to fall back into old patterns, the word ‘brother’ sliding off of his tongue with more ease, until Thor spoke as he oft did, thoughtlessly and frankly. Loki flinched, reminded of why his favor, his closeness with Thor, could be no more than pretense. His throat felt tight and the lie he spread across his face was strained even harder than it had been before.

“I am sorry; I should not have prodded at so fresh a wound. Particularly with Frigga’s health still so concerning.” The words came smoothly, and he swallowed and stood. “I will leave you to calm yourself. I would not have you return to Asgard in a poor temper, knowing what trials you may be facing there on my behalf.”

He wiped his hands on his pants, skin suddenly itching where Thor had touched him.

Would he be so willing, he mused bitterly, if Loki wore his true skin? Would he aid them, or show affection? Would he even _want_ Loki to call him brother? Or would he insist upon distancing himself, as would only be right?

Would he dispatch Loki as he had the others of his kind that they had encountered, that day on Jotunheim?

_Merciless, ruthless monsters._

But who was more merciless-- The monsters who knew no better, or the Asgardian who did?

Loki felt chilled, sick. He cleared his throat.

“Perhaps I will see you at dinner. Brother.”

He could not think of what more he could say-- only what he should.

“Thank you.” He ground out, words all but stinging his mouth.

Thor’s words would no doubt circle in his head for the next few hours, at least, and so he would be filled with yet more loathing, more despair-- more dark thoughts that he had no room for, and still no way of releasing them.

But soon, Heimdall would find Steve. Soon they would be able to bring him home.

That was enough, would have to be. Asgard would not grant Loki such a boon, would not grant a Jotun runt even so much as a friendly glance before he was met with a blade. And so he should truly be grateful to the Odinson.

It was only difficult when it was so easy to be reminded of what delicate lies his happiness and safety were built on, particularly around the man who called him brother.

His life had been smashed into so many shards of spun glass, and no effort, no kindness or favor, would repair what truth had rent. It would do him well to remember that, too.

 

Thor frowned, worried that he had pushed Loki away without meaning to. But Loki still called him brother and wasn’t hissing at him like a wet húsköttur, so it was difficult to say if Loki’d taken offense, or if he only meant to give Thor space.

He would have lamented how poorly his ability to read his brother had deteriorated, if he’d had any confidence that he’d ever been able to read him at all.

He stood along with Loki. “I would like that,” he told Loki, “to have dinner. Before I leave.” He couldn’t be sure how things would stand on his return -- what Heimdall might find or what the state of Loki’s mercurial moods might be, and wished to capitalize all he could on this unusual bout of goodwill.

“And you have no need to thank me,” he added with a tired smile. “Certainly not yet. Though I will be as glad as any to have Steve home where he is safe and well.”

And perhaps... Perhaps if Thor could help to make that happen, it would go a long way toward continuing to mend the bridge between them.

He could hope.

 

He’d meant it to be a casual platitude, a way of excusing himself, with no real intent to follow through, but apparently that was not to be the case.

Because now he would have to, to continue the act.

Have to sit across the table from a man who had killed creatures like him, in front of him, for being what they were. A man who called him brother, but did not hesitate to refer to others as monsters.

And he would have to dine with the woman that Thor now loved, whom he had no doubt told of Loki’s monstrous origins. He would have to sit across the table from Romanoff, whom he had offended. And he would have to act as though the only thing wrong was that Steve was missing, as if he weren’t starting to shake apart. To turn back into the monster he had become, trying to flee from the monster he’d always had hidden inside of himself.

His remaining logic was the only thing that kept his pretense of personhood intact. Kept him safe, and in a position to request and receive favors. Kept him firmly in Thor’s mind as the once-prince of Asgard, rather than the disgrace of Jotunheim.

And so he nodded his acceptance and made a hasty retreat.

He would have dinner. He needed to eat, to keep his strength up. He had promised, hadn’t he? Back at SHIELD, back in his cell, back when this had… so long ago, when he’d truly been the man that he had to remember how to be, now. He’d promised Steve that if he ever had to leave, if he had to be gone for a little while, Loki would eat.

He’d promised. And he didn’t break promises to Steve.

But he also knew that he couldn’t face the Avengers in the frame of mind he was in. There was too much turmoil, and he was too close to the edge of things. He would snap, say or do something. Cause damage.

He needed a way to release it, to let it out and be allowed to feel monstrous, at least for a time.

 

Back in his rooms, he stripped his clothing off. He filled the pool in the bathroom with cool water and stepped in, letting his skin fall away and turning himself into the monster that Thor tried to forget that he was.

It was funny how water that would have sent him to shivering in his Aesir form turned warm, almost pleasant, in this one.

He could not help but wonder what would happen if he went to dinner this way, his skin blue and eyes red and his entire body a thing of horror.  
Surely the other Avengers had all seen what he was, what he was meant to be, via the recordings from his cell. But Thor hadn’t, and none of them had seen the truth of things in person.

It was a ridiculous, nonsensical line of thought, though. He had averted his eyes so that he would not have to see himself in the mirror this way, getting in. He could not wear this skin for too long, for fear of losing himself within it. He would not be able to keep the cold from radiating out of him, when his nerves became too much.

But now, right now, in this moment…

The last person to see him in this form was Steve. The only person to ever have touched him in this form was Steve. And Steve loved it-- loved _him_. Every him. The last thing he had experienced in this body was Steve’s hands, Steve’s breath on his skin, his lips...

And no one, including Loki himself, expected this monster not to rage, to yell and destroy and cause pain and damage…

And somehow, just the knowledge that that was the case made him calmer. Made him feel more at ease. It was freeing, as he’d told Steve when he’d rubbed his shoulders that first time, forever ago now.

No one expected him to be better. It was a weight lifted, and that only left the weight of fear for Steve, the gnawing terror that he was gone and would never return. That he would be returned as a corpse. That he was being hurt or injured, and that Loki was doing nothing to help.

He sat there, stewing in his own misery, remaining in that body for longer than he’d intended, until JARVIS called down and alerted him that dinner was prepared.

He pulled his face back on, replaced his clothing, and returned to the upstairs common room, oddly more nervous to break bread with Romanoff than he was to do so with Thor.

Perhaps because Thor, at least, was guaranteed to be kind, to be glad of his presence… would likely not say anything to turn the others against Loki.

At least, that was his hope.

He sat beside him, the pile of noodles and white sauce as unappetizing as the thought of looking up and meeting Barton’s eye. Romanoff had managed to behave as though nothing had happened, but clearly she had spoken to Barton about that afternoon’s botched lesson, and Loki could not summon the will to make eye contact with anyone that might cause an argument.

He was doing his best to devote his time to eating and being silent, when Thor found the need to fill his silence by announcing his intent to leave.

“This evening I will be returning to Asgard.” Thor said, his voice too loud for Loki’s tastes, especially given the strained semi-silence that had fallen, filled only with Tony’s sporadic notes, given to JARVIS or Jane and Bruce in turn, in regards to the project they were working on now, which Loki couldn’t follow.

Loki could see the way Romanoff’s face snapped toward him in his peripheral, and he kept his eyes on his plate.

“I mean to contact the gatekeeper, Heimdall, who can see all of the worlds at a glance, and ask him to search for Steve. And I need to check on my mother’s healing.”

His mother, Loki noted, and not theirs.

He could not tell if it was a drop of unintentional truth or a careful nod toward Loki’s preferences. Either way, it squeezed at his heart a little, but still he did not respond.

“Kinda rough timing, don’t you think?” Stark asked Thor, with a significant glance in Loki’s direction that even the Odinson could hardly misunderstand.

“I would imagine they’ve already talked about it.” Romanoff all but drawled out, and her voice and the accusation in it made Loki’s spine stiffen.

She assumed this was him punishing himself again.

Well, maybe so. What did he know? But it was also something that would be of use.

“We have. I can be of more help making inquiries with powers you haven’t access to on Asgard, rather than sitting in wait here while you work to refine sciences you have only begun to understand.” Thor took his Lady’s hand in his own, and Loki turned his eyes away from the touch.

“It is not that I haven’t faith in your work,” He reassured her, and Bruce and Tony, in turn, with a turn of his head and a nod of acknowledgment, and Loki found himself impressed against his will. Thor had grown into more of a leader, a better speaker, in Loki’s absence.

Just another of the places Loki had once belonged where he was no longer needed.

“But I do need to see to the Queen, and I do think that Heimdall will speed our recovery of the Captain. And Loki knows the risks; it was he who asked that I pursue this path.”

“Surprise.” Romanoff muttered, and Loki had had enough.

“I am grateful for your dedication to finding Steve.” He bit out. “I will see you when you return, brother.” He stood and left, not bothering to excuse himself, tired already of the stares and unspoken accusations that the others were leveling at him.

Even if they spoke without him there, Thor had said he would go. He’d given his word. He would not change his mind now. If there was anything Loki could count on, it was Thor being bullheaded about his honor.

He retired to his room, itching with a need to untether himself, or bind himself more fully, perhaps. He wasn’t sure which.

 

He realized that he wasn’t certain he could recall Steve’s voice. Not entirely, not perfectly. It seemed so ridiculous. He hadn’t even been gone so long as he had the last time. But still, it was a thought that would not leave Loki alone. He considered reaching for the phone, calling to listen to that again, but it seemed so pitiful. Hesitantly, almost shamefully, he looked pointedly at the floor and asked JARVIS if there were any recordings of Steve. Film, video, audio even; he didn’t care.

And JARVIS had given him a list that was almost overwhelming and spanned a series of situations, from interviews with reporters after his invasion, to Steve in a very different uniform than his Captain America one, speaking to soldiers, or to students, at official gatherings…

At first, Loki’s heart had twisted in his chest, listening to that voice, not so forgotten, not so unfamiliar as he had feared, and able to see, through his familiarity, just how uncomfortable Steve was. He didn’t like being in front of all of those people. Loki paused the screen in the midst of his speaking, when his mouth was pulled upwards, as if he were smiling, and zoomed in on just his face, burning it into his mind.

He only barely noticed when, a little over an hour later, the Bifrost opened and Thor was gone.

Somehow, though, despite how little he had welcomed his presence, his words and his touches… with Steve frozen on the screen, he felt a little more alone in the knowledge of Thor’s absence.

 

 

 


	63. Sixty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We already have this story tagged with a lot of potential triggers, but for this and upcoming chapters, sensitive readers may wish to revisit that list as there will be more unpleasantness and potentially triggering material.
> 
> EDIT: Many thanks to vales11 for revised translations!

Steve managed to doze off, not fully asleep, but neither fully awake -- tension remaining in his body to stay upright and not strain his arms too painfully. He was too cold and too sore to truly sleep, but he rested his eyes and let his mind go empty as his breathing evened and his awareness of the hunger in his belly briefly, mercifully, dimmed.

Then a new sound intruded.

Steve pried his eyes open, frowning, and looked up just in time to catch a facefull of icy water.

He jerked violently at the cold, gasping and sputtering, legs kicking out of reflex. The guard who threw the bucket -- and Steve could see the bucket in his hands now -- laughed and said something in a derisive tone of voice, but Steve couldn’t make it out over the pounding of his own heart, racing from shock. He shivered, then almost without thinking, let his tongue slip out to snake over his lips, catching precious drops of rank water to wet his parched mouth and throat.

“ --’re right, he stinks,” one of the guards said to the other, and Steve looked up to glower at them.

“Can’t say the facilities here offer much alternative,” he slurred, voice hoarse.

The guard sneered, then clocked him in the face with the bucket. “Shut up.”

Steve’s eyes watered as pain lanced up through his nose, briefly blinding him -- but if any moisture slipped down his cheeks, it was lost amid the water from the bucket, preserving that faint shred of his remaining dignity. He closed his eyes and panted through his mouth for a few seconds, trying not to let his teeth chatter. Something rattled, and when he opened them again, the guards were leaving and a bowl and cup sat in the middle of the floor.

He was ready to groan in frustration when something above him clicked and hummed, and abruptly his hands came loose.

Well, not completely loose. He slumped forward, gasping, no longer held up by his wrists. The cuffs remained, chained together, but they were no longer attached to the wall.

He could move.

It took him one full second to process this before throwing himself forward, crawling awkwardly on his bound forearms and knees to reach the bowl, which he grabbed and lifted, slurping out its contents greedily.

The mush was tasteless and watery, but it might as well have been divine goddamn ambrosia for all he cared. He devoured it and was halfway done licking out the dish to chase every last drop when he remembered the eye of the camera in the corner.

No doubt someone was monitoring the feed and getting a real kick out of this, watching him lick the bowl like a dog. He paused, but hunger won out, and -- with perhaps slightly less fervor but no less dedication -- he finished scouring the bowl before downing the cup of water, easing the ache in his throat.

He placed the bowl and cup neatly down by the door when he was done, and then, because he could, relieved himself directly into the drain.

No longer chained to the wall, with some meager nourishment in his belly and the shock of cold rendering him alert, he felt a small surge of energy, and used it to examine every last inch of the cell, in case there was anything he could exploit as a means of escape. He ran his fingers over the edges of the door, but the hinges were on the wrong side. The cracks in the walls weren’t a structural weakness, and even the bowl and cup he’d been left were made of a durable, lightweight material that wouldn’t break into a makeshift weapon or do any damage if thrown.

Still, he worked back over his surroundings until his stomach started to cramp and he sank back down to the floor, doubling over with a stifled groan.

A worrying thought crossed his mind.

He’d been so desperate for food and water, so crazed with need, it hadn’t occurred to him to question if the meal he was finally given was poisoned.

His gut gurgled and he curled tighter into himself, tucking his bound arms between his knees and chest. Was this pain from some toxin they’d given him? Or was it just from having scarfed down what he’d been given too quickly after going so long with nothing?

It would be stupid if he’d just poisoned himself because he’d been too careless to think. But, at the same time, it would be stupid to starve himself out of paranoia. He didn’t know how long his post-serum body could last without food -- he’d never cared to put it to the test -- but he was definitely beginning to feel the effects of deprivation, and he suspected the lack of water would hit him harder and sooner.

His mind flitted to images of some of the guys he remembered them freeing from Nazi POW camps in the war. Fellas who’d spent months, years in the Stalags and looked like skin and bones when they walked out. And that hadn’t even been the worst...

Did they mean to starve him to death? Or was this just a tactic to freak him out, make him easier to control? If he was desperate, they could try to manipulate him in exchange for food and water. He scowled at the idea; mainly because he _had_ been desperate enough to lunge for the food without a second thought.

He’d have to be more careful. Think first. And not give these bastards anything they wanted.

If he held out, then the other Avengers would find him. And if the other Avengers were out of commission, well... Loki. Loki would find him.

Steve just had to hang in there until then. Wouldn’t be long now.

He curled on his side, grateful for the release from the tension of his arms’ suspension, and, in a fetal position in the cell’s corner, found sleep.

 

A loud tone blared from the speaker in the wall, and Steve jerked awake. The change in position had allowed him some semblance of real rest, but he couldn’t tell how long it had been; his mind still felt cloudy and sluggish, as it had since his arrival.

 _“The prisoner will return to its place at the wall_ ,” the voice over the speaker announced in a clipped, bored tone.

Steve scowled at the speaker and camera, resentment bubbling. _Its place?_ He wasn’t sure what ticked him off more -- being reduced to an ‘it’, or the notion that the spot where he’d been chained to the wall was ‘his place.’

Between the exhaustion weighing down his limbs and the overwhelming urge to rebel, he remained where he was.

The voice spoke up again, this time annoyed:

_“The prisoner will return to its place at the wall immediately.”_

“Or what?” Steve snapped.

 

In retrospect, it wasn’t the wisest response.

  
  
A few seconds later, the door swung open, and the guards stormed in. Without cold water dripping in his eyes, Steve got a clearer look at them; they wore the same black SHIELD-like tactical armor that the mercenaries in the park had worn, only with some insignia sewn on a patch to the shoulder.

“Look,” he said, sitting up and lifting his chin, “I don’t know what--”

Before he could finish, one of the guards lashed out with his baton, striking Steve in the face and snapping his head back with enough force to briefly white out his vision.

“Stand by the fucking wall.”

Steve blinked, dazed; he was still trying to figure out when he lost the ability to take a hit like that and just shrug it off, when the baton slammed into his gut and he doubled over into a ball with a gasp. It hurt. More than it ought to, really. Was he weaker just from the lack of food--?

A booted foot drove into his kidney, and Steve fell forward. The second guard stepped in, not to intervene as another sharp kick to Steve’s hip indicated, but to join, and soon all he could do was try to shield himself with his bound arms from the barrage of blows, gritting his teeth through the pain as he waited for his attackers to get bored.

That, at least, he had practice with; taking a beating. Lying on the grimy concrete, he could almost think he was back in any one of Brooklyn’s filthy alleys, getting the tar kicked out of him by some mooks he’d managed to piss off. He bit back any sound of pain beyond the occasional grunt and gasp, the meaty impact of batons and boots against his skin the loudest noise in the room.

Finally one of them grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back. “You ready to quit mouthing off and follow orders, _soldier?_ ” he hissed, sneering at the last word as he spat it out like a curse.

Steve took a deep breath, swallowing the blood that pooled in his mouth from where the baton had split the inside of his cheek against his teeth. Lifting his chin, he looked the man in the eyes.

“Rogers, Steven G.,” he said. “Captain. 98765--”

“Screw this,” the other guard grumbled, and then the end of his baton sparked and lit up with crackling blue electricity.

As he reached forward Steve got a clear view of the insignia on his arm, and the way the hair stood on the back of his neck had nothing to do with the sudden charge in the air. His eyes widened. “You’re H--”

The words froze in his mouth as his entire body seized up with electric current.

He wasn’t sure how long it lasted -- seconds or forever -- but every muscle in his body felt as if it cramped at once, his spine arching and his jaw falling open in a silent scream. The current hummed through him, vibrating in his bones, making his teeth feel like they would buzz right out of their sockets and the backs of his eyes tingle. It was sharp and dull all at once, and when it finally stopped, he was left twitching on the floor, feeling like a hammer had been taken to his skull.

“Stand up.”

He tried. He honestly did. But his muscles wouldn’t obey, his body still quaking from the current, paralyzed and useless. And before he could protest, the guard drove the electrified rod back down into his stomach.

 

He must have passed out.

At least, he was fairly certain that had to be the case, since he couldn’t remember anything between the second shock, and the moment he dimly became aware of being dragged down a corridor, outside the cell.

He hurt everywhere, like he’d taken the most thorough beating of his life right after running a marathon. The guards were hauling him along roughly by the arms between them, leaving his legs and the tops of his feet to drag against the concrete floor. Above, a line of flickering fluorescent lights seemed to go on forever. He watched them, mesmerised, knowing there was something else he ought to be focusing on, something he should be taking note of... But his skull still felt like a bell that had been rung, humming with residual vibration, fuzzing out all of his thoughts.

The lights hurt his eyes after a while, prompting them to water. He let them close, just for a moment...

 

 

 

When he opened them, again, more time had elapsed, though it felt as if it had only been seconds. The humming thrummed achingly in his skull and lights still stung his eyes, but instead of being dragged down a hall he was lying on his back. The light was whiter, the walls pale, and there was a smell of disinfectant in the air and the soft whir of machinery.

Steve frowned, trying to make sense of the change in his surroundings. A hospital? It smelled medical. Had... had he been rescued while he’d been out? Was he recovering somewhere?

He moved to sit up, then felt his heart leap into his throat as he realized that he couldn’t.

Something was holding him back. Holding him down. He tried to move his arms, his legs, even simply lift his head, but he’d been heavily restrained with thick straps tying him down to the gurney he was on, traversing his chest, arms, hips, thighs, ankles, and even his forehead. The end result left him completely immobile. Even when he strained against the bonds with all his strength, they creaked but didn’t give.

His skin prickled. Before, he’d thought being chained to the wall was bad, but this? This was worse. He swallowed, trying to keep from panicking as he called out:

“Hello?”

No answer (something he was growing accustomed to), but a few moments later he heard footsteps clicking against the flooring, and the rustle of clothing nearby. Unable to turn his head, he couldn’t see whoever it was in the room with him, and it left him deeply unnerved.

“Who’s there?” he asked, voice hoarse.

No response, though he heard the tapping of computer keys, and the sound of a drawer sliding open and shut. Whoever it was puttered around for a few more moments, completely indifferent to his predicament.

He felt as if he ought to continue trying to speak, trying to get some response, but his head hurt powerfully and he didn’t know what else to even try to say. So instead he screwed his eyes shut against the light and breathed through his nose.

He snapped them back open when the steps approached and he could sense someone looming over him.

The patch of ceiling that had filled his limited field of vision was now interrupted by the shape of a man with very narrow, almost delicate features; a long, pointed but narrow nose, thin and bloodless lips, a small chin, high cheeks. His skin and hair were both pale, eyebrows nearly nonexistent, making the thick-rimmed glasses he wore the dominant feature on his face, floating in a sea of whiteness.

He leaned over Steve to adjust something on a machine behind him, frowning, then pulling a recorder out of his coat pocket and lifting it to his face, pressing the button with a click.

“Első szakasz: Alany ’Nyár’.”

Steve’s heart sank. He couldn’t understand a word, but there was something clinical and detached in the way the man -- doctor? -- spoke. Something that suggested that even if he could understand Steve, he likely wouldn’t care.

“Please,” Steve said all the same, though he wasn’t sure what he was asking for.

The doctor reached down to Steve’s arm, and for the first time he realized that the pressure there wasn’t one of the straps, but some kind of blood pressure cuff. He gave it a few squeezes until it verged on pain, then watched it and moved out of Steve’s field of vision, though he could hear the scritching of a pen, followed by the click of the recorder. “Az alany dehidratált.”

A few moments later, he felt something cold and coarse running against the inside of his elbow. He instinctively jerked away, or tried, but to little effect. The dampness against the skin there gave him goosebumps, and when a moment later he felt a sharp, pinching sensation, he inhaled sharply. “Intravénás folyadékot adok a későbbi vérvizsgálat megkönnyítése érdekében,” the doctor announced into his recorder, as he taped down the needle in place.

Steve bit the inside of his cheek, fighting panic. He had no idea what they were sticking him with or why, or what it would do. And there was nothing he could do about it. Whatever they’d strapped him down with was as durable as the restraints in his cell. He was cold and weak and... and helpless.

It was almost as infuriating as it was terrifying.

“Vizsgálom az alany fájdalomra adott reakcióit.”

A few moments later, after moving around the room -- lab? -- and opening and closing several cabinets, the doctor came back, this time with small pads that he peeled a paper-like substance from before adhering them to Steve’s temples and chest. Electrodes, he realized a few seconds later, when wires were attached, heart leaping into his throat.

“What are these for?” he demanded. But even as the doctor touched his face to affix the wires to the sides of his head, he showed no interest in meeting Steve’s eyes.

He wasn’t a person here. Just an experiment. Though whatever was about to happen and to what purpose, he didn’t know.

The doctor finishing hooking everything up out of Steve’s sight. The limits of his vision only compounded the mounting sense of dread -- dread that spiked once the doctor stepped back in and Steve caught a glimpse of something metallic in his hand.

Metallic, and sharp.

He didn’t hear the next thing the doctor said over the sudden rush of blood in his ears, but he gasped as a hot line of pain blossomed over his abdomen. It stung, then burned, and though he couldn’t tilt his chin down to see it, he could feel blood begin to trickle down his stomach.

For a horrible second, he thought the doctor meant to vivisect him; to cut him open to see how he operated, pulling out his still bleeding, beating innards. One of the machines began beeping frantically, no doubt registering the uptick in Steve’s heart as it leapt into his throat.

But though the slice smarted, the scalpel’s cut remained shallow. The doctor stepped back and looked at it dispassionately, then said something into his recording device.

Steve frowned, and for a brief moment, hoped that that had somehow been it. That it was over.

Only after the doctor made a note he stepped forward again, lowering the scalpel again and drawing another fresh line of fiery pain over Steve’s stomach.

That time, he managed to hold in the gasp, biting down and showing no reaction; his body however betrayed him to the monitors, which sounded with a chorus of blips and beeps as he was cut into, again and again, some cuts shallow and some deep, moving up and down his body. He jerked when he felt the knife trail down over his inner thigh, a monitor wailing as his insides turned icy with fear of where the next cut would fall; but the doctor only pulled back and said something into his recorder, in some small act of what might have been mercy.

Well, for a limited value of mercy.

Certainly not enough to stop.

He didn’t know how many times he’d been cut -- only that his entire torso and the flesh of his arms exposed between the restraints tingled and burned and ached -- when the doctor finally took a respite from his work and left the room.

Left alone with the smell of chemicals -- some of which had been rubbed into his open wounds -- and the metallic odor of his own blood, Steve stared blankly up at the ceiling and drifted, unable to sleep for pain and dread. A mirthless chuckle rose in his chest, glaringly loud in the silence;

Funny, that once he’d volunteered to be a lab rat.

(Only to Erskine, he’d been a man, a human being first and foremost. Here... here he was meat to cut into and observe.)

It might have been an hour, maybe two, when the door creaked open and he heard the sound of footsteps, the doctor snapping on his gloves and then observing the rate of healing of Steve’s various wounds, poking and prodding and peeling open half-healed gashes to prompt the blood to well up anew. Steve squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of something, anything else.

About all the times he’d been hurt worse than this. The tearing of a bullet through his arm in Switzerland, or a kick to the kidneys that left him with black and blues all up his back so bad he had to sleep on his stomach for a week. About all the times he’d had the tar beat out of him so hard he’d just lain on the pavement wheezing until Bucky finally found him and hauled him to his feet.

Only Bucky wasn’t here now. Wasn’t coming...

He ground his teeth. Bucky might be gone, but he still had friends on the outside. He had the Avengers. He had Loki, who’d work his magic and patch him right up and smother him with caring as soon as he got him out of this mess. It was all a matter of time.

He just had such a hard time conceptualizing time these days.

And every time the scalpel bit back into his skin or the doctor poured something caustic into the wounds that burned and had him twitching uncontrollably against his bonds to try to escape the pain, he reminded himself, there had been worse. There had been worse in Brooklyn and there had been worse in the war, and there had been worse with Thanos. And all those times, he’d done his damndest not to let them hear him scream.

(Don’t scream.)

His skin was slippery with blood and who knew what else. For all that the lab was cold and he was still naked, he felt like he was on fire. When the doctor walked away after a lengthy spell of notation into his recorder and Steve heard the sound of running water shortly after, he hoped that they were done. That the doctor was cleaning Steve’s blood off his tools and he might be returned to the cell where he’d be left alone to slowly heal without his cuts being pried open once more.

He waited and listened to the soft hum and blip of the machines, wondering if the same guards would drag him back, or if he’d be allowed to walk, stretching his legs and moving under his own power, if only for just a little while. He couldn’t see anything of use while strapped to the table, but maybe, just maybe in transit between this room and his cell, he might spot an avenue of escape.

“Befejeztem a megfigyeléseimet az alany bemetszésekre adott reakcióira vonatkozóan. Most gázok tesztelésével folytatom.”

Steve blinked as the doctor approached, knowing better than to say anything and expect a response. He watched the man’s hands, hoping he’d reach for the restraints (even bloody and hurt, Steve could probably overpower him), or for a means to call the guards.

Instead he saw the doctor lift something pale and domed, maybe slightly larger than an orange, though Steve couldn’t make out any detail from his peripheral vision. The doctor leaned forward, something squeaked, like metal twisting, and a gaseous hiss filled the air.

“What is that?” Steve croaked.

He didn’t expect an answer or acknowledgement by now, but the words slipped out all the same. And for the first time, the doctor’s gaze from behind those glasses flicked ever so briefly toward Steve, before his thin lips tugged into a faint approximation of a smile.

Then the doctor lifted the pale object and Steve had just enough time to make out an oxygen mask and suck in a breath before it was pressed down over his nose and mouth.

The machines increased in pitch as Steve panicked, holding his breath. His lungs began to burn with the need for air -- a familiar sting -- and he tried to turn his head to dislodge the mask, but to no effect. His struggles were ignored, elastic loops slipped into place behind his ears to hold the thing there. Heart hammering wildly in his throat, he tried to think of a way out. Whatever was being pumped into the mask couldn’t be good; he couldn’t breathe it in; couldn’t let them gas him--

But then the scalpel unexpectedly bit into his flesh once more, and Steve gasped in surprise; it was a reflex, but it was enough to give him a lungful of whatever the mask contained.

He only had seconds to regret his mistake before he slipped into the dark.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He awakened around six on the fifth day without Steve, nightmares driving him to consciousness long before he was accustomed, and loneliness and concern making it impossible to get back to sleep.

He tried laying in bed, tried to remain unmoving, but he developed a sudden itching urge to get out of his rooms, to get away-- he knew he couldn’t go outside, though. He didn’t have Lucky, didn’t have an excuse, and no doubt Romanoff would see it as him taking risks, chancing that whomever had taken Steve would take him, too.

He knew he wasn’t thinking in a way that was completely sane when that actually did sound like a good plan.

But he didn’t need that plan. Thor had gone to talk to Heimdall. He would return and they would find Steve and it would be _fine_. He had to believe as much, had to have faith.

Even silent and in his head, the reassurances were hollow.

He was still waiting though, still useless, and still feeling pent up, and so he went digging in his pocket and brought out the accesses that Pepper had given him.

He stormed down to the medical floors in a flurry that was only somewhat less than restrained. In his full suit and wearing his name tag, he should merely look like an important man in a hurry.

He was, at that. In a hurry to get away from the rooms that dripped with proof that Steve existed, proof that he belonged there, but wasn’t. Constant reminders of how Loki was failing him with every minute that went by.

Steve wanted him to care for people, to help them-- he couldn’t help Steve now, but he could help others.

The moment the doors slid open and a slightly terrified young man in scrubs saw him, he pulled himself to an abrupt stop.

“Do you know who I am?” He asked, and the man shook his head dumbly. “I am the man Ms. Potts has hired to advise your medical teams.” Given the upper hand by the other’s fear, he crossed his arms behind his back, demanding respect and attention. “Unless you are doing something wherein a life hangs in the balance, I need you to arrange for me to see the doctors who oversaw my healing. I will also need a good deal more of this--” He summoned the dried Hvӧnn tea leaves behind his back and handed the jar over. “--and a patient with cancer that your doctors cannot cure. Perhaps more than one.”

He watched as the boy scurried away, a distant part of him wondering what must be going through his mind as he did, what he thought Loki intended to do to the people he had commanded be brought before him.

“Loki?” Doctors Cameron and Ortega approached, looking worried. They were in scrubs and their white coats flapped behind them like great insects’ wings as they moved.

“Doctors.” He greeted civilly. He needed to seem perfectly in control, perfectly stable-- he could not risk being turned down for this as well. “I have a day with nothing else to do, and seidhr aplenty to put into healing. If you would be interested in overseeing, or assigning someone else to, I would like to show you how you may exorcise the illness your people call cancer.”

They were clearly stunned, but Ortega recovered first.

“You mean you’re just going to-- you just want to sit down and cure cancer today?” She sounded incredulous but excited, too-- eager to the point of desperation, and Loki thought he could at least identify with an element of what she was feeling.

He was nearly as desperate to be working on this as she was, though for very different reasons. His were entirely selfish, and he scowled inwardly that even the good he proposed to do would not be without its loathsome side.

“I have done it before. The boy who fetched you--” he waited, hoping they would furnish a name.

A moment later, Cameron caught on.

“Oh, uh, Daniel. Mogensen, he’s uh, he’s a nurse here.”

“I gave Daniel Mogensen some tea, which I will need more of. It eases the krellr’s flow, makes it that I can manipulate it more readily. Where I am from we call it Hvӧnn, though I do not know whether or not that will aid your search for more of it. If you cannot find it, there is enough in the jar I gave to him to make two glasses of tea, and depending on the difficulties of the cases, that may be all that I am capable of today. But I want you to observe with your measuring devices, so that with any luck you may replicate with science what I may do with magic. Is this acceptable to you?”

Ortega and Cameron looked to one another.

“I’m going to cancel the presentation from Curos. They’re disinfecting port protectors; I’m pretty sure we can just go ahead and order a million and call it good.” She told him, and Loki was gratified at being treated important enough that they ought to drop what they had planned. At being given the respect he felt was due, in this circumstance.

Cameron nodded, then turned back to Loki.

“Let’s talk about what all you’re going to need, and what you plan to do, exactly, while she takes care of that.”

Loki let a smile spread over his face, and let Doctor Cameron lead the way to a small office.

It was about time something went smoothly for him.

 

 

He declined the invitation that Pepper extended to him for lunch, by way of JARVIS, and instead worked through it, the man he was currently treating more important than making an appearance before the others.

Another hour passed. His patient was silent, the cancer in his lungs had been purged, and he was laying comfortably and still while Loki carefully checked over the rest of him, in search of anything he might have missed.

“I think that’s you taken care of.” He spoke gently, moving back from where he’d been leaning over him so that he could be moved.

Damien. His name was Damien.

Loki tried to care.

In order to keep things as secretive as possible, the volunteers that the doctors had found were put to sleep using chemicals which made their krellr slower to respond. At first this was frustrating, until Loki had grown more used to the speed at which he could work. It turned the process dull and tedious, but at least it meant that no one would bother him in the midst of it. He could be around people without having to speak to them, without seeing pity or accusations writ on their faces.

It also meant, though, that his speaking to his patients did not matter. There was no connection. They would not know him, would not know the face or the name of the man who saved them. And he would not know anything but that they had been saved.

There was none of the protective feeling he’d had with Ferra, none of the closeness or the voyeuristic relief.

This was just one more way that he had been unsuccessful, in his attempts at feeling. But at least he was doing _something_ , helping someone, even if it was not the person who most mattered.

“Take him to your tests. I do not believe I missed anything, but if I have, you may bring him back. Or he can return to your science, I suppose-- whatever he decides.” Loki shrugged. He stepped back from the bed, so that the nurses could come in and wheel him out.

“That was amazing.” Cameron told him, voice low but still earnest.

“Have you more for me? I can see… Two more, perhaps three, today.” Loki spoke without inflection, his face blank and jaw set. They would tell him if they found anything, if they needed him, and he would no doubt be alerted if Thor returned, but he did not expect him so soon. Even so, two or three more patients would leave him with a minimum amount of remaining seidhr. Enough to stabilize or transport someone, if need be. If they found Steve.

“We can bring you another patient, of course, but…” Cameron threw a look to Ortega, and Loki frowned as some sort of unspoken communication passed between them.

“But you haven’t stopped to eat or rest, or even go to the bathroom since you got here. It’s been nearly eight hours. You’re amazing, what you’re doing is… it’s miraculous. But even miracle workers need a break sometimes, right?” She was all but cringing while she spoke, and he knew he must not have left a very good impression as a patient if she expected to be snapped at for her concern.

Then again, he hadn’t exactly broached the subject of his healing in a gentle way, that morning. And with his patients unconscious, it wasn’t as though the doctors had had any chance to see him as anything other than a victim, a patient, and then, once he was well… Loki. Again, as he had been, towering and imperious and demanding.

He hadn’t been acting human enough for them _not_ to fear him. And that was his own fault, not hers.

“You’re right. If you will prepare my next patient, I will see to some of the needs I’ve neglected. Thank you.” Though his words were stilted, he tried to put emotion into his voice-- gratitude, exhaustion, the things they would expect to see-- and where once he’d been the best of liars, now he wasn’t sure if it was even passably believable. Then again, he reasoned, it wasn’t as though it really mattered. If it did, he might have put more effort into the charade.

He wasn’t even certain if they knew what was wrong, the depth of wrong… of course not. Even if they knew Steve hadn’t strayed from his bedside for long, they couldn’t know what they were. And he had no idea who knew that Steve was gone.

So he went back to his rooms. Ate one of Steve’s nutrient bars that may as well have been hay for all the flavor. Drank a glass of water, and then another. Used the restroom, and kept his eyes away from the bath that was too big now, too sumptuous for one person.

He washed in the sink and saw his own face, but looked away quickly and turned himself deaf to the thoughts that ran through his mind.

Steve hated those thoughts.

Everything seen to, he figured he could head back downstairs-- only, he wasn’t the only person in the elevator, when the doors opened.

Perfectly centered, leaning against the rail across from the doors, was the Widow, balanced on one leg with her other knee bent and her arms crossed in front of her, looking almost bored. Had he been a braver man, he might have accused her of posing herself for the greatest impact-- but he’d had a time when he would have done much the same.

“I can catch the next one.” Loki offered easily, before he really thought about the words, and he cringed immediately after they came out.

She raised her eyebrow.

“Are you that worried about being in a room with me?” She asked. “I thought you wanted to get hurt. That’s why you came to me, and that’s why you sent Thor away, isn’t it? That’s why you didn’t eat lunch.”

Loki gritted his teeth but stepped into the elevator, settling back against the wall beside her, his face and eyes aimed straight ahead, watching the lit buttons that ticked their way to the only floor that was selected-- the medical floor he was headed to.

“I came to you for that, yes. I sent Thor away because his care was grating, and because he has access to aid that I do not. And I did not eat because I have been in medical all day curing cancer from as many people as I can see before I run out of resources.”

She blinked at that and shook her head.

“How is that punishment?” She asked softly. He knew the care in her voice was only meant to make him respond, but it still felt too close to pity. Pity which he knew she didn’t feel, just as she did not feel that care.

He didn’t understand the pretense, unless she, too, felt that she needed to play at being human. Felt the need to play it up, because he had treated her as less than human. That seemed the most sensible of answers, and so he allowed her that-- just as she allowed him the mask of his own humanity.

“It isn’t. It isn’t meant to be. It’s… it was supposed to be a way of finding relief. Something to overtake the… the numbness that is settling in, over the despair. A way to let it out, that would not harm anyone else. Only… it did. I apologize.” He spared a glance at her.

Her body hadn’t shifted noticeably, but her body language had, becoming a bit more receptive.

“It’s was wrong to try and use me like that.” She said flatly.

He nodded.

“I know. It won’t happen again.”

“I expect to see you at dinner.” They were only one floor away now. It seemed he was going to get out of this uninjured. Then again, she knew that was the opposite of what he wanted, so perhaps it was that that was part of the punishment.

“I will come as soon as I finish with the patient I am about to see. I just ate, though.”

“Whatever trail mix he keeps around the place doesn’t count as food. You’ll wrap up and come to dinner when you’re called.”

It was a command, but said with overtones of care, which seemed somehow less false, this way. This was how she showed care, truly, a way that made sense coming from her. Gruffness and demands, and Loki swallowed and nodded, aware that he owed her as much.

“I’ll be there.” He assured her.

This time, he actually meant it.

  


 

 

 


	64. Sixty-Four

Steve woke with the now-familiar sensation of metal digging into his wrists.

He was back in the cell, chained up and aching. For a moment, he thought he might have dreamed the whole ordeal -- that he’d woken just now from a nightmare of being on a doctor’s table -- but when he looked down, his bare torso was covered in scabbing cuts, dried blood caked to his skin in streaks of rusty brown. Deep purple bruising marked where the restraints had been, still livid after however much time had passed.

He had been taken. He’d been shocked and knocked out and dragged to a medical lab where he’d been strapped down and cut on and injected with chemicals, treated like nothing so much as a lab rat. And then, unconscious, he’d been returned, to wait here in dread that it would happen again.

Halfheartedly, he gave the cuffs a tug, despite knowing the futility. They clanked weakly, and abruptly he felt a swell of rage rising in his chest. Both at his captors and at himself.

All of that had been done _to_ him. He’d done... nothing. Even his primary act of resistance had been to do nothing when ordered to return to the wall, and past that moment, all his struggles, all his strength amounted to nothing. He might as well have never been given the serum for all it had helped, every bit the weak and pathetic kid he’d always been--

With a snarl, he yanked harder on the cuffs, pulling and wrenching until his hands and wrists throbbed from the chafing and he felt hot trickles of blood oozing down his chest from half-healed gashes torn back open by his movements.

It hurt. But at the same time, it was oddly satisfying; this hurt, at least, he had control over. This hurt came from _fighting,_ the way so much hurt had done back in his youth, when he’d gone down in fights he couldn’t win, but at least had gone down swinging.

Eventually he exhausted himself and fell limply back against the wall, sweat and blood alike mixing into thin rivulets that tracked down his skin. He panted raggedly, glowering up at the eye of the camera in the corner in a wordless challenge; a promise that he wasn’t just going to lie here and take it.

Even hurt. Even weak.

He gave the chains a few more perfunctory rattles as the hours dragged on, pulling himself to his feet and trying to brace himself against the wall with his legs to pull harder. Again, to no effect (and he didn’t really expect success), but it gave him something to do. Something to work at, to keep his wits about him.

It was during one of the periods where he’d let himself slide back down to the floor, overcome with the aches that wracked his body, that the door opened again.

Steve stiffened at the sight of the two guards, the same as before, who had dragged him to the lab. He knew from last time that they could shock him into submission, but even knowing it was useless, he didn’t plan to go down without a fight. If they wanted to haul him back to that damn medical table, he’d make it as unpleasant and difficult a task as possible, for everyone involved.

But a moment later, a third figure entered -- this one a dark-haired man clad in scrubs, with a bag full of tubing and other equipment slung over one shoulder. He paused near the doorway, frowning at Steve.

“He’s conscious?”

One of the guards grunted. “Looks like it.”

Steve lifted his chin and glared at the man, who, to his great satisfaction, took a half-step back.

“Uh, can you unchain his arms? I can’t get a good draw when I’m fighting against gravity,” the technician said, looking warily at Steve’s chafed and bloody wrists hanging above him.

The other guard snorted. “You want him unchained?”

“The best site to get a good vein--”

“Can’t you get it from his leg or something?”

It took a few moments of their bickering for the pieces to fall into place in Steve’s sluggish mind. Veins. Draws.

Blood.

Oh God. They wanted his blood. The Serum--

The rest of the exchange was lost in the flood of white noise in Steve’s ears. HYDRA had him, and they had his body and blood and from it, they could try to reverse-engineer Erskine’s serum. The serum Erskine had risked and ultimately given his life to keep out of HYDRA’s hands, so his legacy wouldn’t be handing them the means to make an unstoppable army -- ranks upon ranks of Red Skulls--

Panicking, he pulled his legs up to his chest, pulling himself into as tight and inaccessible a ball as he could, his breathing quickening. He had to stop them, somehow. HYDRA couldn’t have the serum. He couldn’t be responsible for that.

The guards approached, and after a murmured exchange, one of them -- the tall one -- leveled his electric baton at Steve’s head.

“You move, and I put 80,000 volts right into your brain,” he growled. Steve glared up at him, but said nothing as the other guard undid the restraint around his left wrist. The moment it came free, however, the guard with the baton immediately used his own free hand to wrap a thick leather cuff around it, drawing it so tight Steve grimaced at the loss of circulation in his fingers. The cuff was attached to a long strap, with the guard pulled taut to yank Steve’s arm out, baring it for the technician.

The technician in scrubs opened his bag, and Steve felt his stomach sink at the sight of so many tubes and vials. How many samples, he wondered, would it take?

“Any allergies to iodine?” the tech asked.

“He’s a superhuman,” the short guard sneered before Steve could answer. “You think he’s got _allergies?”_

The tech gave him a sullen glare. “It’s procedure to ask,” he muttered, before swabbing away the filth on the inside of Steve’s elbow and smearing a thick orange substance over the skin. When he reached for the needle, however, Steve’s pulse leapt.

And with it, he leapt into action.

With his left leg, coiled up tight against his body, he abruptly lashed out, kicking the tall guard in the shin as hard as he could and rewarded with a cracking sound. The man let out a howl, dropping the baton and strap alike. Lunging forward, Steve managed to grab the end of the leather strap, forming a loop and wrapping it around the tech’s throat, pulling the startled man in and into a one-armed choke-hold.

If he was going down, he was going down swinging--

Briefly, he wondered if the tech deserved this. If he was indoctrinated into HYDRA or simply brought in for his skills. But just as quickly, he pushed the thought away.

This was war, after all.

(Steve had never come home from the war with HYDRA, and so the war had never ended for him. He was a soldier still; then, now, and always--)

He yanked the strap tight until he felt a crunch and the tech’s struggling stopped.

“Fucking _fuck!”_ the guard whose leg Steve had broken wailed. He felt a brief surge of satisfaction--

\--Right up until the second guard slammed his baton into Steve’s face and shattered his nose.

For a second Steve’s mind went blank, dazed. Then he few moments later, he registered the sudden fire radiating from his face, and the hot blood streaming down his face.

Blood--

He gasped wetly, pulling the tech’s body up over himself like a shield, trying to smear the blood as much as possible and make it impossible to sample well, impossible to collect--

The baton came down again, this time on his unrestrained arm. He hissed in pain, his grip on the tech slackening enough the the guard was able to tear the body away, throwing it aside to leave Steve exposed.

“You no good piece of shit,” the guard snarled, the end of his baton snapping with electricity right before he drove it into Steve’s chest.

Pain sung through his nerves. Pain from the electricity, from the shattered bones of his nose, and from the boots that drove into his sides. Steve grit his teeth against it, and forced himself to smile through it all.

Smile. Because the attempts to steal his blood for HYDRA’s own corruption had been stalled.

For now.

It was the thought he clung to until the baton clocked his temple just right and sent his world into blurred shades of gray, everything slowing into sludge as he reeled, consciousness flickering. He felt cold metal around his wrist again, heard more incoherent shouting, and tried without success to focus and fight, though his body mostly only seemed capable of violent twitching.

And then the noise abated, concluded with the slam of the door. Steve heard his own panting, and slowly managed to clear his head enough to look around, realizing that the guards and the corpse were gone.

For a few moments, he managed to savor the victory.

Then, the lightbulb in the cell flicked out, and he was plunged into total blackness.

  
  


The dark persisted.

Steve had thought the hum of the lightbulb was bad (echoing and amplifying the ever-present droning in his skull), but its absence was worse. Occasionally he could hear the groan of the ventilation. And every now and again, footsteps in the hall (though they never stopped at his cell, never brought with them a bowl of watery mush he’d have been grateful for by now) and he was left for lengthy stretches in total silence.

In total darkness.

Without sight, without sound, his focus on the pain grew more acute. His nose throbbed, hot and angry, and his ribs twinged with every breath. The smell of blood -- when he could breathe  enough to smell -- was nauseatingly overwhelming, and heavy on his tastebuds.

He could feel every cut. Every bruise. Every cracked bone.

He didn’t know how long had passed when he yanked on the chains once again, for something to do as much as anything else. The clanking seemed deafeningly loud in the silence, the abrupt noise as potent as a shot of adrenaline right into his system.

It gave him an idea.

“Rogers, Steven G.,” he said aloud, reciting his name, rank, and serial, wondering if his own voice always sounded so strange.

It became a challenge, then, to think of things to fill the silence with. Useless things, things that would preserve his own sanity while challenging HYDRA’s. He started off with bible passages he remembered from Sunday school, only to realize he’d paid far too little attention to Sister Malone’s lessons when he faltered somewhere around Isaiah 40-something, having exhausted in very short order the extent of his recollection. Before he had time to reflect on how disappointed his mother would be, he quickly moved on, thinking of old jingles and radio drama introductions from the 30s and 40s, and moving on to music, and the melodies from the USO shows and radio, tunes from the dance halls he and Bucky had frequented before shipping out--

“They made him blow a bugle for his Uncle Sam--” he sang out into the dark, voice thick from his broken nose, and cracking on the higher notes. “He really brought ‘em down because he couldn’t jam--”

Here in the dark, eyes closed, he could almost pretend that none of this was real. That the cell and the cuffs weren’t there, that HYDRA wasn’t outside the door, and that he was really back in the apartment in Stark Tower as he and Loki danced together to old Andrews Sisters records, an old black and white silently playing on the living room TV as they jived and swayed, the bittersweetness of Steve’s nostalgia soothed by the balm of Loki’s presence, his gentle smile...

He could almost pretend. Almost.

And then the speaker in the wall crackled to life:

“ _The prisoner will be silent.”_

Aching and bloody, Steve found himself grinning victoriously for the second time that day. They might have cut the light to unnerve him, to break him, but he was still fighting back. Hell, he was pissing them off.

_Good._

Taking a deep breath, he belted the rest of the chorus at the top of his lungs:

“ _ **Heeeee’s the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company Beeeeee!”**_

 

 

 

Even as he filled the dark with noise and celebrating his small victories, he had to acknowledge that he was running on borrowed time.

It would only be a matter of time before HYDRA secured more personnel to deal with him; better security, better means to restrain him while they got what they wanted. If they decided to draw blood while he was strapped to the table in the doctor’s laboratory, there would be little he could do. And where days and days had passed without sign of Loki and the Avengers--

He swallowed, licking cracked and bloody lips.

He had to accept the chance they weren’t coming. That they didn’t know where he was, that they couldn’t get to him... Or that they needed to be rescued as much as he did.

Waiting was no longer the best plan. Not anymore. He couldn’t afford to sit here and hope for salvation when HYDRA could be synthesizing their own version of the serum long before help arrived.

He needed to take action on his own. Make a break for it.

Alone in the dark, Steve planned.

  


 

* * *

 

 

 

“It was actually Clint’s idea.” Thor’s woman was telling him breathlessly, obviously excited by the prospect of having him so close-- so willing to let her study him. _Test_ on him. It made him feel disgusting. Made his skin want to crawl.

“Was it now?” He asked, voice a dangerously low purr, smooth and cold. She looked as uncomfortable at that as he felt. Apparently it was enough that Stark felt he should intervene.

“Well, when we were starting out looking for the sceptre, you remember, before you did that trick with looping and feedback, we were just looking for what you left behind-- specifically you, specifically your magic. Seidhr. Whatever. So, we figure--”

“Steve is all but glowing from my power within him. Yes…” He trailed off, eyes already going unfocused as he thought about it. “That’s fantastic, yes-- can we adjust the machine you have, or do you have to build a new one?”

With an idea of how he could help, Loki did not want to be forced to wait again. Not now. Not even out of spite for Thor’s lady. He’d managed to avoid her thus far, but if Banner and Stark thought her useful in their work, he would tolerate her company.

“The new one’s all set up for you. We wanted to be sure we had it ready before you got here.” Bruce told him, excited though he kept his voice as reassuring as possible.

“Then we should begin.” He decided, unbuttoning and flipping his left sleeve up to roll it out of the way.

  


“ _I’m sorry to interrupt--”_ Came JARVIS’s voice, and Loki felt his face slipping into a scowl. “ _But there is a SHIELD jet requesting permission to land.”_

Loki stiffened and froze.

They knew Steve was gone; they were looking as well. Surely this was about that. They weren’t here to collect him, wouldn’t, not when he could be of use... _would_ they? His mind went to their use of the seidhr negator, and how it hadn’t mattered that Steve was there with him. Now that he was gone, no longer acting as Loki’s keeper, was Loki’s freedom forfeit?

Or did the terms of his freedom rely on Steve speaking for him? And without him, would any of the rest do so?

He took a deep breath.

That wasn’t what this was about, most likely. He should know better by now. It wasn’t about him. Even their apologies after their horrific experimentations hadn’t been about him. So he didn’t know why he should think that. He was too self absorbed. Especially now, when it was all about Steve.

And he could leave, if he needed to. They had called him into the lab before he could go to the medical levels, so he had all of his seidhr for the day yet-- for use in healing, or finding Steve, or escaping… he would be fine. Provided he was allowed to return, after. If not…

He swallowed and pushed that fear down. This was his home and he was part of this team, even if only for the time it took them to find Steve. He could come back.

No matter why SHIELD felt the need to be here.

“Did anybody send an invite without telling me?” Tony asked archly. Bruce looked to Loki, and he could only shake his head; he had no way of contacting them, nor any interest in doing so.

  


“Sorry,” a new voice interjected. “I meant to arrive ahead of everyone else, but you know how traffic on the turnpike can be.”

As they turned, the woman standing at the door of the lab offered an apologetic half-smile and shrug.

“I won’t tell them to touch down until you give the go ahead. It is your tower after all, Mr. Stark.” She inclined her head toward Tony, but dark eyes quickly flitted over the rest of the room, sharp and assessing.

  


Loki lifted his chin, the only outward sign of his surprise and his wariness.

How had she gotten this far-- how had she found them? This was meant to be a safe place; his home-- his and Steve’s-- and here was this stranger, this SHIELD agent, standing here boldly as you please.

Apparently, though, he wasn’t alone in his concern.

“Yeah, it is. And last time I checked, you had to be on the all-clear list to get to these levels. So I’m gonna need you to tell me who you are and why you’re here. Because I sort of thought that these days SHIELD had a vampire code, where the Avengers were concerned-- backs off at the sign of the A and has to be invited before crossing the threshold.” Tony didn’t seem thrilled, and Loki could hardly blame him.

Nor, it seemed, could Bruce, who had crossed his arms defensively. Loki noted the way he edged backwards, deeper into the lab. Away from the door, but also away from the other people. Loki shifted, too-- towards Bruce’s retreat.

If he was concerned that he might suffer a change, Loki would do his best to see to it that he did so somewhere he would feel safe. He could transport them both to the Hulk room. He met Bruce’s eyes and lifted his brow, hoping he understood, but turned his face back to the woman at the door, waiting to see what her move would be.

It was only an afterthought to look to Thor’s woman, but she seemed unconcerned, for the most part-- no doubt feeling quite secure, surrounded as she was by those much stronger than she.

The little idiot.

  


“No building is impregnable,” she remarked, the words slipping off her tongue with the ease of an oft-repeated mantra. The corner of her mouth tugged upwards, and she glanced at the ceiling. “And your security needs upgrading. Sorry, JARVIS.”

“ _I will endeavor not to take offense, Agent.”_

“But if it makes the rest of you feel better,” she continued, looking back at them and then allowing her gaze to linger on Loki, “technically, we _were_ invited.” A second elapsed as she waited for that to process before elaborating. “When Captain Rogers met with SHIELD recently, he and Director Fury agreed that SHIELD would give the Avengers space to operate without scrutiny in the recovery of the scepter until we finished cleaning house, but that a small support team would be assigned to you to provide SHIELD backup and resources.”

She took a few slow, easy steps toward one of the tables, watching how they all reacted to the movement. “I’m Agent 13. Or Agent Carter, if you prefer. I’ll be the Avengers’ SHIELD liaison moving forward.”

  


“Pleased to meet you.” Stark said, though he didn’t offer his hand. “Before you leave, have JARVIS set you up with some contact phone numbers, so you can call first, before you ring our doorbell. And next time, consider ringing the doorbell.” He wasn’t as acidic about it as he could be, Loki supposed, but nor did he seem particularly friendly.

No doubt he was smarting from the slight against his security.

“You didn’t say why you’re here, though.”

Thor’s mortal spoke up suddenly, and though her voice was strong, she still looked around, obviously expecting someone to shush her. Obviously uncertain of the boundaries of her inclusion in the lab.

“No,” Bruce agreed. “You also haven’t said who ‘we’ are, and why you need a jet. Are you here to confiscate something? Or to drop something off?”

Loki swallowed, well aware that while Bruce’s thoughts no doubt ran towards the machines they were developing, he could not help but imagine himself behind another wall of glass, robbed of his power and languishing, while Steve… while he suffered, and Loki did even less than he had been doing to put an end to it. Was unable to do anything to help him, now that he was needed.

  


“Duly noted,” she said with a nod to Stark, looking vaguely amused. “I’m afraid too much time around Fury gives you a penchant for dramatic entrances.”

Her attention then turned to Banner. “I did say _team_ , didn’t I? The rest of the unit is up in the jet. I took the scenic route. And we figured that rather than you folks continuing to borrow SHIELD planes, we could just have a quinjet here on permanent loan. Assuming it’s alright to put it down...?” She arched a questioning eyebrow at Stark, who grunted and waved his hand.

Carter plucked a phone from her belt and hit a number. “Go ahead and set it down, Garza,” she said, before tucking it back into place.

“As for why we’re here -- Director’s orders. And Captain’s orders.” She shrugged. “That and we figured you needed all the help you could get if we didn’t want Rogers missing for another seven decades.” She folded her arms, frowning slightly. “Your recent excursion wasn’t exactly subtle. The public doesn’t know Captain America is missing and we’d like to keep it that way, so the Avengers making a big mess overseas is something we’d prefer to avoid. We’ve got a bit more experience with covert ops than some of your team, and we can help.”

  


_Captain’s orders._

Steve wanted her here, or at least she intended to make it seem that way.

The fact that anyone could now lay claim to that and go unchallenged galled Loki, but he did not speak on the subject, because his mind was already shifting on to something else.

He’d been right. No one outside of the tower knew. Perhaps not even the majority of those within it. Steve had vanished, and all of those who looked up to him, who admired him, children who carried his likeness with them on lunchboxes and plastered over their chests on shirts… none of them knew.

None of them _could_ know.

His being taken was as much a secret as Loki’s existence was. And for the same reasons. They could not afford that kind of panic, that kind of horror, to be known to the people of the world.

Her words, too, of him being lost for another seven decades, was…

“Do you know something we do not about his whereabouts?” Loki challenged.

He’d told Steve once that he would not let him be lost again, not like the last time. That he would search every realm for him, if need be. And he would. He was trying.

But it was slow, not knowing where to start.

“We are perfectly capable of returning him home, once we find him, as that ‘big mess’ no doubt proved. Once he is returned, it will not matter who knows that he was missing. So finding him is the only manner I can imagine your help being of any use.” He was not quite drawling, not taking the time to slow his words.

He wanted this business over with as soon as possible, that he could get Tony and Bruce and the woman back to their work, use his seidhr to find his partner, and go get him.

Or else Thor would be back soon. He had to be, and he had to have the answers, if they could not provide them before then.

Bruce seemed not to be any more satisfied with her answer, though.

“Team could be two more or twenty more, I don’t think it’s that difficult a question. I get edgy around crowds, and trust me, that’s something best not to spring on anyone. Plus--” he looked to Tony, looking for validation for what he hadn’t said yet. “Last I heard, your people were a little on the might-be-traitors side of things, across the board. I just wanna know exactly who we’re dealing with.”

  


Carter’s expression shuttered off as Loki spoke. “It might not matter to you,” she pointed out, when he finished, “but the politics of this situation are complex. We don’t expect that to be the Avengers’ primary concern, but it’s something SHIELD has to be aware of and that I’ll be helping to deal with, so when Rogers is brought home, he doesn’t come home to an international incident and public hysteria. The world doesn’t stop turning at the end of this operation.”

She shook her head. “We don’t have any additional information at this point, but we have additional resources that we can put more easily at your disposal. You now have a whole second recon team available to scout locations out before you go in guns blazing, so to speak. And we can help get you in and out with less fuss and more security. There’s nothing about this arrangement intended to be anything other than advantageous to your team. As for Dr. Banner’s concerns...”

Pulling her gaze from Loki, she turned to Bruce, and some of the hardness ebbed from the set of her jaw. “Unless you consider five a crowd, Doctor, I don’t think we should be causing you too much anxiety. We’ll be staying out of your hair for the most part in any case. And the whole team has been personally vetted by myself and by Fury, to make sure the only direct SHIELD contact you have is guaranteed to be trustworthy. If you’d like, we can go upstairs and I can make introductions.”

  


Loki frowned at her chastising about the bigger picture. Which had been the source of he and Steve’s latest fights. Loki did not care enough for those who were not his own. Still. Because though he had grown remorse, he had not learned. Not enough.

She was right; matters of Midgardian politics mattered not to him. But he knew that it did to Steve, and that she was right to advise caution. Whatever had happened, he didn’t want his partner to have to come back to the difficult job of pacifying those that Loki and the others may have upset.

It occurred to him distantly that Steve would probably like this woman, this Agent Carter. Something else niggled at his mind about her, but he brushed it off, in favor of responding to her idea that she and those under her command should be allowed to search for Steve on their own.

“I would not have you ‘scout locations’. I promised Steve-- I pledged to the Captain that I would be there. I will not be made a liar, if I can help it. Not in this matter.” He spoke firmly. “But yes, let us retire upstairs-- I would meet this team myself.”

For all he knew, Scofield awaited them. And he would sooner throw him from the roof than let him have a hand in rescuing Steve.

Thor’s lady nodded quickly, and Loki wondered why she should be so eager to see the Agent out of the lab, but he did not bother asking. He did not truly care about that, either.

“Five people is fine.” Bruce agreed amicably. “But I think it’s good to meet everyone, get an idea for the respective strengths we have on our side. Right Tony?” He tilted his head a bit, and it sent Loki’s eyes skittering to the machine that was beside and a bit behind him.

Not retreating, he realized, but rather obscuring. Banner had placed himself between the agent and their current project. To keep her from seeing it before they could be certain that she was trustworthy.

Loki would have cheered if he was not much more subtle.

Tony, it seemed, caught on as well.

“JARVIS, go ahead and save all of our progress, then password lock the lab. No one tampers with this until I get back.” He ordered.

“ _Of course, sir.”_ JARVIS’s voice responded smoothly, and Tony gestured back out the door, an invitation for Agent Carter to lead the way.

Loki was the second to the last out, and Stark brought up the rear. He paused long enough to ensure the lock took, and he could see him twitching with a screen in his hand as he turned to move further down the hallway, no doubt upgrading his security as they went.

  


Carter’s expression flickered, jaw tightening briefly, but she didn’t say a word, simply pulling out her phone and typing off a quick text as she stepped into the hall, waiting for the others to follow before crossing back to the elevator.

“So, this squad of yours,” Tony said as they piled in, a little close for comfort. “This the elite A-team? Best SHIELD has to offer?”

Carter smirked. “Pretty sure _you guys_ are the A-team,” she replied. “And they’re... well, they’re trustworthy.” Something in her expression looked perhaps a little uncertain. “We had to recruit on short notice so they’re a bit rough around the edges, but I think they’ll integrate well. Fury seemed to think so too.”

Tony looked skeptical “So... _not_ the best.”

She shrugged. “Best for the job, and best available. You already have Rogers, Romanoff and Barton. Mockingbird is working deep cover and when I went to try to get the Cavalry back in the field, I found out Coulson already roped her into his mobile task force. But I have high hopes.”

  


They all stopped dead, save Jane, who proceeded to bounce bodily off of Loki. She looked between them, clearly confused, and for once Loki did not even spare the energy to scowl at her, too shocked by the revelation to do more than stare at the agent.

So Thor had not told her everything of Loki’s misdeeds. _Good_ , he thought viciously.

“Coulson?” Banner asked. “Phil Coulson?”

“ _Coulson_ Coulson?” Tony followed up, as if that shed any further light on the subject.

“You’ll pardon our surprise,” Loki added, too loudly and perhaps a little too coldly. “But I believe my companions and I were under the impression that I had _murdered_ him, the last time I was here.”

It was very gratifying, he thought, to hear the way the woman behind him gasped softly.

Perhaps she had forgotten exactly who it was she was proposing to siphon seidhr out of. Or maybe she simply hadn’t considered the reality of his past. He had to wonder what Thor had told her, what excuses he’d made.

But he’d not forgotten, and the thought that a weight, however small, might be lifted from the burden of all of his wrongs…

But of course it wouldn’t be truly lifted, would it? He’d still intended to kill him. Still acted upon that intent. He was still just as guilty, whether the life had been lost or no.

He swallowed around the dryness that crept over his tongue, ashamed at how quickly he had jumped to forgive himself.

“Why weren’t we told?” Stark demanded, his voice coming out as something strangled, and Loki had to work not to tilt his head down. Not to let the reminder of how Stark had confronted him, once-- _his name was Phil_ \-- expose any weakness in him to this new person, this uncertain element in their midst.

  


Carter had tensed almost immediately when everyone had fallen silent, turning to look at them in wary curiosity, which soon turned to confusion.

“I--” she hesitated, fighting to recover her briefly disrupted composure. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you didn’t know -- your security clearance should be level eight and higher--” She broke off and frowned.

“Phil Coulson was revived some time after his injury during the... invasion. I don’t know the details, as my clearance was only level seven at the time. I just know that he spent some months recovering on a beach in the South Pacific, and when he returned, he became the leader of a special high-security taskforce operating largely under the radar. Or, far over it, as the case may be.”

Her shoulders slumped incrementally. “I’d assumed the fact he was otherwise occupied was the reason I was offered this post instead of him, though if Fury never filled you all in, I suppose there may have been additional reasons for my appointment,” she remarked, a bit grimly. “My apologies.”

The elevator dinged to a halt, and she took a breath. “As your liaison, I’ll be happy to see what information I can secure for you on the subject, and any available channels of contact, if you want. But in the meantime, I think introductions are in order. Are any of the other Avengers on the premises?”

  


He was conflicted about it.

A channel of contact-- he could not presume that the man in question would be particularly happy to see him again, hear his voice, or even know that he had returned. And that made Loki lick his lips.

Coulson, another SHIELD operative with more than a little reason to loathe him and want revenge, was out there, with a team of his own that could be put into action. Were they so sure that the attack in Bryant Park _hadn’t_ been SHIELD? Or perhaps someone using their resources, but trying to keep their name out of it… But as far as he knew, Coulson had no reason to wish to harm Steve. Unless he had somehow found out about them. Barton had said that he’d watched the tapes of his time in captivity. Who else might have done the same, and drawn similar conclusions, he wondered.

“Of course, yeah, I-- whatever you can get, I want it.” Tony said, hardly a breath’s worth of hesitation.

“Can you tell me if he is aware of-- would he know that I am here?” Loki asked, dropping the distance that his speech afforded him, when he put on his airs, and speaking plainly. “And have you heard whether he might be inclined to settle the score? I am not disappointed that he lives.” He hastened to clarify. “I only want to know if I have need to watch my back and fear for my safety because of it.”

And he winced a bit, knowing how the Avengers had treasured the man, enough to fight in his name, to rally behind his martyrdom and retaliate against Loki.

If it became a question of one or the other of them now, Loki could not help but wonder who they would choose, even as he knew where the lines of morality fell, and where goodness dictated their loyalties ought to lie. His chest felt tight and he felt anxiety build in him.

They would still find Steve even if… they had each said, in their own way, that they would not hold Loki or his actions against his partner. But if SHIELD did want to take him away, he was less sure, now, of his security here. And he was not helpful enough to warrant any sort of fight against SHIELD. Surely they would be of more use to the Avengers-- he was only one man, and one not even capable of finding the man he loved. Not even worth being acknowledged as important to Steve in that way. And not good enough to have faith in these people who called him friend.

Bruce, however, surprised him by putting a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed slightly, and that was it, but the simple act was grounding. Reassuring. He might be a killer, useless and pointless and without any redemption, but Bruce at least would not give him up. He swallowed, grateful beyond words.

“If you could get us a report, I think we’d all appreciate it.” Bruce said softly. “In the meantime, though, let’s meet this team of yours.”

  


Carter frowned at the suggestion of Coulson exacting vengeance for his own alleged murder. “I honestly don’t know. Fury’s obviously been keeping a good number of secrets, so I wouldn’t put it past him to keep Coulson as in the dark about you as you’ve been about him. I can look into it. But Coulson’s a good agent and deeply loyal to Fury, from everything I know about him, so I don’t think you have to worry about him going off the rails,” she ventured.

“Like I said, he’s been off base, so it may be hard to get information in a timely manner, but I’ll look into it. And frankly, if you bring Cap home safe, I’d be willing to bet money he’d forgive a hell of a lot just for that alone.”

Coulson’s hero-worship of Captain America, after all, was somewhere between a running joke and a legend back at SHIELD.

  


“ _I’ll summon the others._ ” JARVIS volunteered, and Loki nodded, glad that they would be all together.

They walked into the penthouse proper, falling into a loose formation in the den while the doors to the deck slid open.

Loki took a deep breath, steadying himself to put on a distant yet pleasant face, aiming for nonthreatening, but when he looked up he found himself shocked again.

This time, the surprise was not unpleasant.

  


They entered the spacious, modern living area, and she spotted her team out on the patio furniture a second before they turned and spotted them--

“ _Magic Hands!”_

Carter raised a curious eyebrow, but couldn’t help but smile. “I think you’re already acquainted with a few of the team,” she told Loki, aware from his outbursts that he was the most on edge at the moment, maybe not surprisingly, and aware that she ought to cater to that. “but for everyone else’s benefit, allow me to introduce Agent Silvia Ferra, covert operations, recently returned to active duty--”

Ferra stood up from the patio chair she’d been perched on and grinned. Her hair had been growing in, and while it was still a short, dark fuzz on her scalp, her skin was no longer colorless and waxy over the bones of her skull; her dark eyes gleamed wickedly and her smile was vibrant. “Pleasure,” she told them with a tip of her head, before stepping forward and giving Loki a playful punch to the arm. “Don’t suppose I can schedule a follow up appointment, huh?”

Carter rolled her eyes and continued. “--Agent Benjamin Murray, diplomatic relations--”

“Hi,” Agent Murray said, hanging back but grinning and waving at Loki, before looking nervously toward the other Avengers, clearly a tad starstruck.

“--Agent Sarah Garza, technical specialist--”

The young woman with thick, curly red-brown hair gave a sloppy salute, adjusting the computer bag slung over her shoulder before elbowing Murray in the side and returning her full attention to those standing opposite them. “Sup.”

“--And Agent Elijah Bradley, tactics and combat specialist.”

The young black man who carried himself like a soldier with his arms folded over his chest gave a nod of his shaved head. “Hey.”

  


Though he was gaping, he was not displeased. He recovered quickly enough, his surprise tempered only a little by the misery he’d found himself buried in for the last few days. In fact, the feeling, which had become a near constant companion, was all but banished, briefly.

“Follow up?” He asked, laying a concerned hand on Ferra’s elbow to keep her close, but also because he felt an overwhelming need to touch-- the opposite of his aversion to Thor. He’d grown somewhat attached to her when he’d been performing his healing. It was good to see her, even given the situation.

“Have you found something else wrong? Did I miss something?” She felt stronger-- her punch had been playful, but it had spoken of the power she was capable of, and she did not look nor feel so fragile as she had the last time he’d seen her. She looked healthier, at least. But if there was more he could do…

He sent a brief smile in Murray’s direction, glad to see that he hadn’t been somehow punished for Loki’s favor before, and a wary but polite nod to each of the others, startled by how very young they looked, but his attentions were distracted by Ferra. All this time, she had been Steve’s favorite example of how good he might be-- had he not even been good enough in this? He knew his concern was making him rude and also unwise, though, so he tried to force his attentions back on the rest of them.

Ferra seemed to be the oldest on the team, and he knew her to be younger than she looked, thanks to her illness. The others, though… He supposed they must be near in age to Agent Murray. He was not the best of judges for these things.

“Garza, are you the one who sent my AI on a merry go-round so that your commanding officer could slip into my apartment?” Stark demanded, sounding stern but dropping it a moment later, no doubt so that he did not frighten the girl unduly. “Because I gotta say, nice work, but also show me how you did that, because I’d rather it not be repeated.”

Loki found his eye drawn to Bradley, and the way he watched everything. Not just with a casual disconnection, though-- he was clearly weighing and recording, considering… a thinker, he thought. An observer. And potentially the most dangerous of those present, as well as the most reserved. He was difficult to read through his mask of professionalism.

And perhaps Bruce sensed that as well, but where it was disconcerting for Loki, it was clearly something akin to a comfort for Bruce.

He offered him his hand.

“Bruce Banner. Doctor Banner. Pleased to meet you.”

And then there was Carter herself. She watched the interactions around her with a small smile in place, and Loki knew from experience what sort of thoughts could be hidden behind such an expression. He was still uneasy about her, and the team she had assembled did not ease his concerns.

  


“I feel _great,_ ” Ferra insisted. “Pretty sure half the doctors at SHIELD are having coronaries over my cancer-or-lack-thereof, but _I’m_ fantastic. Just a bit miffed you went and scampered off before I got a chance to properly thank you,” she remarked, levelling a mock look of displeasure at him, but failing to sustain it for longer than a second or two. “I have to say, though, you’ve found yourself some significantly better housing, so I can’t say I blame you. Talk about a view--”

Loki felt a wash of shame over him, as he realized that these people had all been privy to video of how he had been living, how he existed for a month and more in SHIELD’s custody. And now, there were even people present who had been able to see it in person.

Murray had edged over toward them, and had to duck as Ferra threw her arm out to gesture at the New York skyline. “Oh. Um. Hey. Glad you’re, ah. Glad to see you’re okay,” he said to Loki, then frowned.

“You are okay, right? I mean, I hadn’t heard anything about what happened after you broke out -- I was kind of shut off from everything for a while... Oh, and Tanner says hello. Or, I’m sure he would.” He added, as he kept stealing sideways glances at the other Avengers on deck. His eyes lingered maybe a beat longer on Carter before he turned back to Loki.

Loki remembered what Clint had said about there being a special branch of their infirmary for those touched by his power, and he felt guilt creep over him for it, though Murray’s discomfort and apparent shyness was enough to make him hold his tongue on that matter, at least for the time being.

Garza, meanwhile, beamed at Tony’s praise. “Sure thing. In fact, I can probably help you find and troubleshoot any other weak points and back doors if you want. Just gimme five minutes with your server matrix.” She looked positively _hungry_ at the prospect.

A few steps away, Bradley gave Banner’s hand a firm shake, offering a careful smile. “Pleasure’s all mine, Doctor. Though I don’t think any of you are in particular need of an introduction.”

Agent Carter, arms crossed, hung back near Jane and watched them all with an expression of cautious satisfaction.

  


“This is-- this is normal for you then, I take it?” Loki heard Jane ask, clearly trying to break the ice somehow. He’d have sneered or said something pithy, if he wasn’t more distracted with having regained allies that he had not counted on.

“I am… fine. I was injured, but I recovered.” Loki hedged, carefully sidestepping having to contemplate how best to answer that. He clasped Murray at the juncture of neck and shoulder, in much the manner Thor liked to grab him to show his affection.

“I am glad that the both of you are well. And here! Though, of course… I can imagine better reasons for this reunion.” He let his lips pull upwards, halfway into a smile.

He did not want to say Steve’s name and could not trust himself not to reveal too much. They had seen them together, observed their interactions. He could only hope that what they knew, they had kept to themselves-- and what they guessed, they would dismiss.

“It’s an unhappy time, here, but we are doing what we can to bring the Captain back. And I understand you’re to be part of that.” He let his expression pull into a fond smile, though he knew it was at least partially feigned. He hoped they would let him have this though, this imaginary distance between himself and Steve. Because Steve wanted his secret, needed it kept safe, and even in his absence, Loki wasn’t about to betray him.

  


“Hey, whatever we can do to help!” Murray insisted. “Both of us already wanted to volunteer for Avengers detail -- I mean, who wouldn’t? -- but soon as we heard something was up with Cap being in trouble--”

“--We practically beat down Sharon’s door demanding to be assigned,” Ferra finished. “I owe you both. And Murray here is a diehard fanboy.” She reached up to ruffle Murray’s hair, leaving him squirming like a child with a whispered ‘ _stoooppp_.’ “We’ve got your back in this.”

  


Loki nodded his thanks, not sure what he could-- should-- say to that.

He looked away from his-- friends, he supposed, ones who liked him, were pleased to see him, even without Steve here. Ones who Steve had admittedly introduced him to, but who had no reason to feel as though they had to be kind to him for any reason other than their wanting to.

And perhaps it was to manufacture a closeness, that they might better report on what he was like now, what he was doing, but… they had been like this before he’d been free, too. It was a wise decision on Carter’s part, as well as a very calculating one.

He let his eyes drift out over those gathered there, not at all surprised to find Tony questioning the girl-- Garza-- on her schooling, nor to find Bruce gesturing towards the kitchen, no doubt offering refreshments.

Whether this team was to be a permanent fixture here or not, they were, at the moment, their guests. But that did raise a very good question.

“Agent Carter?” Loki raised his voice a little, pitching it that all present might hear. “Was it your intention to stay here while working with us?”

He did not know how many more apartments Stark had, and Loki was hesitant to offer up space in his own, because when Steve got back, he knew he would want the privacy to be alone with him… and to give him space away from the others, if he needed it. That could hardly be achieved with agents sleeping on the couch and floors.

He turned to look at Tony, too, unsure how any of this was meant to work out.

Of course, that was when Romanoff, Barton, and Darcy arrived, just to make it apparent exactly how many people were involved in this, now.

“So much for it not being a crowd,” Loki heard Bruce murmur, but when he shot a look at him, he shook his head slightly in the negative, and lifted his hand a little; he was fine. For the time being.

It would be best, though, he assumed, if they could avoid any arguing, yelling, or speaking over one another.

It was good there weren’t any Asgardians present, or things would become very difficult, very quickly.

  


“We’ll be in New York, yes,” Carter replied, watching the interactions between all of them carefully. “But as I said before, we don’t plan to be too much in your hair. SHIELD purchased a rather large apartment in Midtown a while back to convert into a safehouse, so we’ll be staying only a couple blocks away if you need us, with the jet remaining here. I’ll provide you with contact numbers you can reach us at for anything.”

“Awww,” Darcy murmured from the rear. “And here it was looking like it was gonna be a party...”

“We will,” Carter continued, “be checking in regularly. I’d like to set up a regular rendezvous schedule, preferably with daily check-ins until Captain Rogers is recovered, perhaps reducing that to every few days to weekly once we’re no longer in an immediate crisis situation.”

She looked to the Avengers for approval regarding this proposal.

  


Romanoff was nodding, her arms crossed and stance stiffened to match Agent Bradley’s.

“That all sounds very reasonable. Thank you, Agent Carter. Is there anything you and your team need from us, anything you need to know? I know we’ve been keeping SHIELD only tentatively up to speed on our progress, in case of leaks, but as long as you’re going to be here and helping, we might as well pool what we know.”

It seemed odd to Loki for Romanoff to be so open and willing to trust immediately, but her body language did not match her words. She still looked like she was waiting to be convinced of something.

And she wasn’t quite done.

“I spoke to Fury on the way up. He said he’d okayed your jet to be outfitted with some of the upgraded geomapping abilities for the various types of radiation. I have a feeling Doctors Banner and Foster here would probably be interested in seeing what it can do. If you don’t mind sharing your toys, of course.” The smile she gave was a challenge, and Loki could decode the mess of intricacies in that statement.

Romanoff had checked in directly with Fury to be sure they were who they said they were, and that they were meant to be here. She had asked about what they knew and what they were equipped with.

She was, in the calmest and politest way possible, taking control.

And he was glad of it. For all that he had come to like Tony, he did not see him as the leading type. Nor were any of the others. She was the best choice to head this whole thing.

And she had slid into the role with a grace that even Loki could not help but to envy, a bit.

“Oh, yeah, if that’s something we could import into the lab, it might be able to help with what I’m working on right now.” Thor’s lady seemed to be all enthusiasm. And Loki did not miss that she said ‘I’ rather than ‘we’, another stroke of subtlety from her that he would not have expected, given how little Thor had valued such assets in the past.

He felt as though he did not entirely understand the relationship they were to have with these people, though he felt confident that at the very least, Ferra and Murray were what they said they were; here to help, and firmly on his side.

As for the rest, he supposed they would have to wait and see.

  


Agent Carter’s eyelids lowered fractionally as Romanoff stepped forward and took control, eyeing her with the careful analysis of a fighter scoping out the newest opponent in the ring; wary, critical, but not without respect.

“The jet is for shared use, of course,” she said, her tone remaining even and amicable. “We have anything connected to SHIELD servers under very dense encryption, of course, so you’ll need one of us to access that data, but so long as the hardware remains intact, consider it at your full disposal. If there are specific schematics we can obtain that would contribute relevantly to the mission, please let me or one of the other agents know.”

“ _Not me,_ ” Ferra mouthed silently. Beside her, Murray hid a smile behind his hand.

If Carter noticed, she didn’t let on. “Director Fury briefed me on all the reports he had regarding the status of this operation. So it’s safe to assume that whatever you told him and Agent Hill, they passed along to us. But I’d be happy to meet with one of you to go over all our current information so all of us are on the same page. Though I don’t think it will be necessary to involve everyone--” she said, looking meaningfully around the increasingly-crowded roof, “--when I’m sure many of you have better uses of your time right now. I’d also like to share what leads we’ve started pursuing already to see if there’s any helpful overlap, or if there are redundancies we can eliminate.”

She paused for breath, lifting her chin, and looking Romanoff squarely in the eye. “I’m not here to spy on you. I’m not here to try to corral anyone or control you or tangle everything up in bureaucratic red tape,” she said, brutally frank. “I know SHIELD has been wrapped up in all that in the past. But the express purpose of _this_ team is to support the Avengers, starting with bringing Captain Rogers home.”

  


It was like watching competitors circling one another, though instead of snarling and teeth baring, there were platitudes and smiles. And their respective teams were decidedly casual as well, though it was not hard to imagine how things could escalate.

Loki would, once, have liked the promise of the excitement it might bring. Now, though, he could not summon the energy to look forward to it.

“Obviously, getting the Captain back is at the forefront of our concerns as well.” He interjected smoothly, hoping to interrupt any further posturing.

“You came in the midst of our current projects, and we had not yet achieved results.” He thought that, at least, was safe enough to say.

“Yeah, what do you say you and the team trade numbers, go get yourselves settled in. We can wrap up what we’re working on and come up with summaries, and get together and have a big meeting, pull out all the paperwork, make sure everyone’s on the same page…” Stark trailed off, his face turning to look at Romanoff, and she nodded.

Loki realized just how easy that had been, how readily she had taken control, how readily the others had simply accepted her leadership. And she could have done so at any time. He had to wonder what had stopped her from doing as much while Steve was here-- did she fear that she wouldn’t be followed when he was an option? Or did her respect, her loyalty, hold her back?

And more, would Steve reclaim his place, when he did come home?

  


_If_.

  


That awful part of his mind spoke softly, and Loki shivered, glad that they were high up and exposed enough that he could pass it off as errant wind causing a chill. But it was something to ponder on; they had not begun training or focusing until she had arrived. And some of that was the news of the missing sceptre to be certain, but...

“It’d take me a good day to compile all the notes we’ve made in the lab.” Bruce agreed, backing up Tony’s proposal. He shrugged, seemingly sheepishly. “We’re not the most organized people in the world.”

Nevermind that they had JARVIS for that; nevermind that they did not need to be.

He knew that it was to give them time, time in which he could contribute what they needed without baring his power to their watchful eyes, and giving SHIELD more chances to hurt him, to use what they knew against him, as had happened the last time he’d ventured near. He wondered at the protective instinct behind that-- then dismissed the thought.

Why not keep a secret weapon secret? Especially until they were certain whether they could trust the other team.

  


Agent Carter nodded, then looked to Ferra, who quickly produced some paper and a pen, tossing them over. Carter caught them, then scribbled out a number before handing the paper to Natasha. “My number, as soon as you’re ready for us to swing by,” she said, shooting Bruce a look askance. “Though given the circumstances, I think sooner would be preferable to later, if possible. We’ll only be twenty minutes out, tops.”

Without any further fuss, she strode toward the doors, and a moment later, the four SHIELD agents in her team moved to follow. Ferra reached out and gave Loki’s shoulder a quick squeeze as she passed. Murray lingered, hesitating, looking as if he wanted to say something but then decided against it, instead offering a smile and then jogging to catch up with the others as they headed in toward the elevator banks, and back out of the building.

“So...” Tony said, as soon as the elevator doors had slid shut. “That’s new.”

  


“New, and potentially trouble.” Thor’s lady muttered. “Do you have a way of making super secure backups? I have a bad history of losing work when SHIELD comes to call, and... “ Loki saw her eyes slide over to him. “I doubt they’d risk throwing a wrench in us finding Captain America, but…”

“Yeah, digitally we seem to be much more secure than the physical protections were. Garza’s good at bypassing security systems, but so far she hasn’t touched my encryptions. And I’m going to spend a little time with JARVIS tonight, making sure that they get better permission, or he at least warns us, next time someone tries to go around what I’ve written.” Tony was glowering, and Loki would have laughed, perhaps, another time. This didn’t seem funny, though.

“Romanoff, what is your instinct, in regards to this team? How trustworthy are they and… what do you think of sharing our progress with them?” Loki asked, directing it to the leader they seemed to have just gained.

“Fury sent them, and I have no real reason to mistrust him. He doesn’t always tell me everything, but he’s usually pretty good for things like providing good backup. Plus, it doesn’t do him any favors, Steve being out of the public’s eyes for how long, now? Someone’s gonna notice, before too long. Really, it’s lucky you and he got snapped on your date; him not making an appearance for a while after that will be less suspicious.”

“But Fury has also chosen to send the only two Agents that I have any sort of connection to. It seems oddly targeted, and while I do believe they might have made significant nuisances of themselves--” he paused to take a breath.

“That Agent Murray seems too shy to be a real nuisance. He probably just followed people around making big eyes at them.” Darcy cut in, and Loki took a deep breath, ignoring her as best as he could.

“--I am just curious of what ulterior motives there may be to assigning them here. I understand this is to serve as our replacement for you giving up the role of liaison, but that was one person’s job. It did not require all of the rest. And frankly, I doubt Fury would be so bold as to suggest that these children should be capable of doing anything that Stark and Banner could not.” He gestured at the two of them, well aware that he was excluding Thor’s mortal from their company, and not minding in the least.

Romanoff’s lips twisted.

“These children may be capable of much more than their youth would lead you to think. They’re probably not much younger than I am.”

 _And she is leading you now_ , he thought to himself.

“Whatever they want, I think it’s a good idea for us to go ahead and get the other machine filled and set up to track your magical fingerprint, specifically. I asked for a day because I didn’t think you’d want to do that with them here.” Bruce spoke up.

“We need to have a meeting soon, decide what all we intend to tell them. Get our stories straight. They’ll be looking for inconsistencies, and I don’t think we have anything to hide, but if there’s something you’re hoping to withhold, like how your powers work, we’re gonna need something to tell them about where our intel is coming from.”

Barton was an unexpected voice of reason, and Loki found himself surprised that he should be so willing to suggest hiding his seidhr from those who were, theoretically, much more on his team than Loki was.

He appreciated it. But he shrugged.

“I don’t want to make anyone feel that they are lying for me, and certainly not without reason. At this point, SHIELD already has a means of negating my seidhr, of deadening it inside of me. Which I-- it is not-- I do not want--” He paused, shuffling his words and knowing that he could not present it as merely his own weakness. His own discomfort with their work. “My fear is that with further experimentation, they may be able to replicate that power. And while I think the opportunities that would bring to your medical fields alone would be glorious…”

“We know that SHIELD is more about weaponizing power. Like the HYDRA guns they were working on.” Bruce shook his head, but the strain in his voice said enough. A moment of silence followed, and Loki wondered who they were more afraid of at the moment-- Loki or SHIELD or the Hulk.

“Alright, team science, let’s head back downstairs, get cracking.” Tony clapped his hands together, and Loki nodded, stepping forward.

“I’ll have JARVIS call you up for dinner.” Natasha told them, tossing a slight smile at Jane, before her eyes slid to Loki and she raised her eyebrows and nodded back at the smaller woman, a much sterner expression on her face for him.

Clearly she thought she could just look at him right and he would make nice.

Snorting, he brushed past Stark to get to the elevator first.

  
He had more important things to do than befriend the Odinson’s pet mortal. Like finding Steve.

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Steve is singing is the Andrews Sisters' "[Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qafnJ6mRbgk)"
> 
>  
> 
> Also -- Meet the B-team! (aka SHIELD team 13)
> 
>   
> (Left to right: Garza, Ferra, Murray, Carter, and Bradley)


	65. Sixty-Five

Food didn’t come. Water didn’t come. Thirst and hunger, now familiar, gnawed at him, with little to distract.

Steve hummed to himself, tired, but unwilling to let himself slide back into fitful sleep, in case the guards returned to draw his blood before he could rouse himself enough to resist.

When the door finally creaked open again, it took all his control not to cringe away from the assault of light; he narrowed his eyes against the stabbing brightness, squaring his jaw and glaring at the indistinct shadows that approached.

“Stand up,” one of them ordered.

Steve kept his expression hostile, but leveraged his weight against the chains to slowly pull himself up, moving with no great urgency. He thought of Loki, and how he managed to remain imperious in his initial captivity, in spite of his exhaustion, and did his best to emulate that grace and control. That dignity, that felt like it hung in tatters around him.

It gave him time for his eyes to adjust. The shorter guard from before had returned, but the tall one whose leg Steve had broken was gone, replaced by a man with a short, thick beard.

Steve had barely finished straightening out, when the familiar crackle of the baton when switched on made the hair on his neck prickle. A half-second warning was all he had before the short guard, teeth bared, drove the sparking end low into Steve’s gut, near his exposed groin, forcing him to double over in shuddering pain and wrenching his arms painfully in the process.

“That’s for the stunt you pulled last time,” he spat, just barely audible over the erratic thudding of Steve’s heart in his ears. The shock had been painfully situated, but not to long or intense; his mind didn’t feel as much like soup within his skull as it had previously. But he let himself fold over limply all the same, collapsing with exaggerated jerks and twitches.

A moment later, the cuffs were undone, and he was being hauled out. He kept himself boneless and loose, making the guards drag his dead weight between them as they had on the first time he’d been taken from the cell. Doing his best to keep the angle of his neck from drawing attention, he cautiously looked up, scanning the long corridor.

There were a few doors, and what looked like a turn up ahead. Letting his head loll a bit, Steve tensed as he heard a door open and chanced a glance upward to see another HYDRA operative leaving one door and crossing to another up ahead. The door clicked shut loudly, the only sound in the hallway beyond the steps of the guards and the soft scuffing of Steve’s knees dragging over the ground.

He counted the steps, pacing his breathing in time with his captors’ strides and stealing himself.

A hundred feet from the door.

Fifty.

Twenty.

Steve pulled one leg forward, lifting his knee until he could slide his foot sole-down on the floor, then abruptly pushed off with it, swinging his other leg out in an arc to catch the guard to his right in the backs of his ankles. The man yelped and went down hard, and in the same movement, Steve grabbed the sleeve of the opposite guard and yanked as hard as he could, flipping the man over to land in a heap over his partner. Tearing himself free, Steve scrambled for the guard’s baton before the man could recover enough to grab it. But his hands were tacky with drying blood and numbed from being chained for so long, making him clumsy; slow.

Almost too slow.

The guard he’d tripped pulled out his baton, right as Steve reached for the grip. They both tugged ferociously for it, until Steve in an act of desperation lunged forward and sunk his teeth into the man’s knuckles.

With a scream, his grip went lax, and the baton then slid easily into Steve’s grip. He hit the switch that brought it crackling to life, then slammed it down into flesh until the two men were twitching wrecks, spasming uselessly on the floor, a faint burning smell wafting on the air and making Steve’s throat tighten.

He staggered back into the wall, gulped down a breath, then broke into a stumbling run, still holding the baton. Part of him wanted to strip the guards of their clothing, to dress himself, but the hallway was devoid of cover -- if an alarm had been tripped or anyone stepped out, he’d be a sitting duck. Better to keep moving and find cover, then deal with his nudity.

Escape was his primary concern.

Exposed, both from his lack of clothing and lack of cover, he felt each step stretching into a mile as he shambled toward the nearest door, the rush of blood in his ears too loud, his vision swimming. When he finally reached it he yanked on the handle, only to find it firmly locked. Biting down on a howl of frustration, he looked back at the fallen guards and debated running back to rifle through their pockets for keys. Only -- was that footsteps, coming from around the corner?

Panicking, Steve looked back and forth from the groaning, twitching guards off to his right to the second door, close by to his left. With a deep breath he made a decision and reached for the door--

 

It opened.

 

Fate, seemingly, had chosen to cut him some slack, as he staggered into a stairwell.

The stairs extended upward and downward, and when he looked back at the door, there was no directory that he could spot. Taking a gamble, he decided to head upward; the lack of windows and dungeon-like aspect of his cell had him mostly convinced that wherever he was being held was subterranean.

(And if he was wrong, well, Steve was pretty good at jumping off high places sans a parachute.)

When, two flights later, he found himself completely winded with the muscles in his legs burning, he began to regret his decision.

He paused on the landing, doubling over with his hands on his knees, eyes squeezed shut against the sudden lightheadedness that accosted him. He felt giddy and breathless, a persistent humming in his ears, a weakness in his body like an echo of a bygone era; he’d have growled in frustration if he had breath to spare.

But he could only afford to linger as long as it took to catch his second wind. Straightening up, he made to cross the landing, continuing upward (no sense in doubling back now), when the door to the landing swung open.

Steve froze.

And so, greeted with the unexpected sight of a dirty and naked man in the stairwell, did the slack-jawed HYDRA agent standing in the door.

Steve recovered first.

He grabbed the door a half-second before the agent reached for his gun, and threw all his weight into slamming it back; the unfortunate agent was caught between the door and the jamb, which closed on him with a meaty sound. Steve did it again, and this time the man’s helmet crunched under the blow, and when he let go of the door, the agent slumped to the ground.

The incident had not gone unnoticed, however; wherever the man had been coming from, there were more people who had seen him drop, and raised voices followed. Before Steve could make for the next flight of steps, another man rushed through the door, this time prepared for a fight. But the body in the doorway provided an obstacle, and as the man had to pull himself up short, Steve lunged at him, clocking a blow across his jaw.

Normally, it was the sort of punch that would have taken an enemy out instantly. But either the HYDRA agent was tougher than usual, or Steve was throwing poorly, because while the man reeled, he didn’t go down, and a second later came back at Steve.

The first swing, Steve ducked. But when he moved to counter-attack, he failed to dodge the second hit, and felt the man’s fist collide with his ribs. He grunted, staggering back, then felt his heart leap as the man reached for a weapon at his belt.

Still doubled over, he rushed him, shoulder colliding with the man’s chest; the man let go of the object at his belt -- a knife? A knife, Steve confirmed as he reached for it and wrapped his fingers around the handle. He continued to drive forward, and felt the exact moment the agent lost balance--

\-- and toppled over the railing with a scream, followed shortly after by a muted thud.

“Son of a--”

Steve whirled around, moving on instinct. He didn’t have his shield, but he had the previous agent’s knife, which proved just as deadly when thrown; the third man through the door stared at him wide eyed, blinking once, twice, before folding to the ground with the knife buried to the hilt in his throat.

An alarm began to go off.

With a curse that would have made Dum Dum proud, Steve lurched forward, pulling a baton from one of the fallen agents’ hip and hauling the body in the doorway the rest of the way through so he could close it, jamming the baton into the handle. It wouldn’t hold long, but it would hopefully buy him a few moments. Turning and running up the stairs, he only made it up one flight before black dots started swimming at the edges of his vision.

Damn.

Up.... up may have been a poor choice. He didn’t know why -- perhaps the lack of food and water, perhaps a sensitivity to minor changes in altitude, perhaps... oh hell, he had no idea -- but the stairs were giving him undue trouble.

Below, he heard a crash as someone rammed the door. The alarm continued to blare, the buzzing whine of it digging into Steve’s skull. Resting only for a second against the rail, he made for the door at the next landing. Maybe... maybe there would be a way out on this level. Or something he could use to further his escape.

He opened the door a crack, and on not seeing anyone in the hall, stepped through. The corridor here was laid out similarly to the one he’d been dragged through, though even more brightly lit, with freshly polished linoleum on the floor. The smell of antiseptic burned his nostrils, and he tried hard not to think of the lab where he’d been strapped down.

With the mental flip of a coin, he turned left, moving down the hall until he heard voices ahead; he turned down another hallway -- the place was a veritable labyrinth -- and made it about twenty paces.

At which point several men in labcoats accompanied by a soldier kitted out in full gear rounded the corner.

“Es ist er! Holen Sie ihn!” one of the coated men shrieked. Already Steve was turning and running, rounding the second corner back the way he came. Up was bad. Left was bad. He’d double back to the stairs, he figured. Maybe... Maybe head back down? They wouldn’t expect him to retrace his steps, and if they’d already cleared those levels, there was a chance--

What little luck he’d had in his initial escape promptly ran out as he rounded another corner, coming face to face with an entire armed HYDRA squadron.

“Nehmen Sie ihn am Leben!” someone -- the coated man, Steve was fairly certain -- shouted from further away.

He stared.

He couldn’t take them all. Maybe on a good day, maybe, but here, unarmed and weakened, he didn’t stand a chance.

He _could_ surrender. But if the others were trapped and in danger, if they needed him and he gave up now -- what would be the point of surviving for that?

Or -- and this provided almost as little hope of success as fighting, but it seemed his best recourse given his circumstances -- he could _run_.

It turned out not to be the option they’d expected him to take.

Confused shouts and the pounding of booted feet rang out down the hall as Steve sprinted, ignoring the ache and burn in his lungs and legs as he pushed himself with every ounce of will and adrenaline he had. In a moment of temporal confusion, he remembered how this felt when trying to escape a gang of bullies back in Red Hook; there was the same sense of looming futility and dread, but the faintest spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, if he could make it--

Pain exploded in his leg.

His mind registered the report of the gunshot a heartbeat later, as he fell to the ground hard. People were yelling, but he couldn’t make out individual words through the grating buzzing in his ears, like a swarm of locusts trying to burrow into his brain.

Loki, he thought distantly, was never going to forgive him.

Still, he tried to pull himself forward, crawling on his belly, movement eased by the slickness of blood. When someone grabbed his leg, sending a spike of fresh agony from ankle to hip, he lashed out with a kick from the other, resulting in a satisfying impact.

It was useless, of course. Futile. And as more appendages collided with him-- feet kicking his sides and hands grabbing his arms, pinning him, pulling him back -- he struggled all the same. Blackness crept into his vision and his breathing was coming in ragged wheezes, but dammit, if this was it..

If this was it, he was going down swinging.

It was his last thought before everything went dark.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

His work with the machine finally finished, Loki was of half a mind to throw what remaining seidhr he had into the people who were no doubt waiting below to have some of Stark’s newest and best tested on them.

But that was a quick fix; the healing of one or two, who had volunteered to aid with Stark’s company’s quest to better heal the world.

Better that he let them do their work and not interrupt again. At least not without giving them ample warning first.

So instead he returned to his level, though he wasn’t certain why. There was nothing in his apartment for him. Nothing for him to do there but feel sorry for himself. That, and watch Steve give address after stiff address. He wasn’t entirely sure why he watched, well aware that it was missing too much to be an effective salve on his hurts.

Reminded of his salve, he asked Stark’s machine for video of he and Steve, together at SHIELD, back before everything, before all of this.

The first video on the list-- in order of most oft-viewed, Loki noted, flushing angrily at that-- was the one of he and Steve on the floor of the outer room of the cell. This was after Scofield had been dealt with, when they had been left alone. When their sandwiches had been finished off, and Steve had turned his back on Loki, that he might press in to his muscles.

Watching it now, Loki could almost feel the heat of his partner under his hands, feel the way he held his tension all across his back. He watched them together distantly, eyes sliding in and out of focus while he listened to their conversation.

He watched Steve removing his shirt, biting his lip as he made pained expressions that Loki hadn’t seen at the time, from his position behind him. But the cameras saw it. The cameras, it seemed, had seen everything.

And Steve shot occasional looks-- glares, even-- up and into the camera’s eye, punctuating their conversation with them.

Even as Loki’s fingers skittered over the bruises, even as he rubbed down and pressed into Steve’s back-- and from this side of the screen, he could see the expressions on Steve’s face, see the way his face looked while Loki pulled those sounds from him.

He’d become intimately familiar with those expressions, since.

He listened as their talk drifted to Loki’s lovers, then on, to expectations-- saw the way he flashed irritated, then buried it. Even then, even after believing Steve dead the last time, he had been so able to be in control. Why could he not contain his emotions now?

Was it because Steve wasn’t back yet? Hadn’t come back, and might, even if-- when-- he did, might not take Loki back?

Suddenly watching this felt like a violation of his partner. What if he did not even want to _be_ his partner any longer?

And, of course, how vain Loki was, to be concerned with that, when he may very well be fighting for his life. Or enduring something far worse than bruised and cracked ribs.

He focused on the screen again, in time to see their positions change, and Loki lay his head against Steve’s arm. His words were softer, obviously hoping the cameras would not pick them up, but the footage itself had been edited, so that here the sounds grew louder.

He could hear the click and whirr of the temperature being regulated, and then his own voice.

“You are the good and the light, Captain. Why do you think so many are so keen to follow you? We’re all in the darkness, and you might see stars, small pinpricks of light in others, but who could compete, who would want to, with your light? And… I appreciate your trying to find the light in me, Captain. You are the first person to care enough to make an attempt in a very long time. But it terrifies me. It scares me that you expect too much of me, and that one day I will let you down-- whether intentionally or not. And I will see that hope, and that… the expectation of good… One day you’re going to look at me, and it won’t be there any more. And that will destroy me. Whatever small part of me managed to leach some of your good into itself will die.”

Loki shuddered, his heart nearly stopping in his chest as he stopped the playback.

He knew what came next. He remembered Steve’s voice, reassuring him that there was already good in him. But that wasn’t what he heard in his mind, not the words that echoed off of the insides of his skull.

_This isn’t just your mess anymore! You can’t just yell at me and twist everything I’ve done or said to guilt me--_

_Why are you being like this?_

Loki bit his lip again and closed his eyes, unable to keep the tears in, no matter how tightly he clenched his lids shut.

It was nearly lunchtime when he felt the small hairs on his arms stand up, and almost immediately, JARVIS’s voice came into the room.

“ _Sir, it would appear Thor has returned.”_

“Thank you, JARVIS.” He responded, stifling the gut reaction of irritation. He was supposed to be appreciative for all that Thor had done for him, and he needed not to instantly be annoyed. It would make his acting, his pretenses, all the more difficult.

But if all went well, he would have no reason to pretend to be grateful. If Thor had done what he needed, Steve could be back by this time tomorrow.  
Suddenly he was glad he had not gone to throw his seidhr into healing, and gladder still to take the elevator upstairs, regardless of whose way he might be in, in the process.

 

Thor stumbled slightly as the bifrost set him down, scouring its pattern into the top layer of the concrete on Stark’s roof. Normally the slight differences between Asgard and Midgard -- the thinness of Midgard’s air, the slightly heavier weight of the ground pulling him down -- didn’t faze him, but the burden tucked under his arm had rendered his balance more precarious, so he took a quick step to the side to right himself. That was when he noticed that to his right, where he’d grown accustomed to open space, a Midgardian ship had been landed in his absence.

He frowned at it, readjusting the weight of the chest so it was under his left arm, freeing his right hand to grasp at Mjolnir’s handle. The vessel appeared unoccupied, and there were no signs of battle, but he still did not know if whoever had parked it was friend or foe; he’d pointedly avoided asking Heimdall about the occupants of Stark Tower, in hopes of keeping Loki from the Gatekeeper’s scrutiny. Now, he wondered if he ought to have done otherwise...

“JARVIS?” He called aloud, striding toward the door.

“ _Welcome back, Mr. Odinson. May I be of assistance?”_

Thor exhaled. Surely the spirit of Stark’s home would inform him if something were far amiss. “Kindly notify my-- Kindly notify Loki I have returned,” he said.

“ _Of course,”_ JARVIS answered, sliding the door open for Thor.

He walked in, noting that nothing seemed much changed in the day or so he’d been absent. “The vessel outside--”

“ _A SHIELD quinjet.”_

Thor’s brows knit together. While he knew SHIELD had been instrumental in stopping the Chitauri and aiding the Avengers, his recent time spent with Jane and her distrust of the organization reminded him that their methods were not always something he approved of. “Under what auspices are they here?”

“ _As support and assistance to the Avengers, they report,”_ JARVIS informed him. “ _I have yet to encounter any data indicating otherwise at this point in time.”_

He nodded, setting the wooden chest down on the floor beside one of Stark’s couches, just as a small note rang through the air, heralding the arrival of the elevator. Thor looked up hopefully to the doors as they slid open.

 

Thor always seemed so eager to see him, so earnest in the face as to look far younger than his years. Loki could only hope that this time, it was more for the news he had than for the mere presence of his ‘brother’.

“Thor! You’ve returned.” He pushed warmth into his voice. “You came sooner than I could have expected.” He’d thought it would be at least a few days; this was preferable of course, but… he knew better than to ask outright what he most wanted to know. If Thor felt used, if he realized how much he was being played, he would react with anger, and any help he might be could well be lost. Loki knew from centuries of trial and error, with him.

“How is Asgard faring? How is Mother?” It was still clunky on his tongue, Frigga’s name not right, but Mother no longer quite true. She _was_ the only mother he had ever had and yet…

_to keep you from feeling different._

He could not so easily excuse her involvement in what had come to be his suffering. She was not blameless, and guilt did not sit solidly on the shoulders of the Allfather. But even so… he did care for her. He could not shake that, just as he could not truly disconnect himself from Thor.

They were brothers in all but blood, once, and though that was no longer true… Thor had a way, a denseness to him, a stubbornness that made one want to believe him when he said that they could be again. At least until he spoke of monsters, of beasts and things which deserved to die. Until he forgot that the life they had shared might not have been a lie to him, but it was to Loki.

But this was about appealing to the Odinson. And so Mother was the right word. And asking about her, reminding him of their past, that was the right route to take.

No matter how much Loki wanted to demand to be told what he had learned of Steve, and damn the rest to Hel.

Patience was one of those things that made him seem more like a person. He would cling to it.

 

Seeing Loki hale and safe came as a relief. Not that there had been anything to suggest otherwise, but given how quickly the world seemed to turn on its head where Loki was concerned after Thor went any length of time without seeing his brother, he couldn’t help but worry.

And yet, for all that he still looked tired and a bit pinched, Loki was smiling and calling him brother. It had to bode well, surely.

“Asgard endures. The rebuilding is well underway. It will be at least a season, perhaps two before the repairs to the palace are complete, and the damages to the city and surrounding structures likely longer, but the spirits of the people are not dampened,” he explained. “As for Mother...” he hesitated, brows pulling together.

“All her wounds are healed, and she has roused very briefly, but succumbs to slumber for most of the hours of the day. The healers assure me she is recovering, but I find the slowness of her waking... troubling.” His frown briefly deepened, then he heaved a sigh. “I suppose though, with my knowledge of the healing arts being as scant as it is, I should place greater trust in them. I only wish I had been present during one of her waking periods.”

The topic of Frigga’s health was not a particularly joyful one, but still, Thor preferred to linger on it than move on to the subject of the Captain. He suspected, however, Loki wouldn’t allow him to stall for long.

What joy he’d felt at seeing his brother faded under the weight of the news he had to deliver.

Swallowing, he elected to get it over with. “I went to Heimdall as you asked...”

 

He made the appropriate faces, nodding when he should and shuffling on some pretense of sympathy about Asgard’s fate, the spirit of her people, but they were not _his_ people. Not anymore, they never would be, and never had been.

He did allow real interest to take him at news of Frigga, but it seemed there was not much to report.

Wakefulness was good, though Thor was right. The speed at which she healed was concerning. Still, Loki knew there was nothing he could do about it. She was in more capable hands than his, and he could not go to her, even now. Even if he wanted to.

Even if Steve wasn’t missing.

Which left him with Thor’s hesitation, and the way his voice had changed.

Something was wrong. No doubt he was meant to bring Loki back.

He braced for it.

“Yes?” He asked. “Where is Steve? Did he tell you that, at least?”

Was it worth it, he wanted to know. Could they wait to lock him up until he saw Steve safe?

Questions he knew better than to ask.

 

Thor grimaced. “Heimdall... saw nothing,” he admitted. He reached out before Loki could say another word, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I asked him to look all over Midgard, beginning with the places Stark recommended and working out. But when he tried to find Steve himself... He said there was naught but shadows. Places that prompted his sight to slide away, like oil on water, obscured and untrackable.”

It had been a disturbing revelation. In his youth, Thor had believed without question that Heimdall truly saw _all_ , and nothing could escape his gaze. But as they aged, Loki had found his ways of slipping past his watchful eye. And increasingly, it seemed he was not the only one. The Dark Elves had been upon them without Heimdall seeing them until it was too late, and now, some force on Midgard proved similarly evasive.

He found himself wondering if Heimdall’s eyes were failing, or if he had never been as all-seeing as Thor believed; if Asgard’s power was not so complete as he’d been taught, their knowledge lacking in ways he’d never conceived.

It troubled him.

“I asked that he maintain a watchful eye on Midgard and send word immediately should anything arise,” he hurried to add.

 

_Nothing._

_Heimdall saw nothing._

 

Loki’s throat felt as if it had frozen shut.

That wasn’t possible. He’d had to work so hard to escape Heimdall’s sight, how could a human do the same? How could those who held Steve?

Unless…

Unless there were nothing left to see. What if Steve had been destroyed so thoroughly…? But what could do that?

Loki’s mind supplied all too readily the list of things. Blades, fire-- enough to see his partner rendered unrecognizable, little more than smears or dust or… mess.

“It is likely that I am the shadow-- I was attempting to keep myself from his gaze for the entirety of the time you were gone-- even now, I dare not allow myself to be seen. But… how can the humans have such abilities, when they hardly even believe in seidhr?” He could hear how flat his voice sounded, how dead. How similar this felt to when the power inside of him had been ground out, back at SHIELD. “How would they know to protect themselves this way, let alone become capable of it?”

He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, the air in the tower feeling colder, of a sudden, and his body beginning to tremble.

“No. He must-- Either Heimdall is wrong, or Steve is--” He couldn’t make himself speak it, but nor could he swallow around the word.

What would he do? Now, that all of this had happened… the last time, he had meant to take up the sceptre, to go to his death, but now… if he gave the sceptre up to Thanos, he would be destroying every life here. And even without the one that was post important, even if Steve really was-- if he really was dead--

The thought alone made him choke, and he paced a few steps away, turning his back on Thor to keep him from seeing the way the emotions were playing out through Loki’s body.

He could not take the easy way out, and hurt more people. He did not deserve so simple an answer, so grand a death. And they did not deserve to be denied their chance to live. Not by him. Not again.

He forced himself to breathe-- in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“Nothing?” His voice was high and went ragged at the end. Loki was begging, pleading, hoping for any reason to _have_ hope. He could feel it clawing for him, that dark swell of nothingness that would send him toppling to his knees, send him sputtering and turn him still and silent and… it was wrong. Everything was wrong.

It shouldn’t have been Steve. It was never meant to be Steve.

_It should have been you,_ he thought spitefully to himself. He wasn’t sure whether he meant that they should have taken him or his brother, but he knew it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything.

Steve was _gone_. And even Heimdall couldn’t find him.

If Heimdall could not, what hope did they have? What hope was left to them? To him?

Loki felt his shoulders collapsing, hunching inwards as his posture fell, as his face fell, as his world seemed to collapse in on itself.

“I-- thank you for trying, Thor.” His words stuck in his throat, the grief ripping them into shreds before they could spill into his mouth, and they tumbled from his lips like dust, whispered and ragged.

He didn’t know what to do next, where to go from here. Steve was gone. And he would never find him. They would never be able to find him, if even Heimdall could not.

 

Thor could feel his own heart breaking at the signs of distress not even Loki could conceal. His brother had always been skilled in hiding his emotions behind a mask, but over a thousand years, he couldn’t help but learn some of his tells; the way Loki’s voice caught, or the way he drew into himself. But even had Loki been a stranger to him, it would remain clear the news was devastating to him. Clear that he was in denial; that he blamed himself; that he was scrabbling for a hope that felt ever more dismal.

(Thor had felt much the same once, standing in shock on the edge of a shattered bridge, staring into the void that had claimed his only brother--)

He expected Loki to lash out. To rail and scream and weep as he threw his fists against Thor’s chest. He expected the rage born of grief and loss in his brother that had brought them to blows on the bifrost. And yet...

And yet it didn’t come. Loki _thanked_ him, and it was somehow more painful than any wound he might have sought to inflict.

Thor swallowed. “I... I asked Heimdall to search the other Realms. The dead realms,” he added softly. “He saw no sign of Steve there either. He saw no grave on Midgard, no body...”

He reached out on impulse, clasping Loki’s shoulder.

“If something fatal had befallen him, his captors would make no effort to conceal him. That he remains hidden from us tells me he yet lives, for whatever purpose. And as long as he lives, there is hope,” he insisted, looking into Loki’s eyes, hoping to find some spark there -- hoping not to see the dead gaze of a man hanging over the edge and choosing to let go.

He took a deep breath, pulling his thoughts from that dark place. “I am beginning to see that for all her greatness, Asgard has grown complacent. Stagnant. She is the realm Eternal, but eternally unchanging, while the other worlds continue to move forward. Our defenses and measures have fallen short in recent times,” he explained, frowning thoughtfully. “But these mortals -- they are clever. Innovative. Industrious. They dream of things far greater than themselves and then reach for the impossible.”

He thought of Jane, with her brilliant mind, bringing to actuality what had only been rough conjecture mere months ago, rather than hemming and hawing for decades as Asgard’s great minds were wont to do. And she was merely one (albeit a very special one, in Thor’s mind) of a multitude of scientists and inventors on this world, scrambling to make the most of their short lives to accomplish the extraordinary.

“It is possible that they have found a way to hide themselves from Asgard,” he conceded. “It is possible it is a coincidence. But I also believe it firmly possible that with your mind, and Stark’s and Banner’s and Jane’s, you will find a way past it. That Steve is alive and you will find him.” He shifted his hand to the back of Loki’s neck, cradling the base of his skull. “ _We_ will find him.”

 

Hope was not easily come by for Loki. It never had been.

And yet…

Yet here was Thor, become a man Loki had never known, someone wise and gentle and thoughtful. He spoke with the intent of giving hope. Gone was lighthearted obstinance in the face of concern, and instead, here was someone who could lead. Who seemed truly born to it.

Loki had no knowledge of how to guard against this side of Thor, no way of knowing how it had come about or where it had come from. But as he looked him in the face, he swallowed and nodded.

“We will find him. We must. As you say; they’ve no reason to hide him if he were dead.” Logic that it was once Loki’s role to provide.

Here was another way he could not fit into the world he had known.

Which meant that more than ever now, he could not go back. Could not return to that life. Not only for the knowledge of the truth of his origins, but because he had learned that there was better. Steve had taught him that. And he would find him. _They_ would find him.

Thor’s hand at the back of his neck, once a sign of closeness, then a means of intimidation, now was oddly comforting.

The form of an Aesir was weak there. With but a few sharp moves, Thor could end him, here and now. He had always had that power, and for a time, Loki had thought he found delight in reminding him of as much.

But no. This was Thor. This was the Thor who would one day sit atop Hlidskialf, who would rule. Thor who could teach the people of Asgard hope, instead of hatred.

Loki wished he could see it. Wished he could believe that he would be alive long enough to.

 

Thor offered a gentle smile when Loki replied, his voice firmer, speaking words of optimism.

“We will. And I swear to you, brother, I will do everything I can to help you in this quest. Whatever you ask of me, should it have any chance of bringing Steve home, you shall have it. I give you my oath in this.”

He had learned, through many misadventures (perhaps more than it ought to have taken), not to give his word lightly. But he gave it willingly now, putting his trust in Loki, and hoping that in Steve’s absence, he could be a grounding presence for him.

 

It rankled slightly, knowing he was likely only receiving acknowledgement now as a fall-back choice, a distant second to Steve, but he could not find it in him to resent the fact that, for whatever reason, for a little while, he had his brother back. He would certainly not hold it against Steve, or delay in finding him. Though he did hope that Steve’s return would not bring a conclusion to this truce between them.

He hoped. But he could not be certain. And so, while he had the chance, he dropped his hand from Loki’s neck and instead wrapped his brother in an embrace, pulling him in and squeezing for the space of a heartbeat before letting go and stepping back, his boot clunking loudly against the wood of the chest.

 

He was becoming wiser in his oaths as well, qualifying his promise to only that which would help to see Steve returned.

There would be no relief via Thor, no asking for fights or coming to blows. But Loki should know better by now; should know he didn’t deserve that kind of calming. He allowed his brother this brief hold, the contact too short to do any good.

He assumed Thor had suddenly remembered what Loki was, or he had been chased off by the things Loki had said. Either way, he could be certain that Thor let go because Loki could not help but be monstrous.

He hung his head, angry with himself for causing the contact to end, and too proud to ask for more… but also unsure how he should react to it. But averting his eyes allowed him to see the source of the noise as it happened. Thor’s oafishly large feet had oft knocked things around, but _that_ thing did not belong here.

“I see you are planning to stay for a while, then.” He said softly, nodding at the chest. It was clearly of Asgardian make, out of place in the apartment that Pepper had furnished, ragged and oaken and well worked, next to the clean lines and crisp colors of her decor.

Loki had not needed one for some time, in his travels, content to keep his pocket ready with the most important things. But Thor had no such access. It made sense that he should want some personal items, some touch of home-- _his_ home-- for the time that he would be here.

“I should let you go and unpack. And visit your lady.” He added a little softer, guilty that he had come running, had stopped Thor from greeting the woman he loved. No matter how unworthy Loki thought her to be-- that was what Thor wanted. And Loki was forever selfish.

“She was in the lab, when last I left her. I imagine she is still there.” He kept his face and voice bland, stepping back as well, out of range of the warm arms that had once promised him safety.

Things had changed. Were still changing. And he didn’t know what he was meant to do about any of it.

 

It took Thor a moment to realize Loki has assumed the chest was merely for himself. He cracked a tired smile, lifting the trunk off the ground and setting it down on Stark’s furniture. “It’s not for me,” he stated simply.

In fact, on his last return from Asgard, he’d brought a few possessions, but by and large found little of his own that he had need of on Midgard. He’d made do with even less -- naught but the clothes on his back and not even Mjolnir -- the first time he’d arrived. But he always had the option, if necessary, to return by bifrost and recover whatever he wished.

Loki had no such option, and so--

“I thought, where I could not return with good news, I might return with something else,” he explained, undoing the latch. “I’m afraid it isn’t much; I had to be quick, so as not to arouse any suspicion by being caught in your rooms. But I grabbed what I could carry without drawing too much notice.”

Flipping open the lid, he revealed the possessions he’d liberated from Loki’s old quarters, which had been locked and under a spell of preservation, undisturbed since his fall.

 

His hands shook a little as he reached into the chest, and he let his eyes flick upwards, from the contents to the man who had brought them to him.

He recognized the uppermost layer, a fur from his own bed. The fur of one of the first creatures he’d ever slain, the first time he’d been allowed out on a hunt beside Odin and Thor. He’d been so proud of it for so long, and even now… the memories were not untarnished, but the blanket smelled familiar. All of it did. And he could remember what it would feel like, the texture of the leather under his fingers.

But he didn’t take it up greedily now, not right away. He did not want to look like a child at midwinter.

It did not help him that Thor phrased it so-- as if this were merely a consolation prize, to soothe the temper he might expect from Loki, when he was told that he couldn’t be gifted with the whereabouts of his wayward mortal.

Part of him bristled, thinking of it that way, but he knew that wasn’t the intent. And more, he knew that he didn’t have the energy now to act on that selfish, angry line of thinking. Thor did not want to fight him. If he forced him into it… it was really no different than the way Thor was taking advantage of his weakness, pushing himself further into Loki’s life.

As he’d trespassed into his rooms, he was trespassing on the future Loki had tried so desperately to build, free of him. Trespassing on his space and his person…

And yet.

At least Loki had him, he thought wanly. At least he wasn’t to be left completely alone.

At least he would not suffer alone, and he would be able to wrap himself in something familiar…

He stopped hesitating and let his fingers touch what he so desperately wanted to, hefted his fur out and lay it to one side to see what Thor had brought back with him, the false smile of appreciation falling away when he saw what else was spread out in the chest.

His drinking horn and more of his throwing knives, usually loaded onto his horse when they rode. Another jar of his salve, well timed, as he’d nearly worked through the last, though it had gone untouched without Steve there. Sleeping draught… which he would be grateful for, come nightfall, if he could not force his eyes to close, with the screens displaying his partner.

Though perhaps that would be better saved for when Steve returned. He had slept poorly enough before…

His fingers traced over the neck of the bottle, then moved on to the next item.

This, too, was familiar, the dark green worn with age, but pulsing with the power he had woven into the wool, his traveling cloak, enchanted to keep out the wind and the cold and the wet, and to help him hide when he so chose.

He’d spoken to Steve, once, of walking in the winter, cloak falling upon the snow behind you and hiding your footprints, so that when you turned you felt utterly alone. This was the cloak that came with such memories. He lifted it, intending to put it on, but it had been used to bundle up something else.

With a quick, curious look to Thor, he unrolled the fabric to find books-- his journals on alchemy and some of his favorite spellbooks, the ones he oft-referred to when he tried to work out something new. But there were also storybooks, here, fairytales and quest stories. The sort of thing he used to pretend to have given up long ago. He flushed faintly, wondering how Thor could possibly have known that these were among his most treasured.

But in amongst the warm feelings of joy at the gift of these old friends, there was a single discordant note, a cold lump in his throat, for Thor had also brought him, no doubt stolen from Odin’s library, a book on the Jotnar.

He held it, looking down at the cover, for a long moment, then set it aside without word, refusing this time to look up at his ‘brother’.

What had possessed him to include that? Did he think Loki was not enough aware of their differences? Did he feel the need to underline it so heavily?

But again, Thor was only trying to win favor. He needn’t search for motives that did not exist. Perhaps he meant only to give Loki something that he might not have read before. If that were the case, he had succeeded. Loki had not had access to the library for very long, once he’d developed a reason he might seek out information on those creatures.

Finally, all that was left in the chest was a smaller box, solid wood, but engraved by trembling hands, art rendered by children; this had been their box of treasures, the bounty of the numerous ‘quests’ they had gone on together, before they were old enough to go on real trips, or wise enough to know that there were valuables out there that were not made of shining rock and bits of string.

Loki’s eyes welled up as he lifted it, remembering the hours spent digging their names out of the wood with the tiny knives that they had been given, the only thing considered safe enough for boys their age.

His fingers traced over it, the edges of their scratches worn low and smooth by the years. They’d loved this box, together, and they had filled it much the same.

He opened it on its hinges and sucked in air.

Inside were the marbles he’d expected, the toy knight stolen from one of the old chess boards, left untended high in the floating towers of the palace. The trinket made of colored wool, wound around two sticks over and over, until it formed a diamond. Years of collecting, of charming baubles away from indulgent elders-- all of it was here. Everything they had fought over as children, each laying claim to the greater feat in acquiring it-- all here.

But tucked in amongst the rubbish was something new.

He could not contain the shaking of his fingers when he lifted the bright blossom from its bed.

This he recognized, his chest tightening and breathing going harsh in the process. There was no mistaking what this was and where it came from.

All of his memories of Frigga as a small child led back to the tree that bore these blooms. She had been strict and fair and cold in the palace, her duties as Queen often forcing her to behave with decorum, forcing her into a role that was far removed from who she was.

But when she was happiest, when they had played in her skirts and felt the sunlight on their skin, when she had read to them, books of poetry, or sung soft songs of people who had come before them…

Loki could remember looking above his head, and watching as the petals of these flowers danced softly in the gentle breeze that seemed to make its permanent home in her garden.

Its perfume had colored every happy memory in his early youth. Being permitted into the Queen’s garden was something like being trusted; he could all but hear her voice now, telling him that the plants there were so delicate, and he could touch, but he must be gentle lest he hurt them. And she always smelled of the place, no scent or oil ever fully capable of masking the smell.

He lifted this flower to his nose now, able to make it out, his lungs filling with a scent he had never realized was lost to him, perhaps for the last time. He was surprised to find that the tears had rolled out and onto his cheeks.

He wiped them away, but with none of the anger he had when Thor had seen him cry in the past.

He looked up again.

“Thank you, Thor.” He told him, voice stark with honesty. He did not know what more to say, didn’t trust his words not to shake or himself not to ruin it. “Truly, thank you. Brother.”

 

Thor watched in rapt attention as Loki carefully went through the contents of the chest, noting his reactions to each item. Though he had selected things swiftly, he had thought ahead, and not grabbed anything at random.

He recalled Loki’s favorite fur, the one that always had a place of honor on his bed, which he’d scolded Thor for clambering up on in his dirty training clothes, tracking dust from the sparring grounds over Loki’s linens. And there had been the drinking horn carved from the horns of a _villtenaut_ they’d slain as youths -- Thor had taken one horn and Loki the other, though Thor had misplaced his many years ago. But he recalled that Loki had always brought it with him when they went questing. Along with the knives and cloak, they were objects of happier times; useful, but laden with memory of their adventures.

He was unfamiliar with the contents of Loki’s desk, but he’d recognized his brother’s writing in his journals and had included them in the pile, along with a jar of the mixture he could recall Loki rubbing into his muscles after a grueling journey to ease away the aches. From the shelves, he realized he knew little about what Loki’s favorite books had been, but selected those that he recognized from their shared youth, along with any whose spines were cracked and broken enough to indicate they’d been well-loved.

It wasn’t until he returned to his own quarters for one more book that he’d stumbled across the box they’d both hidden away when they were still children. It had been their treasure -- full of things that, as wide-eyed young boys, they’d considered priceless, prizes from their many misadventures, and old odd ends they’d ascribed significance to. As a boy, Thor had insisted that the box should reside in his quarters, but now...

He had sat on his bed and stared at the contents of the box painstakingly for well over an hour before carefully placing everything back in. But before he wrapped it up in the chest, he’d gone to fetch one more treasure to add to the trove.

He feared for a moment, as Loki wiped away tears, that he had erred. That somehow all of this was wrong, and he’d just destroyed what little progress they had made. But Loki’s voice carried no anger, no coldness when he spoke at long last. And for that alone, for the fact he looked at the evidence of all their brotherhood and _called him brother,_ Thor felt his own eyes begin to sting.

He coughed, clearing his throat. “I couldn’t help but notice,” he said, swallowing the lump that threatened to form, “when I helped Steve move his things in your shared apartment, that most of the furnishings and possessions were his. And that much of the decoration seemed to be from his past, from the life he’d lived. And I thought...” pausing, he shrugged. “I thought perhaps, as you intend to make this place your home, a home with him, it might do well for that home to bear signs of the both of you -- of both your lives, together.”

 

As much as Loki did not want to push away Steve, or anything that was his, it was so… so brilliantly hopeful, this gesture, so thoughtful and promising and kind, that were it any but Thor he would think he was being preyed upon. Being taken for the hurt fool that he had turned into, with the loss of his partner.

And yet…

All he wanted to do was drape himself in his cloak, disappear and take all of this, all these treasures that smelled of home-- the home he’d once had-- pile them on his bed and curl up on them.

He wrapped the bloom in spells of preservation, spells to slow its aging, though he could not stop it completely. Assured it would last as long as possible, he placed the flower back in its box, and the box back into the chest, very carefully, very deliberately and wordlessly, and then turned and embraced Thor.

It was what he wanted. Loki was not taking anything from him that he did not want to give. And Loki needed it. Could not ask, was too proud, but…

He was solid, warm and here, and trying. Trying to help, trying to find Steve and bring hope, trying to give Loki what he needed, even when he would not tell him what that was, and when he had been vicious and cruel and dishonest.

While Loki had been playing him for an advantage, Thor was genuinely trying to reach out. And though it was Loki who had hurt him, over and over, Loki who had taken all of Odin’s lies out on Thor, it was Thor who was trying and apologizing.

No wonder he was ever in his shadow.

“I’m sorry.” He told him. He didn’t trust himself with the words to say what for. Just sorry. And as ever, it wasn’t enough, and could never be.

He still hated him. He still loved him. They were still brothers. And he still feared that, someday, that would change. One day, Thor would see through Loki, would look upon him with disdain, with hatred, with all the emotions he should be feeling now.

But in this moment, none of that was present. Just his arms, pale and thin and wrapped around his older brother, while he fought not to let the tears tap into the deeper well within him.

He wasn’t certain he could put himself back together if he let that much sadness out now.

 

The sudden weight of Loki against him, wrapping around him, startled Thor -- but before he’d even fully processed what was happening and why, his body responded of its own accord, arms wrapping around Loki in turn and holding him close in a crushing embrace.

He didn’t dare speak. Barely dared to breathe, for fear of bringing an end to this moment. He hated himself for cherishing it, knowing that they were only here because Steve was missing and Loki was suffering, but he couldn’t help it.

It felt like finally having a second chance. Like having Loki back -- truly back, and not just some hateful twisted shade of him.

So he held on to Loki like a drowning man to driftwood, hoping it would be enough.

_Sorry._ He wanted to say the same, to apologize yet again and promise that they would both be better, that he was working hard to be a better man, and a better brother. But this... This was not about him. This was not the moment, at any rate, he did not think.

“You are my brother and I love you,” he murmured into Loki’s hair. “Nothing will ever change that. Wherever you go, whoever you become, and whatever happens.”

 

A sob slipped free of him and he backed away, pulling himself out of Thor’s hold, even though that meant facing him again, meant letting him see his face.

“I’m sorry. I do not mean to-- I’d like--” _to be alone,_ He almost said. But that could only hurt him, the thought that Loki would rather slink off than be around him.

He nearly hissed through his teeth, frustrated at how close he was-- if he broke down, it would be a form of release. If he fought, that would work… but both of these options were likely to hurt someone else. So he couldn’t.

Had to hold it together and go off on his own and lick his wounds and try not to-- what was it Bruce had said? Try not to bleed on anyone.

He was far too good at that. And he had already lost too much blood, over everyone in this tower. Both real and figurative.

“You should go. Greet Jane; no doubt she knows you’ve returned. I will put these things away, and then… it is not so long, now, until dinner. If you are not tired, perhaps I will see you there.”

Not that he had a good deal of choice. He would eat with them or go hungry. And he needed not to do that, because he had promised.

Though how he was going to scrape himself together for that, he didn’t know. Perhaps he could goad Darcy into one of her rambles, and save himself the effort of speaking.

No one needed to know about this, about how pitiful he was, how sensitive he had become, that a flower and some marbles could reduce him to weeping.

He forced himself to stand straighter and wiped the remnants of tears from his face. At least he could look collected, strong and… and _fine_.

Even if he did not feel it.

 

Part of him wished that he could hold on to Loki forever. That they could spend the hours talking and trading stories until they fell asleep, as they had once when they were young. But when Loki pulled back, Thor let him go, recalling Steve’s words about allowing him space.

“I understand,” he said quietly. And he did. There may have been a time when he’d scorned tears as a sign of weakness, but after the pain of watching Loki fall-- he’d barely left his chambers for weeks, only to wander through the corridors in a numb stupor when he finally ventured out. He knew the circumstances were not identical, but the aching loss and helplessness -- that, he imagined, was similar.

He took a step back, his hand lingering on his brother’s arm. “I hope that I shall. And... if you ever have need of me, of anything, I will merely be a few doors away,” he reminded.

He wasn’t sure if Loki would take up the offer, but he felt more optimistic now than he ever had before. Finally letting go, he headed toward the elevator, that he might do as suggested and visit Jane.

There was something less than comforting about Thor’s nearness, as if he would hear him through the walls. As if it would keep him from being able to unburden himself within his own rooms.

But he knew better.

He let Thor go, then re-packed his treasures, his gifts…

He should be bitter, he thought, about how the gift of his own possessions had been so touching. There was nothing of any great value held in his arms, and yet… and yet everything was tailored to him. Custom made for him to appreciate. To force him to see the past he’d once held dear.

It was easier to think when Thor was not in the room, not staring at him with concern and care coloring his features.

He returned to his own rooms, placed the box on the bed, and enveloped himself in one of his shielding spells, much like the one he’d wrapped Barton in when Steve had been under the sceptre’s pull.

He made certain it was firmly, solidly in place, and _screamed_.

It was all too much, all of this. Hoping and having it ripped away, over and over again. Feeling and not having the _one_ , the _only_ reason to allow himself to-- he’d been so strong, once, so proud, so distant, so righteous in his bitterness, and none could hurt him, none could touch him. He could kill and lie and hide and it was all so easy, so thoughtless.

And now he was _alone._ Alone with the weight of it, and he wanted to rage, wanted to destroy. Wanted to hate everyone, even Steve, maybe Steve most of all. For bringing him here. For making him this. For leaving him alone.

But he couldn’t. This was not like he and Thor. It was not a matter of being bound by brotherhood. It was not loving until he hated what he could not be. It was that he loved him too fiercely for hate to have room in it.

And he would be disappointed, he knew. He would be disappointed in Loki for reacting this way. For not simply accepting that the Avengers wanted to help, that they were helping. For not taking Thor for his word. For not seeing the good in people, as Steve did. As no one but him _could_. For not caring for himself… there were hundreds of reasons for him to be disappointed in him.

Not least of which was his tendency to do what Steve would not, his habit of bleeding on everyone around him. If he could not stop it, he would drown them all in blood. And Steve could easily come to hate him for that, if he didn’t already. He did it to him the most, positively soaked him in it… and now he wasn’t here, and Loki was being _selfish_.

Wherever he was, hidden from Heimdall’s view, Loki hoped it was not his last words to him that were echoing through his mind. He hoped there were good memories, too. Times where Loki hadn’t ruined everything, times when Steve had been happy.

Had he made him happy? Had he _been_ happy? Or had he just been hoping, as was his wont, hoping and waiting for things to get better? For _Loki_ to be better?

Loki didn’t know that he wanted the answer. Didn’t have any faith in it.

Tears flowed freely down his face now, and his screaming died out into bubbling sobs. He fell to his knees, then sat hard and held himself, keeping his barrier in place.

At least no one would hear, no one would know.

He had a few hours before he had to appear for dinner. A few hours to tear himself down, then dress himself up and look presentable. And with any luck, he would have managed to rip out at least a little of the pressure that had become nearly crippling.  
He could only hope.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There was light.

 

Then dark.

 

Then more light, eye-wateringly bright. Then it was obscured by shapes leaning over him, voices murmuring from far away, speaking through a dense fog.

Fire rushed through his veins and burned in his leg when the light got too bright, the voices too loud; at one point, he was convinced his blood must be boiling, that his skin, incapable of containing the heat, would bubble and peel and flake away in soft smears of ash.

Steve didn’t fight it when the dark pulled him under again, away from the pain.

Just for a little while...  


Light.

 

Dark.

 

Hurt.  


Dark.

 

Dark.

 

Dark.

 

Light.

  


Steve blinked, breathing deeply as he woke, the astringent taste of disinfectant heavy in the air.

He hurt still, but it was a dull and angry throb rather than a searing inferno. Everything between his hip and knee felt like it had been worked over with a sledgehammer, with an ache spreading out through the rest of his bones, a particular stinging twinge residing in his arms.

His tongue felt thick and cottony in his mouth, and his throat was parched. The pounding in his skull reminded him of artillery fire, endless and nerve-shattering.

He blinked a few more times to free his lashes from the gummy sand that had formed around his eyes, clearing his vision as best he could. He wasn’t in the cell, but rather (and he shuddered at this), back in the medical laboratory. They’d strapped him to the same gurney, though a few of the straps had been left undone; notably the one over his right thigh, where he’d been shot, and the one that had gone over his forehead previously. The lack of the latter allowed him to lift his head enough to look around.

The lab was empty. Of people, that was. There were plenty of instruments and tables and machines, and equipment whose uses he couldn’t fathom (and wasn’t sure he wanted to). But whoever had dragged him here and strapped him down and patched him up was gone.

But apparently they’d wanted him alive. And even an attempted escape resulting in numerous casualties on their side hadn’t been enough for them to put him down.

It was a less reassuring thought than it should have been.

Finally, unable to glean anything more useful from his surroundings, he craned his neck to look down at himself and assess the damage.

The cuts to his torso were healing well, some of them fully closed while others were still scab-covered. He was still fairly dirty, though someone had done a pass over him with a washcloth, he was pretty sure, to mop up the worst of the blood. His thigh was wrapped in bandages, and an experimental flexing of the muscle had him gritting his teeth in pain; his heart sank with the knowledge he likely wouldn’t even be able to support his own weight for a few days, let alone made another run for it any time soon.

They’d have updated security measures after all. The stairwells would probably be guarded. More locks put in place. He’d just made things harder for himself, but couldn’t bring himself to regret the attempt.

He’d keep trying. Keep fighting. He had to. Had to keep them from...

From...

He blinked, gaze travelling from his legs to his arms, where the flesh was bruised and pitted with holes, most of them congregating on in the insides of his elbows.

 

_Needle marks._

 

Sucking in a ragged breath, he bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out in helpless rage. He tasted blood, hot and coppery, and it only served to remind him of what they’d taken. What he’d failed to stop happening.  


He’d failed.

Steve let his head fall back and squeezed his eyes shut.

 


	66. Sixty-Six

He tugged the sleeves of his shirt back down and watched avidly as the map’s outlines burst into life.

“We should start seeing you-- there you are-- because you’re the origin point, you’ll be the brightest. And then-- woah.” Jane blinked and took a half step back, before turning to look up at him. “It looks like you’ve been busy?” She asked him, as dot after dot began lighting up, dozens at first, then hundreds flickering to life before his eyes.

“What… _is_ all that?” Bruce asked, and Loki found himself unable to be surprised, unable to despair.  Why should this be easy, why should this be the correct answer? Nothing else was working. Why should he hope for better today? He felt nothing but numb as one by one, they spread, so many of them. It seemed this was not to be so straightforward as they had hoped.

“Can you make our area larger? Zoom in. I would see the closest point to us.” He requested, and Stark did.

“So here’s you, still.” He gestured, and the light that was Loki flashed blue. Not that it needed to; it was very bright, and larger than the rest. It should worry him, he knew, that they should be able to find him this way, no matter where on Midgard he tried to hide, and even while he shielded himself from the likes of Heimdall. But if even one of those points was Steve, it would be worth it entirely.

“The closest one-- is actually headed right towards us and moving so that’s… I don’t know if that’s a good thing?” Banner’s voice rose in pitch, strained by concern, but Loki shook his head.

“These are my workings, are they not? They would not be threats, then. Let us wait and see what that one does. Can JARVIS track it, while we focus elsewhere?”

“Yeah…” Stark said, though he did not seem enthused at the prospect.

“What is this bright spot, then?” He asked, pointing to the next brightest light, still very close.

“42nd street and-- Bryant Park.” Stark answered quickly. “Leftovers from the attack, I guess?”

“The memorial.” Banner said softly, and Loki swallowed, but nodded.

"It would seem that --The illusions would fade, I doubt they would leave traces. But the wall… it was a large working, and it stands yet.” Loki thought back to the night he’d spent pushing seidhr into the wall and aligning it to his will, and shuddered.

“ _The SHIELD team has arrived. Incidentally, the tracking beacon you asked me to watch has also arrived. On a smaller map, it would appear to be tracking Agent Silvia Ferra._ ”

Loki nodded, grim.

“Ferra, then-- which tells us that your idea is correct, and we will see those I have healed on the map. Which means that one of those must be Steve.” He spoke primarily to Banner, though, cutting Jane from his glance.

As near as he could tell, she’d done nothing that any machine or helper hired from the street could not. And no doubt now Thor had returned, she would duck away to spend her time with him.

(She should. It was so little time, ultimately, that they would have together, after all.)

“But what’s all the rest of these?” She asked, obviously flustered and perhaps even feeling slighted by his carefully avoiding acknowledging her. She gestured at all of the smaller spots, and the map zoomed back out, highlighting just _how many_ there were.

Loki shook his head.

“I do not know. They are so far flung, I cannot imagine-- I can’t possibly have been all these places, but perhaps people that my seidhr has touched. Perhaps these are all of my…. victims.” He could not find a better word for it. “And somewhere, in amongst them... will be Steve.”

He frowned,wondering what else they could do, how they would ever decide which to pursue. There were so many, and more appearing even as they watched.

“There’s an awful lot of them.” Tony said softly, a touch of horror in his voice.

He was only laying to words what the rest of them were thinking, Loki knew, but he pulled into himself, straightening. He had every reason to be horrified. But Loki had no excuse for the offense he took at the tone. He’d done this, they all knew as much. And yet…

“If need be I will seek each one out personally. I would not ask--” He began stiffly, but--

“Later.” Romanoff’s voice called out from the doorway. “Agent Carter is here with her team, and we promised them some answers. I’m going to go ahead and let explaining this fall to Loki first. However much you’re comfortable with them knowing, we’ll fill in the blanks. But I don’t want anyone compromising any abilities Loki doesn’t bring up on his own, and I want to remind you that the more they know, the better they’ll be able to help out.”

She let her eyes rest on each of their faces in turn, and it struck Loki that she was intimidating them into _protecting_ him.

Not that the others seemed to need much convincing. They were all nodding along. He wasn’t entirely sure why that shook him so.

_Ungrateful._

Doctor Foster raised her hand from the elbow, though, as if she did not want to be too obtrusive.

“Am I, um. Do you want me there, or should I hang out here, and just…” She gestured.

“You did the work, you can help explain it. It’s not like _I_ have any idea how this works.” Romanoff spoke with her usual candor, but her expression was softer, kinder. Loki saw the signs of her eyes turning to him next, the slight shift in her posture, and knew she was blaming Foster’s uncertainty on him.  He looked away, making a show of leaning in to study the map.

His behavior was childish, perhaps, but what had his brother’s woman done to deserve any of this? Any respect or validation? And how hard had he had to work, inversely, for even so much kindness as Romanoff was all but jumping to show her?

_She never harmed all of those people_. He thought to himself, but it was far easier to ignore that voice than it was to ignore Natasha’s glare all but boring into his skull.

“Should we meet them, then?” Bruce asked, breaking the silence. “Where’re they at?”

“Thor and Clint are with them in one of the meeting rooms on the ninth floor. It was the only one big enough and available, today.”

“That’s fine.” Tony said dismissively. “JARVIS, let’s get the in-house caterers to set something up, I have a feeling we’re going to be in there for a while.”

“Pretty sure this is going to count as classified.” Romanoff drawled. “Why don’t you just have them set up something for afterwards?”

Loki twitched, realizing they weren’t planning to ask him-- they were willing to let him lead, and just take their cues, follow him.

_Him._

“They cannot know… of Steve’s involvement with me.” He knew his words came suddenly, and without any other relevance to the way the conversation had turned. “He-- he would not be comfortable with it being known. But the rest-- I do not want them to have access to the technology we have created-- you have created--” He lifted his eyes to Tony. “But. It is no secret, the power I possess. It should be no secret how I am using it. All that will do will inspire mistrust and fear. There is, I think, enough of that without the secrecy adding to it.”

Romanoff was staring at him, and when he turned to look at her, she nodded slightly, mouth turned up. Approving.

He swallowed.

Some of the fear was his own. He was afraid of what the knowledge would do, what it could be used for, what might be turned into a weapon against him. But then, as long as that came after they had Steve, he would worry about it when it became a relevant concern.

He was too worried about the immediate to spend overlong dwelling on a future that might not even matter.

He let the others’ conversation start up around him again and tuned it out, certain nothing interesting would be said until they were settled in the meeting room. He expected to be absorbed in his thoughts the whole way there, and so was startled at the soft touch of a hand on his arm.

He looked down, frowning, and his brows arched to find that the hand belonged to his brother’s lady.

“Yes?” He asked, low but pointed.

The last thing he wanted was her to try and befriend him. Perhaps second to last, in fact; he did not want to look churlish for denying her now, before the others.

“I just… wanted to say thank you. For helping as much as you have with all of this.” His brows lifted together, and he could not help but smirk.

She was thanking him for his help in doing work which benefited him? The more fool, she.

“It is to find Steve.” He said simply. “I would do anything to see that accomplished.” He shrugged, the gesture seemingly offhand, but serving to dislodge her touch as well.

She pursed her lips.

“Not that, I mean-- that’s been great, too, it’s been great seeing how that all… works, I guess. But. I meant with Thor. You’re-- you’ve been making this easier on him, even though you’re having a rough time. It’s really-- it means a lot. That’s all I meant.”

He blinked, taken aback, then scowled, realizing that the idiot could not even keep his sentiments to himself, but instead had to go reporting them to this mortal pet of his.

His expression seemed to take her by surprise. She fell a step behind him, and he did not bother to wait, straightening and turning his head away, the dismissal complete.

He might have said something scalding, but he did not have the capacity now to worry about wit, on top of everything else.

No doubt it would be lost on her, at any rate.

How dare she think she had the right to speak to him so? They were not close, his behavior was… was foolish and weak, and not done as a favor to her or Thor. It was about _using_ him. It was about seeing this through. And it most certainly was not about _making this easier_.

He was still bristling when he walked into the room with the rest of the members of their ungainly troupe, but he smoothed his face and tucked his emotions carefully away, unwilling to trust the gathering at large with that, on top of all of the rest.

With all the faces present and accounted for, he could not help but think of those absent; Pepper, with her hands full running Stark’s business, and Darcy, no doubt running amok through the city. And Steve.

What would he think, Loki couldn’t help but wonder, about all of this? He’d be grateful, he was sure. Moved beyond words at all those now dedicated to his safety. To his retrieval. To finding him. To helping.

Loki, on the other hand, was fraying, and he knew it.

It had already been over a week. It had been too long; he was taking too long. And even with the power he was about to explain and reveal, he was no more capable of bringing Steve home than any of the rest of them.

Bolstered by that knowledge, and aware that, as Romanoff had said, the more they knew, the more they could help, he took a deep breath and began.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

This time, they drugged him before moving him. Not that he figured he could run, or probably even fully hold his weight on his bad leg yet.

He supposed he ought to feel somewhat proud that, even weak and wounded, they were taking extra precautions to regard him as a threat.

But with whatever they’d injected into his IV coursing through his veins and shattering his equilibrium, mostly all he felt was nauseous.

He recalled the journey back to his cell only in flashes. Glimpses of floor and ceiling and light, the feel of gloved hands against raw skin, the rustling scrape of the guards’ clothing as they moved. It was like one of those cheaply done stop-motion films, with half the frames missing. Small moments in time strung together, but disjointed.

All the pale hallways here looked the goddamn same, he thought, closing his eyes against it all.

He regained lucidity back in the cell once again, chained as he had been before for days and days.

The only difference, and evidence that his failed attempt at escape hadn’t all been a fever dream like the ones he’d had as a kid, was the small pad of gauze taped over the exit wound on the front of his thigh, and the chains they’d added to his ankles.

They really weren’t taking any more chances, it seemed.

Gritting his teeth, he tested his injured leg, only to hiss a sharp intake of air as it throbbed in protest. Stilling, he waited a few minutes, then moved his good leg, stretching his feet as far apart as he could manage. The chain between the manacles around his ankles allowed him about a shoulder-width span. Enough to walk with shuffling steps, but not to run. And it would also hamper his ability to kick.

He scowled, then slumped back against the wall.

Apparently, the blood they’d taken was keeping the doctors busy.

No one came in to drag him out and up to the laboratories. Which was a relief.

But time dragged on, and no one came in at all.

Not even to feed him.

Whatever had been in the IV apparently contained enough to hydrate him, maybe some nutrients, but it wasn’t sustenance. He struggled to remember now how long it had been since he’d eaten -- they seemed to only feel like feeding him when he behaved, and Steve was a _very_ poorly-behaved prisoner -- but the gnawing ache in his belly indicated it had been too long for comfort. He found himself twisting, curling into himself, pulling his good knee up to his chest in a fruitless attempt to find a position that diminished the pain of hunger.

“It’s not so bad,” he murmured out loud to himself, echoing the words he remembered his mother saying when food had been tight. Even if they were hungry, they had actual food (however little) and a roof over their heads, and there were poor folks in the Hoovervilles eating bread made of sawdust and boiling shoe leather. And, guilty for complaining when there were others with less, Steve had shut his mouth and forced himself to be satisfied with what he had.

And now...

Now he’d probably be happy with sawdust and shoe leather, but the truth was he’d only been here... days? a couple weeks? He wasn’t sure, but damn, there had been people in the war starving to death for months. Years, even.

And no one was trying to feed him ghost peppers, at least.

It wasn’t so bad.

Surely.

When the door opened again, Steve looked up with a mix of hope and dread.

They might be going to feed him. They might be going to drag him off to be cut up and stuck full of needles or some other fresh hell.

But if they were going to simply feed him, they could have shoved the bowl through the slot in the door, and if they were going to haul him off, they’d have multiple guards. As it was, a single uniformed and armed man stood in the doorway.

And in his hand, a bowl.

Steve’s stomach growled audibly. He sat up straighter, folding his legs up for modesty and protection alike.

He wasn’t sure if he recognized the man or not. So many faces in the same HYDRA uniform were beginning to blur together. But from the way his lip curled, it seemed he knew Steve.

“You hungry, Cap?” he asked, sneering and holding the bowl out incrementally.

Steve couldn’t help his gaze flitting toward it. Even if it was more of the same rancid, watery slop, he didn’t care. His stomach felt like it was doing its best to turn inside out.

The guard noticed, grin widening. “Yeah, I bet you are. Bet you want this _real bad.”_ He took a step forward into the cell, then paused. “You gonna ask nicely?”

Steve glared up at him.

The guard tutted his tongue. “Gee, Cap. And here we all thought you had manners. But I guess if you’re not that hungry...”

Steve lunged forward, yanking at his chains as the guard tilted the bowl and spilled its thin gray contents in a stream to the ground, where they ran into the drain set in the floor. “You son of a bitch!” he snarled.

The guard laughed. “Maybe we oughta wash that mouth out with soap,” he said, letting the bowl fall to the ground with a clatter. Then the smile slipped from his face. “It’d serve you right, you piece of shit.”

Steve continued to glower, breathing heavily through his nose. The guard stepped forward, this time with malice, all humor gone. “You know, one of the fellas you killed the other day was a buddy of mine,” he said, hand on the butt of his baton where it rested at his hip. “I got two more friends in the infirmary because of you.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. He wondered if the man in front of him had any idea how many friends and allies of Steve’s HYDRA had killed. He’d call them even, but he was pretty sure he’d have to kill every man here for that to be the case. “Maybe you should have better taste in friends,” he remarked instead, still prickling with rage over the wasting of his meal. “If you’re looking for an apology, I think you’re gonna be dis--”

The baton cracking across his jaw interrupted him.

“Shut up!” the guard barked. “You think you’re so fucking tough, huh? Big tough guy, chained to the wall?”

Steve spat out the blood the flooded into his mouth from where his cheek had split against his teeth. “You’re the big tough guy, hitting the guy chained to the wall,” he muttered.

“I said _shut up!”_ the guard howled, voice growing shrill. He hit the switch on the baton, and this time the electric hiss of it made Steve flinch on instinct.

The guard noticed this too.

“You scared, tough guy? Huh? You scared of this?” He held the baton closer, so Steve could feel the hairs on his body standing on end. “You better be scared. Cause we’re gonna take you apart to see how you work. Right down into tiny little pieces. And believe me, you’re not gonna be so tough then. Not when you’re begging the bosses to put you down like a fucking dog.” He looked almost gleeful at the prospect.

Steve forced himself to lift his chin and look the guard in the eye. “You know,” he began, keeping his voice even and nonchalant, “you really talk too much.”

The guard’s lip curled, and he slammed the baton into Steve’s leg, just above the bandage.

It crackled and snapped and _hurt._

Steve jerked and shook, then sucked in breath in short gasps between his teeth when the current withdrew, trying not to think about how the damaged muscles of his thigh twitched and twisted, or the warmth of blood welling up under the bandage.

“You know,” he panted, looking back up, “the electric shock thing is getting a little redundant. Though considering you’re ripping off the same shtick HYDRA had seventy years ago, I guess I shouldn’t expect much in the way of originality...”

It was stupid, really. Goading an enemy he was in no position to beat. And yet... And yet he’d sassed every bully in every alley in Brooklyn. He’d talked back to Red Skull himself when Schmidt’d had him on his knees. Because it was what Steve did. Even when he was helpless, he had his words to lash out with.

He was holding on to that now.

The guard, meanwhile, looked incensed beyond words. He lifted the baton again, flicking the switch to an even higher voltage so Steve could see, the current reflecting in his eyes. Steve tensed, bracing for more pain, but right as the guard moved forward, footsteps echoed in the hall.

They both froze. Steve wondered -- hoped -- that he was about to have a reprieve, when a second guard, limping on a crutch, appeared in the door.

It was, Steve recognized, one the guards he’d attacked before. And his heart sank as the man’s face split in an ugly grin.

“What, you started without me?”

The baton slammed into his gut, discharging voltage that made Steve’s teeth hum in his skull as they clenched down on a scream that never escaped his throat. His blood felt like it was boiling, and the stink of burning hair and skin stung his nostrils.

He trembled and panted but didn’t have breath to speak with when it finally stopped. His eyes watered, and he squeezed them shut against the nausea that rolled through him.

He could hear the guard with the baton snort derisively. “What’s the matter, tough guy? You all outta backtalk?”

_You all outta stupid?_ Steve tried to say, but his jaw and his body wouldn’t cooperate. Not that it was a particularly good comeback anyway. More like the lame barbs he and Bucky used to toss at each other, that had no real sting to them...

“That’s right. You’re just gotta sit there and take it now, I bet. Not so tough now. Just gonna take it and cry like a fucking girl. Just look at this fucking little bitch...”

The baton, switched off now, touched the bottom of his chin, forcing it up abruptly enough that Steve felt his teeth click. He opened his eyes and glared up at the guard, who loomed over him gleefully.

And then, slowly, Steve started to laugh.

It was a hitching, weak little chuckle, but once the guards recognized it for what it was, their smiles vanished.

“What’s so goddamn funny?” the second guard demanded.

Steve grinned, even though his jaw ached. “I’m just imagining... how much fun I’m gonna have... watching Black Widow kick both of your asses.”

‘ _Like a girl’_ indeed.

The guard’s face contorted in rage. He swore, and then switched the baton to its highest setting.

Everything whited out.

Steve couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see. Nothing existed but the pain of every nerve in his body singing with electrical current; his muscles tensed and contracted, spasming even as he jerked and twisted in a mad attempt to escape the white-hot core of the pain where the baton dug into and seared his skin. But his muscled contracted further as he writhed, tightening and twisting impossibly, bending his body directions it wasn’t meant to go with a force he couldn’t control--

Something popped and gave, and if Steve’d had a voice, he might’ve screamed.

When his mind finally unscrambled itself from the shock and the pain, the guards were gone and the door was shut. He was still shackled, but a deep ache radiated from his shoulder; when he cautiously turned his head to the side, his stomach turned at the sight of the distended shape of muscles not where they belonged, the joint fully out of its socket.

Damn.

He closed his eyes again, breathing deeply. The cell was beginning to stink, smelling of sweat and burning flesh and the cloying odor of rotting blood. And layered over it all now, was the acrid tang of urine.

It was the smell that brought his attention to the rapidly-cooling dampness under his legs that made his cheeks burn with shame. At some point in the ordeal, he’d lost control of his bladder.

They’d reduced him to something pretty damn pathetic.

  


And yet...

  


And yet, Steve forced himself to smile weakly. Because he’d gained something in return. Something small, admittedly, but enough to sustain him.

He’d brought up Natasha, and the threat she posed. These men meant to hurt him, meant to ridicule and break him; if the Avengers were in captivity or dead, they’d have rubbed it in his face. Instead, they reacted with rage.

Which meant a good chance that Natasha was out there. The others were out there. Alive.

  
For now, just knowing that was enough.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’d agreed that it was wisest to split up, to investigate as many of the markers as possible. As _discreetly_ as possible.

Garza and Stark remained at the tower, to guide them to their targets. Romanoff and Barton were paired with Carter, Banner and Thor with Bradley, and Loki was allowed out with just Murray and Ferra. How they had managed to convince their superior that this was wise, Loki did not know, and given that everyone knew-- he’d spoken a bit the day prior about how he had healed Ferra, and how his seidhr lingered on her, and thus branded her on the map. So it was no secret that she had reasons to feel beholden to him.

Because of that, though, he felt the need to be even more careful, even more concerned with coming off as in control and sane and as far from where he had been as possible. Knowing now that they would be reporting to Carter, who in turn would take their words back to SHIELD, and if he was overly familiar with them, as Murray and Ferra seemed to want, it would seem suspicious in their reports. And if he were too distant, no doubt it would be assumed that nothing had changed. It was another balancing act for him, and one that he did not have patience for, when he could move faster on his own, could easily clear thrice as many of these markers, if he did not have to play nice for SHIELD.

But he did not want, either, to be unnecessarily cruel to Ferra and Murray. They were so eager to help, and even if Ferra insisted on making her own remarks--

_Well,_ someone’s _wardrobe’s had an update. I do love me a man in a good pair of slacks._

When he came to meet them, or--

_Magic hands, they said, sure, but no one told me you could magic your face into somebody else. Say, can you do Hugh Jackman?_

But now that they were very near to their mark, she was focused and intent, not completely closed off, but certainly not actively teasing either he or Murray.

“Garza says we’re about twenty five feet from it-- and it’s to our left.” Murray had a hand on his phone and the other on the wheel of the car that SHIELD had provided.

Stark had tried to give them one of his, but none of them were exactly designed to keep from drawing attention.

“See anything familiar?” Ferra asked him, and Loki shook his head no.

“I have never been here before.” He spoke quietly, unwilling to explain that there was a feeling of disappointment, almost a sense that he was betraying some promise-- here he was in Brooklyn, and it was without Steve. He kept his eyes on the inside of the car, saving the rest for another time, for the future, so that Steve could bring him here, could show him… if he returned. If he could be saved.

“You stay, then, Murray and I are going to go play poll-takers, see if we can’t figure out how bits of your magic ended up in that apartment.”

Murray looked to Loki as though expecting an argument, and for that reason he swallowed the objection he’d had on his lips. He gave them a jerky nod and sat back, silently reaching out in search of anything-- anything that might respond to the touch of his seidhr. But there was nothing, so far as he could tell. And so it would be up to the Agents to discover what it was that had drawn them here.

It was an odd building, Loki had to admit, as he watched them mount the steps. The front jutted out a bit, but divided into two. There were two doors, and Murray stayed on the phone with Garza until they had reached the one that she was leading them to.

After that he hung up, and Ferra knocked.

It was a long minute without answer, before she rapped a second time, and Murray rang the bell, but still nothing.

Loki grew impatient.

Without waiting for guilt to settle in, he left the car and walked up beside them, unlocking the door with a quick gesture.

“We can’t just--” Murray tried to object, but Loki pushed past him and made his way inside.

It was odd, being in a home on Midgard. He’d known Stark’s had to be the exception to the rule, given the man’s wealth, and prior to that he had only seen hotels, but this--

Clutter, he supposed, was the best word for it. It was filled with signs that this place was lived in, from the worn carpeting, color no doubt darkened by the tread of the soles of many shoes, for many years, to the clothing draped across the back of the couch, to the toys-- and those made him nervous, even more tightly wound, if possible.

There was a doll on the kitchen table, her skin shining waxen in the light from the open door.

Ferra and Murray followed him in and closed the door behind them.

“We really shouldn’t be in here.” Murray pointed out, and Ferra just shook her head.

“You watch for the owners.” She told him.

“Loki, here-- if you need to touch anything, I need you wearing these first.” She produced thin gloves from somewhere, a set for each of them, and Loki took them, smirking.

“Do you suppose that I would leave behind any signs of my presence? Or that any could track me, if I did not wish?” He asked archly. He pulled them on just the same, though, and she shrugged.

“Just playing by the rules as much as I can.” She told him, “‘Specially since it seems you’re gonna break ‘em as often as _you_ can. Have to balance it out somehow.”

“Not to break up the fun and all, but we _really_ shouldn’t be here, and I’d like to not be here as soon as possible, so if you can maybe find whatever it is…?” The tension was clearly audible in Murray’s voice, and Loki felt a little bad about it.

Wordlessly, he turned and went to work, turning his sight inward to see if there was any sign of his touch, any clue as to what he might have done here.

No person was in this part of the building, nor any of the other rooms, when he went to look. There was no sign of any living being, which could only make him feel relieved. After all, better that he have accidentally created an artifact, than that he have somehow left himself connected, however tenuously, to someone.

It meant that he had not endangered the child’s family.

Or so he thought, until he reached the mantle of the fireplace.

He breathed in harshly, the intake of air almost burning his lungs, with his throat as tight as it was.

“I found it.” He reported tonelessly, and lifted the coin from its resting place. It was familiar, decidedly out of place here, but that was not what made it so jarring.

No, even as he collected the seidhr from it, sweeping it into his palm and reabsorbing what had been his once and was again now… he knew where it had come from.

He sat it down, regret and guilt filling him, and a better understanding of what lay in store for them becoming clear. He turned back to his companions.

“We can leave. Steve isn’t here.” He did not have any emotion in his voice, but nor could he look around any further, couldn’t take in the signs of the life he had so affected. Lives.

“What is that?” Ferra asked, peering past him.

“Blood money.” He told her shortly. “We should get back and let the others know-- the families of my victims, from my…. my invasion. All who have taken from the wall the pay which I owed them… that is why there are so many markers. There were so many dead…”

The horror of his discovery that day in the park echoed now, and he had to shake his head to clear it.

“You were right, Murray. We should not be here.” He spoke firmly and left, leaving them to lock the door behind them as he stepped out of the quiet and dark of the apartment and back into the sun.

On the sidewalk, outside, with the world alive and moving and teeming with life, he had to take a few deep breaths. He let his eyes roam, the way he hadn’t before, taking in the way that even the light poles were wrapped in glittering strands of plastic, red and gold and green shimmering in the sunlight. The bells and flowers and cane shapes that spread along the sides of the road seemed gaudy and far too cheerful, considering what he had done. What he was still doing.

He’d tried to do good, and now all he had done was created one more obstacle between himself and Steve.

Just as truth caused pain, coming from him, good deeds only brought sorrow.

He had nothing further to say as he returned to the car. He buckled himself into the back seat and closed his eyes for the ride back to the tower.

They tried to talk to him, he assumed; he could hear their attempts, but he ignored them, too absorbed in self recrimination and the feeling that he may be ill. If he did not open his eyes, perhaps they would think he was working some kind of spell, that his mind was far from them… rather than just turned inward.

There were _so many_. And they would have to check each and every one. And he would have to be the one to tell the Avengers and the SHIELD Agents as much. Tell them that they would have to intrude on the lives of people whose lives he had already devastated once.

Maybe it would be best if he did it alone. If they refused to-- or better that he did not. Though that, he knew, was cowardly of him.

_What would Steve do?_ he wondered.

And he wrapped his arms around himself, realizing he didn’t have a clue.

How was he supposed to do this without him? And how had he become so dependent, so reliant, on one man? How had he lived so long shrugging away attachment to anyone, only to find himself so irrevocably tied to this one mortal man _now?_ And what would he do, if they got him back-- when they got him back, if he didn’t want him?

Those thoughts spun in circles through the traffic and the forced mirth that Ferra and Murray tried to create around him, and pursued him all the way back to his rooms, long after he made his report, tonelessly and as free of emotion as possible.

He could feel them staring, could see the concern on Thor’s face, but he could not do any better.

Even his good was only capable of being terrible.

Surely they knew by now not to expect anything good of him.

 


	67. Sixty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains fairly graphic degradation and torture in the Steve section. Proceed with caution.

He’d cleared only six from the map, so far. Including the one from their first day of looking.

It was… disheartening to say the least. The other teams were doing their best as well, but it was slow. They had to rely on phones and scanners that Stark devised to show them the sources, and Thor had finally had to remain back, as he was too easily recognizable, with his bulk and odd manner of speaking. He attracted too much attention.

After that, the teams shifted a little. Romanoff went to work with Bradley and Banner, which left Loki nervous at the prospect of Barton and Carter together-- but there was nothing to be done about it, and, moreover, he had more pressing concerns.

He’d gotten used to it enough that he didn’t even have to get particularly close to the coins. He remembered the way Steve’s body had laid claim to the seidhr that Loki had given him, before. How Loki had been unable to pull it back into himself. And so he would reach out, sending a tendril of seidhr to attract its like, and hoping to feel that plucking, the bounce of seidhr refusing to return to him.

None of these had been that. And so the ones he visited, he could remove from the map entirely. The ones the other teams encountered, they could only mark off, the lights dimming on the displays to register the change from a possibility to not. But it was tedious and time consuming, and they were not moving quickly enough for Loki’s tastes. They had only managed to discount fifteen, as a total between their groups.

There were altogether too many lives he had touched, and no way of differentiating the amount of seidhr between what had been pushed into the gold and what had been put into healing Ferra. And so they would have to investigate each and every one.

This world was an odd one, he could not help but think, as Stark guided them nearer to their current objective-- this time a car, which apparently the coin was inside of. It certainly was not Steve, hidden away in the dash of it. Loki pulled the seidhr back and sent it into the ground, though he decided that he should begin diverting some into a focus. In case he needed it, or Steve did, when he returned.

The car was empty, left among rows of similarly empty and still vehicles, and he could hear Ferra jokingly asking Tony questions.

“--Should bring to pitch in for dinner tomorrow? Beer, chips, soda, pie?” She was turned toward the building that the people from the cars were filing into, and from this Loki understood this was a shop, like the gas station had been, though it dwarfed that in size.

“I would like to go in.” He spoke perhaps too loudly, after his extended silence, his words causing Murray to jump a little.

“Hey, yeah, take a minute, pick up some munchies, good work team-- no, Ferra, you don’t need to bring anything, honest, everything’s set, the bird’s been marinating for a couple of hours already, and I have half a floor dedicated to meals. We’re good. I need to go, though, Nat’s checking in; they’re getting close.”

Loki felt a little bad for taking time away for this, but he was determined-- he hadn’t managed to learn _this_ with Steve, and he wanted the option of not seeing the rest of them, when he was hungry.

There was no reason he shouldn’t have his own food and teach himself to prepare it. No reason he should shuffle his reliance from Steve onto the others in the tower-- Steve, at least, was pleased to be helping him, to dedicate his time to him. Loki had not faced the rest of the team, had not attempted to speak to them, since they had begun this wild goose chase. And with collecting the seidhr he’d left scattered about, he had plenty to allow him to simply vanish the moment he set foot out of the car and into his rooms.

He had made this even more work, just one more way to keep them busy and on edge, and not any closer to finding Steve.

And so he did not deny himself the option of walking through the doors that slid open on their own, and into the shining tan aisles of the store, Ferra and Murray trailing behind him.

All around them were people, many of whom seemed to be in a rush, some laughing and others doling out orders for food items to be obtained. Humans in various states of dress-- many in layers of soft looking loose clothing, men in ill fitted suits and women in fur lined coats, children with ridiculous hats on their heads-- people who lived in this world, for whom this day was no different than any other. People whose lives were not shaped around a gaping hole.

“You look like you’re gonna pick a fight with the end caps,” Ferra joked, but there was tension in her voice, too. Murray, on the other hand, had picked up a small basket, and had it draped off of one arm.

"For the food." Murray explained, hoisting the basket to show what he meant, as if it were not obvious. As if Loki were an idiot.

As if they did not expect him to be able to understand this much, at least. He felt his jaw tightening.

"You looking for anything in particular?" Ferra asked, when Loki did not move to acknowledge their words.

"Simple food. That which can be eaten cold, raw..." He trailed off, loathe to admit that he did not know how to prepare it. "Quick food." He finished.

Let them merely think him too busy, rather than too stupid, too spoiled, to know how to care for himself. He did not want their shock, nor their pity.

"So college food then!" Murray said cheerfully. "I think we can manage that."

Ferra looked between the two of them, looking mildly horrified.

"I hope your metabolism is as magic as the rest of you." She said, disapproval thick in her words. Murray cast an amused look her way, but stepped up next to Loki.

"Do you have a can opener?" He asked, and Loki turned to stare at him blankly, already overwhelmed by the sheer amounts of food available to purchase, and his unfamiliarity with all of it. He tried to stay in charge, tried to save face, by making one of his eyebrows rise inquiringly.

"Hooo boy." Murray said under his breath, and sent a quick look back at the older woman.

"Why don't we start with salad?" She suggested, taking gentle hold of Murray's arm and steering him toward one side of the store.

Loki turned to watch them go, jealous of the touch, of the casual way the two of them moved with one another. It spoke of comfort, and being so excluded from it--

If Steve did not return, Thor was the only one who would ever so much as _try_ to touch him again. Thor, and perhaps Pepper, with her occasional, but always well timed, well meaning hugs. But he could not count on that, if they ousted him.

And he had come to crave it, in ways he had never thought himself capable of. Gentle fingers on his face, his neck, in his hair, soft brushes of lips against his own, arms around him and Steve’s warmth beside him… He was jealous of those whose mere friends could provide much the same. But Loki did not have that. Banner might lay a hand on him, from time to time, but it was usually to communicate without words-- to remind Loki to reign in his emotions. It was hardly the same.

Loki had only had Steve. And he was gone. And it felt so much like falling had, that he almost felt that same distance-- as if he were not in his body, necessarily. Just watching through his eyes.

But he followed along, just the same, trailing after the other two and letting them do the shopping for him, while he observed the ease with which they moved through their surroundings, and tried to duplicate it for himself.

He felt uncoordinated; lacking in grace. Very much like a newborn foal, still wobbling on its legs. Still unfamiliar with the world it lived in.

When they encountered the brightly colored bags and Murray lifted some squat squares into the basket, Loki raised an eyebrow.

“What is that?” He asked, imperious to cover his discomfort. The tone made Murray uneasy, though, and he shifted on his feet a little and looked to Ferra, who frowned at Loki.

And horrible though it made him feel, having put them on edge, he felt better, on firmer footing. More sure of himself, in contrast.

“It’s uh, ramen. Noodles. Really easy to make, instructions on the package and everything. Do you-- I’m sure you’re used to better food than this, but you said easy… I’ll put them back if you want!” He all but tripped over himself explaining, and Loki gave him a soft smile.

“No, that’s fine. Leave them.”

“Do you want-- beef or pork or shrimp or chili lime flavor?” He asked, gesturing at the various colors of packaging. Loki wrinkled his nose, glad at least that the last one was marked as hot, that he would know to avoid it.

He stepped in closer to the shelving as more people filtered past, and he felt irked at the crowd in the store, unable to relax for fear of someone brushing against him-- for fear of someone shattering his illusion.

Once they were past, though, Loki spoke.

“Beef and shrimp. These will not go bad while we finish tracking down more markers, will they?”

“No, it’s fine.” Ferra interjected, adding a few cans to Murray’s basket. “And with that in mind, we’ll stay away from stuff in the refrigerator cases.” She patted Murray’s shoulder, and Loki turned his eyes from the contact.

They completed their circuit of the large building, and Loki began to realize just how exhausted this whole process had left him. He felt like people were staring, and Murray was visibly relieved when he sat the basket, now heavy with food, down on the conveyance counter.

That, though, did seem to raise another concern.

“I mean technically it is living expenses while on assignment. Not necessarily _our_  living expenses, but… SHIELD can handle that, right?” Ferra was asking, while she took out her wallet. Murray shook his head.

“I don’t know, I would almost rather just put it on my personal card. I don’t want to get yanked from the case or audited just for something like groceries.” Murray seemed hesitant, and it took Loki a moment to understand what their conundrum was.

“Actually, I’ve my own card.” He told them, glad that this at least, he understood.

He was sure they thought less of him, with how stiff and distant and uncomfortable he had remained, but at least there was one small thing he could do that was not completely useless. Even if he was burdening Pepper, as opposed to these two.

“It’s going to come out to one forty seven fifty three.” The woman behind the counter announced, and Loki found his eyes drawn to her brows, the lines there crisper and sharper and darker than any he had ever seen.

He offered her the card that Pepper had given him, casually and self assured, but she looked up at him, appearing bored and unimpressed.

“Swipe it there, please.” She gestured with a half hearted wave of her hand, and he frowned at the screen before him, then noticed the track on the side, and swiftly made sense of it, coloring faintly beneath the mask he wore in response to his failure, again.

It seemed that still now, and perhaps more so without Steve to ease the way, even the simplest things were beyond him. Murray made small talk with the woman to help cover for his gaff, and Loki kept his eyes on the screen, signing with his false name when prompted and accepting the slip of silky paper that she handed him.

When they left the store he had foodstuffs of his own. It still felt like he had won, regardless of his shame at having been observed by others while he tried to learn. But fortunately, Odin had taught him things that could be useful, if he could just remind himself to do them. Like tucking embarrassment behind a regal mask. Royalty, he knew, should not show humiliation, no matter how keenly they may feel it.

It was one thing to let Steve see him fail… and even then he would rather he didn’t. But these two… as they walked through the crowded parking area, the cold tore through his clothing and pinched dual spots of color high on his cheeks that had nothing to do with his shame.

“Place the bags in the back seat. Please.” He instructed, remembering to tack the platitude on at the last moment.

“They can go in the trunk-- no need to squish yourself in next to them.” Ferra objected, though she sounded somehow teasing about it.

“If you put them in the back seat, I can move them into my pocket without others seeing.” He told them firmly, and Murray at once jumped to obey.

While he leaned in, Ferra took hold of Loki’s arm and pulled him aside, her face almost thunderous, but her voice in check. He looked down at her hand on his arm, wondering that she was touching him now, not out of gratitude for her life, nor in greeting… but in the way he generally gained contact, now. With an air of disappointment.

“Something crawl up your butt, magic man?” She asked, and Loki blinked. She almost smiled at what he could only assume was his expression. “You’re acting like a jerk to poor Murray, and he’s doing everything he can to help you out, here. You wanna try treating him like you didn’t scrape him off your shoe?”

Loki’s first impulse was to bristle, but he could not risk driving these two off. Not when they were his champions at SHIELD. He looked away, shamed even further at having been so chastened by this woman.

“Look, I don’t think you’re acting this way for no reason…” She started, but Murray stood, and that made them both stop. Loki pulled away from her, and though she looked concerned, she did not press it. Loki wrapped his own hand over where she’d had hers, silently wondering when the next time someone would bother coming that close to him. It reminded him of how he looked, really, outside of this mask, under the false skin… if any of them saw it, none of them ever would come close again.

Not even Thor.

He swallowed.

“Alright, I guess pile in, and we’ll-- I’ll call Sarah and see where she thinks we should go next.” Murray was looking back and forth between them, obviously aware he’d missed something, and Loki saw the concern that Ferra wore.

No doubt she was afraid he would chafe against being given orders.

Loki moved to do as the young Agent said, but saw Murray shifting again, and bit back a sigh.

“What is it?” He asked, gentling his voice.

Murray looked up at that and met his eye, which Loki didn’t realize he’d been avoiding doing, until just then.

“I was just-- do you mind if I watch while you put the uh-- in your pocket?” He was clearly trying to be polite about it, shaping and choosing his words carefully.

“No, of course.” Loki remembered how pleased he’d felt when Murray had ceased to be shocked by his seidhr and began to be enthralled and excited by it.

It was something like Steve’s awe, but… _younger_ , more eager.

He nodded again.

“I will wait until you have made your call.” He promised, and then took up his seat in the back of the car.

In the mirror at the front, he saw Ferra’s eyes met his own, and then crinkle with a smile.

Well, he thought, at least _someone_ approves.

Loki twitched at the plastic of the bags while he listened to one side of the conversation happening on the phone in the front seat.

He did not feel as if he had accomplished anything, despite feeling wrung out already. They would keep going until the other two decided they were finished. He would not push them beyond their limits.

But until he found Steve, every moment of rest, of time spent doing anything else-- he felt guilty for it. Until Steve was home, all of this… it meant nothing. Counted for nothing.

And even though it was he who had called for them to take the time, he who had made the decision to stop, he couldn’t wait for them to get moving again.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Eventually, the slot in the door opened and a bowl of slop skidded through, accompanied by a small bottle of water that rolled across the floor.

Steve stared at them, then up at the red eye of the camera, as if to say ‘ _well?’_

Several moments later, the restraints released, and Steve slumped to the ground, hissing in pain as the sudden change in elevation of his arm sent fresh aches throbbing through his now-swollen and purpled shoulder. Cradling his useless arm against his chest, he crawled quickly over to the bowl, lifted it, and slurped down its contents too fast to even be troubled by the taste. He was too hungry and too desperate to give them even the slightest chance to take it away from him.

Next he opened the water, not bothering to check the seal (whether or not it was tampered with, he could either risk poison or dying of thirst), gulping it down. When he was done, his belly ached and felt distended, but he didn’t care. He’d finally gotten food and water, however foul.

The immediate crushing needs of survival now seen to, he turned his attention to his shoulder with somewhat less enthusiasm.

Ignoring it wasn’t an option; the longer it was out of the socket, the harder it would be to repair, and the more likely he’d be permanently maimed and unable to throw his shield. He hadn’t been able to do anything while chained to the wall, which made this likely his only chance to put it back in. It didn’t seem wholly fair that, now that he had a brief reprieve from having pain inflicted on him by others, he now had to inflict it upon himself. But he didn’t have much choice.

He’d dislocated his shoulder once before during the war, when he’d deflected an artillery shell with his shield and been thrown into a tank twenty yards away by the shockwave of the resulting explosion. It had taken Bucky and Morita together to wrench it back into place, fighting against the resistance of his enhanced musculature.

Musculature that wasn’t looking anywhere near as enhanced these days, he noted, hoping it would work in his favor.

He took several deep breaths, trying to relax himself and his body as much as possible. Bracing himself against the wall, he rotated his arm the way he dimly remembered Morita instructing, turning until he felt the ball of the joint like a tiny sphere of flame, and then pushing--

Popping the shoulder back into place.

He made a high, keening noise between his teeth, then slid down to the ground, cradling his aching arm against his torso, now dotted with burns. He held his breath and closed his eyes against the wave of nausea that threatened to bring up the precious bit of food in his system, fighting to keep down what he couldn’t afford to lose until the ill feeling subsided. Curling up in the corner of the cell, he closed his eyes, hoping to take advantage of his temporary release from the wall to sleep.

Some hours later, the speaker in the wall crackled, waking him.

“ _The prisoner will return to its place at the wall.”_

Opening his eyes, Steve considered resisting again, just because he could.

But his shoulder twinged painfully, and the meager contents of the bowl from earlier sloshed in his stomach, reminding him of the penalties.

Maybe, just this time...

Steve swallowed.

“ _The prisoner will return--”_

“Heard you the first time,” he grumbled, then stood, limping back over to the wall, his shuffling constrained by the length of chain between his ankles. He held the cuffs to the point on the wall where they attached, and heard the click that indicated he was chained once more.

And if he was cooperating, well...

It was only to help him survive long enough for Natasha and the rest to find him. That was all.  


They came for him not long after.

 

 

Where there had been two guards previously to escort him, there were now six; he didn't recognize any of them. They took the added precaution of yanking a bag down over his head before unshackling him, and forcing him forward with a slow, clanking walk, heavily favoring his wounded leg. He'd barely left the cell when the ominous click of slides racking into place made him tense.

They were really taking no chances this time.

He expected to turn left as they had the last time, but when he took a step in the direction, he was roughly handled and spun in the opposite course. He said nothing, made no sudden moves, but carefully cataloged the number of turns they took and counted the paces from his cell.

His first escape attempt had suffered from poor planning. If he wished to make a second attempt, he'd need better recon.

Not that it was easy, with the hood keeping him in total darkness. He was forced to rely on touch and his sense of direction; on the click of latches to know when a door opened; on the change in sensation under his bare feet when the floor shifted from cement to tile.

Then another door opened, and Steve froze as another of his senses engaged. Even through the musty odor of the hood, he could smell the caustic reek of bleach. Something hard prodded him in the back and he stumbled forward, a sense of dread building as his imagination raced with all the possible reasons for the smell, none of them good.

One of the guards pushed him so hard in response, he nearly lost his footing on the slick flooring, wet with something. Then the restraints around his wrists were taken hold of, something clinking into place, and the next thing he knew his arms were being hoisted over his head, prompting him to suck in a harsh breath as his shoulder screamed in pain. Arms bound above him with his feet just able to rest on the ground, he hung like a slab of meat with his heart hammering against his chest. They tore the hood off, and the resulting light was so bright as to briefly blind him.

  


Which was when the water hit him.

  


For all his stoicism, the shock of it tore a surprised yelp from his throat as he twisted against the abused muscles of his shoulder to try to shield himself from the frigid spray, the jet of water powerful and painful and _cold, cold water everywhere, freezing him drowning him-_ \--

He tried to breathe to calm his racing terror, but only succeeded in catching a mouthful of spray, sputtering and choking. The jet of the hose connected with bruising force, tearing at his skin, and for a horrified moment he wondered if they meant to strip him down to the bone, leaving nothing but pressure washed bones hanging from the ceiling. Cuts and tender burns on his torso stung unimaginably under the assault. The bandage on his leg was blasted away, as was all the dirt and blood and piss and probably the top layer or two of skin. The hook he hung from spun him around so no inch escaped unscoured, and he dimly thought he could hear the laughter of the guards over the roar of the water as he struggled.

When it finally cut off, he was left trembling, the burning of his scourged skin at odds with the chill setting into the flesh beneath, leaving his teeth chattering even as his body turned red and raw.

The next few minutes were a blur, his shocked mind operating too sluggishly to parse events as they occurred. He was wet and cold and hurt, his bad leg giving way beneath him as the shackles loosened. Hands were on him, moving him, voices around him speaking what may have been gibberish for all her knew as he was dragged through the next door, the smell of bleach still cling to his nostrils--

Then he was sitting, forced into a cold and unyielding metal chair, manacles around his wrists and ankles promptly bound to the arms and legs of it. A man appeared who wore white like the doctor, but wasn’t the doctor, sporting a thin black mustache that reminded Steve of Howard, though he lacked any of Howard’s wry warmth. He pulled over a tray of sharp implements, and once again, Steve felt his heart speed up in dread.

The man in white turned to the guards with an expression of distaste. “I thought you were washing him?” he said, voice faintly accented.

A guard behind Steve grunted. “We did.”

The man in white eyed Steve like a specimen, clearly dubious, then sighed. He reached for something gleaming and metallic on the tray, but before Steve could make out what it was, a hand grabbed his hair from behind and yanked his head back.

Chained down, wet and naked and his throat bared, he thought for a second they meant to slit his throat and kill him here and now. He tensed, horror running through his veins even colder than the icy water as the man reached forward--

\--And cut off a hank of Steve’s hair, the scrape of the scissors loud in his ears as the hair being gripped parted from his head, falling to the ground in a wet and matted clump.

Steve turned his head enough to look at it, then felt a nearly hysterical chuckle crawl up his throat.

A shower and a haircut. Things he’d offered Loki and provided when Loki had been his prisoner, intending to be humane; to offer Loki kindness and a chance to be treated like a person, deserving of basic rights. And somehow, HYDRA was taking those same things and turning them into something perverse and twisted.

(Or was this how Loki had felt? Panicking in the chair while Steve loomed over him, deprived of agency, of choice -- he’d accused Steve of taking away all his choices, of declawing him into something powerless -- had this been what he’d done? Was this some horrible justice?)

He tried to think of the last time he’d had his hair cut, when it had been Loki, shielding them in the bathroom when they’d both still been a secret, fingers running gently over Steve’s head and neck. He’d told him before about how on Asgard, the cutting of hair was something for friends and loved ones. It was a stark contrast to his present experience, where there was no gentleness to be had. And even when he closed his eyes, he couldn’t imagine Loki roughly shearing him like the man with the scissors currently was. Not even the angry and spiteful Loki he’d seen before leaving.

(He’d take that version of Loki over HYDRA in a heartbeat.)

With his hair apparently done away with to satisfaction, they next set about removing his beard, dragging a razor over his jaw and cheeks with little more than water to smooth its way. His skin quickly began to prickle and burn from the rough treatment, and more than once he felt the sharp sting of the razor nicking flesh.

When it was done, no one held up a mirror or even freed his hands enough to run his fingers through what had to be short remnants of his hair. He could only imagine how bad he looked; how pieces of him were being literally as well as figuratively hacked away and whittled down.

They unchained him, and the bag came down once more.

After being forced to limp down another long corridor until the healing wound in his leg had begun to throb fiercely, Steve finally heard the creak of a door, and was hauled into another room and forced down into yet another hard and unyielding chair, his chains bolted down in what was becoming a familiar procedure. It was cool in here, a faint draft blowing over his skin and chilling the drops of water lingering there, making him shiver. Finally, the bag was yanked back off of his head, leaving him blinking under the single overhead light as he struggled to get his bearings.

 

 

The door was opened before him and he whisked into the room, strides lengthy and his coat all but flapping behind him. He had a small smile on so that when he saw his subject already in place, he did not have to move his mouth very much before it turned into a wide grin.

“Hello Captain! Good afternoon. I am Doctor Verschmutzung. And how are we feeling today?” He turned his trained eye to the man before him, taking in the obvious signs of his malnourishment and struggles.

  


The man who walked in was new; not the barber nor the doctor from the lab, though his white coat still separated him from the uniformed guards. He had a couple decades on Steve, from the look of him, his features craggier with time and blond hair receding, though he still moved with the grace of a man not far past his prime. He smiled jovially, and though the skin around his blue eyes crinkled, Steve still felt a twist in his insides.

He was learning better than to regard anyone and anything here with other than dread.

“Fantastic,” he gritted out dryly in response to the absolutely absurd question.

It was strange, though. Being spoken to directly. Like a person. It had been some time since he’d been treated with any courtesy at all; he wondered if they were trying to take advantage of that.

  


“Fan-tas-tic.” He repeated slowly, as he finished looking him over and he nodded appreciatively. “I see your leg is healing. Slower than usual, isn’t it? But impressive nonetheless. And how is your digestive system? Still feeling hunger?”

He was testing to see what information, and how much of it, Rogers would be willing to share. It would make things so much easier if he was forthcoming.

  


Steve’s jaw clenched.

Of course, it hadn’t escaped him that his leg was still hurting, when the last time he’d taken a bullet to the leg, back when Loki had only been in SHIELD custody for a week or so, he’d pulled the stitches out in two days. Though he’d ascribed the sluggish healing this time around to his conditions; the lack of care and food and sleep.

But if it was something else...

He quashed that thought, raising his chin and regarding the doctor cooly. “If I said yes to the latter, I somehow doubt I’d be getting a three-course meal as a result,” he commented.

Part of him wanted to push the man to cut to the chase, and what this whole sideshow was about. Though at the same time, a part of him wanted to wait and see where this was going; the longer he sat here, after all, with this absurd pretense at civility, the longer he wasn’t chained to a wall or being beaten. If nothing else, it made for a change of pace.

  


The doctor chuckled.

“No, Captain, I do not think your poor stomach could handle anything so grand now, at any rate. But maybe a glass of milk? Sounds good, does it not? But first, I would appreciate a little cooperation. Answer me a few questions, and you will have your reward.”

The doctor ran his tongue over his lips, attempting to remind Rogers just how dry his own undoubtedly were.

  


Steve settled back, as much as the position of having his hands chained behind him would allow. So that was what this was about. They let him stew and suffer for a few days -- weeks -- however long it had been, roughed him up, and then came to him with offers of kindness in the hopes he’d talk.

If they thought that was all it would take, they were underestimating him to the point of insult.

He wanted food and water, sure. A glass of milk sounded amazing. But while he might be willing to sacrifice a bit of his dignity for the sake of survival, he sure as hell wasn’t going to give HYDRA anything they could use, anything they could harm people with, willingly.

He’d be ready to starve first. And the reality of that possibility wasn’t lost on him, as his stomach ached and growled.

“Sorry, but I don’t do tricks on command for treats,” he replied, stonily. “Whatever you want from me, you’re not going to be getting. So if that’s all this little ‘good cop’ show is about, I’m afraid it’s a waste of your time.”

  


“Tricks? You _are_ the trick, Captain, long since performed.”

He pulled up a wheeled stool and sat on it, near enough to the prisoner to look him in the eye, but not so close as to be in danger.

This one was not known for his peacefulness or cooperation, and Verschmutzung was not a fool.

“I am certain by now you have realized what it is we want of you. And we have it-- even as we speak, my colleagues are at work reverse engineering that traitor Erskine’s formula. But that is not all there is to it, is there? And you can make the process easier for us, answer some simple questions… or you may choose not to. But let me make certain you understand: We are going to find our answers, with or without your help. If you comply, you will be saving a good many more people from being the subject of tests, many of which we both know will fail terribly, in horrible ways. If you do not help us, though, there is something else that you are still good for.” He smiled, encouraging the soldier to ask. After all, who could resist?

  


Steve bristled at the way the man spoke Erskine’s name. He had no right--

And yet, Steve had already failed Erskine himself by letting them get his blood. And if they used it to the very end Erskine had risked and then ultimately given his life to stop...

The least Steve could do was make it as hard as possible, and make them pay dearly for it. He somehow doubted HYDRA would be willing to give the serum, even a dangerous, untested version, to someone outside their ranks, risking bestowing the gifts of superhuman skills on the people they considered undeserving. Not when Schmidt himself had taken the prototype serum before anyone else could, and took his moniker from the obvious and unexpected side effect. If HYDRA burned through scores of their own men trying to recreate that work -- good.

And if he was wrong, and there were innocents...

Steve made a face. Innocents harmed in HYDRA’s failed experiments would be horrific. But not as horrific as the mass destruction an army of evil men with his abilities could perpetrate. It wasn’t worth it, risking millions for the off chance that dozens might be killed. He couldn’t give HYDRA what they wanted.

He wouldn’t.

“I’m guessing you’re going to be sure to explain that to me in great detail in hopes of scaring me into telling you what you need to know,” he said. Which would be a fool’s errand, given he didn’t scare easily.

If HYDRA planned to hurt him to get the information they needed, then Steve would take it. If they threatened to kill him...

If they killed him, they’d only be destroying the source of their samples.

Steve’s face fell with the realization that that might in fact be the best option, if rescue failed to come.

  


He let out a pleased hum and leaned back a bit, satisfied as he could all but see the man working his way through his words, as he saw the faintest glimmer of understanding dawn.

But with it came determination, an expression of resolve and defiance setting in.

“Scare, Captain? No. I’ve no need to scare you. Your fear is intangible, it teaches us nothing. But we stand to learn so _much_ from you. You are aware, of course, of HYDRA’s history, its roots in the third reich. And no doubt you have been made aware of the many advancements in medical science that were achieved by the various doctors of the SS. However, I think they made a few glaring mistakes-- I respect them, of course, but respect does not mean I cannot be critical. You see, they made a point to study the untermenschen, the less than human. The lesser humans. But _you_ …”

He made a point to very obviously eye his patient’s body again, this time almost hungrily.

“Some day soon, HYDRA will have a veritable army of you, again, with your help or no. And we will need to know their limits. It is… bad for morale to test on your own men, regrettably. And so you represent a grand opportunity! I do not say this to scare you-- merely as a matter of fact. We will use you as a tool to learn. You have no choice there, and there is nothing you can do to change it. But your cooperation will dictate the severity of our tests. My superiors are, for example, interested in whether your phenomenal healing extends to regrowth. And we will test that. But it is up to you-- I can take only your little finger. Or, if we think you need to be better restrained, if we worry you will cause any further damages to your guards, we may choose instead to take your leg at the knee,” He reached out and let his hand fall on the prisoner’s leg, just above his kneecap. He did not hit him, or hurt him in any way, but the threat, he thought, was clear.

“Or an arm perhaps? This is the choice you will have to make.”

And then he removed his hand, sat back, and smiled again, making his voice lighter, less serious.

“Or you can answer our questions. For example, _does_ your healing extend to regrowth? Do you know?” He folded his hands together, crossed his legs, and cupped his own knee, gleeful about how his afternoon was unfolding.

  


It took every ounce of Steve’s self-control not to flinch at the doctor’s touch. It was not violent, nor painful, but it made his skin crawl all the same.

It hadn’t been until after the war, long after, that he’d had the chance to read the histories and the revelations of all the atrocities the Reich had committed, or about Mengele. And he didn’t doubt that there was much more the histories had forgotten or failed to uncover. But he’d seen enough with his own eyes -- seen the survivors of liberated camps, seen Bucky strapped down and half out of his mind, seen the photos of Zola’s labs -- to feel nauseated by the mere mention of it.

The truth was, he didn't know the full extent of his healing. It hadn’t been something he’d felt much inclined to put to the test. He wasn’t a damn lizard though, and as such doubted he’d grow back anything fully amputated, and definitely didn’t want to have to find out.

If they took his arm, or his leg--

Stark would probably be able to engineer a prosthetic, he tried to tell himself. He had that kind of tech. It wasn’t-- it wouldn’t be the kind of career ender it would have been in the forties. Technology was better now. But if the doctor wasn’t bluffing, and they did start cutting off bits of him... Who was to say it would only be a limb?

A curious thing he and Bucky had observed in the war was that the men were more afraid of artillery and shells than they were of gunfire. A bullet could tear through you; an explosive could tear you apart. Gunshots you either died of or healed from, but if a shell went off near you, you prayed the damn thing would kill you instantly, because the shrapnel that ripped through men and left them alive, disfigured, maimed for life-- that was a soldier’s worst nightmare. The thought now of being taken apart, slowly cut down until he was mutilated, helpless, useless...

(The thought of the look of revulsion on Loki’s face when he found all that remained of him...)

His jaw clenched.

It wouldn’t be so big a thing, surely, to tell them he couldn’t grow back a limb. And yet, if he caved there, what else would he be willing to subsequently compromise on? Where would the line be, of information he was willing to give, and what he wasn’t? Would it even matter? Or would they see fit to verify on their own whatever he told them, unwilling to trust the word of their enemy?

If he did live through this, would he be willing to live with himself for having cooperated just to spare himself?

He met Verschmutzung’s gaze and let his lip curl.

“Go to hell.”

 

A curious thing, the smell, the look of the Captain’s fear. He was meant to inspire, to lead, to be greater than a man. And yet here he was, reduced, already, to crudities.

What a disappointment.

He sighed, then put on a smile anyway, less broad than before. Less sincere.

“Well, of course, I understand. It does seem drastic, I know. Especially with how little effort you have been exposed to so far. I apologize for that, by the way. I had other things to attend to before I could come, and my subordinates were overly enthusiastic. You really must think of those as nothing more than warm ups… busy work. And amateur attempts, at best. But it did whet the curiosity of those above us. And so here we are, you and I.”

He put both feet back on the floor and leaned in.

“I promise to be much more professional about all of this. Though I must admit, I am having a very difficult time trying to determine where we ought to begin. There is _so much_ I want to know. So many studies I hope to take up on you, where they were left off. Sigmund Rascher, for instance, was very interested in the effects and treatment of hypothermia. Of course we know more about this today, but not where you are concerned. In a range of four to six degrees celsius, an average human lasted only a minute or so before expiring. What do you think? I hear you are capable of lasting much longer. What was it? Seventy years? Impressive. And of course, there is the opposite of this. Most people would not survive being boiled. I wonder, though... what will that extraordinary body they've given you do? I don't suppose you have tried this either? No?”

 

Steve couldn’t help a shudder at the mention of hypothermia. Already he’d been cold more or less since he arrived, with the frigid water further cementing the chill into his bones. The thought of even more, of being frozen again, plunged into _cold wet dark cold falling deep into ice--_

He swallowed, forcing the vivid mental picture back. Of course, anyone who knew about his stint in the ice would have no trouble figuring that such a scenario would push his buttons. By letting it get to him, he was letting the man play him like a fiddle. No blows were being exchanged, but that didn’t make this any less of a fight; he’d seen Natasha operate enough to recognize how powerful a weapon psychology could be. Verschmutzung wielded it well.

Not that it made what he described any less horrifying. Particularly the idea that everything up until now -- the injections, the incisions, the beatings and starvation and humiliation -- was just a prelude. A warm-up, and that the main act hadn’t even begun.

Or at least, that was what they’d have him think. Steve breathed in through his nose, steadying himself. Two could play this game, and while he might not be as skilled a player as Natasha or Loki, he could find ways of fighting back. “Other things to attend to,” he echoed, forcing his voice into evenness. “That, or you’re just having to change tactics because you haven’t got anything useful yet.”

He narrowed his eyes, eyeing Verschmutzung critically. “You’ve got nothing from my blood, and nothing good from any of the tests yet. You want me to think it’s because you’re just not trying yet. But I think you guys are getting desperate. You’ve had me all this time and now you’re trying to get information out of me because you need to get something tangible from me and soon, I’m guessing because you’re on a deadline that’s creeping closer...” he trailed off, then smiled. “Because any day now, the Avengers are gonna knock down that door, and if you guys don’t have some supersoldiers manning the walls, that’s not gonna go well for you at all, is it?”

 

Verschmutzung laughed.

“Genius has never been fast, my friend. Those above us understand. It is why I was allowed to finish my research before I came here. And perhaps that is why Stark has not come to your aid. Is that what you have been telling yourself? I am sure it has been a comfort.” He let his grin blossom.

“Or perhaps they aren’t coming. Have you considered that? Perhaps you are the mouse who is left behind, abandoned in the trap while they run off with the cheese. They have what they wanted. What need do they have for you? And it was a perfect trap, was it not? We have been watching you for some time now, cataloging your abilities since our agent attacked you in that park. We were disappointed not to see your talented friend with you in the bunker we set up, but such is life. You were a great enough prize-- _the_ great prize. As you have ever been.” He let out another little chuckle.

“How good must it feel, to be so in demand.”

 

Steve blinked, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Yeah,” he said a moment later, “I’m real flattered.”

His voice emerged much calmer than his thoughts.

Of course, he didn’t believe for a second that the Avengers would abandon him. More than his team, they were his friends, and however irked they might be with him at times, they wouldn’t choose to leave in him HYDRA’s hands.

Though in and of itself, that made the fact they hadn’t come for him yet alarming. The range of possibilities that had been brewing in the back of his mind all this time now flooded forth. Either something was impeding their search, some other crisis that took precedence, or something terrible had befallen them that kept them out of the field... or there was a chance they didn’t even know to look. If the agents who took him had set off an explosive or collapsed the tunnel such that he was assumed dead -- no one put on a manhunt for a dead man. There had to be some good reason, after all, for how a team with the smartest minds in the world, two gods, and highly-trained spies hadn’t yet managed to find him.

And then, there was the matter of it all having been a trap.

And a long-planned one at that.

Verschmutzung called the scepter the cheese in the trap. Of course, the use of the old HYDRA base had set alarm bells off when Steve had seen it appear on their map. And the clearing of the facility had been easy. Too easy, in retrospect -- for an item that valuable. Though HYDRA had apparently considered it worth the trade.

And Steve had walked right into it, leading his team in with him. Though at least he’d left Loki behind. As much as it pained him to have caused Loki pain by choosing not to bring him, knowing that in doing so he’d inadvertently kept him out of HYDRA’s hands made it worthwhile. He could only imagine what experiments Verschmutzung would suggest submitting an Asgardian to.

But for now, Loki was safe. Furious, probably. But safe, and alive.

Though at one point he very nearly hadn’t been, and the realization that HYDRA had been connected to that too filled him with a surge of anger.

“Schultz was working for you?” he demanded.

 

The Captain was all but transparent, and his upset was clear, which meant that he was being quite effective.

This would look very good, later, for his superiors. Perhaps he would even be allowed further test subjects, more funds… he shook himself before he could allow his dreams to get away from him.

He pressed his hands to his chest, the minor theatric as close as he would allow to his pure sense of pleasure showing.

“Not for me _personally_ , of course; I cannot even say I am a fan. Schultz has a nasty habit of not leaving much behind. But I suppose you know that well enough. Tell me, did he live? Your friend from the field. Our agents saw you carry him away. Like a boiled noodle, one said. Like drooping rubber. I cannot imagine that he recovered from it. But then, you did not attend any funerals.” He shook his head.

“Perhaps whatever Stark did with the body, the world will assume he has done the same with you. They have not reported you missing, did you know? No announcements about you have been made. We are monitoring everything. But there is no sign of a search. And more than that, the only people who have mentioned you, who have wondered where you are, are the very same publications that you so rudely spoke to on your date, not so long ago. But your friends… where do you suppose they are, Captain? In New York, as near as we can tell. They’re all at home. In a very convenient place for any sort of explosive or distant target weapon. Good of them, to make it so easy for us. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

The metal of the chair groaned as Steve lunged forward abruptly, teeth bared. His bindings didn’t afford him much movement -- certainly nothing that would actually threaten Verschmutzung, but he didn’t care. First he spoke cavalierly about Loki’s brush with death (and Steve would never be able to purge the memory of Loki limp and lifeless in his arms), then about wiping out the rest with a strategic strike--

A strike that HYDRA would have long since undertaken if they’d had the ability, Steve realized belatedly, face heating in shame for having fallen for the taunt. He sucked in a breath through still-clenched teeth, pulling back enough that the restraints were no longer digging knife-like into his wrists.

He shouldn’t be letting Verschmutzung get a rise out of him like this. Except...

Except that the man was obviously delighting in it. Delighting in continuing in it. And with every gloating jab, he revealed more information. Steve knew now that HYDRA’d had them under surveillance. Had been watching him carefully since the incident in Bryant Park, which they’d orchestrated. Had been _reading the tabloids,_ even. And he knew now where the Avengers were -- that they were safe in New York, together, not scattered or dead. And if they hadn’t reported him dead, then they had to believe he was out there and had to be looking for him. Had to be covering his disappearance up, confident they’d get him back before anyone realized he was gone.

Just because HYDRA didn’t know what measures they were undertaking to do so didn’t meant there were none. It was possible they’d pieced together that someone had been watching them, toying with them, and had upped their secrecy in response. It would be the smart move, after all.

And it seemed they didn’t know who Loki was, or his importance to Steve, thank God. Which showed that while HYDRA knew a great deal, they didn’t know everything.

It was far more information than Steve’d had even a short while ago. All he needed was to keep the doctor talking.

“Why attack the memorial?” he asked, letting his frustrations bleed into his voice. “What could that possibly achieve for you? HYDRA had nothing to do with the Chitauri invasion.”

 

“Did I imply we did?” He raised an eyebrow and shook his head, the jovial air still about him.

“No, Captain-- may I call you Steve? It was about drawing you out, drawing you into our line of sight again. You’d managed to go to ground… and we don’t like losing track of things on our wishlist. And we knew-- what, more than innocents in danger, would ensure that every Avenger got the call? Innocents and victims-- seemingly attacked by your own. We had just been _waiting_  for the opportunity. And you provided it. For that, HYDRA gives you our thanks.” He gave a mocking seated bow.

 

So once again, it had been about him. Steve grimaced. He and Loki had fled, and because of that -- because of Captain America going off the radar for a span of days -- HYDRA had moved to threaten civilians in the heart of the most thriving metropolis in the country. All to keep him in their sights.

And Loki had nearly died.

Steve had run with him from SHIELD to keep him safe after a sniper had taken a shot at him, thinking he was protecting him. And instead he’d spawned the circumstances that led to Loki being hurt far worse than he’d ever been at SHIELD’s hands. Because of _Steve._

The watery contents of his stomach threatened to climb back up his throat.

“My _friends_ call me Steve,” he gritted out, fixing Verschmutzung with a look he hoped conveyed even a fraction of his hate for the man.

And it had been such a public action, too. It had made the nightly news for a whole week. SHIELD and the Avengers alike had sought to figure out Schultz’ aims and the sources of his tech, his mercenaries, and had come up empty. Now he knew that HYDRA had been holding the puppet strings. But given how well they’d covered up their involvement, it begged the question: how many other seemingly purposeless acts had secretly been HYDRA’s doing? If they had been around all this time, they had to have been active. Had to have an agenda beyond waiting for Steve to reappear.

“So you’ve all just been hiding in a basement in France waiting for someone to dig me out of the ice all this time? I’m touched. Though it seems like a pretty steep fall from power. Hell, most people nowadays don’t even know about HYDRA,” Steve drawled, prodding at the man, hoping to prompt further revelations.

 

He stood, crossing around the chair to Steve’s other side and forcing him to make a point of following his progress, or risk not being able to see what he was doing.

It was a power play, even if not a large one. Designed to remind the subject that he controlled his movement, without even having to touch him.

“It was our first leader, The Red Skull, who truly had the exhibitionist streak, he who delighted in public displays. After you took him out, those in charge knew it was wiser that we transform the organization. We could become anyone, hide in plain sight, we could be anywhere, everywhere, and we were. We _are_. Any position of power that exists, there are HYDRA agents that surround it. To influence, to guide or, if necessary, to remove a threat to our goals. We are not hiding in basements. We are hiding in palaces, behind desks. We have always had many heads-- now each of them has a crown. There has been no fall from power, but rather a steady climb. And it has all happened beside you, behind you, beneath the noses of your friends, your peers.” He was proud, and stood tall, looking down on his patient while he spoke.

“Your thawing was fortuitous, to be certain, but hardly necessary. We are in position now to create a world in our chosen image. And you will help us. From the moment you sprung back into the world, we have wanted you. Or, more aptly, we have wanted what courses through your veins. And now we have both it and you… And I think that we are going to be great _friends_. Steve.”

 

Every aching muscle in Steve’s body slowly wound tighter and tighter as Verschmutzung spoke.

It couldn’t be true. Someone would have noticed. Howard and Peggy and the SSR would have scorched the earth HYDRA had rested on; Peggy in particular would have been relentless in scouring them from existence. And even if a few cells had escaped, someone in all the world’s intelligence would have noticed... would have _stopped_ them from climbing to any heights of power.

Wouldn’t they?

_Cut off one head and two more will rise._

He’d taken Schmidt out. But he’d crashed a plane into the arctic before seeing the whole of the job done. And now...

“I think you’re going to be sorely disappointed,” he replied, looking up at the doctor. “I left some of HYDRA alive last time. Believe me, it’s not a mistake I’m going to make twice.”

 

He could not stop his smile this time, the pleasure blended with delighted disbelief.

“You can barely walk, and you cannot attack me, though it is plain you would like to. You cannot even remove yourself from your own piss, in your cell. What makes you think you will have any luck in defeating something as great, as powerful and undetectable as HYDRA?”

He clucked his tongue and shook his head.

“And we have already taken what we need from you to create more men like you-- greater than you. I have a theory, you see.”

He leaned in close, bracing himself with his arm against the chair to propel himself backwards in the event that Roger tried to lunge again.

“Unlike my superiors, I theorize that it isn't that you were a success, where every other test had failed. I think you are as flawed as every other attempt. It's just more hidden, more... insidious. What do you think, Captain? Are you perfect, pure and good all the way through? Or will we find the flaws when we begin to take you apart?”

He did not pause long enough for an answer, instead straightening.

“Now, answer me, and you may have that milk we discussed. Refuse, and it will be me who is rewarded, with your suffering. The rays they treated you with, the radiation-- what were they?”

 

Steve glared up at the doctor and fantasized briefly about wiping the smug smile off the man’s face. Preferably with his fist.

Verschmutzung had a point; Steve in his current state could do nothing more than maybe inconvenience HYDRA and batter a few of their operatives in his immediate vicinity, if they got sloppy enough to let him do any damage.

But Steve also had a team. A team that had to be coming for him; a team that was smart and resourceful, and packing a lot more firepower than anything they’d had in 1945. And even if they cut Steve apart, he had confidence that the Avengers would find a way to take HYDRA down.

(They had to. Because he couldn’t let himself imagine the alternative outcome.)

“Well golly gee,” Steve said wryly, smirking back at the doctor with mirth he didn’t quite feel. “I don’t know what any of that science stuff was, doc. After all, I’m just an oh-so-flawed soldier.”

 

Verschmutzung pulled a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and perched them on his nose, peering through them at the prisoner.

“Your superiority may or may not be flawed, but I am well aware that your memory is not. Soldier or no, I am certain you must have been bright enough to ask questions about what was to be done to you. What was your diet, leading up to the procedure?”

 

Steve’s mouth quirked darkly. “Champagne and caviar. You know. Like all the other GIs.”

 

“I knew there was more to you than advertised, Captain. You are a funny man! You should meet my friend Herman. Herman, will you come in here?”

He turned, raising his voice and calling for the door.

Herman, obligingly, came instantly into the room.

“Now, there is nothing funny about Herman, however…” He turned again to the guard.

“In die Schulter, hart, mit der Faust.” He tapped his own shoulder to illustrate which one, then stepped aside to allow the larger man room to work.

As requested, Herman swung his gun off to the side, freeing up one hand. He made this into a fist and brought it down onto the socket of Rogers’ injured shoulder.

Verschmutzung just watched, a small smile in place.

 

Years of stifling his screams over a lifetime of beatings had made Steve very good at not crying out in pain. But he couldn’t quite hold back a high groan that dissolved into hiss escaping from between his teeth as the muscles, tendons, and bones in his shoulder, all deeply bruised and strained, shifted agonizingly under the onslaught.

He closed his eyes and sucked in short, controlled breaths, trying to breathe through his diaphragm through the pain. Trying to focus on something other than the pain, something good--

\-- _Loki, and the way his hair spilled over the pillow in soft black ringlets as the pale golden light filtered in through the curtains, illuminating his skin like polished porcelain. The soft and unguarded smiles he gave Steve when they were alone, the smiles only Steve got to see, sweet and perfect--_

The flare of pain burned down to a persistent throb, and Steve opened his eyes again, looking up at the doctor.

“You know, in Brooklyn, we’d call that a love tap,” he choked out.

 

“In Germany, we tend to agree with you. You see, as I said, we will be great friends. We have so much in common! Now, about your blood. It reacts oddly to some of the things we have placed in it. Tell me of your experiences with hallucinogens and pain relief medication.” He did not phrase it as a request, and gestured that Herman should remain in the room.

 

Steve shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “You know, I never really was much of a milk drinker,” he mused, trying to ignore the way he could almost feel the bone of his arm grinding in his socket from the slightest motion. “I think my ma had a beef with the milkman when I was growing up.”

Even if he could answer any of the man’s questions, he wouldn’t. The hell with him.

  


“Then if not to gain something, perhaps to avoid additional pain: This is your final chance. What do you remember of the process that turned you from a ninety pound weakling into a super soldier?” He saw Herman shifting from the corner of his eye, and held his fist up in a silent sign for him to stop whatever it was he was doing.

“Tell me, and I will spare you from any additional pain, _this time_.”

  


Steve looked up, then set his jaw forward, chin jutting stubbornly as he stared the man down for a good few seconds.

“I remember that long before they did anything to me, I learned how to take a beating, and whatever Erskine’s serum did, it didn’t make me any less stubborn. So whatever you plan on doing, quit talking my ear off and just do it already ‘cause this conversation’s starting to get awful boring.”

  


He tilted his head, frowned, and shrugged, a light hearted, “As you wish.” as his only response to Rogers’s baiting.

“Herman? _Legen Sie ihn auf den Tisch, Gesicht nach unten._ I want it to hurt.”

He was reasonably certain that both of the men in the room besides him understood what he was saying, in both languages, but he didn’t much care.

He let Herman carry out the orders, and stepped away to go and talk to the other guard about fetching him the supplies he would need.

He let Herman distract the Captain, and spoke lowly and quickly to keep his words from being overheard. After all, he did not want to ruin the surprise.

  


Steve’s German had never been much good beyond a few phrases commonly heard in combat that he’d picked up during the war. He knew ‘surrender’ for instance, and ‘shoot them.’ But the rapid commands Verschmutzung gave the guard mostly eluded him, save for a few words that, on their own, gave him nothing. He braced for another blow to the shoulder, but instead of moving to his side, Herman moved all the way behind him, and Steve heard the clinking of his chains being undone.

He reacted instantly. As soon as he felt some give, he lunged, but one of his wrists remained firmly attached and he only got a little distance before Herman’s fist connected with his shoulder again, the pain briefly paralyzing him. A few brusque shouts brought two more guards hurrying in from the hall, and moments later they had Steve’s arm twisted up behind him as they manhandled him away from the chair to the long steel table that rested at the side of the room.

He twisted and bucked, but between the pain and the weakness and the greater numbers, he was forced down on to the table, first thrown down on his back, then roughly flipped over, one of the guards yanking his arms over his head, resulting in another snarl of pain as his shoulder felt like it was being wrenched free all over again.

Face-down, stretched over the length of the metal, Steve felt panic begin to crawl up his gorge. He couldn’t see like this, and the hands pinning his arms and legs were hot and unwanted against his bare flesh, now crawling with goosebumps from the blend of fear and revulsion and apprehension…

  


“Chain him, make sure he doesn’t move. I don’t want him ruining the design.” Verschmutzung removed his specs and put them away, before moving to putter around in the drawers of the room.

Most of what he would need was already here, but the few necessities he had asked for should be arriving in due time.

“I apologize for the wait, Captain Rogers. As you can imagine, being as special a case as you are, there is some need for customization in the supplies we will be using. But the cryogenic technicians are very eager to be of help, and I am sure they will deliver as quickly as possible.”

He watched as the guards struggled a little, impressed despite himself at Steve’s strength, even in as poor shape as he was. He made note to monitor that strength. He would take great pleasure in watching it wane over time.

  


He should have had a clever retort. Stark probably would have come up with something, likely involving a pop culture reference that went over nearly everyone’s head. Natasha would have said something wryly cutting, and Loki probably would have come up with something brilliantly acidic. But none of them were in his place. And to that, Steve could only think: _thank God._

He had nothing smart to say. He just growled wordlessly, fighting uselessly against the guards, even as they wound heavy chains around his limbs, pulling them taut and binding him to the table until he could barely move, leaving him exposed and presented for whatever the doctor intended.

And had he said _design?_ Try as he might, Steve couldn’t quite fathom what that meant, or what it had to do with cryogenics, and his current position gave him little line of sight.

Whatever was about to happen, he wouldn’t see it coming.

  


For all that he was not fond of waiting, he knew that the time that passed must be nearly torturous for the Captain. Nearly, but not quite-- after all, that was more in line with what was to follow.

When two men arrived, carrying between them a box, Verschmutzung looked inside with a sense of smug satisfaction. The frozen water vapor that rose to greet him was a delight as well. The Captain would not experience any comfort from these quarters.

“Put it here, that’s it, thank you--” he said, guiding them to the cabinetry near Rogers but far enough to ensure that he could not damage the box’s contents before they were ready for it.

He lifted the bottle of salt and shook out some of it into his hand, checking to see that it was ground finely enough to hold the shape he wanted, and, once he was certain it was, he stepped in close to the prisoner.

“I would say that you should remember this, Steve, but I know that every time you are permitted to lay down, you will. And with your hands chained above you and your back to the wall, with every twitch of your muscles, you will. And I want you to think, each time, that you might have avoided this, had you but remembered whom you belong to now. But, since you do not… I think you need the reminder.”

He set about rubbing salt over the skin of his back, layering it on thickly enough that there was no skin visible between grains. It was one thick sheet, once he was done, and a wasteful amount, really, given that it covered so much space he would not be using.

“That part was not meant to hurt-- though I would not be surprised if it stings a little, with the state of you. This part though…”

He gestured for the cryotechs, with their protective gloves, to come forward and place the ice they had carved for him onto the salt spread across Rogers’ skin.

Once it was on, he flicked his eyes to the ceiling, and pulled down what was no doubt an X-ray machine. For him, though, it would work as a vice to hold the ice to Steve and Steve in place.

“You should begin feeling the effects very soon.” He promised, anticipatory glee naked in the sound of his voice.

  


Steve frowned into the table as he felt Verschmutzung pour something coarse and granular on to the bared expanse of his back. Sand? He didn’t smell anything that indicated a chemical, and whatever it was didn’t hurt -- simply rested on his skin, as he was rendered too immobile by his restrains to wriggle enough to dislodge it.

Then the techs approached holding something Steve couldn’t quite make out through his peripheral vision, and lowered it on to his back.

It was cold.

His first thought was metal. Something cold and metallic, like the chair he’d been chained too before. But the cold was deeper than that, and a few moments later, he felt moisture as well, beginning to pool and trickle down his back.

Ice?

He blinked, confused, and then nearly laughed. Did they honestly think he was so traumatized by the cold that he’d balk just by having ice cubes held against him? True, he wasn’t fond of being chilled, but he had more fortitude than to go to pieces every time it snowed outside. If anything, icing his shoulder would probably be a boon. Why Verschmutzung seemed to think--

His train of thought skipped and stuttered as something lowered with a mechanical noise and applied pressure, holding the ice down against him and pinning him flat. Between the chains and the weight on him, he couldn’t move at all, save for the ability to turn his head a bit.

And then, with the pressure, the cold began to sting.

At first he ignored it. The pin and needles sensation wasn’t that unexpected, after all. But as a few more seconds passed, the needles turned to knives, and he gasped in surprise at the sharp, stabbing sensation.

“Son of a bitch,” he breathed, gritting his teeth. “What--?”

It stung. It _hurt._ More than ice should. Sharply, _burningly--_

  


“You come from a different time, I know, and from the histories we have of your family, I may assume your schooling, if it can be called that, was likely not worth much. Do you know the difference between fahrenheit and celsius? How the differing systems of measurement came to pass?” He spoke almost lazily, taking his time with his words, well aware that Rogers would be listening, would be _feeling_ it, and would have no other choice.

“Salt, Steven. And its effects are what you feel now. In another minute or so, enough damage will be done to your skin to cause it to pucker. A few after that, and it will blister. And I do not know if you have guessed, but the design being pressed into your skin now, the shape we are scarring into you, is that of the organization that now _owns_ you. Know your place. You have been branded as belonging to HYDRA. Congratulations, _Captain_.”

  


Steve panted through his teeth, each breath a hiss as he fought to breathe shallowly, every inhalation that expanded his chest pressing his skin further against the ice.

He wasn’t sure what Verschmutzung was rambling on about with Fahrenheit and Celsius. All he knew was the ice was _cold,_ far colder than it should have been. And hell, wasn’t salt supposed to melt ice? Wasn’t that why they threw it on the roads? Wasn’t-- _Dammit dammit dammit--_

It hurt. Not the dull ache he normally associated with cold, with campaigning in the forests of Bastogne in the winter with boots too thin and socks too damp as they huddled in foxholes. Cold like a razor being dug into a flesh. Cold that may as well have been fire -- searing, branding him...

Branding him with HYDRA’s mark, he realized as Verschmutzung’s words parsed in his mind. They’d stripped him and shorn him and now branded him like livestock. Like an animal.

Cold water dribbled down his sides and Steve screwed his eyes shut, trying to think of anything else. Trying to think of-- of the way Pepper laughed when Tony said something amusing, with a mix of fondness and exasperation. How Bruce looked away and cleaned his glasses whenever anyone praised him, as if too embarrassed to look at anything. How Loki, once they’d closed their door, would purr sweet epithets as he stepped close enough to Steve for their bodies to share heat. Loki, and his wicked grin. Loki and his hands, long and agile. Hands that, slippery with oil, rubbed the aches and pains from Steve’s body, applying pressure to his back--

\-- his back --

The illusion shattered and a groan escaped him. It felt like he was being flayed, and he wondered if Verschmutzung meant to freeze the skin right off of him.

“You... bastard...” he growled, shuddering involuntarily.

  


“I am.” He confirmed, pulling the stool close again, this time so that he sat close enough to watch the soldier breathe in his attempts not to scream.

“I never knew my father, much as you did not know yours. But we won’t hold that against one another, will we? No. How does it feel, Steve? Is your flesh attempting to repair even as it is damaged? Or has that slowed too much? I must admit to being curious what you will look like, after all of this. You seem to have escaped the ice before relatively unscathed. But then, as we all know, appearances _can_ be deceiving.”

  


Steve hated him.

_Hated him._

Hated him the way he hadn’t hated anyone since Red Skull, since Zola. Hated him for the pain, hated him for that mild and avuncular smile, and even more, hated him for pretending to have anything in common with Steve.

Hated him for making Steve think for a horrible moment about HYDRA’s seal permanently scarred into his back, for him to carry for the rest of his life.

“It’s... a little.... chilly,” he ground out, wishing he could spit right in the man’s eye. “But I can do this all day.”

  


He clapped his hands together once, gleefully.

“Good, good. I understand it gets worse as it goes on. Frostbite, you see, it’s such a lingering pain.”

And good that he was communicating, even if as sarcastically as he was, how he was feeling. At some point he would slip out of it.

Verschmutzung checked his watch and sighed, affecting regret.

“I really do wish I could stay for the entire process, but I am afraid that this low level of pain is simply not that interesting.” He turned away from the man to address the guards.

“When the ice has melted, I would like you to brush the salt away, and take a photo. Then, I would like you to wash him off, and take more photos. Send them, hmm, I think to all heads of department. They can distribute them as they please; it is a thing to be enjoyed. And Steve-- I will see you again soon.”

He stood.

  


Already he was beginning to feel a deeper pain near his spine, digging down from the skin and burrowing into the muscles beneath. Nerve damage, he realized, would result eventually.

It was just ice and salt. Just ice and salt, he told himself -- ordinary household items. Mundane objects. They shouldn’t hurt this badly. They shouldn’t--

The pressure on his back increased, and Steve bit down on his lip to suppress a howl of pain, the tang of copper nauseating on his tongue. Maybe he’d go numb soon. Maybe he’d stop feeling it. All he had to do was lie here and power through the pain, and they’d get nothing from him.

Nothing, but the sight of Captain America marked like HYDRA chattel.

 

_Photos._

 

They’d degraded him. They meant to humiliate him more. Shatter his ego with the knowledge that the masses of evil men would all be chuckling at his misfortune.

(Verschmutzung clearly had no idea how many dumpsters Steve had been tossed into in his younger life.)

Steve turned his head to look at Verschmutzung as he made his way to the door.

“Burn in hell!” he spat after the man’s back.

 

(With the cold and the agony freezing his flesh to ruin, Steve felt as if he was already doing just that.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please for the love of god, don't try the [salt and ice thing](http://www.ehow.com/about_6554297_ice-salt-burn-skin_.html) at home. Lena did [because she's an idiot](http://mostfacinorous.tumblr.com/post/126880375733/lena-fuuuuuuuuuck-lena-the-things-i-do). Suffice to say, it hurts. No further research required.
> 
> Also, if you check us out on tumblr, we're doing the [DVD commentary meme](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/post/132631575512/little-talks-dvd-commentary-meme) for Little Talks!


	68. Sixty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: More nastiness in Steve sections. Semi-graphic description of burns. Contains psychological torture and nonconsensual drugging.

No matter how he tried to angle himself, Steve couldn’t escape the hurt.

Realistically, he knew it couldn’t have taken too long for the ice shaped like HYDRA’s crest to melt against the heat of his body. It could only have been twenty, maybe thirty minutes that he’d spent on Verschmutzung’s table.

But it had _felt_ like eternity.

By the end, he’d been grateful when his skin had gone numb, too cold to feel anymore. But the relief had been short lived. They unchained him and dragged him off the table, back down the hall to the shower room, and once more the hose had been turned on him, ostensibly to wash away the salt.

The blast of the water had torn away blistered damaged skin, and Steve had almost fainted. His vision had blurred and grayed, returning only to see strips of something flaky and blackened swirling around the drain. It had taken several seconds, during which the guards had forced him harshly to his knees on the tile, to realize it was skin.

He’d been too horrified by that revelation to give much attention to the click and flash of the camera that documented the damage. Loki had mentioned, a few times, the fact that the cold touch of the Jotun could freeze flesh black. But it was one thing hearing about it and another thing seeing it.

Seeing his own...

It was horrifying, but in a distant, disconnected way. Something to do with the numbness, he speculated.

But the numbness didn’t last.

The pins and needles of returning sensation began as they dragged him, bag over his head again, back to the cell. And just as with the feeling of the ice, needles soon turned to daggers as the pain swelled. His skin was too hot, too tight, too flooded with sensation where even the brush of air was like a grater being dragged across it, and he thanked God that the hood over his head meant the guards couldn’t see the tears slipping down his cheeks as he struggled not to scream.

They shackled him back to his usual position, but the press of the stone against his back was unbearable. He turned, trying to lean against it with his side instead, but the contortion in either direction pulled on his shoulder. For a time, he was able to stand, the way he did when the guards ordered him on their entry, but after enough time on his feet his legs began to feel weak and the cell walls tilted ominously. Eventually, his injured leg gave out beneath him and he slid back to the floor with a low, anguished moan.

He didn’t remember the last time he was in this much physical pain. He’d been shot numerous times, but that had been localized, at least. He could push that pain aside and focus, at least for a little while. Only now there was nothing to focus on, and every part of him hurt. Some portion of him wanted to curl into a ball and cry the way he had as a small child when wracked by fevers that made even his hair hurt. But the eye of the camera in the corner of the cell prevented him.

They’d taken enough of his dignity from him. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of watching him break down completely.

After all, all he had to do was hold out and not break. Just hang on, keep his mouth shut, and survive until the Avengers got here. They had to be looking; they were alive and in New York and using Stark’s resources. It was just a matter of time.

It had to be.

Because if they didn’t come...

His gaze moved to the dull red marks left on his arms by the scientists’ needles.

_We are going to find our answers, with or without your help._

The longer he stayed here, the longer he held on, even if he held out, the longer HYDRA would have access to his body, his blood. Just by continuing to survive, he provided them with the most valuable resource they could have; the biological results of Erskine’s serum, available and alive with tissue for them to harvest and reverse engineer.

He pulled his legs up, curling in around them and breathing through his nose as the movement stretched the ruined flesh of his back.

If the Avengers were coming, he had to survive. If they weren’t, he’d be better off finding a way to deprive HYDRA of anything to work with. And maybe it was stubbornness and maybe it was cowardice, but he didn’t know if he was able to consider the latter option just yet.

 

He didn’t want to die here.

But he wasn’t sure if maybe, in this case, it might be the right thing to do.

 

If he found a way to force their hand, break out again and this time force them to kill him-- or find a way to kill himself, ruining his body so they couldn’t get anything from his post-mortem, maybe by starting a fire or triggering an explosion-- The less they could gain from dissecting his corpse, the better. Their plans to rebuild the supersoldier program would be stalled, and the Avengers--

The Avengers--

Steve swallowed. The Avengers, if they _were_ looking for him, would be left with nothing to find. And already he’d hurt the team, nearly pulled them apart. They’d take it hard. And Loki...

 

Loki.

 

Loki would be alone. Of course, Bruce would still be there for him, and Pepper -- bless her heart -- would see to it that he was cared for and not tossed out into the cold. But if he backslid, or if he gave up, Steve wouldn’t be there to help him.

Though that was assuming Loki even wanted him back, after the fight they’d had. If Loki really thought Steve such a tyrant, really hated having Steve look out for him and his choices, resented him and the life he’d carved out for the two of them... Maybe he wasn’t looking with the others at all. Maybe he would be glad to be free of him. Maybe Steve would be doing him a favor.

 

 _No_. He let his head fall forward with an exhale. No, that was a cruel and unfair thought. Loki had been angry, but... he loved him. They loved each other. He wouldn’t give up on Steve like that.

Which meant Steve couldn’t give up either. Not yet.  
He just had to hold on, keep his mouth shut... and wait.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The day had begun with an air of distraction that only got worse, and Loki found himself confused and concerned by how _different_ it was, for no discernible reason. People were irritable, rushing about, in a hurry… and he could see no purpose behind it.

The city outside of their-- outside of the tower could be overwhelming at the best of times, when everything was flowing, moving as smoothly as possible given the sheer mass of beings that lived there, but _now_ …

“We’ve not moved in some time; why?” He wanted to know, his eye still caught on all of the people outside of his window.

“They closed down some streets for the parade, and the traffic got rerouted, plus everyone’s trying to get to their family or to the store for last minute purchases… It’s just going to be a nightmare all day.”

Ferra said it with her usual enthusiasm noticeably missing, but then again, she was driving. And at the moment when she might have pulled forward, a stream of people on foot moved past the car. Loki glared at them, displeased at the fact that those without means of conveyance were moving quicker than them.

“That’s why Tony seemed confused this morning, when you were getting us out the door.”

Stark _had_ asked if they were going out again today, but Loki had taken that to be his sense of humor; _of course_ they were. But that gave him pause, now.

“Do you mean to say that the others are not also looking?” He spoke carefully, keeping the words calm and free of the anger he felt churning in his stomach at the prospect.

“I think they’re a little smarter than us, that way. Don’t look so sour, Loki, it’s not like we’re actually getting much done sitting in traffic. No reason to waste everyone’s time when we can just waste ours.” Loki scowled at that, but did not argue.

It was true. They had not even made it to the first of their targets that day.

“Perhaps we should return the car. There are some within walking distance of the tower, and we may fare better on foot.” He suggested. Murray glanced across at Ferra, who shrugged.

“Got a bit of a late start, too. What if we go back, and try again after dinner? Maybe some of this mess will have thinned out by then.” She offered it as if a peace token, and Loki sighed and tightened his lips, but nodded.

At least it meant that when they were finally able to move, they were no longer aimed into the thick of it, and it was almost easy to go back, though he felt ill doing so.

Giving up an entire day of searching for Steve, simply because there was _traffic_.

His cheer, therefore, was already compromised when they returned to the tower, and JARVIS took them immediately up to the shared space of the penthouse, rather than allowing him the option to get out on his own floor.

He had always been a creature of isolation, of quiet and having his own time to himself, but he had never felt quite so on edge as he did now, around crowds. He’d observed it before, when he was out with Steve, but had supposed that to merely be fear of recognition, or fear of discovery, or being unaccustomed and unprepared-- too obviously other. But now, even focused as he had been, the city made him feel uneasy and the crowds exhausted him.

And now he was to be made to interact with the others, who would no doubt jibe him good naturedly for attempting to go out at all, despite their knowing something he obviously did not.

So distracted was he, with his inwardly churning thoughts, that he was upon the dining area before he realized the sheer number of people gathered there, as well… and the general air of cheer about the place, which hit him as if he had walked into a physical wall.

They were all there-- the Avengers, Pepper, Darcy, Jane, all of the SHIELD agents assigned to them (now that Murray and Ferra were joining them)... and someone else, a man he’d not met yet. All crowded around a table more fit for Asgard than a dinner here, even with so many people as were in attendance.

But he didn’t understand _why_ , or why they hadn’t warned him about this new man...And he’d already dropped his masks, like the idiot he was.

He didn’t think he’d been seen, yet, and tried to back away quietly, intending to return to his rooms and inquire of JARVIS an explanation, since one did not seem to be forthcoming from anyone else.

But that was not to be. Murray looked up and, with his infectious grin and a gesture, called out to him.

“Hey, come on in, Loki. The turkey isn’t going to eat itself!”

His stomach protested all of this.

 

It had mainly been Pepper’s idea.

Tony hadn’t even been looking at the calendar beyond the need to calculate how many days now Steve had been missing. He barely even kept track of when one day blurred into the next, and likely would have worked straight through if she hadn’t showed up periodically to drag him off to bed. The holiday probably wouldn’t have even occurred to him.

But Pepper thought of these things and planned for them, bless her heart. And she also made a good case for why he ought to quit the lab and stuff his face with the rest, pointing out that the whole team was suffering in terms of morale, which a group dinner would help with, and that taking a break from staring at all his screens might give him a fresh perspective.

Also, she’d mentioned, there would be pie.

Tony found that hard to argue with.

As far as Tony Stark parties went, it barely even registered, really -- there were no fireworks or champagne fountains or Vegas-style showgirls with Turkey-feather tails, and the whole crowd made for less than twenty people, rather than the usual crowds of hundreds his bashes tended to draw.

Only... rather than hundreds of politicians, competitors, investors and sycophants, he had a dozen people that he could count as allies. Probably. Jury was still out on some of the SHIELD kids (whom Pepper had invited without his say so), but he liked Carter at least a smidge better than he liked Hammer, so that counted for something. And she was helping set the table, so that earned her the benefit of the doubt. The other Avengers were milling around, Thor helping to tap a keg of pumpkin-flavored beer, Jane and Bruce talking animatedly over by the windows, and Natasha making a start on carving the turkey with unnerving efficiency.

“Gotta say, I was kinda surprised to get an invite. Haven’t seen you in trouble for so long, I was worried you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

Tony blinked and turned at the sound of a familiar voice. “Rhodey?”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess Pep was the one who invited me.”

“Hey, I figured you’d be the one leading the Macy’s parade,” Tony said with a shrug. “What happened, did they replace you with Lady Gaga?”

“Katy Perry, actually,” Rhodey replied with a grin, then reached in for a hug, which Tony met with back-slapping gusto. “How you been?”

“Busy,” Tony admitted. “Sorry. Lot of crazy stuff going on for the last couple months.”

A nod. “I gather from the full house you’ve got going on here. Almost enough to make a guy feel like he’s been replaced...”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Please. You’re one of a kind, Rhodey.”

That got a small smile in return. “Yeah, and don’t you forget it. When you and the rest of these knuckleheads get yourself into some jam, I’ll be the one flying in to haul you out of it.”

Tony snorted. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never gotten into trouble in my life.”

Rhodey elbowed him good-naturedly, and Tony shouldered him in response, unable to suppress a grin.

 _Goddamn_ was he thankful for Pepper.

“We ready to eat yet?” Thor’s loud friend called over the sound of conversation.

“Just about,” Clint replied, bringing in the dishes of potatoes and setting them on the table.

“We’re just waiting on Loki, Murray, and Ferra,” Bradley added, following a pace behind with the salad.

Rhodey tensed slightly beside him. “Um,” he said in a low voice. “Did he just say...?”

Oh. Right.

“It’s a long story. Just, don’t freak out, okay? It’s all good,” Tony assured him.

Rhodey shook his head in disbelief. “I leave you alone for a couple of months...”

The elevator dinged and speak of the devil, their missing company had arrived. “Alright, everyone grab a seat!” Tony shouted, keeping a hand on Rhodey’s shoulder, then leaning in. “It’s cool. Go with it and I’ll explain later.”

Everyone gravitated toward the table and chairs, Tony winding up between Rhodey and Pepper, across from Bruce, with Bradley all but tackling a surprised Clint out of the way to nab the seat on Rhodey’s other side.

 

He didn’t want to disappoint or offend, so he came forward, waiting to claim a seat until the rest had been, which left him sitting between Murray, who seemed pleased by the arrangement, and Clint, who did not look anywhere near as happy. He didn’t say anything, though, so Loki thought it was fine; they weren’t being so antagonistic towards one another as they had been, nor so skittish. Clint didn’t like him, but he did not think it would be a problem. Perhaps he had taken Loki’s advice and gotten Stark to give him a seidhr repellent charm. It would explain some of the ease he’d gained about Loki’s presence.

It seemed like an intricate dance of limbs as hands went out over the table, each person grabbing a plate of food and dishing some before handing it off to the next. Everything seemed constantly in motion and in rotation, and Loki had no idea what at least half of the dishes were, much less how to serve himself and how much to take.

He kept an eye on Murray’s plate and mimicked him, but quickly found himself running out of room.

The plate was finished off when Romanoff laid out a thick slice of white meat-- turkey-- over the top of the crumbling yellow bread salad.

Loki had never much enjoyed feasts, feeling put upon when forced to attend, and only ever appreciating them when there was some visitor-- usually to both Asgard and his bed, with whom he could exchange quips and observations, mean spirited as he pleased, because they would be gone shortly, and he would not have to worry about them again.

There was no one here to speak to in such a way-- _Steve_ \-- he thought guiltily, and there was no one he could speak _of_ , given that they were a team. Two teams. An attack on one would seem like an attack on them all, and Loki could not afford to be labeled that way, to be seen that way, even if it were only words. This was clearly meant to be a merging of the teams, a strengthening of their bond, and so it was mildly odd when Carter excused herself, but Loki did not think overmuch of it. No doubt she had reports to make, and he at least didn’t think he’d done anything new and horrible of late.

But even with her gone, he was still the outsider, even with the strange man down the table from him, sneaking sideways looks but never openly questioning him, or acknowledging him… it all put Loki even further on edge than he had been. _He_ was comfortable here, already splitting his time between Tony and Agent Bradley and Bruce… He fit in with the rest.

Loki looked down at his plate and found it to be utterly unappetizing.

So unlike those around him, he didn’t have to cut off mid-word or stop chewing to hear what was said when Stark stood up.

 

“So, uh. I’ve been informed that people usually make a toast or something, or say grace or whatever,” Tony began awkwardly, holding a glass of the pumpkin ale that had been poured and handed down to him. “Normally I’d pass that off to Cap, since he’s a hell of a lot better at the speechifying than any of us--”

“Hear hear,” Clint added.

“--But Cap ain’t here. And I know it probably feels like crap that we’re all sitting here eating while he’s not, but Steve wouldn’t want us to quit acting like a family just because he wasn’t around to smack our heads together and remind us to get a good square meal or three. And I appreciate that a lot of you are here, helping out with finding him, when you probably have your own families elsewhere you could be eating with. So, um. Thanks for that.”

It was one thing giving grand speeches at press conferences and demonstrations, but another giving them to people whose opinions one could argue he actually gave a damn about. Tony sucked in his bottom lip, swirling the beer around in the glass, eyes tracking the foam as it clung to the walls of his cup, then lifted it.

“To absent friends. May we get them home soon, so everything around here can go back to normal. Or, as normal as it ever gets. Which in retrospect isn’t all that normal at all, but-- Oh, right. Wrapping it up. Cheers.”

Rhodey was staring, and Tony realized he hadn’t told him about that, either-- he grimaced inwardly. The after dinner discussion was going to be _fun_. But that was a problem for after-dinner-Tony to deal with.

 

They all responded with repeating the word-- a chorus of ‘cheers’ echoing around the table.

Loki did not feel particularly cheered by any of that, but he supposed at least they did not intend to make believe that Steve not being there was normal, as if Steve was merely… napping, or out on an errand.

It felt a little less like a bad play of their lives, with that acknowledgment. But the parting thought of it, the finish-- _may we get them home soon_.

Which was the opposite of what they were doing now, sitting down with an intent that looked like it was to eat until they couldn’t any longer-- and that would take _hours_.

But they _had_ come to wait for the parade’s traffic to die down.

Loki had a bite, cutting carefully into the meat of the turkey, before it dawned on him-- and how it had taken so long, he did not know.

Parades and feasting, people out in droves, this was not merely a dinner, and it was not a random happening. This was a planned thing. A holiday, it seemed like.

He looked around, unsure what to look _for_. He and Steve had not discussed things overmuch, in regards to special days in their calendar. Steve’s birthday, certainly. Fireworks, he understood. But what did this require?

And Thor should know better as well, he should at least remember that as delegates, when attending celebrations for other realms, one should know what they were celebrating.

Loki felt ugly and tired and did not want to speak out, though. They looked happy, even if it was the strained sort of happiness of those who had not been getting enough sleep. They were eating and talking, and-- Loki saw Thor looking his way, concern crinkling his brow, and Loki froze for a moment, before realizing that he was likely remembering Loki’s aversion to feasts such as this.

He nodded slightly and lifted a spoonful of unidentified green and grey to his mouth-- bean pods, he thought, coated in something like thin gravy. It had bacon in it.

It seemed to mollify Thor a bit; he flashed Loki a smile before turning his attentions back to Doctor Foster, and Loki felt that like a blow. He turned his eyes away and took a drink of the beer that someone had thoughtfully provided him-- beer that was bitter and felt odd in his throat, but who was he to question?

They were feeding him, at least. He was eating, and keeping his promise to Steve.

He remembered the groceries he’d bought and slumped a little in his chair.

Perhaps this would be the last time he had to be forced into interacting with the others. His head was pounding, and it felt too loud. He wanted to sleep, but he felt guilty for that, too-- he should be out there, finding the markers and removing those that were not Steve, finding Steve. Bringing him home.

He’d never felt so miserable surrounded by jollity, though he’d often thought of how he was. No, this… He was so submersed in his own misery and guilt, he hardly heard when Ferra spoke up.

“So, I got this thing,” She said, her voice getting louder to be heard over the rest of the hubbub, “Few months ago, I was pretty much dying. I feel like a bunch of people at this table can kinda… empathize with that. Anyway, magic hands over there saved my skin. Well, my brain-- and all the rest of me with that. And I’m really grateful. And that’s something we did, after that, in therapy; made a point of being grateful about stuff. Seems like today’s a better day than most, and it probably can’t hurt to hear it, right? So, I’m grateful for food, peach fuzz, and a lack of cancer in me.” She tipped her glass in Loki’s direction, catching his eye, and then took a drink.

“Call me sentimental, but that’s my piece. If you want to join in…” She glanced meaningfully to her left.

 

“I’m, ah. I’m thankful for going almost fourteen months now without a full-fledged inadvertent incident,” Bruce said, smiling sheepishly.

“I feel like you should get a chip for that,” Tony offered. “Like AA. Pep? Can we get Brucie some little green chips for-- ow!”

“I’m also thankful,” Bruce continued, ignoring Tony (currently nursing his ribs where they’d been caught on either side by Rhodey and Pepper’s respective elbows), “for recent advances the labs here have been making in medical technology. Oh, and recent activist endeavors’ successes in pushing forward anti-fracking legislation.” He smiled, then turned to his left.

Darcy grinned impishly. “I’m just thankful for all these hot bods around me all the time.” (“Darcy!” Jane hissed, blushing.)

“I guess,” Garza said next, “I’m thankful for... uh, my mom? She’s pretty great. Oh, and the wifi here! Because damn is the signal ridiculous,” she added, with considerably more enthusiasm.

“Well, I’m thankful to be here. With Thor, with my friends, and to have the opportunity to work with some great minds I have great respect for. And I’m grateful to have the chance to help,” Jane said, lifting her glass, then taking a careful sip.

“I too,” Thor began, when it was clear she was done speaking, “am grateful to be here in the company of friends, with Jane, and with such a fine feast laid before us all. And...” he glanced down the table, smile softening. “I am grateful that the Norns and the good captain have returned my brother to my life.”

Several people looked toward Loki, before Agent Bradley spoke up.

“I’m seriously thankful I get to meet War Machine,” he said, unable to contain his excitement, his usual stoicism shattered. “Seriously. I almost joined the Air Force because of you!”

“Almost?” Rhodey asked, though he seemed in equal parts surprise and thrilled.

Bradley grimaced. “Uncle and Grandad were both US Army. Would’ve caused a family fuss.”

Rhodey chuckled. “Well, if you ever feel like changing branches, I can look into it for you. As for me--” He turned to his other side. “I’m just thankful I got an invitation,” he said pointedly. “Since _someone_ hasn’t bothered to call or answer his emails since that whole Mandarin cluster--”

“Oh come on, I totally--”

“--And last year dropped the ball so I ended up showing up for _leftovers,”_ he concluded with a good-natured glare.

Tony huffed. “Well, _you’re welcome,”_ he said, perhaps a touch petulantly, sipping his own drink. “I’m personally thankful for the gravy, or I would be if you could pass it over here, Legolas-- thanks--” he accepted the gravy boat from Clint. “Oh, and Pepper,” he added. “Actually, yeah. Mostly Pepper. Super thankful for Pepper.”

“Good save,” she replied, amused. “I’m grateful for Tony, though god knows why--”

A few people around the table chuckled.

“-- And for such good company. I’ve always been a career woman, and a full house and full table at Thanksgiving aren’t something I normally get to enjoy, so thank you all for being here.”

Several people raised their glasses and drank.

Natasha, was next, and she swallowed her last bite unhurriedly. “I’m thankful for knife sharpeners, good friends, hand guns, electric gauntlets, cell phone chargers... and some less good friends sometimes too,” she finished, with a quirk of her mouth, eliciting a snort from Clint’s general direction.

“I’m grateful for the chance to be in the field,” Murray said as eyes turned to him. “And to be working with a lot of people that I really admire.” He smiled all around the table, before his expression changed, gaze lingering for perhaps an extra half-second on Carter’s empty seat before he looked back down at the contents of his plate, then to Loki, expectant.

 

He listened to them going around the table, heart sinking and blood feeling as though it was draining from his face, and when every one of them turned towards him, he froze.

The correct answer, he knew, was to be grateful for their help. For Thor, for the rooms he’d been gifted, the food he ate, those who helped him recover after he was injured so horribly.

But those things were all-- they weren’t--

He was grateful for _Steve_. For having found Steve. Grateful for the person Steve made him, made him want to be, the person he’d been slowly becoming. And for how he accepted Loki, how he comforted him and did not fault him for being weak and did not show disdain when couldn’t keep himself together, how he didn’t turn away from him in disappointment--

Loki could only remember the look on his face during that last argument, and he swallowed, the tears rising in his eyes and his throat tight around what little food he’d managed to force down.

He had been grateful not to be alone anymore. To finally have… something he’d only half-realized had been missing, all this time. But that had been taken from him.

And he wasn’t _trying hard enough_ to get it back.

Suddenly, this wasn’t just unappetizing food and unwanted company-- it was unbearable.

He stood.

“Please excuse me. Enjoy your festivities.” The words were all but ground out, and he left quickly, not using his seidhr as he could, but moving fast just the same.

It wasn’t to give them the chance to call out after him. He knew he was acting like a spoiled child. It was because he needed to _be_ moving, to make some progress on his own two feet.

He took the elevator down to his floor and let himself in, not bothering with the door.

He needed to unload the food he’d gotten, and after that…

...he needed to get back out there, crowds or no. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand not having Steve here.

And he didn’t know what he would do when it got that bad. Wasn’t certain he wanted to find out.

His first impulse had been to hide in his-- their-- apartment, but that would not accomplish anything more than sitting around the table had. They had already spent too much time _waiting_ \--to be able to do anything, waiting for leads, to have places to search…

And so he took the elevator to the lab.

 

The invitation had come as a surprise.

Well, the intense, aggressive scrutiny and distrust their arrival had been met with had also been a surprise -- Sharon Carter was used to people having some misgivings about shadowy government agencies, but given the Avengers had been formed as a SHIELD initiative, gathered and outfitted by Fury, she’d figured they’d be a little less hostile. It was an obstacle, but Fury had picked her because he knew she would work around it.

But it made the invitation to Thanksgiving dinner all the more unexpected by contrast, since she’d got the impression that she and her team were preferred at arm’s length, only to be called in when totally necessary. For that reason, she’d almost declined, not wanting to force their way in where they weren’t actually wanted -- at least, no more than they already had by arriving in New York -- but then she’d caught a look at her team’s faces.

Ferra had been focused on whatever was on her tablet -- as a seasoned agent, she was used to missing holidays, and wasn’t even from the States originally -- but the others were young enough and new enough to the field that they all looked so darn  _hopeful._ Excited even. And in that moment, she couldn’t deny them a proper Thanksgiving.

Besides, it would give her the chance to observe the chemistry in the tower when everyone wasn’t tense and sitting around a conference table, or broken into little groups to hunt for a lost friend.

So they’d all showed up, and though there remained a bit of cool awkwardness, it seemed the overall attitude toward their presence had thawed dramatically in the space of a few days. It boded well, and she could actually have enjoyed herself, if she wasn’t so aware of how vigilant she needed to be.

Old habits, and all.

At any rate, she had to congratulate Pepper Potts for pulling together a lovely spread, and for taking the opportunity to force everyone into such a morale-building activity. She didn’t know Steve Rogers personally, but she was well-acquainted with the effect he had on people.

And the effect his disappearance had.

She’d ascribed a certain level of the tension and mistrust around the place to distress over Rogers’ absence. She and her team, as outsiders, were a convenient target for Rogers’ friends’ anger and frustration; she didn’t hold it against them. But that didn’t feel like all there was to it. It felt like there was a lot they weren’t saying, carefully kept secrets that everyone was tiptoeing around.

Though at least secrets were something she was used to. She carefully maintained a few of her own, after all. One of which, she noted with a rueful glance at her watch, would need attending to soon.

So while everyone was dishing themselves up, she’d pocketed one of the rolls from the basket being passed around and then excused herself, nibbling on the roll once she reached the stairwell (stairs offered less automated dinging and more control than elevators) and making her way down to the desired floor...

 

He'd intended to use the computer, to find a place that he could go investigate on his own, even though he knew that Stark would be less than pleased.

Maybe there was something, though, something he could do-- something useful, something helpful... Instead he stopped short, surprised to find Carter in the lab, standing near one of the computer banks-- and next to the machine that Bruce had put himself in front of, on her first visit.

A shock of cold dread ran through him, and he was glad he'd not eaten much, because he was certain he'd be Ill, finding her here. As it was he felt as if the air had been punched out of him.

"Something I can help you with, Agent?" He asked, his voice cold. He found himself bracing, almost expecting to feel it again, expecting that his seidhr would be dying inside of him soon enough.

Well, why not? Everything else was. A little slower perhaps, but dying just the same. Still. He didn't need to let her know that, didn’t need her to realize how tenuously he was holding on to what little good he’d managed to siphon off of Steve in their time together.

"Did you get lost on the way to the ladies' room? Or are you looking for something specific?"

He crossed his arms, subtly getting his hands up higher so that he could more quickly throw his seidhr at her, if he needed to.

He arched his eyebrow in a clear challenge, keeping his eyes steadily on her and avoiding looking at the machine-- or at the other scattered pieces of stolen SHIELD tech that Tony had bettered to control the power of Loki’s ‘magic’.

"Is there some reason you are here now, rather than upstairs, celebrating with your team and the Avengers? I can’t imagine anyone being particularly pleased you are down here. Unless, of course, your team is aware of your sneaking about?” He stifled the worry that he had fallen for exactly what they’d wanted him to, that he’d let his comfort with Ferra and Murray overwhelm the caution he should have.

But then, perhaps there was a perfectly sensible explanation. He’d love to hear it.

 

She stilled at the whisper of the doors sliding open, closing out of everything she had open, managing through force of arduously trained habit not to startle at the unexpected arrival. Guilty looking people let themselves be startled. Amateurs.

She was no amateur.

As she stepped back from the terminal, her hand moved lightly over the keyboard and the port where her compact drive was plugged in, covering, removing, and palming it in one adroit and subtle gesture. With that taken care of, she turned her attention to Loki, who looked poised for a fight. Which was less than ideal, but he hadn’t attacked her yet, leaving her room to diffuse the situation before it escalated into anything unfortunate.

“I was just finishing up, actually, but thanks,” she replied, keeping her tone light and untroubled, even as she watched Loki’s hands for any indication that he might engage in hostility. “And I’m partly here because of my team,” she added. “I needed to send off some data packages, and they’re sensitive enough that I didn’t want to use any unencrypted channels. The safehouse has the appropriate security, but...”

She shrugged, carefully arranging a pained smile. “Murray and Garza both wanted to teleconference with their families before we came. The video feeds eat up the bandwidth, and I couldn’t say no, so I figured I’d just wait and take care of it when we got here. Stark’s digital security is every bit as good as ours, if not better.”

Then, she tilted her head to the side, regarding him with an expression of curiosity. “What brings you down here? I can’t imagine everyone’s done eating already.”

 

Odd that she had not said as much when she excused herself, and stranger still that she had not either arrived later or sent her missives after eating.

But she was going to play innocent-- and he had not seen anything, though he made note to mention it later, to Tony perhaps. Or Natasha. He was certain one of them would have a way of checking on her story with their technology. Which left him with the problem of navigating this situation, disengaging, ushering her out that he could check their machines, and, if possible, learning what he could from her about what she had done in her time here.

“I was not particularly hungry, and I did not realize that the rest of them had planned to devote the day to nothing but gluttony. I came to see what work I could do on my own.” He made a show of looking around the lab, looking for anything obviously out of place, though he knew he would never be able to tell if something was, given his unfamiliarity with the tools and the sheer number of people who were now working in and out of this room.

He turned his eyes back to her and her casual stance, the calmness on her face-- she did not look afraid. But perhaps she was just a good actress. Or perhaps she needed reminded, again, exactly who he was.

“These data packets, they wouldn’t happen to have any information about Agent Coulson, would they?” he lowered his voice, not quite dropping the words into a realm of threat, but certainly not keeping them far from it. “I have to admit my curiosity in how a human comes to live after being stabbed through the heart like that.”

He’d all but carved the man like the bird upstairs, and he felt his bile rising at the thought, but he did not lower his eyes, or let her see the remorse.

 

Her easy smile became a tad harder to maintain at the mention of what happened to Coulson, though she managed to keep from flinching. She wondered, given Loki’s startled reaction and worries voiced when she’d first inadvertently revealed Coulson’s survival, just how much he feared reprisal from the man.

“That makes two of us,” she answered, brushing her hair behind her ear. “If there’s a trick to it, believe me, I’d want to know. But I haven’t been able to establish any contact yet on that front and Hill is being cagey when I ask her about it. And like I said -- I was sending packets. Not receiving.”

If he didn’t believe her, well; consistency was a sign of honesty. And if he was trying to rattle her, he’d have to try harder.

“I didn’t think about it before now, but I suppose they wouldn’t have Thanksgiving on Asgard,” she mused, directing the conversation back away from herself. She’d known, of course, that Miss Potts had planned on having the Asgardians present. Sharon had arrived with half her team just as Potts and Colonel Rhodes had been setting aside an entire spare turkey, which Potts had said was “just in case of Thor.” She hadn’t explained any further what she meant, and hadn’t needed to. Though it seemed Thor’s brother didn’t share his appetite.

 

“On Asgard, we do not have a singular feasting day-- feasts are the natural response to anything of note happening. As such I hardly see any reason to treat this as special. And it seems poorly timed, considering we are in the midst of attempting to locate and rescue--” He could hear his own upset mounting in the midst of his words, and bit them off, cutting himself short.

He was falling into her traps, and it was infuriating how out of practice he’d gotten at these games, how unprepared he was to confront this kind of manipulation. How easily his feelings for Steve could be used against him. And he wasn’t even under distress.

“It hardly matters.” He tried to adopt a calmer tone. “You should go and rejoin your team before they wonder where you are-- or begin to think something’s happened to you. I am sure whatever they are celebrating is hardly complete without their leader in attendance.” His words were bitter, he knew, and directed too much anger at all of them, but that he didn’t mind. Anger could be harnessed, made useful, in a way that helplessness could not. He expected she would know that, too.

 

Loki was definitely unhappy, but it seemed like his hackles had lowered a bit; at least where she was concerned. And he was talking more about the mission and his experiences, rather than pursuing a line of inquiry about what Sharon had been doing, which was even better.

She could take the out and get back upstairs, flashdrive in pocket, with no further questions or trouble. Her absence would eventually be missed, after all. Though she didn’t doubt Loki would be reporting on her to the other Avengers as soon as she and her team had departed.

And if  _he_ was down here and avoiding everyone else, well. That was a problem too. Maybe not her problem specifically, but...

She leaned back against the desk. “Well, Thanksgiving is sort of the one major feast day here in the US. And being a national holiday, it shuts everything down, so there’s little enough they can do. And with everyone working around the clock recently...” She made a face.

“My folks were never all that big on holidays. Half my family’s British, so Thanksgiving was never a major affair.... Fourth of July  _was_ , oddly enough, but--” She shrugged. “Not a big deal for me. But it’s important to all of them, and right now, I think people need something positive and normal and hopeful to hold on to. Focus on what they have, not what’s missing. Although...”

She tilted her head to one side, eyeing him critically. “If either of us is going to be particularly missed, I don’t think it’s me.”

 

He laughed, the sound sharp and hurt and quickly stifled.

“I would be very poor company, Agent Carter. If they can find joy and forget and be happy for a time, fine. I envy them that. But I cannot. And if you can pass yourself among them as unaffected by our string of failures, if you can ignore, as they do, what harm may be befalling Rogers while they gorge themselves on food-- by all means.” He gestured towards the door. “I have nothing to celebrate, nothing to be thankful for, so long as he remains--” He pursed his lips, suddenly aware how impassioned he must sound, and needlessly so, given that she didn’t know-- and Steve wouldn’t want her to.

“I was grateful to him for this chance, the opportunity to make something of myself, but I failed a test, and as a result was left here. Had I performed better, had I gone with them, he would not be missing now. It would take a great deal more than a serving of roasted fowl to distract me from that.” He let some of his all too real guilt color the statement, hoping it would lend all of the honesty he needed to the situation-- or at least enough that she would not question him further on the subject.

 

She frowned.

“Loki... I don’t think anyone here is ignoring Captain Rogers’ situation,” she said carefully. “Agents need time out of the field to decompress; it’s standard, in order to keep them in condition to operate. I know this can seem frivolous, but depending on how long this search ends up going on for, it’s critical to preventing people from burning out before we get him back.”

Guilt could be a motivator, but resentment could break a team apart in a way that would court disaster. And even if Loki wasn’t a member of her team, she’d rather not be in the vicinity if he snapped.

“We could probably speculate on ‘what ifs’ all day. All year even,” she pointed out with a huff of breath something like a sigh. “But you’ll only make yourself crazy that way. The present is what it is.” She took a step closer, as if to offer comfort, then appeared to change her mind, glancing back at the now dark terminal monitor, tucking her hands in her pockets. “What did you come down here to work on?”

 

He snorted, backing away from her advance. He wanted to keep the distance between them. Her apparent care, her ability to shift the conversation to him, and his own need to defend what he’d let his mouth run away with… it didn’t make him  _trust_ her any more than it made him forget that she didn’t belong here. Shouldn’t have been here at all.

He felt his muscles in his shoulders tensing, though, when she asked what he meant to work on-- implying that he didn’t belong there any more than she did. But maybe that was true; after all, he _hadn’t been there_.

“I thought I might find one of the markers within easy distance, that I could walk to it myself. Or get there by… some other means.” He wasn’t about to offer her explanations of how he traveled. “Or… I don’t know what else. I meant to find something that would feel like progress. Something other than loading my cheeks.” But the dark monitor gave him something to do, and he could only hope that Stark’s computer felt kind, that he would not be shown to be the interloper he felt like, in front of this woman.

“JARVIS, if you could show us the seidhr map?”

He would be grateful for something to look at other than her, and for something she could look at rather than watching him with eyes and a face that betrayed too little of what she saw and thought.

Fortunately for him, the screen lit, displaying all of the pinpoints of light scattered throughout New York, each a potential place that Steve might be.

“You see?” He asked softly. “Far too many to waste my time on feasting. Any of these might be Steve. It is all we have.” And he was useless to help them narrow it down, to undo the damage he’d done to their search in the process of making amends for his murders.

“And if I must,” he added, speaking almost to himself with his eyes trained unblinkingly on the screen, “I will search out every one myself until he can be brought home.”

 

It didn’t escape her notice that while Loki had called Rogers by his title earlier, now, as he looked at the map with an expression that seemed less rage-filled and more grief-stricken, he called him Steve. She didn’t comment on it, but filed the observation carefully away.

Turning her focus to the screen, she furrowed her brows in concentration at the dots, then reached down to the screen and zoomed out, leaving New York City a glowing beacon, with other dots scattered less densely the further one got from the city.

“Do we have any reason to believe Rogers is being kept in the immediate area?” she asked. “He went missing on an international mission. It seems likely that the nearby markers, while more easily accessible, have a much higher potential for being related to the memorial.” Murray and Ferra had filled her in about the nature of the coins everyone kept finding at the locations they checked out -- another interesting bit of information on Loki that no one at SHIELD had apparently connected the dots about, since it hadn’t been a part of the mission dossiers.

 

“Stark seems to be of the opinion that it is likely that those who took the Captain will be watching us. I had assumed that meant he believes them to be close. There is a reason we are not meant to leave the tower outside of our groups for searching. But more than that, it was you who was displeased by our threatening your peoples’ political treaties by going abroad.” He frowned. “I admit I do not understand many things about your world, but I had thought that this made sense logically to everyone on the team.” And if it did not, why was she telling him, who had no power over what they did? Why had she not spoken up before-- why had none of the others?

He felt frustration building in him anew.

“We did not know that the markers were the coins until we went out and looked, but…” He would not defend their actions, not if this continuous string of failures had never been worth pursuing in the first place. He dragged the map, finding France on it.

“This is the area that Steve was taken from, more or less. There are less markers there, it’s true. But with this much time elapsed, and even as much time as had passed before we realized we should use the map of the markers-- is the likelihood better that they stayed close to where they took him from?”

 

Sharon frowned. “Does Stark have anything to support this? Or is he just being cagey and paranoid?” There had been nothing in the intel the Avengers had shared with her team that supported the idea of a nearby presence; not that she doubted they were holding back a few key details. It was part of why she’d supported the endeavor to keep their search local, suspecting there might be something the Avengers knew that she didn’t. The other part was simply being cooperative and not making waves, so her team would be more readily accepted. But if the only reason they were sticking to New York was Stark’s need to keep everyone and everything close and under control...

“While whoever took Rogers might hide in him New York if they knew you had this means of searching and would use it, in order to bury him like a needle in a haystack, unless they had a specific inside source on the Avengers outside of what even SHIELD knows, I don’t think it’s likely,” she murmured, looking back over the map.

“Though it’s even less likely they’d keep him in the immediate area where he was grabbed, since that’d be the nexus of the most intense scrutiny in the direct aftermath of the abduction,” she continued, musing aloud. “HYDRA was primarily based out of Europe in the war, but we don’t know anything about the potential expansion or relocation of their assets since. For all we know, they could be anywhere.” Which meant Rogers could be anywhere as well.

She looked back up from the dots to Loki. “There’s a big difference between stealth reconnaissance and a Starkjet touching down on foreign soil with no clearance, no documents, the Avengers very publicly kicking down doors. I was discouraging the latter. My team is here to  _help_ with the former, if you let us.” The last words were tacked on as an artful implication that at least a little more trust would need to be offered if her people were going to contribute to tangible results.

 

Loki could not help but remember the morning he’d returned from his walk, only to be confronted by Stark, and his concern that Loki was either taken or causing problems, and he swallowed, averting his eyes.

He hadn’t asked, he realized. He’d just blindly believed him to be correct. Steve had always-- Steve always went on about how brilliant the man was. Loki had taken his words at-- had  _trusted_ them, even when he felt certain there was no reason to trust any of them.

This was Steve’s handiwork, he knew, this juvenile level of trust, and he was both glad to see he had learned something, and horrified at the way he seemed unable to turn it off, or even to tell that he had done it.

And he’d interpreted her words about their trip to mean they shouldn’t or couldn’t do any more searching outside of the borders of Avengers territory.

Again, he’d been stupid and all too willing to abide by rules he heard being set down.

He needed to remember that Steve was the one made uncomfortable when those rules were broken. And that Steve wasn’t here. And was likely in more discomfort while Loki wasted time trying not to toe any lines.

After all, wasn’t any punishment worth having his partner back?

“I do not have answers for you, Agent Carter.” He spoke smoothly. “There is too much I have not been told, or, if I was, that I do not understand. But if you think it is wiser to look elsewhere, I am more than willing to redirect my attentions. I do not believe there is a way for HYDRA to know of our mapping system, unless someone currently gorging themselves upstairs is secretly part of HYDRA. And even if they did, they would have no way of replicating it or modifying it, as it all hinges on my seidhr. So that, at least, seems a trustworthy source of information. As for Stark…” He spread his hands, affecting a bland mask.

“Who can say. I do not know the man very well. But I would suggest you speak to Romanoff of this. She may have the insight that I lack.”

 

A deft and elusive answer. Her mouth twisted into a tight line as she looked back at the map.

“If we’re tracking magic, or whatever we’re calling it, it stands to reason that the places that had magical activity we already know about should be lower on the priority list. New Mexico, for instance,” she said, gesturing to the dot in the southwestern US, “was where you originally came in through the Tesseract portal. Right now there’s just rubble there. So I wouldn’t waste time on it. New York seems like it’s just turning up those coins. Latveria is a possibility, but given that it’s HYDRA, or some offshoot of it that we seem to be dealing with...” Her brow furrowed. Already her mind was abuzz with different possibilities, analyzing and discarding them and concocting fresh strategies. “Victor Von Doom is a tyrant and someone I trust as far as I can throw him, but he’s made Latveria a safe haven for Romani refugees. HYDRA came out of the third reich, and given the history there, I wouldn’t consider an alliance probable; nobody gets over genocide in a hurry.” She pointed to a dot further west: “We know the dot here in Stuttgart was probably due to the Opera House incident, but anything else in Germany and Austria should probably be given higher priority.”

She’d leaned in as she spoke, scrutinizing the map even further, doing her best to commit as much of it to memory as possible. Now, she straightened, rolling her shoulders back. “If our main strategy right now is process of elimination, we either need to come up with some method of prioritizing the most likely locations, or increasing the efficiency with which we eliminate leads. Preferably some combination of the two...”

She trailed off, worrying her bottom lip for a moment before coming to a decision. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, careful not to dislodge the drive concealed there, and began rapidly typing out a message. “Sending the Avengers coin-hunting in the Bronx is a criminal waste of resources,” she muttered as her thumbs silently tapped over the screen. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t recruit some manpower to cover that while you look elsewhere...”

 

Loki narrowed his eyes.

“I am impressed.” He said softly and bluntly. “Though, I believe Romanoff is supposed to be making such decisions, is she not? And with as little as we know about the security of SHIELD, is it wise to involve so many, especially if they do not know what it is they are doing? If our enemies are watching, will it not seem odd, so many people out in force, looking into  _this_ of all things, while Captain America remains missing?” He shook his head.

“I may lack understanding of your cultures and the finer points of your mechanics and laws, currency and languages, but I do know something of command and politics.” He turned his eye to her.

“If you mean to test my loyalty to the Avengers, you needn’t bother; I doubt any of them questions where my loyalties lie. If you mean to take action and blame the lack of permissions received on me, you will no doubt be aware that Stark’s AI records everything.”  _Including whatever you were meddling with before I arrived,_ he thought, but did not say. “I do not know what ends you mean to achieve here, but I can promise you that I am several times your age, and far better versed in manipulation and lies than you can begin to fathom. I will not be the scapegoat for your ambitions, whatever they may be.”

If only he could remember how such games went, though he wasn’t about to tell her  _that_ either.

 

Sharon arched an eyebrow. “My  _ambitions_ are to get Captain Rogers back home in one piece. If anyone in the Avengers honestly objects to that, I think we have far bigger problems than we know. That said--”

She returned her attention to her phone, watching the message send, and then quickly taking a picture of the map in its entirety. “--I’ve always found that it’s more expedient to ask forgiveness than permission. Especially when dealing with a situation that’s time sensitive,” she added meaningfully.

Because Rogers’ abduction was definitely not something any of them would want to see prolonged.

“And while calls regarding the Avengers may be Romanoff’s to make, calls about SHIELD resources are mine,” she pointed out, glancing back at her phone as it pinged with a reply. “We can have several dozen SHIELD agents here by the end of the day tomorrow to help canvas the city. If someone can get Garza coordinates for every dot in a twenty-mile radius, I can have her pass them on. As far as any agents will need to know, they’re just checking for the coins, unrelated to the search for Rogers. Nobody but Hill and Fury will need to know the exact reason why; SHIELD withholds a lot of information internally like that, so they shouldn’t think too much of it. And Hill will give them a good cover story -- it will be less conspicuous having government suits knocking on people’s doors following up on invasion victims’ families than Iron Man knocking down their doors asking about magical gold.”

She tapped back a message, then looked up to watch Loki’s face. “If we can account for all the dots that coincide with the coins, we can rule them out, and do it more efficiently using SHIELD manpower. If there’s a marker that can’t be accounted for as a product of your spellwork on the memorial, we’ll find it faster, and meanwhile we’ll be freed up to examine the markers further afield and continue refining the search mechanisms. If we have no reason to believe Steve is in New York, then whoever took him has no reason to believe any SHIELD-activity in the area is related. We have dozens of operations worldwide at any time. And if they do connect that this is related to the search for Steve, it’s likely they’ll figure we’re chasing our own tails; if they think we have no idea what we’re looking for, they might get overconfident and slip up in some way. And we’ll restrict internal knowledge about the operation to a need to know basis.”

“It’s not without risk, I admit,” she added, tucking the phone back into her pocket, “but weighing the risk of someone getting suspicious to the risks of letting this search draw on indefinitely, I think I’d rather find Captain Rogers sooner as opposed to later. And I think you feel the same.”

 

He found himself smiling at that, the expression pinched on his face, but there any way.

He didn’t think he’d be saying anything to Stark about this after all; Romanoff would find out about the reinforcements soon enough, and it was not his fault if JARVIS failed in his duties of reporting. Moreover, it was not he that suspicion would fall on, given that the Avengers knew what motivated him. She, on the other hand, was making a point of speaking to him, trying to get information from him, after he’d left the celebratory table, distraught.

And if these actions caused some conflict that got the SHIELD agents sent away, fine; he would not have to live in fear of saying too much or being dragged back to a tiny cell that, this time, really would shut his seidhr away.

If she managed, instead, to redirect their search in a way that helped Steve get home sooner, all the better.

It was so refreshing to finish one of these mental jousts feeling as though he’d won… he’d grown too used to being gentle with the humans and only engaging with Romanoff.

“I do feel very much the same. By all means, Agent. Obviously recklessness is the least of my concerns. Take all the risks you like, so long as it is not going to jeopardize the Captain. I would advise notifying the Avengers of your decisions sooner than later, however. Rejoin the celebration, and take with you what little gratitude I can summon, for your acuity.”

 

Loki’s expression and reactions were hard to puzzle out. On the one hand, she felt she’d made out reasonably well in this encounter. On the other, being walked in on in the first place wasn’t ideal. She would need to keep an eye out.

She lifted a shoulder neutrally. “I’ll meet with Natasha later this evening to let her know I’ve made a request for backup and work out the details with her. No sense in interrupting everyone’s meal with it just now.” Especially not since the matter of what she’d been doing in the lab on her own would inevitably come up, if she brought up her and Loki’s conversation right away.

“And speaking of the meal...” She paused, looking him over. “Is there anything specifically you were planning on doing here? Because I’m sure the others have to be missing you about now.”

 

He looked away from her, loathe to admit to weakness after feeling he’d triumphed.

“As I said, I don’t know enough about these things. I meant only to get away from the joviality. It was grating on me. And they may miss me, but I think they would rather that than regret my presence. I do not know any more of your cultural traditions than I do of your computers and communications systems... but I do have a thousand years’ worth of experience with feasts, and the knowledge of how capable I am of ruining them for everyone else.” He shrugged.

“I have groceries enough of my own. And you have been gone longer than I.”

 

She hesitated.

It felt like she should say something; urge him to celebrate with friends, reassure him, maybe impart something hopeful as a parting note. But nothing good came directly to mind, and she didn’t know him well enough (didn’t know him at  _all,_ really) to have a sense of what would or wouldn’t work to cheer him up. Or if it was worth cheering him up. Maybe he just needed a good sulk.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” she finally said. “Though I’ll tell Miss Potts to save you some pie. Assuming Murray doesn’t try to smuggle back all the leftovers with us.”

A few more steps toward the door, and she paused once more, looking over her shoulder. “I’ll ask Romanoff to schedule a full briefing tomorrow. We’ll put our resources to good use, and free you up to do more, alright? Less time in the streets can mean more time in the lab for you.”

 

He watched her walk away and his eyes were still on her when she turned back.

He could appreciate her style and usefulness without trusting her, and he wanted to be sure that if she had taken anything, it wasn’t the magic dampeners that Stark had improved on.

Not that he seemed capable of being of much use, seidhr or no.

“Just what I need.” He told her, deadpan. “A slice of pie and less to do.  _Thank you_.” The words were snide, but not angry, nor so melancholy as he had been. Somehow, through this all, he’d managed to gain the faintest glimmer of hope-- hope that it would end sooner, that they would be able to find him, to bring him home…

He needed not to let it affect him, though. Hope was only good for making it hurt more when that, too, failed. And though he believed, with every bit of himself, that they would find Steve, he wasn’t ready to bare anything as vulnerable as hope to her eyes.   
“Enjoy your meal, Agent.” He said, and turned his head away, though he kept his eye on her until she was out of sight.

 

* * *

 

 

 “You have, I think, become accustomed to our needles. This is good, it makes the process smoother, when you are used to how things proceed. But today what I have is something of a special treat for us both. Today I will not be taking from you, but instead… putting something in.” he grinned widely, waiting for the Captain to ask.

Dr. Verschmutzung had foregone the chair this time, in favor of having Rogers’s arms chained up above his head. It must be agony in his back and shoulder, and had been, judging by the footage he’d reviewed.

But this position, with his ankles stuck to the floor by powerful magnets, gave him a little room to move around the prisoner, and a little room to let him swing, which could only possibly make things worse.

“Now, I do have a few things to test on you today, and I can do this scientifically, one at a time, or like my predecessors in the forties, I can simply give you all we have, and see what it does to you. And again, what will dictate this is your attitude. So. Tell me what the last instructions you were given before being placed into Stark’s machine were.”

 

Even without anything to measure time by, Steve figured it had to have been roughly a day before the guards came for him again.

And brought him to Verschmutzung. Again. This time stringing him up rather than strapping him down, stretching him out like he’d been on the table, only vertically in lieu of horizontally. He consoled himself, through the pain of his strained joints and aching back, that at least this time he was in a position to see what was coming. Not that he was probably going to like it any better.

Sadistic bastard.

Even so, Steve almost managed to laugh when Verschmutzung asked him what the last order he’d been given was. The true answer, in this case, would be as useless as any lie, as he was fairly sure the last thing he’d been told to do was simply to take off his hat and shirt. He considered saying as much, but there was a chance that it might still be construed as cooperation. And even if cooperation were to gain him a reprieve, well...

Steve wasn’t the cooperative sort. He was an ornery punk, as Bucky used to grumble, and that much hadn’t changed in Howard’s machine.

“I don’t recall,” he answered, staring at a point on the opposite wall, definitely _not_ thinking about how one of the blisters on his back had torn when he was being chained up, and was now oozing.

 

“Yes it must be difficult.” He crooned with false sympathy. “It being so long ago now, for you.” He did not need Herman, today, to distribute punishing pain.

Instead he pulled a pair of rubber gloves from the box on the counter and took his time putting them on, maintaining his calm.

“Tell me what you know of the changes that Erskine’s compound created in you. I have the reports, of course, but…” He spoke mostly to keep Steve’s attention on him, while he lifted the container of salt that had begun the last punishment he had inflicted.

 

Steve tensed automatically at the sound of the doctor snapping his rubber gloves into place. Spending so much of his childhood in hospitals, there was something about medical sterility that always gave him the willies.

Of course, the whole evil Nazi thing didn’t help either.

His jaw tightened as Verschmutzung picked up the salt -- was he going to repeat the same thing as the day before? Unlikely, as he’d already said something about injections, but Steve still kept his eyes on the container as he spoke:

“You said yourself yesterday; I don’t have much science education. Nothing I could tell you that isn’t in any history book,” he pointed out. “And even if there was...”

His injuries and position made it impossible to shrug, so he settled for a wry twist of his mouth and huff of breath. “We both know I’m not telling you jack.”

 

“Lamentable.” He responded dryly. “But hardly surprising. So loyal to those who made you. Well, I suppose loyalty is a very attractive trait in a soldier.”

He moved closer, skirting the furthest forward that Rogers might swing his body, to avoid the potential of damage from his teeth.

“Tell me, what have they done to deserve such loyalty?” Not that he expected an answer to that, either. He walked counter clockwise around the man, raking his eyes across his skin dispassionately.

When he reached his back, he paused, eyeing his own handiwork with satisfaction.

The skin was red, raw and wet looking, some of it viscous-- infected, most likely. He nodded to himself approvingly.

“You know, I rather hope that you know your own body better than the history books. Better than anyone, I would assume.” He stopped, then slapped his handful of salt over the deepest damage in the middle of Roger’s back.

“So tell me how your body feels now.” He commanded, leaning in to chase after the sway, mouth close to Rogers’s ear and voice loud but calm. “Tell me what your pain is like.”

 

What had they done?

 _They’d given him a chance_. Erskine had seen him, seen his dedication and drive, where others only saw some scrappy invalid only good for the home front. Phillips had taken a risk on him, staking his success and good name on the outcome of Steve as a test subject. Peggy had trusted him, put her hope and faith in him, even putting her career on the line. Even Howard had been willing to fly a plane through enemy airspace on a fool’s errand so Steve could rescue the 107th.

They deserved Steve’s loyalty. Now and always. And he had no plans of letting them down.

And then agony lanced through his ruined back.

Every muscle tightened as his back arched and he yanked on the chains, gasping in pain, then breathing out in a keening hiss between his clenched teeth. The sonofabitch had _literally_ rubbed salt in the wound. He’d never had enough appreciation for the turn of phrase, he thought distantly, as he tried to bring his body back under his control.

It hurt. Dammit, it hurt. His whole body felt like one big seeping open sore and like _hell_ if he was gonna put that to words for the bastard’s satisfaction--

“Steven.... G. Rogers....” he ground out, teeth tight enough that his jaw ached. “Captain... Niner Eight Seven...”

 

The doctor arched his eyebrow.

"So soon Captain? Retreating already. Are you so broken as that?" He ground the salt further into the mess that was his back before returning to face him.

"If you choose not to speak to me, you realize it is only an invitation for me to attempt to make you. Which is, of course, what I intended anyway. It is you who will make it harder on yourself. But that is your choice, isn't it?"

He reached up and patted the man's cheek, leaving salt behind.

And then he turned away and began preparing a syringe in clear line of Rogers's vision.

 

Steve seethed as he recited the remainder of his serial. It was a retreat, true, but a tactical one. Overwhelmed with pain and exhaustion, he risked in the anguish of the moment slipping up, accidentally giving the doctor more information than he intended. A witty retort wasn’t worth that. Better, when too pained to think clearly, to recite his name, rank, and serial and cling to it as a mantra.

If Verschmutzung was unimpressed -- well, hell with him. He was HYDRA. His opinion wasn’t worth jack.

“Sorry if the... conversation isn’t... _scintillating_ enough for you,” he managed, once his breathing had evened out enough to allow for more articulate speech. “I’m not at my... most chatty... after weeks in captivity.” It had been weeks, hadn’t it? The lack of clocks or natural light or even a regular feeding schedule made it impossible to tell, but the growth of beard they’d shaved from his face before suggested a fair amount of time had passed.

He shuddered at the coarse feeling of salt on his cheek, tugging his head away, then watching with a sinking feeling as Verschmutzung reached for a needle.

_But that is your choice, isn’t it?_

Steve was choosing pain. Or, more pain, at any rate. But it _was_ his choice. It was a minimal amount of control, but it remained control. He would drive them to extremes, and those extremes would give them nothing. Verschmutzung might delight in causing him suffering, but he wasn’t going to have the satisfaction of Steve giving him anything worthwhile.

It was his choice. Just like driving the nose of the plane down into the ice had been.

“I tend to stand by my choices, one way or another,” he reflected with a sardonic twist of his mouth, looking the man in the eyes so his gaze wouldn’t be drawn to the syringe.

 

Verschmutzung turned and laughed at that last with a shake of his head.

“Unfortunately for you, Steven, if my rough estimates are correct, in a few minutes, you will be in no state to _stand_ by anything.” He eyed the man again before letting out a chirp of a whistle, a call to the guards.

When they stepped forward, guns lifted slightly and awaiting orders, he smirked.

“Hold him steady. It would be a shame to damage those valuable veins of his.”

He did not give any further instruction, but nor did he need to. He watched with satisfaction as they both turned their guns until they were slung behind their backs. Even if he somehow managed to break free of his shackles-- which Verschmutzung was certain he’d have done already if he were able-- even if he managed to get his hands on a level with them, it would be one more obstacle, the whole of their bodies between him and their weapons.

Good men. Well trained men. And perhaps one day, like the man dangling above them, they would be made into exceptional soldiers, as well.

As it was, they took hold of either side of Rogers’s body, one of them holding the back of his head to keep it still and to prevent his lunging.

“If you cooperated, Captain, we would have no need to treat you as a wild animal. But, until then…” He gestured lazily at the men with his free hand, before shrugging.

He stepped into the space they’d left between them for him, and brought the needle to the soldier’s throat.

 

Steve used his limited range of motion to struggle against the guards, for perhaps a generous definition of the word. The chains already held him fairly effectively, and it seemed that some of HYDRA’s burliest men had been assigned this particular duty. One of them buried his grip in what remained of Steve’s raggedly hacked-off hair, yanking at the short hits that remained to pull his head back and aside, baring his neck.

The position sent ice creeping through his blood. Steve bared his throat willingly to one man and one man only. Loki, he trusted, and submitted to. But this man -- these men --

There was no thrill of excitement. Just a horrible leap of his pulse; just anger, and more than that, _fear_.

The needle pinched sharply as it slid into the soft skin, plunging into his veins.

At first, that sting was all he felt. Then, a localized tingle. But that was all. Steve frowned, perplexed. He expected an immediate flood of pain, something corrosive pumped into him. Unless... unless the effects weren’t meant to impact his body, but his mind. He recalled the SSR had experimented with some new drug called Sodium Pentothal as a truth serum of sorts back in the day. He wasn’t sure what medicine had concocted in the decades since, but he had to wonder if his mental resistances matched his physical ones.

 _Name, rank, serial number_ , he repeated in his mind. If he felt the urge to talk, if he started to feel his mind alter...

It took him a second to realize that despite the coldness of the facility, sweat was beading along his hairline, and collecting to drip down his temples. His heart was still racing, despite the lack of pain, and his chest felt tight.

“Sort of expected... something more dramatic,” he said, watching Verschmutzung and hoping to find some tell in the doctor’s face. “I’m a little... disappointed...”

 

The doctor’s smile turned smug as he took in the signs that despite the brave face, the drug was beginning to take effect.

He nodded at the men holding him still and they let go, jerking their hands away roughly before stepping back, leaving the prisoner swinging in their wake.

“If you could see the war waging within you now, I imagine it would be quite dramatic enough to satisfy you. But… if you are feeling underwhelmed, I can always double what I have given you. Even now, there are small signs of the effects, but I am not a man of small strides. If it is drama you are wanting, Captain, I am more than willing to provide. Do you think your Erskine has made you immune to overdosing?” He posed the last rhetorically, already filling the syringe again.

Not the most scientific approach, perhaps, but his forebearers had not been known for that either. And he didn’t truly suppose this would kill him. If it did, after all, it should be little enough effort to take counter measures.

“I am sure you must be wondering what this is, what it is meant to do. I told you it might make you talk, but did not say how.” He tapped at the tube, dislodging the bubbles inside of it and sending them towards the needle at the top.

“This is a mixture I have dreamed up just for you, just to see what you may be susceptible to. Nothing infectious, for now, but instead… strychnine, succinylcholine, modified strains of aconite and death cap mushrooms, among other things. A bit from nature, a bit from man, but all of the effects markedly unpleasant. You should begin feeling that first dose about now, but just to be extra certain, for added _dramatics_ , I’m not at all opposed to giving you another.”

 

Steve _was_ feeling it.

And given how quickly he metabolized almost everything, his body clearing everything from alcohol to painkillers from his system before he noticed anything at all -- hell, it had taken most of a bottle of grain alcohol in a period of time that would have killed anyone else just for him to get buzzed -- that said something rather unsettling about whatever he’d just been stuck with.

He was sweating. And a bit dizzy. A faint tingling feeling was beginning to set in at his extremities. And the ever-present ache of pain in his stomach, he realized, was more pronounced, growing more acute by the moment until a sharp cramping sensation hit and the chains were all that kept him from curling in around his abdomen.

His eyes watered, and he had to remind himself through the stirrings of panic that they weren’t going to kill him; he was too valuable.

It would hurt, but he wouldn’t die.

Not yet.

(Probably.)

His scientific education was, as he’d even admitted to earlier, somewhat lacking and outdated, so he didn’t recognize any of the ingredients Verschmutzung had listed (which was perhaps a blessing, since he wouldn't’ be filled with horrible expectations as to their effects). But he spent a fair amount of time with scientists these days; enough to know what the process of experimentation entailed. Bruce was meticulous and patient in his lab work, and Tony at his most manic still had the sense to isolate variables one at a time when troubleshooting a project. Even the first doctor, with the dark-framed glasses and pale lips, had been methodical and careful in his abuses of Steve’s body and his recording of them.

But Verschmutzung had just pumped a cocktail full of toxins into Steve’s blood and was now standing back to watch. Steve’s lip curled, and he let out a hiss of breath as another cramp hit, feeling somewhere in between being punched in the gut and being knifed in it.

“How about you quit pretending.... this has anything to do... with science,” he said, trying not to think about how the tingling was spreading down his limbs, or the growing nausea. “Admit you’re just... a sick sonofabitch who gets off on this.”

 

"'Gets off', no, Captain, of course not, no, how unprofessional! Though, I will say, I do so enjoy watching you squirm." It was so little effort now, as he strained, to press the tip of the needle into the bulging vein in his neck. And he could see the way his eyes filled with tears, no doubt from his discomfort and growing inability to concentrate on anything but the effects of his compound.

"You feel it now, do you not? Just admit to it. I can see they symptoms of its work, but I want to hear you. Tell me it hurts.” He paused a moment to watch as Steven struggled for his composure. “You won’t, will you? You will fight me, with every breath you can. And so I will have to take that breath from you. And none of these men would dare question me. This will not kill you. But if you want something more dramatic... I would imagine that a carefully administered overdose will do the trick. What will you see I wonder, when the seizures hit and the hallucinations come? I have read that you may share a house with a man for forty years, but hold him over a volcano and you will finally meet that man. I am ready to meet the man inside of that heroic body of yours, ready to meet the weakling that Erskine deemed worthy of his precious serum. Are you ready to burn, Steven?"

He depressed the plunger without giving Rogers a chance to answer, a sadistic grin plastered across his face.

 

Steve kept his teeth riveted together for as long as he could, skin crawling with dread... or maybe something else. The tingling feeling was creeping over his flesh in waves, like the feet of thousands of tiny insects, somehow hot and cold all at once.

And then, he began to burn.

For a horrible moment, he wondered if Verschmutzung had just pumped acid straight into his veins; something corrosive that was eating him up from the inside out, dissolving his tissues and boiling his blood. He seized, mouth falling open through no sound came out.

 _Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t give him the satisfaction--_ He wanted to hear Steve, and he wouldn’t give him that. He’d bite his own damn tongue off first. It probably wouldn’t hurt as much as the--

 _\--Burning_. Hot, cold, something in between; he struggled to think through it, to hold on to the mantra in the face of explosive pain roaring through his arteries and congregating in his abdomen, where his insides felt as if they were being torn apart by shattered glass.

Before, chained to the wall with his back seared off, beaten and bloody, he’d thought he’d been in the most pain he’d ever known.

This eclipsed that by a mile.

His eyes watered, blurring his vision. Breathing hurt, but he managed to suck in enough breath to try to speak:

“Rogers, S-Steven G.... Cap....tain....”

Another wave of cramping hit, like someone had just placed his guts in a vice, and he broke off with a gasp, doubling in as much as the chains would allow, straining and wrenching against his bonds.

 

_Don’t scream._

 

The lights were too bright, forming blinding, distorting haloes. His skin felt too hot, too tight, like paper held to the edge of a candle flame. It felt like every fever he’d ever suffered through as a child all piled up together, all the unbearable nights when he’d tossed and turned and his mother had placed a cool, damp cloth on his brow with an expression of worry, though it hadn’t been enough--

 

“ _Oh Steven,” she murmured, brushing his hair back from his face._

 

(No, no hair. They took his hair, sheared it off, didn’t they?)

 

_Mama? He blinked and stared up at her, her softly careworn face struggling to smile, though worry formed lines around her eyes._

“ _Steven, I’ve brought your medicine,” she told him, hair honey-colored in the light of the kerosene lamp._

_He watched her reach for something at her side, expecting one of the ubiquitous brown glass bottles she often brought home full of awful-tasting tinctures, but instead she withdrew a syringe._

 

Steve balked.

_No, mama, mama, please--_

 

_He tried to pull away but he couldn’t move. Her hand, which should have been soothing, drew closer with the poison it clutched._

 

_Stop, please, NO--_

 

_He swatted the needle away, sending it flying, his painfully hot hand brushing against hers. Her eyes widened in surprise, then her brow furrowed, looking hurt and disappointed. “Oh Steven, dear one, why would you do that?”_

_She held up her hand, and where he’d brushed it, the flesh was quickly blackening._

 

_No, I didn’t mean--_

 

_The black spread, grooves forming and digging in like the texture of charred wood, climbing up her arm, her shoulder, her throat--_

 

_Stop, please, I didn’t--!_

 

_She smiled softly, regretfully, as though this came as no surprise. Then the black covered her face and a heartbeat later, she crumbled away into ash as he watched, helpless, unable to stop it--_

 

“No!” he gasped, tears streaming uselessly down his cheeks as he thrashed and pulled.

 

The Doctor observed, the crow’s feet around his eyes wrinkling as a smile spread across his face.

Hardly so immune as the old stories boasted, not so strong or so resistant to his strengths.

There was something deeply unsatisfying about it, though, the whimpers coming now from this man, this supposed super soldier-- he was supposed to be better than this. Verschmutzung had expected a good deal more effort to be needed. He thought it would be a challenge, getting him to break.

But he seemed well on his way, and that at least spoke highly of the effectiveness of his methods. His superiors would be very pleased.

But for himself… he wanted more.

“How does it feel, Steven? And I will remind you, ‘No’ and your name and numbers are not answers. They are shields for cowards to hide behind. You aren’t a coward, are you?”

He forced his voice to be low and soothing, enjoying the clear counterpart it played to the pain that must be searing through his captive’s every cell.

He stepped a few feet away to pull a temporal scanner infrared thermometer from the drawer.

He didn’t really want to fight with the Captain’s teeth at the moment, not while he was under this kind of influence, and perhaps later he would have them removed, forcibly, one at a time, later-- but for now, they had the potential to cause damage.

Besides, the gentle stroking of the thermometer over his forehead would be a delightful contrast, and he did so enjoy sowing confusion to compliment the pain.

 

Steve blinked as the cloud of ash dispersed as though it had never been there, revealing Verschmutzung standing behind where his mother had been.

Hadn’t been.

No, his mother-- Sarah Rogers was dead. _He killed her, just now... No._ No. She’d died of tuberculosis. She’d been dead for decades.

( _You_ still _killed her...)_

He squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn’t real. He was seeing things. The pain was real but he couldn’t trust his eyes. Hallucinations, Verschmutzung had said.

It seemed he was already getting a taste of that.

_How does it feel?_

He shuddered and closed his eyes, and then felt a soothing cool touch on his brow. His heart leapt for a moment, hoping that _she came back, he hadn’t killed her, she was alive and all of this was a terrible fever dream--_

But when he opened his eyes it wasn’t Sarah but the doctor touching him, and he recoiled with a sound of pain and anger. His breathing was growing hard to draw, everything too tight and twisted to expand his lungs enough. He wheezed and squeezed his eyes closed, letting the pain wash over him enough to dull his awareness of all else.

He wouldn’t answer. Wouldn’t give him anything.

(Anything more than what they’d torn from him already by force.)

 

The beep that sounded at the end of the time needed for a good read was sharp, next to the muffled sounds of the Captain’s struggles.

“You run hot, Captain, but it seems that you are warmer still than you have been so far.”

He put the thermometer back and recorded the numbers on the file that was never too far away.

He came back and pulled at the captain’s eyelids, noting the dilation of his pupils and the way that sweat was beading at what would be his hairline, had he not so recently been shorn.

He seemed to be losing himself to the concoction, and Verschmutzung frowned, well aware that it may well put him out of his reach, unless he chose to muddy his test with further external influences.

He knew himself, and so it was best that he take as many measurements, get as much data as he could, now, before he ruined it in the process of making things worse.  
That in mind he dabbed at the sweat of Rogers’ brow with a cotton bud and snapped the tube around it to ensure a clean sample. Then he reached out and pressed against the skin of his shoulder, observing the way the redness fled under his finger and flooded back once he removed it.

“Tell me, how are you feeling?” He asked again, hoping for some small thing to record, some final thing to add to his paperwork before he decided what more he could do to the man today.

He didn’t have high hopes for a reply, though. And when Rogers failed to respond or even acknowledge his question, his brows pulled together in mild exasperation. “Can you hear me?”

 

“ _Can you hear me?”_

In another life, he’d joked in response to those words. In another life, they’d been asked in genuine concern, after Howard Stark’s Vita-Ray sarcophagus had closed around him, a coffin for his old self on the verge of rebirth. A different German doctor had spoken then, rapping his knuckles against the metal, having injected Steve with another life-altering chemical cocktail.

They’d injected him with _(poison -- no, wait-- )_ serum and sealed him in, then Howard had flipped the switch and light had flooded the narrow chamber. At first he’d simply closed his eyes but soon it seared through his eyelids, stabbing back into his skull. It was too bright, too incandescent, ( _don’t scream don’t scream don’t scream no no I can DO THIS--_ ) like being at the heart of an exploding star, tearing him apart atom by atom and burning, _burning--_

_\-- don’t scream --_

 

And then it had been over _(not over, still burning, always burning and falling and burning...), the doors parting to reveal him to the world, and Erskine waited to look upon his creation, eyes full of_

 

_disappointment_

 

_regret_

 

_disgust_

 

_Steve frowned, trying to step out of the sarcophagus but held in place by the needles now tearing into his flesh._

 

_Doctor?_

 

 _Erskine shook his head. (He should have been proud, he had been proud, hadn’t he? This was_ wrong, this was-- _) “A pity,” he murmured, stepping back from Steve._

“ _You were to be my greatest achievement. The first step on a road to peace,” he told him, wearily. “You were to be a good man, Steven.”_

 

_I am. I’m trying, I swear._

 

“ _No,” Erskine said with a remorseful shake of his head. “You gave HYDRA everything I tried to keep from them. All my work, my life-- This is a grave betrayal.”_

 

 _I didn’t! I wouldn’t-- It wasn’t like that,_ please--

 

“ _You did,” Erskine insisted, looking at him over the delicate frames of his spectacles. “You promised, Steven. That you would be a good man. That you would not be like Schmidt.”_

_Steve pulled and strained, still burning, the light suffused into his skin and searing it from the inside, like fire in his bones, causing them to crackle like pine logs in a wood stove._

 

I will never be like Schmidt.

 

_Erskine’s eyebrows lifted up toward his hairline. “Are you certain of that?” He looked down at Steve’s body and nodded, prompting Steve to look at himself:_

_To look at burned flesh splitting and peeling as tendrils of light crept over it and seared away his skin, revealing beneath it an expanse of unbroken scarlet._

_A second skin of red._

 

 _**NO** _ _!_

 

~~(don’t scream)~~

 

_Steve yanked against his bonds and something in his shoulder cracked, popping like a gunshot. Erskine regarded him sadly, and a darker shade of crimson bloomed slowly across his shirt. “You failed me, Steven.”_

_A keening groan tore out of Steve’s throat as he bucked and trashed, trying to escape the chains, trying to pull free so he could tear off the horrible red skin, clawing it away, escaping the monster he’d been made into--_

“ _It hurts, doesn’t it?” a familiar voice purred in his ear._

_He tensed, dread pooling in his stomach where that voice would have normally prompted arousal. Loki stepped around to his side, and the blue of his flesh was a stark contrast to Steve’s red. Save for the eyes. The eyes matched perfectly. “The knowledge that something evil lurks inside...”_

_This isn’t me. This is wrong. None of this is right, I’m not--_

_Loki laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant laugh. “Not what? A failure?” He stood in front of Steve and smiled, though blood red tears began to spill down the cerulean planes of his cheeks. “You have_ failed _Steve. Failed to support me. Failed to keep me safe. Failed to keep anyone you care for safe, really. Everyone you love dies and the common factor is you, is it not?”_

 

                       Stop!

 _Tears spilled down Steve’s cheeks, though how they didn’t evaporate instantly, he had no idea. Stop,_ please _..._

_It twisted like a knife in his gut and his spine curled as he folded inward, gasping in pain._

“ _He’s right,” Erskine pointed out with a shrug. “You failed, and they shot me for nothing. HYDRA will have the serum and raise an army once again.”_

 

                                                              Please...

 

“ _They shattered me,” Loki hissed. “They shattered me because you turned me into a clawless pet, too frightened to fight back. And now I am at the mercy of those who would hollow out the very heart of me in the name of their own safety. I will suffer, and it’s your cruel kindness I have to thank for it.”_

 **Please**...

 

“ _Dear heart,” his mother’s voice whispered, the smell of ash suddenly cloying, suffocating. “Why are you still trying, Steven?”_

 

                 “ _Failure...”_

                                                   “ _Why would you?”_

                                                                                                “ _Where is your_ team _now?”_

 

b   u    r     n     i       n        g    .    .      .

 

Steve twisted and thrashed, trying to escape, trying to escape them, escape the words and the accusations, trying to tear his way out of his shackles and his skin alike, biting down hard on his tongue to keep from crying out in agony and horror, even as his mouth filled with blood and bile, spilling down his chin. He had to get away, had to make it stop, had to stop burning, or maybe burn himself out; surely if he was nothing but ash and crumbled bones it would all finally _stop--_

  
_don’tscreamdon’tscreamdon’tscreamdon’tscreamdon’tscreamdon’tscreamdon’tscream..._

 

 

It was going very well, really. What Rogers was experiencing, the things he saw, who could say? But his body was responding to it with particular vigor.

He strained and went taught, every muscle straining and beginning to shake, eyes open and unseeing or clasped shut tight, and Verschmutzung could not have been more pleased.

When the blood flecked bile rose, he took a step to the side, preferring to preserve his shoes… but the fact that he was heaving was exciting, especially considering how little he’d had to eat of late. His dehydration, too, was likely contributing to the torment he felt.

As he watched, his captive began thrashing, and he took another step back, less amused, when the restraints appeared to shudder and buckle a little under the force of his strength.

He’d expected that he would be more verbal and as such his silence seemed a disappointment, but then again he’d also thought more of his muscular control would be gone, so it was clear there were further tests to be done on the subject.

In the meantime, he raised his hand a little, stilling the guards with a wave. They were discomforted by the way his twisting and convulsing was looking more and more like it may free him. But as well he knew, his leg was damaged and as disoriented as he was even if he did manage to work his way free of all of the bindings-- unlikely-- it would only send him crashing to the ground in a heap.

And if that did happen, how amused his superiors would be, how pleased with him, providing video of Captain America flopping around on the floor.

Perhaps, once he was well and truly destroyed, so that none of the man he had been remained, they would send that video to SHIELD. To the Avengers. To the American press-- just to show them that no one was indestructible.

That in mind, Verschmutzung leaned in, speaking lowly and clearly to be sure that Rogers would hear him over the sounds of whatever internal agony he was going through.

“You have been very helpful, Captain, thank you. I am sure that after such a successful test, HYDRA will be eager to try it out on the rest of your team. Tell me, how do you suppose Iron Man, Black Widow, and Hawkeye will take to it? The Hulk will need more, of course, and we are working even now on suitable accommodations. But the rest-- I think they will be louder than you are. Do you suppose they will beg for it to end? Plead with me to--”

 

The acid crawling up his throat as his stomach convulsed might have brought a whimper to Steve’s lips if he weren’t already choking on blood. One more part of him burning; he had to be an inferno by now.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself not to look at Loki or Erskine or any of the other ghosts that haunted him. But a nearby sound, shuffling, breathing, prompted him to open them again seconds later. Verschmutzung hovered close, grinning, and even as Steve looked at him his features seemed to shift, flickering into Zola’s pug-faced looks, into Schmidt’s macabre mask. It made Steve’s ( _scorched, shredded, monstrous)_ skin crawl, and he had to struggle to hear him, to listen over the hissing accusations of all his other ghosts--

And soon he wished he hadn’t. The burning flared brighter, and he found himself wheezing for breath through the blood frothing at his lips, unable to stop envisioning _Tony, crying out as they took him apart all over again, stripping him back down to the man he’d been in the desert and then stripping away whatever was left, tearing out the reactor and leaving nothing but fire in its place; Clint, deft fingers shattered and eyes glazed as he screamed himself hoarse, bones breaking from his own struggles; Bruce transformed into a bellowing pyre of rage and flame and agony; Natasha, blood spilling from her lips in a mockery of the lipstick she so often wore, the brightness in her eyes gone, replaced by a lifeless glaze--_

“ **No!”**

He snarled, the fire burning white-hot, and something snapped. Internally, and, it seemed, externally as well, the groaning of the specters of his friends joined by the groaning and screech of tearing metal. He could feel his body breaking as muscles tightened past what they were ever meant to do and bones strained against solid iron, but he was past caring. Something came free, and he lunged, slamming into the doctor and wrapping a length of chain around his throat, squeezing it taught as he pulled the doctor into a chokehold.

_No. You won’t touch them._

Steve’s love wouldn’t destroy anyone else. He wouldn’t let it. Wouldn’t let them--

 

He moved so fast that Verschmutzung never saw it coming-- wouldn’t have thought him able to, even if he had.

His hands flew to his neck and he tried to slip his fingers under the chain, tried to pull back against it and give himself room to breathe, but all he managed to do was find the holes in the middle of the links. He tugged just the same, fighting a force impossible for him to win against, and managed to choke out,

“--Call the-- other one!” The guards were coming towards him and the Captain, but it was obvious to him-- or maybe in his panic, he just thought-- with a single wrong move, he could be dead before the other one even got there. And he had no idea what Rogers was capable of in this state.

The guards froze, and one raised his gun, but the other followed orders and bolted from the room, already barking into his walkie talkie.

They kept the other one nearby when they had the Captain out of his cage, he knew that. It wouldn’t be long now. He just had to manage not to be murdered-- and not to let this idiot take out a valuable specimen, in the meantime.

“Lower your weapon!” He rasped, able to feel the pressure building as his air ran down, able to feel the hard edges of the chain burying deeper into his throat.

He was too strong, and Verschmutzung was afraid that he wouldn’t last--

And then the contingency plan stormed in, eyes fierce and face covered. He stepped through the door, took one look at the situation, and wrenched the rifle from the other guard’s hands, tossing it to the floor where it discharged uselessly into the wall.

He took two long strides, reached up with his silver hand, and broke the chain where it sat across Verschmutzung’s throat, and pulled him back and out of harm’s way.

“Detain him!” He instructed. “Don’t kill him, but get him back under control!”

 

Steve clung to the doctor even as he felt some of the strength bleeding from his brittle limbs. He’d been burning so long and so hot, he wasn’t sure what, if anything, was left; but if he was going to go out in this blaze, he’d take at least one of these bastards with him. There was gunfire, but Steve ignored it. If they killed him, they couldn’t use him anymore and the joke would be on them.

Then abruptly, the chain in his hands shattered, and Verschmutzung was gone. Steve growled in protest, trying to lunge forward, trying to lunge after his quarry--

Something slammed into him and pinned him down, flat on his destroyed back, wrenching a gasp of heart-stopping pain from him as he fought yet again not to cry out, not to let them hear him.

He blinked away tears, trying to see, trying to focus on anything over the cacophony of noise and pain and light, all his overwhelmed senses merging to the point he could hardly differentiate one from the other, though he clung to consciousness through sheer force of obstinacy. The figure above him, pinning him down, began to coalesce.

Steve went still.

“ _Bucky?”_

It was barely a whisper. But someone heard it, as a voice in his ear began to chuckle.

“ _Of course,”_ it murmured. Loki’s voice? He couldn’t even tell any more. “ _Who else is missing from this pretty tableau? Who else have you failed? Have you killed?”_

_And there was Bucky smirking down at him, in the same uniform he’d worn before shipping out, looking sharp and well-groomed. It was enough to make Steve’s heart feel like it was going to break all over again._

 

                 “ _Bucky,” he gasped._

 

_I tried to save you. I tried to reach you._

 

“ _You’re a real punk, Rogers,” Bucky said, smiling down. But the smile grew hard at the edges, and didn’t reach his eyes. “Got a lot of nerve after what you did.”_

 

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

 

_And then Bucky’s smile vanished, his eyes going dull. “You let me fall, Steve.”_

_He tired to protest. Tried to say he didn’t. But the words (_ lies _) never formed. Couldn’t form._

_(He’d let him fall.)_

_Bucky’s face, twisting into a look of horror as he fell, played over in his mind -- the wide eyed terror as he tumbled through open air down into the ravine, vanishing in the swirling snow--_

“ _You left me there. You left my body to rot, Steve.”_

_And then the Bucky over him was no longer in dress uniform, but in his commando jacket, torn and filthy with blood, snow dotting its shoulders. His face was white as a sheet, colorless and unshaven, hair overlong and falling lank around it. His hand, where it closed around Steve’s throat, was icy cold. “How long do you think it took for wild animals to tear my carcass apart, Steve?”_

“I’m sorry,” _he wheezed, shivering uncontrollably, burning and freezing all at once._ “I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m sorry---”

_Bucky. Loki. Erskine. Sarah. All his friends who would burn after him. All the soldiers he’d led into battle and hadn’t led back out. All the nameless civilians he’d tried to save and had let down. All the people he’d outlived when he hadn’t deserved to. Their voices and faces filled his mind, smothering him, tearing his thoughts apart as the poison in his veins tore his body apart._

_Maybe, he realized abruptly, he was burning because he was_ supposed _to burn._

Maybe this was hell.

 _Maybe he_ deserved _to burn, forever and ever and ever for all his failures and all the lives he’d destroyed--_

_He choked out a sob, convulsing with it, spasming against Bucky’s hold. And in response Bucky snarled and slammed him back against the floor, hard._

_And as Steve watched, the flesh began to rot and fall away from his face, putrefying and revealing bone. His eyes went milky white, his hair too long and ragged, and the hand closed around Steve’s windpipe was too cold, too hard, an icy bony claw digging into his flesh._

“ _YOU LET ME DIE!” Bucky’s corpse cried, as freezing fire roared to life around them, circling them both, consuming them like a pyre. Black swam at the edges of Steve’s vision, his lungs aching for air, and when Bucky’s grip relented just enough, he used what little air remained unthinkingly:_

  
  
Steve screamed.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, there will be no update next week. We should be back the week after, once we've sorted out some documents. Thanks for bearing with us, and we hope all our US readers have a happier thanksgiving than Loki just did!
> 
> For those in need of a palate cleanser after this chapter, might I recommend [clicking here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8rSH8-pbHZ0)


	69. Sixty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific trigger warnings: the second Steve section in this chapter contains homophobic and anti-semitic slurs, Nazi rhetoric, and a sexually-charged act of violence.

 

Loki and Stark watched Carter prepping her army of agents on screens in the lab. She seemed to have everything mostly in hand.

It was lucky, Loki thought, that SHIELD trained their people not to ask questions or demand information when it was not offered. Otherwise there could well have been curiosity as to where the map they were working from originated. And why Carter and the Avengers were so interested in the pieces of gold they were meant to be asking after.

As it was, though, the briefing went quickly and painlessly, and Stark whistled lowly as they watched the agents stream out of the meeting room.

“There's so many of them.” Loki said, voicing what Stark had clearly been thinking.

“They'll be able to clear the map in about a week.”

“Well. The map of New York, at any rate.” Loki corrected, zooming out.

“Right. We'll deal with the rest on our own. Nice though, getting these marks off our plate.”

Loki made a noncommittal noise, his eyes glued to the rest of the spots. There were still more than he'd like. Too many.

“Hey Loki?” Stark's voice was suddenly softened, and Loki tensed. He had no interest in turning this into a heart to heart.

“I think I need a shower before our meeting. If you'll excuse me.” His chair scraped against the floor as he stood.

“Oh, I had a question about that, actually,” Stark said, standing to follow as Loki made his way out of the lab. “We track water usage to keep track of our footprint-- you guys' suite always sends more water down the drain than comes out of the faucet. Any idea how that is?”

Loki felt a tiny smirk form, pleased that the distraction had worked.

“We've a hotspring in our bathroom.” He told him frankly.

“What? How!? You're 90 stories up!” Stark was all but sputtering with his indignation, and Loki raised an eyebrow and his hands, wiggling his fingers mockingly.

“Magic, Stark. Perhaps when we are not so pressed for time, I will allow you to see.”

He was reminded, though, of how he'd done similar to Steve, while wearing his face. It had been a threat, then, his magic against Steve's agents' lives. He dropped his hands and his smile fell away. The levity of the moment shattered, he headed for the elevator, leaving Stark muttering behind him.

 

* * *

 

The poison didn’t kill him.

Steve knew this, because he still hurt. And he was pretty sure you were supposed to stop hurting when you were dead. So the fact that he briefly surfaced into consciousness to enormous pain still coursing through his body indicated that he had yet to kick it, however much it seemed as if he should have already.

Instead he drifted in and out.

At one point, he woke to choking on his own vomit, rolled over and hacked and gasped for air in between spitting out mouthfuls of bile, retching and heaving even when there was nothing at all to bring up, until the exhaustion of the repeated convulsions dragged him back under.

The next time he woke, the stale smell of vomit lingering in the air almost set him retching again, but he managed to hold it in until the nausea abated slightly. Lifting his head feebly, he noted that they’d returned him to his cell, but hadn’t bothered to chain him up.

He couldn’t remember being brought back. Couldn’t remember if he’d been too combative for them to do much more than throw him in and lock the door, or too pathetic to waste time on restraining.

The things he did remember, he wished he didn’t.

He squeezed his eyes shut, though there was nothing to look at. It proved to be a poor idea, as images of Bucky’s living corpse sprung into being on the canvas of his eyelids, and he quickly opened them back up to concentrate on the walls of his cell instead, focusing on the crack in the concrete instead of the specter of his dead friend.

Bucky had been dead for decades. There would be nothing left now but scattered bones, if that.

It had just been the drugs.

It had _all_ been the drugs, he tried to remind himself, even going so far as to mutter as much aloud. His voice was mostly gone, throat raw, and the words came out in a hoarse croak.

(He remembered he’d screamed).

(He didn’t make a sound as he shoved his arm back into its socket yet again; the silence held less satisfaction now).

 

* * *

 

The meeting was called to a close and everyone scattered to return to their duties. Clint and Murray, apparently friends from their shared time in medical isolation after Loki's escape with Steve, were going for waffles. Worrisome, but he had more pressing concerns.

“Romanoff? May I-- have a word?” Loki remained where he sat, ignoring the way that Barton looked back at him, suspicion and concern clearly written on his face. They hadn't said who was to go to Europe, only that that was their destination.

Besides: he had hurt her feelings, offended her… and with her leading the team, it wouldn’t do to have her upset with him.

So instead he meant to make an appeal; a pity play.

“Something you wanted, Loki?” She asked him mildly, her tone almost cheerful. Deceptively so.

“I… wanted to ask you to reconsider.” He’d chosen his words carefully, intending to sound as calm and logical as possible, but leading her astray. Disorienting her.

“Reconsider _what_? Hurting you? I thought we were beyond this.” He could hear her lack of patience for him. Internally he smirked, pleased with himself.

As planned.

He ducked his head, both to appear that he felt bad for asking-- for being reminded what he had done-- and to hide his expression, lest he give away his game. He was regaining his ability to see every angle and consider how he might manipulate them. He was remembering, but he still felt too exposed.

“No-- not that. And I _am_ sorry. I… should have known better. I apologize. I needed to find a way of focusing, and I hoped-- but I was wrong. I know that I was, and I-- it will not happen again. No, I wanted to ask you to reconsider...I know that you have no reason to want me near you or your team, and I know it has already been decided that I should stay here, remain in the lab… but I cannot be of use in that way. There is nothing for me to do. I am more useful in the field- I can provide shields-- protection. I can travel through walls and doors, search more effectively. I can restrain any who may attack us. I can heal and transport if-- when we find Steve. I just. I should be there.” He spoke beseechingly, but calmly.

Inside he felt the ever present emptiness yawning wider as he did this. Steve would have been disgusted. The way he presented himself, as he had when he’d first been captured. Using Steve’s team's goodness against them. Guiding how she viewed him, how she would react.

“When was this decided? It’s the first I’m hearing about it.” Romanoff asked, and Loki wrinkled his brow, continuing the act.

“Just before she called in the other agents. Carter feels that my time is wasted when I am not in the lab.” He spread his hands, showing himself to be helpless. “I do not know what I am meant to be doing, but please-- let me come. Let me help. I want to be of use, I want to find Steve-- I promised. I promised that I'd be there for him.” He let some upset color his words now-- a slight strain, nothing more.

“I have to think about it, Loki. I've got to pick the best team for this.” She spoke as if she thought she was gentling her words-- though she was not fully successful. And he saw the way her eyes darted to the door. He hoped it caused further tension, made her speak with Carter.

If they were distracted, they wouldn't notice if he slipped aboard.

None here would miss him.

He needed to be there.

And he needed to find reasons for the other Avengers to like him, to allow him to stay and be of use. Not to send him back to SHIELD’s loving arms.

He would not be made more helpless than he already was.

He searched for something else he could say, but he knew that she was wary of him-- he had to be subtle and take care. She was watching him closely.

“Loki.” She spoke before he could. “I don’t know if anybody has brought it up, but… you know the longer this goes on, the more likely it is that when we find him, he’s not going to be alive, right?”

“ _ **No.**_ ” He struggled to restrain himself, to push down the anger, the helpless fear that took hold of him at her words-- and he saw in her eyes the look of satisfaction.

No doubt she had seen his game and was getting even. And she knew precisely how to do so, how to find his vulnerabilities and how to poke her fingers in the wounds.

“No. Steve is alive. Heimdall would have contacted Thor if there were a body. And if he were--” He could not force the word from his mouth. “ _If it is as you say_ , they would have no reason to continue hiding him.”

“What’s running through his veins is the rarest compound on earth. And anyone who has an army or wants an army, wants _it_. Even if they’ve already killed him… they might keep him out of sight to keep us from taking him away before they’ve harvested all they can from him.” The words were brutal and her voice did not soften the blow. There was no kindness in it. Perhaps this was her idea of fair payback for his treating her as a weapon: her treating him as if she were.

“I cannot believe that.” The words came out before he thought about them, but they were true. “Cannot _allow_ myself to believe-- How can you even think it?” He asked her, words sharp. “He is alive. He must be. I would know… I did before-- when he was nearly killed, I knew. He cannot be-- and more, we cannot believe that he could be. We do not-- none of us have the _luxury_ of giving up on him. You know that he would not give up on you.” The game he’d been playing, the way he’d held himself, all of it dissolved under his own accusations. He felt too tense, now, and had to grip the chair to keep from giving that away.

“It’s been two weeks, Loki. How long before we have to start thinking that it’s a possibility?”

“ _Never._ ” Loki stood. “If you give up, I will find my own way. But I will not stop searching. Not today, not tomorrow, not a year from now if it must come to that. I am trying to do as you would have me, trying to play by your rules and listen to your advice, but if that advice is that we should leave him to his fate, _forget him_ , I will have to disagree.” He stepped backwards, away from the table.

“I am afraid you will have to excuse me.” He was shaking, his voice, his hands-- even his heart, it felt like. If he could not count on them for their help... he was retreating again, running away. He’d failed in his ploy. He’d let her win again.

“You can come. I’ll talk to Sharon.” She told him, and he stopped, surprised.

“Thank you.” He responded after a moment. “Though I stand by what I said.”

“That’s why you can come.” She answered, and he wasn’t entirely certain whether or not he imagined her lips turning upwards at the corners. Either way, he couldn’t feel entirely mollified. He’d come here intending to play her, and he got the distinct feeling that she’d played him, instead.

It was difficult to say who’d won this round.

 

* * *

 

A bowl skittered in through the slot in the door, but Steve made no move toward it.

His insides still felt ragged and wrung out, his stomach aching, and though he knew he was hungry and dehydrated, the thought of forcing down the gray gruel only made him nauseous.

The smell of bile and the stink of pus leaking from ruptured blisters on his back didn’t help.

Infected, maybe? He didn’t think he’d had an infection since before the war, but the alternating sweats and chills he got now made it seem a possibility. He carefully reached back with his good arm and gingerly prodded the burns, only to gasp at the spike of pain and summarily resolve to leave them well enough alone.

He curled up on his side and tried to sleep.  
Hovering between wakefulness and sleep, he thought of Loki.

(He’d made it up to him. Make it better. Fix things and never leave him behind ever again, never leave, never...)

He’d whisk him away somewhere and make him a meal and they’d curl up on the couch and watch a movie again. Casablanca, or-- no, not that one again-- Wizard of Oz? The technicolor would be all the more striking now he could see the full spectrum (wasted here, everything was just gray and gray and more gray), and then they’d put on the old record player and dance, just the two of them, humming along to Sinatra or whoever else as they moved around the room, bodies pressed close enough to feel each other’s warmth...

The sweetness of the daydream shattered as the speaker in the wall blared loudly.

They chained him back up to the wall.

He didn’t bother fighting this time. Moving hurt too much.

Looking down, he found himself staring at his knees, bruised and pulled up to his chest. They seemed too large, too bony, swollen and disproportionate to the rest of his legs. He frowned -- had HYDRA done something to his knees? He tried to remember.

They’d done so much to him now...

The door opened and Steve slowly looked up, blinking, bracing for another set of guards to unchain him and drag him off to God knew what. But there was only one figure standing in the doorway, and when he stepped forward, Steve’s eyes widened.

For the first time in days, he felt a fresh swell of hope.

“Scofield?” he said, trying not to wince at the hoarse quality of his voice. “God, never thought I’d be this glad to see you...” In any other circumstances, he’d be decidedly unhappy. But unpleasant though he may have been, Scofield was a SHIELD agent, and that meant SHIELD was here.

SHIELD was _here._ Steve was being rescued. Finally. The realization made him giddy.

He was being rescued and he was going to go home and this whole goddamn nightmare was finally over.

“Is Stark here?” he asked as Scofield took another step into the room. “The rest of the Avengers? Cause you might need him to override the cuffs, there’s some kinda mag-lock and I think they control it remotely...”

He trailed off, however, as Scofield made no further move to free him. Said nothing. And slowly, the icy feeling that something was horribly _wrong_ crept down Steve’s spine.

There were no alarms. No sound of footsteps in the hall indicating a response to a breach. And Scofield showed no sign of urgency. Instead, he simply stood there, looking down at Steve with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Relief had turned to despair, which quickly stewed into rage.

“You,” Steve breathed, the pieces clicking into place.

Rescue wasn’t here.

“It was you, wasn’t it. The mole.”

There was no trace of denial on Scofield’s face. But when he shifted his weight and turned slightly, the patch on the shoulder of his uniform -- a skull with tentacles in lieu of a stylized eagle -- confirmed it before his words did. “Took you long enough,” he finally said, voice laced with amusement.

Steve lunged forward, ignoring the screaming pain in his shoulders as the chains pulled them taut. “You son of a bitch!” he hissed. “Traitor!”

Scofield laughed, stepping forward until he was just inches out of Steve’s reach, standing there with impunity. “That’s rich coming from you,” he replied, harsh smile never quite reaching his eyes. Eyes that looked just as full of rage as they had when Steve had thrown him against the wall of Loki’s cell after finding out he’d been starving his prisoner. (He wondered if this counted as some sort of irony.)

“You were HYDRA all along,” Steve wheezed, hating himself even more for having left Loki in SHIELD and Scofield’s hands on that mission. His own captivity in a Latverian dungeon for the space of a few days those many months ago now seemed like a luxury by comparison to his present circumstances.

“Now that, you’re not quite right about,” Scofield countered. “But I do have you to thank for opening my eyes. This?” He gestured to himself, to the insignia he wore, “is all thanks to you, Cap.”

Steve blinked, befuddled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Scofield tsked his tongue at him. “Watch that mouth, Cap. You’re already a bad enough role model as it is.” His smile tensed, and then fell into an expression of disgust. “God. And here I used to look up to you.”

“Yeah. Because nothing says ‘Captain America Fan’ like joining the Red Skull’s old club,” Steve spat.

Scofield's kick caught him by surprise. The embarrassment nearly hurt more than the impact of the booted foot to his chin, snapping his teeth shut and knocking him back into the wall.

“I fucking _idolized_ you as a kid,” he hissed. “I had Cap action figures, Cap comics, Cap goddamn bedsheets--”

“Woulda thought more of me might have rubbed off,” Steve muttered, working his jaw around and wincing as the tendons clicked.

Scofield didn’t seem to hear. “You were this perfect ideal!” he continued to rant. “The biggest and strongest and fastest, the perfect soldier, the epitome of masculinity, the superior man, the future of humanity! You should have been the father of the master race, and instead--” His lip curled in a sneer. “Instead I find out Captain America is a fucking alien-loving _faggot.”_

Steve flinched, clenching his aching jaw. “The man you idolized never existed,” he said. “I was never a perfect soldier. Captain America -- that was never about being the superior man. It was about standing up for the little guy.” He looked up. “I’m sorry the propaganda tricked you, Scofield, that the message got warped into something unrecognizable, but you have to have known I used to be just an ordinary guy.”

“Yeah, you were a goddamn cripple son of immigrants mooching off everyone, I know the sob story,” Scofield sneered. “The serum was supposed to fix you. Supposed to make you better, dammit. Make the world better.” He scoffed. “Fucking trust a goddamn kike scientist to fuck it up and make the übermensch into a fucking fairy--”

Steve growled deep in his throat. The insults against himself, he could bear, but the slur against Erskine sparked his ire. “Don’t you dare call him that.”

“Or what?” Scofield demanded. “You gonna call your alien monster boyfriend on me? Yeah, don’t think all of us didn’t have you pegged. If you were gonna betray your planet you could have at least done it for a piece of ass that didn’t have a dick and balls attached, but no, you had to be a goddamn pervert on top of it all.” He spat, and the glob of saliva hit Steve in the forehead. “You’re disgusting.”

“Funny,” Steve said, doing his best to remain stoic despite the sick feeling creeping up his gorge. “I was about to say the same of you.” He tilted his head to the side, trying not to cringe as he felt the spit dripping down the side of his face. “So, what -- you betrayed everything you knew and became a Nazi because you were mad about me caring about Loki?” He was trying to figure it out. Figure out how someone like Scofield could have passed SHIELD screening and lasted this long in the organization if he was this ideologically warped. How he could have defected to HYDRA if he hadn’t been like this all along. What could possibly have driven him to this? (And could it possibly be really Steve’s fault?)

“ _YOU_ betrayed us!” Scofield shouted. “You betrayed America and every goddamn upright citizen with the right to call himself a man! You fucking betray the ideals you’re supposed to stand for and sleep with the enemy -- you’re a disgrace! They should never let you wear the colors of the flag!” He all but trembled with fury. “You’re like the rest of the liberal bullshit puppets working for the zionists. Just another lie propped up to make us all complacent. But I know better now--” he levelled a shaking finger at Steve.

“I know what you are, and oh, I have to thank you for that.” He grinned again, and the quality of it was deranged. “I saw, on the cameras, what you were. And that’s when I realized the truth of it. You were just another failed experiment. The real innovators of the serum -- the real source of superiority -- had always been HYDRA. Before it was stolen and diluted and made inferior. They’re the ones who’ll make the world great again. Who’ll bring order and walk humanity into the future, make it pure and cut away all the filth.”

Steve stared, feeling vaguely nauseous. The degree of hate and vitriol Scofield was spewing -- he’d known the man was homophobic, but this? “You’re insane,” he murmured, caught between awe and absolute horror. He’d thought this kind of rhetoric would have died with Hitler after he came out of the ice, thought the Third Reich’s ideologies might have perished with it. But clearly he’d been wrong.

“ _I’m_ insane?” Scofield parroted, disbelieving. “ _I’M_ not the one putting my dick in the guy who tried to take over the world!”

Steve scowled. “So how long _did_ it take you to turn on SHIELD?” he asked. The burns on his back itched and his shoulder throbbed, but the conversation, vile as it was, gave him something to concentrate on. Something to glean intelligence from.

Scofield scoffed. “Not long. HYDRA began making overtures to me early. SHIELD could learn a thing or two about their recruitment tactics.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I got approached

not long after your little tizzy over your loverboy in the cell. By likeminded people. Took me a while to set up my audition, but when I walked in here with the spear... well, I passed with flying colors.”

The spear-- “Loki’s scepter?” Steve blinked. “That was you?”

“Mmm. I suppose I should thank you for throwing me off the freak’s guard rotation,” Scofield mused. “Saved me from being put on psych eval with Murray and Tanner and the rest. But I was still on the guard roster for the scepter. And with everyone thinking Loki was back off the deep-end, no one would have thought twice about who was responsible if it went missing.” The smile faded. “Of course, you had to go and nearly ruin it by offering to come back in and make nice. Fury even fucking had hope for you, too,” he sneered. “I had to think fast.”

“The shot,” Steve breathed, “in the garage. Was that--?”

“Easily arranged,” Scofield confirmed. “Paid Winslow off to have his trigger finger be itchy that day. Didn’t think it would take much for you to bolt. You’re nice and predictable like that.”

Steve shook his head, feeling like he was going to retch again. “And just like that, HYDRA had an inside man?”

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound impossibly loud and jarring in the small confines of the cell. “Oh, you’re something, Cap,” he wheezed, grinning maniacally: “You actually think there’s just one?”

Sinking into a crouch, he got down to Steve’s eye level, sitting on his haunches. “SHIELD’s all rotted out from the inside. It’s crumbling; has been for decades. It’s wasted and obsolete and we’re gonna put it out of its misery,” he explained, spelling it out like Steve was a small child. “It’s the humane thing to do, after all. Put it down. Tear it to the ground so we can start over nice and fresh.”

“And how many people are gonna get hurt?” Steve demanded.

He laughed. “However many’s necessary,” he answered, unbothered, the gleam of zealotry in his eyes. “After all, we can’t rebuild until we’ve culled the weak. Cleaned out the herd so only the worthy are left. And of course, we’ll have to get rid of the Avengers... What the hell Fury was thinking, I’ll never know, but that’s definitely got to go. Hell, maybe you can even help with that. You know, once you break and tell us all their weaknesses so we can pick ‘em off one by one...” He leered wickedly. “I can just imagine how much fun Verschmutzung’s gonna have taking each and every one of them apart to see how they tick--”

Pulling forward again, Steve bared his teeth and ignored the pain as he pulled on his chains. “Fuck you!” he spat, coming to within a few inches of Scofield’s smirking face.

The man’s face twisted hideously. “Fuck me?” he repeated. “You’d fucking like that, wouldn’t you, faggot. Or do you like _getting_ fucked?” He straightened up, looming over Steve. “That why you have such a goddamn hardon for Mister “Kneel before me”? You like getting fucked by him?”

As he spoke he reached into the pouch of his uniform and Steve braced for some fresh instrument of pain, but whatever he pulled out was small enough to fit in his fist. “You had some interesting shit on you when we found you, Cap. Course, all the Starktech went straight to the labs, but it took us a while to puzzle this one out. When we did, though...”

He loosened his fist and a gleam of silver spilled out, dangling on the end of the chain he held.

Steve’s breath caught in his chest; it was the necklace Loki had given him.

“I got to shed some light on this one, you know. They were all knocking their heads together trying to figure out what Captain America was doing with a recording of a guy’s voice saying a pet name. Got a real laugh when I told them the truth. Tell me, _sweet boy--”_ and how something that could be so tender from Loki’s lips could sound like poison from Scofield’s Steve would never know, “-- is that what he calls you when the two of you fuck?”

Steve’s lip curled, even as his heart hammered against his bruised ribs. “You seem to care an awful lot about my sex life, Scofield,” he remarked, trying to keep his ragged voice even, though he could feel tremors of rage running through him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were only this fixated because you were jealous.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Scofield’s gun was out of its holster and Steve knew he’d pushed too far.

“Jealous?” Scofield hissed, leveling his pistol at Steve. He found himself staring nearly cross-eyed at the black void of the gun’s barrel. “You think I’m--” he choked off in rage, then stepped forward to press the cold metal against Steve’s forehead. “Let’s get one thing straight here,” he seethed. “ _You’re_ the fucking pervert here. _You’re_ the fag sullying the stars and stripes you worthless, sick piece of shit.”

Steve swallowed, trying not to think of how Scofield’s finger rested on the trigger, inches from his eyes.

“You probably like that too, you traitor,” he continued. “You let him fuck you in the uniform? You like that?” The gun barrel dug into his skin. “ _You like making America get on its knees to suck alien dick?”_

Steve didn’t answer, but this only seemed to incense him further. The gun pulled away for a brief moment before Scofield slammed it into the side of Steve’s face, splitting his cheekbone and making him gasp in pain. And before he could react, Scofield rammed the barrel into Steve’s open mouth, scraping past his teeth and forcing his jaw open. He reeled, trying to pull away but unable to move much, caught between the wall and the restraints and the weight of the gun that rested now on his tongue, filling his mouth with the vile taste of lead shot residue and gun oil.

“Open wide, _sweet boy,_ ” Scofield taunted. He pushed the gun in further, the nub of the sight scraping a gouge in the roof of Steve’s palate. “You should be good at this, right? You suck your boyfriend off like this?”

He grabbed Steve’s head, fingers gripping the few tufts of hair left to him, and pushed the barrel in until he choked, hitting his throat and cutting off his air. “Does he make you gag for it?” he hissed, watching as Steve fought to breathe around the intrusion. “This is what you like, right? Choking on your knees like the bitch you are?” He looked feverish, gleeful, color burning high in his cheeks and his dilated eyes overbright.

Spots began to occlude Steve’s peripheral vision when Scofield pulled back enough for Steve to breathe wheezily, sucking down grateful gasps of air around the gun still stretching his lips. He snorted derisively down at him. “Fuck, just look at you. Gagging and drooling. Bet you’re just wishing this was cock.” His head tilted to the side in curiosity. “Huh. You know, I could blow a fucking hole through the back of your head right now, _sweet boy_...”

Something -- the safety, Steve realized in horror -- clicked. The cold, hard weight of the gun suddenly felt infinitely larger and colder, his nerves alight with terror.

He could die here.

He might survive any number of beatings, might survive poison and burning and crashing a damn plane, but if Scofield pulled the trigger now, his brains would be painting the wall and it would be the end.

It would be over. But the burning-icy terror flooding his veins and pooling in his gut and tingling in every single inch of his body made it clear that _god, he didn’t want to die here--_

But he didn’t want to show his fear either.

Fighting to get a grip, he lifted his chin slightly (the barrel clicked against his lower teeth), and stared challenging up at Scofield, as if to dare him to pull the trigger, even as he prayed he wouldn’t. His lips, dry and chapped, felt stretched to cracking around the barrel of the gun, far more violating and degrading than any time he’d held Loki in his mouth. And now Scofield warped those words, warped those sensations, taking what had been an intimate sensation of trust and release and doing everything he could to taint it. To destroy it and fill it with fear and with death--

(In the back of his mind, Steve heard Loki’s voice, an echo whispered from the past --

 

_does it always feel like dying when I fuck you?_

 

_or do you just wish it did?)_

 

Their eyes met and held for several seconds.

 

Then Scofield broke away, making a disgusted sound. He stepped back and pulled the gun away, leaving Steve heaving for breath with spittle dripping down his chin.

“Look at you. Fucking pathetic.”

A small clinking noise, and Steve watched as the silver of the necklace chain vanished down into the drain where Scofield dropped it.

Heart finally slowing from a hum back down to individual beats, Steve looked up at his tormentor, the fear from moments before fermenting into hate as he watched him turn away to wipe his gun off with a spare cloth.

“You know,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “For a guy who really hates ‘fags’, your zipper was looking awful tight through all that.”

Scofield froze, then turned, crossing the space in two steps and bringing his gun down hard enough against Steve’s face to split open his eyebrow and make him see stars.

Then again.

“The fuck did you say!” Scofield screamed.

Again.

“You bastard! You worthless--”

Again. Too much blood filled his eyes and Steve couldn’t make out Scofield’s face. Couldn’t quite make out the words Scofield was shouting either, though he could hear him yelling. Then more yelling, and the blaring tone of the alarm.

 

* * *

 

He tried to keep to himself, but with Ferra along, it proved impossible.

In honesty, Loki didn’t mind. It would be nice to have someone who felt indebted to him. That way when they realized that he was useless, if they found that the markers here were only from more destruction he'd not known about, she at least would not be able to turn fully against him.

He hoped.

Beside him, she was prattling on about blood pudding, which she was cheerfully insisting, “--absolutely lived up to the hype of being gross. Really gross, like, couldn’t get the taste out of my mouth for the rest of the day. But I mean, you’re the reason I could even taste it, so that’s sort of your fault.” She laughed and jabbed him with her now less-sharp (but no less hard) elbow.

He shifted uncomfortably at that, but did not otherwise respond, and the teasing smile fell off her face.

“You doing okay, magic hands?”

Loki didn’t know how to answer that, unsure if he was being asked too often or not enough, for his tastes. And it was made all the more difficult by half of their teams’ ignorance to the real reason for his distress.

Fortunately he was saved by Bradley’s voice on the intercom, crisp and clear and no-nonsense.

“We’ll be setting down shortly. Please secure anything that needs it, including yourselves.”

Loki took the cue to shift into his female form, tightening the belt to fit her new size.

Ferra gaped openly, but it was Romanoff who approached, and she could see the way Ferra shifted in response to her tensing. Loki knew she had become too transparent--

“Loki, I thought you, me and Bradley could go look into the first marker, while Ferra and Clint check in with SHIELD’s offices here, give them a briefing on what we’ve got going on, and figure out our rooming sitch.”

“Two questions: Why me and-- is that normal?” Ferra came back, her eyes locked on Loki’s female face.

“You because you’re the senior representative of Agent Carter’s team, and you’ll need to take part in the briefings. And as for the other--” Loki realized that Romanoff had no good answer and was looking at her as well, and felt herself growing self conscious.

“I can interact fearlessly with my surroundings, this way. This will not break as illusion might.” She said, her voice high and clear and full of challenge.

“Jesus.” She heard Clint say, and looked down at her lap, uncomfortable. What he must be thinking now about her-- and worse, about _Steve_. She should not have come.

“Handy.” Natasha said firmly, almost like a warning. Loki looked up sharply at that.

“So hang on,” Bradley said. “If we’re teamed up with Loki and those guys are checking in, what’s Thor doing?”

“I am to return to the site of my battle, in order to make plans to christen the new courtyard.” He supplied quickly. “My friend Erik Selvig will be there to collect me when we land.”

Loki swallowed and felt a small shiver run down her spine, urging her to sit up all the straighter. Thor had known this, but hadn't told her. Her stomach churned, and it felt like a small betrayal.

Suddenly, despite her discomfort from the long flight, she wished it were not so close to its end. She wasn’t sure she was ready to be confronted with another person who had suffered at her hands. Who no doubt hated her. She wished she had known sooner, that she might have been better able to prepare herself.

She was not looking forward to hearing what he had to say.

When they landed, Loki tarried so that only she and Romanoff remained, and the latter because she insisted on being the last to deplane.

She inhaled, filling her lungs and wishing that her stomach would settle, and stepped out onto the steps, then to the asphalt. She kept her eyes cast downwards, trained on the ground she walked on. Until she had no further to go.

Slowly she lifted her eyes and there he was, waiting for them, obviously as ill at ease as she was. More.

And he was watching her, mistrust and-- and _fear_ written on his face.

Beside him, Thor, too, was watching her, but he was frowning.

Somehow she had already disappointed him.

With another deep breath, and twisting her hands tightly around the strap of the bag she had slung across her body, she stepped closer. She stopped quickly, though, a few feet away, when Selvig flinched.

“Tell Loki that’s close enough,” Selvig murmured under his breath to Thor, and Loki’s chest tightened.

“I can hear you.” She said, softly enough not to scare, though she was certain it would carry to his ears. “I have no intention of harming you. Of… Your mind will remain your own, Doctor Erik Selvig. I promise you that.”

It was him who stepped forward, anger coalescing on his face.

“And it is that simple, is it? I have your word, and all is well?” He sounded nearly hysterical, his joviality pinched and tense. His hands, Loki saw, were clenched into fists, and she mentally prepared herself to be hit.

Still, she shook her head.

“Of course not. I am sorry; I realize there is precious little I can offer you, by way of reparation, but… If you can think of anything…”

“Stay away from me. That is how you can repay me.”

Thor rested a hand on Selvig’s shoulder, and looked as though he wanted to say something. Loki shook her head at him, begging for silence.

“I will do as best as I can.” She assured him. “Working closely as we are, it may be difficult, but… if I can avoid sharing a space with you, I will. I am sorry, again.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough, _your best_ isn’t good enough! You took my mind. You made me-- I endangered people, endangered _earth_ . And then… I lost my everything in the hole you left in me. Lost all credibility-- my tenure. My job. They _locked me up_ , do you understand? I was put in an institution for what you did to me. I have had to work to get all of that back. You stole my life from me, took my _self_ from me, and now you come with your apologies, your weak promises? How dare you?”

She nodded and lowered her head. “You’re right. I know, I’m-- I’m sorry.”

And she could not be surprised when Barton stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Selvig’s shoulders, and steered him away from her, toward the car. She couldn’t even feel concerned, for what they might say or do together.

Thor lagged behind them, glancing over his shoulder.

She was not brave enough to look him in the face. She wrapped her arms around herself, numbness overtaking her. She should have said more, _done_ something.

Steve would have hated this. Her silence. Her guilt. He would be as disappointed in her as Thor was.

Barton was a good reminder, though. She was only welcome here for now. When Steve got back, if he didn’t want her anymore… they’d all know it was true. Always had been.

_Monster._

Ferra squeezed Loki’s shoulder much as Thor had done to Selvig, and Loki closed her eyes for a second.

“Your ride is here-- come on, before the heated seats get cold.” Her humor was trying overhard to be infectious, but Loki was grateful for it anyway. Miserable as she was, Loki still managed to give Ferra a small smile.

“Fingers crossed.” Bradley said. “Maybe if we hurry, we could have Cap home in time for tea.”

“Provided this marker _is_ Cap.” Natasha pointed out. “Intel says the property belongs to some kind of collector..”

Loki caught her eye, and something passed between them. Romanoff met each of their eyes in turn, measuring, and then they were all in motion.

Loki felt, suddenly, as though she had just regained the ability to breathe.

_Steve, hang on. I’m coming._

_We’re coming._

 

* * *

 

Everything became indistinct. Flashes of light. Hurting. Shouting. His knees dragged over concrete.

It was all depressingly familiar.

Steve blanked out for a little while, drifting somewhat distantly from his surroundings until a sharp pain pinching his cheek anchored him.

It too, was familiar. But it was familiar from all the times his mother had clucked her tongue with worry as she got out her sewing kit and sterilized her needle to stitch shut cuts and gashes too deep for just a bandage. And later Bucky, fumbling with the needle and thread as he doused them in gin before handing the bottle to Steve as he stitched shut whatever battle wound he’d managed to get fighting bullies that day.

The antiseptic didn’t quite smell of gin, though, and the hands weren’t gentle as they held Steve’s split cheek together and sewed it up.

He was in the lab again, on the table. The pale doctor stood over him, working with swift, efficient movements. He spoke, though Steve could understand none of it, and a few moments later he realized that it wasn’t into a recorder, but to a group of other men and women in lab coats, observing as the doctor indicated Steve’s injuries, poking and prodding at them for illustration as he patched some up and simply aggravated others.

Like a dissected frog in a science classroom, Steve thought bitterly. Pinned down and taken apart for demonstration.

(He was always just a science experiment, wasn’t he?)

His head ached and he felt nauseous. Fighting down the bile creeping in his throat (if he vomited while strapped down on his back like this, would they just let him drown in it?) he closed his eyes and tried to think of anything else.

 

He thought of Bucky.

Had it been like this for him, strapped to Zola’s table? Had he been watched and examined and reduced to just a specimen while he waited and hoped for a rescue that might not come?

He’d been hurt and sick and half out of his mind when Steve found him muttering, strapped down and abandoned. Before he’d got them out.

(Maybe he hadn’t got them out. Maybe it was all a strange fever dream. Maybe they never made it out of the lab and Steve was strapped down to another table just down the hall from Bucky and it was still 1943 and nobody was coming--)

He groaned.

He wouldn’t think of Bucky.

_(Easier said than done.)_

They drew more blood.

 

They unstrapped his head so he could turn it to spit up whenever the nausea from the concussion Scofield had given him became too much. Though he tried not to move, knowing full well that he couldn’t break through the bonds -- even shifting slightly caused friction that flooded the still-oozing flesh of his back with pain.

But by turning his head he could see the vials upon vials being filled with vividly red blood; racks of them, all neatly labeled and sent off and  _god, were they leaving any blood inside of him?_

And each vial, he thought with sinking dread, was another chance for HYDRA to replicate the serum. Another chance for them to make another Schmidt, to make an army of Schmidts. To corrupt Erskine’s legacy and make Steve the culprit.

And he couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t even make it hard. All he could do was glare and hate and hope that whenever the Avengers found this place, they’d burn every last sample, then burn this whole place down.

He imagined Loki burning it all, unleashing the fury he’d shown in the invasion and scouring the place of corruption.

Briefly, he smiled, ignoring the way it pulled at his stitches.

But the image swiftly turned to one of Loki with his hands soaked in blood (and god, they just kept taking more and more blood) and once again, he had to turn his head as his stomach heaved and he retched.

 

* * *

 

The collector had been a handsome older man, all too happy to show them his study, converted into something akin to a shrine for the Avengers. His latest acquisition, one of the coins, had been of interest to ‘Natalie’, but ‘Lana’ was more interested in the shield.

It was not round, nor so strong-looking as the one Thor had brought back, the one Steve carried now. But it was obvious who it had belonged to, who was supposed to wield it. Steve had carried this, or one like it. Made of thin metal and leather, the paint was scraped off, covered in directional blasts and punched through in places.

This was Steve’s from before Loki had known him, from before he’d frozen. What was it doing there, and still as intact as it was?

“Ah, yes-- that’s another that I can guarantee is authentic. I have had it examined by countless historians, and it has even been featured on display at a few museums. But it always comes back here when it’s through. I hope one day to have a chance to photograph Steve Rogers with it-- a little reunion shot, if you will. It would be a jewel in the crown of this collection.”

Loki turned to face him, eyes and expression carefully blank.

“I hope you have that chance as well.” She’d told him, words soft. Almost immediately, Romanoff had wrapped her hands pseudo-playfully around Loki’s upper arm and insisted that they leave.

With just a few words, Loki was able to ruin what had otherwise been an easy investigation, and the worst of it was she didn’t even know how.

They’d gone, driven back to their suite. Loki had locked herself in the room she’d been assigned, and hadn’t come out since, ignoring calls to dinner.

She was exactly as useful as that old shield, too thin, too weak-- useless for protecting him.

She was startled out of those thoughts by a rap on her door, and she answered it, certain she looked as guilty and anxious as she felt, though she had no idea what for.

It was Romanoff, and she stood aside to invite her in without questioning why she was there. She knew that she would be told soon enough.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it. Which is alright with me-- I’m not great about getting people to talk, and I’m not always good at saying the right things when they do.” Romanoff shrugged. She turned, looking around the room-- probably for signs of Loki’s presence here, to see what Loki brought with her, what she treasured.

The tags lay against her chest, where they always did, safe and warm above her heart. Nothing but that mattered, but she knew better than to say anything about that. Instead, she focused on Romanoff’s words.

“On the contrary; I would say getting people to talk is one of your talents.” Loki found herself sliding into the smooth cruelty that she had lived within, at one time.

Romanoff paused, and Loki saw her tensing subtly, but enough that she knew she was meant to have seen. Romanoff’s control was too complete for it to be otherwise.

“You aren’t doing anyone any favors, you know. I just thought maybe you didn’t actually want to be alone, despite the way you’ve been acting.” She pulled out the box she’d carried in under her arm and sat it down on Loki’s bed.

_Why are you being like this?_

Loki looked down at it, trying to hide her own expression from the too-perceptive agent, and almost blanched.

The Widow had brought a chess set.

“I’m sure it’s not as nice as the ones you’re used to, but it was all that Bradley and Ferra could dig up. I figured you might like a distraction, and this way we can continue your lessons-- without the restraints, without the lie detectors. And no questions, no roleplaying.” It was clearly an offer, and that was it.

“I’m not using the sceptre until Steve is returned.” She said firmly.

“I’m not asking you to. Just giving you the opportunity to think about something other than the fact that we haven’t found him yet. Besides… it’s been a long while since I’ve had a good chess partner. What do you say?”

Loki thought of the sceptre, back in the tower, and thought of Steve, who had hated seeing her as she was-- whose face had contorted when she’d spoken to him, that last night. Stripped of the kindness he had created in her-- she was becoming petty and cruel. Closer to who she had been before him. Without him. She had seen the way he loathed her, had told him as much, and he hadn’t disputed it.

She swallowed the emotions that rose in her, trying to hide it.

As much as she didn’t want to think about it, there was a chance that she now lived in a world in which Steve was not going to be there, when she used the sceptre. Either because he hated her now, or because he was…

because they hadn’t… but she couldn’t let herself linger on those thoughts.

“I’d like that. Thank you, Romanoff.”

She had to focus on something. Anything. And even if this did remind her of Thanos, at least those memories would be better than those of the last night she’d spent with Steve. The last time they’d spoken.

“I think… under the circumstances, you should call me Natasha.”

“The circumstances?” She asked, aware but unable to stop herself from sounding as sharp as she did.

“Seeing as I am about to beat you at _another_ game of wits…” Natasha grinned, and it was a clear challenge, but one that was without the prickle of tension. This was perhaps the most open she had ever seen the Widow, and she had to be mindful not to make her regret it. Not to treat her as something devoid of emotions, of humanity. Not again.

So Loki chuckled and seated herself on the bed.

“Is that so?” She asked, this time intentionally arch. “I should like to see you try.”

“It’d be my pleasure.” Natasha threw back at her, and together they set up the board and began.

 

* * *

 

They returned him to the cell some time later. He flailed and tried to pull away, but the lightheadedness from all the blood taken left his attempts feeble at best.  When they tossed him in, they didn’t bother to chain him, which was probably just as well; his shoulder, though back in its socket, was so swollen he doubted he could lift the arm enough for his shackles to be attached to the ring in the wall.

Lying on his good side, he curled up as much as he was able and drifted fitfully, the war between pain and exhaustion keeping him in a No-Man’s-Land between sleep and wakefulness. At one point he shifted positions to avoid a cramp, and frowned as something glittered and caught his eye.

He had to move his head a few more times to catch the errant glint, and when he did, it took another few seconds to parse out the source.

Something metallic and silvery in the drain.

 _The necklace._ Of course -- Scofield had dropped it there. Suddenly alert, Steve scrambled over, peering down to find the pendant and chain had caught within the drain and hadn’t been flushed away. The present from Loki was still there. Steve still had a piece of him, _almost in reach_ \--

He tried to stick his fingers, now bonier than they had been, with knuckles slightly swollen, into the grate. But he couldn’t quite reach far enough. With a noise of frustration, he tried working at the screws, tried gripping the thing to pry it loose. He ignored the metal digging into his hands and the way his nails caught and tore because _Loki had given him the necklace and he couldn’t lose it._ The pet name was recorded there in _Loki’s_ voice, and he needed it back, needed it so all he would be left with wouldn’t be Scofield’s voice ringing in his ears.

He scrabbled hopelessly at the grate until it was slick with blood from his own raw hands, snarling in frustration before he finally dropped back to the floor, eying the glint of metal with equal parts balefulness and longing.

 

Just out of reach.

 

Steve thought they would feed him. He kept one eye (the one not swollen mostly shut) on the slot by the door, since they usually took the times he was unchained to slide a bowl of slop in to him.

Nothing came though, and his parched tongue lay heavy in his mouth when they made him stand by the wall again to be chained.

It was harder to sleep sitting up, the stress of the position forcing wakefulness, but Steve’s head had lolled to the side and his eyes shut when he finally heard steps by the door. Hope and dread both crawled up his gorge as he looked up.

(He ought to have known better.)

 

He beamed as he took in the sight of his subject.

“Hello, Steven, and how are we feeling today?”

He looked worse for his time since Verschmutzung had seen him, and that made his spirits soar. He was succeeding where all of his predecessors, all the way back to the skull himself, had failed.

Not waiting for an answer, knowing one was not likely forthcoming, he raised his hand and gestured at the six men behind him.

The man who had been Captain America was weak, thin, hardly recognizable, but Verschmutzung was not taking any chances. Not after the last time. He let them man handle his patient-- after all, any hurts done to him now hardly mattered.

“We’ll be working from home today-- or at least, you will. I trust you remain pleased with your accommodations. Gentlemen?” The men fanned out, their weapons at ready, and Verschmutzung didn’t move, letting them do the work for him.

It might have been insulting, once, such small gestures of security for a man as strong as Rogers was. Had been.

But he wasn’t, any more.

 

Steve tensed and glowered up at Verschmutzung, doing his best to hide the fact that his heart had started hammering against his ribs, the pain in his back prickling. Just the sight of him promised some freshly conceived agony, and Steve had to fight to keep his imagination under control.

“Delightful,” he said, swallowing to try to work some moisture into his parched mouth and throat to raise his voice above a rasp.

He found himself oddly missing the pale doctor who didn’t speak to him. Verschmutzung’s personability was somehow worse than the cold clinical detachment; the glee he took in all this even more horrifying than simple dehumanization. And what did it say that Steve preferred the company of the man who vivisected him?

The thought struck him as oddly amusing, and he couldn’t help a thin, slightly unhinged chuckle. “Whatever it is, can you make it quick? I’m awful busy here, as you can see...”

 

“Oh, Captain. One would think you didn’t value our time together. Pity. Well, I am sad to say that it is coming to an end, at any rate. But quick, no… no, there will be nothing _quick_ about it.” He contrived to look apologetic, though his expression no doubt ruined it. He was far too excited to commit to any real play acting today.

“But if you are eager…” he waved in another man, another doctor in their employ, and he brought in a small kit, like a tackle box.

“Would you like to know what I am going to do to you?”

Steve eyed the box warily. It was small, but he knew that small things were fully capable of causing large quantities of pain.

And what did he mean, ‘coming to an end?’

 _Did_ he want to know? Give himself the knowledge to brace himself, or forgo spending those extra seconds panicking, letting Verschmutzung watch him squirm like a worm on a hook?

Forcing calm into his mind, he shrugged his good shoulder. “Gonna happen whether I know about it or not, and you don’t look like you’ll wait long for me to find out either way,” he pointed out.

 

Verschmutzung let a slow smile blossom over his face.

“Still so contrary. It has been such a pleasure working with you, Captain, truly. I would shake your hand, but--” He gestured at the restraints and made no move to step forward.

“Today is my last day with you.” He told him suddenly and turned to open the box, still held by his assistant.

“Have you ever taken apart a piece of furniture? You pull the component parts away, see what it's made of. And you _could_ put it back together, but you have stripped the screws, now. Broken the glue. Dug out the wood, maybe created splinters-- it's weakened. Ruined. No longer good for its intended purpose.

Better to use what knowledge you have gained from the experience to build a new shelf. One better suited to bearing the load of its duties than the original. We’re doing that now… but that leaves us with you. And where I am from, we have a word for old shelves. ‘ _Brennholz’_.”

He filled the syringe as full as he could with liquid before turning his eyes back to Rogers.

“It means, _firewood_. And I remember how well you burn, Captain.”

 

Steve shuddered, and felt the bottom drop out.

They’d finally decided to kill him, it seemed.

( _About time_ , a part of him thought, even as the rest of his mind flooded with alarms)

“Did you just call me a bookshelf?” he heard himself ask incredulously, though his smart mouth appeared to be on autopilot, independent of the pandemonium in his brain.

He’d run out of time. He’d been waiting for rescue when his own efforts to break out proved fruitless, but rescue hadn’t come. He should have realized it when they took all that blood, stockpiling it. They must have got what they needed from him. Now, he was just--

Now he was disposable.

“Don’t suppose a guy can get last rites around here?” he asked as he watched the syringe. Lethal injection? They probably wanted to dissect him after. He thought of his promise to himself to find some method of self-immolating before they got the chance, but that didn’t appear to be an option, if he was only intended to burn metaphorically.

 

“I suppose you will need to negotiate that with whomever they put in charge of you next.” Verschmutzung replied, flippant. Then he paused, gleeful.

“I did say it would not be quick, did I not? This won’t kill you. Whatever they do after-- anything they do after, I am sure, will, but. No, it is not my job to put you to death. Shame really, would be a much kinder going away present.”

He shrugged.

“We have enough from you to make more like you, but it is… bad for morale.” He spoke delicately, “To do this sort of experiment on our own men. Still, we are reasonably certain it will take. We’ve gone through a few other experiments, but you… you will be the ultimate proof.”

He held up the syringe.

“We will use you to show all of those who follow that we may give, and we can take it away just as easily. So bid farewell to your days as _Captain_ America. I suppose now you shall simply be…” he lifted one shoulder, not even a full shrug. “Just Steve Rogers. Again.”

 

Steve found himself staring at the syringe.

_Oh. God no._

They _were_ going to kill him, then. But slowly. It was a miracle of science that he was still alive right now, that his body hadn’t gone into shock and his heart hadn’t stopped. But if that syringe meant what he thought it meant, his endurance would be cut short.

He wasn’t entirely out of time, but his deadline would be moving up considerably.

“It’s an anti-serum,” he murmured in horror, the implications making the blood left in his veins feel like ice. He’d assumed all this time they only meant to replicate the serum, but it seemed HYDRA had further plans.

 

“Well, yes. A weapon’s no good to us if it doesn’t have an off switch, is it? Can’t risk one of you turning on us, trying to destroy the hand that feeds. And we know what a body like yours can handle naturally. Look at you now-- pathetic! But, in time, who is to say? You might have recovered. But not now. Hold him.”

That last he directed to the guards, and three sprung forward.

One each took hold of his legs, his arms remaining where they were locked in place, and the third held his head between his hands, fingers digging into the skin beneath them, short hair there looking even dirtier than it was, in their shadow.

The remaining guards stepped in closer with their guns.

At his back, he could hear his assistant readying the recording equipment.

“I wish you were a better subject,” he said with a sigh. “It would have been nice to hear what you felt during this process. But maybe that can be your last act of heroism, hmm? Tell us how it feels, Steven, and you may well save some poor innocents from having to experience it.”

He pressed the needle to his neck, looked him in the eye, and slid it home, depressing the plunger slowly, evenly, until the very last of it was in him. He pulled back, triumphant.

 

Steve snarled incoherently, twisting fruitlessly at the guards manhandled him. There was a time when three men wouldn’t have had a hope of pinning him, but even without the anti-serum, his body had wasted enough that his thrashing proved useless.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he growled, looking Verschmutzung dead in the eye as he felt something sharp at his throat.

The initial prick barely hurt. Like the bite of a fly.

But unlike the delayed effects of the poison, the new injection made itself known within seconds. Steve gasped, body going rigid as all his muscles seemed to cramp at once. His vision blurred and his heart thrummed erratically, shallow and quick, pushing the serum all throughout his body all the quicker.

In Howard Stark’s Vita-Ray machine, he’d felt like he was being torn apart. Like every single cell in his body was being stretched and ripped apart and rebuilt a thousand times a second. It had felt like incandescent burning.

This, however -- this felt like fire going out. Like being crushed, smothered, every cell suffocated by inches.

God. He wasn’t burning; he was being extinguished.

 

The effects were immediate and impressive, just as he’d known they would be. He stood aside, giving the camera an unimpeded view, and gestured at the men to stand away.

Rogers would be no danger to any of them any longer.

“Almost anticlimactic, isn’t it? We might have done so much to you, sent you out with a bang. But HYDRA, it seems, is more interested in your whimpering. So there you are. Thank you for your time, Rogers. It’s been most educational.”

He watched as the man gasped, breathing becoming hard for him, watched as sweat that he would not have thought could be produced any longer somehow sprung forth.

“And now that we have proven we can take it away, we can begin injecting our men with what we have created, what you gave us. So thank you for your service. Hydra couldn’t have done it without you.”

 

Steve screwed his eyes shut, shivering as the temperature in the room seemed to plummet. The serum. They were taking the _serum_ from him. They’d taken his clothes and his team and his freedom and his blood and even his goddamn dignity and now they were taking his own body from him.

They were taking everything from him and they were giving him back the blame for everything they’d do because of him. Every life that HYDRA supersoldiers, amped up on a perversion of Erskine’s formula, would be able to take. All that blood would be on his hands and the only mercy in all of this was the likelihood that he wouldn’t be alive to see it.

He opened his eyes and took a breath, not missing the way his throat felt tighter, his lungs not quite able to expand all the way. It was distressingly familiar. He half expected to see his body reduced to ninety pounds of skin and bone all over again, but when he looked down, he appeared to be much the same. The growth, he remembered then, had been a result of the Vita Rays, not the serum alone. But he could feel its absence, even without the visual transformation.

Hell, he’d hoped never to feel this weak again.

“They’ll stop you,” he murmured as Verschmutzung turned and made for the door, voice a breathy croak. The cold felt like it was sinking into his bones, taking up permanent residence in too-heavy limbs. “The Avengers. Whatever you do to me, whatever you do with my blood -- they’re still out there. And they’ll put you down.”

 

The doctor paused on his way out, one hand clasped on the door frame.

“They didn’t stop this, didn’t save you. What makes you think they will be able to, now that it is spreading? This is HYDRA. They could not deal with one head-- how can they hope to stop a thousand? And for each one they kill-- another will rise.” The words came so easily, long ago memorized. Truer now than ever.

“You will make an excellent martyr, Steven Rogers. And then you will become a mascot. And that is all history will remember you as. The symbol of the losing side. Hail HYDRA!”

The men in the cell echoed his words, and Verschmutzung nodded, his point made.

“Enjoy your life, Rogers. As much as you can. Whatever is left of it.”

 


	70. Seventy

Everything ached.

On a normal day, Steve would have mostly healed from Scofield’s beating by now, and have nothing but a little tenderness to show for it. Even starved and deprived, he’d at least see the swelling reduced by now. But with the serum neutralized in his bloodstream by Verschmutzung’s injection, his healing slowed to imperceptibility. And the compound nature of his hurts now piled up, wearing into his body until he felt like one large bruise, all the way down to the brittle bone.

It felt like the time Richie McGraw and his boys kicked the everloving daylights out of him in back of the Paramount, and it had hurt to move for weeks. Bucky had found him after that, and helped wrap his ribs and stitch up the gash behind his ear, chiding him all the while for not inviting him along. As if the two of them would have fared any better together against six guys.

There was no Bucky now, though. Just the ache, and a faded scar behind his ear he reached up to touch with trembling bloody fingers.

 

* * *

 

 It didn’t make sense to ignore the other mark while they were in the area, even though it seemed likely that it was only another coin, another collector. Loki was growing tired of it.

The chess had helped, oddly-- the game was soothing and she had missed having a worthy opponent. Thanos had outmatched her, and Thor had never been much of a player. Hogun had been, when he would deign to pull out the board, and Frigga was an ideal opponent, when she had been able to spare the time. But it had been far too long since all of that.

Natasha had taken the first game, as Loki remembered how it was played, as she had worked to regain her knowledge of tactics and weigh Natasha’s skill. After that, though, she had easily taken the board, and it was Natasha’s turn to reveal that she had been holding back.  
Once they had begun playing in earnest, the games had lasted four times as long, and it had been well into the small hours before Natasha had begged off to go to bed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

No food or water came.

He wished he had any idea of the passing of time, to figure out how long he had gone without. Was this another experiment? To see how long he would last without?

Or, now that his usefulness had expired, had they simply forgotten and left him to rot?

He wasn’t sure which was worse. Or if there was even a difference, to be honest. The end result would likely be the same.

 

No food or water came.

  
And no Avengers either.

 

* * *

 

 It was different, sleeping in a room that wasn’t dripping in reminders of Steve. She had fallen asleep faster than any other night since he had gone missing, and how she hated herself for it the following morning.

She did not want to be taken away from reminders of him. She did not want to be better for being away from their home.

She did not want to be okay without him.

And she wasn’t.

If anything proved as much, it was the way she felt, as they drove closer to where the next coin no doubt waited. Her eyes were fixed on the stormy weather overhead, and for once she was certain it had nothing to do with Thor’s temper.

He seemed to be enjoying himself, actually, if the conversation he’d been part of at dinner the night before had been anything to judge by.

It was hard for her to care, hard for her to even so much as hope, now that it had been proven that, even this far afield, all that they were chasing were the faintest maybes.

And if Heimdall could not see Steve, who was to say that he even _was_ one of the markers on the map? What if he was hidden in that way, as well? What if she spent the rest of Steve’s life and then some chasing down her own apologies?

She’d always known they were not enough, would not be enough. The fact that they were now actively contributing to Steve’s harm, though… if she could take them all back, she would be severely tempted to.

Although, it had been her attempt at making amends that had prompted Steve to reveal to the others their relationship. Had she not, they may still be in hiding, and they would have that much less reason to be patient with her now, that much less reason to trust her and her emotions, to include her.

She did have to admit that they were being a good deal more accommodating than she would have expected, but it only made her more afraid, made her want to push them further away, so that when they changed their minds, when they decided that they had had enough of her, it might not hurt as much.

And she knew that it was coming.

 

* * *

 

  
 He wondered if his body would shrink slowly back to its old size, the way he’d been before meeting Erskine. If he’d be reed thin and short once again, with feet that didn’t fill his threadbare shoes without newspaper to stuff in the toes (not that he had shoes anymore).  If his bones would eventually collapse in on themselves as he withered smaller and smaller (and smaller until there was nothing left but a shriveled carcass--)

He was already much thinner and weaker than he’d been weeks (months? He had no idea how long he’d been here) before, but much of that could be starvation and atrophy more than any part of the anti-serum.

Would Loki look at him differently? Would he still look at him with near-reverent fondness? Or would he be the kind of inferior runt that would be better abandoned somewhere cold?

Curling tightly into himself, bony knees drawn up to his chest, he wondered if he’d make it long enough to find out one way or the other.

 

* * *

 

  
 They stopped and she looked out through the fog to see a structure standing alone in the green that surrounded it.

It had been at least an hour, likely longer, and she knew they had gone south out of the city and towards the emptiness of the fields. But here, looking suddenly tall and stern and grey was a building unlike the other architecture she had seen.

It looked like an enormous barrel made of some form of metal, tipped on its side and half buried. There were trucks in front of it, large shipping vehicles, each bearing a logo that proclaimed them to belong to the ‘Outreach Lumber Company’.

“Is this the place?” Ferra asked, and Natasha double checked her phone.

“This is the one, yeah. Seems shifty though-- what would one of your coins be doing in a lumber storage facility?” She addressed the question to Loki, but Loki just shook her head.

“I haven’t any idea, sorry. Is it moving? Like it may be carried by someone?” She thought perhaps one of her victims’ family members had taken to bearing it with them as some sort of reminder.

“Stationary, and has been for as long as we’ve been monitoring it. If it was on somebody, they’d go home, right? This stays here.” She reported.

“Look at the facility, too-- what don’t you see? Wood doesn’t come in on pallets and barrels, unless it’s little cords of firewood or something. But that seems to be all that’s piled up out front. Plus no sign of anything used to move mass quantities of lumber- no tractors or fork lifts or anything. Sketchy as heck. Worth calling in backup, you think?” Ferra asked.

Romanoff nodded, just once, her face falling into a businesslike calm.

“Silvia, get Clint on the phone, have him and the others get out here.”

“That will take them an hour!” The objection sprung from Loki’s lips before she thought, and she flushed, immediately embarrassed by her own outburst. But she held her gaze steady on Romanoff’s face.

“Steve has been missing for weeks now. Wouldn’t you rather leave him there for another hour than risk endangering him by running in all half-cocked?” She replied, patient and even and almost kind. It was infuriating.

Loki knew what she’d rather do: raze the place to the ground in search of her partner and damn the consequences.

But if he weren’t there, and she caused more damage and deaths to innocents in the process… or if he were there, and he saw her murdering everyone who stood between them… it was already questionable whether he would want her back. If she did that, how would he ever look her in the eyes again?

She did not answer out loud, but bowed her head, letting Romanoff take the lead. Backing her play, as she had failed to back Steve’s.

Even so, she clenched her fists in her lap and had to force herself not to look out the window, not to stare at the building.

It would only make her all the more desperate to find a way into it. And she was meant to be doing things correctly. Like not just taking the sceptre and Thanos into her own hands. Like not torturing answers out of their captives. Like not hurting or killing anyone.

It felt so much like being trapped, and she could feel her nails digging into her palms, but she held her tongue. Things would be precarious enough between her failures and her fight and how long it was taking them now to save Steve-- to find him, like she had promised. She’d promised to bring him home. And she was _useless_.

So she let the others around her spring into a flurry of motion, researching and making calls. And she sat, trying not to shake under the pressure of her own fear and rage and helplessness. They didn’t need the distraction, so she tried not to be one.

Staying out in the field, or just pulling over on the side of the road, would be too conspicuous. If the facility wasn’t as it seemed (which Natasha strongly suspected was the case), then it was likely that whoever it belonged to had an eye on it somewhere. Drawing too much attention to themselves by behaving oddly would just make things more difficult. But at the same time, driving all the way back to London would be a headache in itself.

Not to mention she was pretty sure Loki’s high-strung sulking in a closed environment for that length of time would drive her completely insane. She understood Loki’s anxiety -- and she sympathized -- but even Natasha had her limits, and knew when they weren’t worth pushing.

“There was a village, about ten, fifteen kilometers ago,” Ferra murmured. “We could make that a rendezvous point.”

It was as good an idea as any and better than most, so she got on the phone as they backtracked to a small, not particularly quaint town, gray with rain and visible from a ways away across the fields as a dark gray smudge on the drab landscape.

Ferra called Carter who in turn would call SHIELD, who she promised would call MI5 and alert the British government so they wouldn’t cause an incident by taking action. Natasha called the rest of the team on the ground, giving them the name and coordinates of the village to meet them at, and instructions on information to retrieve.

“I contacted Garza, she’s going to try to get us some information on the licensing for that property, see if there’s anything fishy, but I’m not sure my cellular data will be able to handle the info package,” Ferra confided. “We should find a place with wireless, maybe?”

Natasha nodded, pulling into an empty parking spot on the side of the street, then getting out and wrinkling her nose at the rain. Up the street was a sign for “Flannigan’s” and she nodded toward it. “Wanna give that a go?”

It couldn’t be worse than waiting in the car in the rain, after all.

Loki got out to follow, letting the door fall closed heavily behind her.

The ground was wet and it was still raining, and despite the longer hair of this form, raindrops on her scalp had never been a pleasant experience in her book. Not that she was about to complain about _that_ , of all things. Not when they had driven away from a place that Steve may well be being held. Not when they were proposing to wait here for an hour, while the others came to meet them.

There were a good many more pressing things than a little damp. But she wouldn’t lay voice to any of them, she determined.

Fortunately it seemed that there were awnings that jutted over the walkway in the direction that Natasha had indicated.

“It looks like an alehouse.” Loki muttered, certain she was stating the obvious, but hardly suited to do anything else, at the moment.

“Pubs are some of the most welcoming places for out of towners, and we’re good looking ladies, I’m sure they’ll be happy to help out. Road trip cover?” Ferra asked, looking to Romanoff for the answers, as well she should, Loki supposed.

She wished that it weren’t already too late to change her face. She did not want to be a ‘good looking lady’, did not want to have to trade platitudes and try to speak to the people of this town. Not now, not while her stomach was knotted so tightly it felt like she might burst.

“Welcoming or not, I only hope the crowd is scarce at this time of day.” She said, shrugging. But her fists remained clenched, hidden in the pockets of the loose pants she had been given to help her blend in with the crowds.

The crowd, as it turned out, _was_ scarce, though by the looks of the place, time of day had little to do with it.

It was dark inside, the interior lit with lights that burned yellower than those she was used to in SHIELD and Stark’s buildings, and there was more wood than she had seen in any single room since leaving Asgard.

There were rows of bottles against the wall and boards with chalked on words that described the different drinks available.

She got the distinct impression that Tony would love it for the bottle contents and hate it for the decor. Then again, she did not know his tastes particularly well when it came to alcohols. Perhaps he would turn his nose up at these offerings.

Drinks had not been an important part of her life with Steve, and though she hadn’t touched the stuff since he’d been gone, she might have considered doing so, if she wasn’t certain she would need her senses about her in about an hour.

“Divey.” Ferra remarked, making a face as she came to stand beside her.

Loki looked to Romanoff.

“Well? Is it all you had expected?” She kept her words light and inconspicuous, but she was not pleased to be there.

“More or less,” Natasha replied.

Ferra made a beeline to the bar, undoubtedly to ask if the place had free wifi and to request the password, while Natasha made her way toward the back booths. They earned more than a few looks from the locals as they passed, and she made a point to keep her posture and expression nonthreatening, but also noninviting, moving quickly and avoiding eye contact so no one would mistake them as looking for a good time. Fortunately, no one attempted any overtures, and a few moments later she and Loki were sliding into one of the leather-padded booths, at a table that proved only mildly sticky.

Ferra followed moments later with a drink in hand.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. Ferra shrugged.

“It’s just cranberry juice,” she said. “Relax.”

“Anything from Garza?”

Ferra made a face, pulling out her tablet and tapping at it. “Not much. Place is licensed to a shell company, but the financials are all routed through a few different overseas accounts. Which is fishy, but doesn’t necessarily prove anything. She’s working through their tax records for discrepancies. And... huh.” She paused, sipping her cranberry juice. “Looks like there was a bomb shelter built in the area during the Blitz. Not sure if it’s the exact same property, but if it wasn’t torn down and filled in, they might have used it as the foundation.”

Loki listened, and understood the words that came, but not the meaning behind them. Shell company and blitz… she could only assume they did not mean literal shells. She looked to Romanoff, but if the words meant anything, she was not reacting to them-- and if they were revelatory, then certainly Ferra would. And if it was of any importance, she would make sure to ask for clarification, regardless of how dumb and useless it would make her feel to have to.

“So you believe there may be more to the structure underground?” She knew little enough of Midgardian architecture, but where they had gone to first look for Steve had been primarily built downwards. It did not seem a great stretch of the imagination that this should be as well.

“Have we any idea how large it may be? Or how many people it may contain? As a shell company?” She tried using the term, glancing back and forth between the other two women.

She didn’t much care whether or not they had a plan. All she wanted was Steve-- but she knew he would not thank any of them if they endangered friends or innocents or agents in the process. So fine; a plan. But she wanted the answers and she wanted the plan made and the rest of them here-- if it wasn’t so far, she would just have gone to gather them herself, but that would be both impossible and irresponsible, as far as her seidhr was concerned.

She could not clench her hands now, seeing as they would be visible to one or the other of them, if not both, no matter where she lay them. Instead, she set her foot to jangling, as she had in the diner with Steve, after they had first run from SHIELD.

It seemed so far distant now, the worries of that pursuit nothing in comparison to the concerns that lay ahead of them. But at least then she and Steve hadn’t had to spend very long thinking about it. They had acted, it had gone wrong, and they had acted again immediately.

This waiting was doing her no favors.

“I didn’t see anything that looked like a 40s bomb shelter out there when we were driving,” Natasha commented, “so it’s possible they used it for the foundation. If I were a secret terror organization from world war two, that’s something I’d definitely make use of. But...”

She frowned, tracing an idle finger over the ring-shaped stains left on the table by the drinks of years’ worth of previous patrons. “Nothing definitively points to HYDRA?” she asked in a low voice.

Ferra shook her head. “Nothing yet.”

Natasha sighed, then turned toward Loki, who looked lost and frustrated and doing her best to hold it in. “So, it looks like there might be something shady going on. If someone is doing their best to keep their money with a place like this off the records, it’s usually because they’re doing something iffy,” she explained. “But in this case, iffy could mean holding Steve, or iffy could mean something as inconsequential as tax dodging. For now, we have no idea, and MI5 is probably not going to tolerate us going in guns blazing just because someone might be guilty of a little sketchy bookkeeping. So while we can’t rule it out, we also don’t have anything actionable...”

She trailed off as the barman approached, grinning at them all. “Can I get you loves anything to drink?”

She made herself smile, and quickly ordered, water for Loki, soda for herself, and a basket of chips for the table, hoping it would be enough to buy them some peace while they waited. Once the barman turned and left, she waited a beat, then exhaled.

“I could see if Garza and Stark can hack a satellite?” Ferra suggested. “There’s some that have the ability to image subterranean structures... Could tell us if there’s anything underneath.”

“I don’t even want to know how long it would take to hack and reposition a satellite in space,” she mumbled, pulling out her own phone to check it to see whether the others had sent an ETA. “Does Garza see anything in the financials which might indicate an acquisition that would account for the marker we saw?”

Ferra turned her attention to the tablet, typing rapidly, as the barman returned with their drinks and the fries, which Natasha immediately proceeded to nibble at. Her phone pinged with confirmation that the others were en route. Though if they had no solid intelligence to go on...

 

“We don’t have financials yet-- she’s still jumping through loops tracking them down.” Ferra sipped from her cranberry juice, then arched an eyebrow.

Loki watched and listened, trying to keep up and silent for fear of looking even more like an idiot than she already did, having to have things explained. And it must be so apparent that she needed it, if Romanoff was so quick to make things simpler.

“Here’s something, though…. maybe.” Ferra spoke slowly, and this time it was Loki who arched her brow.

“What?” she demanded, when Ferra fell silent for a moment, and the look the other woman leveled at her in return made her look down into her lap, chagrined.

“Looks like the building belongs to a trust, and it’s leased out like clockwork. Every two years, it goes to a new company, with a break every ten to sell it to a different trust. Thing is, they just seem to cycle through companies-- look at this.”

She turned the tablet around, showing the other two.

There were dates that Loki could see, and as she said, there were seven names, and each two years it moved on to the next one.

“But a pattern like that is clearly traceable. Why do it?” Loki asked, impatient to know what this meant, why it mattered.

“Well, if someone didn’t want anyone to know that they had owned the building for a long time, this would be the way to help hide that. And if the trusts and the companies all belong to the same umbrella, it would help prevent a Willy Wonka style situation, where the locals know the place but never see anyone going in or out. Because everyone will remember seeing people-- every two years there’s a whole lot of people, I bet. And the moving stuff in or out-- that’d be a good cover for needing to transport all sorts of things. You’d question a sudden increase in exports, otherwise, if they’re building something there. If it’s something too big to hide in a lumber truck.”

Loki nodded, following, but unsure how it related to Steve.

“‘Nother thing about that is, though, they’re over their two year date-- by two and a half weeks. They should be moving out right now. And there’s no new ownership papers, no sign that the move is gonna happen, Garza says.” Ferra looked up at Romanoff.

“How long’s he been gone, again?”

Loki’s heart was pounding in her chest almost viciously now.

Natasha’s thoughts raced, a fry in her hand hovering between the basket and her mouth, forgotten.

It wasn’t enough to be considered actionable by official channels. But for covert intelligence--

It was suspicious as hell, they had a marker, and the timing was awfully tight to be coincidence.

Already, she was thinking of how they could pull this off. They were lucky they were this far away from the city; an operation in an urban area would draw a lot of media attention, but there wasn’t much in the way of passers-by out here, and with limited road access, they could get someone to divert traffic away from the lumber warehouse (or whatever it actually was), keeping things discreet. And if they were spotted, well; even if this wasn’t HYDRA, if it was another false lead (and she braced herself for that possibility despite the treacherous bubble of hope rising in her chest), odds would be good it was still connected to some manner of criminal activity. SHIELD could spin that as the Avengers collaborating with the British government to root out corruption or something if they needed.

“I’m going to step outside and make a call to Carter,” she said, barely hearing her own voice as she stood and slipped out of the booth.

Thirty minutes. Forty-five, tops, before the others got there.  
(And every second seemed to drag).

 

* * *

 

A week without water. Three weeks without food. That was the rule, right? Steve tried to remember, but his mind felt full of fog. Whether that was from the serum or from starvation, he wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure those were the rules. A week without water. Less, if they’d drawn out so much of your blood they left you dizzy.

It would be much more useful information if he had any concept of the passage of days any more.

“You’re on the clock, guys,” he whispered to no one in particular.

 

 

God, he was so thirsty. He wanted to cry but when his shoulders shook with soundless sobs, his eyes stayed dry.

 

Everything was _so goddamn dry._

 

“I need water,” he croaked, voice rasping like sandpaper, tongue clumsy and swollen. “Please.”

 

He stared up at the red dot of the camera in the corner, blinking away blurry vision. “ _Please_. Water.”

  
He was begging and he honestly didn’t give a damn anymore. He didn’t care that he’d probably die of something else soon enough -- he just needed something to slake the thirst that was all he could think of, more overwhelming even than the pain and the gnawing pangs of hunger.

 

* * *

 

She talked with Carter, who didn’t seem thrilled, but had been kept abreast by Garza of the developments. She advised caution and waiting for more intel; Natasha responded noncommittally.

More intel did come in, as it happened, with Stark apparently joining the efforts and providing them with 3-D renderings of the warehouse and area built from satellite imaging, and a list of ‘employees’ who didn’t appear to exist beyond a few credentials; enough for a cursory background check, but on further digging, almost certainly fabrications.

Hope swelled insidiously.

Loki had little to occupy herself with during the wait, and the presence of the fries on the table and the increased likelihood that they would find Steve in that strange rounded building made her painfully aware that she’d been doing a half hearted job at best of caring for herself, of eating, the way she’d promised him she would. If not for the others, she would likely have just… failed to. But if they found him, and he tried to worry about that, as she knew he would-- better that she be able to honestly tell him that she’d eaten recently.

She finished the basket, the sharp taste of the salt gathering at the top of her throat.

And the next time the man had come around, she asked for another.

She did not eat the entire thing, that time, though, and by the time the rest of the team arrived, she had finished off another glass of water as well, and her foot’s jiggling was almost noticeably moving the seat she sat upon.

The moment Bradley had come in the door, she had nearly crushed him in her hurry to get out, to be on their way. To get to it.

She wasn’t certain how she felt, seeing Thor seated in the back seat of the vehicle that pulled in.

Glad, she supposed; if it came to a fight, if it came to having someone to watch her back while she got Steve out… there were few she could imagine being gladder to have on her side.

Ferra emerged, grumbling something about reimbursement for junk food, and Loki gestured that they should get into their respective cars, but Bradley held up a hand.

“So we should talk about what we plan to do before we do it, right? I know Agent Carter wants us to wait, but I get the feeling--” here he paused, leaning on the word and looking to Loki, “that you have different ideas?”

“We talked to Stark over the phone on the way here,” Clint said quietly, sidling up next to Natasha. “He can be here in a few hours, he says.”

Natasha frowned and chewed the inside of her lip.

It made sense to wait. To make sure all the official channels were clear, get Iron Man as backup, and garner the maximum possible amount of intelligence possible before moving in.

It was what she’d do if she were planning this operation from afar. If she wasn’t invested.

But... she _was_ invested. Because it was _Steve_ who was missing, and he was one of the few people in the world she counted as a friend, and every second wasted was a second that might be used to relocate Steve out of their reach once more. Every second wasted was a second she’d be letting him down, letting the whole team who _needed him_ down.

And if she started an international incident, well... It wouldn't be the first time the Black Widow was at the epicenter of a political disaster. This wasn’t her first rodeo. Nor, did she suspect, would it be her last.

“We have good reason to believe that something is going on at this location,” she said, not looking at Loki. “We don’t know if it’s Rogers or not, but there’s a marker connected to Loki’s magic, and someone is doing their damndest to keep whatever is going on there a secret. We aren’t going to be able to keep a low profile for long, so I say we go in hard and we go in fast.”

She glanced around, jaw set tightly as she scanned their faces for resistance or objections.

To her surprise, she found none, and silently released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“So here’s what we’re going to do...”

 

* * *

 

The creak of metal on metal finally came.

But with it came armed guards in lieu of the bowl.

They hauled him up, dragging him down the hall into the room Verschmutzung had used before, though the doctor was thankfully nowhere to be seen. His hoarse attempts at speech were ignored as they forced him down on to a table on his back, binding him in place.

His heart soared as he heard the sound of running water coming from pipes somewhere nearby, but his hopes withered at the cruel grins of the guards as one of them brought in a bucket, and vanished altogether as the covered his face with a musty cloth.

He got no warning before the contents of the bucket were upended over his face.

And then there was _water._ Not water to slake his thirst with though, but terrible, invasive, inescapable water, rushing into his sinuses and down his throat, everywhere and burning and smothering and he was _drowning._ The realization made him thrash against the ropes in blind panic. He couldn’t breathe and there was water in his nose, his mouth, his lungs. There was nothing but _water and cold and dark and dying, drowning all over again as icy water filled the cabin--_

The cloth finally came away, and Steve was left gagging and sputtering, trying to draw breath into his lungs with desperate hitching gasps. Around him the guards laughed.

“Water enough for ya?” one asked.

Steve coughed and swore at him.  
Then his heart sank as he heard the water running through the pipes again, for the bucket to be refilled.

 

* * *

 

 

They had each been given places to be.

Clint had been sent out to range afield, in the hopes of identifying any outlying exits that might exist, lest they repeat the experience that lost them Steve in the first place. It made something in Loki fiercely glad to know that no matter what else happened, they would not be letting any escape.

Bradley had been sent to speak with the local authorities, and he had gone, but not without grumbling about what a grand idea it was to send the black youth from the bronx to speak to the police. Ferra had looked concerned, but he’d waved it off, squared up his shoulders, and done what he needed to.

Whatever the tension there was, Loki let it go, in favor of doing what she had been asked to-- she turned herself invisible and crept close to the structure, close enough to use her seidhr to discover the presence of lives within.

When she returned to Romanoff, she was embarrassed not to have overmuch to report, though.

“There are fifteen on the main floor, and there is a stairway leading down in the middle near the southern wall. I cannot tell how many men are down there, nor how deep, nor how many floors it is-- I could not get close enough, and I need to be directly beside the walls to tell whether anything lays beyond them. The floor is recessed by a foot or so on the inside, so I cannot even get a sense of the size of the room below-- it could be anything from a full compound to a broom closet. Regardless, whatever the marker is… it comes from below.”

She knew the frustration colored her voice, and she spread her hands.

“I am sorry. Can you think of any other way I can help?”

“Knowing how many to expect on the first level helps,” Natasha told her, hoping to ease the apologetic look from Loki’s face. It wasn’t a great deal of intel, but Loki had managed it from the other side of a solid wall without losing them the element of surprise, which was about as much as she could ask of any human agent.

Clint returned next with a report of the perimeter, shortly followed by Bradley radioing in to confirm that the roads would be closed by local law enforcement, isolating them from any civilians.

Nothing more had come in from Garza and Stark. But the rain had paused and the sky was growing dimmer with the evening coming on. They couldn’t afford to wait much longer if they didn’t want to chase down stragglers in the dark. “Anyone who hasn’t yet: gear up,” she announced, doubling back to the car to get her Bites and extra ammunition, focusing on the task of tucking magazines into her uniform (which she’d slipped into in the back seat while other team-mates were running recon) so as to keep from second-guessing herself. When she came back around, everyone was ready and waiting.

Bradley, she explained, would be on communications duty; he was to monitor the comms, keep track of local chatter, and call for backup if everything went south. Agent Ferra, Clint, Loki, and herself would be infiltrating the base. Thor would be a part of the initial assault to take out the 15 people Loki had identified on the main floor, then he’d break off and be their eyes in the sky, using his hammer to fly up and monitor the exits Clint had identified from above.

His brow furrowed as she spoke. “Should I not stay with you? You have no knowledge of what lies beneath...”

“He’s got a point,” Ferra added, sotto voce. “Minus the Hulk, Iron Man, and Cap, we don’t have a lot of heavy hitters. You, me, and Barton are all pretty squishy. Might help to have an Asgardian down there.”

“I agree,” Natasha answered flatly. “Which is why we’re bringing as Asgardian.” She jerked her head toward Loki. “In the meantime, unless there’s something any of you have been holding out on telling me, I’m pretty sure Thor is the only one here who can fly and call down lightning. Worse comes to worse, he’s our first tier of backup.” She looked them over one at a time, and there were no additional protests.

She inhaled and squared her shoulders. “Right. Let’s hit them hard and fast. Our primary objective is to locate and extract Captain Rogers.”

 _If, indeed, he is there_ , Loki found herself thinking. She had reached out and found lives but her seidhr had been unable to find its like. Steve was not upstairs, at the very least. But maybe...

She squashed the hope she found attempting to rise in her and tried to focus.

She could spare no more than a tight lipped smile at being referred to as an Asgardian. But it didn't matter; she was not being ordered to remain outside, to guard their flank or be useless. And she was silently grateful for that. Let them call her what they would. Thor, she noted, did not correct Romanov's mistake. Why then should Loki?

She summoned her armor, modified for her current form, and took a deep breath, spelling it dark, wrapping it in shadow until the markings and design should be unrecognizable. She did not look at the others, unwilling to let their hesitance and their fear of her abilities color her resolve or pull at her focus while she readied herself.

She did not don her helm, though, well aware that it was not subtle, nor easily mistaken. If she wore it, she may as well be screaming her name to the sky, announcing her presence. That would only make more work for the Avengers. Only cause further distraction from Steve, which she did not want.

She left it in her pocket where it belonged. A secret. A shame.

With everything in her, every part of her that would have scared and disgusted Steve if he knew it lingered in her mind, behind her eyes...she hoped she needed to pull out the helm. She hoped they fought. She hoped for a reason to cause bloodshed. That in finding her partner, in saving him, she could also exorcise that darkness that he'd caught a glimpse of before this had happened.

She knew, though, that she couldn't. That if she wanted there to be any chance, no matter how slight, of Steve wanting her at all after this, then she had to swallow that urge. That rage.

That in mind, she turned to face Romanov.

“I am ready.”

She’d been ready for weeks-- since the moment Thor handed her the shield, she’d been ready for this moment.

She turned to see Thor staring at her and nodded to him silently. This must be such a joyous moment for him, the two of them once more running off into battle together; what he’d wanted since before she’d fallen.

Good for him.

She firmed her jaw further and waited for the rest of them to get into place.

Once their lines were formed and their respective preparations done and affirmed, they just waited for Romanoff’s signal.

 

They moved in quietly.

There wasn’t a great deal of cover between the ridge they’d parked behind and the warehouse, but the twilight and fog obscured them enough on their approach that they didn’t appear to draw any notice. All the same, Natasha insisted on communicating by hand-signals only, and moving quickly to hide behind any natural formations or abandoned stacks of pallets that could obscure them from sight.

No one shouted or raised an alarm; she hoped that meant they had the element of surprise on their side.

When they were mere yards away, she gave the signal to hide, everyone falling into the nearest cover or flattening against the walls. There was one man in coveralls standing at the loading door, focused on lighting a cigarette to the exclusion of all else.

He made a faint grunt as Natasha quickly choked him out, cutting off blood flow to his brain to render him unconscious within seconds. She stamped out the red gleam of the cigarette before nodding to the others to follow.

Inside, stacks of lumber piled high closed the space off into something like a labyrinth, filled with the smell of pine. She wrinkled her nose, doing her best to orient themselves in relation to Loki’s intel about where the entry to the lower level would be. After a moment’s deliberation, she looked to Clint and signed to him; he nodded, then placed a hand on Ferra’s shoulder, and a moment later the two of them melted into the shadows off to the right. Natasha caught Thor and Loki’s attention, and jerked her head to the left.

She thought she caught the soft _thwip_ sound of Clint’s bow releasing, and a summary thud. But she trusted that Barton could handle whatever it was he ran into. She’d worked with him a long time, long enough to know his strengths and competencies and to have complete faith in him, secure in the knowledge he had her back.

Thor and Loki, on the other hand... Well, she’d fought with Thor, and he’d been a reliable asset in battle. He could take a hit and deal one even harder, and he fought well as part of a group. She didn’t have a lot of experience with him, but he hadn’t disappointed her yet. In time, the same trust she had with Clint would probably form with the rest of the team. As for Loki...

She hadn’t fought with Loki yet. There had been the training sessions, but those had none of the stakes of actual battle. But she had gone up _against_ Loki; she knew she could be formidable, and given that formidability she’d much rather have her as a friend than as an enemy. As for how much she could trust her in combat -- well, this operation would be a proving ground and let her know how much of her trust was well-placed.

A shadow fell across their path and Natasha held up a fist, indicating for the others to stop. A man in a work uniform rounded the corner, and she lashed out with a kick to the backs of his knees, dropping him and immediately twisting his arm up behind his spine with one hand and holding a small knife to his throat with the other.

“Who do you work for?” she asked, voice low.

The man gasped. “M-Mardigan Lumber and Holding!”

She tugged his arm harder, feeling the tendons strain as the man choked in pain. Leaning in, she whispered with her lips close enough to the man’s ear that he would feel her breath. “I really hate repeating myself. _Who do you work for?”_

The man tensed, then went still. The look of terror on his face transformed into a wild-eyed sneer. “Someone much bigger than you,” he spat. “Cut off one head, and two more shall rise!”

Natasha froze, hatred and vindication warring for prominence in her emotional landscape: they’d been right, at least.

But the man kept going, raising his voice before she could cut him off in time: “HAIL--”

A quick blow to the temple and he slumped to the ground. Natasha straightened, looking back to Loki and Thor just as sounds of a scuffle and an aborted shout echoed from somewhere further in the warehouse.

Loki’s edginess did not diminish when she was paired with Thor; if anything, she became more guarded. After all, this was being treated as a surprise. They were meant to be silent, to hide, to blend in, to go undetected. And of _course_ she was stuck with the thunderer. Of course.

And it wasn’t some sort of exercise; Steve’s life could very well hang in the balance.

None of that excused the fact that, inching forward, the moment she knew they’d been spotted by one of the men working there, she threw a knife with absolute accuracy, and watched dispassionately as his body fell.

She summoned her knife back, swallowing down the panic and the bile that threatened to make it hard for her to breathe.

She looked to Romanoff, half expecting to be cut down with equal efficiency for her action, or at least for her to try.

But it seemed Barton’s carelessness, as well as the cry that Romanoff had cut short, were of more pressing matters; ahead of them, the quiet scuffle had become an obvious fight. She could hear running footsteps and then-- a shot.

“Damn.” She managed to mutter, before looking to Thor and taking off running-- they were given away, now, no use hanging back and sneaking and hiding any longer. And if Barton or Ferra had been hurt-- if she had saved and spared them, just for them to die with her only a few feet away-- she doubted she could handle that sort of guilt right now.

But then, if she had to heal them, if she used her seidhr for that, and Steve was downstairs, in who knew what sort of state--

She was overthinking, she knew that-- but the point was really driven home when a bullet struck a pallet beside her head, sending wood splinters flying.

“Loki!” Thor shouted, and she rolled her eyes-- so much for her anonymity. And so much for any of these men being allowed to live. She couldn’t let anyone tell the rest of the world. Couldn’t put Steve at risk that way, so soon after saving him-- but she couldn’t let the Avengers see her kill. Had to convince them, whether it was true or not, that she was a better person now, that Steve had managed to make her less of a monster. Or at least, not that kind. She couldn’t murder all of these men.

She hoped the Avengers and SHIELD could contain them all.

She summoned her helmet to help protect herself and moved to take down the man that had shot at her, but Thor got there first. He hit him with a single fist, and the man went down, which was far kinder than what she had done.

She turned her attention away and back to Barton and Ferra; they both had their weapons out, but they were standing. In front of them, one of the men was holding his leg and moaning-- Ferra had opted to shoot him in the shin, apparently.

And beyond the one on the ground, the rest of those she had sensed before were approaching. They too had guns, and she moved her hands, ready to call up shields at a moment.

She sent out a tendril of her seidhr, unsurprised that she could not feel anything below them-- the floor was reinforced and too thick. But she could, using it, tell where her team was-- as much as it surprised her to think of them as such-- and she had to focus on those locations, so that if the men began to fire, she could keep the humans safe.

She just had to hope that Barton hadn’t actually gotten a seidhr negator, and that none of them would hate her for using seidhr on them, or around them, when it was over.

She pushed that doubt down, though-- better that they hate her than be dead. Steve would forgive her of that, even if they didn’t. Even if Steve couldn’t forgive the rest-- maybe keeping his friends safe in the process of bringing him home would help.

Converging now were the rest of the men who worked there, the rest of those she had counted before-- she counted nine now. Then ten-- she could see where they came forth, up the stairs, and her attention became focused there.

“You thought you could come in here, a handful of you, and take us out? On our home soil?” The man who spoke carried the same sort of accent as had the man in the bar, and Loki’s nose wrinkled in distaste.

He laughed, and she looked to Romanoff, wondering if she should offer to simply kill them all.

“Pretty big talk, considering how many of you are already down.” Barton spat back, and Loki fought to keep from rolling her eyes, tensed beyond belief.

“You,” The leader said, speaking slowly and with relish, “Are just a waste of my time.”

He raised his arm and let off a shot, aimed directly for Barton’s head, and Loki threw a shield up with a flick of her arm and a twist of her hand. Simultaneously, the man fell, a neat hole just between and above his eyes-- the Widow’s work, no doubt.

From there, any sensibility about the proceedings was lost.

Shots went off and Loki erected shields around each of the humans, content to allow Thor to bat them away. She charged forward and broke the woman’s wrist, when she saw her raise a stunning wand, like those some of the SHIELD agents had carried-- and then it was over, each of their opponents either dead or unconscious. She looked at those on her side, double checking them for injury. They seemed intact, if shaken, and Clint was prodding at the side of the shield facing him with an arrow-- which went cleanly through the wall of light. Hopefully he would realize that it was intended to keep weapons out, not to keep his attacks in.

At least the others must have realized it, to have so readily taken down the rest of the men.

She let the shields fall.

“Outside, Thor!” Loki demanded, blood running hot through her as she looked at those on the floor. Most were moaning and clutching at parts of themselves. But her attention fell on the stairs, and she wasn’t inclined to look away.

“Make sure the rest of them are unarmed, then get them against a wall. Ferra, you’re on guard duty, then Clint, I want you to follow if you haven’t heard different from me by then. Meantime, keep an eye on your backs.”

Romanoff’s orders were concise and clear, and Loki’s heart was thumping in her throat.

“Loki, you’re with me. Can you put one of those shields in front of us on the way down?” She asked, and Loki nodded quickly, not trusting herself to speak. She erected a half-dome in front of the stairs.

“I am outside.” Thor reported over their communication device. “Thus far, I see no attempts to escape.”

Loki’s horns scraped against the concrete of the ceiling on the way down, and she felt as if the weight of the entire structure were sitting on her chest.

She sent tendrils out ahead--

“Three.” She murmured to Romanoff’s back. “One is seated. It is a small room, connected to a hall, with other rooms beyond.”

Romanoff’s foot had no more than touched the floor beyond the final step than she launched herself forward, jamming her fist against the first man’s neck and delivering a shock of electricity. she grabbed the next man by his shoulders and swung him down, greeting his nose with her knee. She side stepped his falling form and hoisted herself onto the shoulders of the man who was just beginning to rise, cutting his air off with the powerful muscles of her legs, before she upset his balance and tipped him forward, taking him and the second man both back to a prone position. From there, she disentangled herself and set another shock through the both of them simultaneously before standing as though nothing had happened at all.

“Anyone in the other rooms?” She asked.

Loki gripped the knife she did not remember summoning and swallowed.

“Not that I can feel, but the walls are thick. I cannot say.”

“Then let’s find out.” The Widow’s smile was thin, grim, and predatory, and Loki understood precisely how she felt.

The hall beyond was grey and smooth, every surface polished dully so that it shone just enough to seem clean, without ever gaining the gleaming showiness that decorated so much of Stark’s tower.

“Open door to your left, ahead. Two more.”

Romanoff drew her batons and took them out at the same time. Loki nodded her respect.

There were four rooms, though to Loki’s dismay the fourth led to another stairwell down, another layer deeper. Again, she erected a shield, and again they descended, this time to be greeted with gunshots.

Romanoff kept up a steady stream of narrative in counterpoint to Loki’s silence, her words being carried back to their teammates so that, should they fall, rescue would be immediate, and, hopefully, neither of them would go missing as Steve had done.

When they reached the final floor, Loki’s heart shuddered and she forgot to breathe for a moment.

“That room-- one. Sitting on the floor, back against the wall.” It _had_ to be. Had to.

She was so certain that the pushed past Romanoff, forcing through the lock with a direct application of seidhr, and nearly jogged into the room--

Only to find it was some other man. A prisoner, no doubt, and one who was clearly being used to figure out some problem-- sheets of paper spilled across the floor and he had the look of an advisor, rather than a fighter.

But he was not Steve. Loki could not bring herself to care about anything other than that.

She stormed back into the hall, away from the man and Romanoff, who was beginning to talk to him, to coax him into coming with them.

Loki should have stayed with him, gentled him. Healed him, if he needed-- and it looked like he might.

Instead she blindly strode back into the hall.

 

This was not what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be the one who got hurt, not him. He could save her, not the other way around. She wasn’t made for this. Wasn’t made for the hope and the loss of it, the fear and the not knowing. Wasn’t made to play the hero, to be good-- and she was _failing_ . It was her fault they hadn’t found him yet-- if she’d been better, if she wouldn’t have done so much wrong, and had to try to make reparations for it-- if she had never been captured by him in the first place… He wouldn’t be in trouble now. He would never have been taken, or at the very least they would have found him already. But he _wasn’t here_.

 

Scraping together what little concentration she had left, she sent out a tendril of seidhr to find what had drawn them there, hope no longer even factoring into it. She followed the trace of it to a room they had already cleared, where five men lay unconscious on the ground.

There, at the back of the room, in one of the many boxes of HYDRA tech, lay something that Loki immediately recognized, and which immediately churned her stomach. It was the torture device that she had modified for their use, when Barton had been in her thrall and had needed an eye.

It chilled her to think that Barton was upstairs, looking for any reason to hate her more, and this reminder was here, waiting for him to see it. It would hurt him. And between that and her having used seidhr on him during the attack before, despite knowing how he felt about it, she couldn’t blame him if he did. Hate her, that was. More than before.

She swallowed, sucking air in between her teeth, and stared down at the thing she had made. The device she’d committed atrocities with, just a few short minutes before meeting Steve for the first time. Someone had cleaned the blood off of it, thankfully, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been there. Didn’t mean it wasn’t still on her hands.

She looked up and caught sight of her own shadow, tall and malevolent. The way she’d wanted it, once, imposing and threatening, to make people respect and fear her. Exactly the sort of thing Steve wanted her not to be.

 

_Why are you being like this?_

 

She tore the helm from her head, ignoring the burning sensation as it caught hair and ear both before it came free. She snarled, wordless frustration and anger and fear rendering her less than human, less than a person, revealing her for the monster she was. She clutched the helmet in her hands and shuddered, looking down at the device. What should she do? Leave it? Destroy it? Hide it-- put it in her pocket so that no one would ever see it again?

She had begun crushing the helmet between her hands, enjoying the feeling of it bending under the force of her power, viciously pleased at the reminder of her physical strength, even if her emotional strength remained in question. She felt it crease, felt the metal of her helmet digging into her palm, and she screamed and threw it suddenly against the wall, gratified at the sound of a crack-- though she wasn’t sure if it was the helmet or the bunker itself that had taken the damage.

“Loki?” Romanoff called to her, and she sighed.

“I’m fine.” She responded, over their communicators, so that she could keep her voice low and calm sounding. She had let herself out of control for just a moment-- it would not do to let Romanoff see that, to let her see her monster stirring so close to the surface. Not knowing what they stood to retrieve.

What had Barton called her, back at SHIELD? A bomb?

She needed to prove she could be more than that, even though she was actively failing, over and over.

She left the room, opting to leave it where it lay. Let them find it. Let them be reminded. It was only fair, after all. It was her own fault if they drew away from her because of it.

She returned to the room she’d left Romanoff in and pushed through her boiling emotions.

“How is he?” She asked, with a nod at the scientist they had recovered. The words were short but she made her voice into something much more even than she felt, something more human.

If nothing else, these exercises were reminding her how to lie.

She didn’t think she had it in her to be glad for it, though.

“He seems to be in a state of shock.” She told her, and sighed, standing. She urged the man on the floor to do the same.

“Clint? I have a civilian down here, a prisoner. You want to come grab him? Eli, can we get a cleanup crew and some wagons? I want this guy checked for any injuries I can’t see, and then we’re gonna need to haul out all these Hydra goons.”

“On it boss. We have SHIELD backup on standby to pull out the HYDRA agents, and a local ambulance will be waiting for Barton and the civilian.” Bradley answered quickly, and Loki heard him begin to speak to those he was with before the line was closed. Meanwhile, Barton cut in.

“On my way to you now.”

Loki, for her part, closed her eyes and sent out tendrils, hoping against hope for a hidden room, a secret passage-- anything.

There were rooms, storage closets, access panels… but inside was nothing. No Steve.

No point.

By the time she’d finished those checks, there were more men coming downstairs. They were swarming the place, no doubt the officials of this country, and Loki felt her hackles rising, felt herself riding a sharp edge of adrenaline and hair trigger emotions. She knew she should avoid them, should do her best to keep from causing a problem, but she felt strange-- almost feral. It felt as if it would be no surprise for her to lash out, to tear out someone’s throat with her teeth. And she did not even wish any of them any particular harm.

“Time to go, hon.” Romanoff said, the gentle hold on her arm making Loki jump. Romanoff seemed to understand though, and handed her some paperwork in a box to carry. Something to keep her arms wrapped around, keep her hands occupied with.  
She guided Loki out and intercepted any attempt to speak with her, and it had been a long time since Loki had felt so much like a prisoner.

 

 

* * *

 

Many hours later, when his body had dried and he’d been chained back in his cell, Steve still found himself coughing, trying to bring up water that wasn’t there. His chest ached from the repeated fits, and the wheezing sound of his breathing joined the white noise of the lightbulb’s faint buzz and the incessant hum in his skull. He couldn’t tell if it was actually colder in the cell now, or it his metabolism was just burning more sluggishly, but he curled up as tight as his bindings would allow, goosebumps crawling over his bruise-mottled skin.

 

Where the _hell_ was his team?

 

He’d have thought, with Tony’s genius and Natasha’s resourcefulness and Loki’s sheer force of will, they’d have found him by now. It had certainly been long enough. They’d found the scepter, after all, and that had been a needle in a haystack.

 

(That had also been a _trap,_ an unwelcome voice piped up at the back of his mind.)

 

Still. He needed them to hurry up. Steve could endure a lot, and had, but he could feel his body giving out. HYDRA already had everything they needed from him now that he’d lasted this long; it would all be for nothing though, if he couldn’t hold out until rescue came.

 

( _Please don’t let it be for nothing_.)

 

They had to find him. He wasn’t going to be able to get out of this on his own. They had to be looking. They had to be...

 

They had to be okay.

 

Had to be. Because if they were hurt, or if Loki had done something stupid, or if Thanos had come and torn through Loki’s mind and scattered them all and _Steve hadn’t been there--_

Quashing the thought, he shifted his weight, the clanking of his restraints impossibly loud. They had to be okay.

 

He couldn’t believe otherwise.

 

* * *

 

 

Once they were again beneath the sky, it became openly apparent that it was raining-- though whether that was Thor expressing his grief that they had not found Steve, or if it was merely the default weather of this horrible place, she couldn’t say.

She didn’t care.

She trudged back to the vehicle they had arrived in and climbed inside, paying no mind to the wet clothing that she could easily have dried.

Once behind the closed door and tinted windows, she ignored the words of Agent Bradley and sent her armor back into her pocket.

“--Know something, though, you know? There’s always a chance--” She only flicked her eyes up to meet Bradley’s in the mirror for a moment, but he fell silent instantly. She must look like death walking. Or else a threat. She tried to force her face into a smile, but only managed a grimace.

“Bradley!” Ferra jogged up to them and leaned in the open driver’s side window. “Romanoff wants us to come over for a group chat.” She sent a quick look Loki’s way, and her expression became one of sympathy. “She says you don’t have to come.”

Loki hadn’t intended on moving, so that was good, she supposed. But knowing she was not wanted did not improve her mood. If anything, it only made her worry, as they moved a few feet further up the road, to stand beside the other vehicle-- that they were speaking of her. Debating her worth. Planning how best to be rid of her.

She couldn’t blame them in the least.

She considered turning herself invisible, or simply laying on her side so that they wouldn’t be able to see her, but she didn’t want them to think her missing, or a threat. So she sat up straight and tall and tried to keep her face blank and expressionless, shuttered her feelings off as much as she could.

She’d been so _certain_ …

After they finished their talk, they broke off, and returned to their respective cars. Ferra sat beside her, and Loki stared out the window, wishing she could go on ahead, or ride on the roof-- anything to be alone, now. Ferra seemed able to tell, and Loki could see her worried, upset face reflected in the glass. She had no words to comfort the woman, though. And when she put a hand on Loki’s shoulder, she froze, uncomfortable and unable to bring herself to shrug it off.

“We’re still gonna find him. You know that, right?” Ferra asked softly. “Who knows. Maybe something there will give us a lead-- it’s a lot to go through.”

Loki cast a glare over her shoulder, though she worried that her eyes were too damp to properly convey the need she had for silence.

She missed him. So much. She'd thought it was a cavern in her chest before, but it just kept gaping wider and soon... soon she would have no choice but to buckle under the weight of it.

 

* * *

 

 The next time the door opened, Steve didn’t look up. Not until the single set of footsteps stopped halfway into the room before falling still; then he finally craned his neck upward to observe his latest tormentor.

Scofield. _Terrific._

“Don’t you have any other ways of getting your rocks off?” Steve croaked, slightly startled by just how sandpaper-like his voice had become.

Scofield’s mouth twisted. “Rude,” he remarked. “And here I am bringing you a present, Cap. How’s that for gratitude?”

That was when Steve noticed the sack Scofield held in one hand, the burlap stretched by the irregularly-shaped contents -- a round arch in one place, jagged corners in others, offering no clue as to the contents. Though he knew better by now than to expect anything good.

“You shouldn’t have,” he replied flatly.

Scofield smirked. “Heard you got a visit from Dr. Schmutz, huh? Not feeling quite so super anymore, are we?” he taunted.

Steve sighed, doing his best to ignore the man. If he was only here to gloat, Steve wouldn’t do him the pleasure of rising to the bait.

But Scofield kept going. “What was it the guys told me you said to him as he was leaving? ‘The Avengers will stop you’ ?” He looked positively gleeful. “Well Cap, I’m sorry to say that I got news, and your Avenger buddies aren’t gonna be able to do jack shit to stop us or save you.”

Steve glared, unable to stop himself. “Liar,” he rasped.

Scofield’s grin widened maniacally. “Thought you’d say that. Fortunately, one of our boys brought us a souvenir...” He upended the bag and the object inside in the floor with a metallic thunk before rolling on its side.

A familiar object -- made of dark, tarnished golden alloys molded into a helm with arching horns--

No, one horn. The other had snapped off halfway up, and the helm itself was crumpled -- creased and torn, the metal spattered with something dark, molded into a shape that wouldn’t have fit on to any intact skull--

Steve couldn’t breathe.

“They _tried_ coming for you,” Scofield said, still smiling. “But you Avengers are really bad about walking into traps. Of course, it helps to have all of SHIELD’s files on you. Not that hard to unlock from the inside; made it easy to give HYDRA all the contingencies to take you each out. And of course, SHIELD had that handy magic neutralizer designed. Made short work--” he nudged the helm with his foot, righting it so it was upright and facing Steve, “--of your boytoy here.”

_No. No no no no--_

Loki. Loki couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t. He was Asgardian, he was durable; he was supposed to outlive Steve and everyone else. But if Loki’s magic had been cut off, leaving him vulnerable...

Staring at the helm, all Steve could imagine was Loki’s eyes widening in shock and pain as bullets tore through his body. An aborted cry slipping from his lips as a knife punched through his chest. His dark hair wet with blood as a blow crushed in his skull through his helmet, leaving his eyes glazed and lifeless as he crumpled to the ground.

 

All because of him.

 

“That’s right,” Scofield crowed, “your monster boyfriend is dead.” He leaned in, impossibly smug: “ _No one is coming to rescue you.”_

Something inside snapped. Steve yanked at his chains, straining, ignoring the tearing pain in his limbs as he let out an animalistic scream of rage and grief.

Loki. _They’d killed Loki ._ Loki had come to rescue him and walked right into a trap and now the one bit of solace Steve had clung to -- the knowledge that Loki was alright, whatever befell Steve -- was gone. Loki was gone. Loki was gone gone gone dead--

He screamed again, tearing his throat raw until the sound tapered off in a low and mournful wail; his energy spent, he slumped against his chains, shoulders quaking with dry sobs.

Scofield was saying something, taunting him more, but the words were indistinct. They didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

No one was coming. There was no one to come.

 

And when Steve was finally left alone with nothing but Loki’s battered helm for company, he let himself go completely limp and wept.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know, we know, we're sorry! We promise there is an end in sight to this ordeal; just not this week.
> 
> As a thank you for those who are struggling to endure, please enjoy some [fluffy Steve/Loki fic](http://mostfacinorous.tumblr.com/post/134486785493/some-fluff-to-hold-you-over) on Mostfacinorous' blog to lighten your spirits. (There is also [Little Talks art](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/post/134442782024/for-mostfacinorous-my-partner-in-crime-and-in) harkening back to the early chapters on Lena's blog).


	71. Seventy-One

Loki was dead.

 

Steve tried to tear his gaze away from the broken helm, but always found himself drawn back to it, the only object in the room.

 

Loki was dead.

 

He’d been looking for Steve. He still loved him, enough to look and to fight, but the last words they’d ever shared had been in anger. Had Loki died knowing how much Steve loved him in turn, or had he doubted it?

 

Loki was dead.

 

They hadn’t been together long, but then Steve hadn’t been in the war long and it was still an experience of such intensity that it defined him decades later. And what had been between them-- it might have been brief, but it was one of the most certain and beautiful things Steve had ever had. Gone now.

(Everything he ever loved always wound up gone.)

 

_(Loki was dead.)_

 

(What else could possibly matter?)

 

***

 

If he hadn’t been sure before if the cell was colder, he was certain now. He could hear the periodic whisper of air through the thin ventilation grate high in the wall, and the current that flowed in carried a chill with it that settled into his bones and set him shivering, pulling his legs in as close as he could in a futile attempt to preserve warmth.

He was definitely skinnier now, which couldn’t help. His body had no insulation left, judging from the way his bones were jutting out, stretching bruised skin taut over ribs and joints.

A few times he could swear he even saw his own puffs of breath condensing in the air.

 

While sleep had been elusive before, with the strain of his chains and the aches in his body, it became impossible now; any time he began to slip away, he jolted back awake with a chill. He wondered if some animal part of his brain knew that, if his body slowed down too much, cooled down too much, then any sleep he caught might not be the kind he woke from.

 

Looking back toward Loki’s helmet with a leaden feeling in his stomach, he wondered if that would be so bad.

 

***

 

There was still no food, though Steve found himself not expecting it much. Once, the panel in the door slid open and his chains unhooked from the wall to allow him to go after the shallow bowl of clouded, murky water that skittered in.

He half-considered leaving it to speed up the inevitable, but eventually caved in to the agony of thirst and crawled over to it, swallowing down the meager few fetid mouthfuls before curling up on his side around Loki’s helm and hugging it to his chest, paying no mind to the sharp edges of metal that dug into his skin or drew blood under his grip.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes burning. “I’m so sorry.”

 

* * *

 

The call came in when they were midway over the Atlantic to redirect their course to DC in lieu of New York. Agent Carter was waiting with arms folded when the quinjet landed on the SHIELD helipad.

“Hoo-boy,” Ferra breathed, wincing as they prepped to disembark. It took Loki a moment to see what she was less than thrilled about, but when he did, even he had to admit to being intimidated by the expression she wore.

“You didn’t find him,” was all Carter said when the team assembled out of the jet, expression steeled but tight. Ferra opened her mouth to say something, but stopped when Carter didn’t so much as glance her way. Beside her, Bradley suddenly developed a strong preoccupation with examining his shoes. Loki felt his heart drop into his stomach, but he kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t his place.

“No,” Natasha confirmed simply, stepping forward. “There was a HYDRA base, but no Captain Rogers.”

Carter nodded with a jerky, abortive movement, not quite looking at her. “Fury wants a report. I offered to function as a go-between, but apparently the Council has questions, so SHIELD is looking for some direct debriefs in lieu of field reports for this.”

Barton whistled. “Shiiit. Guess we really stepped on some toes, huh?”

Carter blinked. “No, not really. MI5 wasn't exactly thrilled we found a HYDRA cell they'd missed right under their nose, but I told them that British intelligence could take credit for setting up the operation and say the Avengers were just called in for an assist.” She shrugged, her face still pinched, in spite of the apparent good news. "Brigadier General Falsworth got them to go for it. And Hawkeye, you'll be joining Captain Braddock of the secret service in a press conference on Tuesday."

Barton startled. “I’ll what?”

"Press conference. They put you on a stage and you look official."

"Yeah, I got that part, but why me?"

Her expression transformed from restrained distress to open annoyance. "Normally Rogers handles the press events, but he’s quite evidently still not here."

Clint scowled. "Yeah, but there are several other avengers last time I checked--"

"Stark is a PR nightmare--" she continued over him "--Thor smashed up London pretty badly and we're still waiting to see the polling numbers for how the public feels about him after his appearance at the dedication of the repairs. The Hulk isn't much of a public speaker, and Dr. Banner doesn't have any brand recognition when he isn't big and green. That leaves you and Widow, and frankly, all our public opinion data indicates people think she's 'scary."

At that, Clint folded his arms and slouched petulantly. "I can be scary," he muttered, as Thor snorted in amusement behind him. The corner of Natasha’s mouth twitched briefly upward before sobering once more.

“Why do you need Barton to make an appearance, if there are no hard feelings politically? It was a quiet area, we took measures to go as unnoticed as possible.” Loki felt as though he was missing something. And no one else seemed as defensive as he felt, as willing to rise to her baiting. Or bait her in return.

“You sound as though we’ve done something terribly wrong. I thought this was what you wanted?” He crossed his own arms, raised a brow. “Are you upset that you weren’t there?”

He felt the tide of his own ugliness rising, felt smug to find it so near to the surface in someone else. And he was not bound to SHIELD, not so restrained as the others. Raw and hurt and ready to take it out on the first person to stand in his way.

“All of this, this pomp-- you’re wasting their time.”

Behind Loki, Ferra sucked in a breath.

Sharon’s lips tightened, her nostrils flaring for a moment. “There are no hard feelings politically, _provided_ we go through the motions to ensure any ruffled feathers are smoothed. You didn’t destabilize a century-old political alliance, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to continue to play nice,” she articulated slowly and with forced calm, belied by the twitching of a muscle in her jaw. At her side, her hands squeezed into fists.

“I’m doing _everything I can_ to make this as smooth as possible, and if I seem _upset,”_ she continued, pronunciation growing sharper and more sibilant with each word, “maybe consider the fact that you are not the only person here disappointed by the outcome of this mission, or who is concerned about Captain Rogers’ welfare.”

Loki felt his face shuttering off, the triumph withering in his chest.

He could almost feel himself collapsing inwards. Not the only one concerned for Steve’s welfare, and not even able to explain why he should be more concerned than most.

And even those who knew had no idea why he was so conflicted, why he felt so terrible-- what he’d done, what he’d said.

“My apologies.” He managed to grit out. “Clearly I am simply too _disappointed_ for human company.”

“Loki.” Ferra sounded exhausted, embarrassed… disappointed.

“I will not return to SHIELD.” He turned to face Natasha. “I can find my own amusement while you are otherwise engaged.”

Natasha’s mouth pressed into a narrow line, her expression largely unreadable, then nodded.

“Keep a low profile and keep your phone on.”

Carter said nothing, but turned stiffly and headed for the gated entryway and security checkpoint, the other Avengers slowly trailing after her.

 

* * *

 

They came for him again.

 

They drowned him again.

 

For a moment Steve thought he might actually be dying, and wondered if Loki would be in heaven, or if Steve might be allowed to Valhalla, or if the two were one and the same.

 

It was something to look forward to, either way, he thought, letting go as the water filled his lungs and the world went black.

 

His disappointment when the world returned as he retched up water on his side, heaving until his ribs ached, was palpable.

 

* * *

 

Loki walked alone through the cozy hall, the walls lit blue by sunlight coming through floral patterned curtains.

It was the first time he’d been truly alone since the walk he’d gone on after Steve disappeared, the first time he could be anywhere without being watched or checked on. At least not easily. He carried his phone with him, but the only people who would call were all in meetings at SHIELD.

And that was why he found himself here, in this house that smelled of impending death, seeking out the only other person he’d ever met to have lost as much as he had.

But of course, he was not there as himself. His hair was red, just like the last time, and the name he’d signed in under was Luke Smith.

He reached Peggy’s room and knocked lightly, not certain what he meant to say, or what she might remember.

“Who is it?” She called, and her voice was frailer than he remembered. He stood in the doorway, loathe to let himself in without permission.

“I am… my name is Luke. We’ve a common friend. I don’t know-- whether you remember me?” He was hesitant, especially after she knew who he was the last time. As her face hardened, he knew that must be what she saw now, the would be conqueror, rather than the partner of the man she’d once loved. He felt his shoulders slump and his head lower. “Perhaps this was a mistake.” He said.

“I think you had better come in.” Peggy instructed firmly, already pushing herself upright..

Loki swallowed and closed the door behind himself.

 

When he left, she was smiling, laughing into her tea, and he felt-- stiff. Fake. Like the liar he was. But accomplished somehow, still. If he could do nothing else, he could make a sick old woman’s day. Make her smile. Even if he’d made her cry, first.

That accomplishment faded when he closed the door behind him and turned to nearly collide into Agent Carter. She stood with her arms crossed and a displeased expression on her face. His first thought was that she was concerned that he represented a leak of information… which would have been fair, after all he’d just talked to Peggy about. But he hadn’t been out of her sight for long; she’d seen him only a few hours ago.

“Are you following me?” He demanded, thoughts turning to the woman inside, to how careful Steve had been with her. What would SHIELD do to her, for Loki being here?

“No, but I’m wondering now if I should be,” she countered. Her expression had flickered from surprise to anxiety to open hostility within microseconds of recognizing Loki’s features behind the red-haired disguise; she couldn’t think of many reasons for Loki to be at the stately assisted living facility, but the one that stuck out in her mind had the hair on the back of her neck standing up. Especially given the way they’d just parted ways.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded lowly, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him aside so they weren’t visible from the stairs where any nurse making her rounds might happen upon them.

Loki scoffed but allowed her to drag him over to the area he’d sat in, on his first visit, waiting to be brought into the room.

“Do you suppose that I mean her some harm? That I would come here to threaten or hurt Rogers’ long lost love? After all this time of searching for him? While still hoping he might return?”

He had not meant to sound so brittle, but the accusation stung. It was as he’d told Steve-- even those whom he worked with would never see him as anything more than he had been.

“She is safe from me, I can promise you that.” He kept his voice low and his words pointed. “You, on the other hand-- why are you here, if not to monitor me?”

She snorted. “Oh, please,” she snapped, but then paused, peering long and hard at Loki’s face; she blinked and pulled back, curiosity and confusion evident in the way her brows tugged together.

“You really don’t know?” she wondered aloud, then let out a chuff of breath. “Huh. Well, I suppose that does explain a few things...”

Loki felt himself becoming more cross, if possible, his little buoyancy from before completely lost.

“Yes, please, do laugh. Laugh at my lack of knowledge, accuse me of the unspeakable. Why not? You do your organization proud.” He restrained himself, though, did not lash out. Would not, despite his threats.

“I suppose this is to be like your visit to Stark’s labs during the feast? Where you will elect to pretend at innocence and side step my questions, deny me answers and direct my attentions elsewhere? What’s it to be this time? My selfishness, again? Your apparent care for the Captain? You should know that in as long as I have known him, he has _never_ spoken of you, so if you hold some foolish hope for romance…” He was being cruel, and jealous, but so far she’d done nothing to show him that she did not deserve as much.

“You know,” she said, eyes narrowed, “you might feel less in the dark if for half a second you tried thinking of me as a _person_ and not just a face attached to SHIELD. Maybe the fact that I care about Rogers as a fellow person wouldn’t have come as such a surprise. And maybe you’d put two and two together and realize that _Peggy Carter_ and I have the _same last name_ , for christ sake, and I have a hell of a lot more right to be here than you do considering _she’s my aunt.”_ She stepped forward into his space, voice not raising in volume but practically spitting in clipped tones as she punctuated her last words by poking him right in the sternum with a jab of her fingers. “So please, keep on being a hypocrite and complaining about _my_ deflecting -- or answer my question and tell me what the hell you’re doing here.”

He stared at her in shock for a long moment, mouth working soundlessly before his gaze slid away.

“Names… do not work that way, where I am from.” It was as close to an apology as he was willing to get.

And he felt sick, knowing she was correct-- Peggy being her aunt meant that again, here as ever, Loki had no real right-- did not belong--

“I came here once before. With Rogers. He wanted me to meet her, and she… he told her he would come back. To visit again. I thought it would be… unkind, not to tell her, at least to explain to her that he is unable to, for a time.” He looked back into her accusing face. “She waited long enough for him to see her at all. And I did not know that any of the rest of the Avengers knew she so much as existed, or would have thought to tell her.”

The rest-- that he felt a kinship to her in their shared loss, that he knew she would not remember Steve’s promise-- those he kept secret, hidden beneath his liar’s tongue.

“I meant her-- _mean_ her no harm. You must believe that.”

She frowned, watching his face and worrying her bottom lip for a moment. Then she sighed, some of the tension bleeding out of her posture. “I believe you,” she told him, gaze flitting back down the hall toward Peggy’s room. “I... remember. Seeing Captain Rogers here before once, when I came to visit. He had someone with him. I’m assuming that was you?” she ventured, raising a brow.

Loki had been here and visited with Peggy before, and nothing terrible had happened, at least. Not that she’d be in much state to recall it if it had. Sharon’s shoulders slumped.

“She won’t remember,” she added quietly. “Whatever you told her. She’s been worse for the last couple weeks, her doctors say. Sometimes she asks me about the latest troop movements and field reports from France.”

“Yes. I-- she forgot while I was here with Steve, last time. But I wanted to see if she’d retained any of it. The doctor we spoke to said she did not retain short term, but long term… I thought she might remember belatedly, and wonder. But she did not remember me, when I arrived, and she had forgotten me anew ten minutes later, but I saw to it she was in good enough spirits ere I departed. She nearly laughed her tea out of her nose, or so she said.” He spared a small smile, but it was brief.

“I am sorry to hear her condition is worsening. But if that satisfies your curiosity, you still have yet to answer to mine: what _were_ you doing in Stark’s lab that night? I am not so much a fool as to believe that you need sneak around if it was something so simple as you said. Stark has computers capable of any such transmissions in every room of his tower.”

Sharon chewed the inside of her cheek, then tilted her head and nodded to the side. “Come with me.”

She led him down the hall and out onto a second floor veranda, devoid of any residents on account of the outdoor chill. Pulling a small contraption from her pocket she quickly scanned the area for any recording devices, then put it away, apparently satisfied. “I understand your mistrust of me and my team; there’s a security breach in SHIELD.” She spoke quietly, leaning on the balcony rail, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t know how much Captain Rogers told you, but... Aunt Peggy was one of the founders of SHIELD. It’s something she spent most of her life building. I don’t advertise my family connection to her much since I don’t want anyone thinking my position in SHIELD is a result of nepotism, or that I didn’t work like hell for everything I’ve gotten. But it’s...” she looked out over the street. “It’s a family legacy. So I take someone coming in and corrupting that legacy a bit _personally.”_

“When you walked in on me in the lab, I was going through Stark’s files. I wanted to see how much intel you had about the possible mole, and if there was anything fresh from the Avengers’ end that might help my, ah, pet project,” she explained, clearing her throat and having the decency to appear somewhat sheepish.

Loki tilted his head, listening and trying to parse out what she wasn’t saying, as well.

“You thought they would disapprove? Or stop you? You believe Stark would bar you from those records?” Did they have reason to mistrust her that he did not know, he wondered, or was it merely that so much of their lives-- all of them-- was fear and paranoia, lies and sneaking, that it was second nature?

“I imagine that mutually shared information would only make matters easier, could only be more helpful. After all, we have been attacked before by those who appeared to be SHIELD, but were not. Do you know any more of that?”

He pulled his coat tighter about his frame, against the breeze, and found himself wishing again that Steve was there. He would know how to handle these tensions between the groups.

She snorted. “After the welcome I got? Are you joking?” The reception she and her team had received on their arrival skipped right past frosty and on toward glacial.

“I’m not an idiot, Loki, I saw the way you and everyone else reacted to having SHIELD in your house. You didn’t trust us. Even earlier today, you made that clear. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you and the rest of the Avengers would have been fine with 100% transparency?” she demanded, obviously skeptical, before shaking her head in apparent answer to her own question.

“There’s a number of paramilitary groups out there who might be able to pull off the Bryant Park attack, but I don’t have any more intel than you, I don’t think.” She shrugged. “I’ve had Garza working on tracing the shipping and transit of SHIELD gear and materials and going through records to see if any inventory went missing, but she’s only been working on it intermittently, given she’s also running a dozen different search algorithms and designing crawlers to find any data that might give us a lead on Rogers.”

Loki hesitated, then spoke more quietly than he had so far.

“The last time I was in a SHIELD facility, they tried to rip the magic from my veins and nearly killed Captain Rogers in the process. And this immediately after we’d formed an alliance. I think it is little enough wonder that I am wary. But I cannot speak for the Avengers. They are… human, yes, and grudge bearing, but they attempt to be fair. You will find them a good deal less suspicious of you if they know why you behave as you do.”

He thought back to the changes that had come over them, once they knew he loved Steve. How knowing his motivation for change had made them come to believe it.

It was difficult, he supposed, to see how they treated him differently, when it grew slowly over time, but compared to then… he would never have been allowed out of their sight, then. He would not have been permitted to come here. It was almost startling to realize that he felt as though he’d grown… somewhat close to some of them.

“Believe me in that, too-- I have learned from experience. But I will not hold you here longer. You should visit your Aunt. I am certain she will be glad to see you.”

She let out an amused huff of air. “Even if it weren’t for that, I’m a spy, from a family of spies. My whole family going back three generations is in politics, special ops, or intelligence...” she offered a rueful smile. “Pretty sure the straightforward approach isn’t even in my DNA anymore.”

Straightening up so she was no longer leaning on the rail, she took a step toward the door, then paused. “I’m sorry about what happened to you at SHIELD. For what it’s worth, that program was shut down, and I’ve made sure that the threat level in your dossier has been significantly downgraded.” She pursed her lips as she mulled over her next words. “I know you still don’t have much reason to trust me. And I work with mistrustful people, so I get it. But making sure Captain Rogers comes home safe is a personal mission for me, and I will do everything in my power to help make sure that happens.” Nodding toward the interior of the facility, and by extension Peggy’s rooms, she smiled again, a bit more naturally this time. “I’m not about to let ‘losing Captain America’ become a family tradition.”

His answering smile was brittle, but it was the best he could muster.

“Don’t let her hear you say that.” He warned. But he nodded, too.

“Thank you for telling me. And… I’m sorry as well. For your reception, and my mistrust. We are working toward the same thing. I’ll make more of an effort to remember as much, from now on.”

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t sleep. And right then, more than eating, more than drinking, more than dying, sleep was all he wanted to do. Exhaustion weighed him down even as his body withered, stick-like limbs impossibly leaden.

He was so damn cold and tired.

 

“You look like hell.”

 

Steve looked up, then moaned, eyes prickling with tears he couldn’t spare. “You're not really here," he murmured, trying to look away and failing.

 

"Well, no," Bucky agreed with a shrug, dropping down to sit beside him on the floor. Then he grinned impishly. "But given you're the one talking to yourself, I'd say you're not all here either."

 

Steve’s throat tightened. “You’re dead,” he protested. He couldn’t be losing his mind yet if he _knew_ it wasn’t real, right?

 

“And I still look better than you, punk. Kinda says something,” Bucky replied, before his smile slipped slightly and took on a concerned cast. “Aw, come on, don’t look so glum.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, looking from Loki’s helm (solid, real) to Bucky (imaginary, hallucinatory). “I’m sorry I couldn’t reach...”

 

Bucky’s expression did something strange, then he shrugged. “Yeah, me too. Hey, how about you get some shut-eye?”

 

“Can’t sleep...”

 

“Sure you can. I’ll take first watch.”

 

Steve let his head fall forward until his chin rested against his chest. “You’re dead,” he repeated in a mumble.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky agreed gently. “I’ll see you soon enough on the flipside, though.”

 

It was, Steve reflected, a strange, if accurate consolation.

 

***

 

They came again. Not with the bucket and cloth but with batons and boots.

 

He screamed now when they shocked him; and they did so again and again, before kicking him until he felt his ribs give way, something crunching in his side.

 

Between the water they’d filled his lungs with before and the pain that now came with every inhalation, it was getting damn hard to breathe. Lying in a ball on the floor, he wheezed and tried not to think about any of it.

 

Not about the cooked-meat and seared-hair smell of his fresh burns, nor that the sores on his back were still open and weeping. Or the fact the skin was rubbed raw and oozing at his ankles and wrists from the constant rubbing of the manacles, now tantalizingly loose but not loose enough to wrench himself from. Or the pus crusting around his various half-healed cuts and the way the skin around them was red and hot to the touch.

 

Earlier in his imprisonment, he’d tried to sing to distract himself, belting out choruses to songs from his heyday.

 

He had no voice or breath for it now, but he found himself whispering lyrics to himself to busy his mind:

 

“ _I’ll be loving you...”_

 

_...Always..._

 

* * *

 

Dinner was a restrained affair, quieter still than it had been, the shadow of their most recent failure and no doubt Fury’s reprimands for it hanging over their heads. Carter and her team were conspicuously absent, ostensibly because this was their home town, and they had their own places to be.

But among the Avengers and Loki and those who had come with them, there was no conversation and only the sounds of eating filled the air. It was good, some form of fowl, but Loki’s mind was lingering on what Peggy had said to him, what she’d asked of him.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

The noise made several of the table’s occupants look up. Loki waited til he had their attention, gathering the words he wanted to say, trying to find the best way to ask what he needed to.

“Is there something bothering you, Brother?” Thor prompted, and Loki nodded.

“I have a question.” He looked from Stark to Romanoff to Banner to skate over Jane and Darcy, “For the humans among us. What--” He licked his lips and put his fork down.

“What are the burial rites for Catholics?”

Silence fell, if anything more fully than before, for a long moment like held breath.

“Did-- did something happen?” Darcy was the first to recover, always the loudest.

“Loki--” Bruce tried, but he cut himself off, his face pulled taut, and Loki was afraid he had caused too much stress-- had endangered them all. He froze, and saw the effect of his fear on his-- was he a friend? Loki could never be certain, any more. But he must be, mustn’t he? Or Loki’s betrayal, his fear-- it wouldn’t bother him so.

It didn’t matter. Loki’s flinch had been like a knife to Banner’s ribs, and he could not feel more ashamed.

“I’m sorry.” he murmured, and dropped his eyes back to his plate.

“Hey, let’s not worry about burying anyone until we know for sure-- no point in having a funeral without a body.” Natasha’s voice was almost grating, and somehow also reassuring. Loki looked up at her, eyes damp, but nodded once, out of gratitude. He didn’t know what to say.

Slowly, a conversation started up, haltingly, around him. He noticed that the only other person who did not try to overcome the silence by engaging awkwardly was The Widow, and only because she was watching him closely. Staring at him.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, biding his time until they could board the plane and return to New York.

He needed to be back in their apartment, surrounded by their things, their life. He felt like it was slipping from his grasp. Like he was finally waking up from that good dream he’d told Steve this had felt like, when they had begun.

He needed proof that it was real. Even if it was just for himself.

 

* * *

 

He did at one point, briefly manage to doze off fitfully.

He dreamt not of the war or of the hell he was in currently, for a change -- instead, he was able to roll over in bed and see Loki, lying beside him, their mattress in a beautiful castle of ice arching up around them. Loki had rolled over and smiled sweetly with his cheek on the pillow, and Steve had felt a rising weight of warmth and love in his chest.

That same weight turned leaden the moment he woke, then threatened to choke him when the dull gleam of the helm filled his vision.

 

Loki was dead. HYDRA had killed him.

 

The pressure in his chest collapsed and he wailed, the sound echoing in the confines of the cell.

“Hush now,” a familiar, accented voice said from his left. Steve turned to face her.

 

Peggy was young, the way she’d looked in the war with her lipstick meticulously applied and her hair in victory rolls. She looked at him sympathetically. “It was just a dream.”

Steve made a sound halfway between a chuckle and a sob. “That’s the problem,” he said, looking back at Loki’s helmet.

Peggy sighed. “Well, this is what you do, isn’t it?” He looked back at her in confusion and she tutted her tongue at him. “You’ve done it all before, you know. You make people fall in love with you. Make them need you and depend on you. Then you run off and disappear for Lord knows how long, and everyone else is left to wither and die.”

He gaped at her in horror. “That’s not... I didn’t...”

“You did,” she replied, not accusatory, but matter of fact. “It’s what you do, Steve.”

Unable to argue, he looked down and away and closed his eyes until she disappeared.

 

* * *

 

He could only imagine that Natasha had asked Barton to come by, to check on him, or test him somehow, perhaps, but either way, he was surprised when he answered the knock to find the archer and Lucky standing there, sharing matching expectant expressions.

Barton did not look entirely at ease, and because of that, Loki nearly declined his invitation to join them on their walk.

But he also knew it was an offer to get him out of the tower. Whether that was for them to search his rooms for something or just to make sure he did not go mad from being kept in his confinement, he wasn’t certain. But better to agree, better to make things easy, when he could.

They were waiting on the things from the Hydra base in England to be delivered, so that they could go through it, searching for any clue as to where Steve may be. Surely each part of Hydra had to communicate with the rest, had to have some means of sharing information.

And Barton had yet to say anything about their recovering the device he’d used on that man in Germany, the eye scanner he’d stabbed into his skull. And so he had to wait for that to be shipped to them as well, and the inevitable fallout that would come of it.

Waiting, forever waiting. Waiting instead of acting, watching hours tick past, knowing that out there, somewhere, Steve was suffering while they _waited_. But that was how it had to be, how it worked when one played by the rules. When one did not torture people and burn things down. Steve wouldn’t forgive him if he didn’t wait. Steve already might not forgive him though… the thoughts were circular, and he hated them.

Until they had more information, he had precious little to do, and no excuses to proffer. So he did end up outside, hands shoved into the pockets of the woolen coat that Pepper had had delivered for him, the long and heavy weight of it brushing his ankles, the bottom neatly skimming the pockets of snow that coated the sidewalk’s edge.

“What are these for?” Loki asked, as they passed yet another pole, wound around with shining strings of brightly colored ribbon and topped off with a bow and bells. Lucky was worrying at the garland with his nose, clearly equally puzzled. Or merely attracted to the shine of the plastic; it was difficult to say.

“Christmas is coming. Or… The Holidays, I guess. I keep forgetting you don’t-- like Thanksgiving, you’re not familiar, right? Don’t they have some kind of mid winter holiday?”

It was admittedly odd to be talking to him like this, almost friendly, and without the sceptre’s pull between them. Then, they had known instantly what one another knew. Now…

“I have some passing knowledge of it. Steve spoke briefly… but. When is it and what is expected of me?” He knew he was speaking stiffly, walking a little taller, putting Barton at more of a distance.

“Well it’s… at the end of the month. Another few weeks. And it’s usually a time for family, and gifts being exchanged. For Christians it’s about the birth of their savior Jesus, other religions have other stuff. Candles staying lit for longer than they should have and… and Kwanzaa.” He shrugged, casually directing Lucky back onto the sidewalk. “I dunno, really, for me it’s mostly presents and food. It’s pretty good, though, honestly. Or at least, usually it is.”

“Midwinter.” Loki repeated dully.

His first midwinter on Midgard, and it would be without Steve. Midwinter, when the people of Asgard treasured those held dear, celebrated their bonds. Exchanged tokens of love.

Steve had said they would celebrate his birth around then, as well. Not that it mattered. There was nothing to celebrate. Not with him gone, not with him missing.

Midgardian holidays fell so inconveniently.

He wondered, if Steve was still alive, how he felt about the approach of the holiday.

It was probably the least of his concerns, if he was. And it would be the least of Loki’s as well, he decided.

“Hey, don’t look so glum-- no one is expecting you to go shopping for them or anything, okay? No pressure. And at least you know ahead of time, this time.” If anything, Clint sounded more uncomfortable. Loki couldn’t stop bleeding on people.

He sucked in air that burned his chest with its cold.

“I think I should return to the tower now.” Loki told him. “You and Lucky enjoy your walk.”

Barton said something behind him, but Loki didn’t hear it as words. Only sounds drowned out in the rush of his thoughts, torturous and full of disdain.

_Why are you being like this?_

 

 

* * *

 

It was so cold some nights in their tenement in Red Hook that when Steve woke in the mornings, the ice on the inside of the windows was an inch thick and had to be carefully chipped away so as not to scratch the glass, so it wouldn’t rot the woodwork when it melted.

It was during those frosty nights when they couldn’t afford the heating for the stove and Steve could see his own breath ghosting out with each exhalation in the moonlight that he and Bucky would share a bed, one or the other wordlessly stripping the blankets off of his bed and throwing them over the other before crawling down in between the sheets to keep warm.

In the war, they’d shared a foxhole in those cold nights in France, huddling close as snow deadened the sound of distant bombardments. It wasn’t anything improper; it just kept them warm and alive.

He was so cold now, watching each translucent breath that he struggled to pull in and out of his lungs. Bucky had kept him warm and alive but Bucky was dead now. They were all dead and he always just disappeared and maybe he was going to freeze over again -- maybe the ice would form on the walls here like it had on the windows and slowly creep down like a living thing and excuse him in a cocoon and he’d be frozen for another few decades or centuries or however long.

 

Cold, dark, wet, cold dark--

 

It was familiar enough that he started laughing, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side from the moment as the giggles spilled forth unchecked and wild, only stopping when he broke into coughing and had no breath left.

 

***

 

He didn’t know if the beatings came regularly. If they did, he might have been able to keep time by them, but time (like warmth and daylight and comfort) felt non-existent in this place.

So he allowed himself to lose track.

“I asked for an army,” Phillips barked, eyeing him balefully from behind the Hydra guards than pummeled him, the one who he’d shot weeks ago taking particular glee in slamming his fist into Steve’s jaw. “And all I got was you.”

 

Steve’s jaw shattered on the next punch, white-hot pain blinding him and briefly stealing the world away. He opened his eyes to find himself lying on his back, the guards gone, and Phillips looking down at him in disappointment.

 

“You are _not_ enough.”

 

(He never had been.)

 

* * *

 

 

 

The doctors had set him up with a room, and Stark had had enough time to create some new machines, things set to record and scan and measure his efforts.

Between Tony and Bruce, they were set up even before his patient had fully lost consciousness.

And though Stark had been unable to slip free of all of his entanglements for the day, he had stayed for the first hour as Loki rebuilt the spine of a boy who had suffered grievously during his invasion. He’d been wheelchair bound ever since, and when Doctor Ortega had handed him the file, he couldn’t help but accept it.

Another small chance to set one thing right, of the million wrongs he’d committed.

Even after Stark slipped out, Banner stayed, lending himself as a soothing, solid presence that Loki appreciated more than he could say.

When they finished their work, and Frederick had been taken off to be awakened and told some fanciful story about the miracles of science, Loki found himself inviting Banner into his apartment, with an offer of dinner.

He was hardly a great cook, but he did not think that he embarrassed himself.

The ramen and canned food was long since gone, but Loki had moved up to frying things and boiling them. He could create a modest dinner, good enough to feed the both of them, of spaghetti without any meats, to fit Bruce’s diet.

“You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself, these days. At least cooking wise, since...” He trailed off, and Loki wondered what his face was doing, what he must look like to cease his friend’s speaking.

“I have needed the distraction. That’s all.” Loki told him shortly, though he kept his tone mild.

“Yeah? I can imagine. How’re you holding up?” Bruce did not seem to be prying, or onguard, but Loki knew he’d hurt him, and recently, when he’d flinched away from any sign of his compassion. He did not seem to be withholding it, despite that, though, which made him a better person, again, than Loki had given him credit for.

“Miserably.” Loki responded at length, glad again to have cooking to busy his hands with, to keep him from having to look Bruce in the eye.

Chopping ingredients was easy. Doing so without his comfort with knives coming across as threatening was a little more difficult, but solved by turning his back to the other man.

Which made it easier, again-- he didn’t have to see his face when he chuckled a little awkwardly. Loki knew he could have chosen differently, said something reassuring. But he was greedy, selfish. He kept all of his reassurances to himself and all of them unspoken.

“Well, you know, you’re-- you’ve been handling yourself amazingly well. I mean look at you. Cooking your own meals, healing people left and right, pushing the boundaries of science and magic... You’re capable of a lot of good. Even when Steve isn’t around.”

Loki shivered-- had he been that obvious? Had he ever said as much to him, laid voice to his fears? He must have. Despite how careful he’d been, he must have bled all over the place, to warrant Bruce of all people telling him this. Bruce, who wasn’t good at people, trying to offer him this comfort.

“It is kind of you to say so.” Loki said. “I only hope when we-- if-- I hope he agrees with you, when he returns to us.” He began the work of tucking his emotions further back, away from his voice and his face, away from where he could harm anyone else with them.

Beside him, the teapot began to whistle.

He took the distraction gladly, and when he handed Banner his cup, he did so with a smile and a glib change of subject, and though he could see the concern on Banner’s face, he did not press the issue.

Loki was immensely grateful for that.

 

* * *

 

It was a shame, Steve mused idly, staring at the broken horn of the helm, that suicide was a mortal sin.

The edges of the helm were surely sharp enough to hasten the inevitable.

(Better than waiting for a rescue that would never come.)

 

_(They had to be coming, they had to be looking---)_

 

 _(-- Why hadn’t they_ found him yet?)

  
  
  
  
  


Ice crept into his bones and gnawed at his fingers, eating him from the inside out like a parasite. Hunger was an abyss in his stomach, thirst a knife carving at his throat.

If they found him, Steve was fairly sure it would be in pieces.

  
  


“I’m sorry,” Steve wheezed to the helmet, slurring around the pain in his swollen jaw.

Bucky talked to him, and Peggy, and Phillips, but Loki remained always silent. It tore at him.

“I’m so sorry...”

The hum in his skull and the buzz of the light were his only answers.

 

Then the light flickered and died out.

 

* * *

 

Stark had made the arrangements necessary with SHIELD to transport the contents of the HYDRA base they’d despoiled to the tower.

Loki wasn’t sure how many floors he kept devoted to his own needs, but there was one that was vast and empty and was now filled with crate upon gleaming crate of technology and documentation which needed to be gone over with a careful eye in search of any clue to Steve’s location.

They’d each settled in front of a crate, save Tony who was happily attempting to reassemble a large metal ring from pieces scattered across six of them.

Loki was there, not because he thought he could be useful, but because he knew that they stood posed to find the eye extractor, and rather than force Barton to come to him, risking damages to his and Steve’s home, he wanted to be there. To make it as easy as possible. He didn’t know what to say, though, and hadn’t managed to warn anyone. What _could_ he say?

“Hey, what’s this?”

Garza lifted the device from her crate and he swallowed, eyes flicking over to Barton in mute anxiety, but he wasn’t even paying attention. Instead, he was staring at the device that Tony was rebuilding.

“I’ve seen this before. At SHIELD, in New Mexico.”

Jane looked up at that, glancing rapidly back and forth between the papers she held and the device that Barton was staring at.

“God  _DAMNIT_.” She swore, and beside her, Murray jumped, obviously not expecting that level of venom from so slight a woman.

Even Loki would have been impressed, if that particular woman wasn’t his constant usurper.

“Woah there, Janey, everything okay?” Stark was instantly on his feet and moving towards her.

“My work. This is my work-- all of it. The--that--” She gestured at

“The portal. The one SHIELD built in New Mexico, the one that...” Barton turned toward Loki for the last, and he nodded mutely, understanding, now. It was like the one he’d come through, on their end. The shape of it was altered, changes obviously having been made, but…

“I feel sick. I feel like I want to punch someone. And then be sick on them.” Jane sat down on one of the crates, and Loki watched Thor go to her side before turning his face away with a sneer.

Of course his human should need such coddling. He looked back to where Garza sat, and saw both Sharon and Natasha staring at him.

Wordlessly he took the device from her hands and offered it to Natasha.

“That should be put away from anyone. It’s a marker. Unless you want me to destroy it.” He let his eyes flick again to Barton, then away. Natasha seemed to understand.

“If you’re really gonna hurl, let me know. I have a sympathetic gag reflex, and papers all around me.” The strained silence was broken by Murray, who looked nauseous at the very idea, and Jane shook her head.

“But how do they intend to open it? They haven’t got the tesseract. Odin did, last I knew.” Loki spoke up, confused by their science.

“The tesseract was cheating. I was working on finding a way to make it self sustaining, and, correct me if I’m wrong, but Tony? This is partially some of your work, right?” She thrust the papers at him, and

groaned.

“And between stealing from your brain and mine, and who knows what SHIELD has locked away… who knows how close they came? We _have_ to reassemble it.”

Loki froze.

He’d threatened to raze the nine realms in search for Steve. What if he truly needed to? What if they had managed to create the means of transporting themselves between realms?

Could that be why Heimdall did not find Steve on Midgard?

It was Loki’s turn to feel ill.

“I don’t think they did, though. I feel like we would have noticed that kind of disruption; it’s not a small event.” Banner noted, probably in response their collective distress.

“Yeah. Yeah you’re right, and we haven’t had anything even remotely like that, other than you coming and going.” Jane looked up to Thor as she spoke, and he nodded.

“Not that I doubt you Janey, but JARVIS, if you could just compile a list of unusual atmospheric disturbances between the date of Captain Rogers’s abduction and now?”

“ _Certainly, Sir._ ”

Stark opened up a screen and handed it over to Jane.

“So Jane’s in charge of double checking on the likelihood of off world transport. In the meantime… we have a lot of boxes to go through. Anything that looks like part of crazy Nazi science projects, just slide it over by Tony. Let’s focus on paperwork, see if we can find any mention of other HYDRA holdings. There has to be something, shipping records, an address book, maybe a rolodex if someone is old school and we’re really lucky.” Sharon spoke calmly, as if unperturbed by the news that HYDRA had been in the process of experimenting with such powerful tech.

Then again, SHIELD had done the same, so perhaps it did not surprise her at all.

Loki noted that Natasha had put the eye ripper away, someplace hidden from view, and he was grateful for it.

It made it easier to push some of his worries out of his mind and devote himself to his work.

Even if he could feel eyes on him periodically throughout.

 

* * *

 

The door opened and light flooded the cell. Steve looked up, squinting at the figure standing in silhouette, taking a few moments for his vision to adjust enough to make out the face.

 

Oh.

 

“Bucky,” he breathed, relieved it was just Bucky and not the guards. The last beating he was fairly sure had left a fracture in his leg. “Buck...”

 

But Bucky said nothing. Just stood there, staring silently at him from a corpse-like face, eyes dark and dead and devoid of familiarity.

 

Steve’s heart sunk. “Buck... Buck, I’m so sorry,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean it. I-- I don’t want you to be dead.”

 

The corpse-Bucky standing in the doorway tilted his head to the side, long and ragged hair brushing his shoulder, stringy and far from regulation-length. His silence hung heavy and accusatory.

 

“ _This is what you do,”_ Peggy whispered.

 

HYDRA killed everything Steve loved. Because he led them right into the line of fire.

 

His heart began to pound, breath coming shallowing. “Bucky, I woulda come looked for you, I swear, we just didn’t have time...” He gasped, feeling like he couldn’t breathe, his airway tightening until it was like sucking air through a straw.

 

Bucky said nothing. Somewhere, someone was shouting, and footsteps pounded in the hall. Or maybe that was Steve’s heart, trying to beat its way out of his chest to escape.

 

“I’m... so.... sorry,” he wheezed, vision spotting. “Bucky...”

 

The figment wavered, turning as the guards approached, then dissolved as Steve’s vision went dark, soundless apologies still on his lips.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, most of the SHIELD team had broken off to go through crates of paperwork, and Barton and Natasha had departed to fetch food for everyone, leaving Loki with the scientists pouring over the data and tech they’d recovered. Amidst the studious near-silence, Stark made a loud noise of frustration, startling everyone else in the room and causing Banner to drop the cable he’d been fiddling with. “How does a person just _vanish off the face of the earth?_ We found Loki back when he was doing the villain thing within, what, 24 hours?”

“Says the man who vanished in a system of caves in Afghanistan for months,” Banner remarked, sitting back in his chair and stealing a sideways look at Loki, grimacing apologetically. “Which was at least within a specific region of the world. And Loki wasn’t exactly hiding then; I don’t think Steve is in a position, wherever he is, to waltz in front of security cameras.”

Stark ran a hand through his hair, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just...” he trailed off helplessly. Dark circles underscored his eyes and had done for weeks now. “Damn. It’s like he just got swallowed up by a black hole or something.”

On her side of the lab where she’d been typing at a terminal, Jane went deathly still. “Oh my god,” she murmured, before standing up and moving to the projection.

Stark blinked, turning toward her. “Um, Janie? You okay?” He looked over to Bruce and Loki. “She knows I didn’t meant the black hole thing literally, right?”

“JARVIS?” Jane called out, ignoring him. “Where is Thor?”

“ _Mister Odinson and Agent Barton are in the common area of the penthouse at present.”_

“Can you patch me through?”

A moment latter, Thor’s voice came over the intercom, radiating concern even through the slight distortion of the speakers: “ _Jane? Is everything well?_ ”

“When you went to Asgard,” Jane began, “What _exactly_ did Heimdall say when you asked him to look for Steve?”

A pause. “ _He said he saw nothing,”_ Thor said carefully. “‘ _Naught but shadows’ I believe his words were. Like his gaze was being forced aside, unable to focus on that which he sought.”_

“So not that there was nothing to see,” Jane continued, “but that it was shielded from him. Shadowed.” Her eyes were alight with a nearly feverish gleam. “Thank you, JARVIS.” The intercom cut out and Jane pulled up the nearest holographic screen, scanning through the equations they’d developed with rapid flicks of her fingers.

“Okay, so, we already knew Asgard was a dead end,” Bruce said, frowning thoughtfully as he adjusted his glasses. “What’re you thinking, Dr. Foster?”

Jane didn’t look away from her screen. “I tried to get Thor to explain magic to me a while ago. Well, I mean, it’s been an ongoing process trying to reconcile what we know of the universe with Asgard’s advanced technology and finding ways that our principles can be applied to make sense of irregular manifestations of-- anyway, sorry, I was asking about the kind of magic Loki and the Queen do specifically, and he said something -- ‘seidhr is the lifeblood of Yggdrasil’ --”

She moved to another screen as the others watched: “--Which I thought was just him being poetic at the time. But it stuck in my head, because Yggdrasil is a connective network of the fabric of space-time, yes? I have this theory I’ve been working on -- well, was working on before this whole Captain Rogers thing, it’s obviously been shelved as this is top priority -- that magic is connected to dark energy, which makes up roughly 70% of the universe and acts on matter and--” she stopped to take a breath, finally looking back at them all. “Tangent. Sorry. And Loki, feel free to jump in on this, I know you’re the expert... but mag-- seidhr is an energy that exists within the fabric of the universe, which you have the ability to manipulate, yes? Not something that exists within you and other users uniquely, but which you’re able to key into and manipulate, and the effect of your specific manipulation is what creates the unique signature we’ve been tracking. Am I right?”

“The question is better put to Banner and Stark; I merely provide the power. Your science is foreign to me.” He could not keep the frustration out of his voice, especially in light of her excitement, and the small expressions of understanding beginning to bloom across the others’.

“Yes, the markers we have been tracking are a map of my deeds, and yes, seidhr comes from outside of me, so I presume you are correct.” His voice was tight, controlled, but his eyes were narrowed. “Now if you would deign to explain your babbling in a way that my allspeak can properly translate it into coherancy, I may be able to be of more help.”

Jane was either too accustomed to Loki’s caustic tone, or too excited to register it, because her enthusiasm didn’t waver in the slightest. “Right. So, if we removed the parameters we’ve coded the machine with to zero in on Loki’s signature and boosted the sensitivity, theoretically, we could turn it into a generic seidhr detector. Like picking up all the background radiation of the universe instead of keying in to a specific radiation frequency.”

“Theoretically, yes,” Bruce said cautiously. “But how exactly would that help? If what you’re saying is right and some background level of seidhr is everywhere, wouldn’t the whole map just light up?”

“Yeah, because what we need are _more_ markers,” Stark grumbled, standing and crossing the lab to the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup. “You’re talking about putting us right back to square one, Janie.”

“Not necessarily,” she said, with the grin of someone who knew something the rest of the room didn’t. “Black holes.”

Stark paused. “Uh-huh. JARVIS? When was the last time Foster slept?”

“ _Approximately 19 and a half hou--_ ”

“Shush!” Jane interrupted, waving her hands. “Black holes. How do you find them?”

“Preferably from very very far away,” Stark muttered as he took a sip of his coffee.

“The universe is full of light,” Jane continued to explain, undaunted by the room full of skepticism, her tiny frame nearly vibrating with excitement. “Granted, most of it is faint and widely dispersed, but with a powerful enough telescope like the Hubble tuned to pick up a broad spectrum, you can get images that are all lit up. Except for the spots where everything is black. Not because there’s nothing there, but because what is there is consuming all the light. You find black holes not by looking where something _is,_ but by looking where is very conspicuously _isn’t_.”

Bruce leaned forward, a glimmer of understanding on his face. “And you’re thinking this can help us find Steve.”

“If Steve is being hidden, hidden from Heimdall even, what’s to say they aren’t hiding him from magical means? I mean, Heimdall is basically magical by any way we’d define it. And Bruce, I overheard you telling Erik on the phone about the magic-blocking containment you guys engineered for the scepter. You said you got the tech from SHIELD, right?”

“Sonofabitch,” Tony said abruptly, setting his coffee cup down with a loud clunk, some of the contents sloshing over the rim. “And SHIELD’s compromised. If HYDRA has that tech--”

“It might be a longshot,” Bruce cautioned, though his expression still brightened, “but HYDRA may have figured we’d try to use magic given we have Asgardians. They’ve got a history of messing with supernatural artifacts, so we know they take that stuff seriously. They could be masking Steve from Heimdall and our machine with magic-suppressant tech.”

“In which case we wouldn’t see where the magic is, but conspicuously, where it isn’t,” Jane concluded with a triumphant grin. “Black holes.”

“I take back everything I said initially about not needing an astrophysicist,” Stark declared, crossing the room in a few swift strides and sweeping her up into a hug that made her squeak. “Janie, you’re a genius.”

“You mean to say you believe he is being masked by the device we suffered under at SHIELD? The one that nearly _killed_ him?” Loki drew himself up, some ugly small part of him feeling vindicated for his position in that argument, but the rest more focused on the moment-- on the bitterness he felt at Thor’s mortal, _Jane_ , proving herself to be of some use after all.

More than Loki had been, at any rate. And what little use he had managed to be, providing the maps and the trackers-- she’d just undone all of that. He tried to swallow, but his throat was tight with the even more pressing worry of _Steve_.

“The last time we experienced the effects of the machine, Steve was rendered nearly unconscious. If they have been using it on him since they took him, that may explain why he has been unable to break free. And…” He choked off, able to see in the eye of his mind, again, Steve falling, and himself sluggish, trying to catch him. Only Loki wasn’t there, hadn’t been there.

“Perhaps,” he spoke quietly, when he was able to speak again a moment later, “We should cease our early celebrations and quit theorizing. I have wasted too much time and appropriated too many of your resources with my false leads already.”

He withdrew, disgusted. Angry. And scared, too-- all of the horrors he’d imagined these last weeks now compounded with the punishing presence of the machine, and the likelihood of what it was doing to Steve. The realization that Steve may not even have been able to fight back.

And… if she could find him, using her methods of searching for concentrated nothing, Loki would owe her apologies, would be indebted to her. He didn’t even want to speak with her, she who had usurped his place in Thor’s world, and now in the rescue of his own partner.

He did not want to be grateful to her. But oh, if she could find Steve… he would have no choice but to be.

 

* * *

 

Dark. Cold. Wet. Cold.

 

Dying.

 

Steve shivered: He was freezing. He was on fire. He was burning again, burning always, burning with heat and cold and freezing and the chemicals and the vita rays and why wouldn’t it all just _stop?_

 

He was tired. He was so _goddamn tired._

 

He deserved a rest, didn’t he?

 

(Failure. He deserved nothing. It was all his fault; the guilt of the world crushing him until he was suffocating under it, crumbling into wet clumps of ash)

 

No one was coming for him. Not the Avengers. Not Loki. Not even HYDRA anymore.

 

He’d die soon enough. Maybe he had already and hadn’t noticed.

(Maybe this was hell.)

  


_Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name thy kingdom come thy will be done--_

 

Dark. Cold.

  


Dammit, why was it always dark and cold?

  


_\--lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil--_

 

He breathed in. And out. Each cough was wet but his throat was parched, and the sound that emerged rattled like something ancient and decrepit. Like something dying.

 

(Not with a bang, but with a whimper.)

 

(Maybe not even that.)

  
  


He breathed in and out, feeding the freezing fire that consumed him, devouring him. Ashes to ashes.

 

It didn’t matter.

 

Dark.                                           Cold.

 

                                                                     Burning.

 

_Always._

  


End of the...

  


Steve closed his eyes.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: the chapter you've all been waiting for!
> 
> Thanks for hanging in there, dear readers. And for all your wonderful feedback.


	72. Seventy-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise bonus chapter! (Because you all waited long enough)

They looked so happy.

  


He had finished cleaning up after his latest meal and was sitting on Steve’s couch, in their living room, the picture of them dressed to go out resting lightly on his fingertips, so that he didn’t damage it.

Steve’s “secret girlfriend” had been spotted in London without him. There was a small image of Loki in woman form, inset over the large photo of Thor at his dedication ceremony, and it had reminded her of this photo.

He sat it on the couch beside him and pulled out the drawing Steve had done of him, the one of him stretched out in bed, nude but for the sheets around him.

The image of what Steve saw, what Steve managed to love.

Looking down at it, he could almost imagine that the man on the page wasn’t him; wasn’t responsible for thousands of deaths. Hadn’t driven away the man he loved, right before he was captured. That his trying to help had been useful, instead of keeping the Avengers busy-- guaranteeing that Steve remained where he was.

If he didn’t come back alive, that would be Loki’s fault now. That was a truth that came from within his bones, like the one that he was a monster, like the lives he’d stolen. Inescapable and sure and certain. And yet…he couldn’t hate the man in the image.

  


That was who Steve loved.

  


He just wished that he could somehow go back to being that man. Wasn’t sure when he’d started slipping, when he’d begun turning away from that, away from Steve.

They’d fought so much, just before he left.

And all he wanted was to hold him, and see him safe. Wanted to hear his voice. But even when he called the phone now, he couldn’t hear him. Instead he got JARVIS’s voice, informing him that the mailbox was full.

And Loki couldn’t stomach another speech about the important work that the humans were doing, rescuing those buried under the rubble of his attack, or repairing homes and buildings from the same.

Everything was a reminder of why he’d never deserved the life he’d been trying to build with Steve, more proof that it had been inevitable he’d ruin it and lose it.

He was resolutely mired in his misery, again-- or perhaps it was continually, for the last month-- when he heard someone at the door.

  


Thor lowered his fist, which had been ready for another knock, when Loki opened the door.

“Brother,” Thor said, shifting slightly. Loki had been much more amenable to his presence these past few weeks, much more tolerant, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking on eggshells sometimes in his brother’s presence; that one wrong word would send Loki fleeing like a spooked animal. “May I... may I come in?” he asked, clearing his throat.

 

Loki was getting better at tucking himself away behind walls-- walls that Steve had torn down but that he had re-erected in his absence.

“Of course,” He said, smoothly, generous and graceful as he stepped out of the way and swept his arm out, admitting his brother into rooms he’d rather seal off from the world, turn into a shrine and lay forever in the shadow of, until he went to dust.

“What’s the occasion?” He asked, though he knew it to be a hollow platitude. He felt numb, behind his mask of apparent interest.

Why did they not leave him alone? Or expel him?

Unless that was why Thor was here. He turned to face him more fully at that thought, tensing.

  


Thor carefully made his way in, conscious of the fact that this was his brother’s space, and Thor merely a guest. In their youth he had often been careless in barging into Loki’s chambers with little regard for his brother’s wishes and privacy. He’d thought nothing of it at the time, but it had been one of the things he’d come to reflect on with greater thought in the aftermath of Loki’s fall; one more thing he’d done to make Loki push him away with all the more force.

“We have not spoken much since our return,” he said, seating himself on the couch, perching toward the edge and leaning forward. “I wished to see how you were faring. And talk, if you have need of it.”

He reached out to put a hand on Loki’s arm, and in leaning over caught sight of a familiar image and the corner of his mouth drew upwards. “Ah. I see you have also seen this rag of gossip,” he added, nodding to the publication; Agent Ferra had procured a copy for their amusement and shown it to Thor earlier. “It would seem the people of Midgard are quite enchanted with your face. Though some of their speculations are uncouth...”

His smile dwindled. He’d been rather shocked by the scandalous content of the article, both in its suggestion that he would lie with his sibling, and worse, the insinuation that Loki was untrue to the Captain and that Thor would betray his shield-brother. It had only been with Lady Darcy and Agent Ferra’s repeated assurances that no one took these rumor-mongers seriously that he’d been able to lower his hackles and appreciate the amusement in the absurd claims.

  


“It is handy the way they manufacture explanations-- the assumption that my face would be enough to turn your eye from your mortal, and that yours enough to turn mine from Steve is laughable, but it does make short work of any discussion about Steve’s absence.”

He knew Steve would hate it, if he was able to see, but he wasn’t, couldn’t. Loki only hoped that whatever was shielding him from their view would also shield him from such disreputable writings.

Inwardly he frowned.

Thor had come to talk. If Loki needed it. He had come to him with no news and nothing to say. How like him.

Outwardly, he smiled, side stepping his brother’s concern.

“Your ceremony went well, then, I trust? No interruptions, no frost giants?”

With a casual gesture, he tucked his prized images away, conscious of the state of undress he was depicted in, in the one, and the amount of dwelling the other made obvious he’d been doing.

Thor had no need to know about any of that.

  


Thor managed to contain his wince, for the most part, at the mention of interrupting frost giants, and the reminder of the events surrounding his coronation.

“Nay, it went... well enough.” He shrugged. “While I can rouse the spirits of warriors for battle with enough ease, the more delicate aspects of diplomacy and peace were always your stronger suit, Brother,” he added with a small smile. “Though I do think I managed to avoid -- what was it you said at the summit of Vindbláinn? -- putting my ‘ _great galumphing foot in it_.’”

He hoped the self-deprecation would earn at least a small genuine smile. Loki may have allowed him into his home, but his affect was stiff. Thor still felt shut out.

  


“I am glad to hear you’ve improved with time.” He was still distant, still barbed, but he’d become more used to it. Where a few weeks ago he could hardly stand this, now he could do it for hours if needed.

Still, there was no reason he could not ask about the things he actually cared about, few as they were.

“What of Mother? Have you had any news of her health? And… has your mortal said anything of her progress? Has she made any at all?” He tried to keep his bitterness about the latter subject out of his voice, but was not entirely certain whether he succeeded.

  


Thor shook his head. “I have not returned to Asgard for some time. Though I am sure Heimdall will send word should there be any new developments.”

He hesitated when Loki asked of Jane’s progress, then frowned, pressing his lips into a line. He did not wish to push Loki away, not when he was brittle like this, and not when Thor had struggled to get as close as he had. But at the same time, it troubled him how Loki spoke of Jane. He _knew_ Loki no longer had a broad distaste of mortals, had seen the way his brother had come to value and befriend them, so his disdain toward Jane made little sense and seemed pointlessly cruel.

“Her _name_ is Jane,” he replied, softly but firmly. “And she has not slept in over a day in her attempts to help find Captain Rogers. A short time ago I had to bring her food and remind her to eat. I am sure we will be notified as soon as she and Stark and Banner meet with success.”

  


Loki waved away Thor’s gentle reprimand.

“Whatever her name, you should see to her. She’ll be more useless without sleep-- she is already prone to shaking and babbling when rested. I can only imagine what Tony and Bruce must have to contend with now.”

And perhaps he was jealous, because she was brought food, she was reminded to eat-- he’d had to rely on Pepper feeding him. Had to teach himself to cook, if he did not want to be seen, or did not want his thoughts interrupted.

Thor came to him empty handed and only because of the guilt of knowing he should come, the urge to patch up their brotherhood. But he’d stopped caring for Loki, taking care of Loki, so long ago, that Loki wasn’t entirely sure why he bothered.

But then, he expected that. It was the contrast-- he could not stand that Thor had come to him all but begging for his brotherly affection, and still treated a woman, whom he’d known for but a breath in the shadow of their considerable lives together, better than he treated Loki.

That the best gifts he could give were things that already belonged to him…

and that he could not have the good grace, even now, to take Loki properly to task, no matter how he poked at him with his sharp words.

What good was he, at all?

“I understand waiting, Thor, I have become king of that, if nothing else. I shall be here, obeying the mortals’ rules and waiting until I’m dead or Steven is, whichever comes first.”

  


Thor frowned at Loki’s continued disparagement, and also his morbid talk of waiting. He’d come here with the intention of doing his best to help Loki feel better, but it seemed they were only likely to make one another cross.

He considered whether it would be best to make a tactical retreat at this point (never something that came easily to him) or to forge onward, and was still vacillating between both options when JARVIS spoke up:

“ _Mister Loki, Mister Odinson; Doctor Foster and Master Stark request your presence in the laboratory. It would appear there has been a breakthrough.”_

Thor beamed, spirits lifting hopefully. Reaching out, he clapped a hand on Loki’s back. “It would seem you do not have to wait much longer!” he announced gladly, getting to his feet.

  


Loki was halfway to the door before Thor had managed to get the rest of his words out, and he did not bother waiting for him, uncaring whether the door of his rooms was left gaping or if Thor tripped and fell-- they only broke even when Loki had to stop to wait for the elevator, and even then he considered refusing to have that much patience.

He pushed down the impulse to use his seidhr, though only barely.

If it was the breakthrough he was hoping for, he was going to need every last bit of it.

The elevator came, at last, and he avoided looking at Thor, his hands clenching and unclenching and his fists jangling at his sides with nerves.

He was so flush with adrenaline that he could not push down the hope he had for this.

But he also was not certain he could handle another let down, if it wasn’t…

The doors slid open and it was only a few strides more until he was in the lab, surveying those inside.

He was breathing hard, as if he’d run the whole way.

“What is it?” He asked, heedless of the way his words were nearly gasped.

  


Jane looked up from her work and smiled, running a hand back through her frizzy hair to push it away from her face. The dark rings under her eyes spoke of exhaustion still, but she moved with a manic sort of energy. “Oh good, you’re here!” she called out, waving them over. Banner, Stark, Carter, and Romanoff already stood around the projection table with her, Romanoff moving slightly to the side to make room for the two Asgardians.

“So, we finally retooled all the algorithms,” Stark announced as he flicked something on the table and brought up the map of the markers. “This is the original map, just tracking Loki’s signature.”

“And this--” Jane typed something with rapidfire keystrokes, prompting the image to change, “is the map tuned in to _all_ magic, not just Loki’s.”

Instead of a few scattered handfuls of lights, the map now lit up, with some bright areas of concentration (New York and England both glowed like beacons, as did a region in sub-saharan Africa and parts of Nepal), while the rest fluctuated with varying levels of illumination, the oceans and sparse expanses covered in the dimmest, most translucent glow.

“Okay...” Carter murmured, frowning.

“JARVIS, normalize the levels,” Stark said. The whole map lit up more or less uniformly.

Thor’s brow furrowed. “I don’t believe I understand. How have we narrowed our search?”

“Wait for it,” Jane told him, not looking up as she typed. Abruptly, a few parts of the map went dark. “JARVIS, zoom in on our black zones.”

The map broke apart, three different areas coming up showing voids.

“New York is here--” she said, reaching out to tap one.

“Which is probably the scepter kit,” Tony clarified.

“--We have another in DC--”

“SHIELD,” Natasha said with a sour look. Sharon shifted her weight beside her.

“And finally, we have a blackout in the Austrian Alps just north of the Italian border near Azzano,” Jane announced proudly, grinning ear to ear.

  


“You’ve found him.” Loki breathed out reverently, his eyes fixed on the spot, committing it to memory.

“So when do we move, and what’s the plan? Obviously, the fact that worked means we still have a massive intel leak from SHIELD that’s unaccounted for, and a relatively recent one, too. Not to mention someone good; I know how hard and fast that program was locked down after the accident.” Carter was looking to Natasha, and it seemed that any tensions the two of them had had in regards to leadership, they had worked out on their own.

Good for them; he had little patience for anything that would slow them down at the moment.

Including, he realized, himself.

So far, he’d been the greatest delay in bringing his partner home, against all of his intentions.

He took a deep breath and a mental step backwards, withdrawing and intending to watch them plan.

To not be in the way.

“Well, the plane’s packed and ready to go; I took care of that as soon as we got back, just in case. And by I, I mean I had Pepper have some other people do it. Point being, good to go.” Stark put in.

“You also haven’t slept since that happened.” Natasha pointed out. “Any of you,” she said, her almost-ire directed at the three scientists clustered around the table. “You can’t go running off to fight while tripping on sleep dep. It’s just not smart. And I know none of you are stupid, so.”

Loki bristled at the implication that Jane should perhaps go-- especially when he was rendered completely useless by the machine that SHIELD had made, the one he and Steve had fought so bitterly about.

Now it kept him from even helping to save his partner.

“Is there anything I can do to help, before you leave?” He found himself asking, into the silence broken only by Tony making childish faces at the Avengers’ current team leader.

  
  


“What do you mean ‘ _you_ leave’ ?” Tony asked, looking perplexed.

“ _Everyone,_ ” Natasha said, raising her voice and giving Loki a pointed look, “is getting out of this room, going back to their quarters, and getting some rest. Mandatory shut-eye or you’ll all be useless. That means you too, Tony--” she interjected before Tony could, “--you can have JARVIS run intel on the location on the flight over.”

“Garza just woke up, I can ask her to get us satellite imagery and a full report on the region before we go,” Sharon added, to which Natasha nodded.

“We’ll load up and take off in five hours. Briefing will be in the air. Both teams.”

“Um,” Jane began, looking nervous, “you don’t... want me to come along, do you?”

Thor looked vaguely anxious until Natasha gave a quick, negative jerk of her head. “No, Dr. Foster. I want you to go to bed and get your brain rested up to start working on Plan C or D or whatever we’re on in case this is another dead end, so we don’t waste time,” she replied. “Any other questions?”

  


Loki bit the inside of his lip and looked down, trying to reign in the warring clash of anger at being sent to his room like a child and the self pity that coiled in him at being thought _that_ useless. Even Thor’s mortal had received a direct answer to her question, and he clearly did not deserve even that much.

“No, yeah, I still have a question-- what do you mean ‘ _you’_?” Stark pressed.

Loki jerked his head up, meeting Tony’s eye.

“I have only proven a liability on each of the other missions. And moreso now--” He looked to Natasha.

“You have seen what the SHIELD machine does to me, how it completely renders me useless. Weak.” He almost spat the last word.

“I would only be in the way. And I have done enough of that. I assume you do not want me to come, and I was just attempting to bow out gracefully, however…” He looked pointedly back at Tony.

“If it’s just the tech-- we reverse engineered it to build it smaller. Or Tony did. Pretty sure we have ways of turning it off once we get there.” Bruce pointed out, and Loki would have tried to smile, except that he could feel everyone else’s eyes on him.

He’d been trying to stay out of the way, and now they were at a standstill once again because of him. Proof, if anyone had needed it, that what he said was true.

“I also destroyed my helm.” He told them quietly, confessing to his own instability. “I was upset at the dead ends, and I… lost control.” it was more than he should have said, he knew. But they should know. Should be aware. So that they would be as afraid of him as they ought to be.

  


“Ah, yeah, I heard about that...” Tony trailed off, looking sheepish, then smirked. “I actually have something for you.” He looked over at Natasha as if for approval, and she nodded in turn.

“Just make it quick,” she told him. “I want both of you getting a solid four hours before we’re in the air. And yes, _both of you,_ ” she reiterated, turning her attention to Loki, arching an eyebrow. “You’re not getting out of this. You’re one of the most versatile assets on this team _and_ one of our heaviest hitters. We _need_ you.”

“Natasha’s right,” Bruce said, stepping forward as he cleaned his glasses off with a handkerchief. “You’re a member of this team, Loki. And the first person Steve will want to see.”

“Friend Banner speaks the truth,” Thor added softly from behind Loki.

“Right? Big group hug, everyone. On three, go team. One, two-- No? Okay.” Stark grinned, breaking briefly from his babbling. “But seriously. You’re one of us.”

  


While Steve wanting to see him remained in doubt, given the send off he’d received, Loki couldn’t help but be grateful-- and warmed-- by the words of the others.

“Then we leave in five hours?” Loki asked, accepting his role as graciously as he could, given he’d already made an ass of himself while trying to be unobtrusive.

“Six. Everyone needs time to fall asleep as well as wake up.” Natasha corrected, and Carter and she traded a smug look-- clearly a joke among those in command of someone slow to rise, Loki thought.

“So this something you have for me--” Loki said, turning back to Stark. “Is it to help make me immune to the tech stolen from SHIELD?”

  


“Not yet-- though I have plans for that upgrade in the works. This is the rush job version you’re getting at the moment, but we can re-tool it over time.” Tony threw an arm over Loki’s shoulder, guiding him toward the elevator. “Come with me. Jarv? Lab 3.”

“ _Yes, sir.”_

The elevator rose, bringing them to one of Stark’s personal engineering labs. “So, your brother mentioned you did a number on your gear during the whole showdown in the land of tea and crumpets. Whatever those are. Seriously, do you know what a crumpet is? No? Jarvis, can we order crumpets for breakfast?”

“ _I believe you will be missing breakfast on account of your mission, sir.”_

“Right. Right.” Stark seemed unperturbed, moving past Loki into the lab and making a straight line for a standing cabinet by the far wall. “So, I based this on [ **Steve’s designs** ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/30ca4c784ea33f8228589d47958508ae/tumblr_nnxq0o6hQv1ryifbbo1_1280.jpg), but made some modifications of my own,” he explained, hitting a button on the side of the cabinet that prompted the doors to swing open, revealing the contents.

  


Even if Stark hadn’t said as much, Loki would have recognized the design.

He remembered a sleepy morning, after a trying night. He remembered waking to Steve, sketching by the bed, and the blankets covered in loose papers, strewn every which way.

And the promise of a new start, a chance to prove himself. A way to come out of the shadows.

He had forgotten.

And Stark-- Tony had--

“You made the armor.” He had so few words in his surprise. “There was so much else you were busy with, and you still made this. For me.” He found it hard to swallow, all of a sudden.

“Like the wheelchair you built, when I couldn’t walk-- only I thought that came from your sense of guilt. This--” His mouth was ruining things. He closed it and stepped forward, running his fingers over the helm and its graduated dome.

“May I?” He asked, uncertain, hardly believing that it existed.

The last he’d seen, this had been but lines on paper, and now, it was…

“What modifications?” He asked, tearing his eyes away from the armor to look at Tony, still emotional, but slowly resurfacing.

  


“Well, I started on it a while back, before the whole thing with the glowstick of destiny,” Tony admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “Most of the specs were sitting on my server. I jumped back into it while you guys were in DC; figured I might get a fresh eye on the whole Steve thing if I worked on something different for a little while. And since you trashed your old get-up -- which, considering the questionable fashion choices involved, I can’t really blame you for -- I thought you were due for an upgrade.”

He hit another button, and a mechanism in the cabinet engaged, moving the suit forward, along with the boots, gauntlets, and helm, lowering the latter to make it easily accessible.

“Steve had one or two ideas for functionality, but his designs were mostly aesthetic,” he explained, removing the helmet and tossing it over to Loki. “Here, catch. There’s a HUD built in to the visor and a bunch of options to project different scans, targeting systems, etc. -- I can also patch JARVIS in remotely as needed, and you’ll be hooked up to our comms. Thor let me look at some of his gear to study Asgardian worksmanship and materials, and I like to think I struck a nice balance between space-viking chic and tactical earthling gear.”

He pulled the rest of the armor out, showing it off. “You’ve got your high-density breathable mesh, your durable and flexible polymer plating, coated in an alloy mixed by yours truly that makes this baby resistant to temperatures between 220º to -80º Fahrenheit, and a few faux-leather accents that have no purpose beyond looking cool. I was gonna try to get Bruce to help me test it to see if it’s Hulk-proof, but we’ll put that on the list of future upgrades. In the meantime...” He held it out for Loki to take. “All yours, buddy.”

  


Loki reached out to accept it all, mind running through the words to try and make sense of it all.

He shifted the armor in his hands before giving a small mental shrug and setting it to floating, that he might free his hands-- and the helm.

The HUD that Tony spoke of had to be the odd images that he saw projected on the inside of the visor-- Loki experimentally pushed at it, and it slid easily up and out of the way. He’d become accustomed to talking to JARVIS in his phone, so he assumed this would be similar-- at any rate he would experiment with it in his own time, when Tony wasn’t watching him.

“Thor knew of this? And managed not to say anything?” He couldn’t hide his surprise at that, and had to laugh. “That is completely novel.”

He shrugged his way into the coat, allowing his seidhr to assist him and checking the fit-- astoundingly perfect, though he should perhaps not be surprised; this was Stark, after all.

“It is comfortable, as well as being very beautiful. I suppose I will be better able to attest to its durability when we return, but I have faith in it. And…” He paused delicately and looked down at the gauntlets, speaking to them rather than looking Tony in the face.

“I will look less like the monster of your nightmares, now. Thank you.”

He looked, as a matter of fact, like one of them, now. The man in this armor-- he could be an Avenger. He could live here. He was of this world. True it had its designs that nodded to his past, but as a whole, it seemed much more optimistically stylized for his future.

And it felt like them saying they wanted him to _have_ a future.

It was one thing to say they wanted him with them; as Natasha had said, he could be useful. He was versatile in combat. It was one thing to have them call themselves his friends; many had. Including those who loathed him more than most.

It was another to create something to keep him safe.

They wanted him to go, yes, but more, _they wanted him to come back_.

And he could count on one hand the number of times he had felt that to be true.

So even as he stumbled over his words, he understood, more than armor, more than a distraction-- this was acceptance.

“Thank you.” he said again, quieter this time, the words steeped in sincerity. “It means a lot.”

He just hoped that Tony, so disinclined to talk of feelings, understood _why_.

  


Tony nodded, his smile small but oddly genuine in lieu of his usual cocky grin.

It had been a bit odd, working on armor for someone other than himself, or Rhodey, or the design he’d been tinkering with as an eventual gift to Pepper; his armor designs and his suits were intensely personal, and making armor, however different, for someone else... Well, it was weird, no way around it.

But the look on Loki’s face now had him willing to put it in the category of ‘good-weird.’

“Trust me, my nightmares are a lot weirder than you’ve ever imagined, so you don’t even have to worry about that,” he remarked. “And, um. You’re welcome. I got your measurements from calling your tailor so it’d fit, but if you notice it riding up anywhere or any issues in combat, let me know when we get back.” It was Stark-made armor, and Stark-made armor wasn’t inferior grade stuff.

“Now I should probably hit the hay before Natasha comes and yells at us both,” he announced, closing the cabinet. “I’ll see you on the jet. And, uh, Loki?”

He reached out and awkwardly gave Loki a pat on his now armoured shoulder. “We’re gonna go get him back. All of us.”

  


* * *

 

  


Six hours later, the Avengers Assembled.

Some had apparently succeeded in snatching a few hours’ sleep, judging from Carter’s mussed hair and the pillow crease in the side of Thor’s face. Others, like Tony, still looked like they could benefit from several more hours, with exhaustion still writ plain on their faces. (Bruce, who looked perpetually haggard and mussed, could have gone either way.)

The SHIELD team joined them, and in short enough order, they were in the air.

“We’re flying direct?” Ferra asked.

“Stopping in London,” Natasha answered from the cockpit. “We need to pick up Clint from his press appearance. Also, I want to make sure we top off on fuel so we can fly home nonstop.”

  


Loki appreciated that, appreciated the forethought.

The jet was oddly full-- given that the last time, Loki had begged to accompany them knowing there was a lack of room, this time they had apparently disregarded whatever had stopped them before-- no doubt some rule about maximum capacity, because they were all there. Carter’s team, the Avengers, and Loki. And yet there was still enough room that they all could find places to lean, to sit, to lay out, some of them. To try and scrape together another hour or two of rest.

Loki knew he should, too, as he was too filled with nerves to sleep much the night before, but that hadn’t changed and he expected that he would have no easier time of it now, so instead he sat, gripping Steve’s tags around his neck, hoping that they would be right, this time, and silently running through every spell he knew, every sort of attack and healing ability that he had ever used, preparing himself for anything that might be waiting for them.

They stopped off, as planned, to refuel and collect Clint.

The whole plane was filled with such an energy of concentration and jitters-- they all were ready to act immediately, despite the hours it had taken to cross the ocean. And there was a tautness to it, as well, as of a stringed instrument, tightened too much and ready to snap.

A distant part of Loki, the part that had once been raised to lead, noted this, knew that it would need to be addressed.

He looked to Natasha, wondering if she knew it too, sure she must, and knowing that he should not step in. It wasn’t his place.

  


Natasha, engaging the autopilot, stood and joined the others, nodding to them all and making brief eye contact with Loki. “All right. We’re on an approach and will be there within the hour. Let’s cover what we know.”

Garza, when prompted pulled out a tablet that connected to a projector in the jet so the others could all see -- though they had to gather around close, shoulder to shoulder, for everyone to get a good view.

“Okay, this is the area Dr. Foster and Mr. Stark isolated,” the young woman began, pulling up satellite imagery of a craggy mountain landscape. “There’s not a lot here, but I did locate what appear to be some ruins, here--” She zoomed in on a series of blocky shapes, somewhat blurry. “You can make out the foundation of some buildings that were there once, but you’ve got young forest growth coming up in the middle of the complex, so it’s obviously been a while. But...” she set to tapping out new instructions on her tablet. “Since the warehouse facility in England was mostly underground, and since the HYDRA base you all found in France was also built in a subterranean base, I started hunting around, and wouldn’t you know -- some archaeologists about a year ago used time booked on a NASA infrared satellite to look for underground Roman ruins in some of this area and then handily uploaded their imagery to their university website.”

Another image came up, overlaying the first, largely the same but for a series of blocky shapes where the ruins were in the first image, solid and geometric and manmade. “Looks like when HYDRA made the choice to go underground, they took it _very literally_ ,” Garza announced with a proud grin. Beside her, Eli covered his face with a hand and groaned.

“Do we have any idea which of these buildings are which or where our points of entry are?” Barton asked.

“Probably not until we get on the ground, but we can do a pass overhead with the jet in stealth mode once we’re there to get better imaging before we land,” Bradley offered.

“The remaining structures will probably be our best bet. It’s likely that any surface elements will be disguised to look like ruins,” Romanoff remarked.

Carter remained silent, her expression oddly pinched as she looked at the images, deep in thought.

“If the devices that block magic are on the premises, I think it would be best to disengage them immediately,” Thor rumbled. “I know not how well Mjolnir would fare in the presence of such a thing, and Loki and I would not be able to provide our full skill in battle with such limitations.”

“If I were going to mask as much of my operation from magic as possible, and defend it from magic,” Barton said, “I’d have that covering my perimeter. So either expanding it from the center to cover the whole area--”

Carter finally shook her head, though she still appeared distracted. “I looked at the project specs and the SHIELD tech never got past covering a single room at a time with the field. Even if HYDRA expanded that--”

“--Or I’d put it on my front door. Or top level, in this case,” Barton finished. “Not like anyone’s gonna be coming in from underneath the damn mountain.”

  


“Would that we _could_.” Loki muttered. Murray, Bradley, and Garza all sent amused glances in his direction, while the rest soundly ignored him in favor of their professional focus.

“Guessing that means you can’t. So, who’s our first team to go in after the magic dampeners?” Stark asked. “I could, but I have a feeling we’ll need me inside in case of locked doors or things that need exploded and such. Plus I’m not exactly subtle in the suit. Sorry not sorry. Garza?”

Garza glanced at Carter, like she was looking for permission before she spoke up.

“I should be able to disable them, yeah, but I’m gonna need cover?”

“If we--” Bradley gestured at the SHIELD Agents, “go in, it’ll help us keep the element of surprise. Anybody watching will have no idea you guys are even there until the defenses are down, and that should give us a leg up, at least as far as getting in goes.”

“Have we any idea the size of what lies within?” Thor asked. “We’ve this image, but does it tell us how deep the compound may extend?”

Garza shook her head.

“What you see is what you get, as far as this goes. I know it’s not much better than going in blind, but it is enough to tell you when you get in what direction it sprawls. Better than we’ve had in the last couple of searches, though.” She sounded a touch defensive, and Banner reached out to pat her shoulder reassuringly.

“Is there something else?” Murray was looking to Carter, had been watching her for the majority of the briefing, and Loki wondered if he had his own reasons for being suspicious of her. Loki’s suspicions had been assuaged, but…

“Just thinking. It seems a little familiar, but I’m guessing that’s just from old stories about HYDRA.” Carter’s eyes flicked to Loki, and an understanding passed between them; stories of Peggy’s. Stories of Steve.

No doubt that had been intentional on HYDRA’s part, and Loki remembered his partner’s reaction to finding that they had reclaimed a different base he’d cleared before. The one he was taken from.

And that had been a trap.

“Supposing they are expecting us, though-- I realize it has been some time, but, if this is a trap waiting to spring, is there any chance of backup? Any way to tell SHIELD, without potentially betraying our presence to whomever is feeding information to HYDRA?” Loki asked, looking first to Natasha and then to Carter, hoping there was a good answer.

It was bad enough that Steve had been taken trying to retrieve the sceptre. If the rest of the Avengers were taken, if they went missing as well… he wanted reassurance that they could be found.

“We’ve all got emergency radios. Worse things come to worse, as long as we knock out the external security, those signals should be able to get out. But we’ll hold off activating them until we need them, if we do.” Ferra told him, and Loki nodded at that. It was sensible.

  


“The good news is, given how well HYDRA has been isolating their cells from interception, they probably have limited communications too,” Carter added. “So what’s on site is probably all we’ll have to deal with; _they_ won’t be able to call in backup without compromising a whole additional cell.”

“So once you have the dampeners down,” Stark confirmed, “Avengers come in and hit them hard.”

“The sooner we can get in and target their mainframe, the better,” Natasha said. “Stark, you willing to team up with me on that?”

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Thought you’d never ask.”

She rolled her eyes. “Getting control of their systems will allow us to shut down any automated or mechanical defenses. We can scour them for intel, and hopefully figure out where they’re holding Steve and disengage security protocols between him and us.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. “If Steve isn’t there, we may still be able to get information from their systems to point us in the right direction.”

There was a slight pause as everyone considered the chance that this was another false lead. Clint scowled deeply. “Nu-uh. Not thinking like that. He’s there and we’re bringing him home.”

Natasha cast him a quick look of gratitude before returning to business. “Thor and Bruce, you two are in charge of drawing out and taking out as many of HYDRA’s forces as you can. Be loud and destructive; the more of a threat you present, the more distracted they’ll be.”

“The Other Guy is gonna love that,” Bruce murmured with a rueful look.

“Loki--” she turned to him finally. “Once we have the systems down, do you think you’ll be able to find Steve?”

  


“I will find him.” He spoke firmly, the words ringing with the air of an oath. Or the echoes of one.

But as Barton had said, he could not think as if Steve was anything but there, waiting for them to rescue him. And Loki would get to be true to his word.

Loki felt bad, hearing Bruce’s reaction, but he knew that it was for the best. Thor and he were perfect for such an assignment, loud and effective and destructive. Likewise, Natasha and Stark searching the systems made sense.

But that also left one person unaccounted for.

Loki turned to look at Clint, who was frowning slightly, and Loki saw as understanding dawned on the man’s face.

And then he ceased to have expression, his face going still and utterly, terrifyingly blank.

Loki’s chest went cold and he could not help but stiffen as Barton pulled out his bow. Loki swallowed, but did not raise his arms.

They were so close to finding Steve now. He could feel it. And finally, _finally_ , someone was ready to hurt him, as he’d been angling towards since Steve disappeared. Only…

only he didn’t want that, any more. He just wanted Steve.

“I’ve got your back.” Clint said with a small nod, and it took a moment for Loki to understand. His eyes darted to Natasha, and she seemed… proud.

“Thanks.” He told Barton, with a nod of his own, and that was all-- they knew what they were doing and who they were with. Now all they needed was to get in.

They landed a short way away, and watched the SHIELD team bundle up in cold-weather tactical gear before heading off on their own.

As ever, the waiting was the difficult thing, though this time it was added to by the faint buzz that sent Loki’s teeth vibrating in his skull, a sort of pressure that could only be the seidhr negator, effective even this removed.

Because of that, though, he knew the security measures had been taken out even before the team radioed in to say as much. When the buzzing suddenly ceased, he was instantly on his feet, joined shortly by the Avengers.

Their approach was interrupted by turrets rising from the ground and firing at them, something he hadn’t seen in their other attacks, and something that, while dangerous, gave him some hope for what lay within.

He erected shields for those vulnerable to the spray of bullets, and watched, sickly fascinated as Bruce transformed and he and Thor ran forward. Together they lay waste to one turret, while a blast from Tony took out another.

And then the bunker door opened.

  


The men who came spilling out were trained, clearly, but had never fought the likes of the Avengers before. Natasha dropped them nearly as soon as they came in contact with her, the SHIELD Agents proved their mettle, and Loki was certain he heard bones breaking under the onslaught of the children who had just been all but giggling in the plane across from him.

He fought carefully, stunning the men he engaged with, hitting hard but not enough to kill, and keeping an eye on his friends, to be certain that he had their backs.

The skirmish was short lived, and soon there were only them and the men strewn at their feet. Ferra had a fairly large scratch across her face, but the bleeding was light, and they no longer had surprise. Loki raised a brow at her and she nodded.

“We’ll keep these from coming at you from behind if they wake up, and keep anyone else from getting away.” Carter said. “You go in and smoke them out.”

Around her, the other Agents nodded.

“Call if you need us.” Bradley added, and Romanoff gave a very perfunctory nod before gesturing to the rest of them.

“Alright, let’s go!”

Hardly a rousing battle cry, but she didn’t need one. Not when the prize was worth so much.

  


Inside, the display in Loki’s helmet immediately began showing schematics-- JARVIS’s contribution. Useless to him, though, so he lifted the visor, even as Stark spoke.

“We have electric readings this way, Nat. Guessing that’s our cue.”

He tossed off a quick little salute in Loki and Clint’s direction, and the two of them hurried off, leaving Loki alone with the man he’d once commanded, against his will.

“So where are we headed?” Clint asked, and Loki sent out his tendrils of seidhr, trying to sense for something-- anything-- that felt like _his._

“Stairs.” Loki said, feeling a tug in that direction-- the opposite way than the one that Romanoff and Stark had gone in.

Loki took to them, pausing only long enough to be certain that Barton was with him, and when they reached the door to the next level, Loki ignored it and continued further and deeper, which he was certain would drive Barton mad; they had no idea who may come up behind them, because of it, but Loki could not summon a damn.

He had caught the faintest trace, on the stairs below them.

Steve was here; had been here.

“Got him.” Loki said, the words surprisingly fierce, but only because it was so faint. He had to still be there-- they couldn’t have moved him, could they?

“ _Good._ ” Barton responded, then, clearly into a radio, “Loki’s got the scent, Steve’s here. Status check?”

Loki only half-listened to the answer, too fixated on keeping his feet moving, but he heard Clint answering in the affirmative, and the sounds of thumping above them and the grunted quality of his brother’s voice meant that he was no doubt engaged in some glorious battle that Loki would never hear the end of-- but that was a concern for later.

Two more sets of stairs, and Steve’s trail was through the door. Breathless, Loki wrenched it open.

Inside, they found themselves in a hall with dozens of doors-- and Steve’s trail led from one to the next, overlapped-- he had been here, often, recently-- Loki’s heart leapt into his chest.

“He has to be here, in one of these--” Some of the doors were thin and easy to scan through, some heavier.

The first to their left opened, and a man in a labcoat came out, only to meet with an arrow in his shoulder.

“Captain America.” Clint spoke insistently, advancing on the man. “Where is he?”

He was answered with a defiant look and the sound of something crunching, before the doctor’s mouth filled with foam, and he lay on the ground, convulsing.

“Leave him.” Loki instructed coldly, willing the man to suffer as he looked into the room he’d come out of.

Against one wall was a refrigerated storage area, and in it were vials and vials, rows of blood.

He recalled what Natasha had said about Steve’s being highly desireable, and his stomach flipped.

The radio in his helmet clicked.

“Carter, can you send in a team to help us find stragglers? We have a lot of floors.” Natasha sounded calm and in control, and it was reassuring.

“Bradley and Ferra are coming in to assist.” Carter’s voice said.

Loki barely marked it.

The next room they came into held a metal table, chains that hung from the ceiling, and a series of drawers and chests, but it was empty, it looked like.

The next room held yet more blood-- Loki was going to be sick.

Had they left _any_?

“Looks like they were making those gauntlets. The earthquake ones.” Tony’s voice reported. “Production facility for that and other weapons development third floor. Careful what you touch, kids.”

Loki swallowed but pressed on, and this time, when they came out of the latest room, he sent his seidhr out, more than he should, probably, but all of the blood was making him desperate.

and Clint was there to protect him, should he need it.

“Deeper.” Loki said.

“You sure? We haven’t cleared this level yet--”

“Steve’s below us.” Loki did not leave room for argument, turning and heading back toward the stairs.

Clint trailed after, and whether or not he was pleased or approved, Loki did not notice or care.

The walls changed drastically, below the next level, the smoothness devolving into rougher concrete, the doors becoming heavier, metal rather than wood.

This was not meant to be hospitable, and it made Loki think they were in the right place.  
Especially when he lay his hand on the knob, and it was like ice. As the door opened, he saw another person-- a guard, he thought, hurrying toward a door at the end, keys in one hand and a gun in the other. 

 

“Hold!” Loki shouted, able to erect a shield only just in time for the bullet to glance off of it, eyes widening as he recognized the face.

“ _You_ .” It was snarled and startled, and he was _furious_.

“Scofield, you fucking bastard--” Clint, behind Loki, was if anything, angrier.

“Scofield?” Came a voice-- Carter’s perhaps, or Romanoff’s-- Loki ignored it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Clint asked, trying to shoulder past Loki.

“Took you long enough, didn’t it? Just long enough, actually-- the little bitch finally gave up, just a couple of days ago.” Scofield grinned.

Loki heard the world rushing in his ears, a sound like the void pressing in on him, and he felt his vision fuzzing out.

“Drop your gun, Scofield. And if I so much as see you trying to pop a tooth, I will put a bolt through your neck.”

“What are you trying to save?” He asked, stepping towards them, hands raised. “Didn’t you hear me? There’s nothing left.” The gun was still held in his grasp, and he yanked his arm, firing at them again, and Loki stopped the bullet again.

Barton fired off a shot, but Loki stopped that, too, and held a hand out, advancing.

“Tell me what you did to him. Tell me--” He choked on the words.

“Tell you how we made him scream? How he cried out for you? It was almost funny. How he hurt so much that he finally screamed for it to end. Called for his pet monster.”

“What’re the keys for, Scofield?” Barton asked, his keen eyes catching onto a detail that Loki had overlooked.  
Scofield glanced down, and the mask he had worn slipped. It was enough.

Loki felt his heart begin beating again, and he grinned, face more twisted and malevolent than it had been in-- he couldn’t remember. But he remembered this, the fearlessness, the hatred, the pain so sharp it could cut everyone around him.

Scofield took a step back.

“What’s wrong, Scofield?” Loki purred as he advanced. “Had you forgotten whom you spoke to? Or is it that you don’t know? Shall I show you just whom you have crossed? Are you ready to meet the monster that you failed to kill when you had the chance?”

  


* * *

 

  


The key slid into the lock and Loki took a deep breath.

The first thing that struck Loki when the door opened was the _stench_. Even with as cold as it was, the room stank of excrement, of blood and vomit and sickness-- infection--

His eyes adjusted and he saw it.

They’d left him chained to the wall. His head was lowered and his arms were above his head. He’d gotten so thin, they clearly hadn’t fed him, and it smelled so terrible and it was _so cold_ and Steve didn’t--

Loki couldn’t breathe.

A couple of days, he’d said, a couple of--

Tearing his eyes away from Steve’s body, Loki looked instead around the cell, looking for anything that would tell him what Steve had gone through, what they had done to him. What he had to blame himself for.

And he found it.

His helm, crumpled and broken, sitting to stare mockingly at Steve with its empty face, coated in who knew what, and Loki felt a sob build in his chest.

“Oh, Steve--”

A couple of days. He’d given up, and Loki could guess why. And that was entirely his fault. He’d done this to him, just as much as the man laying dead outside the door had.

“Loki--” Barton said, reaching out to lay his hand on Loki’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off, stepping away.

Which only took him deeper into the cell. Closer to what was left of his partner.

“Steve..” Loki said again, unable to come up with any other words, and he took off his new helmet and dropped to his knees, needing to touch him, to look him in the face.

He needed to see him. To remember what he had done to him.

To carry it with him for the rest of his life.

He needed that.

  


  


_Touching._

Steve’s eyelids felt too heavy to open, but his mind managed to register through the miasma that smothered him that someone was _touching_ him.

When the ghosts reached out, he felt nothing. When HYDRA came, it only brought pain.

It didn’t hurt, though. Yet. The contact against his cheek was oddly warm amidst the cold and Steve whimpered faintly in the back of his throat, flinching from the pain that was bound to come.

They hadn’t come for long enough that he’d hoped they’d forgotten him. Left him to die. Rot. Freeze.

_(cold dark cold dark wet cold dark burning---)_

His heart thumped erratically in his chest, throat tightening. He sucked in a wheezing breath and choked on it, shoulders shuddering with a cough.

  


Loki stiffened, shocked and taken completely by surprise. His skin was so cold, but he was breathing, and he made sounds.

“Holy fuck.” Barton said.

“He’s alive.”

Sounds, noises came through the radio, and Loki couldn’t hear them any more with the helmet removed.

Not that he would have cared anyway; he was too busy moving.

“Steve, can you hear me?” He stood and pulled at the cuffs, surprised when they resisted breaking as much as they did, and he turned to ask for the keys from the door, but Barton had already thrown them to him.

Loki caught them and released his partner, registering from this close how swollen and dark the skin was on one arm, how mottled he looked.

“Steve, I’m here, we’re here, I’ve got you.” The words poured out of him independently of his thoughts, which were whirling.

His arm was so dark, so hurt… and there were holes, lines and rows of them, in his thighs, his arms-- everything looked injured, everything was mottled and covered in blood and filth and too small.

As soon as he got Steve freed, he pulled him to him, wishing that his armor was gone, wishing he could push him to his chest for warmth.

He was so light. So slight, now, and Loki could feel his every bone.

“Barton, I need you in front of us. Let’s get him out of here.”

Now Loki regretted not having cleared out the levels above them; if Steve was injured any further, in this state… he was so frail, and so close to being gone. His breaths rattled and Loki’s heart was a small ball of ice, even as it pounded far too quickly.

“Gotcha. We have Steve, lowest level, coming up the stairs now.”

“If I travel with him,” Loki said, “I can get to the surface. Find out if it’s clear-- no--” He realized that would be abandoning Clint. Steve would hate him if he did that, would hate it and hold himself and Loki both responsible, if something happened to Barton while Loki extracted him.

“On our way to you now,” Ferra said and Barton held the radio so that Loki could hear.

“Wait here for them before you take off.” He instructed. “No need to jar him any more than necessary.”

Loki had to admit to the sensibility of that. He shifted his partner in his arms, gently, readying himself for the jump, and checked to be certain that Steve still breathed. That he hadn’t been too late.

His face-- Loki did not think he would be able to forget it, ever, and he stood for a moment, just staring down into that face, so much the man he loved and also so wrong, so alien. Steve should never look like this.

He felt his tears moments before they fell, and bit his lip when they landed on Steve’s skin, imagining that even that must hurt him.

  


Touching. More touching. Moving. Steve was being lifted, but not hauled or dragged. The manacles came away, and he winced as the cold metal dragged at raw flesh as it fell. Everything ached. And yet--

And yet someone was holding him gently, speaking with a familiar voice.

Familiar...

Steve blinked, and his eyelids felt like sandpaper. It took long moments for his vision to adjust, but when it did--

If he’d had tears to shed, he’d have shed them. In the long parade of ghostly hallucinations, not once had Loki come. But he had now. He was here and he was beautiful and whole; not bloodied and corpse-like as Steve feared he’d see him, head caved in from whatever killing blow had been dealt. No, the Loki that cradled him looked sad and as perfect as ever.

Even though he was dead. Even though HYDRA had killed him.

Steve’s chest clenched like a vice had been put around his heart. He opened his mouth, his first attempt at speech emerging as nothing but a breathy sound. He swallowed, shuddering, and tried again, this time managing to speak in a hoarse near-whisper:

“ _I’m... Sorry...”_

Sorry Loki was dead because of him. That Steve had failed him, like he’d failed Bucky and all the rest. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, then opened this wide again with the sudden fear that Loki might vanish if Steve ignored him.

But Loki remained. And oh-- Steve’s heart soared with sudden hope, like he hadn’t felt in what felt like forever.

If Loki was dead, and Loki was here, maybe Steve was dead too. Or dying. Close enough. Enough that Loki was here for him and they could be together and it would all be _over._

  


His heart ached. The croak that was Steve’s words made his eyes mist over again, and he could only hold him, only cradle him wait for their backup to arrive.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Astin min. Shh, now. I am taking you home.” Loki thought he would be shaking if he wasn’t afraid that it would cause his partner more harm. “We are going to get you warm, and heal you, and get you something to drink and eat, and clean you off, and it’s-- you’re going to be safe now, Steve. I love you. You’re going to be okay.”

Loki drew in a ragged breath.

“I’m sorry it took us so long, took me so long, but I have you now. You’re safe.”

He watched the way Steve’s throat worked, his eyes closing before snapping open, felt the way something as small as a shudder made his entire form shake in Loki’s arms, and he wanted to squeeze him, to hold him as tight as possible.

“I’m so sorry, Steve.”

  


Steve wanted to reach out and touch Loki, to brush the tears that mysteriously ran down his face away, but his arm hurt and wouldn’t move. He was left with rolling his head so it rested against Loki, who was surprisingly solid for a ghost.

He only understood fragments of what Loki said, his words muddling in Steve’s mind (though the awful humming in his skull was mercifully gone now. But he did make out a few words:

Safe now.

That meant it was over, right? All of it. He sagged in relief, too tired to even wonder what came next. If there was heaven or hell or valhalla or nothing at all. Loki would know and maybe Steve would ask him, but that wasn’t important. Not as important as Loki _knowing--_

“Sorry... they killed you,” he breathed, knowing it wasn’t anywhere near enough of an apology, but hoping Loki didn’t hold his death against Steve. His jaw hurt and he wound up slurring the words, trying to speak without moving his face and causing the bones to grind. “Wanted... y’safe...”

  


It _hurt_ , hurt so much, hearing this, realizing what Steve thought, just how far away he was, in his mind…

“I am not dead.” He said firmly. “We are alive, you and I. It took us so long, too long-- but it’s not too late, we’re not too late. You’re-- I’m real, Steve.” He said, remembering what Scofield had told him, had made him believe. Remembering when Steve came back.

It made him want to kill Scofield all over again.

“How far out are you guys? Cap’s… not in a good way.” Barton spoke to the others, and Loki couldn’t help but hear, but he ignored it, still, all of his focus on Steve.

“Steve, do you remember--” Loki’s voice was full of tears, thick with them, but he spoke just the same. “Do you remember when you told me you were afraid that you would fall asleep, and another seventy years would pass? Remember what I told you then? I would set entire worlds alight to find you, walk every branch of Yggdrasil and all of the spaces between, if I had to. And I have, We found you. I’m here, and you’re safe and alive, and _I love you_. So much.”

 

Steve blinked up at Loki, trying to understand.

Loki was dead.

Loki was here.

Loki said they _weren’t_ dead.

Did hallucinations lie about being real? Everything still hurt, which it shouldn’t if Steve was dead. And he could hear other voices, footsteps and distant noise. And Loki had asked, did he remember...?

His gaze had drifted away, distant, but he looked up at Loki and smiled faintly, as much as he could with the throbbing pain in his jaw. Even if all this was just a fever dream, it was a nice one. Though he could feel himself starting to drift again. He was so tired.

“Here w’n I... wake’up?”

  


“I promise.” Loki assured him, again resisting the urge to pull him closer, to hold him that much tighter.

Ferra and Bradley had arrived, but Loki was busy watching Steve slip away, checking his breathing, his eyes going blood red as he looked at his krellr, trying to be certain that he _would_ wake up.

He was so faint, now, so dim, even next to the other humans, when he was usually so bright, and the grief of that tugged at Loki, but he forced himself to breathe, to keep himself steady. For Steve.

“I will always be there when you wake up.” He told him, voice gentle and words firm.

He pushed just a bit of his seidhr into him, into his chest, near his heart, enough to be absolutely _sure_ , and then he looked up, letting his eyes return to normal.

Ferra and Bradley were watching-- staring.

He knew Steve would hate that. And the worst part of it all was how small he was, how much Loki felt like a child with a doll, under their eyes.

“I’m taking him up now. Tell them.” He commanded, trusting that at least Barton would understand.

He didn’t wait to find out if he did, though. He did what he needed to, and carried the both of them up the stairs and out, into the sunlight.

He wished Steve’s eyes were open to see it. He had no idea how long he’d gone without.

Thor was there, and so were the rest of the SHIELD team, and the Hulk.

Loki eyed the latter wearily, but he made no move to come towards them, seemingly just upset by Steve’s appearance. Not so upset as to return to his human form, though, which meant there was anger there, too.

And suddenly Loki realized it was in him as well.

He looked to his brother.

“Take him, get him on the plane.” His voice had a hard edge, he could hear it, but it seemed distant, distorted through the haze of his anger.

“Loki, brother--” Thor tried to protest, but Loki glared him into silence, and Thor held his arms out, carefully gathering Steve up.

Loki looked to Carter.

“Get them out here. Everyone that you care if they live, get them out.”

Rage was taking him over, but it was not hot rage, not the sort of anger he’d felt as a youth, not even the sort that had fuelled his invasion.

It was a cold rage that filled him entirely before narrowing to the center of his being. It calmed him, made him aware-- and he knew that he had much to do.

Steve would not want his blood here, would not want their research to survive, or want anyone to have any proof of what he’d been through.

Loki could bury it. Would bury it.

Carter called into the radio, her words frantic, and Loki looked to the Hulk.

“I hear that if I am in the market for destruction, you are the one to speak with.” He said, words almost playful, almost arch, if not for the deadly emotion under them.

The Hulk stepped forward, cradling his knuckles in his opposite hand.

Loki turned to the door, watched Stark and Natasha emerge, shortly followed by Ferra, Bradley, and Barton.

“Is that all of ours?” He asked, and Romanoff ran her eyes over the crowd outside.

“Thor and Steve?” She asked.

“In the plane.” Loki assured her.

“Thank god. There were records of asset relocation, I thought--” She looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “Do what you need to do.”

Loki turned back to the Hulk.

“Come, Hulk. Let us be monsters.”

 

* * *

  


The HYDRA base disappeared under fists and in ice and fire, until they came across the gauntlets that the SHIELD Agents had found, hundreds of them, representing more damage than Loki could imagine. He donned a set, hands shaking under remembered pain, and with a few motions, the walls began to come down around them.

Hulk looked at the ceiling as it cracked over their heads, and Loki felt mad, insane, worse than stepping through the tesseract portal, worse than finding yet another of their attempts to _make_ a portal. Worse even than finding Steve’s uniform, defiled and destroyed and hung on display, beside photos that Loki’s eyes refused to focus on. Images of Steve in positions he would never willingly take, of damage done to him that Loki could not take the time to contemplate-- not yet. This place drove him mad, and he would end it. All of it.

For a moment, he considered letting himself be buried-- a just punishment, he thought, for what he had allowed to happen here. Steve was recovered, he was safe. Thor had him, and he had promised… Steve would be cared for.

Steve would be better off.

But he closed his eyes and saw Steve’s face, his dim krellr… he could not leave him. He had him back now. It would all be okay now, better.

They would be fine.

He told himself this even as he continued to do things that Steve would likely never forgive him for. All of the blood on his hands, and more staining them even now.

He tied the bracers together with his seidhr, grabbed the Hulk and took them back to the surface. Once they were far enough away, he pulled on the string of seidhr that connected the devices together, and set them all off.

In but a moment, it was over.

It was gone. All of it, destroyed. The research, the technology-- the people.

 

 

It wasn’t until he was in the plane that he realized he had ruined his new armor with blood. And that some of it was Steve’s.

He had managed all of the rest of the search without killing, but now…

He looked down on his partner’s face, recalling how peaceful he used to look in his sleep, until the nightmares came. Now his features were contorted in pain.

Those who had done this to him were all dead, all save Loki. And he looked so small, so hurt…

And they dare not give him anything. Not until they had time to find out what was in his system, whether the needles had put in as well as taking out. They had no idea what his body could handle now, how much he weighed or what dosages would be needed.

And Banner, the closest thing to a doctor among them, was curled in on himself, wrapped in an overlarge sweater, recovering from his transformation.

That was fine. Steve was soundly unconscious, now. And Loki was watching his breathing, shaky and wet though it sounded. At least he kept doing it. The breaths came and went, sometimes irregularly, but he was still breathing. It was such a small thing, but it was everything.

Loki only hoped that he would have time to wash off the blood, to hide what he’d done, before Steve woke.

He would have to move quickly, though.

  
He’d promised to be there, after all.

 


	73. Seventy-Three

They pushed the jet to its top speeds on the return flight.

“He needs a hospital,” Murray remarked as he helped Banner tend to Steve’s more visible injuries, frowning as he took Steve’s pulse for the dozenth time. “His heart rate is erratic, and he’s running a heck of a fever.”

“Pretty sure the last thing he needs is a bunch of strangers poking at him with needles in a place he doesn’t recognize,” Clint growled, still clearly shaken by what he and Loki had discovered within the HYDRA base.

“Be that as it may, he is going to need medical attention beyond what I can provide,” Bruce said, frowning as he tucked the thermal blanket from the jet’s emergency kit tighter around Steve, who remained unconscious. His breathing was a dry rattle, and he shivered constantly. “He may be going into shock. Whatever they did to him...”

“Pepper?”

A number of them startled at the abrupt loudness of Stark’s voice, before realizing he had routed a call through his suit. “Yeah, hi -- yeah-- yeah, we got him... Yes... No, I’m not getting the celebratory champagne out yet. Can you call in Dr. Ortega and Dr. Cameron and have them prep the medical level for an emergency patient? ....Okay, then call in whatever specialists we have available! Is what’s-her-name, Dr. Cho free?” He turned away toward the cockpit, still speaking with Pepper, working out the logistics of getting medical care at the tower.

“...Well, I guess that solves that,” Murray said, sitting back with a fretful sigh.

“It will be better to keep him somewhere we can adequately defend and screen the security for,” Carter said quietly.

Romanoff nodded, but said nothing, looking paler than usual.

 

He was not sure if their landing atop Stark tower was more tumultuous than usual, or if it was merely his concern for his partner’s well being that made it seem that way. In either case, it was Loki who refused to allow anyone else to gather him up, Loki who lifted the entire bed he lay on with magic and carried him inside, into the elevator, and to the same floor that Loki himself had spent so long recovering on.

When the elevator doors opened, there was a cluster of people, clearly a small army of nurse staff, and in charge was a woman, small, even so far as the women of Midgard went, but who bore herself with confidence. And, to her credit, who did not flinch upon seeing him or the way that his partner’s transport hovered in midair

“Dr. Cho, Loki; yes him, no not like then, and this is your patient. We have files on him, that’ll help.” Stark sounded nearly as no nonsense as the woman looked.

Loki marveled, again, at how easily she took all of this in stride. Until her eyes came to rest on Steve. Only then did she wince, sympathetically, but even so... it made Loki nervous.

“Where shall I bring him?” He asked, words soft, but utterly yielding to her.

She hesitated. “Do we know what’s been done to him?”

“We know very little.” Loki answered, though he knew that was no help.

“It’s been a month.” Stark said.

“I had no idea he was even missing, I-- alright. Ah… Let’s make sure his vitals are stable. Then CT, I think.” She started down the hall and Loki propelled Steve after her, following along himself.

 

The other Avengers and SHIELD team had trailed along up to then, but at that point a few of the nurses began giving the rest pointed looks. Carter gestured to her team, getting them to fall back with her, and while Stark and Romanoff remained close, Banner (still wrapped in his blanket) withdrew, along with Barton. Thor followed a few paces longer, seemingly unsure of whether he ought to accompany Loki or not, before deciding to follow along, albeit at a distance so he wasn’t in the way as the medical team ushered Loki and the floating cot into a sterile looking room, transferring Steve carefully to a hospital bed.

“How long has he been unconscious?”

“Since we got him on the plane,” Natasha answered. “So about 4 hours now.”

Dr. Cho made a clicking sound and frowned before turning to the team assembled. “Right. I need stats. BP, heart rate, pulse ox -- Mendez, get a blood sample to the lab, ASAP. He’s got track marks, I need to know what he’s got in his system and I need a rush order on it.” She leaned in and pinched the skin of Steve’s arm, near where the veins were bulging against the skin in stark relief, frown deepening. “Someone get a saline drip in him, he’s showing signs of dehydration. And elevate his feet...”

A flurry of activity had launched as soon as she started speaking, and the Avengers were quickly pushed aside as the nurses and other doctors did their work, inserting needles and hooking up monitors, wheeling over machines and hooking them up to create a chorus of blips and beeps and hissing sounds.

“BP is 60 over 30.”

“Pulse is erratic. Possible arrhythmia.”

“Temperature is 103.2 -- do we know his baseline?”

Stark swallowed. “JARVIS, bring up Steve’s last physical report.” A screen lit up with data and a bio scan, the digital outline of Steve’s figure in the scan a stark contrast to the man now in the bed.

 

The comparison made Loki wince-- it had seemed like forever that he was gone, and now in retrospect, it had been such a short time. And all of this damage…

Loki took a step back, giving the doctors room to do their work.

He knew he would be useless here; only Steve could donate krellr, and he had precious little left to him. But he wanted to do something-- anything. Wanted to make it better.

While the doctors worked, he could hear them calling out further problems that they found.

The list grew longer; broken jaw. Broken ribs. He’d been starved, denied water, left in filth and cold and nude, and it ached, seeing him so… thin and helpless and surrounded by these people.

Loki knew he would have hated it.

Steve, who refused to let even his emotions bleed onto others, and now here he was, actually bleeding. Already the gloves the doctors wore were discolored from the filth and blood.

The one called Mendez pushed a needle into Steve’s arm, frowned, and had to try again; HYDRA had bled him out so much, and now they were trying to take more.

Loki could not help but snarl.

And still the list grew.

Back, skin destroyed and infected. The shoulder, of course… and this was all just what they could see.

Steve’s face disappeared under a breathing apparatus, and Loki had to step back further as they wheeled in a machine for his lungs.

He shot a helpless glance towards Natasha, wondering if she knew about this, if this was right, and what was supposed to be happening.

He didn’t know.

They could be actively killing his partner now, and he would not be able to tell the difference.

 

Natasha kept her lips pursed tight, her posture wound taut as she stood and watched, frightfully still for long moments until something apparently snapped. She moved over to Loki, putting a hand on his shoulder, angling herself to the door. “We should go,” she murmured lowly. “They need room.”

Behind her, Stark took notice and nodded jerkily. “There’s, ah, a waiting area. On this floor, I think. Or we could go upstairs, but...” he trailed off looking at Loki.

 

Loki shook his head, the motion almost wild.

“I have to be here. I promised him-- he asked that I be here when he wakes. I have to.” He turned to face them fully, pleading as best as he could with his expression. “Please don’t make me leave.”

Though, the moment the words were out of his mouth, he remembered how ridiculous that was.

They couldn’t _make_ him do anything he didn’t want. Especially now that Steve was back.

Setting his jaw and shoulders as he’d seen Steve do some many times, he tried again.

“I am not going anywhere.” And, to soften the blow, he followed with, “I may be able to help.”

Though he knew that was a lie, at least until Steve had more krellr within him to manipulate. At the very least, though, if he tried to slip away, Loki could hold to him with both hands and all of his seidhr to prevent that happening. Though he knew he was running low already...

 

“Actually, you are going to need to leave,” Dr. Cho interjected, tone slightly tinged by unease, but firm all the same. “At least, if you have any intention of staying, you’re going to need to get out, shower, and scrub up. We need to sterilize this environment. I’m still waiting on lab results, but right now Captain Rogers is showing symptoms of pneumonia and possibly going into sepsis. I am ordering--” she spoke as she typed rapidly on a StarkPad, “a full spectrum barrage of antibiotics from pharmaceutical to be delivered. But his immune system is compromised and we can’t afford any additional exposure.”

She paused and looked up, offering Loki a sympathetic look. “If it’s any consolation, he’s unlikely to wake up in the immediate future...” she stopped abruptly, looking to Stark. “Um. Does he have an appointed medical proxy or advanced directive?”

Stark stared blankly. “Uhhh... JARVIS?”

“ _As of October 25th of this year, Captain Rogers updated his Living Will on file to name Mr. Loki his proxy. Undoubtedly in response to his own role as proxy in Mr. Loki’s injury. While the document has not been notarized, I have a recording of Captain Rogers assuring that he is of sound mind and body that should hold up the document in a court of law, if contested.”_

 

Loki blinked, somehow surprised, though he knew he shouldn’t be.

How like Steve, to do something so powerful, with so little fanfare. Loki understood a little of this; it had been mentioned in the piles of paperwork Pepper had given him when he had begun working for her. Or, at least, when he had been added to the payroll.

“I take this to mean I must approve whatever you wish to do to him, is that correct?”

He looked around at those standing before him, talking with him-- and at the man on the hospital bed, who had forced them to see him as a person. Who had come to mean more to him than anything else in his life, full stop.

“Do what you must, everything you can. Anything you need from me to accomplish that-- you will have it. And… and I will leave to wash. I would not be the thing to make his health _worse_ .” The thought itself was almost hysterically laughable. _How could he get any worse?_ But Loki knew better than to lay voice to it.

“If he wakes--” Loki’s voice cracked and he had to clear his throat. “Tell him I will not be long?”

 

Dr. Cho nodded. “We will, if he does,” she assured him. “In the meantime, we’ll be taking him down to imaging to get some scans so we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Natasha put a hand on Loki’s arm and squeezed gently, leading him and Stark out.

Thor, who had been waiting just outside the room, looked up as they exited. “What do the healers say?” he asked.

 

Loki let his eyes slide to the other two, then down at himself, and back up to his brother.

“He has a great many injuries and ills.” He managed. “Too many for me to list. And a good deal more than I am certain I fully understand. I cannot help with him at the moment, his krellr is too dim, to little. And so he is in the hands of the healers of this world.”

Loki managed to keep his voice even for that much of it, but only because the adrenaline was falling away from him. He felt dull, dim, hollow, almost numb. And tired; so tired. But that could be seen to later.

“I am sent away to clean myself, lest I sully his healing chambers. I would suggest that each of us does the same, if only because you all look as though you need it.” He tried to make light with it, but he felt so heavy.

“Sleep may not be a bad idea, either.” Natasha interjected, and Loki tilted his head towards her in a nod, to show he’d heard. Not that he intended to listen, but she was right; they could all do with some rest. He certainly hoped Stark would at least consider it.

And they all looked so glum. Loki could not blame them, the state of his partner seared into the backs of his lids, but he knew that at least one part of the fight had come to an end, and that should be acknowledged.

“Steve is home, he is being seen to. It is cause for celebration.” He said, though his voice held little enough excitement.

He knew that the Steve he had spoken with at the base was hardly present, that he thought them both dead and no doubt was suffering from a mind turned soft from pain.

And he knew that this time, when Steve woke, he might not be much better. But after that-- when he was well again, and thought to begin asking questions…

He was back. Loki had him back, for now. He just wasn’t certain how long he would be allowed to keep him. It was something else to fear, atop the worry that the strained breathing he’d heard would stop, that they had come this far only to lose him now.

Natasha nodded thoughtfully.

“We should have a debriefing.” She added. “Sometime very soon. We should talk to the SHIELD agents. No doubt they saw you and Steve, and I know I heard-- your secret’s probably pretty out in the open and we will want to keep that in check as best as possible.”

Loki blanched.

He’d been too caught in Steve, too consumed by the worry and fury and fear of the moment. He would absolutely need to address that. Damn.

“Will you tell me when you decide that should be? Again, I would rather not leave his side for long, but I will for that. If only to help protect him against it later.”

 

“I’ll set the SHIELD kids up in one of the empty guest areas here in the tower,” Stark offered. “JARVIS can keep an eye on them if they stay here instead of going back to their safehouse, make sure no one gets too gossip-y and shut down external communications if need be.”

“ _I will do my utmost to see Captain Rogers and Loki’s privacy is preserved.”_

Natasha nodded. “We might as well just get it taken care of as quickly as possible...” She paused and rubbed at her eyes. “Should we say twenty minutes on conference level three? If Steve does start to wake up, in his current condition they’ll dope him up on painkillers before he’s lucid,” she added to Loki.

“Would my presence be necessary for this briefing?” Thor asked.

“Why, you planning on skipping out?” Stark asked, looking annoyed.

Thor shook his head. “I merely thought, given I have been less essential to the proceedings than Loki, that I might stand guard outside Captain Rogers’ sickroom until he is able to return...” he looked over to Loki questioningly, as if seeking his approval for this suggested course of action.

 

Loki couldn’t help the small smile that came to his face at this-- at their support, and more, at their willingness to allow him to made decisions, to give input.

“I appreciate it.” he said to the group at large, and then, in a momentary surge of real gratitude, he reached out to clasp Thor’s shoulder. “But you should also wash, assure your lady that you are well. And you would benefit from the talk too, no doubt. Stark’s computer is a worthy guard; he watched over me when I lay here. And at the least alarm, I can return near instantly.” He drew in a breath. “Besides,” he said, quieter. “Steve is here, and will not be able to support me when I face them. I would… it would be a great relief to me, having you there.”

Loki glanced to Natasha and Tony, almost expecting ridicule at showing such weakness-- especially now of all times, when things had gone as well as they had.

But it was a real concern.

How would they react? Sharon-- would she feel betrayed on Peggy’s behalf? Would any of them? After all-- Steve was seen primarily as an icon, by most, as he said. Which had led to reactions like Scofield’s. Loki winced inwardly, remembering his fury, and stomped on the ember of smugness, knowing that he would never feel anything again. And even those who saw Steve otherwise… they did not know much of Loki. The last month had not afforded anyone a chance to see him as anything worthwhile.

This could very well be a rough meeting.

 

 

Twenty minutes later, they reconvened in a large conference room on one of the corporate floors.

Thor had made a brief detour to his floor to check on Jane, but on his arrival made a point to sit right next to Loki, drawing his chair close until they were nearly elbow to elbow; he’d all but glowed when Loki had asked for his support earlier, and clearly took that duty seriously. Bruce had changed clothes and Clint had clearly washed, his hair still spikey with damp; most of the others remained haggard, however, and clearly on edge.

“So how is he?” Murray blurted as soon as they were all present. “Is... is he gonna be okay?”

Carter gave him a stern look, but for once he paid her little attention. And he didn’t seem alone in his sentiment, all eyes turning to Stark, Loki, and Romanoff.

 

Loki knew without having to look that he was meant to answer this; Steve had given him control of his health, and like his brother sitting as close as the chairs would allow-- something that no doubt struck the others as odd and would have raised Loki’s hackles at any other time but this-- he took the duty seriously.

“He is in very poor shape. You all saw him, I am sure, and there is more yet we do not know or that is not visible. But thanks to you, he is here, and we may begin to help him. More than that, I cannot say until I have spoken further with the doctors.”

This felt like one of the videos he’d watched on repeat, of Steve giving a press conference.

He’d spent some of his time in the shower rehearsing words for questions he thought likely to come up, this one included. Still, he did not need to lead this meeting. No doubt they had other things to cover, before they got to the more personal things.

He turned to Natasha.

“I would save the topic that we discussed before for last, but… I do want to know what is to be done about Agent Scofield’s involvement in this, and his betrayal.” That should start the meeting well enough. He turned his gaze to Carter, though, unsure whose responsibility it was to answer to that. “And what is to be done about their apparent harvesting of Steve’s blood.”

  


Natasha turned to Carter, who looked grim. “I’ll report in to Fury right after we conclude here, let him know about Agent Scofield. A close investigation of Scofield’s connections, activities, etc., might yield information about accomplices he might have had. And they’ll confiscate and isolate all his work and belongings; go through them for any HYDRA bugs or added intel. The fact HYDRA had the same tech used in the Bryant Park attack will also be something he’ll want to know. Could give us added leverage in re-questioning Schultz,” she explained. “As for Steve’s blood...”

Her shoulders tightened, her expression closing off. “I’ll put in a request for an airstrike. You guys buried everything pretty well, but aerial fire should help ensure no one ever recovers any samples from the wreckage. Beyond that...”

“Beyond that SHIELD and the Avengers will make rooting out HYDRA’s remaining operations and eliminating any facilities and laboratories they have one of our top priorities,” Natasha finished. “Stark -- you were able to clear the intel off their servers before we blew the place?”

“It’s uploading now,” Tony said with a nod, uncharacteristically somber. “There was a lot on there, could take a while to decrypt parts of it and translate it all, but I have JARVIS working on it as we speak.”

“I just spoke with Jane, and she has been continuing to go over the findings from the last HYDRA base,” Thor said. “It appears in addition to Captain Rogers’ blood, they have an interest in artifacts of power, namely the Scepter and the Tesseract, and in Jane’s research into bifrost technology. Though she remains puzzled by the modifications to her work in many of their equations.”

“Great,” Barton muttered. “The bogeymen of the forties are not only alive and well, but they’re interested in alien doomsday weapons and upgrading from nazis to space nazis. Don’t suppose there’s any hope that they’ll wormhole themselves into the sun or something?”

  


Loki’s brow furrowed, and he looked to Thor.

“Is it possible they mean to attempt to find their way to Asgard? Perhaps pillage the treasury?” He could not suppress his amusement at the idea; even if they managed to make it into the palace, the Destroyer would see to it there was nothing left of them.

“It would make our efforts a great deal easier if they did.” Thor responded, and they shared a small smile, before turning back to the rest of the table.

“You said that you saw in the records some sort of asset having been shipped out-- perhaps we may be able to track where the blood has gone, and thus, our next targets, that way.”

It was a little annoying, having to plan this, now, one more detour before they could begin to focus on Thanos, though Loki supposed that he still needed to prepare better for that, and anyway, he would not tackle that problem until Steve was better. He needed to protect him while he was weakened, not remind their greatest enemies of his existence.

Better to pick off the smaller fiends so that they did not overwhelm them later when the Avengers’ attentions were directed elsewhere. Before they had a chance to do whatever they intended with what they got from Steve.

“What more remains to be done, on my end, before I can devote myself to Steve’s healing and… my other duties?” He let his eyes slide to Natasha, hoping she realized what he meant by that.

Beside him, he could feel Thor’s frown, and he knew they could both feel the topic of he and Steve creeping closer.

But if there was anything more important-- safety before comfort-- Loki wanted it out of the way first.

  


“Right.” Natasha took a breath, steeling her expression to one of consummate professionalism. “There is a matter that we would appreciate your discretion regarding,” she said, addressing the SHIELD team.

“I suspect a number of you have deduced, given the events you witnessed today, that there is a measure of intimacy between Loki and Captain Rogers. They are in a relationship; the Avengers are, and have been aware of this. And while it may occur to some of you to report back to SHIELD with this information--” her expression hardened, “I would strongly advise against it. Firstly as a matter of preserving Captain Rogers’ privacy regarding his orientation, of which only his closest friends have been made aware up to now, and secondly, because contrary to what your intelligence training may tell you, it _isn’t anyone’s business_.”

“Hear hear,” Stark murmured under his breath beside her.

“If you do feel the need in spite of this to report on your observations,” she continued, staring down each agent in turn, “I can’t stop you. But I would strongly advise that you at the very least wait until Captain Rogers is on his feet and capable of defending himself from the repercussions that this violation of his privacy would entail. And consider that if Captain Rogers were compromised, he has the entirety of the Avengers watching over him. And watching out _for_ him.” She finally sat back in her seat, chin lifted, eyes narrowing. “Are there any questions?”

Tense silence filled the room, the younger agents squirming slightly in their seats. They exchanged looks, and after several seconds, Murray cautiously raised a hand. “Uhm. We, ah... we kinda all already knew.”

“...We did?”

“All of us but Eli knew,” Garza corrected. Beside her, Agent Bradley slouched in his seat with a petulant frown, muttering under his breath, the words ‘ _tells me nothing_ ’ just barely audible, but seeming more cross about being left out of the loop than anything.

Carter turned and looked at them, somewhat bemused, but didn’t appear to have anything to add.

  


Loki felt himself frowning, though he wasn’t entirely certain as to why. There seemed to be no violent response to the knowledge, which was the best he could hope for, but if they had known, and had gone on as though everything were simply normal… Why?

And he appreciated what Natasha was doing, all but glaring them into submission. But it made sense, to a point-- this was the only way she could currently protect Steve, and he had a feeling they all were going to be trying to do it in one way or another. And he was grateful that Steve had given him the right to-- made it so that, for the first time since his disappearance, Loki did not feel completely powerless.

He just knew he would have to do his best to help keep the others from feeling that way.

But first: the matter of the information that was apparently hardly so secret as he’d intended it to be.

“How? And… if you knew why did none of you say anything? Unless… you have. Does anyone else know, outside of those present here?”

  


Murray paled, holding both his hands up. “Heck no! We’re not _outing Captain America!”_ he exclaimed, seeming mortified by the prospect.

“I think most of us have known for a while and kept it on the down-low,” Ferra said with a sheepish smile and apologetic shrug. “Sorry, Magic Hands, but you two weren’t nearly as subtle as you think you were. I mean, I had a malignant tumor eating my brain and even _I_ picked up on you two making googly-eyes at each other.” Beside her, Murray flushed.

“And I was, ah, removed from field work for a while on account of an incident that was a total misunderstanding and should _not_ have been a big deal--” Garza began, Bradley snorting beside her in disbelief, “--and put on monitor duty for several months. And I _may_ have been in charge of keeping an eye on all the footage from the cell blocks,” she explained, mouth quirking upward at the corner.

Clint sat up straighter in his seat, snapping his fingers. “I _thought_ I knew you from somewhere--”

“Yeah, you came down, demanded to watch a bunch of footage and then wigged out,” she answered with a scowl. “I ended up kicking you out. Though--” and here her expression darkened, “speaking of people wigging out, if I knew what an ass-hat that Scofield guy was, I would have made sure he never had clearance to the security archives, period. So, um. Sorry about that.” She looked quickly downward, fidgeting. Clint also seemed abruptly uncomfortable at the mention of Scofield, quickly looking away, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“While my team apparently didn’t see fit to share any of this with me,” Carter began, giving them all a long look that appeared more long-suffering than annoyed, “I had it more or less pieced together. Especially after I saw you in DC,” she told Loki. “And no, I haven’t included it in my report. And I haven’t planned on it, provided it doesn’t lead to anything that I _need_ to report on,” she added, this time facing Natasha. “Though given how strongly Rogers has reacted to any threats to Loki, you may want to consider that Fury probably has his suspicions.”

  


Loki was staring at Garza, the surprise written plainly, he was certain, all over his face.

“It was you who removed the footage of my discovery of cinnamon.” He remembered Fury questioning him about it, suspecting that Loki had tampered with the cameras. And he remembered too what had come after. Steve had shown him his drawings, and he’d seen himself-- the creature version of himself, in lurid color, and Steve had called him beautiful and run away.

“That was kind of you, for his sake.” He told her. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well.” She looked pleased. “I scrubbed it the first few times you guys were suspiciously cute, but then you just kept doing it, so.”

“So that’s why I got the soap opera softcore cut?” Clint asked sharply, and Loki felt his brows raise.

To his surprise, it was Carter who leaned in to glare across the table.

“No one is going to be discussing anybody’s less broadcasted relationships, Barton, least of all you. Rogers is a teammate of yours.” She sounded nearly icy, and suddenly Loki had no problem seeing her aunt in her.

Loki let his eyes circle the table, then nodded and stood.

“I appreciate all of your discretion. More than can be said, I am sure. But if that is all that needs saying, I’d like to request to be excused. I want to be by my partner’s side when he wakes.”

It was so freeing, so _wonderful_ to say that last-- Steve was his partner, and he could lay claim to it. And Steve was back. That was the best of all.  
Though he was slightly uneasy making such a declaration, when that could very well change when Steve finally woke.

  


Dr. Cho was waiting for him when he returned, and Dr. Ortega had arrived, looking rather harried with her eyes devoid of cosmetics behind her glasses.

Neither of them wore expressions that spoke of good news.

“We’ve moved him to another room. If you could come this way?” Dr. Ortega said, gesturing.

“We ran some diagnostics,” Dr. Cho added, then paused. “Would you like to sit down somewhere as we go over the details with you?”

  


“That depends,” Loki said smoothly. “Is he going to wake soon? If so, I will sit beside him, and you may tell us both.”

He flashed a nervous smile at the two women, able to read agitation in the lines of both of their bodies, but he couldn’t tell if it was just because it was him. After all, Dr. Cho had only just met him, and he’d made a habit of ordering around Ortega while he was down here healing people, during Steve’s absence.

But the worst thing they could possibly have to say is what had been done to him already-- Steve would be able to heal, of course. His serum would see to that. And once it had gotten enough done, Loki would help him along.

  


The two women exchanged a look of shared discomfort; Dr. Cho raised her eyebrows, and Dr. Ortega finally looked away, adjusting her glasses.

“The thing is, Loki... Steve isn’t sleeping. He’s unconscious. And given his current condition... he might remain unconscious -- comatose, is actually the word we typically use -- for some time.”

“He’s gone through some pretty severe trauma to his system,” Dr. Cho explained. “We’re treating what we can, but his body has... well, sometimes when the body is in bad enough shape, the brain shuts down for a while. At this point, we don’t really have any measure for when he’ll come out of it. We’re treating the hypoglycemia, and if that’s the root cause of coma, he should emerge from it quickly, but if it’s from something else, like hypoxia or an infection that reached his central nervous system...” she trailed off, looking back to Dr. Ortega as if for assistance.

“Right now, there’s too many simultaneous issues for us to pinpoint an underlying cause; so we don’t know how long it will be. It could be a day. It could be weeks,” she explained, not quite making eye contact.

  


Loki reeled, and it was little wonder, now, that they had wanted him to sit down.

“ _Weeks_ ?” He repeated dumbly. “I-- how can-- but he’s back, he’s here-- he’s meant to be safe and get better, not-- _weeks?_ ” His voice rose, and so did his ire, his disbelief.

“Can’t you do _anything?_ I know yours is an uneducated little backwater realm, but surely you have _something._ ” He couldn’t help, he knew, not until Steve’d had the chance to gain some of his krellr back. But the seidhr within him should have been helping with that, should have been absorbed by his body and translated into energy, should have _helped_. Loki had thought he was helping. But it had still been there, he realized. Starved and dim as Steve was, Loki’s seidhr from the first time he’d saved him was still there, still settled in his pulse points, tangled in the lackluster eddies of his krellr.

“What needs to be done? You say you’re treating him, and it may allow him to wake, yes? Is it a lack of doctors? I can learn. Whatever will help it to go faster.” He looked back and forth between the two women, before appealing to the one he knew. “Doctor Ortega, you have seen what I may do. I cannot work that kind of healing until he has more energy within him, but surely there is something your science can do? Something to help him, to speed the process? Please.”

  


“We’re doing everything we can,” Dr. Cho assured, reaching out and lightly placing a hand on Loki’s forearm. “But while we can set bones and treat his infections and give him fluids and oxygen, we can’t _force_ him back into consciousness. We have no way of interacting with the human brain that way, and if we tried, we’d risk doing much more harm than good,” she explained, keeping her voice calm and even. “On that front, he just has to be able to eventually wake up on his own.” She turned and traded a meaningful look with Dr. Ortega, who grimaced.

“Again, we don’t know how long it will be,” she said, turning to Loki. “But we wanted to be up front with you about the possibility that it could be a while. Or it might not be more than a day or two. We just don’t know. And there’s only so much that we can fix before we have to leave it to his own body to recover and repair damage on its own, which--” she frowned, “--it’s doing at a much slower rate than his previous physicals indicate.”

  


“What do you mean _slower_?” He demanded, feeling as though all of his happiness, every victory he thought he’d had, was unraveling to pool in tatters at his feet.

“He heals so quickly, quicker than any human! His bones-- they will be whole in a week, and he will… he should already have a little more krellr. Even after he gave me too much, he barely slept a night and he was restored. Maybe I can--” He stopped, then made a decision. “Take me to him. I need to see him, I need to help. If you won’t or can’t save him, I will.” The words were all but gritted between his teeth.

“Where have your people moved him? Take me there immediately.” He was already gathering the last dregs of his seidhr, near-exhausted from a day’s worth of rescue and vengeance. It slipped into his palms and made them shimmer, made his intent clear.

  


Dr. Ortega stepped in front of him, holding up her hands palms-out in a pacifying gesture. “He _should_ be healing quickly, yes,” she said, speaking quickly. “Mr. Stark provided us with his medical records from SHIELD and according to all past assessments, all his metabolic functions should be operating at a significantly higher rate and his cells regenerating at an exponentially higher rate to heal, but for whatever reason he _isn’t.”_ She paused briefly to gulp down a breath, and Dr. Cho jumped in:

“Captain Rogers is showing no signs of enhanced biological functions,” she said. “Whatever happened to him, his body is operating at about the level we’d expect a standard, non-enhanced human being in his condition to be at. If there were anyone still alive in this century who had a detailed understanding of the workings of the supersoldier serum and what might be counteracting its usual effects, _that_ would be useful, but as far as I’ve been made aware, the leading expert died in 1942 and his notes were lost,” she said, pressing her lips together into a narrow line and taking a cautious half-step back, ready to get out of the way if Loki would up barreling past the both of them to reach Steve.

  


“That isn’t right. No, you-- you must be wrong, your machines… Steve isn’t that kind of human, isn’t that… that _mortal._ ” He was horrified, terror stricken, and he couldn’t stand to hear much more of this. How much worse could it be?

Or what had they done, since he had come in?

“He survived so much. He was strong enough to live through all of that-- weak, damaged, but alive. A human could not-- neither of you could do that. It must be something here-- either you are wrong or you have done something to him; you have caused this.” His eyes were blazing now and the seidhr in his palms was quivering, begging to be used or allowed to seep back into its streams within him.

“I brought him to you to help, to heal-- how can he possibly be-- _is he dying_?” His words turned sharp, his anger snapping from hot and loud to a cold furious whisper mid sentence.

  


“His vitals are stable for the time being...” Dr. Cho ventured as she stepped back, her posture tensing as if preparing to flee, one hand moving to the cell phone in her pocket.

But Dr. Ortega, perhaps out of familiarity, held her ground. “All _we’ve done_ so far is lower his fever, improve his blood pressure, and use the same Stark Industries diagnostic imaging equipment you’ve seen us use on the patients in oncology,” she stated firmly, lifting her chin, eyes only briefly flickering to the green glow in Loki’s hands. “If you want to blame someone for his condition, blame whoever had him for the last month. Or did he dramatically heal during the hours you were flying transatlantically prior to his arrival here?” she demanded.

  


“I _have_ blamed them. There is a smoking crater where once there was a building half as deep as this one is tall, and the only ones to emerge from it were the Avengers. And if you cause him to be any more damaged, if you cannot heal him, I will have none to blame but you.” He did not bother to even his tone, to gentle the words. They were a threat and they were meant to be.

He could see how the one feared him, he remembered how the other had, before. He would use that, spur them onwards.

They had to have something, some device, some medicine, something that would work, would restart his healing, something that would make him strong again.

Loki sent his seidhr running up his arms, not inside of them, but outside, a show and a way to calm the anxious energy, to keep it available and moving. But also to intimidate, because he’d already sunk this far into doing things Steve would hate. Why should he not continue, if it would give Steve the opportunity to hate them?

“I want you in there with him now, I want you working your healing. I want him _better_ , do you understand me?” He was raging now, his mind blurred with panic and anger and such stark fear that he was afraid he would forget-- forget how to control his seidhr, how to stand, how to _breathe._

Had he not saved him, after all?

  


Dr. Cho had her phone out and was speaking into it rapidly as she pressed herself against the wall; Dr. Ortega was backing up now, no longer able to tear her eyes away from the green fire dancing up and down Loki’s arms.

“The entire support team is in there w-with him, they’re cleaning the b-burns on his back,” she squeaked, stumbling over her words. “We can’t--”

“Loki!?”

Thor’s voice reverberated from the far end of the hallway and Dr. Cho’s mouth fell open in a small o. Loud steps echoed on the linoleum as Thor strode from the elevator to their position, brow creased in concern.

“Brother? Is all well? JARVIS indicated there was a call of distress-- What-- what is this?” he asked, gesturing to the seidhr that shimmered and sparked, looking at Loki with an expression that was half wary, and half purely perplexed. “Has something happened?”

  


“Steve.” Loki snapped, “Is not healing as he should, _cannot--_ ” He choked on the words and spun to face Thor, but the expression on his face, the wariness there-- it made him recoil, even as he heard the women now behind him moving away, _running from him_.

And he’d done that knowingly, intentionally.  
Steve had been gone long enough and had loved him so strongly before then that the idea of his seeing him as a monster was purely hypothetical. Thor, on the other hand…

He had only so recently begun taking steps towards a return to what they had been. And most of that had been his doing, admittedly, but… Thor had never seen his other form. The monster he’d seen from the day of the broken Bifrost onward… that monster had looked just like this. Just Loki, in his skin, desperate and damaged and hurt and afraid.

And Thor had no reason to feel any safer with him than those women did. Less, in fact.

Loki called the seidhr back within him.

“Steve isn’t waking up.” Loki said, quieter, his eyes cast downward. “It may be… he may not wake for months. And I cannot help him, and his body is not helping him. And there is nothing they can do.”

Shame and grief rose in him in equal parts.

Steve was on a table, somewhere, being washed by strangers, his wounds dressed by strangers, and Loki was too busy yelling at… at women who were only telling him the news.

He glanced their way, throat sticking and words backing up on his tongue.

“I have… reacted poorly to hearing this.” He admitted.

  


Thor paused and inclined his head to the two healers standing behind Loki. The women nodded in return, the shorter, dark-haired one staring for a long second before the bespeckled one tugged on her sleeve and they both retreated quietly down the hall, away from Loki’s ire.

Thor quickly returned his attention to his brother. “So I can see,” he replied quietly, “though it is hardly news one could react well to. And considering no one lies dead and the tower still stands, you certainly could have reacted worse,” he attempted to joke, though he could feel the words falling flat before they even finished leaving his lips.

Take a step forward, he clasped a hand to the back of Loki’s neck. “You _have_ helped him,” he insisted. “You found him in that place and carried him out. You brought him home, away from those who would hurt him and into the company of those who now tend to his hurts. It took time and effort for his enemies to reduce him to this state... I would imagine it would take time as well for him to recover. But that simply means we must be patient.” The corner of his mouth quirked sadly upward. “And do not think the irony of me of all people lecturing anyone about the virtues of patience is lost upon me.”

  


Loki’s face twisted in response to Thor’s words of jest, but he knew he had no right to even attempt to combat them; he’d proven that with this shameful display.

“What difference will that matter if he does not wake? If he does not know he is home, and safe?” Loki was plaintive now, and he found himself inching closer to his brother, wanting the touch that he was afraid to ask for, after he’d so recently had his veritable claws out.

He was afraid it would be denied him, though Thor was doing his best to be kind, and even diplomatic.

He did not chasten Loki for terrorizing those women, and he should-- Loki knew he deserved it.

“My patience has worn thin, these last weeks. I had thought-- finding him was meant to make it better. Bringing him home was meant to end the nightmare. Instead… it seems only to have intensified it.”

Then he could imagine that he was being well treated, could try to believe as much. But now… now he knew what shape he was in, if not what had been done, he knew what he had been too late to save Steve from. And he was powerless to do anything about it, to try and make things right.

He took a deep breath, unable to look Thor in the eye. Had Steve been Thor’s love, how might it be different? Would Thor have had some answer, some hero’s luck that would have helped him, helped to save Steve sooner? Were the Norns punishing his partner for his involvement with Loki? It all seemed so unfair.

As unfair as he was.

“I should apologize to the doctors, and then… I suppose I should find somewhere to go that I do not harm anyone else, until the news fully… I feel as if it is not real, yet, is not fully sunk in.”

And Loki could only hope that Thor had been alone when JARVIS called on him, elsewise he would have that many more people to convince of his goodness, or at least the veneer of it that he was sometimes able to don.

  


“You ought to apologize,” Thor agreed, “but I am sure they will not hold it against you if you do so on the morrow; nor would such honorable men and women as Stark seeks to employ allow Steve to lack for care.”

His heart ached, for the plight of his friend, but even moreso for the look of absolute grief on Loki’s face. The last time he’d seen his brother so crushed, so hopeless, he’d been dangling over an abyss. The thought made him tighten his grip on the nape of Loki’s neck -- he would _not_ fail Loki this time as he had before. He would hold tight to him and help him in all the ways he did not when Loki last needed him to.

“He will wake,” he insisted, gently, searching for words of comfort, of reassurance. “I... I have been told that in his youth, Steve was a frail and sickly young man,” he began, “but that even then, he had a warrior’s spirit. His constitution may be fragile, but I do not doubt that his soul is strong -- and from what I know of him, he is far too stubborn to give up, and far too smitten with you not to return to you.”

Pulling Loki in, he leaned forward until their foreheads touched, resting against each other. “Have faith in him. And have faith in our friends, to help find whatever care is needed to return him to health.” He drew back, moving his hand down to Loki’s shoulder and lifting his other hand so he now held Loki by both shoulders, facing him squarely. “But if Steve is unlikely to wake this night, and there is naught that can be done to wake him, then you would do well to rest. You fought mightily today, and you will need to replenish yourself.”

  


“Steve cannot replenish himself.” Loki pointed out. “It seems unfair that I should do what he cannot, when he is so much better than I am, supposed to be able to do more. He-- when I was hurt, so very hurt, he was able to heal me. To make me well again sooner. And I… I do not even have enough seidhr left in me this day to make a full potion for sleep, let alone anything of any real _use.”_ And Loki did not know of anything that could help _this._

“You are right though, in that they will not allow him to suffer unnecessarily. They are also better people than I am.”

His thoughts were beginning to feel scattered and the exhaustion that had been lingering at the edges of his consciousness since he had returned was skittering across his vision now, pointed and angry at him for his dismissal.

Normally, Loki would take the elevator to his own floor, bury himself in blankets and watch Steve addressing a crowd. But now it felt wrong.

“I… do not know what I should do, where I ought to go. My own apartment is… It has been too empty, and now, with the ghost of him there and the reality here…”

Though he did not even know where, exactly, he realized. He had not managed to get the answer from the doctors before he had scared them off.

Steve deserved so much better than him.

“I do not suppose you are in the mood to join me for some sparring?” He asked, even though he knew that against Thor and as tired as he was, he would be an easy opponent.

Perhaps he was merely of a mind to take some damage.

He deserved that, too.

  


“While I would be happy to spar with you in time,” Thor assured him, “I think for now what you need most is a meal and sleep.” He used his grip on Lok to steer him around, bringing him to Thor’s side so he could wrap one arm around him, shoulder to shoulder, walking him toward the elevator back at the far end of the corridor.

“Steve may not replenish himself, but that is all the more reason for you to do so, that at least one of you may be hale. And when you are well-recovered, you will be in better condition to work feats of seidhr should the healers discover something that can be remedied, and capable of caring for Steve whenever he should wake,” he pointed out as they walked, hoping it would be enough to convince Loki not to punish himself further. And as for the matter of Loki’s rooms being too empty--

“Lady Darcy has something called a lasagna in the oven, and our suite has a spare guest room,” he explained, giving his brother little opportunity to argue. He’d actually been planning on inviting Loki to join in on the meal since he returned to his suite and smelled the food cooking, receiving assurances from Jane that Darcy had made enough to feed a small army. “You will be our guest tonight, and how ever many nights beyond that you wish. Come.” He ushered them both into the elevator and pressed the appropriate button on the panel.

  


Loki wanted to object to supping with his brother’s mortals, to being around such people-- or any people, really, were he being honest-- while he felt this raw.

He just didn’t have the energy-- not to fight, and not to keep pushing people away, when all he wanted was… He wanted quiet moments on their couch or in their bed, sitting together, holding one another, eating, or watching a film.

He just wanted to curl up around Steve,a and wanted life to go back to as it had been.

But he tended not to get the things he wanted, and anyway, Thor’s arm was so warm around him, his presence at his side so comforting. He’d asked him to stay near during the meeting mostly to make Thor feel better, but as occasionally happened, Loki’s lies had had truth to them.

The elevator let them off and Loki felt the way his shoulders tensed, walking away from his rooms and towards Thor’s.

It was difficult enough trying to remember how to behave right now. Harder still when his instincts were to avoid Thor’s woman, and his mind said that he owed her a debt. After all, it had been she who found Steve.

Not that it seemed that had done much, now.

  


The food, which could be smelled as soon as they entered the suite, proved warm and rich and delicious. Thor had a second helping, and a third, his appetite quite stirred from dispatching HYDRA defenses. He made sure Loki’s plate was heaped high as well; his brother may not have been as thin as Steve was now, but he was still in solid need of a square meal.

Darcy and Jane, for their part, knew that he’d intended to invite Loki to join, and if they were surprised that Loki had actually shown, managed to keep in well hidden. Darcy’s tongue remained surprisingly civil as she rambled on near-unintelligibly about a host of benign topics; Jane’s smile was tight at the corners every time she looked at Loki, but she did herself credit as a gracious hostess in spite of any misgivings.

Thor made a note to thank them both later.

No one pressed the topic of Steve’s health.

  


The meal was pungent, warm, acidic, and full of flavorful cheeses that made his mouth water. Loki was grateful for it, and voiced his gratitude, though it was one of his few contributions to the conversation around the table. It seemed to him that everyone was wary, and he could only think _of course_. Even if they didn’t know how he’d terrorized those doctors, he’d been unkind to each of those seated here, and now he intruded in their safe place-- and invited or not, he still felt as if he was intruding.

They were polite, but strained, and he felt their mingled fear and pity weighing on his shoulders atop the already burdensome weight of his worry.

He should have gone back to his own apartments.

Once the meal was over, he sat, uncertain what to do, or say-- if Thor expected anything from him in return for his being fed.

“Under normal circumstances,” he ventured, “I would offer to clean your dishes for you with my seidhr. But today I’ve used far too much for that.” He took a deep breath, intending to offer to do it the other way, with his _hands_ , when he was silenced.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, it’s a disposable pan anyway.” Darcy flapped a hand at him and Loki blinked, almost offended that one such as she was able to dismiss him so abruptly, but again, he lacked the energy to feel anything beyond discomfort and a creeping numbness that he though for certain would be lifted when Steve was returned here.

He nodded, realizing that the dismissal may well be a sign that he ought to leave, though he remained sitting.

“Thank you, then. For dinner.” He clarified, and then, because he knew he hadn’t said as much, “And for finding Steve. Jane.” He inclined his head at her, all of it uncomfortable.

  


“Oh!” Jane blinked in surprise, caught off guard. “Um. You’re welcome. I’m... I’m glad you brought him back home,” she said as she cleared her place setting, stacking Thor’s empty plate on hers. She exchanged a quick look with Thor, who smiled and gave her wrist a quick and gentle squeeze.

It was progress, however small.

“So, what’re we doing, movie night?” Darcy asked. “I’ve got Terminator if we wanna see things go boom, I’ve got Toy Story if we wanna go cute -- have you two seen 13th Warrior? I feel like 13th Warrior would be your speed. It’s got vikings and weird shit. And Antonio Banderas being yummy, which, you know, always a plus--”

Thor leaned over to Loki, speaking under his breath. “You are welcome to join us for the evening’s entertainment, but if you’d prefer, I can show you the guest room that you may rest.”

He hoped Loki would agree to spend the night close. Even if they all resided under the same roof, these past weeks when Loki had vanished into his rooms, he isolated himself as if he were a world away. And if he indeed felt haunted by the spectre of Steve’s absence, then surely it would be better for him to stay somewhere that did not hold such memories.

(And after seeing that naked grief on Loki’s face, Thor wanted to be sure Loki remained within his reach, that he could catch his brother this time if he needed it.)

  


Loki shook his head and stood.

“It would be ridiculous for me to take advantage of your hospitality overnight, particularly when I have my own apartment so near. And… It seems that I make for poor companionship in watching films. I am far too inclined to ask questions.” He gave Darcy a small apologetic glance, then clapped his hand to his brother’s shoulder,much as Thor was fond of doing to him, though the height disparity was… almost unsettling.

Almost.

“Thank you again for all of your help this day, brother.”

  


Thor opened his mouth to argue. To insist that Loki stay, that he not be alone. He’d drawn breath to say as much, when he caught himself and stopped.

He didn’t want to see Loki go off alone. Did not want to think of him grieving in solitude. But... forcing Loki to do anything against his will had never yielded any good before, and could shatter the fragile bond they’d been re-establishing now, earning his brother’s bitterness at having his fate dictated by those who believed they knew better than he.

Clenching his jaw in frustration, he weighed his options, then finally sighed.  “It would not be an imposition,” he said, “but if you wish to be alone, I understand.”

And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he pulled Loki into a tight, crushing embrace.

“I will come see you in the morning,” he said into Loki’s hair.

  


And Thor was ever true to his word.

Loki was awake late into the night, using JARVIS and the tablet he was accustomed to working with to research every word he could remember of Steve’s situation.

He did not go back down that night-- he wanted to give the doctors room to work, and himself room to accept what he would see when he did go, so that he would not terrify anyone further.

He was exhausted and his body urged him to succumb to it, but he needed to know more. To know as much as he could.

Eventually, though, he did sleep, notes strewn out across the bed and his face resting on the hard corner of the tablet. Which was for the best; he was less likely to let his mean streak out if he was rested, and his seidhr would be restored after some sleep.

Still, it would have been embarrassing if that was the situation Thor had found him in. Fortunately, JARVIS was good enough to wake him and warn him of his brother’s approach.

  


Thor adjusted his grip on the heavy brown paper bag in his arms, that he might knock at Loki’s door.

“Brother?” he called. He’d informed JARVIS as he’d re-entered the tower that morning that he intended to see Loki, and JARVIS had assured him Loki was in his rooms. He wouldn’t have departed in the short time it took Thor to ride the elevator up, surely?

“Brother, I’ve brought breakfast,” he said, then smiled as he heard soft footfalls on the opposite side of the door, beaming at Loki when he opened it to let him in.

“I did not know what you preferred, so I acquired a broad assortment,” he announced.

  


Loki answered the door, and though he knew it was Thor,he still found himself surprised by the sort of enthusiasm that he emitted, like some sort of beam of light, an energy he exuded.

Loki was tired to and through his bones, and he could not imagine being happy, but Thor was so damnably chipper.

He blinked a few times, then stepped back to admit him to his home.

“Assortment of what?” He asked, and gestured at the table, for Thor to unburden himself, though Loki did not join him yet, certain they would need cups or plates or silverware of some sort.

  


Setting it down on the counter, Thor opened the bag and began to pull out containers from the diner three blocks down. Bagels, cream cheese, lox, pastries, home fries, a styrofoam container sticky with syrup containing french toast, and a rasher of crispy, aromatic bacon.

“Breakfast foods,” he said, looking proud. “I would have made you an omelet, but we were out of eggs, so I went out to find an appropriate meal.”

  


Loki huffed and rolled his eyes, but produced plates and silverware just the same, then pulled out a pitcher of orange juice from his refrigerator.

“You have brought far more than is necessary, I’m sure… but try some of this. It is made from concentrate; they’ve found ways to embolden the taste of oranges.”

He sat a glass of juice near Thor and then took his own place at the table, beginning to dish himself while he turned serious eyes on his brother.

“You are aware that you do not need to feed me each time you see me, are you not? I am not about to die from self neglect. I _have_ learned how to feed myself on Midgard in the last month.”

  


Thor took a sip of the orange juice, paused, then gulped the rest down, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand when he finished. “It is sour, and yet sweet,” he mused. “I like it.” He reached for one of the bagels and tore into it, not bothering with cutting it in half or adding toppings, instead enjoying the warm rich taste of the fresh bread on its own.

He was still chewing when Loki spoke, and took several more seconds to finish the mouthful and swallow it down, giving him time to sort out his words. When he spoke, it was with care:

“I do not doubt your competence,” he began. “It is only...” he paused again, lowering his bagel, expression falling somber as he stared at the counter top. “I lost you once before when you were pained and grieving and believed no one cared. It is not a failure I intend to repeat.” He let out a breath, shoulders slumping. “I am no inventor, nor am I a healer. There is little of use that I can do to help Steve. But I can see to your welfare; and so I will.”

  


Loki let his head fall, chagrined by the reminder of his fall, at the familiar pull of pain in his chest, the echo of those feelings. The reminder that then, no one _had_ cared. The reminder that if Thor truly saw, he may still not.

But Loki had been trying to learn Steve’s art of not bleeding on others. He put on a small smile.

“You needn’t fear losing me now.” He said. “In fact, I believe it is safe to say I have never been so rooted to a spot. There has never been anything to tie me here as much as Steve does, and he’s hardly about to go anywhere.” It should have been teasing, but the words only came out sad.

He occupied his traitorous mouth with a piece of the bacon he’d been brought, and took a breath while he chewed, trying to collect himself.

Thor only wanted to be useful.

He swallowed quickly, and chased the mouthful with his own sip of orange juice.

“Will you… if you are not busy… will you come with me to the lower levels? I still do not know where he is, exactly, and I think the doctors will be more willing to speak to me with you in tow, at least until I have made my apologies and any reparations I can.”

  


“Of course,” Thor replied, smiling his reassurance. It was good to know Loki felt attached to this place -- to these friends. He hoped it would be enough.

They finished their breakfast and took the elevator back down to the medical levels immediately thereafter. Thor prepared to look for one of the two women who had been there the night before, but found himself instead pleasantly surprised when Dr. Banner emerged from a doorway, holding a tablet.

“Friend Banner!” he called, prompting Bruce to look up and offer the two of them a tight, weary smile.

“Oh good,” he said, much more quietly. “You’re here. I was hoping I’d run into you first... Loki, if you’d like to come this way, I can show you where Steve is.”

  


Loki looked to Thor, uncertain if Banner meant to exclude him-- though of course he would understand why, given their past talks about the loudness of Asgardians.

“Of course.” Loki said, matching the quiet of Banner’s voice, then patted Thor’s arm. “This way, Thor. Quietly.”

He let Bruce lead the way and followed him, careful to keep his face down, lest he startle anyone while they were at work on things too delicate to disturb.

Banner led them deeper into this level than Loki had gone on his own before, and through a door.

And there, on their bed, was Steve.

Loki’s breath caught again, stricken by the sorrow he felt looking upon his partner’s poor, hurt body.

He’d been cleaned, and Loki wasn’t certain if that made things better or worse-- better, obviously, for his health, but now Loki could see the difference between filth and discoloration in his skin from mistreatment… and there was far too much of it for him to comfortably stomach.

“What’s been done to him, Bruce?” Loki asked, bracing himself and desperately hoping he would be able to understand the answer.

  


Bruce fidgeted, pulling up reports on his tablet and more or less reading off a list. “Starvation. Dehydration. Hypothermia. He’s got a gunshot wound in his thigh that’s at least a few weeks old, and a number of fractures that indicate he was beaten fairly regularly. He’s got burns as well -- some of them look electrical, though his back looks like he may have, ah, been branded.” He swallowed. “He’s also got a pretty nasty case of pneumonia. And on top of that, it seems like they may have experimented on him chemically -- I’ve been running blood tests, and something is interacting with the serum in his blood in a way that’s cancelling it out.”

He paused, lowering the tablet and pulling off his glasses, wiping them on his shirt. He’d offered to be the one to talk to Loki and Thor after hearing from Dr. Cho about Loki’s outburst, figuring the news might be easier to take from a friend. But as a friend, it wasn’t any easier to deliver it. “So far, the doctors have been focusing on bringing his vitals to a stable level and treating the shock, pneumonia, and the sepsis. He’s been on a steady line of fluids, and they’ve put a feeding line in to start slowly reintroducing nutrients to his system. That’ll be the tube you see going into his nose. We’d give him a blood transfusion to counter the hypovolemia, but with the amount of antibiotics he’s been given, his body might flat out reject it.

“Dr. Cho... She’s been working on technology that synthetically matches human tissue in order to repair injuries. It’s not been approved by the FDA or anything, but she’s making calls to see about getting some of her tech relocated here from the Korea lab. Right now, Steve’s probably looking at significant scarring on his wrists and ankles from the prolonged restraint, but Dr. Cho’s tech could offer a way to graft compatible tissue to those injuries, which would reduce scarring and improve his range of motion.” It was a small thing, in the scheme of it all, but he felt the need to bring up the minor positive. Especially when he still had bad news to impart.

“Speaking of motion, though... Once the infections have cleared up enough that he’s stable for surgery, we’ll need your authorization to operate on his shoulder. It’s all kinds of messed up from having been repeatedly dislocated and left out of joint for extended periods. As it is, there’s... there’s a chance he might not ever regain a full range of movement on that side.”

He grimaced, trying not to look at the expression of horror on Thor’s face. “His, ah, his blood pressure has improved slightly, though, and his oxygen levels are slowly rising,” he added, wishing he had something better to offer.

  


Loki stiffened, and he could not tear his eyes away from his partner as the words came spilling from their friend’s lips, a long stream of horror that seemed insurmountable.

Loki swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“I can help with some of that, once he regains-- if he can regain his krellr. If whatever is in his blood will allow that.” Finally he looked up at Banner, afraid of the apology, the sadness, and the pity he was certain he would find there.

“But if his serum is… gone. If that is permanent… I do not know much about human healing, without the aid that brings. I know that his body will continue absorbing his krellr as fast as he can make it, as long as he remains as damaged as he is, and until he has a healthy supply, there will be nothing I can do. So if you-- if surgery will do something to.” He had to bite back the words, because he couldn’t find the right ones.

Thor put his hand at the back of Loki’s neck again and Loki leaned into it, drinking in the heat and warmth of the contact.

“How long will it take him, do you think, to be cleared of infections?”

He knew Bruce was not this sort of doctor, and his involvement likely meant that Steve’s actual doctors were unwilling to speak with him after the previous day’s display.

He looked back at Steve, whose chest rose and fell dramatically, with the aid of the machine that was filling his lungs with the breaths he needed.

“If he is unable to heal fully, what will SHIELD do to him?” He asked, concerned about the potential of outside threats.

Steve had spoken of his past, spoken of being small and weak. Not extensively, of course, but even the omission meant that he had hated it. How would he feel, waking up to learn that Loki’s slowness in finding him had robbed him of his ability to lead, to help people…. his Erskine’s good work, all undone in a month.

And Loki had destroyed the lab that had held the chemicals he’d been injected with. They had no way to find the antidote, now. Unless it was in the files that Tony and Natasha had saved.

Loki drifted across the room, to Steve’s side, and lifted his hand so gently, like a butterfly whose wings he could not bear the thought of damaging.

“We will do everything we can to restore you.” He whispered to Steve, hoping even as he did that he could not hear, that his sleep was at least unburdened by the pain and fear that his body would be rewarding him with for living, all too soon.

  


“It will depend on how well he responds to antibiotics. Hopefully not long, but... I’m not sure,” Bruce said. “And... We really don’t know whether he will make a complete recovery or not. The fact he’s here and being treated is good -- already his survival odds are very high, provided he emerges from the coma,” he promised. “I just wanted to make sure you knew about the chance of complications ahead of time, so you can be prepared for it and... and so we can all help Steve through it if that comes to pass. Which, I mean, it might not?” He looked to Thor, apologetic, knowing it was a weak assurance.

Swallowing, he returned his attention to Loki, though it felt intrusive to watch him during such a tender moment with Steve. “Loki, with your permission as Steve’s proxy... Looking at Steve’s bloodwork, there seems to be some irregularities. I know a biochemist -- a very good one, and more importantly, someone I trust -- who I think might be able to help, if we sent her a sample to look at,” he offered.

  


“Very high.” Loki repeated, grasping onto that for a long moment. “ _If he emerges_...You mean… he may not wake at all?” His voice was utterly wrecked, and he needed to place Steve’s hand back on the bed, carefully, lest he hold it too tight and do him additional damage. He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose, pulling his shoulders back as he did, physically stiffening and steeling himself, pushing himself back into control. Only once he knew he could safely speak without dissolving into a mess, did he even try.

He could feel Thor’s eyes on him through this, and he heard when his brother stepped up to reassure Bruce, in turn.

“He is certainly better here than anywhere else.”

But Thor’s words were nearly as hollow as Bruce’s had been, as far as inspiring confidence went.

If this was the best their world had to offer, and it was this uncertain even so… Loki had to make decisions now, he knew. Decisions that he ran the risk of Steve resenting him for when-- _if_ \-- he woke.

“This friend of yours, this biochemist. Have you spoken to Tony about the possibility of her coming here?” Loki asked, turning to look at the other men in the room. “Steve is protective of his blood, one of the reasons I went through such trouble to destroy the workshop that was filled with it, in the HYDRA base. As I am sure you understand. I feel he would be much happier if she could run her tests on his sample in the tower, with JARVIS to watch over what information was allowed to leave.”

 

“I....” Bruce’s expression grew pained. “I could, but I’m not sure if she-- it might not be--” He stopped, running a hand back through his hair in agitation. “I’m not sure her being around me is the best idea,” he said in a low murmur. “And I understand your apprehension -- believe me, I get it, more than anyone else, probably -- but she’s one of the only people on earth I’ve ever given a sample of Hulk’s blood to, or any of my data on the Other Guy...” He couldn’t quite bring himself to make eye contact.

  


Loki stared at him for a long moment, then nodded.

“Steve’s word that I was worthy of your trust was good enough for you to allow me to stay. He would be upset with me if I did not extend to you the same level of trust-- if you say she is the best, and that she will not seek to… to do harm…” But what could she do, Loki supposed, that HYDRA was not already working on? They’d had him for long enough…

“I only ask that you keep your samples as small as possible. Already he has been harvested of too much blood.”

His hands were so cold between Loki’s own, and that was so wrong. Steve was always the warmer of them. He felt his shoulders dropping.

“Whatever we can do to help him. I want to do it. Anything.”

  


“Of course,” Bruce promised, nodding fervently. “It won’t be much. I-- I’ll call her right now. She’s always been a morning person, she’ll be up and about...” he murmured, seizing the opportunity to duck out of the room, pulling his phone from his pocket as he did so.

  


Thor looked around the room until his eyes fell on the chair in the corner, which he picked up and carried to Steve’s bedside that Loki might sit. The strange whirr and beeping of the machines that surrounded Steve were strange, reminding him of the hospital he had woken in shortly after his arrival on Midgard. He grimaced; he doubted Steve would be so... _disruptive_ a patient as he had been.

“It is strange,” he said, watching Steve, who looked so uncharacteristically small, “to think of Steven unable to take up arms.”

  


“It is _wrong_.” Loki said, losing all pretense of having anything resembling a handle on his emotions as soon as Banner fled the room, and dropping into the chair that Thor brought for him.

He buried his face in his hands.

“Steve-- it is all he wanted. When he was younger, and so small, and so weak, he wanted to be able to help others. It is the one thing-- even when we quarreled I told him-- I said I would never get in the way of that. His need to help-- he will be devastated.” His words were muffled, he knew, but didn’t care.

“And I am so helpless. So _useless--_ A lifetime’s knowledge of seidhr and krellr at my fingertips, and not a bit of it of use, if his body insists on absorbing it all. He’s slowly consuming himself… and that is the _least_ of his injuries.”

Loki raised his head, eyes wet and hot with unshed tears.

“And I do not know of any world I could take him to, even if he would permit me, where the healers would deign to heal a _mortal_.” He shook his head and lifted Steve’s hand again, so gentle, but still clinging to it as though it were he at risk of never waking up.

“He has always been so strong, stronger than I am. Stronger than any I have known-- even you, Thor. His heart is so strong. But I fear this will break it.”

  


Thor felt his throat tighten, a lump forming that no amount of swallowing would dislodge.

He wished he had words to remedy this. But words had always been Loki’s strength, not his; Thor’s strength had always lain in the arm that swung Mjolnir, but this was not a problem that could be solved by hitting anything with a hammer. And so Loki wasn’t the only one left feeling useless.

And he could see the truth in what Loki said -- if Thor had woken after a battle to find himself maimed, no longer able to swing his hammer or fight for the realms, it would have crushed him. Even the brief period of his exile, where he’d lost his power and been given a mortal life, had left him lost and bereft, with only Jane to guide him back to a sense of purpose.

He’d had Jane. And Steve... Steve had Loki. Thor reached out and squeezed his brother’s shoulder: “Then it is well that he has you, to give him strength and to care for his heart,” he said. Though in the back of his mind, the gears of thought slowly churned, searching for some better answer... some course of _action_ that might help.

“Do you... do you wish me to stay?” he asked. “Or would you rather have a moment alone...?”

  


“Is it? Is it well?” His words were sharp, and, he knew, all too inclined to cause harm. He was brittle, the edges of him broken and splintered from being smashed against his own poor fortune, his own misdeeds making him a target for all of the ills he’d suffered… but why Steve? Why did he deserve this?

And Thor… Thor also did not deserve Loki as he was now. But at least he was no longer truly tied to him by anything but choice; neither romantic love nor true kinship connected them. So he _could_ go. And he should-- they all should, lest, like Steve, they begin suffering for so much as being near him.

For being good to him.

Being kind.

“You should go back to your own mortal, Thor. Spend time with her, while her time lasts.”

Loki wished he had known, before Steve left, just how short their time might truly be.

How long would he stay asleep, this time?

How long would he last, once he woke?

Suddenly, he saw the foolishness of falling in love with something as impermanent as this, as his own partner. It felt like Loki would blink, and it would be over, too brief and fragile, too perfect to ever have lasted. He couldn’t breathe for his grief.

  


Thor wavered, then nodded, giving Loki’s shoulder a last squeeze before letting go. “I will return later to see how the both of you fare,” he said, “and perhaps we can share another meal this evening.”

He suspected it would prove a challenge, striking a balance between giving him space and allowing Loki too much time to stew in his grief. And striking a balance between being there for his brother, and also seeking out any other possible way of helping Steve. He held in a sigh, lingering in the doorway for a moment, wishing he could think of something pithy and kind and helpful to say. Their mother was always skilled at saying the right thing at the right time to mend hurts; their father at dispensing cutting wisdom.

But no words came, and so ultimately, he beat a silent retreat.

  


* * *

 

He could not heal him, could not even stroke the sides of his face without causing his partner some harm, but he could apply ointment to the abrasions in his skin, to the bruises.

He kept his movements slow and his touches gentle, and by the time he was done he had used more than half of the new jar that Thor had given him… and that did not even touch Steve’s poor back, which he had heard about being branded, and he knew was hurt, but that he had not seen, himself, and could not turn or float him to access without upsetting his partner’s hurts or dislodging the machines that were helping him.

And so, having exhausted his use again, he settled by Steve’s side and touched his hair gently, whispering to him constantly but saying very little-- all of the things he wanted to say to him would wait until he was awake. He deserved to be alert for every apology that Loki owed him. Instead, he told him the things he wouldn’t mind repeating-- how much he loved him, how he was here, and safe, how he would watch over Steve while he slept. How they were going to do everything they could to help him. How glad he was to have Steve back, and, finally, tearful pleas that he wake soon, that he recover. That he not leave Loki alone like that again.

He would have been content to be left alone, to keep up his words and his touches, uninterrupted save by the doctors coming in and out, adjusting and adding more fluids into Steve’s drip bags… but of course Steve was well loved, and Loki couldn’t very well expect everyone else who had played a part in saving him to just stay away.

  


“Oh!” Pepper said from the doorway, intruding on the quiet of the room, one hand clasped over her mouth to belatedly stifle the exclamation. Tony stood a pace behind her, looking vaguely grim. “Oh, Steve...”

She took a step forward, then paused, looking to Loki with overbright eyes. “Is it okay if we come in?”

  


Loki stood, tucking his hands behind his back as he took in who was at the door, then he nodded and gestured that she could have the chair, if she liked.

“Please-- there is no sense in your lingering outside.”

The room was not a huge space, though, and he wondered if he ought to excuse himself, to give them room. If nothing else, for privacy, though he had a feeling that both of them knew more about the medical theories at work here than he did.

  


It was all the permission she needed to rush forward, heels clicking rapidly against the linoleum as she moved to wrap Loki in a hug.

“Oh, hon,” she murmured, then pulled back. “How is he? How are _you?_ I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you got back, I was in California for a meeting and my plane got grounded due to bad weather and I _just_ got back, but I swear, Dr. Cho is one of the best doctors in the world, she’s a pioneer in the field and if Steve needs _anything--_ ”

She broke off, catching herself rambling, and flushed faintly pink. “I’m sorry. I just... I’m glad you got him back. How are you holding up?”

Behind her, Stark had shuffled into the room and was doing his best not to stare at Steve, subtly getting a look at the chart hooked to the foot of his bed and poking around the room.

  


Loki did not know that he would ever grow entirely used to Pepper’s hugs, how sudden and sincere they always were, but he was at least growing quicker to respond to them.

“Don’t apologize; it is your hard work funding the good treatment you are supplying him.”

His platitudes were as hollow as the rest of him, though her warmth went a little ways to help.

“You can see how he is. I am… until he wakes, it is as if I have not brought him back at all. After that… we will see.” It seemed an unkind thing to say,but he did not have the room in him to give her hope. It was all he could do to try and let them feel involved, in some way useful… which sent his mind scrambling.

Loki turned to Stark, and his quick glance of all of the things wrong with his partner.

”I took the news of his state passing poorly yesterday, and terrorized your doctor Cho. I don’t suppose either of you has any ideas for some gift I may give, when I beg her pardon?”

It did not do, after all, to keep the ire of the woman providing his partner’s care.

  


Pepper put a hand on his arm. “I’ll talk to her and smooth things over. God knows I’ve been doing it for years when it’s been Tony causing trouble--”

“Hey!”

She turned and raised an eyebrow at Stark, who opened his mouth, then stopped, appeared to contemplate, then shrugged. “Okay, yeah, I got nothing.”

Pepper returned her attention to Loki. “I think a heartfelt apology from you will do just fine for now, given everything you’re dealing with. Anything necessary beyond that, Stark Industries can take care of.”

“Yeah, we’ll just throw another million on her research funding. Though on the topic of presents -- and yeah, not my best segue, I’ll grant you --” Stark lifted a familiar oblong object out from the lining of his jacket, holding it out to Loki. “Remembered how much Steve took to reading to you when it was you laid up the last time. Figuring you could do with something to keep you from getting bored. And JARVIS can remotely download you any new titles you want, all you gotta do is ask.”

  


He’d intended them to feel useful, not for them to feel as though they had to throw money at a problem, that, admittedly, may not be much of one.

Still, however they thought it was best.

Loki nodded. “Thank you,” He told them both, and took the Stark Pad from him, hands carefully controlled and not trembling.

“I… don’t even know if he can hear me.” He admitted. “The majority of these injuries are… it is outside of my understanding. On Asgard, you are dead, or poisoned, or… things are broken, certainly, but that can be healed in a little time. Almost anything else can be healed in a single sitting. Gout, a cough… it’s just a matter of realigning energies. This… I do not have any experience with this.” He looked back down at his partner, not sure if he expected anything to have changed, but there he was, just laying there, small and hurt and far too still.

He looked to Pepper, certain his face was open now, rendered so by her care.

“I am told it may be months before he wakes. And he has been so afraid, in the past, of sleeping through time, through years… he is going to be upset when he opens his eyes and time has passed. I hesitate to ask-- what day is it, and how long was he gone exactly?”

  


Pepper pressed her lips together. “Today is the eighteenth of December.”

“And we lost track of Cap on the 16th of November. So it’s been about a month,” Tony concluded. “Which isn’t so bad when you put it next to seventy years, really...”

“He’ll wake up,” Pepper said, forcing a smile. “He’s Steve. He’s a very stubborn man. And we’ll make sure he gets the best care possible.”

“And hopefully the only tech he’ll have to readjust to is the new iPhone. Or three. I mean, how many of the damn things do they need to put our a year? I tell you, the StarkPhone at least _holds up_ over time--”

“Tony.”

He stopped, offering a small, guilty look. “Look, anything he needs or you need, we got it covered, okay?”

Loki gave them a tight smile back, and nodded. “I appreciate it, truly. And I am certain he does, as well. Or will, when he is able again. Thank you. Did-- would you like some time to yourselves with him? I can--” he gestured towards the door with the hand with his free hand, StarkPad clutched to his side.  
It felt awkward, him being unsure of his role here.

  
He couldn’t very well just sit down and offer to read to all of them, could he? That would be ridiculous.

Besides, he’d yet to decide even what he would read. And he would need to find something to drink, before he made the effort.

“Oh, we wouldn’t dream of putting you out,” Pepper assured him. “We just wanted to stop in and check up on the both of you.”

“Though if you want to take a break from the bedside vigil-ing, you know where to find us,” Tony added, his gaze lingering on Steve. 

Pepper went in for one more hug. “I’m sure we’ll be back. Don’t hesitate to drop by or call if there’s anything you need. Even if it’s just a comfier chair.”

  


Loki pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose at Tony over Pepper’s shoulder, well aware that he wouldn’t ask to be given anything more comfortable while Steve lay there as uncomfortable as his body could make him.

“Thank you both again, so much. I don’t know where we would go if we didn’t have you and the tower to come home to.” The words were easily said, for all that they were true, and Loki was glad that was one worry he was free of, for now.

He would not have to concern himself with their making him leave, at least until he and Steve could talk again-- about the things said and done while Steve was gone, and that last argument they had had before.

“Thank you for coming to visit, as well.” Loki said, and squeezed Pepper one last time before releasing her.

  


With a few more well-wishes, they made their departure. A nurse came by and checked on Steve, replacing his IV bag and changing some of his bandages. Outside the window of the sickroom, the sun sank over the city, which lit up with lights to fill the darkness that fell earlier with each passing day.

Carter was the next to come by, now in the evening, standing in the doorway with a pinched look on her face as she looked at Steve.

“The whole team has been asking out for him,” she finally said softly. “I figured it would be best to wait a bit before asking about them visiting, but I...” she trailed off, then shook her head. “Sorry. I just wanted you to know I called Aunt Peggy, to let her know we got him back. I don’t know if she remembered what you told her or if she just thought he was still lost from the war, but-- She seemed happy about the news.”

  


Loki felt himself smile in spite of everything else.

“Good, she deserves that happiness.” He waved his arm, inviting her in, though he knew Steve may be cross with him later for having let others see him this way-- Loki knew he would be, were the roles reversed. But even still, she deserved to be able to answer her younger agents’ questions.

His voice had grown tired quickly, his self imposed exile during the time Steve had been gone causing him to be less able to talk at length. And he knew he should see to himself, feed and get something more to drink than the small paper cups worth of tap water that he had managed.

He could not help but wonder if Peggy would recognize Steve this way-- he was no doubt still larger than when she met him, but his body was so emaciated, Loki thought it may be comparable, and his heart went out again to his partner.

“The rest of them are settling in well enough, I hope? I am certain that Darcy is grateful for their presence, if nothing else.” Garza or Bradley or Murray would be people whom she could be loud at who would not become instantly confused by her babble, he hoped. And perhaps they could use the levity. “You are not being reassigned now that he is returned, are you? Not yet at least. I have no doubt he will wish to meet you all, once he is… when he wakes.”

  


Carter snorted delicately, stepping inside and leaning against the wall. “Darcy’s the loud one, right?” she asked with a faint grin. “Yeah, she and Sarah-- sorry, Agent Garza, are getting on like a house on fire. Also I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bradley that flustered by another human being.”

Looking at Rogers in the bed, she found herself thinking not of the SHIELD dossier photos or propaganda posters with Captain America’s image splashed on them, but of the small framed photo of a skinny recruit in an overlarge white t-shirt her aunt had always kept on her nightstand. It was a lot easier to see the resemblance now than any other time she’d seen Rogers from across the Triskelion, or on the nightly news.

“I don’t think we will be,” she answered. “Fury approached me about liaising with the Avengers before Rogers was reported missing. I can’t guarantee none of the others won’t be reassigned, but I’ll put up a fight if the paper pushers in DC try.” The corner of her mouth tugged up ruefully. “You should be stuck with us for a while yet. Especially since I don’t plan on letting you guys be without backup until HYDRA is sorted out once and for all.”

  


Loki looked up at her, startled.

Already he’d forgotten that they intended to take out the rest of the people who had done this. He’d been so busy letting himself slip into loathing and hopelessness, he’d forgotten his anger. His wish for revenge. That he needed to see to it that the rest of Steve’s blood, and any research they had gained from it, was destroyed.

He couldn’t decide whether Steve would like that or not, his forgetting to be violent.

“Good.” He settled on. “I’m glad. That you’ll be here, I mean. Has there been any progress in learning where we should look next? I know Stark said there was much to go through, but…” He shrugged. “My priorities have been here.”

Not that he was doing much good where he was. But he’d told Steve that he would be there when he woke. So this was where he would stay.

“And yourself and your team? How are you all doing, after… getting back?”

What he really wanted to know was how much they feared him, now, how much of their acceptance of the news of his and Steve’s partnership was due to their having seen him effectively murdering a hundred people, an entire building… he wondered what they thought they had seen, in him. How mad he must have looked.

Or if there had been anything worse than him in that wreckage. They were all so young, after all.

  


If Carter felt any surprise at Loki’s claim that he was glad of their continued presence, she kept it mostly contained.

“They’re a little shook up, considering most of them haven’t seen much field action, but they’re bouncing back fine,” she replied. “I’m working on keeping them busy, to be honest; I have Ferra running down a lead with an asset in Italy, and I put in an order for some old SHIELD files from the SSR days to be shipped to us to go through.”

She frowned, chewing the inside of her cheek, gaze distant. “The location where we found him... I’m pretty sure that was the same location of the first HYDRA base Captain America ever took down. The one where most of the 107th was being held after being captured in action near Azzano. Aunt Peg mentioned it when she told us Cap stories as kids, since that was the time she and Howard went AWOL and flew Rogers behind enemy lines... Which seems like entirely too big of a coincidence. Whoever was behind that call is someone who is pretty invested in HYDRA’s war history. But unfortunately, very few of the records from those days were ever digitized, so...” she trailed off with a grimace.

“Like I said, keeping them busy. And as for the data from the site, Stark still hasn’t released us anything -- says he’s going through to clean up any possible viruses or digital booby traps first. I think Garza’s a little insulted.”

  


Loki couldn’t help but smile at that.

“I do not know her well enough to speak to her ability, but given the way she managed to get you in here when you first arrived, I am sure he isn’t trying to insult her. Tony lives in a constant state of insulting others…. particularly when he’s worried.” He looked back at the man laid out on the bed, then paused, realizing how out of character for him all of this must seem.

“I… also do that, when I am worried.” He began, speaking as delicately as he was able.

“I realize I have not been as kind to you or your team, nor as grateful for your assistance in this as I should have been. And some of that was because I was under the impression I had a secret I had to keep…” He made a face, unimpressed with his own ability-- particularly when he was supposed to be getting better and learning how to face Thanos again.

“Still, I want you to know… I do appreciate all you have done. And all that you continue to do. All of you.”

He cleared his throat, self conscious.

“As for the location that we destroyed. I know that if it was the same place, it holds much meaning for Steve as well. If it is, and he does not know… I imagine it will be better saved for until he is fully awake and stable, before we tell him. If he did know, before he slept…” Loki trailed off, wondering how much worse that may have made things.

“We will know when he wakes, I suppose.”

He added that to the mental list of things to ask, to try-- he almost laughed at the thought-- to _try_ and get Steve to talk to him about.

  


She blinked a few times at him, then nodded. “Yes, I-- that does sound like the best approach, considering.”

She looked to Steve, then back at Loki, consideringly, before she slowly smiled. “And apology accepted. Considering a SHIELD agent was indeed a mole and responsible for some of this, I can hardly blame you for being cagey around us. I’d have probably been the same in your shoes.” Though glancing back to Steve, her smile diminished. “I’ll keep you posted on anything we turn up. It may take a while, but we at least have a lot more to work with now than we did before. Fury’s already got people looking into everything Scofield touched since he joined SHIELD. Which, speaking of...” She glanced down at her watch, “I’m supposed to call in pretty soon.”

  


Loki nodded.

“Go. Thank you for coming.”

He was getting nearly as tired of thank yous now as he had been of apologies before, and he knew he’d not yet given enough of either. Still, he could reach out now, could hold Steve’s hand. It was an improvement, however incremental.

Left alone, he sank back into the chair and allowed the silence to fill him, wishing so strongly for the slightest sounds of motion from Steve’s bed. But none came, save the rise and fall of his chest and the sounds of the machines.

He rested his head in his hands and wracked his mind for anything he could do, anything that would help.

He was tired, though, tired of every hope leading to another hurdle, tired of missing Steve.

His stomach protested and he sighed and stood with his waxed paper cup, the short walk to the sink as far as he’d moved that day, though the circles and repetition held no comfort. Just as the water held no real sustenance, but would do to silence his stomach, for a while.

  


It was well into the evening when Thor made his way back down to the medical levels; he’d been assured by JARVIS that others had been paying their respects and visiting, so Loki had not been alone the entire time. But as he also doubted Loki had taken the time to eat a midday meal on his own, he determined now would be an apt time to cut short his brother’s vigil that he could eat and rest, again.

He ran into one of the physicians, Dr. Cho, on his way down. Thankfully, she appeared no worse for wear following Loki’s outburst the night before, and assured him that Steve appeared to be responding to the medicines they were pumping into his veins, and also that it was hardly the first time a patient’s loved one had reacted poorly to distressed news. He thanked her, bowing to kiss her hand, then made his way onward to Steve’s room to find his brother.

“Loki?” he asked from the doorway. “I thought you might come up for supper.”

  


His grip on his cup tightened, and he felt the smile that he pushed to his face just a bit too far onto the side of tightness, but he paused in place and turned to see Thor.

He was trying to help; that was all. Loki knew this. But he also knew that he was in a poor mood for company-- some of which, certainly, was because he had not eaten, but still-- he wanted to grab Thor’s puppy-eager face and smash it through the glass of the door.

Instead, he breathed.

“While I appreciate the thought, Thor,” He began, then stopped. He’d managed to be at least passingly kind to everyone else that day. And Thor was trying, perhaps harder than any other, to help Loki specifically.

Perhaps he only bristled because he wanted that care from Steve. But Steve was in no fit state, and may not be for some time.

Loki would have to take it where he could get it.

He sighed and sat the empty, partially crushed cup on the table near his seat.

“Yes, brother.” He said. “I would like that.”

He just hoped that Steve would wake soon… but not while he was gone.

  


Thor smiled, patiently waiting for his brother to rise before moving to the door. “I have cooked a stew, with Lady Natasha’s guidance for ingredients unique to Midgard. Though overall the aroma is not unlike the campfire meals we shared on quests,” he assured him, walking out into the corridor. “Also, Jane is away for the evening visiting an old friend in the city, and Lady Darcy appears to be enjoying the company of the SHIELD agents, so you need not worry about intruding on either of them.”

He may have... _encouraged_ Darcy to spend time with her new friends, once Jane had shared her intention of spending an evening with an old college friend in a place called the village (though why it was called such when it was very clearly still part of the city and not a village at all, Thor couldn’t fathom.) Loki had been less tense over breakfast than he had during dinner before, and Thor had a suspicion that the company he had shared may have played a role.

When they reached his rooms, he quickly made to dish up bowls of the stew, simmering on the stove. Beef and carrots and potatoes floated in a thickened brown broth, nearly rich enough to eat with a fork. It would be best washed down with some Asgardian ale, which he sadly lacked, but two bottles of Midgardian cider would do well enough in a pinch.

“I understand the Lady Pepper has returned?” he asked, placing the bowls at the table, doubling back to the kitchen to grab silverware for them both.

  


“Yes.” Loki said, looking miserably down into his soup.

It smelled delightful, and he was hungry, but the scent reminded him first of home-- of the pubs they had gone to as younger men, and then of Steve, bringing stew to him, eating it with him… and then the restaurant, where he’d ordered everything wrong, and Steve had reassured him.

And it hurt, it stung, how much both Asgard and Steve had begun to feel like parts of his life that would be forever lost to him.

He was tired, though. He tried to tell himself that it was just the exhaustion, the hunger… it was easier to feel overwhelmed with hopelessness when he hadn’t seen to himself as he knew he ought.

“She and Tony came down, and so did Sharon Carter, today.” It felt like a report, more than a conversation, but he was firmly mired in his own mood, now. He would apologize, but that he could not stop it, and he may as well save his sorries for when it was over, and spare them both the repetitions.

  


Thor nodded, slurping down a mouthful of stew. He knew as much from JARVIS, but did not want to share as much, lest Loki assume Thor was spying on him out of any sort of lack of trust, rather than concern.

“That is good to hear. I’ve been told the others all wish to visit as well, but plan to space out their visits so as not to be too much at once.” Though there was little risk of Steve being overwhelmed, oblivious to the world as he was, the concern was primarily for Loki in his present fragile state.

Thor took a sip of cider and another bite of stew, which he chewed thoughtfully. “You and Steve have a great many friends here,” he reflected, watching Loki’s expression carefully.

It troubled him, how after all these centuries growing up side by side, he found himself struggling to read his own brother’s face.

  


“Have we?” Loki asked, utterly noncommittal. He took his first spoonful and nearly closed his eyes with the pleasure of it. “I suppose I am glad of that. Steve will no doubt need the support of them, when he wakes. He is much happier when he feels appreciated. I am sure they will all be glad to see him.”

The dinner was good, warm and, as he’d said once, stew, no matter where you went, nearly always tasted near enough the same to be recognizable. This was not even the worst of the stews he had ever had.

Not even the worst by Thor’s hand.

“Your cooking has improved.” He commented, glad at least that he had that much to contribute to the conversation.

He felt wrung out, not lost for words, exactly, but unwilling to reach for them. Too exhausted to bother.

  


“Jane saw to it that I learned to cook some basic Midgardian fare when I was first exiled,” Thor explained, jumping on to the opening for a topic of small talk. Anything unrelated to Steve would hopefully distract Loki from his woes. “She said I might be a prince in Asgard, but here on Midgard, everyone takes their equal turn helping in the kitchen. I was... a bit miffed at the time, I confess, but I do believe I’ve benefitted.”

He smiled at the memory of making eggs for Erik and Darcy, settling into a routine as he accepted that a mortal life might not be quite so terrible, so long as he made the best of it. It had been short-lived, but pleasant. And being back on Midgard now with Jane as a friend and lover, fighting with his shield brothers the Avengers as a warrior of Asgard, and spending time with his brother as a son of Odin, it seemed as if he had everything he wanted.

Or he would, once Steve was better and the pall of grief and anxiety lifted from the tower and Loki smiled easily once again.

“Both of us are such better versions of ourselves, I think, for spending time here,” he mused. “Perhaps it ought to be a tradition, for Asgard to send all her princes to live on Midgard for a time.”

  


Loki stared for a long moment at Thor, then laughed and shook his head, a single thought propelling him into near-hysterical mirth.

“Do you suppose we could somehow bind Odin’s gifts and send him here? Perhaps he stands to benefit more than most.” And then they could bring those they loved home-- Loki could get Steve treated in Asgard. The healers would no doubt know some way, have some way…

Loki’s smile slipped away, and he turned his face down, devoting his attention fully to his bowl.

“It is unfair.” He said softly, then looked up. “When you came, before, when you took Jane with you… where did you go?”

  


Thor hesitated. “We went to Asgard. I brought her to Eir after... There was something inside her that lashed out. The Aether, though I did not know it at the time, beyond that it was not of this realm.”

He could sense where Loki might go with this; that he might wish to bring Steve to Asgard as Thor had with Jane. Though given how badly Steve was injured...

“He might not survive the bifrost, if you tried to bring him,” he cautioned quietly, hating himself for speaking the words, even if they were true. “And Father... he was against treating Jane. And if you were to return, after having escaping the dungeons--”

He could envision it now; Loki being cast back into the cells and Steve being turned out, Odin in his exhaustion and anger refusing to make Asgard a refuge for any mortal his sons took a shining to. And without Frigga at his side to temper him, Thor had seen the depths of his father’s capacity for ire and spite.

  


Loki could feel himself folding inward.

Jane had no Aether in her now, regardless of whether Odin had been for treating her or not. But Thor was right-- because it was _Loki,_ because Steve was mortal… they would get no help from Asgard.

He swallowed, trying to disperse what felt like the beginnings of a sob low in his throat.

He raised another spoonful of stew to his lips, ignoring the way his hand shook and hoping Thor would do the same.

“I am sorry, brother. I did not mean to recall your recent hardships.” He did not look up, though, either, not yet ready to face Thor and his overt care, his obvious concern.

And so Loki was truly helpless, unable to do anything for his partner-- sheerly because of who he was.

“I miss mother.”

He didn’t know why he said it. The thought was hardly in his mind before it came out his mouth, but it was enough to make him lay his spoon on the table beside the bowl, reminding him of how entirely complete his grief was; that the whole of his family was now either in sick beds or sitting before him.

And he had lost each of them, to some extent, just the same.

  


Thor lowered his spoon, throat too tight now to swallow.

Mother. Mother would know what to do, what to say -- she’d be able to comfort Loki as Thor could not. Of all of them, she’d always known Loki best, and been closest to him. What he’d give for her counsel right now, he couldn’t even fathom.

“Perhaps...” he paused, floundering, voice strained. “Perhaps when she is recovered, I might bring her to visit under the auspices of meeting the Avengers.”

He reached out and put his hand near to Loki’s on the table. “She would love to see you, I am sure. And meet Steve...”

  


For a moment, Loki pressed his hand to his lips, not trusting himself to speak, lids lowered and not trusting his eyes, wet now, not to give him further away as the weakling he had become.

Or, had always been, but that until recently, he had been better able to hide.

“Mother does not know the man I have become.” Loki said at length. “I think she would not know me, would not recognize…” He trailed off. “And were I anything resembling a good son, I would go now, would visit her while she was ill, and not force her to come here, regardless of my status on Asgard. Before… before Steve, I would have. Might have.” He corrected, uncertain-- after all, before Steve, he’d planned only to die at the hands of Thanos.

But that reminded him--

“Just as, before Jane, you would have come to me, when you found yourself in need. When the Dark Elves came… why her? Surely you must have known-- Tell me honestly: Is it because you know now what I am?”

It was easier to be hurt in this way, easier to be offended- to be _angry_. It always had been, and Loki was always the quickest to take the easier path.

  


Thor looked at him in confusion.

“Loki... I came to Jane because Heimdall saw her vanish through a gap in reality. I was worried for her, and knew where she was. The Dark Elves came after the Aether. I did not--”

He stopped, drawing a deep breath. “You had vanished. I knew not where in the realms you were. Believe me, many times since your fall, I found myself wishing I had you at my side and realizing what I had taken for granted for so long. I did not seek you out after you escaped from the dungeons, in part...” he hesitated, licking his lips, still salty from the stew. “In part because it made my heart ache to think of you rotting in a cell for all eternity, and I couldn’t bear to be the one to put you there again.”

Reaching over the last few inches, he took hold of Loki’s fingers in his own. “Never once has the knowledge that we are not the same blood changed that. Nor would it for mother. I am certain that she will be most proud of the man you have become when she sees you again.”

  


He flinched at the touch and pulled his hand away, standing and snarling.

“The _man_ .” He scoffed. “Hardly that. I have yet to find the proper word for what I am, but man is not it. Creature comes closer-- _monster_ perhaps. That is what you would have called a beast such as I once, is it not? A _man_ ,” he declared, ceasing his retreat and turning again to face Thor, though the tears were no longer contained in his eyes-- they streaked across his face, but he did not bother to wipe them away, to try and hide them. “A _man_ would find a way to help the one he loved. As you did. As Odin has for mother-- as I cannot. Because I am not.”

He hated this; hated it all so much.

“Your Jane is more _man_ than I. I could not so much as find Steve--” His words broke off, and his throat closed, as though he were choking on all of the hurt and all of the vileness rising up within him-- everything he had been trying to keep down since before Steve had gone missing.

He felt as if he might retch, and his true self might emerge from the shell left behind.

  


Thor flinched at the names Loki called himself, suddenly feeling the soup in his belly turn to lead. This was not-- he hadn’t meant--

Shoving his chair back, he got to his feet, circling around the table and standing before Loki, putting his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “You are not a monster, Loki,” he declared, trying to get Loki to meet his eyes. “You are _not._ And as you have been so fond of saying in the past, I am a fool. A fool who spoke cruelly of a people he knew nothing of, and if I could take those words back, Norns, but I would.”

How often now he wished he could travel backward in time to throttle his younger self and perhaps hammer some common sense through his own thick skull. Knowing now what he did about Loki’s heritage, he could hardly think of any of the things he’d said about the frost giants without feeling bile rise, sick with shame.

“If you were truly a monster, Loki,” he said, more softly, “you would not feel this pain. A true monster would feel no love, no care, but this?” He reached forward and lightly touched his knuckles to Loki’s chest. “This suffering? I felt it when Eir told me the Aether would devour Jane from the inside out. I felt it when I thought Malekith had slain Mother. And I felt it when I--” he swallowed the lump in his throat that sought to choke him, “--When I watched you let go of Gungnir. It is the fear and loss and grief we feel over those we love when we think we are losing them, and you love so very deeply, brother.” He shook his head. “How could you be a monster?”

  


Loki shook his head miserably, but did not dislodge his brother’s grip on his shoulders, instead reaching up to hold one of his hands in place.

“How can I be anything else, with all I have done?” He asked, but he could not think of a question he had ever wanted answered _less._

He stepped in and grasped his brother in a hug, clutched at him and hid his face in his chest, as he had done often when they were both much younger.

“You _are_ a fool.” He told him, words muffled. “You and Mother, and Steve as well, to try and love a monster like me. To open yourselves to this kind of hurt-- how did you survive long enough to have a coronation for me to ruin?” He tried to turn the words into a joke, but he was too deep in the bog of his own despair. It all just came out so maudlin.

But Thor was not pushing him away, and so Loki held on, afraid it would truly be the months they had said it might, the months until Steve may wake up again, until he felt this, felt a pair of arms around him, felt safe and _allowed_ to be weak, and to cry, and to loose all of the fears he’d kept within his chest for so long.

“I _do_ love him.” He said next, unsure why he felt the need to insist it, but he did. “I love him so profoundly--” So profanely, with all of his twisted, bitter heart. He leaned his head forward to rest against his brother, and sobbed.

  


“I know,” Thor rumbled softly, holding Loki tight, wrapping him up in his arms against his chest and keeping him there. “I know. And we love you because you are no monster. You are Loki. And you are clever and insightful and passionate and sharp and vicious and you are absolutely _infuriating_ sometimes, but you are not a monster.”

He let one hand trace circles on Loki’s back, the way their mother used to comfort them as children. “You are no monster,” he repeated softly, awkwardly shuffling them over to the couch, steering Loki backward without loosening his hold on him. “Sit,” he instructed, lowering them so Loki could collapse against him.

He thought of when Loki and he had been children and shared a nursery; when Loki had been plagued by poor dreams and Thor, barely any bigger than his sibling, had felt the need to comfort him, wrapping his own quilt around Loki and awkwardly patting him with clumsy toddler hands, assuring him that all would be well.

How many centuries had it been?

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.” _I won’t let you fall this time._

  


He didn’t realize how much the words would help, simple and foolish and kind as they were. Or how so small a thing as circles on his back would bring such strong memories, such a feeling of safety-- he did not mean to cry so hard, to let the sobs wrack him so deeply, but they did, and exhausted as he was, they rocked his body all the way into an uneasy rest. There, on Thor and in the living room of his shared apartment, Loki slept.

  


Long after Loki’s quaking sobs finally smoothed out and the tremors that wracked his body eased into a slow rise-and-fall, Thor finally extricated himself from his brother’s grip. Mindful not to wake him, he eased Loki down on to the couch, tucking a cushion beneath his head and pulling the afghan Darcy had artfully arranged over the back of the seat down over him.

Loki’s eyelids were red with crying, his cheeks tear-streaked, but his face had eased in sleep; it was a temporary peace, at best, but it was better than nothing. Still, Thor ached with the knowledge that come morning, Loki would be mourning at Steve’s bedside once again.

Steve, who they could not bring to Asgard for aid, and for whom Loki could do little with Asgard’s gates closed to him.

But Thor...

He frowned, the beginnings of a plan gestating in his mind. After a moment’s pause, he found himself smiling, and leaned down to press a quick familial kiss to the top of Loki’s head as he smoothed his hair.

“Sleep, brother,” he whispered:

“All will be well.”

 


	74. Seventy-Four

The sounds that woke him could best be described as hissing, or perhaps spitting, and Loki sat up and instantly found his feet, looking bleary eyes around for the source of the noise.

Equally disarming, and perhaps even moreso, was that he was not in his own rooms nor at Steve’s side, but had fallen asleep in Thor’s living area, and apparently the lout had thought it better to leave him there than to send him off.

Which, of course, meant that the sounds were most likely coming from some peculiarity of one of his brother’s mortal companions.

Loki’s bets, had he that inclination, would be on the loud one.

Still, it seemed to come from the kitchen, and it smelled wonderful-- like the awful drink that Steve had had him try at their hotel, the night after they’d first…

It was a terrible drink.

But it meant that someone was awake, meant they had seen him, already, and that it would be passing poor form for him to slink out, shamed, into the hall and to his own room to change, before taking the elevator and returning to Steve’s side, though he was very much tempted to do just that.

Still. He had made enough of a fool of himself, at least for some time, and he did feel better for having got some of it all out of his system the night before. And so he wandered into the kitchen, the word, “Thor?” tripping from his tongue before he’d even seen that he was not in the kitchen at all, that it was Jane, and she was alone.

“Sorry. Good morning, Jane.” He said instead, already unsteady and uncertain of his welcome, without his brother there.

 

“Jesus!” Jane nearly dropped the mug she’d been retrieving from the cabinet at the sound of a voice behind her. Lowering it to the countertop she turned around, then offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry, you startled me...” Her mind had been lightyears away, still on the data she’d been processing shortly before coming back up to her and Thor’s apartment for more coffee (after the cataclysmic discovery that the lab had run out of dark roast).

“Good morning to you too. Or, er, almost afternoon, I guess,” she remarked with a sideway glance at the digital clock over the stove. “Sorry if I woke you. I was trying to be quiet...”

In spite of the late hour, Thor’s little brother still looked as if he could sleep for another full day. His hair was mussed with bedhead, and on anyone else it might have been cute; but with Loki, Jane found herself bracing for morning grouchiness on top of his usually prickly disposition.

Although... ‘good morning’ was more civil than she usually got from him, so perhaps she could hold out hope of this being the start of some kind of detente. Swallowing, she opened the cabinet, ready to reach for a second mug. “Would you like some coffee? I made a whole fresh pot,” she offered.

 

He cleared his throat to fill some of the near-silence, spitting of the coffee maker now ignored in favor of the words that he was meant to be finding.

“Thank you; no-- it seems I’ve no taste for the stuff. And I am sorry to have inconvenienced-- that you felt you needed to be quiet for my sake. It is not common practice for me to sleep on my brother’s couch, I must assure you of that.” He intentionally put on his most charming self-deprecating smile, the sort he’d once used to ensure the maids in the palace would not be too cross with him after his trickery was revealed, despite the additional work it would mean for them.

In plainer speak, or thought, as the case was, he smiled like this only when he’d behaved dreadfully.

And he knew he had.

So now he took in the woman before him under a different light-- she looked dishevelled, almost unkempt, and where before he might have commented unfavorably on that, now he turned it into some small degree of concern, given his knowledge of her habits.

“Have you not slept? Surely you can spare the time, now Steve’s been returned? Unless there is a direly pressing concern I’ve not been made aware of.” Again, that smile, inviting now, urging her to share the joke with him, and he made himself sound teasingly incredulous, rather than accusatory.

Usually, women responded well to such attention from him.

 

Jane hesitated. This... was weird. Loki was being _nice._

Loki. Who as far as she’d been able to tell up to this morning had _hated_ her. Or at least made it clear he didn’t like or respect her. He’d been stiffly civil at dinner a couple nights ago, but she figured that was largely due to his mind being elsewhere. And while she might have accepted ‘civil’, ‘nice’ was getting right on into Twilight Zone territory -- which was coming from someone who worked on _wormholes_ for a living.

Could it really have just been Captain Rogers’ absence that had made him so mean? Or was she being set up for something? Thor had talked about Loki’s knack for practical jokes when they were kids and she had to wonder if she was walking into something here.

Still, if Loki actually was being genuine, reacting badly _now_ (after spending _weeks_ trying to be the bigger person) would probably just set them back to everything being ten times worse. And Thor was so convinced, so joyful that Loki was different now. Even if he had sent a fire-breathing murderbot after them a few years ago.

Warily, she licked her dried lips. “No major concern, no. Just got some new readings when Thor took off this morning and I’ve been going over them all morning -- I’ve been letting my data sit all this time, so this is the first chance I’ve had to work on my personal research for a month now.” She poured herself a lone mug of coffee, then reached for the packets of sweetener, tearing two open to dump in. “And it’s no inconvenience -- I’m glad you got some rest, even if our couch isn’t the comfiest in the world. You must have needed it.”

 

He knew she had said more after, but his mind seized on a single subject.

“Thor… left?” He asked, surprised, and unpleasantly so. His stomach seemed to become small and made of ice, heavy and cold and plummeting within him.

Why would Thor leave? Had he-- had Loki said or done something to drive him away?

He took a deep shuddering breath and refused to wrap his arms around himself, though he had the urge, refused to let his shoulders collapse inwards. Not now, not in front of this woman, this usurper-- though he knew that wasn’t fair. He was hurt, and he would hurt her-- again-- if he wasn’t careful, even when he was meant to be grateful.

She’d been the one to find Steve. He needed to remind himself of that.

Still…

“Do you know when he will be back?” The words were smaller than he wanted them to be.

 

“Oh...” Jane hesitated, lowering the cup she’d been about to sip and placing it on the counter. “I’m sorry, I-- I thought you must have talked it over last night. He took off early this morning, right as I was getting home from Amanda’s.” She’d figured Loki probably knew more than _her._ If he hadn’t even known Thor was gone, and now she was the bearer of bad news--

Her mouth went a little dry, and she might have panicked if Loki didn’t look so-- so--

Sad. And small. He was almost Thor’s height, how the hell did he manage to look small? It had to be the bedhead or something.

“I don’t, I’m sorry,” she said, keeping her voice gentle. “He just left by Bifrost this morning. He didn’t say much to me -- just that there was something he had to do on Asgard and it was urgent.” And that Loki was sleeping on the couch; he’d at least had the good grace to warn her about _that_. “I’m sure he plans on being back soon.”

Though she still had her doubts as to Thor’s understanding of what ‘soon’ meant to non-immortals. Did Thor expect her to look out for Loki in the meantime?

“Can- can I get you anything?” she asked. “If you don’t like coffee, we have juice, and there’s cereal and bread for toast if you’re hungry.”

 

“No.” He said firmly, followed by a much meeker, “Thank you, but no.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, keeping him from crossing his arms or fidgeting, or doing any of those habits of his which closed him off, made him feel adversarial. He had no wish to alienate her further.

The most pressing thing he needed to do now was get away, go to his own rooms and even himself out.

Clearly Thor had… something. Reconsidered, perhaps. Changed his mind; though his timing was… well. Thor had often mocked him for his quickness to tear up, when they were younger. His weakness had always bothered him. Loki should have known better than to behave as he did the night before.

He just hoped that the thing he needed to do in Asgard was not to alert Odin or Heimdall to Loki’s whereabouts.

Though-- perhaps that was it. Thor, idiot that he was, probably thought that if Loki was captured again, he could prove himself now, could prove that he had changed… and once Odin accepted that, perhaps Thor thought Steve might get help from Asgard.

But Loki knew what Thor did not; that no matter what he did, how he presented himself, he would never be accepted. Odin had said as much, hadn’t he? And they had all proven as much, with actions more than words, for centuries.

No, for Steve’s sake, Loki could do everything right, and still come away the loser. But what was more, he would not abandon Steve for this folly.

“I have no idea why he has gone. But I imagine that I have spent enough time intruding; I will return to Steve now and get out of your hair. Ah-- when Thor returns, if you see him before I do, will you… tell him to find me? I fear I may owe him an apology.” Loki let his gaze slide away from her, ashamed.

He owed her many apologies, though until she had cause to believe him, it would be useless to make them. He cleared his throat a little.

“And if, ah, if there is anything you need that I may assist with in Thor’s absence, you need only ask. Or have JARVIS ask, whatever is more convenient.”

 

Jane chewed her lip, brow furrowing in consternation. The Loki standing in front of her was nothing like the abrasive jerk she’d been doing her best not to be too offended by in the lab these past weeks. Even less like the guy who invaded New York (who she would have readily slapped if not for everything that had happened since, alien godhood be damned). If this sympathetic, sad thing was an act, it was a hell of a good one.

“I’ll tell him. And thank you, I--” She drew a breath, taking a step forward. Jane didn’t think of herself as naive, but she did generally try to think the best of people and extend the benefit of the doubt when she could. It had worked wonders with Thor, after all. Maybe Loki deserved more of the same.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot. And I’m hoping we can fix that. Because Thor is really important to me and you’re really important to him, and we live close and have a lot of the same friends, and--” she made a vague gesture toward everything around them. “I want the two of us to be okay. And I know that you probably have a lot more friends here that you’re closer with than me, and I don’t mean to be presumptuous or anything, but if there’s anything I can do...”

She took another step forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “I just want you to know I’m happy to help however I can. If you ever want to talk or just have company or be distracted -- I can’t guarantee I won’t start nerding out on you about physics, but I’ll make an effort -- you’re always welcome here.” She offered up a small smile. “And it isn’t ‘intruding.’ You’re family here.”

He was Thor’s family, anyway. And Thor was... well, Thor was Thor, and part of the weird little family Jane had somehow drawn into her orbit, like a small outer planet pulling in passing asteroids as moons.

 

Loki wasn’t certain what strange dance the muscles of his face went through at the word family, before he managed to smooth it back down into bland nothingness, before he managed to replace the mask.

“Getting off on the wrong foot implies a level of shared responsibility; the fault is entirely mine. I apologize for the difficulties I have created between us. I am certain…. well, if you will forgive me, I will attempt not to be so… I’m sorry.” he finally landed on, finally forced himself to say, though he knew he’d been unbearably awkward on the way there.

“You are very kind to me, even though I have behaved horribly towards you, and I do not deserve that kind of welcome. So thank you. And… it is easy to see why Thor is so drawn to you. You compliment him well.” He nodded to the cup in her hands.

“But I have kept you from your coffee long enough, and I should get back to Steve. I told him I’d be there when he woke, and no matter my reputation, I would rather not make a liar of myself on that count.” It was so formal and stiff he almost wanted to bow before he left, but he knew that was hardly the norm here.

Then he thought of something more:

“If you have questions… about the bifrost and the information you are harvesting from it, I may be able to shed some light on the subject that Thor could not. Perhaps we could speak of it… sometime.”

It was the least he could do, a sort of peace offering. Something to make himself useful. He just hoped that he had not completely missed the mark, as he so often did, in trying to get people to like him.

 

Jane’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes lighting up with a surge of delight. “Really? That would-- That would be _amazing!_ ”

Thor, of course, had explained what he could about the bifrost, but the bifrost ran on magic and Thor was a warrior. Loki _used_ magic; it would be the difference between having an internal combustion engine explained by someone who happened to drive a car, and having it explained by a mechanical engineer. Already her mind was bubbling with questions and it took all her self control not to start asking right away.

“I’d really appreciate that,” she told him instead. “Maybe... Maybe once Captain Rogers is back on his feet and things are less crazy around here.” It would be selfish to make demands of Loki’s time, after all, when he had someone he cared about laid up and hurt. Obviously he’d want to go spend time with him. “Whenever he wakes up, give him all our best.”

 

Loki felt his mouth curling upwards, though he knew it wasn’t the most kind, polite thing.

“Well, it may be some time. But if you are free, you are welcome to join me in the healing rooms. We can discuss things there as readily as anywhere else.”

If they could ignore the man stretched out between them, of course.

And the smell of sickness and antiseptics.

It was an unkind invitation. But too late to withdraw it now.

“At any rate, thank you again for your couch.”

He beat his retreat as quickly as possible, ducking into his apartment only shortly to change and grab one of Steve’s disgusting cardboard bars to eat, before making good on his words and returning to his bedside.

Nothing seemed to have changed, not really.

Loki knew that was to be expected, but it was still disheartening. Had HYDRA not done as much to him, Steve would have been noticeably better after such an absence.

Loki leaned over him and ran gentle fingertips over the air above his partner’s swollen jaw.

“I’m here, Steve. Like I promised. You can wake any time you like.”

He waited for a moment, hovering above him, as if he thought his words would do any good, as if his calling him would make Steve suddenly sit up, fill out, make the bruises recede and the breaks heal, and it would all be okay.

But of course, that was not how things worked.

“I miss you.” Loki said finally, the words hardly louder than the breath they were carried on. He sighed and pulled away, though not far, settling into the chair he’d abandoned before. He stared at the crumpled cup he’d left behind, and toyed with the thought of throwing it away, then with trying to force it back into the shape it had been before.

He left it where it sat, and instead opened the reading application on the StarkPad that Tony and Pepper had brought down.

 

* * *

 

Whatever the reason for Thor’s abandonment, it still stung.

It left Loki alone with Steve, which, had Steve _actually been there_ , Loki would have been grateful for. Instead, it was almost more lonely than his self-imposed isolation during their search had been.

He felt as if he had words forever perched at the back of his mouth, waiting to leap forth the very moment that Steve stirred, though he had no idea what he needed to say to him first, let alone if he would want to hear any of it.

Natasha came down the day Thor had gone, her presence solid and calming, though she did not stay for long. She didn’t have much to say, a demand that Loki remember to eat and to let them all know if anything changed, which he knew was her way of showing care.

She had even reached out and clasped his hand for a moment before leaving, which touched him more than he could communicate. But then she’d gone again.

The next day, Bruce had come to talk to Loki, again, and a brief while later, Steve had gone into surgery for his arm.

Fear and worry that he was making the wrong calls tore up the inside of Loki’s throat.

He didn’t read to Steve that day. Just held the hand of his good arm gently when he was finally allowed back into the room.

Ferra and Murray came by-- Sylvia and Ben, Loki was reminded, and they brought him warm soup from upstairs that had to be left out in the waiting area, since it could cause damage to the equipment in Steve’s room.

He was healing, but so slowly. The surgery seemed to have gone well, and Loki was grateful for that. He took small walks and even stopped in to talk to Doctor Ortega, two days after Thor had left, to apologize and offer any help he might give while he was down there all the time. (And useless for the single patient who mattered, he did not say, but felt sure it was understood just the same.)

And though Steve’s breaks were apparently mending, Steve’s breathing was worsening, the effort clear in the way his chest rose. More images were taken, and the doctors frowned in consternation at the pictures they received of Steve’s lungs. After some time the mask over his nose and mouth was deemed not to be enough, and the doctors inserted a tube down his throat, directly connected to a machine that breathed for him with a rhythmic hiss.

“It’s the pneumonia,” Dr. Cho explained, frowning. “Fluid in his lungs... It’s not responding to antibiotics.”

Loki could see the way those who checked on his respirator seemed more and more concerned, and all he could do was hold Steve’s hand, watch him resting, and hope it would change, hope it would get better. The only things he had in his pocket were things that would help him to sleep, and Steve needed no help with that.

Loki went out to the waiting room to eat, and found a note saying his soup had gone bad. Begrudgingly, he returned to his own rooms to make himself something, and the warm food did him considerable good… but not as much as returning to Steve’s room to find Jane and Darcy there, tying shining garlands to the rails of the bed.

Loki looked around, bewildered, to find his crumpled cup replaces with a small tree, bedecked with lights and glistening red spheres, and a tiny candle holder beside it.

“What is all of this?” He asked.

“Christmas.” Jane explained.

“And Hanukkah!” Darcy interjected, jabbing a finger toward the candles. “They wouldn’t let me put anything on the machines-- I brought wrapping papers to hide the grey, but the doctors weren’t into it.”  
Loki blinked, trying to understand.

“But why?” He asked, bemused.

“It's christmastime. Last thing he needs is to wake up and think he missed it. Besides... this place could do with a little cheer." Darcy positively beamed at him, and Loki gave her a tentative smile back, though he did not see anything particularly cheerful about some colored plastic strings and a small tree.

Then Jane spoke, her voice gentled, presumably because he looked as delicate and confused as he felt.

“This is when miracles happen most, traditionally. People are… you know, supposed to be nicer, and good things happen. Families come together and celebrate the year with gifts and food, and… There’ll be a Christmas dinner upstairs two days from now, if you want to come up. But I think we’re all just hoping that our _whole_ family can come back together soon.”

Loki’s breath caught in his throat.

“I knew it was for gift giving. I did not know about the miracles.”

"Yeah man, birth of a savior, lights staying lit for eight days, snowmen coming to life and dancing around... all that miracle stuff!"

"I don't think Frosty counts, Darcy--"

"SAYS YOU."

Loki remembered why he always thought of her as the loud one, when a nurse put her head in the door to frown disapprovingly at that, and Darcy at least had the grace to look chastened.

“Point is, it’s dreary down here, and you’re dreary enough without letting it get to you. So we wanted to bring down some hope and color down. That’s all.” She spoke more quietly, but with no less of her odd strain of dismissive enthusiasm.

“Have you eaten recently?” Jane asked, and Loki was almost glad for the change of subject-- and his ability to answer affirmatively and honestly.

“I’m only just returning from eating, yes.”

“Good. Well. If you get hungry later, feel free to stop by.”

“I’m making nachos!”

Loki chuckled a little.

“I may take you up on that. We shall see. But thank you-- for all of this.”

And for all that it was just a few plastic decorations, when they left, Loki did feel less dreary, and a little warmer as well.

Until he went back to being alone with Steve, still and unresponsive.

Loki went back to reading to him. It was all he could do.

 

* * *

 

When the rush of the bifrost receded, Thor was struck by the blast of cold air that met his lungs and the sight of snow swirling, fearing for a moment he’d been deposited on Jotunheim instead of Midgard. But as his vision adjusted to the dim light, he could see the glimmering lights of New York City through the pale snowfall, and his anxiety abated. He was indeed on Stark Tower, in the right place.

He could only hope he’d arrived in time to be of help.

He made his way quickly to the elevator, giving Stark only a passing acknowledgement and bypassing his own floor and Jane entirely on his way down to the healing levels. She would be his second stop, of course, but he needed to do this first. Already he’d been in Asgard far longer than he’d anticipated, trapped by duty and family and unforeseen difficulties in his quest.

When the elevator arrived it was all he could do not to run through the corridors until he reached Steve’s sickroom. He could see Loki still sitting at his side, a tablet in his lap; Steve’s eyes were still closed.

Thor’s heart sunk a little, and he rapped his knuckles against the doorframe.

“Loki?”

 

He hadn’t spent as much time preparing for this return, partially because Thor hadn’t been gone for as long and partially because he hadn’t wanted to dwell on it, just in case it really was worse, in case Thor was making the idiotic mistake that Loki feared he was.

So when he looked up and his brother was standing there, Loki had no anger to draw from, no new sorrow to unleash. He was just still.

“Thor.” He greeted, everything about him neutral and waiting to hear why his brother had thought it important to leave, to say nothing and go, to abandon Loki after assuring him that he had him to rely on.

Thor had _left him_ to this silence and loneliness, to sickness and stillness and mechanical beeps, to Steve’s surgery, and why?

“You’re back.” He observed, with no more expression than before.

 

Whatever Thor had expected from Loki, this apathy was not it.

“I am,” he confirmed, taking the acknowledgement as permission to enter. “I am sorry I was so long gone. Father was in a state and I could not explain the reason for my urgency to return without risking telling him of you, and then I had to go to Vanaheim, and--” he stopped, shaking his head. “I apologize. Mother sends her love. And I meant to return days ago.”

His gaze tracked toward Steve, who seemed even worse than when Thor had left; the bruises on his body were starting to fade, many of them greenish and yellow where they had been deep violet before. Combined with the faintly blueish tinge of his skin, they made him appear corpse-like, the only sign of life the rise and fall of his chest. And even that, Thor realized with an unpleasant lurch, was the result of mortal machines.

“How... how fares he?” he asked quietly, stepping closer.

 

“Breathing becomes more difficult the longer this goes on.” Loki told Thor, putting the reader down and standing.

“For him, as well. There is liquid in his lungs that the doctors cannot seem to drain. His surgery seems to have gone well enough, but we will not know if he has full motion in that arm until he wakes, and by then it may be too late to correct things, if it has healed improperly. He has not gained any weight since he arrived, but nor has he lost any more, for which I am told we must be grateful.”

He reported all of this while positioning himself between Thor and Steve, halting any further progress. Each word was flung in his brother’s face like the accusation it was, but he did not let his emotions play out at all on his own face, in his body language. He just… stood there.

“And you chose to leave me to this. Alone. After I came to you-- I’d thought to apologize, thinking I drove you away.” And the hurt surged in him at that. “But as I sat here, I realized I ought not. But perhaps you can tell me why-- why you felt that you needed to leave _now_ , of all times.”

 

Thor nearly took a step back, caught off guard by Loki’s sudden ire. He hadn’t thought -- hadn’t realized--

“I...” he blinked, then swallowed. “I am so sorry, Loki. It was not my intention for you to feel alone. I swear it. Here--”

He reached down to the pouch hanging from his belt, undoing the ties that kept it in place and held it out.

“I thought to return simply to ask Eir for a healing stone, but Asgard’s stores were completely depleted by the Dark Elf attack. Father caught wind of my arrival and kept me there for days, and mother is finally awake and improving and wished to see me, and when I could finally leave I had Heimdall deliver me to Vanaheim so I could continue searching,” he explained. “It took some time and haggling, but...”

He tugged back the pouch’s brim to reveal the contents; a single, polished stone.

“I hoped it would help,” he said softly. “Forgive me.”

 

Loki’s breath caught and he looked from the stone to his brother’s face and back again, feeling horrible, ungrateful, and ugly for his words.

“Thor…” He reached out with a shaking, greedy hand to lift the stone.

They were rare enough in Asgard before the attack, let alone now, and Loki hadn’t even thought to ask for one, knowing he’d be denied, and suspecting that Thor would have been, as well. But he’d gone to Vanaheim, had gone questing for it… for Steve. For Loki.

“What did you have to trade for this?” He asked, afraid to hear and terrified that he would never be able to repay him.

 

Thor smiled carefully, relieved to see Loki’s anger bleed away. Perhaps he ought to have told Loki where he was going, what he intended -- but part of him had worried it would prove a fool’s errand, and he hadn’t wanted to crush his brother’s hopes.

He couldn’t see Loki crushed again.

“It does not matter,” he stated simply, putting a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “Nothing that was not worth it.” Nothing he wouldn’t gladly trade to see Steve well again, and Loki able to smile again as a result.

Though, when he’d departed, it had been Steve’s shoulder and his inability to fight as a warrior that Thor held the greatest concern for. But now, it seemed Steve was struggling to breathe on his own, which was far more dire. He had primarily seen the stones used on wounds in battle, and did not know how it would fare against such a malady.

“Do you think... is there a means by which it could be used to help whatever ails his breathing?” he asked.

 

Loki hesitated.

“I think that the doctors should be consulted, but… if there is a means of getting him to breathe it in. If, perhaps, it could be crushed and inhaled…” He frowned. “But he is having such a difficult time inhaling only the air, I worry that adding to it would make things worse, rather than helping. JARVIS?” He raised his voice a little, unnecessarily, most likely, but even so.

“ _Yes Mister Loki?”_

“Can you ask either Banner or Dr. Cho or both to attend me, when they have a moment? It will hold, if they are doing anything important or vital.”

“ _Of course._ ”

Loki clutched the stone carefully, much as he had Steve’s hand over these past few days, and turned his attention back to his brother.

“Thank you, Thor. I would not have asked it of you, but thank you just the same. And… you said mother is awake?”

He felt horrible again, waiting until now to acknowledge that had been said. “How is she?”

 

“Still somewhat weakened,” Thor confessed, “and she sleeps a great deal still. Her krellr was greatly depleted by the dark elf poison and slow to return. But she is much improved and walks in the gardens now.” A fond expression tugged at his lips. “She misses you greatly.”

In fact, when Frigga had spoken of Loki, Thor had found himself unable to remain silent, despite his vow to himself that he would tell no one on Asgard of Loki’s whereabouts; Mother was different, after all, and meant Loki no harm. And when Thor had quietly assured her in private that Loki was safe and well and loved, that his madness had subsided and he was once more the gentler Loki they remembered, the tears of joy that formed in her eyes had been one of the most beautiful sights he could recall.

But... perhaps now was not the time to discuss that. Later, when Steve was well, and Frigga stronger, perhaps she could come and stay and spend time with her youngest son.

Dr. Banner arrived then, glancing between the two of them. “JARVIS said something was up?” he asked with a frown.

 

Loki could not help the joy that shone on his face when he held the stone out toward Bruce.

“Thor has brought a healing stone from Asgard. It may do much that your medicine can not, go a long way in regards to treating Steve. But I needed to consult with you before applying it-- ideally, we would grind it fine and he might inhale it, that it should ease his breathing. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

Bruce blinked several times, then shook his head.

“Alright. Hold up, so this… how does the healing stone work? You just… you grind it up and suck it down and it just magically makes you better?” He sounded skeptical.

“Yes, precisely.” Loki assured him, pleased.

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and pinched at his nose.

“I don’t know that I understand.” He said, speaking slowly.

“You needn’t, I don’t think any fully do. There are stones that somehow have absorbed something like krellr, not exactly, but enough similar to aid in its production. It will help. The question is how we can administer it to him without causing more harm.” Loki appreciated Banner’s caution, but he needed him to believe him.

“I have seen it knit bones and replace skin torn away by beasts. It will help him, I promise you.”

“Have you seen it used on a _human_?” Banner asked, and Loki stopped short. “Because, for all intents and purposes, that’s what Steve is, now, nothing special, no additional anything. Just a human. And one that’s been beat to hell and back. So if you are really, really certain…”

“I am.” Loki assured him, making the decision. He had yet to meet a creature that had not been able to benefit from the stones, hence their widespread value, and krellr moved the same in humans as they did in the Aesir, albeit more slowly. “And I may monitor its progress, once we have administered it.”

“Then… I guess if we can get Tony to grind it up very fine… we could put it into his respirator. How much of it does he need to inhale for it to do its thing?”

“All of it, I would imagine.” Loki said, knowing that once inside of him, the krellr would move as it was needed, until it had all been absorbed. “And it crumbles easily… In fact I imagine that Thor--” Loki looked to his brother, offering him the stone back.

 

Thor cupped the stone in his hands, then squeezed, careful not to spill any of the resulting fragments. It did not take a great amount of pressure to crack the stone; once it had broken, it crumbled on its own, quickly falling into powder.

“Huh,” Bruce mused, looking at it. “Normally I’d advise doing some tests on that, but...”

“The stone is meant to be used as soon as it is crushed,” Thor insisted. “It will work.”

Bruce chewed his lip a moment longer -- a moment in which Thor was all too aware of the valuable dust cradled in his hands, easily blown away and lost forever -- before nodding. He moved to the ventilator, looked to Steve, muttered something under his breath, then unplugged one of the long tubes, gesturing for Thor to pour the powder into the compartment the tube had been attached to. “Quickly,” he said.

Thor knelt down and deposited the healing stone’s dust into the compartment, clapping his hands to make sure all the residue made it in. Then Bruce swiftly plugged the tube back in.

All that remained was the slow hiss of the the ventilator.

“So...” Bruce said, straightening up. “How long does this usually take to work?”

Thor frowned. “On an Asgardian’s battle wounds, I have seen it act immediately. But on a mortal...” He looked to Loki. “I do not know.”

 

“Mortals’ krellr moves slower-- his never did, but…” Loki shuddered, then looked between them both, eyes hesitating on Thor’s face.

“Look away, brother. I am going to turn my eyes to those of a Jotun, to see… to be certain that it is doing as it ought.”

His chest felt tight, fear for Steve overwhelming the fear he had over Thor’s reaction… for a moment. It was still there, he was still aware of it… but he did not wait to see if Thor did as he’d asked, letting his lids fall shut and turning his sight inwards.

He could have done as he used to, but that always resulted in a hazy view of krellr at best, and came with a headache after the fact. The transformation was better, more precise.

He opened his eyes, ignoring the way the room swam in oranges, and almost surprised by the motion and color of Bruce’s Krellr, til he recalled that the man was, like Steve-- like Steve had been-- something more than human.

Eyes on Steve, he felt his mouth fall open, breath rushing out of him with a low keening sound.

“There is so _little_ krellr.” It was not like after the sceptre, when there had been a great gaping void, but this was a distributed thinness, a lack, and the motions of that which _was_ there was lazy at best.

“ _Oh Steve…_ ” Like whispered, pushing at it, trying to create a tide more like the movement it should exhibit. He wished he could do as Steve did, wished he could pour his own life force in. He daren’t push any more seidhr into him, though-- not with the way it pulsed in small clusters where it pooled, in his throat and wrists and around his heart.

“What-- is it hurting him? Should we disconnect it?” Banner asked, and Loki heard him distantly.

Reminded of his reason for this, he looked to Steve’s throat, his lungs, shifting his head to see within the bounds of his organs.

“No…” Loki said slowly. “No, it is… it is slowly moving into place, and the stone that has reached his lungs has begun to... it is doing its job. Releasing krellr. It only moves sluggishly. He will need time still to heal.”

He pulled his gaze back, restored his eyes, but turned his face away, afraid to ask whether Thor had seen… afraid what Loki himself might see, written on his face, if he had.

 

Thor paused, but then looked away as requested. He fully intended to abide by Loki’s wishes (something he was working harder at now than he ever had in their youth), but when Loki gasped, he looked up instinctively.

Loki’s eyes were red.

Thor flinched, recoiling inwardly at the strange sight of the blood-red irises and sclera. But then his horror was immediately replaced by shame, and then relief that Loki was so preoccupied with Steve that he hadn’t witnessed Thor’s reaction.

Loki was not a monster. Red eyes did not a monster make, he reminded himself -- especially not when it was Loki, his brother, whom he adored. It was just... unsettling. The monsters of their childhood nightmares had come with red eyes, and he had never seen Loki in anything other than Asgardian skin and coloring.

Next time, he would do better. If Loki ever allowed a next time.

It was only after processing his own reaction that the reason Loki had changed his eyes even sunk in.

“You can... _see_ krellr? As a... Jotun?” Thor ventured. He’d known Loki was better able to manipulate and see things such as seidr, but normally even healers required a soulforge to observe the flow of krellr. When Loki had spoken of it before, he’d assumed it had been a working of some sort, but if it was Jotun eyes that let him see...

 

Loki frowned, loathe to speak of it, though he realized that the knowledge could well aid Thor, if his journeys ever found him again on Jotunheim.

“I can.” The words were somber. “I suspect the beasts use the sight to aid in their hunting, in their world of empty whiteness. You may take that back to Asgard, if you can think of a reasonable story of how you may have discovered it.”

Loki took a deep breath, and finally looked up, his eyes normal, and, he hoped, not threatening to Thor. He looked back and forth between his brother and his friend.

Bruce was watching Thor as well, small frown in place, and Loki wondered what he may have missed, but Bruce’s expression cleared quickly enough.

“You think that will clear up the pneumonia, then?” He asked, and Loki nodded.

“It should. And whatever of its power is left afterwards, it will continue outwards, to heal anything in its immediate area. Steve has a small cluster of my seidhr around his heart, as well, which the stone’s krellr may feed from, lengthening its reach-- I will have to wait and see.”

“That’s fantastic. And where did the stone come from?” Bruce asked, looking to Thor.

 

“Vanaheim,” Thor answered simply with a shrug. Normally he would have launched into a tale of his quest, or the troubles and travails needed to get the stone, in typical skaldic tradition. But his mind was not on his adventures; how could he cringe to hear Loki call the Jotnar beasts, when in the back of his mind some part of him clearly reacted as though they were? What foul kind of hypocrite must he be?

And if Jotnar could see the force of life within creatures... how was it no one on Asgard had ever spoken of such a thing? Thor hadn’t known. He’d never heard of it before. Did anyone know?

Did they know _anything_ about the frost giants?

(And how much of what they _did_ know was even true?)

All of it left him feeling vaguely troubled; perhaps he could speak of this with Jane. She had a perspective untainted by centuries of fear and hate, and he’d come to value her insight.

“I hope he recovers swiftly,” he said, looking up to Loki (who looked again like the same Loki he’d known all his life), and giving his shoulder a last squeeze. If the stone failed to work, they would find another means. Another way to help Steve. “And I am sure he will be overjoyed to see you when he awakens,” he added, forcing a thin smile. “Though I should probably go upstairs and greet Jane, before she becomes cross with me for my neglect.”

 

Loki answered his brother’s strained smile with one of his own.

“Go then, with my thanks, and tell her… please give my regards, but let her know that with this new development, I will not be coming to dinner, after all. I am sure she will understand.” He hesitated, thinking he ought to give his brother a hug, to show him physically his gratitude, as Thor always responded best to that, but after so recently being… after rubbing what he was in Thor’s face, perhaps it was better that he not.

He turned to Bruce.

“And perhaps, when Asgard has recovered more from her recent fights, and no one is…” He gestured at Steve. “Maybe there will again be a store of stones in Asgard that we may ask Thor to raid for us, that you may study them. If your people could replicate its effects…” He trailed off, offering Banner some hope for a future chance to apply science to the thing.

“There may even be enough dust from this one left over in the tubing…” Banner muttered, his mind clearly already whirring. Loki felt his smile going slightly crooked, and left him to his thoughts for a moment, moving close to Steve’s side again.

“You _will_ recover. I promise-- I will help however I can.”

He had more hope now, himself… and even with Thor on his way back upstairs, he was at least _here_.

Loki didn’t feel quite so alone.

He wondered when his manipulation of his brother had backfired, when it had turned on him and made him once again dependent on Thor… or at least, made his presence so comforting. For now, he decided not to question it. It was lending him some strength, and, for Steve’s sake, he was going to need all he could get.

* * *

 

“He’s improving,” was the first thing Dr. Cho said the next day when Loki walked in, the team of nurses assigned to Steve having just finished their examination and duties. His arm was in a sling, his leg splinted, and his bandages on his back, wrists, and ankles freshly changed.

“BP is still a little on the low end, but not alarmingly so. Temperature is down to 98.9, pulse is regular -- and we’re no longer picking up any indication of arrhythmia. The fractures in his leg and ribs are healing at a normal rate, but the break in his jaw is almost completely healed, significantly ahead of schedule. And most importantly, the pneumonia is clearing up; his blood oxygen levels are a lot better and we should be able to extubate him soon.”

She held up a tablet for Loki to come examine, avoiding any sign of flinching or fear as he approached. She flipped between different images of Steve’s lungs, showing the before and after, where the clouded areas of infection were subsiding. She kept shooting him sideways looks, chewing the inside of her lower lip and appearing conflicted, until she finally added:

“Normally, as a responsible physician, I’d be very against using completely untested and unknown alien medical technology on a human patient without any kind of study or supervision. But as a scientist...” She offered a timid smile. “I’m mostly just disappointed I didn’t get to witness it in action. Whatever it was you and Thor did, it appears to be having a remarkable effect -- especially since...” She looked back over at Steve, then back to Loki, “he’s started twitching.”

 

Loki had come to an agreement with the nurses early on; he would leave and let them tend to Steve’s dressings for a little while every morning-- long enough to shower and feed himself for the day, if he forgot to eat again. Long enough to get clean and ensure he didn’t get Steve sicker.

That morning he had been gone a little longer than usual, having run into Clint in the elevator, on their way down. He was taking Lucky for a walk and he apologized for not having come to the hospital.

They’d talked a little, not of anything of consequence, though more because Clint seemed to be avoiding it than because they had much else to say. Even so, it had been… nice, for a moment, to be away from it.

But when he’d come back, even just in the few hours he’d been gone, there was obvious change. Dr. Cho’s words were amusing at first, and he nearly promised her a place at the table when Banner was toying with the next stone they managed to find, though they were not currently in any hurry.

Until she mentioned Steve twitching.

Loki’s world narrowed after that-- he murmured his thanks to the doctor, but moved immediately to Steve’s bedside, his arm instantly reaching over the tall side to touch the hand where Steve’s fingers were moving.

“Come back to me, Astin Min.” He murmured, though he’d long since given up trying to call him and meaning it.

He would come back in his own time, but he _was_ healing. And Loki would be there when he woke. He’d promised.

 

“He might not be waking right away,” Dr. Cho added, wondering if Loki could even hear her or if she’d been tuned out completely, “but the fact he’s responding to any kind of stimuli is a good sign. We’re optimistic that he’ll start gradually waking up soon, though he may be disoriented or only partially responsive to start with.”

When Loki showed no signs of responding or moving from Rogers’ bedside, she quietly ducked out, electing to offer the two of them some privacy.

It was hours later, with snow swirling outside the window, that another knock came at the door, accompanied by several whispering voices and a stifled giggle.

 

Loki looked up from where his sight and hearing had been overly focused on the smallest signs of movement from Steve, surprised by how _loud_ the knock seemed, in comparison with the soft beeps and steady inhales.

He stood as smoothly as he could, though maintaining the same position had rendered him a little stiff, and opened the door to see…

“So many of you.” He murmured, surprised, and Pepper laughed a little.

There were, in fact, six of them, clustered around the door; Natasha and Clint and Bradley and Sharon and Tony and Pepper--

“We drew straws. Dr. Cho will only let six of us come down at a time.” Natasha explained, and Loki tilted his head, feeling as though he were missing something.

“Tony, what are you wearing?” He asked, almost-cross because he felt stupid, and only distracted from it by the fluffy monstrosity that kept slipping down Stark’s forehead.

“Santa hat!” Tony all but crowed. “It’s Christmas!”

Loki let out a soft sigh. Another holiday, though at least he’d known this one was coming; temporarily forgotten, but he had been warned just the same.

“So? You gonna let us in, or are you going to stand in the doorway forever?” Carter asked, and Loki felt the cheer radiating off of them.

“Come in,” He said, opening the door and stepping back. “I assume you heard that Thor brought back a healing stone, and Steve is beginning to show signs of movement?” He wished that there was more to say, more to report, but like everything else since Steve disappeared, everything was moving so slowly.

He returned to his spot near Steve’s head, where he could easily stand guard and keep watch on all of them, not that he distrusted or expected any of them would try to harm Steve, but… it felt better, being there, being able to watch over him while he slept, still.

 

“Bruce told us about the healing stone, but not the other thing,” Natasha said, putting down and setting up the folding chairs she’d been carrying under each arm.

“Oh, that’s great news!” Pepper said almost simultaneously, putting down the tupperware she’d been holding to give Loki a quick hug. “I guess even Steve can’t resist the holidays,” she beamed.

“Also, nice décor,” Carter observed, fiddling with a bit of tinsel as she tucked a colorfully wrapped box in under the plastic tree Darcy had set up. Bradley was occupying himself setting up a small set of speakers, and moments later soft music began to play, featuring the tinny jingling of tiny bells.

“We figured since you probably wouldn’t wanna leave Steve alone to come have Christmas with everyone else--” Stark began.

“--Though you’re still welcome to if you _do_ want!”

“--That we’d bring a little Holiday Cheer down to you two,” he finished, with a nod to Pepper.

 

Loki’s lips twitched.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, you do recall that I neither celebrate, nor in fact would have been aware of the holiday, had you not come down, and Jane and Clint--” He nodded, “Not told me of it recently?”

He returned Pepper’s hug, but it was over all too quickly, too caught up in the excitement and joy of the day to last as long as he might have liked.

He shrugged, once his arms were clear.

“What’s this?” He asked, directing his attention toward Carter’s gift and stalwartly ignoring the sounds that they had brought with them.

It had been almost too quiet in here, before, but after so long with only the passing seconds and Steve’s breaths for company, Loki felt a little closed in. A little overwhelmed by the presence of so many others, especially in so small a room. And that was without their seemingly near desperate elation filling the room further.

It was almost infectious, though he was resisting, if only because it felt, once again, almost traitorous on his part to be enjoying such things, while Steve lay in such a sorry state.

His attention was being pulled every which way, though, and he had to admit that the company was a welcome break from his own circling thoughts and the dull greys of the world.

“It’s a present-- just a night-before present, though, one for you and one for Steve. That’s yours.” Carter said, nodding at the gift under the tree.

“Steve’s is here,” Tony added, thrusting a similarly wrapped gift in Loki’s direction, though it was larger and… flopped, alarmingly, at the treatment. He took it, carefully, then looked up at them.

“I haven’t got gifts for you in exchange.” He tossed a sharp look at Clint, then raised his brow. “I was told no one would be expecting them, though that was not the impression I got…”

“Oh, no, Loki, really-- it’s not… it’s more about just trying to bring some little happiness. Look, go ahead and open yours.” Pepper moved around him to pluck his gift out from under the tree, and Loki frowned but did as he’d been bid, aware he was being watched.

As the paper slid away, he found himself holding a box, which, when opened, yielded a red plush ball and a pair of…

Pepper plucked them up and put them on his head with a flourish, and Loki froze, aware that, once again, he was wearing horns.

Stags’ this time, or perhaps a moose, but…

“Now the nose, reindeer games.” Tony said, nodding to the box and Loki looked down, then back up, forehead creasing.

“You remember, the nickname, reindeer games? It’s because, we have this story, at Christmas, about… Rudolph…” He noticed Tony trailing off and deflating, and, to counter it, pulled the ball out and shoved his nose into the slit in it, as he assumed was the intent.

Clint pulled out his phone and took a photo, and Loki promptly removed the thing, afraid that, with the way it squeezed his nose, it would color his speech.

“Some other time, perhaps, I will have you explain your story to me-- in the meantime, what of Steve’s gift? Should I--”

“Go on and open it. He’s going to miss Christmas anyway, and he might as well have one thing he can laugh at when he comes out of it.” Natasha decided, and Bradley nodded.

Loki nodded and did the same for it, stripping the paper off, and frowned at the image on the cloth under the clear plastic--

“I survived WWII and all I got was this lousy T-shirt”?” Loki asked, reading it aloud.

Carter made a rude noise with her mouth, and Tony wiped an imaginary tear out from under his eye.

“T-shirt humor; classic.”

“I need to get one for my Grandad.” Bradley added, and Loki sat it back beneath the tree with a skeptical look.

“I am sure we are both very grateful,” he said, words solemn despite the dumb smile on his face at the thought of being thus included-- but his speech of thanks was interrupted by their laughter, and Pepper approaching with a small bin full of cookies that she opened and selected one of, attempting to hold it out for him to bite.

He raised his hand though, and caught the cookie, depositing it back in the tub.

“That, however, I am afraid I must put my foot down on; there’s to be no food in here. I won’t endanger Steve’s recovery.”

Clint looked as if he might argue, but Natasha put a hand on his arm.

“We’ll leave them in the waiting room for you, then, and keep it full against any cookie thieves.” She eyed everyone else in the room as if charging them with the duty, before sending Loki a smile.

“Still, happy holidays, Loki.” Again, she reached out and squeezed Loki’s arm, near enough to a hug from her, and Loki nearly beamed.

“Thank you, all of you, really--” He said, and then someone gasped.

 

“His eyes are open,” Carter breathed as everyone turned to look at her. “Or, they were. Just a second ago...”

On the bed, Steve’s eyelids fluttered, his hand clenching and unclenching at his side as his head tilted slightly to the side. He made a small, strangled noise around the tube in his throat.

“I’ll go get a doctor,” Bradley said, heading for the door.

Pepper’s demeanor abruptly turned businesslike, her spine straightening and shoulders tilting back. “Everyone, make room. Clint, grab the gifts, would you? And Tony, kill the music. Stand back or out in the hallway, give the staff room to work--”

Half of them were out the door when Dr. Cho hurried in, a nurse in scrubs right behind her. She took a glance at the readings on the monitors, then stepped in close to Steve, pulling a penlight from her pocket and carefully prying open Steve’s eye, shining the light into his pupils. “Captain Rogers?” she said, “can you hear me?”

 

Steve blinked. There was light, bright and pale, and it made his eyes hurt. And a sterile smell.

Beeping.

Oh God. Was he back in the labs? He blinked more, conscious of voices around them, but unable to make out what was being said. Doctors, probably... HYDRA?

 _No_. No more HYDRA. This wasn’t-- it wasn’t _fair_ , it was supposed to be over, he was supposed to be dead and free and this was supposed to end be _over over over--_

He tried to breathe in to calm himself, only to find he couldn’t. There was something in his throat, blocking it completely, choking him. He reached to pull it out, only to find he couldn’t move his arm. Someone was shining a light in his eyes, the brightness stabbing like a knife into his skull, and he kicked, thrashing feebly, trying to get away.

No more tests, no more experiments, no more torture pain cutting chemicals cold dark over over---

 

Had he been stronger, Loki was certain the medical staff might have been in danger, but as it was, Steve was so weak.

“Steve?” He said, then, louder, attempting to be heard over the panicking he was clearly doing: “Steve!”

Loki reached over the bedding to grasp at Steve’s arms-- to keep him from hurting himself more with his wriggling. His shoulder was so newly whole, and any damage now could only make things worse, when they already didn’t know--

“Steve, please, it’s me, it’s Loki, I’m here… Steve I need you to calm down. You’re safe, you’re home. It’s alright, Astin Min. You’re safe.” He tried to speak calmly, though he glanced up at the doctor for guidance.

She pulled her light away, moved out of the way, which let Loki lean in. He hoped Steve would see him and know where he was, that he was safe… but he didn’t know yet, _they_ didn’t know yet, how alert he was. And of course he couldn’t tell them, with the device in place so that he could breathe. Loki could see his throat working around it, but with Steve fighting, the nurse and doctor were standing back, almost as if waiting for something from _Loki_.

“Steve?” He asked, more desperate now.

 

“His heart rate is spiking,” the nurse called out.

“Captain Rogers? Steve?” Dr. Cho tried again from a distance. “Captain Rogers, please, we’re trying to help you. The tube is there to help you breathe, just try to not fight it--”

A solid yank from one of Steve’s arms sent the IV stand clattering to the ground. Dr. Cho winced and looked to Loki. “I’m sorry, we’re going to need to sedate him if he doesn’t calm down, or he’ll hurt himself.” She turned to the nurse. “Get me 2.5mg of Midazolam--”

 

Someone was holding him down. Pinning him so he couldn’t move, bound, trapped--

Steve fought harder, and he could feel the tubes and needles tearing at his skin. If he could have laughed, he would have; how much did they think he had left for them to take?

Everything up close was blurry, his eyes unable to focus on the faces looming over him, but his distance vision was better -- allowing him to make out the chillingly familiar sight of a syringe being filled across the room.

_Are you ready to burn, Steven?_

No. No more chemicals, no more anti-serums, no more poison, concoctions, _burning--_

He thrashed, twisting and flailing and even if the bastards held his arms down, they’d left his legs free--

 

The nurse tried to get close enough to administer the injection, only to yelp and drop the syringe, doubling over when Steve’s foot connected just above his groin.

The machines beeped wildly. Dr. Cho looked frantic. “JARVIS? Can we get Thor down here?” she called to the ceiling.

The others at the doorway watched with eyes wide.

“Is he--?”

“Should we--?”

“ _ **AT EASE, SOLDIER**_!”

The last words were bellowed loud enough to overwhelm even the frenetic sound of the heart rate monitor, and Steve abruptly fell still, shoulders quaking and eyes still wide, but no longer fighting, staring blankly up at the ceiling as he shook.

 

Loki let go of his shoulder and took his hand, stroking his thumb over it. He was still, shaking and quiet, but his eyes were open, and he wasn’t thrashing any more.

Loki looked up at the doctors.

“No sedative.” He said firmly, before turning his attention immediately back to his partner, to the exclusion of all else.

“Steve? Are you… here with me?” He felt foolish, saying it, and squeezed his hand gently, trying to remind him that he was there, that he was holding him as best as he was able.

“I know you can’t speak. But I want you to know that you’re alive, and safe. You’re in Avengers Tower in New York, and we’re trying to help you. You’re safe, I promise you, but you were hurt. Do you remember waking before? When we were leaving that place? You woke and you spoke to me, remember? You thought you were dead, but you aren’t Steve. You’re _alive._ We both are. And you asked me to be here when you woke. And I am. And I love you. Do you remember that?”

He kept looking at Steve’s face, at the rise and fall of his chest, at the screen that showed his heart rate.

He was dimly aware of the IV stand being righted and of their friends shuffling in the doorway, but he ignored them. This was so much more important.

All of that time preparing for this, and he still didn’t know what to say.

 

_At ease, soldier._

Soldier. He was a soldier. He didn’t always follow orders, but at ease meant to relax, meant he could let his guard down. He was used to Phillips bellowing those words from across the training grounds at LeHigh; used to saying it himself to overexcited recruits shipped to Europe fresh off the parade grounds.

At ease.

And like a switch had been flipped, his body -- trained to react without a second thought -- obeyed.

The fog around him was slowly thinning, his eyes adjusting now that he wasn’t blinded by bright light, and the sounds becoming clearer, no longer muted behind the thrumming of his heart. He could feel aches and pains and the discomfort of needles and the tube, but also sheets tucked over and beneath him, soft instead of the unyielding metal tables he’d been strapped to before. And someone was touching him. He cringed, pulling his hand away.

“ _...safe, promise you...”_

He turned to the source of the nearest voice, rich with familiarity, and tried to focused. Dark hair, pale face. Cheekbones. Bright eyes.

Loki.

Loki, alive and here.

“ _...love you...”_

“Steve?”

Another voice, this one unfamiliar. Steve turned his head, frowning, and looked at the woman in white. His heartbeat picked up at the sight of the labcoat she wore, only he couldn’t remember seeing any women with HYDRA...

“Steve, we’re going to need to take the ventilator out,” she explained. “That’s the tube in your throat. You should be able to breathe on your own now. I’m going to need you to sit up though, and then cough on the count of three. Can you do that for me?”

He looked from her to Loki (Loki?), then gave a small nod. If Loki was truly here... If Loki was letting them touch him, perhaps... perhaps it wasn’t HYDRA.

_safe._

They helped him up and as much as his skin crawled at all the invasive touching, he managed not to panic or lash out. On the three count he coughed, then gagged, nearly vomiting as they pulled out the tube, heaving for breath as someone wiped the spittle from his chin. The tube in his nose (how had he not even noticed that there?) came out next, and he was left coughing and clutching his aching sides, throat feeling like he’d been gargling gravel. When he’d finally gulped down enough air to feel like his chest wasn’t about to cave in on itself, he looked back up to his side.

His voice was an almost incomprehensible croak:

“Loki?”

 

When Steve pulled his hand away, Loki felt his insides go cold with fear. Did he not remember him? Worse, did he know what he’d done? Was he disgusted?

He stepped back half a step, but then helped the nurse to ease Steve upright, waiting with bated breath for the tube to be extracted, and his chest tightened when Steve made those sounds, weak and sad as they were, everything sounding far rougher than Loki had ever heard it before.

He hovered, worried, nearby, until Steve finally looked at him.

And when he said his name, Loki’s heart swelled with hope-- real hope-- and joy.

“It’s me, Steve. You’re home.” He knew emotion was coloring his voice, but he didn’t care who heard it. He reached up to run his thumb so carefully over Steve’s cheekbone, so glad to have him back. “You’re safe.” He repeated, and bit down on the apologies that he doubted Steve was ready to hear, for how long it had taken, for all the things Loki had said before.

He was still clutching at his sides-- certainly it was too soon for Loki to inflict his own guilt upon him. Instead, he smiled.

“Happy Christmas.” he said, never expecting to mean it as much as he did.

 

Steve flinched as Loki’s hand moved to his face, some part of him anticipating a blow, even though that wasn’t right -- not from Loki.

Loki.

He remembered... a little. Loki being dead. Then not dead. Carrying him. Telling him it was safe, just like he was now. And he’d felt so cold...

“Christmas?” he repeated, frowning. It hadn’t been near Christmas before. Before...

His eyes widened, and the heart monitor behind him blipped in protest. “How... long?” he asked, hating the hoarse wreckage of his own voice. Loki was here, but Loki was immortal. He didn’t recognize this place, this doctor. He’d woken up in a strange medical room before, and he felt a fresh surge of panic down his spine.

 

Loki felt guilty, certain he’d managed to hurt Steve with his touch. He withdrew his hand instantly, as though he’d been burned.

Of course, his jaw had been broken so recently, of course it would be sore. He chastised himself for not thinking, and then again, when Steve looked as worried as he did.

But at least Loki understood, to some extent, the fear that Steve was having now. He crouched a little, to be closer to his eye level.

“You were-- it took us a month to find you. And you have been here, recovering, for a week more.” And despite his guilt about that month, he knew at least it was better than whatever Steve must be imagining. He could not help but give him a slightly watery smile as his heart went out to his partner.

“I told you I would not let you pass another seventy years. Some of our friends are outside, some are upstairs. I am certain they will all wish to see you, but the room was emptied when you woke, so that Dr. Cho could get in and help you.” Loki nodded up at the woman, gratitude naked on his face.

Turning his eyes back to Steve, he became a little less joyful, a little more somber.

“How are you feeling?”

 

A month. And then some. That... wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t years. His friends were alive and nearby, and he must be back on some level of Stark Tower if all his friends were here. (Loki and his friends were here and _alive._ Just knowing that allowed him to sink back into the cushions in relief).

“Sore,” he answered with a grimace. “Tired.” Which was pretty stupid if he’d been sleeping for the past week. But with the adrenaline now wearing off, he felt hollowed out and empty. His sides ached and his shoulder hurt and when he looked down, he could see bruises over his exposed skin.

Bruises the serum should have healed in a week’s time, but clearly hadn’t.

His heart sank and he swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. And then he reprimanded himself; he had no right to feel sorry for himself. He hadn’t lost years of his life this time, and he hadn’t lost _Loki._

Forcing his eyes open (despite the exhaustion he now felt), he turned back to Loki and forced a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “For being here.” Loki had said he would be there when Steve woke, and here he was. Even after HYDRA had convinced him Loki’d been killed.

The smile slipped. “HYDRA?” he asked, dreading the response. HYDRA had his blood. HYDRA was going to build an army of Red Skulls, and Scofield was spying on SHIELD and damn, he’d been sleeping here for a week instead of _warning_ everyone.

 

Watching Steve let himself relax, let himself fall back into his pillows, was like a reward of its very own.

Obviously it was a lot to take in all at once, but he seemed… he understood. He was actually mentally present this time, and Loki couldn’t be more grateful, couldn’t help but beam when Steve thanked him for being here-- of course, he wanted to say, Of course he was here. He always would be.

Until the next word came from his mouth. Loki had to fight down his horror and try not to wince.

“HYDRA is… at least that facility… I destroyed it.” He let his eyes slide away, then brought them back up, letting them dance across Steve’s face.

“They had too much of your blood, and I didn’t think. The entire compound… I buried it, Steve. It’s all gone.” Banner did not deserve the blame, if it was to come down on him, but Loki intentionally did not mention those he had murdered.

It was too soon for that, too.

 

Steve nodded, leaning back further. Buried. That was good. Loki knew they’d had his blood and destroyed it, presumably right after they’d found him, before HYDRA had a chance to spirit it all away elsewhere.

At least, not counting what they might have shipped all across the world before then. The thought made his insides cold.

“Dead?” he asked, the condition of his throat forcing him to budget his words; he trusted though, that Loki would understand.

 

Loki closed his eyes and nodded, bracing himself before opening them, but he did not look Steve in the face when he responded. He could not stand to see his disappointment.

“I don’t know numbers. I… All of them. And… Scofield. I buried _all of it.”_ He knew he must sound horrified, and he felt it. He’d let his monster out, and he knew it, and was ashamed.

Yet more blood on his hands, more that Steve would have to overlook every time he held him.

“We took down several more before finding you, but those were all arrests, as few casualties as possible. And… Tony and Natasha got their records. We’ll get the rest of them, too.”

he had to look up at that, had to see his reaction, because if Steve told them not to… Loki didn’t know what he would do.

He felt they all deserved to die for what they’d done, what they had brought Steve to. But Steve was a better person than him. He might be wrong, in this. He probably had been. Probably always would be.  

 

All of them.

The guards who laughed as they poured water down his nose and throat, sneering as they beat him; The pale doctor with the dark glasses who dispassionately cut him open like so much meat; Scofield, who had joyfully lied and told him Loki was dead. All of them were dead and buried, far away.

He should have been upset, he knew. Should have felt distraught by the violence in some way -- that Loki had become a killer again because of him, and was so terribly upset now because of it.

He should have. But he wasn’t.

He’d sort that out later. Breathing deeply, he let his eyes slip slowly shut.

“ _Good_.”

 

That shook Loki, and he knew his face must have danced through several emotions, all of which he was glad that Steve didn’t see, behind his closed eyes.

It concerned him, but he looked so relaxed, so Loki looked up at the Doctors.

“Should I--?” He asked, wondering if he should keep him awake, if he should do something else. If _they_ needed to do something else.

Dr. Cho shook her head.

“He’ll probably tire easily at first; let him get his rest. You’ve done your part, you were here when he woke up, like you said you’d be.” Loki flushed, suddenly acutely aware of how many people must have heard all of that… every vulnerable word and each detail he’d given away. And Steve was so close and guarded about the secret of them, but all of these people knew, now, who hadn’t before. And that was mostly Loki’s fault.

But at least that would not bother Steve’s sleep, this time.

Loki nodded.

“You should go tell the rest of the Avengers that he’s awake. Tell them that, for the first week, I’m downgrading it to three people in the room at any given time-- and that includes you. We don’t want him over exciting or over exerting himself.”

“Yes doctor.” Loki said, and then, “Thank you.” He paused, then, “You won’t… no more needles in him while I’m gone, now that he’s awakened, no additional tubes, right?”

“We won’t unless we need to, but we’ll send for you if anything changes. You have my word.”

Loki nodded again and stood, casting one last glance backwards at Steve. He wanted to touch him, but the memory of him flinching away, the memory of hurting him, was too fresh.

Instead he turned toward the door, where the faces of his friends hovered, concerned, and at the back of them, Thor was towering and looking lost. The doctor, Loki remembered, had summoned him via JARVIS.

 

“We should talk upstairs,” Loki told them quietly, tugging the door shut behind him. “Steve is resting.”

They nodded, and the small group migrated to the penthouse, where Banner and the other members of the SHIELD team joined them on the couches.

“I heard Steve woke up?” Bruce asked, looking at their troubled faces with confusion.

“Briefly,” Romanoff replied. “He was... disoriented.”

“By which she means he was apparently in good enough shape to freak out and kick one of the med staff in the nards,” Stark added.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ah. Well, considering what happened... I suppose that’s to be expected.” He frowned, looking over at Loki. “I’m assuming he had to be sedated?”

“Actually,” Carter began, but Stark cut her off.

“Kid-SHIELD over there put on a drill sergeant voice and somehow whammied Steve out of it. Seriously,” he said, turning his attention to Bradley, who seemed to be trying to vanish into the sofa he sat on, “what was that about?”

Seeing all eyes were suddenly on him, Bradley sighed and shrugged. “I come from a family of combat vets,” he explained. “Grandad in WWII. Uncle in Vietnam. I know what a panic attack from flashing back looks like.”

He might have left it there, but the number of eyes still fixed on him demanded further answers.

His foot scuffed on the carpet. “Grandad still sometimes--” he broke off, swallowing, looking nervously at the others, wary. “He said back in the war, some of the guys in his unit would tweak out from battle fatigue -- or, PTSD we say now, I guess -- and sometimes the only way he could get them to pull it together was to shout like they were back in boot camp. Said the mind was too busy being a human, being horrified, but the body could just remember how to be a soldier and take over, long as you reminded it what it was.” He moved his weight, clearly uncomfortable.

“Honestly, didn’t know if it would work on Rogers -- his service record is _weird_. Pretty sure the guy spent a lot more time giving orders than taking them,” he added, grimacing. “Figured it was worth a shot, though.”

 

Sharon patted his arm.

“You did a good job. Quick thinking.”

Bradley seemed to relax a bit under her praise, and Loki wished he’d known that, wished he had been the one to calm Steve. It was a selfish thought, that he had reacted to Steve’s voice alone when he’d been thrashing on the floor of Romanoff’s rooms, but that Steve had required orders… he supposed it made a certain amount of sense.

“Your grandfather fought in Steve’s war.” He said slowly, his eyes flickered to Sharon, thinking of Peggy, then back to Bradley. He nodded at the young man, and saw Murray give him a slow, gentle punch in the shoulder.

“Thank you. If not for your words, he would likely not have had the opportunity to speak at all.”

He was busy at the back of his mind, churning through half an idea, but it would involve leaving to go learn more, of how to treat with Steve’s mind, and right now he needed to be here; he couldn’t… he sighed and sank into his seat and began working through the report he needed to give to the rest of them.

“Steve woke and asked questions. He recognized me, asked how long he’d been asleep… asked about HYDRA.” Loki took a deep breath. “Dr. Cho has limited his visitors to three at a time, including myself. As such, it is possible any of you may be around while I am not, and he wakes. You should know that he has a fear of sleeping and time lapsing beyond the usual night of rest. He fears waking up another seventy years in the future, so you may have to reassure him… I do not know yet how he feels about the month he’s lost, but that it is less than the half century that he half-expects.” Loki raised his shoulder, letting that thought slide away and turning towards his concerns, once again.

“I told him in the very broadest terms what happened. That we buried all of the HYDRA agents and the base alike.” He paused delicately, his mind replaying for him Steve’s very satisfied ‘ _good_ ’. “I would advise that we avoid telling him any more than that, just yet. It may be too much, too soon. However, if you learn any details of what happened to him…” He did not want to betray confidences, ask them to share all of Steve’s pains with him. But he also knew Steve did not often speak of his pains, and that he may not have any other way of learning about them. Still.

“Tell the doctors if there is anything relevant, and treatable. He is quick to tire and his voice is rough. It seems the lightest of touches pain him, for the time being. So we must be careful not to cause harm by causing him to over exert himself.”

He felt emotionally battered, but looked around the room.

“Have I forgotten anything?”

 

The group exchanged looks, wordless shifting and the soft whisper of cloth as some changed positions the only sounds in the room for several seconds as everyone digested the news of Steve’s updated condition. Until finally:

“Merry Christmas?” Barton said.

“I’d say getting Cap back from coma-land is one hell of a present,” Ferra mused with a smile, aiming it at Loki.

“Hear hear,” Tony added. “So... eggnog, anyone? Jarv, can we get some tunes?”

Music began to gently play over the speakers, a baritone voice singing _Silent night.... Holy night..._

Thor moved to Loki’s side, their shoulders touching. “Merry midwinter, brother,” he murmured.

 

Loki leaned against his brother.

“Merry midwinter, Thor.” He responded, glad for the solid warmth that he offered.

He was not used to the lack of foresight he had exhibited during Steve’s absence. Somehow he had thought they would find him, bring him back, and everything would be just fine. Back to where it had been, with a single conversation. He’d catastrophized with thoughts of being rejected… but somehow the reality was none of these things.

It could be, though. Steve _would_ get better.

He had to cling to that hope. Even while part of him whispered that Steve may very well be no different than the other humans around him, now. Fragile. Breakable. Temporary.

Which he’d known, of course. Loki had always been aware, but it was easy to forget when he was whole and so strong.

But Thor must know, must always be so aware.

“They are just so brief.” Loki muttered.

 

“True,” Thor agreed in a murmur, watching the others as Stark poured glasses of a cream-colored drink, and Pepper modeled the silly red and white hat for a grinning Natasha. _All is calm, all is bright,_ the music crooned in the background of it all.

“But that is what makes them precious,” he added, so only Loki could hear.

 

“The most fragile of gifts I have ever received at midwinter.” Loki said, agreeing, in a way.

“Thank you for being here, my brother.”

Catching Murray’s eye, he returned his smile, feeling much more honest in the expression than he had in so long.

He watched as Ferra and Banner and Bradley passed a plate of small snacks between them, sharing a laugh, and Darcy and Clint and Garza spoke animatedly over their phones. As Jane and Sharon talked quietly, shooting glances towards he and Thor.

“Come brother, let us not be both the oldest and the least fun people at this party.” His lips quirked with mischief. “I seem to recall a midwinter tradition of questions and cups. It would be unkind of us not to share our traditions as they do theirs.”

Besides, he had yet to get even with Tony for his reindeer gaming.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! With much love from Lena and Peaches. 
> 
>  
> 
> (As a side note, some people who are big comics fans may notice that the Eli here differs from his comic counterpart in some very significant ways. Lena has a lot of thoughts on how the Eli Bradley of this verse's experiences and family history probably differ from 616, so if anyone has feelings and wants to talk with her about it on [tumblr](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com), by all means.)


	75. Seventy-Five

Steve opened his eyes slowly when next he woke. The world around him came into focus gradually, and while the sterile white environment set his nerves on edge, the colored lights and bits of tinsel were too out of place for him to feel genuine panic.

He took stock of his surroundings. Bed. Hospital room. Or, hospital-like; it was too quiet to be an actual hospital, without the blaring of a PA system or distant voices and the rumble of wheels in the hall from gurneys or crash carts. The tower, he remembered. He was at the tower. _Home, safe_ , Loki had said.

  


Home.

  


Safe.

  


_Loki_.

  


A sound to his left made him turn his head, half-expecting to see Loki at his bedside -- but instead there was the doctor from before, in pale blue scrubs. She smiled at him, adjusting the IV bag that hung on a pole near his bed. “Hello again.”

He looked at the IV, then followed the line to the needle inserted in the back of his hand and frowned at it.

“You were dangerously dehydrated,” the doctor -- Cho? -- told him. “We’ve had you on a saline drip to fix that, and there’s some painkillers controlled by the drip here,” she explained, indicating the device, “which you can control with this button over here if you need more.”

“Painkillers don’t work on me,” he responded, automatically. His voice was raspy still, but his throat, though hoarse, no longer felt as if he’d been swallowing razors.

Dr. Cho looked perplexed, then a moment later, almost pitying. “They wouldn’t have before, no, but we think that with your present metabolic rate, they should be able to take effect before your body processes them out.”

It took a few minutes for him to put two and two together; when he did, he slumped back in resignation. Of course: the anti-serum. “Right,” he said simply. “Um. Thank you.”

The sound of the door latch clicking offered him a reprieve from the discomfort of the moment, and he quickly turned to see Loki entering his room. He mustered up a feeble smile.

  


“Hey.”

  


Loki’s mouth pulled up at the sides, surprised to see Steve alert, but glad of it, too.

“Hey yourself.” He responded warmly, coming forward to take his seat beside Steve’s bed.

Loki looked up at the doctor beside him, taking note of the information on the various machines.

“Doctor Cho,” He greeted, and they traded a small smile as well, but he was glad that she did not try to pull him into a conversation, when every bit of him wanted to focus on his partner.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, turning his eyes back to him. He reached forward to take his hand again, to reassure them both that the other was truly there.

  


Steve flinched as Loki’s too-warm hand touched his, drawing his hand back to his side as a matter of instinct, the hair on his arm standing on end. “I’m... doing alright,” he answered, trying not to dwell too much on that reaction, or the way Dr. Cho paused in her work and was looking at him. “Apparently painkillers work on me now, so I guess that’s a plus.”

He tried to make it sound joking, but it emerged more bitter than he intended. Immediately feeling guilty, he licked his dry, cracked lips (maybe he could ask them for lip balm), trying to think of somewhere else to steer the conversation that wasn’t his own failed and broken body. “How are you? And the team? Everyone else is...?”

He’d heard mention of the others, but so far all he had seen was Loki. Knowing Loki hadn’t been hurt because of him was a huge relief; but it didn’t excuse him from making sure the others were alright too.

  


Loki’s smile fell away as Steve once again withdrew, but his partner didn’t comment on the movement.

He said painkillers worked, so it couldn’t be that Loki had hurt him with so soft a touch. And he didn’t think it was disgust; he asked after Loki and the others… Loki swallowed his hurt and tore his eyes away from Steve’s hand and brought them back to his face.

“I am… better. Much better, now that you are home and awake. And the rest, I would imagine, are sleeping off record making hangovers, from celebrating. Between your waking and the holiday, I fear last night was… there was _much_ celebrating.” He finished delicately, and put on another smile, though this felt less real. Tighter.

“I am sure they will be down to see you, in ones and twos, for the next few days.” He assured him.

Then he frowned. “Is there anything you want? Anything I can get for you?”

  


The next few days. Because he was probably going to be stuck here for god knew how long, given he was an invalid again. Steve tried not to let his expression sour. His team was happy and well and safe, after all.

“Lip balm,” he answered automatically. That, at least, he could give a concrete answer to. “And... food?” He looked up at Dr. Cho, as if for permission.

She made a face. “We’ll have to start you on liquids and light fare to begin with, so you don’t get sick,” she told him. “But maybe some broth in a bit.”

She reached down to adjust the tape holding the IV in his hand and Steve cringed as her fingers brushed against his skin, pulling back and fixing the tape himself.

She tilted her head to the side, curiously. “Does it hurt when you’re touched?”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, not sure what to say. “No,” he finally settled on, because it was true. _But I feel like it’s going to._ And hell, how far had he fallen if he’d gone from the kind of guy who could jump on a grenade without a second thought to someone who clammed up just from being touched like human contact was a red hot poker or something? His cheeks burned and he couldn’t meet her eyes.

Dr. Cho frowned, traded a look with Loki over Steve’s head, then scribbled something in his chart. “I’m making a note to minimize touch without warning you first, and to let you perform certain actions for your own care where possible.”

Steve exhaled in relief at the unexpected understanding. “Thank you.”

She nodded, gave them both a small smile, then headed out, leaving Steve and Loki alone together.

“You’re really okay?” Steve repeated, because it still felt too good to be true. Like he hadn’t really woken up yet.

  


Loki didn’t fully understand the look Dr. Cho leveled at him, nor Steve’s response. Such relief, at not being touched, when he’d been the one to make Loki crave it so. But clearly that had changed, and Loki didn’t think he was supposed to talk about it, yet.

Those hurts were still so fresh, and he did not want Steve to go into another panic.

He felt his brow furrowing, even as the doctor left.

“The only suffering I have done is from worry for you… and the fear that you were wherever you were, thinking that I must hate you, after the things I said before you were--” He cut off the sentence, redirecting it. He found his eyes going to Steve’s hand again, found himself reaching, but cut the motion short, clasping at the raised side of the bed, instead.

“I love you. I’m so--” sorries were selfish, he knew, seeking forgiveness before Steve was even well. “I want to be certain that you know. I love you so much.”

And if he was waiting, afraid he wouldn’t hear it in return… that was selfish too, he knew. But he needed this much at least, the small comfort of it.

  


Steve _wanted_ to reach out and take Loki’s hand. To hold him and squeeze his fingers and reassure him the way he had for months -- but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t get past the knowledge that his skin would be crawling and the strange and irrational fear niggling at the back of his mind. Past this _weakness._

Swallowing down his deep disappointment with himself, he forced a smile at Loki. “I love you too,” he told him, voice strained. “I’m so sorry, about what happened before. I didn’t...”

Remembering the fear he’d felt that Loki still hated him, or worse, that he’d died thinking Steve didn’t care for him in return, his eyes started to burn -- and this time he’d apparently been rehydrated enough to produce tears. “I lost the pendant,” he blurted. “I’m sorry. They took it and-- I didn’t throw it away, I swear, I wouldn’t--”

  


It took all of the control that Loki had not to wipe at his tears, not to gather him into his arms.

“The pendant doesn’t matter. It’s fine-- I. It doesn’t--” Loki remembered with a start why it had been bought, how he’d purchased it out of jealousy to give Steve something of him to carry with him, the way he carried his token of Peggy. He remembered seeing Steve’s uniform at HYDRA. And he’d not even looked for the compass.

He hadn’t been thinking.

And with a pang, he hoped Steve didn’t think of it yet, either.

“All that matters is that _you_ are back, Steve. You’re what matters, the _only thing_ \--” he stopped himself, trying hard not to become too intense, to try and be as steady and reassuring as Steve had been for him, when he was sick.

“ _I don’t need the sun when I have you_.” He whispered, much as Steve had done, once.

When Loki didn’t want to be touched, when he was a disgusting mess, and Tony had made faces at having to come in contact with him… when Steve touched him just the same. Given him comfort, when he was so sure Steve would not want to.

This felt like so much the opposite.

And he didn’t know how to even begin to broach the topic without it feeling as though he were pushing him, without Loki or Steve crying, without upsetting new hurts or potentially unburying old ones. He held his silence, instead.

  


“You matter.” Steve smiled, even as his vision started to blur from tears. “Gosh, we’re a couple of saps,” he mumbled, recalling all too clearly when it had been Loki in a bed on this level, and Steve at his side.

He’d been so afraid then. He could only imagine now what Loki had been through, what Steve and HYDRA had put him through. And Steve hadn’t been here to protect him; couldn’t protect him now, and with his body weakened and pathetic, wouldn’t be able to. Not from HYDRA, not from SHIELD, and certainly not from Thanos when he came. He was useless. _Worse_ than useless, he was a liability.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “For everything. I’m sorry.” And dammit, now he was crying. “I thought you were dead and I-- god, Loki, I couldn’t-- I thought you’d died and the last thing we said--” he broke off, unable to even speak. He tried to turn on to his side to better face Loki, but the movement sent sudden, shooting pain through his shoulder, making him fall back with a gasp.

  


Loki was on his feet before he’d even thought about it, reaching out again-- but he managed to stop just short of touching him.

At least he wasn’t still trying to move.

“They had to operate on your arm.” Loki explained quickly, lest Steve start panicking. “It had been… it was so damaged, they needed to… or else it might not-- it still may be… once it’s healed.” He settled on, speaking very carefully now. “You will have to test and be sure it moves properly.” The words were slow, but those that followed came spilling out, “but if not, it’s okay-- I, we’ll find a way to make it right, I promise.”

Even if Loki had to go find more healing stones himself.

Though, he remembered, Odin had a brother who had healed wrong, and nothing any healer did…

Loki wouldn’t let that happen to Steve.

“I had to give them permission to… I hope I made the right choice.” He was doubtful, watching Steve’s face, watching as he reacted to the news.

  


Slowly, Steve used his good arm to peel back the flimsy hospital gown, revealing the swollen, discolored mess of his left shoulder. It had hurt like hell and looked just as bad as it had in the cell, but now with the bright light of the hospital wing shining down on it, the bruising looked even worse. He was used to most of his bandages covering torn skin and still-healing sores, but now that Loki had mentioned surgery, he could make out the edge of an incision closed by stitches poking out from under the gauze taped there.

He’d had full confidence, before, in his healing ability to remedy any injury he sustained in time. Even scars faded and eventually vanished, all of his wartime bullet wounds having disappeared into nothing more than barely distinguishable shadows under his skin. But without the serum, it was possible the damage was permanent.

He thought of the brand Verschmutzung had frozen into the flesh of his back and felt sick. He hid the play of emotions on his face with his hand by moving to wipe away the tears, trying to get a grip on himself.

“No, that’s...” he swallowed. “You did good. Thanks.” If the doctors thought his shoulder needed operating on, far be it for Steve to say otherwise. Loki had done what he thought best. And, Steve realized with some relief, he’d been allowed. When Steve had updated his medical proxy after Loki had been injured, he’d mainly done so since, in the absence of any spouse or living relations, Fury had been appointed his proxy since he came out of the ice. After their flight from SHIELD, it seemed wise to put some more distance there. And after spending so much time sitting with Loki, seeing to his care, he knew he’d want Loki to be able to visit him in turn in the unlikely event anything happened to him.

Or perhaps, not so unlikely. He grimaced, eyeing the button for the pain medication, wondering if he ought to use it or not as the throbbing in his shoulder slowly subsided. “I guess I’m gonna have to get used to old-fashioned non-super-soldier healing again.”

  


Loki frowned.

“I can get them to bring you the list of everything done, but I do know that one thing is they took a sample-- Bruce has it-- of your blood. With the intent of isolating whatever is in it, to be fighting your serum. Whatever they gave you… Bruce and Tony are going to try to find a way to undo. And… once you have recovered some, when there is more krellr in you, I will be able to manipulate it. I’m going to help, so that you do not have to stay here as long. You’re… you’re only awake now because Thor went to Asgard, and then beyond, and brought back a healing stone. The doctors couldn’t get the liquid out of your lungs, and--” Loki broke off, afraid he’d said too much already, afraid to send Steve into another fit of remembrance-- of course the way he sustained such damages could not be good memories.

“You _will_ heal, is the important thing. And I will be right here, until you do. With you. Helping, if I can.” He tried to smile, but concern marred the sentiment. “I never doubted you loved me, Steve.”

He had been supposed to be learning to lie again, before Steve left. That was what he had been doing with Romanoff right before their fight.

And he had gotten better, in his absence. He knew he sounded perfectly honest.

It was the first time in a long time that he had knowingly lied to Steve. He instantly felt guilty… and yet… it was supposed to make Steve feel better. Wasn’t it good, if it did?

  


He would heal.

Steve grimaced.

He’d heal enough to eventually get out of this bed. Enough to walk around and take care of himself and not need to piss through a damn catheter; but if his arm didn’t fully heal or his back never healed or his lungs stayed weak and the serum never returned, he wouldn’t _really_ be healed -- not in the sense of being back to what he was. And if no one had replicated Erskine’s formula in the last seventy years, he wasn’t sure what Loki expected Tony and Bruce to manage. Even with his blood.

And damn, now he was cringing at that -- because if Tony and Bruce _did_ manage to fix the serum, then HYDRA was probably successfully replicating it too. And was he a horrible person for wanting it to be simple, wanting to have his strength back, when it would mean HYDRA having the same strength to give out to their soldiers?

He swallowed, unable to meet Loki’s gaze. “Give Thor my thanks,” he said, because he could only imagine how much worse he’d be if this was how he felt _after_ Asgardian healing magic.

 _(Or maybe they should have just let you die,_ a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. The same one that had so often nagged at him in the small hours of the morning when he couldn’t sleep that _maybe they should have left you in the ice.)_

“I’m, ah, I’m kinda tired,” he said, still not quite able to look Loki in the eyes. “I think I’m gonna sleep a bit more. You should-- you should go take care of yourself. Spend some time with the others.”

  


It was hard not to feel dismissed, but Loki nodded just the same, wanting to give Steve what he needed; if that was sleep, then he would have it.

“Alright.” He knew he sounded hesitant, and nearly kicked himself for it. Steve would not want pity any more than Loki had, and it was too easy to see how he could believe that was what this was. “If you wake, and need-- if you want me, have JARVIS call me. I don’t mind what hour it may be. I can come down and read, or… just keep you company...” He trailed off hopefully. He didn’t want Steve to feel like he was alone.

Or crowded.

He didn’t know what he needed, and now he was being sent away, despite how upset he looked. And maybe it was that he was tired, or that he was hurting… maybe-- and knowing Steve this could well be true-- maybe he didn’t want Loki seeing him press the button for pain killers. So prideful, his sweet boy. But so strong, too.

“I love you.” He said again, just because it bore repeating.

He didn’t even make an attempt to reach out in parting, though all of him wanted to. He couldn’t stand the sight of Steve pulling away again, or flinching… better just not to try and touch, while he was still recovering.

  


“I love you too.”

Steve managed a thin smile, just until Loki left. Then he breathed out and closed his eyes.

For weeks, all he’d wanted was this; to be free from HYDRA and home and able to wrap Loki in his arms and tell him how much he loved him. And now that he actually _could,_ was actually _free..._

He didn’t know if it was his weak and sickly lungs that made his chest feel so tight, or something else. Like the look of worry and hurt on Loki’s face when he reached for Steve and stopped himself. It made him think of the careworn look on his mother’s face when she’d sat up at all hours for days when he had rheumatic fever, or influenza, or a bad chill--

The tightness in his chest clamped down and he coughed, wet and phlegmy hacks that shook his body until he fell back exhausted, ribs screaming at him. Without thinking, he hit the pain button, then closed his eyes in shame a moment later, hating that he could even find relief in the numbness that seeped into his veins.

  


It took a long time for him to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

Loki considered disobeying Steve’s wishes, going to his room and being quiet and alone and upset, but he knew that it would only make matters worse, make the others worry about him-- when they all had so much more pressing to tend to. HYDRA, Steve… and he should resume working with Natasha, he knew… but not yet.

Not with as tangled as his emotions were, or as tight as his stomach felt.

So he drifted up to the shared rooms, hoping that someone would be there, while simultaneously hoping not. If he could say he tried, it wasn’t lying, right? And even if he didn’t try too hard…

Alas, he did not even have to try at all, for when he got into the elevator, there was already someone in it.

“Hello Pepper.” He greeted, summoning a tiny (dishonest, because apparently he was that again) smile. “You look nice today.”

  


Pepper smiled, straightening the hem of her jacket with the hand not holding a StarkPad with the latest projections from one of their international R&D locations. “Hello Loki. That’s very kind of you to say.” In truth she would have much rather been in sweatpants and a cozy sweater instead of her business attire this soon after the holidays, but Stark Industries was an international company and their Dubai division wasn’t closed for Christmas, so she’d only just managed to get off a conference call with their director about the new high-efficiency solar tech they hoped to roll out that spring.

Granted, since the call had only required her to be presentable from the waist up, she might have foregone the suede stilettos in favor of a pair of slippers, but at this point they just felt like a part of her uniform. Even if they did, on occasion, pinch her toes.

But still; it was sweet of Loki to comment, so she gave him one of her most benevolent smiles. “How’s Steve doing?” Given Loki had boarded from one of the medical research levels, she could only imagine he was coming from a visit.

  


“He is… resting.” He told her, choosing his words carefully. “I think he is slowly gaining conscious understanding of all that has been done to him, though I am trying to tell him only a little at a time, and… I am sure it is difficult for him.” He blew air out of his mouth harshly.

“Not that I would know.” He added, almost under his breath, and then, aware how terrible that must sound, he added a wry smile to the end of the comment.

“You know how he is. Always so _strong_.” And where usually Loki spoke that word in praise, this time it came tinged with bitterness born of his frustration, his concern.

“And you?” He asked, “And Tony?”

  


Pepper found herself looking closer at Loki. The pauses in his speech were stilted, his posture closed off, all indicative of something eating at him.

“I’m alright,” she told him. “The company keeps me busy, but things are a little slower at least, right now, with the bulk of our offices closed for a few days. Tony is... well.” She gave Loki a tight smile, not unlike the one he wore himself. “Tony’s shutting himself up in his lab, like he does. I think he’s trying to distract himself from feeling guilty about how long Steve was gone.”

She looked up at the floor numbers changing as the elevator rose. “But since I’m feeling a little neglected -- would you mind joining me for cocoa in the penthouse? I could use the company.”

It wasn’t the most subtle attempt to lure Loki into a chat, but it was worth a try.

  


“Far be it from me to leave you on your own.” He answered smoothly, wondering if she had even noticed that he hadn’t bothered pressing a button to his floor. He’d never really intended to leave this elevator alone.

But it did make him feel better that she had offered, without his having to attempt to get her to.

She was always so kind.

“Tony is no more guilty than any of us for Steve’s absence, nor for how long it lasted. And less than some, as a matter of fact.” Loki frowned. “I hope he knows that, and if not I am more than happy to tell him, though I imagine you have done as much already.”

The elevator came to a halt, and Loki gestured that Pepper should lead the way.

This was her space, after all.

  


She led the way to the kitchen area, and after briefly considering the instant mix, instead pulled a saucepan out of the cupboard and put it on the stove, fetching milk from the fridge and cocoa powder, salt and sugar from the pantry.

Cooking hadn’t ever been her strongest suit -- her skills were varied and many, but more tailored to corporate environments than domestic ones -- and while she could make a few simple stock dishes, she tended to leave anything fancy to the caterers. From fresh out of school, she’d spent far too many nights working late with ramen, nutrient shakes and packaged salads from the cafeteria for meals to have accrued much talent in the kitchen. But homemade hot chocolate was something she’d watched her mother make enough times as a little girl that she had faith in her ability to make it properly, and in its ability to warm the soul.

“Despite the lackadaisical attitude he likes to put on, Tony’s a control freak,” she explained as she got out the supplies and switched on the burner. “He convinces himself that with his resources and intellect, he can control everything. Or should be able to control everything. And by that logic, anything that he _fails_ to control, he sees as his fault.”

She poured the milk into the saucepan, then began measuring out the cocoa powder. “It’s just how he sees the world. And...” she paused, frowning, and her voice dropped a little softer. “I think he’s connecting what Steve went through to his own experiences in Afghanistan, and it’s hitting something raw inside. Something he hasn’t really dealt with, and doesn’t always look at rationally.”

It wasn’t something she’d discussed much with anyone other than Rhodey; they were the only people who knew Tony all that well, and she didn’t trust anyone else with information on Tony’s weaknesses, when it was part of her job to protect him. But that was before Tony had invited all the Avengers as his live-ins, before he’d expanded his friends beyond just her and Rhodey and Happy -- and she suspected that knowing a little more about Tony would be good for Loki, just as being a bit better understood would work for Tony. And Loki had proven quite discrete with keeping Steve’s secrets before he’d been ready to come out.

By now, she trusted him.

  


Loki jolted and stiffened at her words, watching her move through the kitchen silently.

Her words about control and culpability rankled, because they felt almost like jabs at him, as well… though how she would know what he thought… unless, of course, this was another instance of him being less subtle than he suspected.

He considered for a moment before speaking, deciding that the best course would be to remove himself from the equation as much as possible.

“Tony has… something similar has happened to him, I know.” He knew this because of the things Clint had told him, when he’d had him in his sway, but he knew it just the same. It was why Tony had reacted as he had to Loki’s revelation about Thanos’s treatment of his seidhr when he’d first come to the tower. It was why he had refused Loki access to the men recovered from the HYDRA facility where Steve had gone missing.

And it made sense that that would bother him now.

“I do not blame him for his distance. But I no more know how to support him through his upset than I have the foggiest idea of what to do for Steve. Neither of them speak often of their pains-- or, at least,” Loki amended, thinking of Stark’s myriad of quips and complaints about the smallest of things, “Not the real hurts. The ones that cut the deepest.”

Loki shook his head, his resolve to keep it impersonal wavering.

“I cannot heal minds, and, for the moment, I cannot heal Steve’s body either. It is nearly enough to make one feel quite useless.” He gave her a small, apologetic and self deprecating smile.

  


“As someone with no magic healing powers whatsoever,” Pepper said, returning the smile while whisking together the ingredients in the saucepan until they were evenly mixed, then setting the heat to low, “I understand feeling useless.”

Turning, she leaned back against the counter’s edge so she could keep an eye on the saucepan, stirring idly, and still face Loki. After a moment, she slipped out of her heels and stood in her stockinged feet, wiggling her toes against the cool tile. “Tony isn’t your responsibility,” she reminded him. “And what you’re doing for Steve now is all anyone can expect of you.” Lips pressing into a line, she exhaled through her nose. “When Tony got back from Afghanistan... and again after New York, when he flew into the portal... he had a lot of problems to work through after those. And there wasn’t a lot I could do to help.”

She stirred the cocoa, making sure the milk didn’t boil, speaking calmly and matter-of-factly. “It was frustrating. And exhausting. And the worst part was feeling like there was no one I could talk to about it at the time who’d understand. Everyone was full of sympathy when he was missing, but it was afterward, when everything was supposed to be all good again, that things got hard.”

  


“I think very few people in your life have ever called you or considered you useless.” Loki told her, unexpectedly offended on her behalf, “And if they did, they were wrong. Including if it was only your own mind telling you so.” He shook his head, watching her make herself comfortable, and he realized with a start that she _was_. Comfortable, that was-- around him.

Not so long ago he’d been afraid to hug her in this form, for fear of making her uncomfortable, and yet now…

Now she was trying to help him, to offer the help of someone who had felt some of what he was feeling now.

“I understand.” He told her, solemn. “When he was missing, my every hope, my every thought, every waking moment was consumed with the thought of bringing him home. And yet, now that he is… I realize I did not think beyond that.”

Loki swallowed. “But there is more than that. You are… you are so _good_ , good at what you do, yes, but kind, too. Generous. You have taken us all in, made us a family. Stark owes more than his business to you, more than his heart or his life… You have all but constructed the world around him. And true that he is not my responsibility, but he is my… friend. Just as you are my friend. And I would not see either of you hurting if there were something I could do to change it.”

He watched her closely and realized he was looking for any sign of her rejecting his claim, his choice of words. He should not have felt so surprised that it did not come.

“Steve is… he is hurting, and...he does not want to be touched.” He told her, the words coming out a whisper and feeling like a betrayal.

“He winces if I so much as reach out to him, though he says it doesn’t hurt. He… It is selfish of me, I know, but I have waited so long to be able to hold him again, after I had to wait so long to hold him the first time. And now… it would be easier if glass separated us again. Every time his face folds with upset, I want to comfort him, but trying only seems to cause more pain. So you see, healing or not, I am worse than useless. I hurt the people I love. I always have.”

He curled his arms around himself.

“Your comparison between us must end with our men, I’m afraid.” Loki told her ruefully. “I am not nearly as good or as useful as you are. I would ask what it is you did, how you got both yourself and him through it, but… I doubt it is within my means.”

  


Pepper gave a delicate snort, cheeks pinking from Loki’s praise. “Tony are in a good place these days, but don’t let that fool you. There was a lot of yelling involved. A lot of _me_ yelling at _him_.” She made a face, then smiled ruefully. “Though if you’re lucky, Steve’s coping mechanisms will prove significantly less _explosive_ and public than Tony’s.”

Considering Tony’s assorted meltdowns and the associated property damage, it would be damn difficult to do worse. Though, perhaps she shouldn’t tempt fate...

Turning off the burner, she retrieved two cups from the cabinet and carefully poured out the hot chocolate between the mugs. Then she sat down at the table, handing one mug to Loki and holding her own between her hands.

“You have a support system here, Loki,” she reminded him. “Tony got through things because he had me, and Happy, and Rhodey all doing our best to hold him together enough that he could solve the rest on his own. You and Steve have all of us here for you. Don’t forget that, okay? Like you said, we’re your friends.” She gave him a smile, then took a sip of her cocoa before continuing:

“And don’t take it personally; that’s the other hard thing. Whatever is going on in Steve’s head, whatever reason he has right now for shying away from touch --” and wasn’t that a strange and troubling revelation, “--that’s _not_ because of you. It’s because of the people who hurt him and it’s their fault, not yours.” Her brow furrowed, and she reached out to put a hand over Loki’s. “I know it feels like you waited forever just to get him home, but... wait a bit longer. Give him time.”

  


Loki took his mug and wrapped his fingers around it, enjoying the warmth.

Her words made his eyes prickle but he was not going to allow himself to cry again.

“How can I hold him together?” Loki asked, and though the tears were denied he still sounded plaintive.

“He does not like to-- he has always preferred to run from me than to talk about what bothers him, and now I cannot even comfort him as I have before. And time… we have always been on borrowed time. First from Thanos, then from SHIELD… I had forgotten, it is easy, often, to forget about his mortality. But... “ He laughed. “If I survive Thanos, there is every likelihood that I will be made to survive Steve as well. I don’t…” He trailed off, choosing to drink the rich warm drink rather than finish the thought.

_I don’t think I can do it. I would rather die._

But here he was again, doing what Steve-- even weak, even in pain, even hurt as he was, would not do.

Bleeding all over everyone he cared about.

Loki looked down into the cocoa, glad that it would not force him to look at his own reflection.

_Enough._

Even as he took her hand, he pushed up his walls, which was growing easier to do the more often he employed them.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking up again. “I’ve been selfish with our time. You wanted company, not misery.” He gave her a smile that was as much a lie as the one he’d told Steve before.

  


She rolled her eyes as he shuttered off. “What I _wanted,_ was to make sure I got a chance for you and I to talk so you could get this stuff off your chest,” she pointed out. “And you’re no better than Steve at dealing with your feelings instead of running away if you try to change the subject.”

God. Were all men this emotionally inept? Or just the ones who gravitated to Stark Tower?

  


“Steve is healing. He’s doing a lot better, thanks to you and Thor, and will be back on his feet soon, and you’ll have _years_ to figure out the lifespan issue. And in the meantime, you have a full roster of Avengers and a team of SHIELD agents at your disposal to help with... the other thing.” She pursed her lips against the brim of her mug.

“The best thing you can do right now is take care of yourself emotionally, so you’re able to listen and be strong and supportive when Steve is ready to open up to you. In the meantime, keep being supportive. Don’t touch him if he doesn’t want to be touched, listen when he wants to talk, and don’t push too hard just yet when he doesn’t.” Another sip, and she smiled gently, standing up to grab some tissues from the box on the far countertop, bringing them back over to set in front of Loki as a silent permission to cry if he needed it.

“You can’t bottle up all your pain and all of Steve’s. It will eat you up. I know he’s been your support for a long time, and right now he can’t be, but you have a lot of other sources of support right now ready to help hold _you_ together. Including someone who knows just how hard it can be to love and live with a recovering trauma survivor.”

  


Loki shook his head, refusing to fall back into his open state of upset. It was like leaving a wound unwrapped; just asking for someone to put their fingers in it.

Whether their intent was kindness or not.

“What need have I for support, now?” He asked, arch and trying for playful. “I’m not the one who was starved and beaten and… and experimented upon.”

Or at least, when he had been he’d been stupid enough to allow it, desperate enough for approval to _ask for it_.

And when SHIELD had done it, Steve had… had yelled at him after.

He shook his head. That had been different. Shorter, and Steve had been right beside him.

“I am selfish, but I am not running away. I am just _tired_ of being upset, and miserable, and concerned. I wish I could… walk away from it and return and be stronger, but I _can’t._ There is nowhere I can go where it won’t pursue me, and there is no one I may talk to who will not ask after him.” He said all of this in as positive of tones as he could muster, with a smile still on his face that did not nearly reach his eyes.

“Please, let us talk of something else. Anything else. What is your next ridiculous Midgardian holiday?” He suggested the topic off the top of his head.

  


Hundreds of board meetings and years of dealing with Tony in public had given Pepper the ability to keep a placid smile on her face regardless of her state of frustration; even when she wanted to grab the person she was talking to and shake them.

“You’re not selfish. And _I_ needed support,” she pointed out. And she had. When Tony had been drinking himself to death and dying of palladium, she’d felt like she was crawling out of her skin every waking minute worrying for him. When he’d disappeared for days and been assumed dead after the Malibu house had been destroyed, she’d felt like she was drowning, and had been for the weeks leading up to that fiasco.

But if what Loki needed right now was distraction...

“Okay,” she agreed, reaching out and giving his wrist a light squeeze. If not being able to touch Steve and the lack of contact there was one of the things eating at Loki, maybe reminding the others to help make up for it with more hugs and comforting touches than usual would help. “In a couple days we have the New Year. Marks the end of 2013 and the start of 2014; everyone stays up until midnight, then celebrates, usually with champagne and resolutions: a list of changes for the new year. After that, there’s not much...” Until Valentine’s Day, she realized before saying it aloud. And she was definitely _not_ bringing that up. “After that we’re done with what we call the ‘Holiday Season.’” she finished. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t find reasons to celebrate and be social.”

  


The feel of her fingers on his skin lingered longer than it should have, and he frowned down at his wrist while he tried to sort out why it sounded familiar.

“The New Year,” he repeated. “New Year’s Eve. Your peoples’ time of… of fresh starts and new beginnings.”

He remembered that, remembered that that was the day Steve had picked for Loki’s birth day, here on midgard. He’d thought that was the same day as the one where Steve had woken; he’d thought he’d already passed it. Had mentally marked himself in his head as a year older, and right now he felt older than he ever had.

And yet…

He could feel his tears swelling and mocked himself for his sentimental foolishness.

But no one would know. Steve was too ill to mark the passing of the days, and Thor… other than his murmured wish for a merry midwinter, he seemed to have forgotten what else the season brought as well. But then, they had all had other concerns.

He supposed it was apt, though. New Years would mark a new beginning, or at least the beginning of a new life for he and Steve. One different than they had had before. After all, how much more careful would Loki have to be, now? How much would Steve come to resent him for the protection he would have to give?

Like Loki had resented Steve for trying to keep him away from his own fight, now Loki would have to force him out of it. Keep him away from Thanos. If He got to Steve in this state…

Loki shuddered.

“I do not think I like any of your holidays very much.” He said softly, and lifted his mug again.

“What else do you look forward to throughout the year?” He asked, still fishing for something that he could be joyful about.

  


Her heart ached a bit at that, but she kept her demeanor calm and pleasant. “Well, a lot of people look forward to summertime. The tradition of winter holidays largely originated to bring some light and hope in the darkest part of the year. In the summer... well, kids don’t have school for a few months, and a lot of people take the time to go on vacation, travel with their families, spend time in the sun.”

Already, she found herself wondering if a little sunshine therapy would help Steve and Loki both. Maybe when Steve was healthier, she could see about getting them travel plans booked at one of Tony’s more tropical properties. A break from the city and from the cold might do them both good. “And there’s always vacations you can plan at any time,” she finally added. “Are... are there any places you think you may like to visit?”

  


Loki shook his head, then shrugged.

“I am sorry, I am unhelpful. I don’t know of many places here, and those I do know of… I hardly experienced.” He grimaced.

“I did enjoy, though… perhaps we could go shopping again sometime? When you have time, of course. I enjoyed that day we spent together, before. And I have a slightly better grasp of how shopping _works_. Besides… Steve will need new clothing, for a time. At least until he…” _if_ he got his weight back up, if his muscles returned. Loki put the smile back on his face.

“I am sure he would appreciate the break from me as well. I have a feeling I am going to end up hovering over him overmuch in the coming days.” He laughed softly, and it did not come out nearly so rueful as he’d been afraid it would.

  


Her smile turned genuine. “I’m sure he’ll understand why. But that might be wise all the same.” A shopping trip hadn’t been what she had in mind, but it was flattering all the same that it had been what Loki thought of. And a good idea to get him out, at least a little, in the short term. “I’d be delighted to go out, whenever you’re free. You could do with some cute winter attire, and I’ve been meaning to get some new gloves.”

It was a little funny how easily this man she’d once been terrified of before knowing him was someone she could sit and have hot chocolate and plan shopping trips with.

And here she’d thought _Tony_ was the most unpredictable part of her life.

“Let’s plan on going out on Thursday,” she offered. “That’s the 2nd, so everything should be back open. We can go in the morning and grab lunch after.” It would also give Steve a few days to recover more, so Loki wouldn’t be quite as worried.

  


“The second, then.” Loki agreed easily, glad to have managed-- finally-- to light on something easier to speak of.

“How long does the cold season last, here? And how cold does it get, exactly?”

If Steve was to be ill in the middle of winter, he would need to prepare to keep him as warm as he could, to help stave off any other complications.

It was so much more to think about, now, and he knew this was only the start of it. He didn’t mind, exactly; he wanted to care for Steve. But the idea of how much he might feel inclined to buck under that care… Loki did not want to reverse their positions, and find himself too much in charge.

“I assume you know the places to go for such things, so I won’t involve myself too much in that part, but if there is anything I can be of help to plan between now and then…” He trailed off, almost hopeful.

“And you must allow me to buy lunch, even if it is only with the money that you have given me.”

  


“Deal,” she told him. “And if you can come up with a general list of the kinds of things you want to get and have JARVIS send it to me ahead of time, that will be helpful to pick out what stores we want to check out first.” She had seen Loki’s look of hope, and knew he needed something delegated to him. Something to _do._

And if they’d moved on to such mundane topics as the weather, well, that was probably what he needed too. So she gladly informed him about New York winters and what to expect, leading the conversation into benign, uncomplicated waters.

There would be time to talk about the heavy stuff later.

 

* * *

 

Steve spent entirely too much time sleeping.

He thought maybe he ought to try to get up, maybe read or move and see what his body was capable of. But none of the doctors had said anything to indicate they thought he should, and while the notion of moving held some appeal, in practice he never quite mustered up the motivation. He occasionally rolled over on to his good side to alleviate the ache on the sores on his back for a bit, then drifted back into fitful sleep as the morphine drip kicked back in.

The times he woke up, he mostly spent staring at the ceiling or the wall, reminding himself over and over where he was.

_Stark Tower. New York City. After Christmas. 2013. Safe._

_(Steven G. Rogers, Captain 9876--)_

He’d drifted off again, only realizing as much when he became suddenly aware of someone else in the room. Someone he hadn’t heard come in.

Someone right next to the bed.

Every muscle in his body tensed, pulse leaping into his throat as his eyes flew open.

  


Natasha held perfectly still when she saw him tensing up. Better that than being read as a threat.

“Hey there, soldier. Didn’t mean to interrupt your nap.”

It wasn’t the barked out order that had pulled him out of himself before, but then again, he wasn’t freaking out quite that hard right now, so hopefully just the reminder would do.

“You getting morphine dreams, yet?” She nodded at the button, brow arching.

She didn’t expect he was using much of it-- not nearly enough, if she knew him, but it didn’t hurt to check in. The last thing he needed was to build a dependency on it, on top of everything else.

And there was a lot else.

Fortunately she was damn good at hiding what she thought of that. It probably wouldn’t be much help at all. Just like asking how he was doing wouldn’t be helpful; she had a feeling he had already had enough of that, and it wasn’t likely to stop any time soon.

  


He exhaled once he heard the familiar voice, relaxing incrementally, though his heart kept fluttering too fast for comfort. “Natasha,” he said by way of greeting. He was surprised to see her here. He supposed he ought to have expected Loki to be there, if anyone -- but his reaction hadn’t been to a friendly presence, so apparently he hadn’t.

Carefully moving to sit up a bit against the pillows so he could face her better, he did his best not to wince at the various twinges of pain in his body. “Morphine dreams?” he asked, then shook his head. “Don’t think so, but I’ve been sleeping pretty light.” And making minimal use of the painkillers, only hitting the button when he moved wrong and things got bad enough to make his teeth clench. And Dr. Ortega had mentioned moving him to a different, less intensive medication in the next day or so.

A certain level of pain had more or less become the background noise of his life, so he didn’t think it would make that much difference.

“Thanks, by the way,” he said, tugging at the too-big hospital gown as it threatened to slip off his shoulder.

  


“For what?” She asked, keeping the tone light, even as she cataloged movements.

Shoulder bothering him, back too. Him wincing was almost enough to make her want to push the button herself, when she knew how much punishment he would heap on himself in the past without a single sign of it showing on his face.

And it was worrisome that he reacted to someone sitting by his bedside with panic-- didn’t Loki occupy this chair, usually? Had he done something?

It was hard to imagine that, after seeing how the last month had affected him… which left the concerns about how the last month had affected Steve. The big unknown factor that no one really wanted to talk about, just yet.

Not that she could blame them. They needed at least a little window of relief at having found him. And he needed to let himself start healing before he tried to start beating himself up.

Though, again knowing him, it was probably too late for that the moment he came out of the coma.

“You really ought to try and sleep a little deeper. Sleep’s not as good for you if you don’t make it to REM.”

  


For what, she’d asked.

_(For rescuing him. For keeping everyone from self-destructing. For not asking how he was doing or looking at him with sad eyes and a fake smile.)_

Steve thought of the list of possibilities and the corner of his mouth twitched sardonically. “Well I don’t know all the details, but I’m guessing I oughta be thanking you for whatever you’ve been up to lately.”

She didn’t look as worn out as Loki, but he could still detect the indicators of stress in the way the muscles around her mouth set, and the careful tone of her voice. “I was in a coma for a week; maybe my brain just doesn’t want to go too far under,” he mused. And damn, now that he said it, it was awfully reminiscent of his usual joke when people recommended he sleep more, that he’d already slept for 70 years.

“How’s the condition of the team?” he asked, hoping to focus on something else.

  


She considered him for a long second before responding.

“Solid. Having you back has been great for morale. SHIELD’s B team is hanging out still, and Ferra’s been wrangling the younger Agents, Clint, and Darcy into some training sessions. Working off any holiday hangovers they might have that way. But the Avengers themselves… you’d be proud, I think. Team grew a little tighter, a little better coordinated while you were gone. That’s how we’ve always responded to this sort of emergency, though--” she made her smile crinkle the corners of her eyes, “Next time, maybe just fake the kidnap and go to Mexico for a couplea days, huh?”

She didn’t want to talk about what she’d been doing. What she and Tony had just barely begun sifting through.

“Clint had Loki’s back, alone, coming to get you.” She told him instead, “And everyone has paired up in just about every combination I can imagine on our various efforts at finding you. When you’re up to it, we’ll have to have another sparring session, so you can watch. It’s pretty good, Steve, really.”

  


Steve blinked, frowning, trying to process it all.

Team was doing well -- that was good. Tighter, working together, everyone cooperating the way they hadn’t before, the way that he’d wanted when he’d had them spar and then resultingly fought with Loki.

He grimaced. Go figure. The only variable that had been removed was him, and that was all it took for everything to finally click into place. Maybe he should have taken himself out of the equation a long time ago and saved them all a lot of dysfunction and grief--

No, that wasn’t fair. He’d told Loki, after all, that what the team needed was time. And time had passed. He ought to feel happy. _Proud_.

He ought to feel something, at the very least. These were his friends. People he cared about. People he loved.

“That’s... that’s good,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’m-- that’s really--” he stopped, mentally going back over what she’d said. “Hold up. What SHIELD team?”

  


“When I stepped down as liaison, you remember? Well, Fury assigned us someone new-- Sharon Carter. And he sent in a small team of people that we knew for sure were trustworthy, that we knew _weren’t_ the mole, to provide assistance and give us access to everything SHIELD had, in our effort to find you. So she brought with her Agents Ferra and Murray, who I’m sure you remember, as well as Agents Bradley and Garza, who I’m not sure whether you’ve met or not. I don’t know how interested you might be in the nitty gritty, but basically Bruce and Tony and Loki figured out how to track down everything and everyone that Loki’s ever touched with his magic, so they were helping us to narrow that down, figuring we’d find you by process of elimination, with no other real leads.” She lifted her shoulder. “Wouldn’t have taken us a month if we’d known HYDRA was the ones behind the mole, and they’d had the suppressors that SHIELD came up with over your head the whole time.”

He didn’t sound too wild about her report on the team, but there were a lot of potential reasons for that-- fear that he might not have a place on it anymore chief among them. Probably why no one had talked to him about it yet, treading carefully and coddling him. She knew she was speaking callously, but this was the best way she knew to find any problem areas. Like running hands over a limb to feel for a broken bone. Not everything was visible from the surface.

“I’m surprised Loki hasn’t mentioned any of this to you.” She said, watching closely to see if maybe this was one of those soft spots. Steve didn’t want to be treated like he was breakable, and yet his entire body was proof right now that he was, and she wasn’t sure anyone really knew how they _should_ approach him, at this point.

  


Steve couldn’t help think of Scofield and shudder internally. SHIELD was compromised. And who knew if Scofield had been acting alone? He’d been right in the heart of the Triskelion; HYDRA could have gotten to _anyone..._

His train of thought derailed, however, at a name Natasha said. _Carter?_ Hadn’t Peggy had a niece named Sharon? In some circumstances he might be willing to dismiss it as coincidence, Carter being a common enough surname, but if it was SHIELD they were talking about, and someone Fury trusted, he wasn’t willing to put money against the two being connected. And Murray... Murray had been a good kid. Steve had vetted him personally, and he’d never been unkind to Loki. Ferra had no reason to betray them either.

Slowly, his hackles lowered. If Natasha was alright with this team of SHIELD agents, she had to have run background on them. She didn’t trust blindly, and she had good judgment.

Then the mention of the seidhr suppressor made him grimace all over again. He hadn’t put it together at the time, but it made sense now, how there had been the ever-present humming in his skull and how he’d been weaker than usual, even from the start. And also how he’d nearly collapsed during his escape attempt, the closer he got to the surface. Again, HYDRA had clearly gotten their hands on SHIELD’s tech -- tech made to contain Loki.

He clenched his jaw at the memory of the fight that had resulted from that, and how upset Loki had been. Maybe this was God or fate or whoever giving Steve what he deserved, for not being more irate on Loki’s behalf. Had he brought this all down on himself for not insisting then and there that Hill and Fury destroy all the tech, delete all the plans?

Natasha brought up Loki, and Steve looked away again, tracking the rhythmic light of the heart-rate monitor. “We haven’t talked about it much,” he told her.

They hadn’t talked about anything, much. Mostly because Steve couldn’t stand the devastated look that flickered over Loki’s face for a split second before he hid it, every time he reached for Steve and then stopped, realizing Steve didn’t want to be touched. It felt like being punched, every time, and the guilt kept eating at him enough that when he heard Loki’s familiar soft footsteps entering the room, it just seemed easier to pretend to be asleep. “He... he’s doing okay?” he asked.

  


Natasha would almost be amused by Steve if it wasn’t so heart wrenching, how bad he was at hiding his hurts, his worries. His care. Not that he needed to, or should feel like he did, right now. She wasn’t here to kick him while he was down, just to try and get a measure of how down he was.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen much of him since you got back. He spends most of his time with Thor or down here. Seems to have gotten away from holing up in your rooms by himself, which he did a lot of before. So that’s probably good, I think. I’m sure he’s concerned about you, but...” She lifted a shoulder, almost dismissive. “You’d know better than me. How do you think he’s doing?”

This, she knew, would probably be much more likely to get him talking than asking about him… he’d tell her what was wrong with him and Loki, for Loki’s sake, before he would ever tell her what was wrong with him for his own.

It was stubborn, almost sweet, and predictable, and she hoped that his time at the hands of people trying to break him hadn’t torn what she knew of him to shreds. Not just for the sake of her comfort-- because knowing, being able to guess at reactions did make her comfortable-- but also for his own sake.

She knew all too well the sorts of trauma this kind of time away could cause. It was just usually easier to see by now, because most people weren’t busy trying to pretend that they were immune.

And Steve wasn’t immune to much any more, if what the doctors said was true.

She had a feeling he knew that, though, and would be trying to overcompensate, which would only make everything more difficult.

  


Steve sighed, trying to put his thoughts in order, staring up at the ceiling tiles.

“He... I think he’s.... disappointed,” he finally managed, then grimaced, because that made it sound like Loki’s fault when Steve was the one disappointing him, hurting him. “We used to be really tactile. And he keeps wanting to touch or take my hand and part of me really wants to let him because of _us,_ but I...” his face screwed up, and he let out a short huff of breath. He didn’t even know how to articulate the visceral reaction he had to anyone reaching out to him or putting hands on him.

He was home and safe, but his instincts still reacted like he was in HYDRA’s clutches. And he couldn’t _stop._

“Guess he doesn’t hate Thor anymore, at least,” he managed, faintly smiling. Yet another development he’d missed.

  


Natasha frowned, instantly defensive.

“He’s making you feel bad for that?” She asked, words sharpened by her anger.

She completely ignored the rest-- Loki spending time with his brother was much less heart warming in light of the creep factor involved in pressuring someone not only recently out of a coma, but recently returned from being tortured, into intimacy.

Hell, Steve was still in a hospital bed with an IV in.

But, she tried to tell herself, it made a certain amount of sense… if he thought it was comforting, if he was looking for comfort and trying to give it…

“Have you talked to him about it? Do you want me to?” She was bristling less, but only a little.

She expected Loki to be more understanding than this, all things considered. “You need to take your time, don’t try and push for anything you aren’t comfortable with. Certainly not yet.”

  


“God, no,” Steve said immediately, shaking his head. “He isn’t-- he hasn’t-- he hasn’t said anything and he’s definitely not trying to--” he stopped, a frustrated sound escaping him. He reached up and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “It’s like he’s trying so hard _not_ to make me feel bad, but his poker face is terrible so I _know_ he’s hurting, and I know it’s my fault, and it’s all the worse because he’s trying to make this better and I’m--”

And Steve was _broken_ in some way, put back together wrong. His mouth twisted in disgust. “I should be able to handle someone just _touching my hand_ without feeling like I’m gonna scream,” he muttered. After all, it hadn’t been like Loki was asking for anything unreasonable; nothing beyond the faintest bit of human contact. And Steve couldn’t even give him that. “He’s noticed I don’t like it, so he hasn’t been doing it, but...”

  


“So you think _not_ talking about it is going to help?” She sat back in the chair a bit, relaxing, and sorry because she could see how she had put him on edge.

“Listen, your mind and body have both been through hell. You’re going to need time, and you need to give yourself that time, without being hard on yourself for it. No one expects you to leap back onto your feet right away, free of nightmares and aches, and… some stuff might be permanent. You adapt. We’re good at that. But it’s not gonna happen overnight.” She watched him carefully for his reaction to that, before she went on.

“I know I said not to do anything you aren’t comfortable with, and I know this falls in that category, but you have to realize people aren’t saying anything-- _Loki_ isn’t saying anything, because we don’t know what’s safe, what’s okay to say or ask. No one wants to make you uncomfortable, or have you go through another panic attack like the one you woke up with. Volunteering information for times like this-- like when you notice Loki holding back… it might make it easier. And if there’s something we need to know, I know you may not want to think about it let alone say anything, but everyone is just interested in getting you better.” She crossed her arms.

“You have enough to deal with without letting problems that you can fix easily with words make things worse.”

  


Some stuff might be permanent, she’d said. Permanent scars. Permanent weakness. What else? Permanent panic and inability to hold his own damn partner? Could he even live like that, if it came to it? Everyone was interested in him getting better, according to Nat, but he couldn’t shake the fear that maybe there was no ‘better.’ Maybe this was it.

He let out a short, bitter laugh. “ _Easily_ ,” he echoed, disbelieving. Nothing about this was _easy._ For anyone, it seemed. And even if he _did_ want to talk about it...

“I can’t,” he said quietly. “If I talk about it, any of it -- I _think_ about it, and the minute I think about it...” he stopped, swallowing. “It’s like it’s all real again. Like I’m getting sucked back into it and everything here -- waking up, being home -- it’s all just one more fever-dream and it’s gonna shatter at any second.” The memories would rise up like some kind of awful tidal wave and swallow him whole, washing away this fragile-feeling reality. And he’d be back in the cell, chained to the wall.

(And Loki would still be dead.)

  


She pressed her lips together.

“When you wake up from a nightmare, how do you prove to yourself that the world around you is real?” She asked. “Because… this is real. This is no fever dream, and if it was, you would probably be having a much easier time of things. But I hear what you’re saying, about thinking about it, about talking about it.”

That was going to make things hard.

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier, or anything anyone can do, all you have to do is say. But I _want_ you to say, okay? And the offer stands-- if you haven’t talked to Loki at all, then I’ve heard more than he has. If you want me to talk to him so you don’t have to repeat yourself, I will. If you want me not to mention it to him, I’ll do that too.” She shrugged again. “I want to do as much as I can to ease the way for you, but you have to promise not to make things harder on yourself than necessary. Just this once, take the easy path, and know that everyone wants to help support you in this. You aren’t gonna hurt us, letting us help you. Promise.”

  


It was tempting, in a way, to ask Natasha to do it for him. To just escape that conversation with Loki altogether and not see the look of pain in his eyes mixed with pity.

But as much as she was encouraging the easy path, it wouldn’t be fair to Loki. He deserved to hear it from Steve, along with reassurances that this wasn’t about him and it wasn’t his fault and god, Steve still loved him so much, he just couldn’t be the man Loki had loved. Not yet.

“If he asks,” he said, after a long moment, “tell him. But I’ll try to tell him myself, soon. I owe him that.” Shifting to get more comfortable, he exhaled. “I just don’t want to hurt him any more than he’s already hurting.”

  


She twisted her mouth into something that would be a smirk, were it less wry, and a little less sad.

“Probably for the best, at least in this case,” she agreed. “But try not to worry so much about hurting people, right now. You’re allowed to be selfish; you’re clearly hurting too, more than anyone else, and you need to put yourself first. Just this once, just til you’re out of here and walking around and starting to get back into your own life.”

Touching people, offering comfort that way, wasn’t the default reaction for her that it was for most people. In fact, she often had to remind herself to do it, or at least, there was a pause before she remembered to. Because of that, it was no big deal for her not to reach out to Steve, though she recognized the moment of silence for the correct place to have done so, if it was appropriate.

She could only imagine how hard that was going to be for people like Tony, who tended to touch and lean on and poke at, or Pepper, prone to hugs… and for Loki, well.

Maybe it was time to work on improving his poker face again.

Steve didn’t need the guilt trip of Loki’s disappointment, not when Natasha knew he wouldn’t want to be giving it to him anyway. And what better motivator for him than Steve’s happiness?

The important thing though would be finding a good way to tell the others not to touch him, as well. Maybe he’d let her handle that one.

“Do you want me to give the others a heads up about the hands off rule?”

  


Steve grimaced at Natasha’s recommendation that he be selfish. Putting himself first hadn’t ever been his strong suit. Sometimes he messed up his priorities to the detriment of others, sure, but never deliberately; he was always willing to throw himself down first when it was a clear option.

Maybe he was hurting now. But if he hurt Loki -- pushed him away and failed to give him what he needed from Steve -- who was to say he wouldn’t end up losing him all over again? And that would hurt more than anything.

He swallowed, slouching miserably. Telling Loki would be a chore in and of itself without trying to explain it to everyone else. And as loathe as he was to make his own problems someone else’s burden, Natasha’s second offer... well, it seemed like a better option, and something she’d handle better than he would in all liklihood. “Yeah, thanks,” he told her. “The, uh, the medical staff know already, at least. Dr. Cho wrote something on my chart. Hafe- Haephe-- something-phobia.”

 _Phobia_. Fear. His mouth twisted around the word. Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Some lingering fear lodged deep inside him, irrational and unshakable. A kind of cowardice he’d never had before, sending him into panic for no damn reason at the drop of a hat -- or the touch of a hand, more accurately. Rendering him pathetic and useless.

  


She watched as his face twisted and took a little pity on him.

“Stop. Stop being angry at yourself, this isn’t your fault. And besides… everything is something-phobic these days. You make your shoes water resistant, suddenly they’re hydrophobic. Doesn’t stop them doing their job, though. Your body is the same way. You don’t like touch right now because it hasn’t worked out so well for you in recent times. That may fade, it may get easier. But for right now go with the flow and don’t make yourself more upset about it.”

It was rough because it was new. She understood. And there was a lot new for him to deal with. But stress was only going to up his healing time.

She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, not trying to touch, but creating a closeness just the same, testing a little, but mostly trying to comfort as best she could.

“I’ll make sure no one from our teams comes in here thinking they should shake hands or anything else. If you need any other word spread, you let me know. If you decide you want to limit who can and can’t come or for how long or _anything_ , just say the word and I will take care of it for you. And once you’re cleared for it, the doctors are going to have a hell of a time stopping Tony and I from bringing you the absolute least healthy foods that New York has to offer.” She grinned at that, well aware of she and Stark’s shared penchant for feeding people as a show of care.

“Meantime, is there anything else I can do, or get you?”

  


He couldn’t help a small smile at her point about shoes. Natasha always did have a way of framing things pragmatically. She was good for him, like that; she brought things to his attention when he got too wrapped up in his own head. And she was a good friend. Better than he deserved.

His smile widened and grew more genuine when she brought up food. “God, I’d kill for a steak with potatoes,” he admitted, though right now the doctors were keeping him on a pretty strictly liquid and bland, soft-solid diet to avoid refeeding syndrome as his body readjusted. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Steak, and pizza, and burgers, and hot dogs from a cart...

He shook his head to keep from drifting off into fantasies of food. Soon enough. When he got out of this damn hospital bed.

“I don’t think so,” he told her, realizing she’d asked another question. “But... thank you, Natasha.” He looked her in the eyes. “For everything.”

 

* * *

 

Speaking with Pepper had helped, somewhat. It helped knowing that she at least did not think him entirely foolish and selfish, even though he felt it.

Even though he was.

He knew that Steve was… not avoiding him, exactly. He couldn’t actually do that, stuck as he was in bed, in one room. And if Loki were less selfish, he might have addressed it, or stopped coming, but he was… afraid. Afraid to hear the words, afraid Steve would say he didn’t want him there. And more afraid that Steve did, and he would just stop coming, and leave him to feel abandoned. Loki wouldn’t do that to him.

He was a coward, and his partner was hurt, and the strange silences and the distance between them only continued, but even still, Loki made his way back down to the floor Steve was on, through the bright halls, and knocked softly at the door before letting himself in.

None of the greetings he could think of seemed quite right, so instead he held out the paper cup that he’d been given to bring to Steve.

“Cider.” He said quietly. “It’s fairly warm, though, so be careful.” He moved his hand upwards so that Steve could take the base, and their fingers would not touch, no matter how intensely he was tempted to ‘accidentally’ brush his fingers against Steve’s. If only to reassure himself that he was real.

He wasn’t _that_ selfish, though. Even still, he watched Steve closely, watched him for a reaction to even the proximity.

  


It had been a long day already.

Dr. Cho had unwrapped the bandages from his wrists and ankles, revealing the fresh skin that had been synthetically printed on to those areas with her new technology. The flesh was pinker than the surrounding skin, but she’d assured him it would come to match his skin tone soon. Apart from that, it looked and felt the same, but it itched. She insisted that was normal, but it had him a little on edge all the same.

Next had been Dr. Ortega, fitting him with a brace for his leg. It was lighter and sleeker and less obtrusive than a cast, but just as capable, he was told, of absorbing shock and keeping his leg protected while the break finished healing -- with the added benefit of being waterproof. It was hi-tech Stark innovation, nothing he could get elsewhere, and he knew he should be grateful -- but the process of getting it on had jarred his leg painfully, and had involved _touching._ Even with the staff trying their best to be quick, it had felt like an interminable period of hands on him, grasping and restraining, and when he’d started to gasp, feeling like something was crushing his chest, they’d ultimately given him a sedative just to finish getting the damn thing on.

When it was done, he felt woozy and sick and couldn’t look any of the nurses or the doctor in the eye, ashamed by his lack of control. Dr. Ortega had said something about physical therapy, but he hadn’t heard anything more, hoping they would all just _leave._

The next hour he’d spent lying on his good side, feeling raw and cold, but not wanting to push the call button. He couldn’t deal with anyone else.

He almost groaned when the door opened again, but managed to hold it back when he recognized Loki. Loki had been nothing but kind and loving and patient, and deserved no less from Steve. Carefully, he pulled himself into a sitting position, putting on a fake smile. “Hey,” he said, then carefully accepted the cup. True to Loki’s word, it was warm, and Steve held it between both his hands, reveling in the heat. “S’nice,” he murmured, slowly sipping at it and feeling some of chill ebb away. “Thanks.”

  


“Are you cold?” Loki asked, noting how he cradled the cup in his hands, like it was some precious thing. Warmth was precious, he knew. Better than most.

“I can have more blankets brought in. Or bring you down the one from the bed in our apartment, if you’d prefer that.”

It didn’t feel all that cold down here, but he thought he might be numb to it.

Steve had never been a good liar. He usually avoided doing so. But now his smiles were lies, and Loki hated them. Hated that his Steve thought he needed to lie to him. Hated that he couldn’t think of a reason for Steve to have a real smile.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier. Dr. Ortega says you got your leg brace on. How is it?” He had no excuse for his not being there, other than the carefully moderated time he spent with Steve, trying to balance between _being there_ and not overwhelming him. Or outstaying his welcome.

  


“There’s blankets in the cabinet in the corner,” he said, breathing in the steam rising from the cider. The cold had wormed its way into his bones back in that place, and it seemed to have taken up permanent residence. He didn’t know if more blankets would help -- he’d told himself that was why he hadn’t gotten up to fetch one himself, and not the fear that he was too weak to walk a few paces across the room and back without collapsing -- but giving Loki some way to help might do something for the sadness in his eyes that his smile didn’t reach.

“It was...” he trailed off and made a face. “There were a lot of people in here. Probably just as well.” The last thing he would have wanted was Loki bearing witness to his panic. He pulled the blanket up to reveal the leg, snugly wrapped by the brace, with only traces of purpled skin showing. “It’s weird... Haven’t needed to have anything set and braced for more than a day or two in a long time.”

It was only after that he realized he’d now exposed himself to even more of the drafty air, and that he couldn’t pull the blanket down. He did his best to pull his leg back under the blanket, frowning.

To distract himself, he took another sip of cider. It was sweet and spicy and so much more flavorful than the bland broth or jello they had him eating that it overwhelmed the senses, briefly (and mercifully) blanking out everything else.

  


Loki came back bearing blankets as quickly as he could manage.

Steve had done his best not to ask anything of Loki, he thought. And what he did ask for was so very small. Things like blankets.

But even still, it was _something_.

He looked at the brace, and was careful not to stare for too long, then watched as Steve struggled with his covers for a moment, frozen and unsure what he should do.

Steve didn’t want to have to rely on others, and he watched as Steve took a drink of his cider, rather than ask.

But he was cold, and Loki was meant to take care of him anyway. So he decided not to make him ask.

It seemed Steve’s recovery was to be like their sex-- Loki would have to guess and hope that he didn’t do anything wrong along the way.

He reached over him and grasped the blanket in between his fingers, careful that Steve wouldn’t even feel the weight of his hand. He pulled it back into place that way, then moved around to the end of the bed and spread the new blankets out over him much the same.

“If that’s too much, let me know so I can fold it back up.” That seemed safe; even Steve couldn’t be upset about that, surely-- after all, he only really had one shoulder, and that took more movement to achieve.

Loki sat back down.

“I know it must chafe, having to put up with all of this. I am just grateful you are getting the care you need _to_ heal.” Loki’s mouth twitched a bit, almost a smile, before he remembered something he’d realized while working the day before with Ortega.

If Steve couldn’t stand Loki being that near, he wouldn’t allow him to manipulate his krellr. Loki didn’t want to force him to choose between two things he hated now-- between being hurt or allowing the near-touch.

He could try to do it while Steve slept, he supposed, but… it seemed dishonest. He put the smile on he’d meant to have before, and didn’t say anything, but it was a worrisome thought. And one that would need addressed before too much longer; his krellr was returning. Slowly, but certainly. And Loki would be able to help him soon… if he would accept it.

  


Steve nodded gratefully as Loki draped the blankets over him. He’d worried briefly that the added pressure would feel like restraint and maybe set him off, but it was apparently too far from anything he’d experienced at HYDRA’s mercies to strike an unpleasant chord. And really, anything but the cold was an improvement. “It’s good,” he told him.

But it _did_ chafe, as Loki said. The machines and the doctors and the constant dullness of the four walls of the clean little room with its clinical smelling air. The bland and unsatisfying food and the weakness that weighed down his body and his mind. And worst of all was the feeling that, despite everyone’s claims about it being for his own healing, he wasn’t improving much at all.

Granted, he was breathing a bit easier, and the doctors were assuring him there was progress happening all over his body. A lot of his sores were no longer oozing, but crusty, and some of the swelling in his shoulder was starting to go down. But it had been well over a week since his rescue; before, that would have been enough time to be back on his feet. Not still bedridden.

_Before._

He grimaced. ‘Before’ had changed meanings yet again. First, before the serum. Then, before the ice. Now, before HYDRA had broken him back down.

“Would be more reassuring if I seemed to be doing much healing.”

He kicked himself as soon as he said it; it was one thing to be self-pitying in his own head, and another to say it out loud. And hearing it aloud, he could hear how selfish he sounded. Most of the human race healed at this same pace, and a lot of them suffered and didn’t have any access to top-of-the-line medical care like he was getting. He ought to be grateful.

He looked away, shamed. “Sorry. It’s... been a day.”

  


“No need to apologize.” Loki responded quickly. “I… actually wanted to speak to you. About… About healing you.” He hadn’t exactly meant to broach the subject, but with it fresh on his mind and Steve providing him such a perfect opening… He just wanted to make things better for him.

“I hadn’t checked yet, but your krellr should soon be reaching high enough levels that I should be able to begin to--. That is, if you want, if you’re comfortable with-- I wouldn’t even have to touch you.” He said, wincing as he remembered having said the same thing, when he’d worked on Steve’s ribs that day in his cell at SHIELD. He felt his throat stick with panic at finally bringing it up, but…

“I know you don’t… want me touching you right now. And I know you don’t want to heal at the pace you have been. I don’t mean to push you, only… I wanted to offer. You can think about it if you want.”

Since it had already been ‘a day’. Since Loki was terrified of being turned down now, or finding out what it was that went through Steve’s mind when he flinched and cringed away from Loki’s touch.

  


Steve frowned, considering it.

Loki wouldn’t touch him. But he’d be affecting him all the same. But then, so were the chemicals the doctors were pumping into his veins all this time. He’d gotten used to the IVs, though he avoided looking at the places where the needles poked through skin, glad of the gauze that covered them. Maybe if he thought of the moving of his krellr as something similar, it wouldn’t panic him. After all, Loki was the only one to ever do it, and had only done it to help.

“Yeah, that... that should... I think that’ll work.” And if it sped up the process, surely it’d be worth it. To get back on his feet sooner. To get healthy sooner. “And... Thank you. For not touching me. I know it’s hard, and-- you know it’s not _you_ , right?” He turned to look at Loki.

  


Loki swallowed and shook his head, looking down at his hands, laced together in his lap.

He didn’t know what he could say that wouldn’t hurt Steve, that wouldn’t make him feel guilty or like Loki was trying to force him to accept touch for his sake, didn’t want to burden Steve with his own doubts, his own worries, not when Steve was all but drowning under the weight of those he already had.

“I didn’t-- you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. You’re right, it’s...” it all came out jumbled and he stopped to take a deep breath.

“I have to admit,” he said slowly, “I’ve wondered if… if it was me especially. If you don’t want me here, or… if you want me here less. Or more. Or if I’m doing something wrong…”

but he knew he was saying it wrong. It still sounded like an accusation, and so it was his turn to look away.

“Never mind. I shouldn’t have.” He huffed air out. “After you eat next, I’ll check your krellr.”

  


“You’re not,” he said with a strained voice. “I don’t. I mean-- It’s... anyone.” Which wasn’t quite true -- he found himself more anxious around the male nurses than the female ones, which he too was embarrassed to admit (was that sexist? He didn’t want to be sexist, but his brain didn’t seem to be responding to any of his wants. Or had it just been the lack of women in HYDRA?) -- but he didn’t like to be touched by any of them. “I _love_ you,” he repeated, almost desperately. “I just...”

 _I hate that you’re seeing me like this,_ he couldn’t bring himself to say.

He groaned in frustration, dropping back into the cushions, squeezing his eyes shut for a second and then letting out a long breath. Maybe letting Loki look at his krellr would serve the dual purpose of letting Loki feel close to him, and forestalling this conversation a little longer: “They still have me mostly eating through a straw. Might as well check it now.”

  


Loki twisted his lips, trying to keep from frowning at how uncomfortable he’d managed to make his partner, so quickly.

“I love you too, Steve. It’s alright, really.” He insisted. He was getting more comfortable in that lie, and perhaps soon one or the other of them might actually be able to believe it.

Loki cleared his throat.

“Are you-- will you be okay if I change over to my other eyes to check? I don’t want to startle you any. And before we begin, I will have to check with your doctors to be certain the hvass leaf tea won’t upset any of your other medicines.”

He stood, moving closer, and rested his wrist on the bed.

“But I promise I won’t touch you.” Even with the reassurance it wasn’t just him, he still felt the longing so keenly that he almost needed to make the promise to himself, more than to Steve.

  


“It’s fine,” Steve assured him with a smile. Of anything, he figured Loki’s jotun form would be among the least distressing things he’d be faced with. He’d always found it beautiful, after all, even if Loki didn’t.

Already though, he was starting to regret the decision. If it was going to take a long time and prove to be yet another ordeal... Part of him just wanted to go to sleep and be done with today. But if this helped heal him, and helped things with Loki, then he ought to suck it up.

So he kept his trap shut when Dr. Ortega came in and consulted with Loki about the ingredients with the tea, having apparently synthesized a significant amount of it (one more development Steve had obviously missed in his time away). Soon enough, Steve’s cup of cider (mostly drained and long cold) was replaced with a cup of the tea, which he sipped down as quickly as the temperature would allow. Dr. Ortega hovered in the doorway until Steve gave her a long look and she turned pink and retreated, leaving him and Loki alone.

Setting aside the empty cup, he nodded to him, indicating he was ready.

  


Loki watched the woman leave, grateful that she would not be around to see him even partially transformed. Especially after he’d so recently threatened her with his seidhr, he didn’t need to remind her again how other he was.

“Alright,” he told Steve. “Here we go.” He turned his eyes inward, lids falling briefly closed before he opened them, red and bloody, and was able to see Steve’s krellr. He let out a soft breath, a feeling of peace almost falling over him at the familiar sight.

He reached out, hand pausing too far away, hesitant, before lowering the last few inches to be able to interact with the krellr.

“You’re still so bright, Steve. So strong.” He swirled his hand, almost looping the strong, rich golden krellr from Steve’s throat and chest around his hand, before he sent it out to wash over the injured shoulder.

  


Steve couldn’t help tensing as Loki’s hand approached his throat, remembering how it felt to have cold hands choking the life out of him, pinning him and crushing his windpipe. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see it, wouldn’t react to the motions. But he could still feel Loki close, the warmth of his body and the slight displacement of the air making his proximity all too obvious. And like this, it was so insidiously easy to imagine that it wasn’t Loki hovering over him--

His eyes snapped back open and he breathed in sharply, looking up to Loki to make sure it was his lover and not the pale doctor standing over him; someone that meant him well instead of harm.

 _Strong._ He felt pretty much anything but. He had to wonder if Loki was lying to spare his feelings -- the brightness Loki described, he’d always figured to be an effect of the serum. Without that, he couldn’t have much vitality worth looking at.

He swallowed, saying nothing, willing Loki to get on with it.

  


Steve was tense and he breathed as if Loki had hurt him-- or he was afraid he might.

Loki couldn’t see, exactly, the expression his partner wore, but he was familiar enough with him and his reactions to know that he was anxious.

Which Loki didn’t want, but what was more, it would only make things more difficult for them both.

“Relax if you can, Elskan. I will do my best to hurry it, but I cannot work as efficiently if you are so agitated.”

He murmured the words, bringing his other hand up as well to linger over the shoulder and help to keep the movement going that he had created there, while his other hand returned to the central pool to dip in and begin pulling the krellr downwards, toward Steve’s leg.

He remembered that Steve was most at ease when he gave gentle orders, and when he called him by things other than his own name.

He could do that now, to help him.

“There is still seidhr lingering at your pulse, but it is no longer the main light in you-- your body is doing wonders for you, really. I know you don’t think so, but…” Loki pulled the krellr into place over the injury. “Can you tell me how that feels, sweet boy?” He asked, running his hand up and down in the space above Steve’s thigh.

  


Relax. Steve wasn’t sure he even knew how. He tried to breathe deeply (or as deep as his damaged lungs would allow without triggering a coughing fit), holding still and trying to think of something calming. Waves or old music or the smell of grass on a summer day...

He could feel it; the strange tingle, warm and just barely perceptible beneath his skin, that he detected when Loki manipulated seidhr or krellr within him. It was both familiar and foreign after so long. But the closeness of Loki’s hands looming over him kept his nerves on edge.

It felt now like his skin was crawling on both sides.

  


The rush of warmth through his body as something shifted inside made him tense. It almost felt like when they put something new in his IV, or when HYDRA had pumped something into his veins, warm right before it burned. He tried to focus on Loki’s words, what he was saying about the lights and Steve’s body--

Abruptly, he felt like he’d been punched.

_Burning. Cold, eating through him, the ice searing into his back, branding him with HYDRA’s mark. “How does it feel, Steve?” Verschmutzung asked, the smile evident in his voice. “Is your flesh attempting to repair even as it is damaged?”_

  


Steve gasped, thrashing, trying to get away, away from the burning touch--

  


_Scofield sneered, jamming the gun barrel further into his throat until he choked, the tang of metal and gunpowder heavy on his tongue. “I could blow a fucking hole through the back of your head right now,_ sweet boy _...”_

  


       (How does it feel.)

  


_(sweet boy.)_

  


                                                                                 (burn burn burn burn--)

  


Steve screamed, a strangled “Stop!” escaping him as he managed to push himself over the edge of the hospital bed, crashing painfully to the floor amid the shrill cacophony of the monitors.

  


Loki jerked back, his calves hitting the seat behind him while he pulled his usual eyes forward-- only to see Steve on the floor on the opposite side of the bed, fallen there in his attempt to-- to _flee_ from Loki.

He took a step forward, then another, remembering the fragile state of his partner, how light he was. He could just lift him into bed, put him back in place, but Steve had ordered him to stop, had done all of this to get away from Loki.

Alarms were sounding around them and the doctors came in. Dr. Cho took one look at the room and ordered Loki out.

He stood at the doorway, watching, silent though he wanted to beg forgiveness and twisting his fingers together even though his hands stung from the treatment.

He didn’t know what he’d done, and more, he didn’t know what to do.

He bit down on his tongue, uncertain if Steve would want to see him, to talk to him, if he should apologize or just go away.

  


“Steve--”

_Taste of metal, gagging, hand in his hair pulling--_

“Steve--”

_Cold water trickling down his sides with nerves screaming as they melted away--_

“Steve, look at me. Tell me where you are.”

He blinked, chest heaving, and finally looked at the speaker. Small, asian, female. Blue medical attire. Non-hostile. _Dr. Cho_ , his brain supplied.

Scanning his immediate surroundings, he registered he was on the floor. Squeezed between the side of a bed, the wall, and what appeared to be an EKG that was wailing loudly. He could smell the lemon-scented floor cleaner and the coppery hint of blood--

blood--

“Steve.”

He swallowed. “Stark Tower. New York.” _Safe._ Supposedly. Even though his body was screaming at him to fight or flee.

“Good, yes.” Dr. Cho smiled at him. “That’s good. You’re somewhere safe. Now, you ripped out your IV line -- if I give you a bandage, can you hold it to the bleeding?”

He frowned, confused, then looked down. Oh. That was where the blood smell had come from, he realized, staring at the red trickling down his hand where he must have torn the needle free somehow. He nodded, and a moment later he had gauze in his hand, which he dutifully pressed to the bleeding hole.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked.

He shook his head. He didn’t want to talk. Or think. Everything inside of him was screaming and if he opened his mouth it could all come spilling out.

“Okay. That’s okay. When you’re ready, we’ll help you back into bed. Just say when.”

Somehow, he ended up back in the bed, the intervening seconds (minutes? Hours?) a blur he couldn’t remember. Someone gave him pills to swallow and a small paper cup of water, which made everything more bearable and the screaming quieted down to a distant wail as he stared at the far wall.

  
  


Dr. Cho moved to the door once her patient had been tended to, and frowned, stepping in closer to Loki where he waited.

“Do you remember what set it off?” she asked quietly.

  


He did not look at the woman, too busy staring at Steve.

“I offered to help him heal, and he said he thought it would be alright. But to do so I came near to touching him… I didn’t, only held my hands over him. And he was tense but not-- I didn’t touch him.” Loki said defensively. “all I did was speak to him. And manipulate the krellr under his skin, but… that doesn’t hurt. And it is not something they could have done to him.”

He pressed his lips together and finally turned his eyes to the doctor.

“You needn’t tell me not to do it again.” He added, softer. “I won’t. I don’t want to cause him pain. Is he… will he be alright?”

He hated that Steve had potentially suffered even more damage, while Loki was trying to heal him. _Because_ Loki had been trying to heal him. And they had made some small progress, before… before everything had gone wrong.

How had he become the least suitable person to see to his partner? The most useless?

He could heal things that Midgard was yet unable to, and here he was sending the single person who mattered the most into panics, causing him to harm himself.

Making him want to run away.

He didn’t understand.

  


Dr. Cho sighed, then carefully shut the door. “Come with me,” she said softly, leading Loki slightly down the hall.

“He may have a few new bruises from his fall,” she began with, “but he didn’t seem particularly hurt from it. I just had him take some lorazepam to calm him down, and one of the other staff will be in to check on him shortly to make sure there’s no added injury to his leg or shoulder.”

She hesitated, gnawing the inside of her lower lip in anxiety, but then continued:

“I think, from what I’ve observed and been told, that Steve was held for at least some of time he was captive in a medical environment. So being in here is stressful for him, because there are things that will remind him of the place where he felt helpless. It’s possible that other factors in conjunction with that are triggering flashbacks like the one he just had. It may not have been the... process you were trying,” she explained, “but rather something he heard or smelled, something said, something he felt. The more we learn about what may trigger him, the more steps we can take to avoid that.”

Her expression softened as she spoke, watching Loki, observing his clear dismay. “If you don’t mind me asking: how much do you know about Acute Stress Reaction? Or Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?”

  


Healers had always had a special ability to take Loki to task in a way that he could not shake nor deny, or even laugh or lie his way out of, and this was no exception, She made him feel like a child being told off, no matter how gentle she was trying to be,

and his anxiety was only added to when she pulled him away from steve’s room, even as he felt that he should be there more than ever, apologizing or trying to help.

“I… have heard the latter words.” He told her, aware this had to do with Steve but already hating it, for fear of what it would mean, what it would change.

“How am I supposed to know what to avoid doing or saying? He will not speak of it to me-- unless you know more?” He felt pathetically hopeful at that, and sad, too. At the thought that Steve felt safer confiding in a doctor, a stranger, than he did speaking to Loki.

What had he _done_ to cause that sort of reaction to him?

And through all of it, how could Steve possibly still love him, as he said he did?

  


“I’m not a psychiatrist so I can’t make an official diagnosis,” she warned, “but I’d say given his reactions and his experience, it’s _highly probable_ he’s suffering from Acute Stress Reaction. Though most people are more familiar with the term PTSD, which generally applies to symptoms after six months... I’d recommend going online and doing some research, maybe picking up a few books. There’s a lot out there to educate and support sufferers and their loved ones.”

She sighed, hands in her pockets, wishing she could dispense more than that. She’d gone into nano-molecular medicine as a specialty since the highly research-oriented field meant she didn’t spend as much time with patients; she wasn’t cut out for general practice, and this whole situation was making that clear. “It’s probably going to be a process, getting him to open up about what he went through and what sets him off. A lot of it may be guesswork in the beginning. My main suggestion right now would be patience, and getting him to look into seeing a professional of some kind once he’s on his feet. I’m sure Ms. Potts can help acquire a referral if there isn’t anyone already on staff equipped to handle it. And... it may help for you to meet with someone as well.”

  


Loki knew that the likelihood of getting Steve to agree to speak to anyone-- Loki himself or a stranger, or _anyone_ , was slim, and would be difficult to bring up, as well.

“I’ll take it under advisement.” Loki said carefully, then, “How soon do you think he will be ready to be moved? If he is having difficulty partially because of the environment, perhaps he would be more comfortable in our apartment. Even if we have to bring some of that technology upstairs with us.”

And if Loki had to guess about that, too… it was hard enough getting Steve to admit to what he did and didn’t enjoy. He was so resistant to complaining, tried so hard not to be a bother…

Loki knew he took comfort from having control taken from him, from being allowed to follow orders for a time, but he didn’t know how much of that would apply, now that Steve had spent so long without any control. Would feel as though he had none.

Perhaps he would do better to have all of the control that Loki could grant him.

But he didn’t want to make him feel unnecessarily burdened, either.

He’d have to look up the things she suggested.

And hope she was right. Hope that the reason his reactions were so much stronger wasn’t because it was Loki.

He wondered if they had done something to Steve in Loki’s name, or something… something to cause him to associate Loki with his tormentors.

If so… even if not, really, he was certain their deaths had been too quick.

“Can I… return to him now? Is that… would that be okay?”

  


“Medically speaking, hopefully in the next few days,” she told him. “Most patients in his state I’d want to hold on to for at least another week, but where you live upstairs and JARVIS is able to monitor vitals, it won’t be difficult to either have him come down or a nurse visit for daily checkups.” And at this stage, a less stressful environment should prove beneficial to Rogers’ recovery. She’d done what she could in terms of high-tech groundbreaking medicine; for the most parts, Rogers’ body just needed time to heal on its own.

“He may be a little out of it,” she cautioned, “from the medicine. But if you want to see him, I think that should be fine.”

  


Loki nodded, gladdened by the news, and hopeful that it would help.

“Thank you, Doctor Cho, and I apologize again for-- I have not made your work easier on you, I know. Once things are… once Steve has evened out a bit, if there is anything I can do to aid your research or to help you in any way, all you need do is ask.” He needed to be careful; he was starting to owe a lot of people favors.

He put his hands into the pockets of his pants and rolled his shoulders a little.

“If that’s all, though… I want to get back to my partner. I don’t want him to think I’ve abandoned him because he panicked.”

“That’s all.” She waved him off, but he couldn’t help but swallow at the hesitation on her face. Like she thought he was going to hurt Steve further.

He didn’t want to. It just seemed like he couldn’t do anything but cause him pain.

Loki left the door open behind him, but only a little-- enough to give some semblance of privacy without making Steve feel as though he were stuck there with Loki.

  


He cleared his throat.

“I’m back elskan. Are you awake?” He asked, words calm and steady and as reassuring as he could make them.

  


Exhaustion had set in quickly as the drugs took their effect, slowing Steve’s body and his mind to the point he felt like he’d been packed in cotton, or molasses. In lieu of the panic of before, he felt swaddled in comfortable numbness.

Resultingly, it took his sluggish mind a few seconds to make sense of the sounds he’d just heard as words, but once it did he managed to turn his head, blinking lethargically.

“L’ki?”

  


Loki’s smile was tight as he leaned in.

Steve was, as Dr. Cho had suggested he might be, out of it.

“How are you feeling, Steve? Better?” it felt almost pointless, talking to him now. His responses would be slurred or incoherent, and Loki had no way of knowing if he would even remember this.

“I spoke with Doctor Cho, and she tells me that we may be able to move you upstairs in just a few days. Isn’t that wonderful?”

The good news, though, he would not mind repeating later, if need be. And it was something that, if Steve was aware at all right now, he might appreciate.

  


“Better...” Steve echoed, frowning. What was he supposed to be feeling better than again?

Upstairs, Loki was saying. Steve’s frown deepened and he made a small noise of dismay. He’d tried to go upstairs before, hadn’t he? He’d gone up the stairs and the humming in his skull got too loud and they shot him.

(His skull wasn’t humming now. Just full of fog.)

“Can’t go up th’ stairs,” he managed to say, voice sounding further away than it ought to given the relative positions of his ears and mouth. “S’hard...”

Bucky would have to wait for him sometimes on the landings when Steve got winded going up the stairs. But no one had shot at them in the landings in Red Hook. Maybe Loki could wait for him, though, and maybe the humming would stop…

  


Loki swallowed.

“I’ll-- I’ll help you go upstairs. Or-- there’s the elevator. It won’t be difficult. Unless… do you not want to go upstairs?” Was he more honest because of his medication? More willing to answer Loki’s questions?

He couldn’t be sure.

But he could try asking…

“Steve? Do you… do you want me to go away?” he swallowed, aware that he sounded as if he was talking to a child. But it was sneaky, too. Loki hoped, taking advantage of Steve in the state he was in, that he would get some kind of reassurance. That he could trick it out of him.

He just wanted to hear that he _was_ wanted.

  


Steve blinked, fighting to keep his eyes open. He was so tired, tired so easily now...

Loki... wanting to go away? He frowned. The thought of being alone again made something in his chest ache, more than just the coughing had. But if Loki wanted to leave --

If Loki wanted to leave, who was Steve to stop him? Better that than shackling him here, with Steve as his ball and chain. Stuck here with him when he was all broken and pathetic and, and blurry...

His eyes felt hot and itchy, vision fuzzy. “Yes,” he croaked. Yes, better that Loki go away and not be trapped here, not have to see him like this.

  


It felt like being punched.

A single syllable, but the absolute truth.

All of his _I love you_ s, and yet… the cringing, the shrinking away. _Yes_.

Yes, he wanted Loki gone.

Loki was sure his face was frozen in dismay.

He couldn’t possibly mean it, though. He wasn’t sensible, and he might not mean… not permanently. Maybe he just wanted to rest. He was drifting out of consciousness. Loki knew he’d get no more out of him. He tried anyway, saying his name softly.

“Steve?” It was so woeful, he knew he should leave, rather than inflict his own emotional turmoil on someone in Steve’s state.

Maybe he just meant to send Loki away to eat and rest, as he’d done before. It seemed reasonable. The sick feeling in Loki’s stomach said otherwise, of course. It was disturbing how readily he accepted that he was unwanted, and it _hurt_ but… it almost ached more realizing how unsurprised he was.

“I’ll come back later, then.” He said aloud, more for himself than his partner. “I’ll be here when you wake, and… We’ll talk about it then.”

He knew that was a lie, though. He’d never have the courage to broach the subject, and Steve was probably too ill and too kind.

Loki retreated with that raspy _Yes_ ringing in his ears, and the tears didn’t come until he was well and truly away from view.

  


* * *

 

When Steve woke, however, it was without the tranquilizers fogging his brain, and therefor nothing to shield him from his embarrassment over his loss of control.

It was embarrassing and pathetic, and as grateful as part of him was that Loki was there when he woke and stayed until the nurses came to check Steve over and clean the healing skin of his back, he was just as grateful to see him depart so he could be ashamed in private.

And also think of ways to try to make it right.

He’d managed to fail Loki at every turn, with his weakness and his fearfulness and his inability to be the man Loki loved. Inability to care for him and give him what he once had. He could see the hurt in Loki’s smiles and it ached worse than his healing injuries. And he couldn’t sustain it. He had to do something.

“ _Captain Rogers?”_

He looked up to the ceiling in automatic reaction to JARVIS’ voice. “Mm?”

“ _Would you like me to broadcast tonight’s New Year’s Eve countdown and dropping of the ball to you?”_

Steve frowned. “It’s New Year’s Eve?”

“ _Yes, Captain.”_

His frown deepened. “I...” he broke off and shook his head. “No. But...” An idea began to form, and Steve pulled the blankets off his legs. “I can think of something else you can help me with.”

  


Loki had been doing as Dr. Cho recommended; he’d been reading up on PTSD, attempting to give himself a better understanding of what Steve was going through, a better basis for his actions and reactions.

It was… illuminating, to be certain, and a few points hit a little close to Loki’s own experiences to be of comfort, but he chose not to dwell on it. Instead, he read while he ate, took a quick shower, long enough only to be certain he would not worsen Steve’s condition, and returned downstairs.

It was good for Loki to keep himself busy, to keep his mind occupied. If he filled it with facts about what was troubling Steve and how he could potentially help him, he wouldn’t think about the imminent future, when Steve would send him away.

The doctors and nurses had become used to him, now, between his time spent healing others and his time spent at Steve’s side. He nodded and gave tight smiles in greeting as he walked past them, and when he reached Steve’s door, he knocked, just to give him that little warning that he was there.

He waited a second or two before entering, but the moment he did, his heart clenched.

  


Steve was gone.

  


“JARVIS?” He gasped out, mind reeling with dizzying half-thoughts of Steve fleeing from them-- from him, of Steve suddenly becoming more sick and having to be taken into intensive care and no one telling him…

“ _Captain Rogers is on the roof._ ” JARVIS’s calming, even voice told Loki, and if anything, it only made him more horrified.

He’d read the symptoms over and over, and the warning in tiny italic letters, talking about watching a loved one carefully for signs of suicidal impulses.

Steve hadn’t given any indication, not that Loki could tell, but… what if this was his fault? Steve had wanted him gone, and Loki had come back--

He didn’t bother with the elevator, traveling instead by his own means and coming to stop just outside of the access door on the roof.

Steve was there. He wasn’t near the edge of the roof, but even being up here…

“Steve?” Loki asked warily, afraid to say the wrong thing. “You should come back inside. It’s too cold out here for you-- you’re going to get sick. er.”

  


Getting to the roof hadn’t been easy.

He’d required JARVIS’ help, first to disable to sensors so they wouldn’t go wild when he removed the heart rate and pulse ox monitors. Next he’d carefully removed the IV lines, holding gauze in place until the sluggish bleeding stopped, before carefully swinging his legs out of bed and slowly standing.

Just getting his balance had taken some time (though the high-tech cast Stark designed, operated as promised, taking all the weight off the injured part of his ankle so he could move without it hurting) and he’d ended up sitting back down to rest for a while before starting anew, dragging the blanket from his bed around his shoulders and limping down the hallway, gathering what he needed before making his way to the elevator banks.

Up here at last, he had to admit Loki was right. It _was_ cold.

The blustery wind this high up always brought a chill, but the winter weather made it sharper and it stole Steve’s breath away when he first stepped out the access door. For a second he’d been left reeling, thoughts skittering away down a tunnel of _cold dark wet cold--_

But then he’d pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and grit his teeth together. He’d been confined then, and now he was out in the open air. He’d been a prisoner and now he was free.

Also, he’d been naked then, and now with JARVIS’ help, he had on scrubs and slippers -- spares from the supply closet -- and the extra blanket from his bed wrapped around him. It wasn’t quite enough to ward off the midwinter chill, but it still felt like protection. Felt _human,_ to be wearing clothes again, and not just a flimsy hospital gown either.

And as he’d stepped further out on to the roof, looking out over the familiar lights of the city, snow crunching underfoot, he found himself breathing in the frigid air easier. This was real; more real than a hospital room, with its generic walls and foreboding machinery. This was the skyline of home, and the fresh air of freedom. No one had carried him or dragged him here; he’d staggered up on his own (having to take a brief respite to sit on the floor of the elevator to catch his breath) and of his own volition.

He turned at the sound of Loki’s voice. Was it nearly midnight already? He’d asked JARVIS to invite Loki up to the roof to join him shortly before the ball dropped. He thought he’d had more time, but he supposed it had taken him a while to get dressed and get what he needed and then make his way up here.

Offering a smile, he nodded to Loki. “Hey. I want to show you something.”

  


Loki didn’t like it, was worried about Steve and his health, but he’d come here for a reason-- apparently to show Loki something. It would be unkind of him to refuse to see whatever it was. That said…

“Can I-- I’d like to wrap you in a shield of warmth. Is that alright? I’ll see whatever you like, I just don’t want you getting more sick. Especially when you’re so close to being allowed off of the medical floor.”

He remembered the comfort and safety that he’d felt, getting his hair cut back in SHIELD, when Steve had told him ahead of time. And the information he’d been getting about giving Steve choices and accepting his decisions… maybe, once, he would have put the spell up without a second thought, but now he would need to think through everything.

He came a little closer, but still stopped about four feet back from Steve. He didn’t want to crowd him, and this far back, he couldn’t touch him by accident. But if he needed to, he could get to him fast enough-- if something went wrong.

He was curious what was worth it, though, worth the trip all the way up here. Worth Steve facing the cold. What could he have to show him that needed Steve to be on a rooftop wrapped in blankets, with snow underfoot and the freezing winds whipping at him?

  


“Sure,” Steve answered. While the cold was bracing, it wasn’t something he’d want to endure for too long. Especially if he risked being sick all over again. And besides -- this was about him making things up to Loki.

“So, it’s New Year’s Eve,” he explained as Loki came closer. “And I thought, well...” He pressed his lips together, looking for the words. He switched topics instead, reaching under his blanket for the plastic bottle he’d brought with him. “I couldn’t find any champagne,” he said, which was also something of a lie -- he knew there would be plenty in the penthouse, but with that came the risk of someone trying to dissuade or accompany him, so he’d foregone it -- so a bottle of sprite from the vending machine would have to do. It wouldn’t make as satisfying a noise when opened, but it would still be plenty bubbly.

It made a satisfying hiss as he turned the cap and held it out.

  


Loki was slightly unprepared to react as emotionally as he did to Steve reaching an arm out toward him, even if it was only to offer him a drink. He smiled, though, and accepted it, even as the wind pulled at the moisture that he hoped would go unnoticed in his eyes.

He wove his heat around his partner before he took a drink, but even still it was the stuff of only moments, and the soda was sweet and light and fizzy. He offered it back.

His tears, though, were not just because of the drink.

“You didn’t forget.” He said softly, love and hope swelling, and his quiet insidious fear of not being enough, of being forgotten and overlooked and _unwanted_ … it disappeared under the weight of Steve’s very presence, his thoughtfulness... Loki’s chest felt full and warm even without the benefit of his spellwork.

  


Steve smiled tightly. “No,” he assured him, as the warmth of Loki’s magic washed over them, insulating them from the wind.

But there was more he ought to say. More he _needed_ to say. Licking chapped lips, he got his thoughts in order as best he could. “I wanted... I need you to know... I know I’m messed up right now. Physically and-- and in my head,” he began, grimacing. “It’s like... my conscious mind knows I’m safe and I’m with you. But there’s something in the back of my head that can’t shake the feeling I’m back there. And sometimes, I guess, something reminds me and all of a sudden I remember, but I remember it so hard in my body that it’s like I’m back there and I can’t tell the difference. Like I’ve forgotten it isn’t real.”

He hoped he was making sense. The words sounded like nonsense coming out of his mouth, but he wasn’t sure how better to explain the source of his disorientation and panic. “I need you to know, when that happens, when I... when I’m confused,” he frowned, “what I’m reacting to? _It’s not you_. It’s that place and those people and you’re not them and I--” he swallowed, throat tightening. “I love you. I’m sorry that I’m not-- that there’s a lot I can’t do right now, to show that properly, but I do. And I’m trying, I swear.”

  


Loki didn’t wrap his arms around himself, though it was a near thing. He wanted to reach out, but he kept his arms just where they were, though he nodded and smiled, sadly, but a smile just the same, at Steve’s words.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was so… I have been demanding, since you woke up. I didn’t understand, and… I am working to. Doctor Cho gave me some reading that is meant to help. I’m sorry that I… I should never have made you feel that I doubted you. Because I should know by now, that if nothing else is certain, that you love me and I love you… that _is_.”

He stepped a little closer, but did not touch, or seek to.

“I am glad to have you back, Astin Min. anything else-- everything else-- we can figure out. As long as I have you.” He would have said as much at any time, but here, on the roof, away from beeping machines and ever watching eyes of curious doctors, it felt more real, more true.

He hesitated.

“I hate to ask, perhaps as much as you hate to do it, but will you… if there is something I do that makes it difficult for you, will you tell me what it is? I already know about… about not touching you, and I won’t. But anything else. I want to make it easy, I want to help you, rather than hurting you any more than you have been. I… I love you, Steve.” He hoped he hadn’t ruined it, hadn’t said too much. But this also felt like the first real conversation they’d had. The first one without masks and distance and treading as though on thin ice.

  


Steve drew in a deep breath. This was... this was going well. And yes, it was a difficult question, but Steve owed Loki an answer, given how he’d reacted the other night. And given the effort Loki was putting into this too -- he needed to meet him half way.

“The pendant you gave me,” he began, pulling the blanket a bit tighter. “They found it. And they figured it out -- the recording, I mean. Scofield...” He swallowed convulsively, feeling his gag reflex already beginning to kick in just from saying his name.

“I don’t think we can use that pet name anymore.” Not after it had been _tainted._ He looked down and away, concentrating on the gravel texture of the rooftop to keep his mind from spiralling back. After a few more breaths, he turned back with a tense smile. “Other than that, I... I’ll let you know as I figure it out, if I can.”

At that moment a loud keening sound ripped through the air, followed by a loud pop. Steve flinched, but then relaxed on realizing what it was as the sky filled with color.

The new year had arrived.

  


Loki felt ill, but hid it well. He’d examine and think through what that meant later, what Steve had gone through because of Loki’s gift, bought out of jealousy, given in anger… it had never been a good gift, and his partner had suffered for it, the endearment ruined from it.

But he had to cut that line of thought short, or risk pushing Steve away; he’d asked him to tell him. He’d been honest and done only what Loki asked. He couldn’t afford to look upset by that. So instead he nodded.

“Alright.” He said, words soft, and if he had intended to say more, it was cut off by an explosion.

He turned his face towards it, delighted by the shower of colors as more and more filled the sky.

He stepped forward again, this time coming to directly beside Steve, though with no intent of touching him. He just wanted to be certain he would be able to hear.

“These are the fireworks you wanted me to have? For my birthday? Was that what you wanted to show me?” Inside of the ball of heat, Loki shivered a little, remembering that conversation, and how he’d straddled Steve’s lap while they had it.

He dropped his arms to his sides, resisting the urge to ball his fists up, and kept his eyes on the lights before them.

“They’re so beautiful, Steve. Thank you.”

  


Steve watched the showers of colored sparks with a smile. He’d always loved fireworks, and it seemed nothing yet had managed to dampen that. Though when he turned his head slightly to watch Loki and the play of shifting light over his face, casting his features in blue and pink and green as different rockets erupted, he was hard pressed to say what made for a better sight.

New Year’s meant new chances. New beginnings. Maybe Steve’s old life was something he couldn’t get back -- the serum and his strength might be gone forever -- but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of starting something new. He’d done it before, after all, when he’d lost everything. And this time... This time he wouldn’t have to do it alone.

Standing side by side with Loki, arms both at their sides, he inhaled, then carefully reached out just enough to brush his knuckles against the back of Loki’s hand. The touch was feather-light, lasting only for a moment, and set his heart racing all the same. But he hoped it would be enough, as a sign of his affection in spite of his aversion.

A beginning, at any rate.

“Happy birthday, Loki.”

  


Loki looked down in surprise, the ghost of Steve’s touch enough, now that he knew, to shake him to his core, and the tears welled again, this time in gratitude.

It had been brief, but it had been Steve’s choice, his doing… it gave Loki hope.

“Happy New Year, Steve.”

They’d make it work. And after all of the guessing and all of the unease, having it all starting to make sense, having some even footing at last…

Loki felt more ready for this than he had before.

He couldn’t take Steve’s hand, or wrap him in a hug, but he could send out a pulse of warmth through his seidhr, and he did. It wasn’t much… but for now, it was enough.

Until he found new ways to show Steve that he was still there, still loved him. Ways that wouldn’t cause him panic.

Vaguely aware of the concept of the New Year’s resolution, Loki set that as his. It was a promise to himself that would be easy enough to keep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Happy New Year to all of you!
> 
> We will be back the second week of 2016.


	76. Seventy-Six

Long after the echoes of the firework finale faded and all that remained were smoky trails high in the sky, Steve became aware the toll of so much time on his feet. His muscles had atrophied pitifully both from his time locked up and his time in bed, and he could feel his legs (one still splinted with a slow-healing break) shaking from exertion, as if he’d run a marathon instead of spending half an hour standing.

He tired so quickly, and this was apparently more energy than he’d had available to expend. By the time he and Loki made their way back to the access elevator, he was barely able to stand upright, slumping immediately against the elevator wall to let it bear his weight with a huff of breath.’

  


This was even worse for Loki than wanting to touch Steve for selfish reasons-- watching him suffering and having a difficult time, and being unable to help without making things worse.

He was reminded of, the first time they had had rougher sex, the way he had floated his partner through the hall of their apartment and back to their room. He had asked that Loki not do that again, but circumstances were different, now… he wanted to offer, but didn’t want him to feel insulted by it.

“Steve? Will you let me help you? I can use seidhr, rather than my hands, if you want. Just to help take some of your weight on the way back to your room.” Loki doubted the doctors would be too pleased with him for Steve running off in the first place, but he was certain they would be most displeased if he let him hurt his still healing leg.

  


Steve paled. The thought of being touched was bad enough. The thought of being handled by strange and unseen hands, completely devoid of control, unable to even see how he was being grabbed or where the next touch would fall--

He swallowed down his nausea, shaking his head emphatically. “No.” He’d crawl if he damn well had to, he decided, sucking down air through his nose to steady himself. “I just...”

He just wanted to lie down. Or sit, even. And the thought of going back to the room with its clinical smells and sounds, so distant from the rest of the world after the liberating air of the rooftop felt suffocating.

“I just want to go _home_ ,” he admitted.

  


Loki hesitated, well aware that no one would be pleased with him if he agreed to this. Dr. Cho had said a few days. And yet… Yet Steve had made his way onto the roof, his legs were weak and Loki couldn’t touch him to help him. Their rooms were closer and he would be more comfortable.

And Loki _wanted_ to agree, to give Steve what he wanted. He’d asked for so little.

“Alright.” He decided, then nodded, falling almost into a role. Steve had always been so grateful in the past when Loki had been able to take the lead. He could do that now. “I’m going to get you settled back in our room, and then I will go speak to the doctors. I’ll take care of it. You… you just relax, and anything they think you need, I’ll have brought up. But other than that-- I won’t let anyone else bother you tonight. Sound okay?”

He pressed the button to their floor, grateful that the door to their rooms was so close, and the couch not far from that.

“We’ll get you to the couch first, so that I can get new sheets on the bed. We’ll want clean ones down, so that your back doesn’t get infected.” His mind was running several steps ahead now, trying to figure out what else they would need, and what he would need to do.

  


Steve almost argued about changing the sheets -- his back wasn’t that bad and it wasn’t like he was sleeping in mud or anything -- but protesting took energy and it seemed easier for now to let it go and allow Loki to do whatever he deemed best.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, nodding his head in gratitude. When the elevator arrived he managed to collect himself enough to stand on his own two feet without help, shuffling in the door, down the front hall, and more or less collapsing onto the couch, managing to hit it with his good side, sling facing outward.

On to _their_ couch. In their apartment. Their _home,_ he reminded himself, breathing in the smell. Far from the unlived, fresh-paint smell that had occupied it when they first moved in, the place had acquired a mix of their scents; the musty odor of Steve’s antiques, the gentle smell of the upholstery, the faint tang of tea from somewhere in the kitchen, and the Loki-like aroma that lingered on anything his partner touched repeatedly over time. He inhaled deeply, and relaxed on the exhale. It was nothing like the fetid stink of his cell, and he was so thankful for that he could cry.

  


Loki followed Steve inside and shut the door behind him, wincing at the way Steve all but fell onto the couch. But he seemed… he didn’t act as though he had hurt himself. He seemed happier. Or at least more at peace. And Loki was glad that he’d thought to mention changing the bed linens. If Steve had come all that way just to have his legs fail him mere steps from the bed… it would have been a crushing blow to his poor strong heart.

“Is there anything I can get you, before I see to the sheets?” Loki asked. “A drink, something… I don’t know what you are allowed to eat yet, but if you are hungry, I will see to it you get whatever it is.” He realized with a start that Steve didn’t know that he could cook yet, that someday soon he would get to show of his ability, perhaps surprise him with it, meager and modest as said ability was.

Still, it was something to look forward to.

  


Steve groaned appreciatively. “Food,” he said, opening his eyes again. “God, please, food I don’t have to eat with a spoon or straw.” He might well fall asleep with his face in the plate, but he hardly cared. He’d only been partially joking earlier when he claimed he’d murder for a steak. Though at this point he’d take almost anything. He genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a real and proper meal.

And as much as he hated being waited on, hated feeling helpless, it was also something of a relief to be able to ask for things Loki could actually do, if only so the _both_ of them didn’t wind up feeling helpless. “I don’t care if it’s leftovers or anything, just... not a shake. And not jello. Or broth.” His jaw only ached minimally and he wanted to _chew_ something already.

  


Loki made a face, loathe to deny his partner anything, but, again, unwilling to hurt him further.

“I should talk to the doctors about what your stomach can handle. If you’ve only been fed those so far, it’s likely because you aren’t ready for anything more substantial yet. And I should warn you that they are likely to be displeased with our removing you from the medical floor, so I don’t imagine they will respond too positively to such favors. But I _will_ talk to them, just the same.”

He could do that via JARVIS while he changed the sheets, actually-- multitasking.

“If you can wait a few minutes while I call-- I do have a few things in the pantry that I may be able to get them to agree on. Anything more pressing than that?”

  


Steve sighed. His stomach ached for actual food. But at the same time, he didn’t want Loki to get in trouble with the medical team, or for them to decide it would be better to move him back down to the medical level. “Okay,” he agreed, a touch sullenly. He then scolded himself internally for acting like a spoiled kid and using the same voice he had when his ma tried to get him to take his liver oil.

“I’m good right here,” he added, this time including a smile, so Loki would know just how grateful he was. “Thank you.”

The couch was comfy, and it was easy enough -- physically, at least -- to settle into it and lightly doze while Loki tended to everything that needed to be done. And he was tired enough that the nagging guilt was mostly crushed by his own exhaustion.

  


Loki had JARVIS make the call while he set his seidhr to pulling the sheets off and replacing them.

As expected, Dr. Cho was not particularly _happy_ about the situation, but she appreciated the call, and Loki’s position, when he explained that he’d recovered Steve from the roof.

At first she’d tried to insist on coming up to see him immediately, to check for complications, but Loki managed to get her to agree to wait until the next day. After all, Steve would be resting, he had been perfectly warm, and if he’d hurt his leg, surely he would have noticed by now.

He even, eventually, managed to get her to okay macaroni and cheese or ramen, which were both things that Steve could chew and that Loki could make, so that worked well for everyone involved.

He just had to promise to get his partner to drink something as well.

It wasn’t until he had bid her a good rest-- which, considering it was closer to one in the morning at that point, she was no doubt long overdue for, that he returned to the other room, where Steve lay.

“The bed is ready for you whenever you would like to move. Doctor Cho will be here tomorrow to check on you and your surroundings, but she promises to call first. You’ve been cleared for ramen or macaroni and cheese, and I’m happy to bring it to you in the other room if you like.”

  


“Mac n’ cheese,” Steve agreed, stomach rumbling with want. Damn but that sounded good. “Please,” he added, because Loki was going through a lot of effort and he didn’t want to seem ungrateful in the least.

His hunger, however, was forgotten as soon as he shuffled into the bedroom and laid eyes on the gloriously soft mass of their freshly-made bed. Moving into it with the cast and the arm-sling for his shoulder proved a bit cumbersome, but not unmanageable. He had to lay on his back, but often slept that way anyhow. The pillows were plusher and softer than the ones in the medical floor, the blankets smelled faintly of lavender fabric softener, and it felt like sinking into a cloud when he finally relaxed into the mattress, sinking into it and into sleep less than a minute later.

  


When Loki finally brought the meal in to Steve, he was almost disappointed to find him already asleep. But it made sense.

He was home now.

Loki thought he would sleep better, as well, with Steve returned to his rightful place. Even if he had to go out of his way to be sure not to touch him in the night-- something he would have to monitor himself for. But it would be okay. And Steve could go back to-- he’d always said he was less afraid when he woke with Loki there. Felt less like he’d lost time again.

Smiling to himself, things feeling like they were finally on the road to being right again, Loki put the food away to be heated again later and washed the dishes. He wanted to be sure Steve had time to fall fully asleep, so that Loki getting into bed wouldn’t wake him. He needed his rest, still, and they’d had a trying night.

But everything was on its way to being better, now. They were talking, they were… Steve was _here_ and _home._

And it felt like home again, finally.

Loki left the light on to shine beneath the door of the bathroom, providing just enough illumination to see by, in the event that Steve woke in the night and forgot where he was for a moment.

He hung up his vest and coat and slept in his slacks and shirt, so as not to upset Steve, to make him feel… He didn’t want to seem as though he meant to do anything but sleep beside his partner.

He snapped off the light and settled in, smile lingering on his lips as his eyes slid shut.

  


_The syringes slipped into his skin and dug deep, needles seeking veins that hadn’t yet collapsed to drain him more, pull every last bit of blood out of him to pump it into HYDRA’s bloated, pulsating carcass, bringing it back to life. Steve tried to pull away, twisting, snarling, but he was held down, helpless, trapped as they siphoned the life out of him until he shrunk and withered away to next to nothing--_  


He opened his eyes, the clenching pressure in his chest smothering him. It was dark. _dark cold dark cold--_ He was back in the cell. Everything had been a dream. He was back and one of his arms was bound and one leg hobbled but they hadn’t chained him to the wall and _oh god there was someone there in the dark he could feel them up against him like sandpaper under his skin oh god he could hear them b r e a t h i n g---_

 

Choking, incapable of sucking in air through his constricted throat, Steve tried to escape. He flailed blindly with the arm that wasn’t strapped down, feeling his knuckles connecting with something soft with a meaty sound. Immediately he tried to get up, to roll or crawl, fighting against something that tangled up around him, restraining him, and yelped as he went over a ledge, falling hard. Pain spiked through his body on impact but he forced himself to ignore it. They’d been stupid enough to leave him unchained, he couldn’t waste another chance…

  


Loki woke with a yelp as something _hit him_ and a moment later his mind caught up-- _Steve_.

He heard him fall and turned the lights on immediately, hurrying out and around the bed in a slight fog, born half of sleep and half of panic. His heart was thundering in his throat and he could scarcely breathe through the constriction.

“Steve?” He asked, then, laying eyes on his partner, drew a step back before he could help himself.

He looked disoriented, almost wild… and so hurt. And so small.

“Captain? Calm down!” He tried to remember the words that Bradley had used to snap him out of it, he’d meant to file it away, but--

his hands were shaking and his legs were shaking and the doctors would take Steve away after this, they would--

“At Ease!” He finally managed.

He could only hope it would work again.

  


Steve cringed as the lights came on, bright and briefly blinding. He lifted an arm to shield himself as much from an incoming blow as from the light, but as his eyes quickly adjusted the reality of his surroundings settled in. It wasn’t ropes or chains holding him down, but the sheets twisted around his legs. Sheets from the bed. His and Loki’s bed.

Loki.

Steve’s skin prickled with goosebumps as he froze, then looked up at met his partner’s terrified gaze.

“I...”

The memory of his hand making hard contact with a perceived enemy echoed through his nerves and made him feel sick. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, then pulled his knees up, backing up until he was wedged against the dresser, pulling himself in tight the way he had in the cell.

  


Loki knelt and moved closer, as soon as he was sure Steve understood his surroundings.

He still didn’t try to touch him, and he didn’t try to touch his face where Steve’s fist had made contact. He just wanted to be down at his level, and close by.

“Shh, no, it’s okay. You’re alright, Steve-- I-- _are_ you alright?” He looked at Steve’s arm, still in its bindings, but it had been on the side closest to the floor. It had to have hit first-- taken the brunt of impact. And it was supposed to still be healing.

“Take a deep breath, try to calm yourself. You’re safe. I just want to be sure you didn’t injure yourself further.”

His heart ached, though, at how Steve curled in on himself.

  


_Safe_. The word felt sour now as Steve turned it over in his mind. He might be safe here, from everyone but his own demons. But the same couldn’t be said of those around him.

“I _hit_ you,” he said, voice heavy with self-reproach. Maybe it was a good thing, he reflected bitterly, they’d taken the serum from him. At least like this his swings were feeble and Loki didn’t appear to be bruising, but at his full strength--

He was more than broken. He was dangerously defective now. Bile crept up his throat and he swallowed it down, trying to keep his expression blank so as not to add to the pain on Loki’s.

  


“It isn’t as if you knew it was me. Please, Steve… that’s-- it hurt, it surprised me, but it’s hardly the end of the world. I’ve had much worse, as well you know. We should get you back in bed. Are you hurt?”

He didn’t like that Steve was ignoring his question in favor of feeling bad.

“You’ve hit me before in your sleep, remember? Just another nightmare. It’s fine. Honestly, I am going to be fine.” He wished he could siphon the guilt out of him, and the pain that was writ so clearly on his face, though he could see Steve trying to rein it in.

  


“ _That doesn’t make it okay_ ,” Steve instantly snarled before he could censor himself. Dammit. Dammit dammit _dammit_. He’d hit Loki and Loki was acting like -- like he ought to _expect_ it? Like it was _commonplace?_

Maybe Loki _had_ been better off before, with Steve gone. The tightness in his chest clamped down tighter.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, not able to look at Loki. “I should... I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

Then at least the next time his messed up head decided he was with HYDRA, he wouldn’t be within arm’s reach of someone he loved.

  


“Steve please-- you’re _injured_. And if the doctors come tomorrow and find out you’ve spent the night on the couch, they won’t let you stay here. You’ll be made to move back downstairs. I know… neither of us wants that. Please, calm down. Let’s talk about this.”

Loki shifted, his legs protesting the position, so he shuffled and sat down cross legged to ease the pressure.

“You are sleeping in our bed. I won’t argue that point with you. But… if you can’t sleep-- if you reacted that way _because I was here_ , I will move to the couch. Would that make it better?”

He didn’t look forward to a night alone in the living room, but he’d slept on Thor and Jane’s couch recently enough to know that comfort wise, it wasn’t all that bad.

  


Steve shook his head. “That’s... that’s not fair.” He couldn’t go putting Loki out of his own bed because he apparently couldn’t handle even that much proximity without losing his mind. It wasn’t Loki’s fault, after all; he shouldn’t be forced out.

Steve’s shoulders slumped.

“Maybe I should go back to the medical level.” At least there, he was less likely to hurt Loki, and he’d be out of the way. Even if the thought of being hooked back up to the IVs and monitors made him want to claw his own skin off. He sighed. “This isn’t fair to you.”

  


“What happened to you wasn’t fair either. And sending you back to medical for your night terrors would be more than unfair. It would be unkind.”

He watched Steve carefully.

“I can take the couch tonight, it will do me no harm. You going back down there-- my having to worry about how miserable you seemed down there-- at least here you’re home. And if it is something that is lasting… I can have Pepper help me to bring in another bed. We never did furnish your studio. I’ll just… I can sleep there, until you’re ready for me to-- _if_ you’re ready-- it’s _fine_.” He insisted.

“You don’t really want to go back to medical, do you?” He was beginning to sound as lost as he felt, and he wished he was surer, more certain of what to say, what to do. How to _help_.

  


Steve sat in silence for long moments, half wishing he could just sink into the floor and disappear. That if maybe he held still and silent, all of this would fade away just like his hallucinations eventually had.

Only this wasn’t the fiction. This was the cold and hard reality. And sooner or later, he had to deal with it.

“No,” he quietly admitted, voice flat. He didn’t want to go to medical, but he didn’t want to put Loki out either. But if Loki was insisting--

What was one more surrender anyway.

Slowly, acutely aware of the fresh aches he’d have from his fall out of the bed, he pushed himself up, using the dresser to steady himself on to his feet.

  


Loki climbed to his own feet, backing away to give Steve room to maneuver, though he stayed close enough to help him if he looked likely to fall again.

He hadn’t said enough, hadn’t made a decision, at least not out loud, and Loki worried that Steve would try and walk, would take off again. He looked so _defeated_ and Loki hated thinking he’d done that. Just by being _close_. He hadn’t even touched him, he didn’t think.

“At least sit on the bed for a few minutes. I’ll get some water heating-- do you want tea or cocoa, or… something warm, something to help you calm? We can talk more if you need to.” He felt like he was wheedling, all but begging Steve not to go.

Not to leave him alone here again.

“There are… Are you able to take painkillers? Do you need some?”

He realized he was completely unequipped in this, had no idea what to do, what he was doing.

  


Steve moved to sit on the bed as he was told. He belatedly realized he was still wearing the stolen scrubs, and Loki, despite having been asleep beside him, was still fully dressed. He would probably, he thought, be more comfortable in less, at least in theory, but somehow the humanity of wearing clothes was more comforting than the lack of seams would be.

Painkillers, Loki was saying. Steve shook his head. He ached, but he deserved it. He’d keep that over the numbing of the morphine for now. His mind was already beginning to feel numb and detached as it was. “I don’t need anything,” he replied. Tea was nice, and it was nice of Loki to remember he liked the warmth, but...

“I’ll just... try to sleep more, I guess.” He looked down at the tangled sheets now dragged across the floor and grimaced. The clock at the bedside indicated it was the early hours of the morning still, and in the wake of his adrenaline he felt leaden and heavy. He tried to force a smile, though he wasn’t sure how successful the expression ended up: “I’ll be okay. Please don’t worry.”

 

Loki frowned, but nodded.

“Can I--” He stopped himself from asking Steve if he could help him settle in.

He sounded as if he wanted nothing more from Loki, which was… deserved, he supposed. He’d caused this, after all. Still--

Loki stepped forward and pulled the sheets free of where they were tucked in at the foot of the bed.

If Steve panicked again, perhaps that would keep him from getting tied up in them, would help keep him from getting hurt.

He moved to where he’d left the crate that Thor had brought him from Asgard, and pulled out his bedding. The fur had kept him warm through much colder nights than this, and had comforted him when Steve had been gone before. Surely now that he was back and unable to stand so much as sharing a bed with Loki, it would do just as well.

“If you need anything, I’ll only be in the other room.” Loki said instead of trying to insist on Steve letting him do things for him. He retreated, but paused in the doorway. “If you need me, _please_ call. I love you.” It felt important to remind him.

He hesitated, one hand on the doorknob. “Would you like this closed or open?” Choices. He wanted Steve to feel safe and comfortable and in control of as much as he could be.

  


“Closed is fine,” Steve decided after a moment’s deliberation, pulling his legs up on to the bed and settling back, though he still sat upright against the pillows by the headboard. The room was large enough not to feel like a cell just because the door was closed, and he figured he was more likely to wake and panic from a noise elsewhere in the apartment if the door was open. “But... leave the light on low, please,” he added as an afterthought. He hadn’t even thought to ask before.

But Loki was thinking of these things, even if Steve wasn’t. Loki was being so attentive and caring; more than he deserved. He had done nothing but care for Steve, and Steve--

Steve had only touched him in violence since his return, he realized with a sick feeling.

“I love you too,” he added, though the words tasted like ash in his mouth in light of the realization.

  


Loki smiled for Steve, and nodded, but didn’t say anything more. He dimmed the lights a bit and closed the door before retreating to the couch.

He pulled his fur around his shoulders like a cape and sat, but did not lay himself out.

He was almost certain this would not be an isolated incident, and that he would need to relocate to the other room. His immediate urge was to try and find a way to do so unobtrusively-- so that Steve would just wake or return, and everything of Loki’s would be moved, so that he didn’t have to watch him doing it-- didn’t have to feel bad. He just didn’t know if that would be possible… or if it might hurt worse.

And then there was the matter of this being the second time he’d upset Steve enough to send him into a panic. Sleeping beside him, and before that… _sweet boy_.

He hadn’t given himself time to think about it, but it made a lump form in his throat, the thought of what Scofield would have said, what he must have done to Steve while using that name, to cause him to react so…

And that was Loki’s fault. He’d thought he was being careful, giving him something… it had been selfish, Loki knew. He’d wanted Steve to carry his favor because he’d carried Peggy’s.

At least hers hadn’t been held against him. Hadn’t been used to hurt him.

But now Steve didn’t have either.

He’d lost so much down in those rooms. And if Loki had just _thought_ when they’d gone after him…

He slumped sideways on the couch, letting his mind run in its self recriminating circles.

Maybe if he let it do that now, he wouldn’t have to worry as much about inflicting it on Steve. Wouldn’t have to be afraid of making him feel bad, or at least, not that way.

Tomorrow would be a new day, and, he was sure, it would be hard enough without that.

  


Steve did his best to sleep. And he was fairly sure he did, at least in short bursts, because he would periodically roll over and glance at the clock to find an hour or more had passed when it only felt like a matter of minutes. But what rest he got was light and fitful -- though mercifully dreamless.

He watched as gray dawn light slowly crept in between the gaps in the curtains, and finally, when it seemed light enough to deem morning, he gave up and got back out of the bed.

His legs were a bit wobbly beneath him still, but he made his way over to the dresser and pulled open the drawers. He settled on a pair of sweatpants to replace the bottom scrubs, tying the drawstrings as tight as he could to keep them from slipping off his hips, now even narrower than before. The looseness at least meant he could fit them over the StarkMed cast easily enough. Next came the sling and shirt, which left him panting and gritting his teeth by the time he got out of it. The stiffness and swelling of his shoulder made pulling things over his head an ordeal, and after looking at his assorted button-downs, he eventually just pulled on a hoodie that zipped up the front, putting the sling back on over it.

At least sweatshirts were _supposed_ to be baggy and loose. He winced at the thought of how poorly most of his clothes would fit.

He sat back down on the bed to catch his breath and pull on a pair of thick, wooly socks (and how sad was it that dressing himself left him winded), before finally making his way to the door and opening it, quietly stepping out into the living room.

  


Loki had woken when he heard Steve moving around, heard the sound of wood on wood that meant he was dressing himself.

And as much as he wanted to go to him, to see if he could help… he realized if Steve didn’t want him near, he probably wouldn’t want him to see him, either.

Or, not want, but rather, couldn’t stand.

He’d spent enough time with his thoughts to mark the difference.

So to busy himself, he fetched one of the Stark screens and began making a list-- the one he’d said he would work on for Pepper-- just in case he did decide to go. He’d need to talk to Steve about that, still… though it was difficult to say whether the subject would be as upsetting to him as Loki feared it might be.

Either way, at the sound of the door opening, he tensed a little, but forced himself not to turn and watch Steve’s approach. Surely he wouldn’t appreciate being stared at.

But he addressed him all the same, with a quiet, “Morning.”

  


“Morning,” he replied, shuffling toward the kitchen. He wasn’t sure whether he felt relieved or guilty that Loki was up; on the one hand, Steve probably hadn’t woken him, but on the other, the couch clearly hadn’t been comfortable enough for Loki to sleep in. Perhaps he ought to offer the bedroom back to Loki, so he could get some rest while Steve... did whatever.

He frowned, staring at the coffeemaker without seeing it. Normally he’d be getting ready to go for a run or a workout right now, but just standing and moving was exerting enough at the moment. He could hardly go out and about being Captain America like this, and even the thought of spending time with the others was exhausting.

Lowering himself into one of the kitchen chairs, he sighed, rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Don’t suppose the doc said anything about me being allowed breakfast?” he asked, trying to keep the note of petulance out of his voice.

  


Loki frowned and set the screen aside, turning so that he could look at Steve when he spoke to him. He wanted to join him at the table, but if he was going to have to do other things… better that he not.

Besides, if Steve flinched at his approach, and Loki had to hide it… he was tired. He knew he would not be at his best, at the moment.

“She didn’t. I can call her, though, or you can, if you’d prefer. She said she would need to come up here and speak with us about what you need, if you’re to stay up here.” He hesitated. “If you… want to speak with her alone, I can give you space.” He wanted to offer. Wanted Steve to choose to allow him to be part of this.

“I do know you are allowed drinks, however. If you want me to get you something in the meantime.”

  


Steve shook his head. “No sense waking anyone up.” Crack of dawn on New Years’ Day was an unkind time to wake anyone up, especially for something so stupid. “I’ve got it,” he added, before Loki could get up, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet.

He might be an invalid but he wasn’t completely helpless. He didn’t need to be waited on now that he’d reclaimed his mobility.

Moving to the fridge, he ended up getting out the milk and pouring himself a glass. Milk had fat and protein and was probably as close to food as he was likely to find of the things classified as ‘drinks’ in the apartment. Sitting back down, he sipped at it, then stole sideways glances at Loki, trying to determine if he was injured at all from Steve’s outburst the other night.

“If you...” he paused. “If you need to get out and do things or get some air at any point, I’m okay here on my own.” He didn’t want Loki to feel shackled to him any more now that he was in the apartment than he had when he’d been in Medical.

  


Loki took a deep breath and let it out, mentally organizing--

“I… realize it is my habit to assume, and I am attempting not to. Is that your way of saying you wish me not to be here, when Doctor Cho comes? I do have plans to go shopping with Pepper tomorrow, but… I will need to go out today. For furnishings for the other room. But that can wait until after, if you want me to hear what she has to say. And… tomorrow I intend to shop for clothing for you. If there is anything you want specifically, or any preferences you may have…? I can get some of it today, so you will have it on hand...”

He thought, perhaps, if he addressed it calmly and all at once, it might be easier.

He had to be careful to be sure he wasn’t the source of any more misunderstandings, the cause of his own hurt feelings, lest he cause Steve distress with them. Again.

  


Steve took a deep breath. He didn’t _want_ to talk, but that was selfish, since things would obviously be better if he did. For both of them. Loki was trying hard and he owed him to do the same.

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he spoke measuredly and evenly once he had:

“It’s my way of saying I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck here, or obligated to be my caretaker all the time. You’ve been doing so much already, and... I know there’s not a lot I can do to take care of either of us, but I want to make sure I at least give you the time to take care of yourself.” He didn’t anticipate that Dr. Cho would convey anything earth-shattering when she came to check up on him; Loki’s presence or lack thereof for that mattered little in contrast to Loki’s well being. “I can read or watch TV or sleep just fine on my own, and JARVIS can get me help if I need it. I don’t want you worrying yourself sick over me or feeling...” he trailed off. _Imprisoned,_ was an ironically apt word he’d almost use. Trapped. Chained.

Things Steve wouldn’t wish on anyone, Loki least of all.

He looked up at him. “You should go out and get some air. Get whatever you need--” and knowing Loki intended to move into the guest bedroom made his chest clench, even though it was better than the couch and probably for the best, “--and don’t worry about me.” He tried a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  


“You are not an obligation!” He objected, perhaps too strongly, before calming himself. “I’m sorry. Just… when I was… _injured beyond recognition_ \--” He chose the words carefully, trying not to invoke the imagery he was sure must accompany that, “You managed to make me feel as though I were not… not a burden. I only wish I could do the same for you. Please believe me when I say that I have learned a good deal about caring for myself. I had to, without you here, and… and before then you did so much for us both.” He smiled sadly. “I am not you. I have always been too selfish for that, as you know. I won’t worry myself sick. But nor will I stop caring for you, or stop wanting to be around you-- if you are trying to push me away for my sake, don’t. I will tell you if I need to go. If it’s for your own, though…” He trailed off, then looked down into his own lap, at the way his knuckles went white while balled into fists. Fortunately, Steve shouldn’t be able to see them. He looked back up, keeping his words and face calm and even.

“I want you to be able to tell me. I don’t want you to be afraid of me… or fear I’ll resent you for needing time, needing room to yourself. Only… tell me so, and I will see you get it.”

  


Steve’s mouth tugged into a flat line. “When you were hurt, you weren’t _punching me in the face_ in the middle of the night,” he remarked. Then sighed. Loki was handling this all so much better and with more grace than he was. He needed it step it up already.

“I think... If the bandages need changing, I’d honestly rather have as few people as possible there for that,” he said. “It’s kinda gross. Heck, _I’d_ rather not be there for that,” he added, trying for a bit of humor.

Normally he’d have reached out and given Loki’s hand a squeeze, or his shoulder, or some physical gesture of comfort at this point. Part of him, running on habit, still had that urge -- but froze in its tracks when the portion of his mind rewired by his time with HYDRA protested, conjuring up a sense of dread at the thought of contact.

Normally he’d have reached out -- so not being able to made everything feel incomplete, somehow. Like there was a gulf between them.

“With the rest -- I’ll let you know,” he finally said. “But I think you should go get the things you need. And you should definitely go out with Pepper tomorrow and give her my best.”

  


“Had I been able to move, I _might_ have punched you in the face. There was at least once I thought about it.” He pointed out wryly. If Steve meant to try for humor, Loki would match him.

“But if you’re sure… I’ll need to get ready, of course, and I’ll wait with you til Doctor Cho arrives. Will you do me a favor, and have her leave a list of foods that you are allowed? I can get groceries as well, when I go out tomorrow, or maybe later this evening.” He smiled, then. “I’ve learned some small feats of cooking. I look forward to impressing you with them.”

Of course, that reminded him of their picnic in the living room, of dancing, of holding Steve and of laying together afterward… He looked back toward their room, and tried to decide if he should take his things out of it now, or wait until after he’d bought furniture for the other one.

Probably the latter; less to maneuver around that way.

“I just want you to know, too… I am only moving into the other room that you might sleep easier. If you have need of me, that door will always be open to you.” He watched Steve’s face, needing to see that he understood.

He didn’t want Steve to feel abandoned. That was one of Loki’s greatest fears; being left behind and discarded. He wanted Steve to know he wouldn’t do that to him.

  


Steve nodded at the request to get a list, stomach rumbling faintly at the mention of food. _Real food._

“I’m looking forward to seeing that,” he said in response to Loki’s claim he’d learned how to cook. He felt a pang of guilt, though -- Loki had complained, shortly before Steve’s disappearance, of not knowing how to use a stove. How much had he had to learn by himself because Steve hadn’t bothered to help him when they’d had the time together?

He tried to keep the guilt from reaching his face as he nodded to Loki. “Thank you. I... I appreciate it. And I’m sorry for putting you out. Hopefully this... Hopefully it wears off soon.” _Or at all._ He didn’t want to think about this-- this _defect_ being permanent, but without the serum -- what if all of this damage was lasting, inside and out?

He stared down into his glass of milk, a few tiny bubbles clinging to the edge of the glass.

  


“In your own time.” Loki hastened to assure him. “Take as long as you need, Steve. I’ll still be here when you’re ready.” He offered him an encouraging smile, well aware that in the past such reassurances would have been punctuated with a kiss.

He licked his lips.

“I’m going to have a shower while you…” he gestured at the milk. “You might consider calling doctor Cho and making an appointment. We did not set times, last night.”

He lingered at the doorway to what had been their room, but could not think of any more words to say.

Steve was home. He was healing. He was here, and safe, and they loved one another. These were the most important things.

He had to remind himself of that, and _hated_ that he needed reminding.

Steve deserved better. He always had. Loki would just have to work harder to be that.

He sent his clothing into the chest with the things Thor had brought, ready to be moved out when he returned. His other clothing-- that which he’d worn the day before, and then slept partially in, he decided to rewear. He brought the hanger into the bathroom with him that they could benefit from the steam.

He resolved to get a few more casual outfits while he was out as well. To keep Steve from drawing comparisons between Loki in his suits and himself in his sick clothing, which, Loki had noticed, was all easily pulled on one handed. Loose shirt and sweatpants.

He’d be in those for a while, Loki supposed. The least he could do was see to it that he was in a version that fit him better.

The water was blessedly warm, and the sound of the drops pounding against his skull helped to drown out his thoughts.

He had things to do, and he could finally be of use. It would have to be a start.

  


Once Loki retreated, Steve drank as much of his milk as he could before he lost his appetite for it, then poured what little remained down the sink. He dutifully put the glass in the dishwasher, then found himself gravitating back toward the couch, thinking he might turn on the television or... or something.

Sitting down, he was immediately struck by the fact the cushions were _still warm._

Running a hand over a throw pillow, feeling the indentation where Loki’s head must have rested, he felt a tightening in his chest, and the awful contradictory craving for touch he couldn’t bear. Without thinking, he pulled his legs up on to the couch, curling up on his side, occupying the same space Loki had.

It was the closest to intimacy he could manage; sleeping in the same place, if not the same time. ( _Man out of time_ , Loki had called him once, after all.) Breathing in the smell of Loki that lingered on the pillow, he let himself doze lightly, half-listening to the sound of water in the pipes.

  


Seeing Steve nearly asleep, Loki almost didn’t leave. He wasn’t certain when it had become so overwhelmingly important to him that he should _be there_ , for every time Steve woke, but he swallowed the urge.

His partner didn’t want him to be there when the doctors came.

He needed a bed at the very least.

He would need to find someone to drive.

He left, locking the door behind him, so that Steve could have his security-- another thing that the documents he’d read had stressed as being important, in the aftermath of mistreatment such as Steve had suffered.

He made his way up to the common floor, only to find Darcy, Bradley, and Garza laid out across the couches, assorted warm drinks scattered nearby, barely touched. When the elevator chimed, Darcy groaned.

“JARVIS, _please_ , can you make it quieter?” She sounded rough, and Loki smiled, recognizing the symptoms. He’d seen Thor wear them many a time, and had delighted, then, in mocking the warriors three about their throbbing heads.

“Had a good night, then?” He asked brightly.

Garza’s face crumpled beneath his cheerful tone, distaste and dismay coloring her expression.

“‘appy New Year.” Bradley mumbled, and Loki could only laugh.

“Where are the others?” He asked.

  


“Ferra’s... somewhere,” Bradley replied, squinting and then rubbing at his eyes. “Carter went t’bed...”

“--And I went to make coffee, which is in the kitchen if you want it,” Murray announced, entering the common area from said kitchen, looking significantly less worse for wear than the rest.

Garza whimpered and made an inarticulate noise. From the adjacent couch, Darcy looked up, pouting. “Bring me some, please, Ben-ben?”

The look Murray gave her was nonplussed. “Not if you ever call me Ben-ben again,” he told her, though he began to turn back toward the kitchen all the same before pausing and looking toward Loki. “Do you want some?”

  


“Thank you; no.” Loki answered, though he moved forward to follow Murray into the kitchen. “I will help you to carry them, however.”  
There were three of them, after all, and four cups if Murray meant to have some, as well… more hands than the poor man had.

“I must admit I was hoping to find someone capable of driving, though it looks like you will be occupied with the care of your companions for the morning.” He smiled lopsidedly, latching on to the situation here to avoid thinking-- or talking-- about the one on his floor, below.

“Am I to take it that the others are equally… indisposed?”

He could not fit an entire bed into his pocket, and had no notion how one went about carrying so large an item back, or through doors, without magic. Or even, if he was truthful, where one might find a bed.

Perhaps if he could find a hammock…

He shifted his attention to the coffee.

“Do you know how they take theirs? Or shall we just bring the sugar and cream and let them attempt to prepare their own?”

  


“Thanks,” Murray said, flashing a smile in response to the help Loki offered. “Though I think after the coffee, they’re on their own. They did this to themselves and I’m no longer on designated sober-person duty.” He uttered the last portion louder, so his voice would pointedly carry to the other room, before dropping his volume back to normal.

“Eli likes it with two sugars, black. Sarah takes hers with milk, no sugar. And Darcy goes for the stuff with all the sugary fat stuff in it at Starbucks, so I’d say dump some sugar and creamer it in until it stops looking like coffee and she’ll be good,” he answered, not even having to pause to think as he searched the cabinets for the coffee mugs, retrieving four. “Ferra takes hers black but she’s probably still asleep.”

He paused as he poured the coffee out, adding: “Actually, pretty sure you and I and Romanoff are the only ones actually awake and about.” He tilted his head to the side. “Where do you need a lift to?”

  


Loki set to giving each cup the treatment that Murray described.

“I find myself in need of new bedroom furniture.” He returned mildly, glad not to have to meet the young man’s no-doubt curious gaze. He wondered what explanations Murray might imagine for such a statement.

Something, he hoped, much less somber than the truth of matters. Perhaps a mental image of a night of passionate homecoming and broken wood.

Loki knew he would prefer that to reality. Still, it was what it was. He just doubted Steve would thank him for involving others too greatly in their private life.

Once Darcy’s cup had turned the palest shade of tan, he capped the milk and put it away.

“Have you any idea where Natasha is? Or her plans for the day?”

  


Murray smiled and raised his eyebrows, but at Loki’s question shook his head. “I saw her leave around half an hour ago. Didn’t say anything, though. Honestly, she still kinda scares me.”

Collecting Darcy’s coffee and his own, leaving Bradley’s and Garza’s for Loki, he led the way back to the living room. “You know, I think most furniture places will deliver and even set stuff up for you. But I’m happy to give you a ride to the store and escape hangoverville here,” he added, nodding to the sprawled bodies on the furniture.

Darcy made a sound of displeasure at their return. “Less talky, more coffee,” she grumbled, but on seeing what Murray held in his hands, reached out to make grabby motions.

With a sigh, he put her mug in her grasp as she sat up, sipping it and making a sound that bordered on obscene. “Uuuugghh. _God._ I love you, Ben-ben.”

Murray turned and gave Loki a pleading look.

  


Well, that was fortuitous, and answered one of his worries… though, of course, allowing strangers into Steve’s sanctuary so soon after seeing him returned seemed… ill advised. But if they could bring the bed this far, Loki could use his seidhr to ease the rest of the process.

He let his lips twist into another amused little smile, and handed the cups to the other two agents, while simultaneously whisking Darcy’s back out of her hands and holding it hostage floating a few feet out of reach.

“What is Agent Murray’s name, Darcy?” He asked, with all the tonal subtlety of a school teacher reprimanding a child.

Darcy groaned.

“Benjamiiin. Ben. Loki’s being mean.”

Loki raised his brow.

“What do you think, _Ben_? Does she deserve the coffee?”

Without waiting for an answer, he brought it back, closer to the girl, though he was careful not to allow any to spill.

“I think, for your slight, I am going to take Ben away from you.” He turned back to the other man. “Just as soon as you’ve had your coffee, of course.” He conceded, with a nod.

  


Murray stared at the floating coffee cup with a look of awestruck delight, then grinned. “Can I take you with me next time I visit my family so you can do that with my sisters? Cause you wouldn’t _believe_ the stuff _they_ call me--”

“Beeeeeeennnnnnnnnn,” Darcy groaned, reaching for the coffee.

Murray sighed, then smiled and nodded, and the cup returned to her hands as he sipped from his own.

On swallowing, a pensive look flickered over his face and he paused, holding up a finger to indicate he’d only be a moment before turning and ducking back into the kitchen. He returned after a minute with his coffee transferred to a travel mug, grabbing his coat from where it had been discarded over the back of one of the chairs. “Right, let’s go.” He looked to the others. “If Carter calls, tell her I’m with Loki? I have my cell on me.”

Bradley waved a hand by way of confirmation, not looking up from his coffee. It was apparently enough for Murray, who headed toward the elevator.

“Thanks for the assist there,” he said in a lowered voice as they boarded. “I can handle Ben, Benny, and even Benji if it’s Ferra, but I draw the goddamn line at Ben-ben.”

  


Loki was startled into a laugh.

“One must set boundaries.” He managed, with something approaching solemnity.

“Thank you for agreeing to take me. One day I shall have to learn to operate a car, however, that is… not this day.” Loki clung to the light mood that had been set by teasing the other young people of the tower.

“I should warn you ahead of time, though… I will not be inviting anyone back to the tower to construct the things I purchase. Steve has returned to our apartment, but he is not ready to face people outside of those he knows well, yet.”

He did not mention that he could only barely manage those.

The elevator released them into the garage, and Loki looked out across the seeming sea of cars.

A man in a uniform shirt with Stark’s name emblazoned on it approached them.

Thinking quickly, Loki fished out his business identification-- the one Pepper had given him, to grant him access throughout the tower.

“Mister Stark has given us permission to borrow a car.” Loki told him confidently, certain that it was only half a lie, since Tony likely would have allowed it, had they but asked.

They had been out in his cars so often while searching for Steve, the man did not hesitate, calmly handing Loki a set of keys.

“She’s right over there, I’ll go ahead and sign her out to you, just let me know when you bring her back.” He pointed out a fairly innocuous car, sleek, but dark and not too flashy.

“Thank you.” Loki said graciously, before just as graciously passing Murray the keys.

Once the attendant had left them, Loki shook his head.

“I’m afraid I have no idea where one goes to procure a bed…” He said, trailing off with a hopeful look in Ben’s direction.

  


“Depends on what you can afford,” Murray answered, heading around to the driver’s side.

“When I was in college I had a second-hand bedframe and a third-hand mattress. But if you’ve got an SI salary, we should be able to spring for something nice. We’ll probably have to hit a couple different places -- one for the bedframe, one for the mattress, and one for linens.” He paused midway through buckling his seatbelt, looking thoughtful.

“Of course, that’s assuming you want a traditional bed with like, a mattress and box-spring. There’s also daybeds and futons and fold-out couches...” He looked over at Loki as he turned the keys in the ignition, slowly pulling out of the parking spot. “Do you know how big a bed you’re looking at? Or any other furniture? Details’ll help.”

 

The options made Loki’s eyes widen a bit, and he appreciated more what Steve must have gone through to find something for them-- something as perfect as he’d gotten.

“I have a card, and Pepper has been paying me a salary almost since I arrived. I am certain there is enough money in my account to afford whatever a bed costs. And the bed is the only pressing item. As for size…”

He hesitated.

He would be sleeping in it alone. There was no reason for it to be able to do more than hold him, to allow him to curl up on his side and sleep. He doubted he would spend overmuch time in it. He might spend time in the room, itself, though, if Steve wanted him out of the way. So perhaps a chair would not be amiss, but that he could create, as he had before. He might have created a bed as well, if it didn’t take so much more out of him… or if he had any confidence that the one he was familiar with would fit in the room. That room was somewhat smaller than his and Steve’s was, and his bed in Asgard had been tall, heavy wood that stretched from floor to ceiling and bore carved images across the roof of the bed. It would perhaps fit in their living room, but not in the guest room. In Loki’s room.

Just the same…

“The bed should be large enough for two.” He said softly, aware that it was almost painfully hopeful of him. He hoped that Ben would not ask about his hesitation.

And this was better, anyway. It would cause less questions than if he spoke of needing a bed only large enough for one. This should be less obvious.

“However, if there is a way of making our shopping trip simpler, of going to only one place… that would be preferable. To that end, whatever you think is best of the options you know-- I am less familiar with them.”

  


Murray couldn’t suppress a small grin when Loki said the bed was for two. But he sobered and looked considering when Loki specified the desired limits of their outing. “Bed frames and linens you can order online, but a mattress is the thing you’ll really wanna test drive before buying, given they cost an arm and a leg,” he decided, pulling out of the garage and on to the street. “If you pull out your phone and look up mattress store, we should be able to find one nearby with a showroom you can test out. Find something that isn’t gonna be hell on your back or anything.”

Pulling out into midtown traffic, Murray navigated fairly successfully through the crowded streets, operating on the directions Loki provided until they reached a store, then circling the area a bit until they located parking.

“We can probably get the mattress delivered later today,” Murray explained, getting out of the car and promptly stuffing his hands into his coat pockets to protect them from the brisk January chill. “Some of the others should be in more of a shape to help haul it in the rest of the way. And even if the frame doesn’t get here for a few days, you can still crash on it. I mean, technically a frame is optional...” he trailed off, looking sheepish. “Though I guess as a functional adult and Avenger you probably wouldn’t be sleeping on a mattress on the floor long term, so pretend I didn’t say that.”

  


“I am hardly either of those things.” Loki replied, grinning over the truth of the words.

He’d forgotten how cold it was, and he daren’t use his trick of warming spells, not where it could be seen, but fortunately it did not take them long to get into the store itself, and, once there, it was wonderfully warm.

If Loki hadn’t been here long enough to have seen several beds, and to have stripped the sheets from their own a few times, he could easily imagine himself being confused at the way the entire store seemed to be littered with nothing but overlarge and identical pillows. Asgardian mattresses were hardly so exact as these were.

From the corner of his illusorily altered lips, he asked Ben, “What, exactly, is the difference between these?”

There was none he could see, save that some stood taller than the others, and some had been dressed-- apparently the store had some small selection of linens as well.

But otherwise… Ben had made it sound as though there was a goodly amount of choice to be made here. Loki had thought he was better at sensing sarcasm, and that Ben seemed the sort to hardly ever employ it, but he’d been wrong before.

Often.

Maybe this was another case of his missing something.

  


“It’s all in how they feel,” Murray explained, cheeks ruddy from their brief time in the cold. “Can’t tell that from standing here looking at them though. So now,” he added, kicking off his sneakers, “we get to the fun part.”

Clapping his hands together, he surveyed the nearest showroom beds with an increasingly mischievous grin. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he announced, and without further ado, took a few running steps and launched himself at the nearest bed, landing with a bounce and a whoop that earned a glare from a nearby sales associate. He laid back, then lifted his head to look back at Loki.

“Come on, try one out!”

  


Loki felt his brows raise and his lips quirk upwards as Murray bounced a little and came to a stop, looking smug and comfortable.

Loki toed his shoes off beside Ben’s on the mat that seemed placed specifically for that purpose, and took a few steps’ head start before he leapt neatly, chest first, onto the mattress beside the one his friend was on.

He lay still a moment, allowing the illusion over his features to solidify, before he rolled over.

And promptly sank into the bed almost alarmingly.

“This one seems to be attempting to absorb me.” He muttered, though not without amusement. He fought his way free of it and managed to get up to a seated position.

“How is yours?”

  


Murray chuckled, then squirmed experimentally into the mattress before making a face. “Not bad. But a bit harder than I’d personally go for,” he admitted, before sitting up. “Wanna switch?”

  


“Certainly.” Loki agreed easily. He stood and waited patiently for Ben to vacate the bed before flopping onto the mattress, foregoing all princely dignity.

This did not lapse beneath him nearly half so much, and it was, as Murray suggested, a bit firm.

“Perhaps something between the two…” He said aloud, then rolled, that he might better watch Ben and his trial of mattresses. “Though I would prefer this hardness over the softness, given my pick of only the two.”

He could see two people watching them, in their matching shirts, both with mirror looks of disapproval on their faces.

The woman seemed to be saying something behind her hand to the man, but Loki paid them little mind-- they were not actively attempting to speak to him, and even if they were, they could not possibly recognize him beneath the glamor.

  


Murray made a happy sound as he curled into the soft mattress Loki had just vacated, looking briefly as if he intended to nap right then and there.

But when Loki rendered his verdict on the second mattress, Ben got to his feet -- now standing on the mattress, looked over to the next bed to the right, and then jumped, belly-flopping on to the next bed where he hit with enough spring to bounce clean off the other side of the bed with a squawk of dismay.

“ _Not_ this one,” he called from the floor.

  


Loki laughed-- the sound simply burst out of him, and he stood swiftly and stepped first to the original mattress he’d tried, and then onto the one Murray had just fallen off of. He crossed his legs and fell, settling neatly into the perfect position to look down on his friend from, smirk plastered on his face.

“You have tried three beds and managed to fall from one already-- your score is abysmal, and you were the sober one this morning.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head in mock disappointment.

“And you are one of the best that your world has to offer.” He sighed theatrically. “Whatever will Carter think?”

  


Murray sat up, smile fading, and hauled himself up on to the next bed over, which squeaked slightly under his weight. “Not much, probably. If anything,” he sighed, looking suddenly wistful and morose, a wild departure from his silliness of moments before.

“Honestly,” he confided, “I’m pretty sure she only took me on the team because of the fact you and Captain Rogers seemed to like me alright when I was your guard.” His mouth twisted at the corner. “Hardly the ‘best’ the world has to offer.”

  


Loki snorted indelicately and came to sit beside Murray.

“First, we did not ‘like you alright’. I will have you know that the Captain had earmarked you as-- what is the phrase he uses? ‘A good egg’. You stood out from the many guards we saw, and you may ask Garza-- I understand she was made to sift through all of the video. We spoke together of you a few times, even before we… were.” He said that carefully, mindful not to connect himself to Steve in that regard too blatantly, given they were in public and being watched.

“In regards to Agent Carter, does she strike you as the sort of person to settle for something less than what she prefers? If she thought you were not worth the spot, she would have fought to keep you from being there. I do not know her well, but I would wager that should say enough.”

He turned to be able to pat Ben’s shoulder, perhaps a little awkwardly.

“You oughtn’t doubt yourself. When _Captain America_ says you are a good man…” He thought back to the lunch box that Ben had given him, and realized he should find it in their belongings and return it, quietly, before Steve saw it again. He doubted the joke would be so funny the next time. But he hoped, too, that it meant that Steve’s view of him would serve as an inspiration for Ben, or at least make him feel a little better.

“Besides--” Loki said suddenly, remembering. “You are young, and it is the new year. Don’t speak as if you have no growth yet to do.” He tousled Ben’s hair as he’d seen Ferra do, and as Thor had once been fond of doing to him.

It felt good, to touch someone else with affection. Even if it wasn’t the same sort he shared with Steve.

  


Murray scrunched up his nose as Loki tousled his hair, but his ears had gone a rich shade of pink at the praise. “I’m not _that_ young,” he protested. “I’m _twenty-five_ ; heck, I’m older than Bradley.” Despite the petulant tone of his voice, the edges of his mouth pulled outward into a grin as he looked up at Loki.

“But thanks,” he added after reaching up to try to straighten his hair, expression relaxing into something sincere. “That... means a lot. About you and Cap thinking I’m alright. And... what you just said about Agent Carter.” A flicker of something that might have been hope briefly flashed across his face. “She’s definitely not someone who ever _ought_ to settle. She’s amazing. Er, as an agent, I mean!” he quickly clarified, pinking further.

  


Loki made a less than gentle noise with his lips and casually pushed Ben off of the bed.

“If you mean not to speak to her of your attraction, you’ll need to get better at hiding it than that. But you can worry about that later. For now--” Loki plopped himself down on the next mattress down the line, his eye catching on a sign propped on the one across the way, “tell me of this ‘pillow-top’.”

He squirmed on the mattress he was on, and launched himself onto his stomach, amused by how much less he bounced this time.

“And ‘Memory foam’.”

  


Murray’s eyes went wide. “I don’t-- I’m not--” He sputtered for a few more moments before his shoulders slumped, and he flopped down across the foot of the bed in a posture of defeat, groaning into the mattress top before rolling over.

“It’s, uh... squishy stuff?” he looked up at Loki and then shrugged. “Salesperson could tell you more. We’ve honestly exhausted my knowledge of beds at this point,” he admitted, sighing. He lay there in silence for a second before his brow furrowed.

“Um. You’re not gonna tell her anything, are you?”

  


Loki took pity on his young friend.

 _Not so much younger than Steve, really._ His mind saw fit to remind him. He pushed the thought away.

They were so different, and where the years had pushed Steve into leadership, into war, and ice and fear and pain…

Murray was yet a child in ways that Loki was unsure Steve had ever been at liberty to be.

“I won’t.” He aimed for reassuring with the words. “And if it makes you feel any better at all, I was unaware of how you felt until now. Not that I have been paying overmuch attention, however… I would advise you also not speak to Darcy of this. I doubt you would ever hear the end of it.” He smiled a little, then shook his head.

“Not that I feel you must keep it a secret,” He hastened to add, aware that his own relationship hardly qualified him to speak with any authority on the subject. None of his had ended… well.

“Only, if you mean to make anything of it, the _first_ person to hear of this should be Agent Carter, and she should hear of it from you. She seems a woman who would want the choice, as terrifying as I imagine that may be for you.”

  


The blood ran out of Murray’s face at the mention of Darcy. “Oh _god,”_ he groaned in dread at the mere thought. “If Darcy found out I’d have to throw myself off the damn tower to hear the end of it.” He grabbed one of the demonstration pillows, holding it over his face for a moment as if meaning to smother himself to escape that potential fate.

He removed it after a few seconds, however, moving to hug it to his chest instead. “And trust me, I don’t plan on telling _anyone_. Not even her.” He shook his head ruefully, sighing again. “I’m an optimist, but I’m not _delusional_.”

Turning his head back toward Loki, his moroseness eased. “Thanks, though. And...” he paused, looking around to make sure no one else was too close before sitting up and scooting closer.

“Look. I was still in the Academy during the whole Battle of New York thing. And I’ve heard a lot of talk about it, but-- obviously, whatever people think happened can’t be the whole story. That much is obvious just spending this much time around you, back in DC and now here. You’re not--” he gestured vaguely, as if hoping to pluck the appropriate word out of the air (and failing miserably).

He let out a huff of breath, dipping his head apologetically. “I guess what I’m trying to say is--” reaching out, he gave Loki’s shoulder a very light and friendly punch, “--you’re a pretty good egg yourself. And if you or Cap ever need anything, I’m around.”

  


Loki’s lips pinched together as he fought not to get emotional-- and he seemed to be very much that, lately. They were kind words, wrong as they were, but he didn’t have the heart to say as much.

Not when, just a few minutes prior, he’d felt briefly unburdened. And not when they had yet to find a bed for him to have brought back to the tower.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Here he was offering to help, and Loki felt unable to say anything, frozen by the thought of what a few casual words from him would mean to Steve, how even Loki seeking comfort or sympathy or attention-- he didn’t really _need_ these things, and it would hurt Steve, if he knew.

He pulled away from the closeness that Murray was attempting to give him, under the guise of moving to the next bed. This one was soft enough to sag under him, but still firm enough to hold him up, but in truth his mind was far away from mattresses.

It had been a while since he’d thought of the things he’d done. Of why he’d done them.

It all felt so removed, though he knew perfectly well that it was not. No matter what anyone said, it _was_ him.

Loki had still murdered thousands. Thanos was still coming. Steve being sick and hurt did not cause the world to stop.

But nor, he realized, did any of the rest of it.

Mattress stores continued to exist, people like Murray experienced the flush of yearning… and this was what Steve had wanted of him from the beginning, that Loki should experience this protective feeling over all of it. His home.

“I think I like this one.” He said, stretching out. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself to handle the business of buying it.

He was ready to go back, to go home.

To take some of the relief this outing had offered him, and try to find a way to pass it on to his partner. After all, none of this, the tower, New York, Midgard… none of it was home without him.

  


Murray hesitated, noting from how Loki pulled away that he’d likely misstepped in some way. Or overstepped. Stepped in it?

“I’ll let a salesperson know,” he offered, frankly amazed now that he thought about it that none of them had already come over, either to help or to kick them out for jumping on the beds. The latter actually seemed more probably. But as he straightened up and craned his neck, hoping to make eye contact with someone who could help them, one of the associates took notice and quickly crossed the showroom over to them.

“Find anything you two gentleman like?” she asked with false chipperness, gaze quickly skating past Murray to where Loki lay. “Your boyfriend seems very comfortable on the St. Regis pillowtop over there.”

Murray turned even pinker. “What? No! I mean, yes, he likes that one but--” he sputtered. “He and I-- we’re not -- I’m not--” he glanced back at Loki in a panic, then back to the associate: “His boyfriend could totally kick my ass!”

The associate blinked, then her face contorted in the obvious effort to hold in a laugh. “My mistake, apologies,” she said once she’d composed herself. “Would you and your _friend_ like to check out any additional models? Or do you have questions I can answer?”

Murray turned back to Loki, in case he had something to ask.

  


With a sigh Loki peeled himself up and off of the mattress.

“No, no real questions-- ah-- delivery?” He did remember that much, and he tried to give the woman a smile, though he realized it came out a bit lopsided.

“The cost for delivery will depend on where you need it taken.”

Loki glanced at Murray, then back, and shrugged.

“Not particularly far. Only to Stark tower. I am just afraid that our car is too small for it.” He gestured at the mattresses all around them and sighed.

“Wait, you’re from Stark tower?”

The semi-poise that the woman had held herself in fell away in the face of her eagerness.

“We are…” Loki said hesitantly, unsure where this was headed but already nearly certain he would not like it. “And we would like the mattress delivered to there, if you please.”

“Of course.” The woman was all but falling over herself now, in her readiness to help.

Loki looked to Murray, confused and uncertain about this development.

‘ _W_ _hat?_ ’ he mouthed soundlessly.

  


Murray sighed. It would probably be best to nip this in the bud and insist they were just live-in security or something, to avoid unnecessary attention. But if Loki’s mood was on a downswing, it was possible a little extra doting attention from starstruck employees might do something to lift it.

He looked at Loki and simply shrugged, walking over to the desk with the associate to help organize the details of the mattress size, delivery time, and pricing.

It was probably just as well he hadn’t tried to dissuade her of their importance when Loki pulled out his platinum Stark Industries credit card. The associate looked like she might be having a very small stroke.

In the end, he was fairly sure they’d overpaid by a few hundred given the showroom markups, but Loki seemed unbothered by the price (not surprising, given the card) and they were promised delivery of the mattress and boxspring to the tower that afternoon (to the back freight entrance, with no allowance to the upper floors, Murray made sure to insist.)

Slipping on his shoes by the door, he gave Loki a grin. “Congrats on buying a bed, I guess.” He checked his watch and tilted his head thoughtfully. “It’s still early. We could run out and grab some sheets and pillows if you want, so you can make it up and sleep on it tonight.”

  


Loki pursed his lips, but nodded.

“That would be best, I think. Sheets, pillows… a blanket.”

It wouldn’t be their bed, all rich woods and height, but it would be better than the couch.

And he still felt badly about how large it was, felt as if he would seem to be… pushing. Because of the size. Like a silent plea.

But… perhaps he could manage to get it into his room without Steve seeing. While he was asleep, maybe.

He didn’t need to see it, or be reminded… Loki sighed.

“Onward to the bedding store, I suppose.”

He knew he did not sound joyful as he had before, but he felt as if he was deflating a little. The purchase of the mattress made this part of his life now that much more real.

He couldn’t touch Steve, couldn’t get too near. Not even to sleep.

But at least he had friends.

He looked to Murray, trying another small smile on.

“Thank you for coming along for these errands. I appreciate that of them all, it was you who was up for it.”

  


“Hey, anytime,” he replied, leading the way back to where they’d parked. “I mean, it is technically my job to help out. But also, you know.” He grinned, hitting the key fob to unlock the doors. “This was fun.”

He didn’t want to say too much in case he ventured out of bounds again, but he meant it earnestly. “If you need a hand with anything, you know Ferra and I are always happy to help you out. Or just hang out. If you want, I mean.” The lines between what was professionally appropriate and what was right as a friend were murky here, but Carter wasn’t around for him to cast a pleading look at, so he hoped for the best and moved on:

“Onward to the bedding store,” he echoed, buckling in with a smile. “New year, new stuff, new start, yeah?”

  


“New start.” Loki agreed, trying to mimic Ben’s tone. He thought he pulled it off pretty well.

All he wanted was what he’d had back, though.

Still, if he had to start again, at least he could do so in relative comfort. Around people who liked him, who wanted him there, who cared about him.

He put his bed together today and go out shopping with Pepper tomorrow. He’d take care of Steve when he was allowed to, and, soon, he would talk to Natasha about picking their lessons back up.

It was all going to work out.

He had a new start to put to use, after all.

 


	77. Seventy-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for potential trigger warnings

Steve lingered on the couch after Loki left to go buy furniture, staring at the darkened television screen without bothering to turn it on until Dr. Cho arrived.

JARVIS announced her and let her in on Steve’s instruction, but it took him a second to recognize her all the same. Her hair was down instead of up in its usual bun, and she wore normal clothes -- slacks and a light yellow cardigan -- in place of the labwear or scrubs he’d always seen her in. It was-- nice.

“Morning,” she said, setting a bag down on the kitchen table and unzipping it. “How’s the runaway patient doing this morning?”

Steve snorted, sitting up. “It was less running and more shuffling, I think,” he said. But he gave her an apologetic smile all the same. “Sorry about that, though. It was... impulsive. And I can’t imagine getting that many calls in the middle of the night was fun.”

“Well, if you’re going to do something dumb and impulsive around midnight, New Year’s Eve is a popular time for it,” she replied, pulling a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff out of the bag. “Shall we?”

Steve had expected to get more of an earful for sneaking out of medical against orders, but Dr. Cho appeared far more interested in assessing his present condition than berating him for his choices the night before, to his immense relief.

Enough relief, perhaps, that he didn’t flinch too badly when she moved to touch him.

She noticed all the same, pulling back and holding up the stethoscope in his view. “You were out in the cold for a while last night, and I just want to check up on your breathing. Okay?”

He reddened, looking down in embarrassment over the fact he apparently had to be talked to like a child. Or worse, really; as a nurse’s son, he’d had no trouble being patient and tolerant of doctors’ pokings and proddings as a child. “Okay, yeah,” he said, and managed to hold still when the cold metal met his skin, breathing deeply when instructed.

They managed to get through the the rest of the exam without much difficulty though. She let him hold the blood pressure cuff while she put it on, making as little skin-to-skin contact as possible, and what contact they did make, while it made his skin crawl a bit, was nowhere near as _wrong_ and distressing as waking up with Loki up against him the night before had been. At one point she’d asked if he felt up to a blood draw, and when he shook his head vehemently, she said that was alright and moved on, asking him about his arm and how his shoulder was feeling, talking him through a few very simple movements and asking each time how they felt.

The worst past had been when she had him peel his shirt back off so she could check his back, carefully removing the bandages to check the condition of the healing flesh. On determining that the drainage seemed to have completely stopped and scabbing or scar tissue had covered enough that none of the wounds were open anymore, she gave him permission to leave it uncovered by bandages if he wished, but to wear very soft shirts and to re-cover the healing area if he started experiencing more pain or irritation.

“I’m going to schedule you for some more imaging tomorrow,” she added as he wormed his way gracelessly back into his shirt, making a note on her phone. “The swelling in your shoulder is down enough they should be able to have an idea of what kind of follow up surgery you may need. Doesn’t seem though like you did yourself any harm physically speaking from your adventure last night. I’ll want to keep checking in on you, or have a nurse come by regularly to look everything over.”

Steve made a face at the thought of another surgery and being in the sling for even longer, then remembered what Loki had asked of him. “So, now that I’m back in my own place with my own kitchen... what am I allowed for food?”

Dr. Cho appeared thoughtful. “How did you handle food last night?” she asked.

Steve grimaced, remembering that Loki had been cooking for him when he’d accidentally fallen asleep. “Well enough,” he lied.

“Hmm. Well, I am concerned about how little weight you’ve put back on, so we’ll want to up your food intake without stressing your system too much...” pulling out a notepad from her bag, she began penning neat instructions for small, frequent meals, nothing rich, with various requirements for protein and other things his healing body apparently required. “Not to mention,” she concluded when she was done explaining it all to him, “you’ll want to take some of your pills with food.”

He blinked. “Pills?”

She reached into the bag, withdrawing a frankly alarming number of orange plastic bottles. “No IV means pills,” she explained, passing him a sheet of paper with neatly typed instructions for doses and scheduling.

Steve read it over and sighed, reminded bitterly of the myriad tinctures and tonics his mother had pinched pennies to afford when he’d been young. “Alright then.” He looked back up at her, determined to put on a good face and hide his dismay, but she was already looking at him with a worried expression.

“Are you in pain? Because the white ones here are for pain,” she indicated.

“No, no,” he assured her, “I’m just tired.”

This didn’t have the desired effect; her worried face persisted. “Are you not sleeping well? Because you need to be getting a minimum of eight hours, and if this environment isn’t allowing for that--”

“It’s not the environment. I just... had a bad night.” Steve sighed.

Dr. Cho gnawed at her lip for a moment, then leaned forward, neatly folding her hands on the table. “Would you like to talk about it?” she ventured, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

He made a face. “Not really,” he admitted.

“Because if you’re not ready to be back here...” she frowned. “I thought it might be more helpful for you to be in a familiar place than a medical environment, but there are other options. And if Loki is pressuring you--”

“What?” Steve jerked. “Loki didn’t pressure me--”

“--I know it can be very hard when you have a partner--”

“He’s not-- _I hit him!_ ”

The conversation ground to a halt and Dr. Cho’s eyes widened. Steve felt shame rise in his gorge, appalled with himself all over again.

“You... hit him?” she repeated carefully, though there was a hint of steel in her voice.

“By accident,” Steve moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I woke up and-- I didn’t know where I was. Just that there was someone there.” He looked up at her, pleadingly. “I didn’t mean to.”

Her expression softened. “You were having nightmares?”

“...Yes.”

She sighed. “I might recommend separate beds for a while, if you’re that worried about it happening again.”

“Loki’s out mattress shopping,” he said glumly.

“Good. That’s a good first step.”

He looked back up. “First?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist, Steve. I’m not even the sort of doctor who generally deals a lot with patients,” she explained, looking regretful. “The human body, I know enough about to be able to help you. But the human mind... You’re going to want a specialist. I can talk with Ms. Potts and Agent Carter to find a suitable and vetted professional who can help--”

Steve scowled. “I’m not crazy. I don’t need a head shrink.”

The set of her mouth hardened. “If you’re punching your boyfriend in the middle of the night, then I beg to disagree, Steve,” she snapped. He blinked in surprise, and she continued: “Making sure you’re healing mentally is every bit as important as making sure you’re healing physically.”

He sighed, looking down ruefully. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Please, do.” She stood up, putting her equipment back in her bag. “I’ll be by the same time tomorrow, or Nurse Connie will if I have anything come up.”

She let herself out and Steve migrated back to the couch, this time flipping on the television and staring vacantly at some program about humpback whales.

The low, rumbling song of the whales was soothing, but was all too soon echoed by the much less melodic rumbling of his stomach. Fumbling with the remote, he flipped channels for a while in search of a distraction from the ache of hunger, until he arrived at a commercial for some family restaurant and abruptly remembered that he _had food in the kitchen right nearby._ Food he could get up and eat, instead of waiting hours or days to be fed.

Resisting the urge to smack himself for his own idiocy, he got to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen. It was depressing how tired he got moving even short distances, but the victory of opening the refrigerator balanced it out. The container of mac and cheese that he’d failed to eat last night was there, and he retrieved it to warm up, hovering in front of the microwave the whole time.

God, he could _smell_ the molten cheese, golden and warm...

The container was hot enough to sear his fingertips when the timer finally beeped, but for once, he didn’t care about the burning. He only barely had the patience to snatch a fork out of the drawer before digging in, not bothering to move the food to a bowl and eating it straight out of the container.

It was warm and solid and bursting with so much flavor that all his other senses paled in comparison. Rich and delicious--

Small portions, Dr. Cho had said. But Steve’s stomach only demanded _more._ Too soon the dish was empty and he was left scraping the lingering cheese sauce up with his fingers.

It took another five minutes before his body registered that he was _uncomfortably_ full.

Setting the dish aside and sinking down to the tile floor, he groaned and hugged his knees to his chest, curling around his aching belly in a position all too familiar. His stomach gurgled plaintively and he hugged his middle, breathing deeply and fighting down the urge to--

He just barely made it to the garbage can before retching up what he’d eaten.

(It wasn’t nearly so heavenly coming back up.)

When he eventually finished heaving, he felt like a wrung rag, draped feebly over the trash can as he tried to spit out the lingering taste of cheesy bile.

_Stupid._

Such an idiotic thing. Total lack of self-control. He _knew_ better, had just been told better, and yet...

And yet here he was on the floor, clinging to the garbage with vomit dripping down his shirt. Disgusting. _Pathetic._

It took a few minutes to get back up to his feet. Another few minutes to get a glass of water and shakily swallow it down, rinsing out the taste in his mouth and breathing raggedly for a few minutes more. Looking down at himself, he made a face.

  


He needed a shower.

  


“ _Are you alright, Captain Rogers?”_ JARVIS asked. Steve cringed.

“Peachy,” he mumbled, staggering across the apartment toward the bathroom. “Schedule an early trash pick up, please.”

  


“ _Yes, Captain.”_

  


Another few minutes had him out of his shirt for the third time that morning, grunting with the effort. But even without the soiled shirt, he felt dirty, a ripeness clinging to him. He’d been washed by the nurses in his coma with sponges, but not since having woken thanks to his aversion to touch, and even that hadn’t been a proper bath. He hadn’t been properly, properly rid of the filth of that place since--

Walking into the bathroom, he left his sling on the sink, dropped his clothes to the floor, and moved to the shower, reaching for the knobs. With his bandages off, he didn’t have to worry about keeping them dry. He could bathe. Get clean, finally.

The water came on in a loud and hissing spray, still cold and pelting against his skin. Steve flinched, gasped: even without a cleaning product in sight he could suddenly smell bleach, stinging his sinuses _as the water from the hose pummelled him, stripping him raw--_

  


**No**.

  


He opened his eyes, stepping back out of the spray as it warmed, and took deep breaths. No. He wasn’t going to let HYDRA ruin something so basic as _showering_ for him. He refused to be that pitiful, that crippled by every aspect of his imprisonment.

He waited until the water began to steam, testing the temperature, then braced himself and stepped back under the water, breathing in the wet, warm air until his shoulders began to ease and his heart slowed.

  


Good. He’d be normal about _this one thing._

(Now if only he could do the same for the rest of his life.)

  


Shampooing his hair with only one good arm proved a bit tricky, but he managed it; his hair had been growing back in so he was no longer nearly bald anywhere, but it was still patchy and uneven, like a dog with mange. He grimaced as he ran a hand through it; the last haircut Loki had given him was a fond memory, and he didn’t want to taint it by flinching all through another one. He’d have to order clippers and do it himself, he decided, as he rinsed out the suds and reached for the soap.

The feeling of gently scrubbing away all the filth and watching the graying water swirl down the drain (no blood, no torn flesh, just grime and sweat and water) proved soothing in a way. A few injuries stung a little under his ministrations, but it wasn’t more than the usual level of discomfort he’d learned to live with. And it was well worth the knowledge that he was washing away the vestiges of that place, at least physically.

He finished up and got out, feeling slightly better than he had. Grabbing a towel, he set to drying off, relishing the fluffiness of the terrycloth against his skin. A red blot on the otherwise white towel, however, alerted him that one of his scabs had come free and was bleeding again. Sighing, he began to turn toward the medicine cabinet--

\--And froze as he caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror over his shoulder.

He hadn’t looked at himself much. Hadn’t asked for a mirror in medical, and had ignored the ones in the apartment so far. He knew he looked like hell just from feeling his own ragged hair and bony limbs, so there didn’t seem much point. He hadn’t _wanted_ to see.

But now he was transfixed, and as much as he _still_ didn’t want to see, he couldn’t look away.

Not from the sprawling scar tissue, angry and red from the heat of the water, lividly marking HYDRA’s symbol across the entire expanse of his back.

  


_Branded._

  


He couldn’t look away. But breathing shakily, he finally managed to turn his body so the scarring was no longer visible in the mirror. Unfortunately, this still left him with a clear view of everything else -- or the lack thereof.

He still had his height. Which was a mixed blessing, he supposed. He wasn’t a full head shorter than everyone again, but with his wasted body, it made him look all the more beanpole-ish, disproportionate and elongated. _Grotesque,_ really, he thought while tracing his fingers over sharply protruding ribs and his sunken stomach, concave behind his jutting hips. The topography of his muscles had eroded to nearly nothing, leaving only the topography of bone. And all of it mottled with bruising and healing sores.

Even his face was leaner, cheeks and eyes sunken and showing off the contours of his skull. He touched the patchy stubble on his jaw and swallowed, imagining his face the same but without the beard, his body the same but without the height.

They’d taken it away. They’d taken the serum and everything that had made him of value to anyone and left the skinny punk no one ever wanted behind.

Certainly not what Loki wanted, he realized with a sinking feeling. Loki thought even his _own_ body, lithe and smoothly proportionate, was somehow inferior. He’d delighted in Steve’s figure before, but now?

God. How did he even _want_ to touch him? Bile burned behind Steve’s sternum and his eyes watered in impotent fury. He’d realize soon enough. The pity would become tiring. And all that would be left--

  


They’d _taken it away_. Captain America was gone and all that was left was just Steve. _Little Stevie Rogers._ He was twisted and skinny and battered and weak, _4F, not enough,_

_branded_

_marked_

_weak_

_worthless--_

  


Someone screamed and the sound of breaking glass rang out. Steve watched in fascination as his image vanished in an eruption of glittering shards, dancing like bits of diamond in the air, or maybe ice... And in the middle of it all, blooming red, and more glass sprouting from between his knuckles...

He pulled his hand back and stared at it. At the red, welling up around the glass, hot and bright and smelling like copper. It trickled down the back of his hand, tracing the valleys between the veins and bones in a serpentine progression. And slowly, a kind of numbness set in. It rolled in like fog in the morning over the river, gently keying out the rest of the world in muted grays until all that was left, all that was _real,_ was the coursing red.

Sinking down to the edge of the bathtub, Steve stared and listened to the soft drips hitting the tile.

  


They had been gone for longer than Loki had intended, but he still was smiling when he came through the front door.

He’d left Ben behind, not wanting to take Steve by surprise, and when he didn’t see Steve right away in the living room, he made a beeline for the spare room instead.

He set his bags down and banished the chair and the tools of pain that he’d summoned, during that ill fated encounter with Natasha while Steve had been gone.

The mattress would be brought up and left outside their door within an hour, and he would take care of positioning it and dressing it before bed.

He wandered out of the room, wondering if Steve would be hungry or up to eating.

“Steve?” He called, quietly, so he wouldn’t wake him if he was sleeping. He found himself wandering back toward their-- Steve’s-- room.

He stood in the doorway and didn’t see him in the bed.

Concern just this side of panic welled, but he took a deep breath, and reasoned that he might just be in the bathroom.

“Steve?” He called, louder. “Are you here?”

He had to hope so; he didn’t know where else he would be.

  


_Drip_.

Red. Running in rivulets.

 _Drip_.

Glass. Sharp, glittering in the overhead light.

 _Drip_.

Steve didn’t move.

A piece of mirror fell into the sink with a tinkling noise.

Steve didn’t hear.

  


Loki had crept closer to the bathroom door, uncertain and afraid, and that worry only grew when he didn’t get any response. It doubled, of course, at the sound of broken glass falling.

If Steve had--

Better not to think about ifs, though.

“Steve, I’m coming in.”

He thought he should give that warning, just in case-- in case he was…

He didn’t know.

He paused maybe another moment before he unlocked the door and opened it, carefully, in case Steve was behind it.

He didn’t want to hurt him.

But then, it seemed he’d hurt himself more than enough.

There was so much blood, and that was Loki’s first worry, followed quickly by the fact that Steve just sat staring at it.

Naked and so small, so painfully thin… he hadn’t seen him undressed since they’d brought him home, and under his clothing, Loki had thought he must be getting better, gaining weight…

But that, he could worry about later. Right now he needed to patch Steve up without making him panic from being touched.

“Steve?” Loki spoke softly and approached carefully, hands out and raised to show he wasn’t a threat, even as his eyes caught on the puddles of blood on the floor.

“Steve, I need to get the bleeding to stop. Alright?”

There were bandages under the sink, put there for the inevitable day when Steve would go out with the Avengers and come back, so that Loki could dress his battle wounds.

But that might never happen, now.

Instead, they had this. This Steve, hurt and sick and so withdrawn that he hadn’t even tried to stop the blood or-- Loki saw with a twist to his gut-- or to pull the glass out of his hand.

Loki looked back at the broken mirror and swallowed.

“Should I call Doctor Cho?”

  


Someone was talking through the fog. Curious, Steve finally looked up, blinking slowly.

When had Loki got here?

He had been... not here. But now he was standing in front of Steve, with that worried expression on his face, knitting his eyebrows up and together. Steve usually wanted to rub that line away when he saw it, but he’d get red on Loki’s face if he did.

Had he asked a question? Something about a doctor, and he was looking at Steve’s hands...

His hand...

Oh.

Steve let out a wavering breath. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to break it.”

  


“Your _hand_?” Loki didn’t mean for his voice to come out on a squeak, but it did. He went to his knees, ignoring that he was kneeling in his partner’s blood, and reached out again, his hands hovering-- and shaking-- over Steve’s damaged hand.

“Steve, we need to get the glass out and stop the blood. Do you understand me? Do you want me to call Doctor Cho, or should I--?” He didn’t know. Steve was vulnerable, Steve was hurt and naked, and he was hurt because Loki had left him alone.

But he didn’t have time to hate himself for that, not yet, because he needed to take care of this. But Steve couldn’t stand his touch. How could he--

He called the first aid supplies closer and opened them up.

“I can get the glass out and get them wrapped up, and then I can make the bleeding stop, if you will let me. Please Steve? I know… I know how you feel, right now, about being touched, but I need to take care of you.”

  


“The mirror,” Steve mumbled. Not his hand. He hadn’t broken that, he didn’t think... It didn’t feel broken. But then again, he was pretty sure he ought to feel something and right now it was sort of warm and numb.

“Careful. Glass,” he added, realizing Loki was kneeling in it. He could cut himself. He could cut himself and it was Steve’s fault for breaking the mirror.

He wanted to tell Loki to get up, to get out of the mess, to not worry about it and leave it be. But he didn’t have the serum now and it wouldn’t heal on its own and Loki looked so troubled, voice cracking, that Steve found himself too weighed down with guilt.

Slowly, he held his hand out for Loki to tend to. Then paused. “Could... Could you be a girl?” he heard himself ask.

  


It took a moment for Loki to understand, but when he did he swallowed and changed right away.

“Is this better?” She asked, and it wasn’t just a casual inquiry. She was curious-- wanted to know-- there was a lot she wanted to know but right now, the most important thing was Steve.

“I…” She decided to put that off, too, and only focus on the very most immediate thing: the glass, the bleeding.

“I’m going to remove the glass. It may hurt.” She wondered if there was any comfort she might give him.

She almost held her breath while she wrapped her other hand around his wrist, ignoring the slick feeling of his blood between their skin. She needed him to hold still, but she didn’t want him to be afraid.

“I’m sorry. I need to hold your arm steady. It won’t be for more than a moment. I’m sorry.” She kept speaking, even as she reached out with trembling fingers and pulled the first piece of glass free.

She sat it on the floor beside her and went for the next, her eyes flicking nervously between her work and her partner’s face.

“There, that’s almost all of it, I think-- we should clean it off…” She floated the bubble of water over, the same trick she’d used to douse him once, while they had laughed together.

She took her hand away and moved the bubble to float gently all around his hand, watching as the water grew cloudy and red.

  


He still flinched. But the pain gave him something to focus on beyond the touch. It was anchoring, in an odd way, and he managed to keep still in spite of the feeling of Loki’s hands on him as she withdrew the glass. He inhaled sharply when the most deeply-embedded piece came free, but didn’t move or draw away.

And it _was_ easier, as much as he hated himself for it, having Loki be a woman. Though it made him slowly aware of his own nakedness in a way that shamed him all the more, his cheeks beginning to heat.

The water stung a little, but he found himself mesmerized by the coiling, weightless ribbons of blood within the sphere, moving like drops of ink.

And then the water moved away, and Steve breathed out. “Thank you,” he told her, unable to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry for the mess.”

  


“That’s alright, Steve. Here--” she held her hands up again, this time planning to use seidhr to close it up, and at least stop the most immediate bleeding.

It was easier to be calm now, given that she could see the injuries clearly, see how grevious they were. And they didn’t look so bad, except for the parts where it was his hand, and he’d done it to himself.

“I’ll still want to bandage it… and then we should go get you dressed, and probably in bed. Do you have any idea how long you’ve been here like this?” She couldn’t help but ask, since the blood was all over and the cuts weren’t that large. Deep, yes, but… how long had he sat there, just watching the blood drip?

  


Steve shook his head. “Not sure,” he mumbled. Everything had been fuzzy, between the time he was staring at himself, repulsed, and the time Loki had shown up calling his name. Time might have stood still, for all he knew. Or drawn out for hours.

And in that time he’d manage to sit here, wet and naked and pitiful, needing once more to be rescued after completely failing to handle anything himself. His shoulders curved in, regretting that Loki was seeing him like this -- seeing _all_ of him like this -- and wishing he could melt into the bloody floor tile and vanish.

  


“Alright.” She said it softly, soothingly. She got the bandage around his knuckles and wrapped it down to his wrist and back, just to be sure he’d take it easy on this hand. Even though she was healing it as she worked, healing his while she was being given access to at least part of him.

Satisfied with her work, she stood and took up one of the other towels, leaving the one he’d been using where it lay.

She circled back and around next to him, holding the towel up so that he could stand into it-- and that was when she saw his back.

She had to bite down on her lips to stifle a gasp and even then it was a near thing.

She’d known there was damage there, but had assumed that it was from being whipped or otherwise beaten. What she saw instead was a brand, scarred into his skin like he’d been burned all across the whole of his back, the shape all too clear for her liking.

She didn’t say anything about it, even though she wanted to offer to clear it off, to hide it, but she thought he might’ve had enough of her touching him, for now. She didn’t want to overwhelm him.

“Can you stand, Steve?” She asked instead.

  


Stand. Yeah. Okay.

  


He got to his feet, and took the towel she offered, wrapping it around himself to hide his nakedness. And to warm himself. A shiver ran through him and his skin started to prickle up into gooseflesh. His hand hurt still, though less than it probably would have without Loki’s ministrations; nonetheless he was stuck awkwardly bending his left arm, elbow at his side so as not to move his shoulder, to clutch the towel shut at his front as he made his way out of the bathroom and toward the bed, where he promptly sat down again. Loki had said something about getting dressed, but the prospect of wrangling himself back into clothes and the sling _yet again_ made him want to groan.

It was barely past noon judging from the angle of the light coming in the windows, but it felt like days had passed.

He took a deep breath and let it out.

“I freaked out. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” he finally said, staring at the ground somewhere behind Loki’s legs. “You... you can change back, if you like. I’m sorry.”

  


Loki frowned, wishing that she could go to him, wrap an arm around him-- but that was a pointless wish. She knew very well that she could not.

“You asked me to be this for a reason… If you can… when you’re ready… or not. I won’t press you on the why. You’ve always hated that. I... Just tell me, does it help, my being in this form? I can keep it, if it does.”

She didn’t know what else to do-- should she ask why he had freaked out? Would he tell her?

It felt as though he hated explaining anything now more than ever.

  


“I.... a bit,” he answered, after a few seconds’ pause. He regretted it the moment he said as much. He didn’t react as violently to Dr. Cho or the female nurses when they had to touch him, but he still didn’t care for it. He hadn’t reacted too badly to Loki in this shape, but he’d been so out of it (and was still a bit woozy) that he had no idea how much of that was a product of her form and how much was his own mind short-circuiting.

And most of all, he hated the idea of forcing Loki to adopt a shape that she might not wish to be in, purely for his sake. It felt selfish; he’d already taken her bed and her time and made her miserable, stuck caring for him.

Cheeks heating and eyes prickling with shame, he laid down on the bed and grabbed a blanket, hauling it over himself, not bothering to discard the towel first. He wanted to burrow and hide like the weak coward he was.

  


It was hard not to feel jilted by the dismissal, since that was so clearly what it was, but she lingered still, hoping that he’d forgive her this pressing.

“Is there anything I can get you? Anything you want, before you sleep? A drink? Food? Did Doctor Cho leave any instructions?”

There was a knock from their front door, but she ignored it; it would only be the mattress delivery. They had been told just to leave it. And it wasn’t as though any would abscond with a mattress, not from this floor of the tower.

She’d really prefer to help him dress, but she wouldn’t assume that her touch would be any more welcome just because she had been able to dress his injury.

She was glad she’d been allowed that much, of course, but she had to be careful not to take, to become greedy for the touch again.

  


Food. Steve’s stomach rolled in protest at the idea; stuffing his face had been what lead to this in the first place. And if he got sick on himself again.

“No,” he said into the pillow, a bit more forcefully than he meant to. He swallowed, kicking himself.

God, he was such an ass.

“No, thank you,” he amended, lifting his head up to look at Loki like an adult and not a spoiled child. “There’s. Stuff from Dr. Cho on the table in the kitchen. I think I just need to lie down for a bit.” He tried a smile, but probably only managed a grimace. “I’ll be okay. I’m sorry for the mess.”

  


Even now, weak and sick and frail as he was, he had that note of command in his voice.

She didn’t dare ask any more from him, nodding as she backed away a bit. She paused in the doorway.

“Closed again?” She asked. That wasn’t too much, she thought. Just a choice.

She just hoped that he would let it stay open this time, so that she could look in, be sure he hadn’t-- wouldn’t hurt himself again.

She knew she should tell his doctor. Talk to her about the instructions she’d left, to be sure Loki understood them properly, and tell her about his hand. Even if she shouldn’t be able to tell on her own, Loki should tell her.

In case he did anything like it again.

And, given that he’d waited until she was gone… she should cancel her outing with Pepper. Steve wouldn’t want anyone to know what had happened. Even his reaction to her knowing had been…

...she should tell his doctor. But no one else.

She would just have to think of another reason why she couldn’t leave.

Why she couldn’t leave him alone. Not without risking him doing more harm to himself.

  


Steve sighed, wishing Loki would just _leave_ and then instantly feeling a wave of guilt in the wake of the thought. “Whichever,” he mumbled, pulling the blankets up a little higher and closing his eyes.

It wasn’t as if privacy at this stage would give him back any dignity. Loki might as well do whatever made her feel incrementally better.

Though at this point, he doubted he’d be capable of making either of them feel worse.

  


She compromised, closing the door for the most part, but leaving it open some-- enough for her to look in later, if she got the urge to.

 

She had things to take care of, and it seemed like, for the time being at least, he would be safe in bed.

At least this way he wouldn’t have to see her bringing in her mattress, wouldn’t have to be reminded of that… she knew it upset him. And she hated being the cause, even as distantly as that was.

She continued ignoring the mattress for the moment, to read over the papers that Doctor Cho had left, and familiarize herself with his medicines and his dietary plan.

She’d bring the bed in and set it up shortly, then call the Doctor from the distance of her new room-- as far away from Steve as she could get, so as not to disturb him.

And then she would worry about calling Pepper and preparing food for when he woke.

  


She fought the urge to sigh despondently.

This was her life, now.

She hated it. Not him, never him, but what had been done to him… the hurts they had caused.

They had all died much too fast, and the more she learned, the more she wished she had taken her time.

But none of that would help him now. And she needed that to be her primary concern.

Helping him.

She shuddered, remembering the look on his face as he’d stared at his hand.

When he woke, she’d need to go in and clean the glass and blood out of the bathroom, too. Maybe while he was eating.

If he could be persuaded _to_ eat.

Damn but it all felt like so much more than she knew how to handle. Her head swam with it.

  
But small steps, one thing at a time. She had learned that this form was closer to comfort for him. That had to count as a start.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Vomiting, body hate, semi-accidental self-harm, dissociation. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for the lack of update last week; updates may be a little rocky for a while here due to real life changes and Lena not having her shit together. Thank you for your patience!


	78. Seventy-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, the wait is over-- we're back!  
>   
> To celebrate, we invite you to join us for a movie night! We'll be streaming a movie (probs Avengers) at [this link](http://lets.rabb.it/886j/nTzY12VFiC) on Wednesday, 4/19, at 8PM EST (GMT-4) with a chatroom in-window where you can join us!
> 
> If you need a refresher for where we're at...
> 
>  
> 
> **PREVIOUSLY ON LITTLE TALKS:**
> 
>  
> 
> Following Steve’s abduction by HYDRA on the mission to recover the scepter, the Avengers located and raided multiple HYDRA outposts, with the help of Agent Sharon Carter and SHIELD Team B, recovering a great deal of HYDRA technology. For over a month, Steve was held and tortured by HYDRA, the sinister Dr. Verschmutzung, and former SHIELD-agent-turned-HYDRA-operative Scofield. Eventually rescued, Steve spent some time in a coma, and exhibited severe signs of psychological trauma on awakening -- including a strong aversion to human contact. He is now living once again in his and Loki’s apartment in the tower, but is struggling to readjust, with Loki adopting her female form to reduce his anxiety.

The days passed and Steve healed, slowly. His body was on the mend, but Loki felt always so on edge, afraid to do or say anything that would interrupt that healing. Afraid that she was driving Steve mad with her constant hovering, and even more afraid to leave him alone, for fear of returning and finding more than just Steve’s hand bloody, the next time.

She did not know how to conscript the others to help him, though, did not know how to get them to watch over Steve without telling them things that she _knew_ Steve would not appreciate her sharing.

So Loki stayed near, did what she could within the bounds of the apartment, and was never gone for more than an hour.

She spent a good deal of time in her female form, now that she knew that it was easier for Steve, but she changed back into her male one when she left the apartment, lest she draw questions and, again, give away more than Steve wanted to share.

She sent her continued apologies to Pepper, unwilling to outright cancel their plans, and instead putting them off again and again until they were merely postponed until some undefined later date.

She’d had JARVIS order clothing that would fit Steve-- soft, supple fabrics that would be easy for him to don and remove without help, and which would fit his new, thinner frame.

She tried not to think about the way his ribs protruded now, even though he was easing his way back into more and better foods, nor of the way his back looked-- of the design in the altered shades of his skin.

He _was_ getting better. She had to cling to that.

She just wished she could repair his hurts as easily as she’d fixed the broken mirror.

Instead, all she could do was try to steer clear of causing him more damage. Try not to touch him or let him see her wishing that she could. Try to feed him, but never too much, encourage him to move, to build up his strength, without sounding like she was nagging him, or disappointed, without exhausting him. Keep him from pushing himself too hard without holding him down. It was all such a delicate balance, and the effort of it all was exhausting.

By the time she fell into her mattresses, still laying on the floor where she’d put them when she got there, she tended to feel like she’d been drug behind a horse for a while. But she rarely fell asleep easily.

She missed the time she had spent around the others, but being unable to leave Steve for long and knowing how unwilling he was to see anyone or be seen, she had to limit the time she spent with them.

She did try to make an effort, though, to visit each of them regularly, if briefly. To ask after them. And to wave away all of their offers of aid, because she had no idea what any of them might do to help. Save for Bruce and Tony, who were hard at work attempting to make sense of Steve’s blood, now, of the changes done to it that had stripped him of his ability to heal.

  
  


The days passed without Steve taking much notice; he could see and hear clearly, but still felt as if he was moving through a kind of fog, and watching everything from a distance. Like the world was made up of old newsreels -- grainy and colorless and far removed from him.

He couldn’t bring himself to do much. He went to the Medical floor for his x-rays, which fortunately revealed he wouldn’t need additional surgery on his shoulder, and for his routine checkups with the nursing staff. He ate when Loki put food in front of him, but after his first disastrous attempt to glut himself, he was cautious and didn’t overeat or get excited at the prospect; he ate because his body needed food, and when he was done, he usually retreated to the bedroom to lie down. Dr. Ortega said it was alright if he slept a fair amount, since his body was still healing, but he felt pitiful and lazy for the amount of time he curled up beneath the blankets, too devoid of energy or motivation to do much else, or even to face Loki.

She was beautiful and caring and lovely and perfect and he didn’t deserve her at all. Something he was reminded of every time she was in the room with him.

So he slept. And sometimes watched old movies on the television. At one point he’d picked up his old sketchbooks and tried to draw, though the bandages around his hand made the grip on his pencil clumsy. All his lines emerged wobbly, however, a subtle trembling in his wrist making it impossible to lay his marks down where he wanted them. And when he put it down in frustration at last and instead flipped back through the older sketches of his friends -- an act that had always had a bittersweet sort of comfort --

Now they were the faces of people he’d failed, and the memory of his hallucinations echoed in his mind.

_You failed me._

_It’s what you do, Steve._

_You are not enough._

  
  


He nearly threw the sketchbook across the room, only stopping himself because doing so would alarm Loki. Instead he set it aside, and drifted in the fog for an hour or so, staring at the patterns in the woodgrain on the floor.

Physically, he was healing. But something inside was still inexplicably broken.

He was lying on the couch in the soft, pajama-like clothing Loki had purchased for him (invalid’s clothing, he thought uncharitably, then kicked himself for his own ingratitude), reading a book (which consisted of re-reading the same paragraph with glazed eyes well over a dozen times without having the faintest idea what it said) when a knock arrived at the door. Steve frowned, but he didn’t move; he wasn’t due a doctor’s visit, so he was left hoping it was just a delivery Loki had ordered, and that he wouldn’t be faced with the exhausting prospect of _company_.

  
  


Loki jumped, not expecting the knock, and her first reaction was to check on Steve. He was fine, on the couch where she’d left him, still reading.

“JARVIS, who’s at the door?” She asked quietly.

“ _Doctor Banner._ ” came the prompt reply, and she almost smiled at how the AI had softened its own voice in response to her volume.

“Were you expecting Bruce?” She asked Steve, though she felt fairly certain he hadn’t been. He wasn’t talking to anyone, much if at all, if he could avoid it. She didn’t wait long before following up-- “Are you up to seeing him, or do you want me to see if I can’t take him somewhere else?”

She didn’t want Steve to feel like he wasn’t safe here, wasn’t able to have his solitude if that was really what he wanted and needed-- even though that worried her, too.

  
  


“I...”

Steve frowned, then shook his head. “I wasn’t. But I guess... We should probably find out what he’s here for.” If it was a social call, he might excuse himself by feigning a headache, but if it was Avengers-related--

Alright, then he’d _still_ be better off excusing himself, since in that case he’d be utterly _useless_.

Steve sighed. Then again, it might be something tactical, or concerning some of the others. And even if it wasn’t, there was no good reason to keep poor Bruce waiting out in the hallway when they were both home.

“Invite him in,” he said, forcing a small smile in Loki’s direction.

  
  


“Alright.” She smiled back at him, glad and grateful for that answer. “If you need more space, or need him to leave, let me know and I’ll take care of it.” She kept her voice low so that Bruce wouldn’t hear or be offended, but didn’t wait for an answer-- didn’t give Steve the chance to change his mind-- before turning and heading for the door.

She considered, for a moment, changing to her male form, as she did when she visited the others, but for Steve’s sake she kept the one she was in.

“Hello, Bruce, what brings you down this way?” She asked, opening the door and stepping immediately aside, so that he would be able to tell he wasn’t expected to have the conversation in the hallway, standing on the doorstep.

  
  


Bruce stopped short, blinking several times at the woman who opened the door, his mind taking a few seconds to catch up that it was _Loki_ , in that female body he’d seen a few times now, but not enough to... well. _Expect_ it.

It was slightly disorienting, but he did his best to shutter that away (not important, think about it later, or never), nodding to him-- to _her_ instead. “Loki,” he said by way of greeting. “I, ah, I have some news. Is Steve around?”

He winced as soon as he said it, knowing it was a stupid question -- Steve rarely left their rooms from what JARVIS said, so he was almost definitely _around_. But it seemed like the polite thing to ask all the same, as he shuffled in through the door.

  
  


“He is, yes.” Loki said, for Steve’s benefit, loud enough that he should hear it.

“The news… is it good?” She asked it softly, knowing that Steve would hate how protective she felt, but she knew, too, that he was… distant. Disengaged. She did not know what bad news would do.

She could see the way Bruce’s eyes skittered across her face-- searching for the person he knew, under the skin. She bit her tongue and raised her chin a little, hoping that if he meant to say anything, he would do so now, before she had to explain in front of Steve. There would be no good answer to the question if he could hear it.

But then, maybe she should head that off.

She glanced downwards, then up at him, putting on a slightly sheepish smile.

“More comfortable.” She murmured.

Not a lie, exactly; she just didn't say for _whom._

  
  


Bruce paused, a little perplexed, but didn’t press it. It would be an interesting thing to think on later, but not his priority -- or really any of his business -- at the moment.

“Hard to say yet,” he replied. “It’s not _bad_ to our knowledge, at least.”

He glanced over to where Steve sat on the couch with a book. “It’s, ah, about the blood sample I sent to Betty,” he told Loki quietly, unsure if the two of them had discussed it at all or if Loki wanted to preface the conversation.

  
  


“Come in then, and explain. I shall try to keep up.”

She stood out of the way and gestured that Bruce should take the lead into the living room.

She closed the door behind him, but didn't lock it, and followed him in. He knew better than to try and touch Steve but she still watched to be sure he didn't get too close.

She'd become, if possible, more protective of him than she had been.

Before, she'd been afraid his friends would hurt him because of her. Now she was afraid because someone else _had_.

“Hey Steve,” Bruce started out. “I've got news. How are you feeling?”

  
  


Steve had been-- well, not exactly paying attention, not focusing too hard on the soft tones of conversation from the front hall lest it be something he wasn’t supposed to hear, but not actually reading the book he’d been gazing at either. On hearing his name addressed to him as Bruce moved further into the space, he looked up.

“I’m alright, thank you,” he replied carefully, unsure what had brought Bruce down, and what exactly this news was that _Steve_ needed to hear. It probably wasn’t Avengers business or anything world-shattering, at least, since there’d be little point relaying that to him. For all he knew, it was something as simple as him being cleared to eat spicy food, or a shadow on his most recent x-ray. He sat up on the pillows a bit straighter. “What’s the news?”

  
  


Bruce adjusted his glasses. “Well, when you were... out of it, we took some blood samples. To figure out what HYDRA had done and see if we could undo it. I, ah, sent one of the samples off to a colleague-- someone I trust!” he quickly added, “someone who knows how dangerous it would be in the wrong hands and-- she’s honestly one of the only people I’d trust with it, and that’s coming from _me.”_

The last thing Steve needed was to be panicking over who had his blood, after all. Though given HYDRA had probably already taken copious samples, maybe that anxiety was moot. He pushed the thought down, pulling out his StarkPad instead. “She’s on hold right now, but if you’re alright with me putting her on the monitor, I think she can explain what she’s found a lot better than I can.” He looked from Steve to Loki.

  
  


Loki swallowed, unsure how Steve would react to this, if it would cause him to panic the way other things had done.

“I’d like to hear, of course, though again, I don’t know how much I will be able to follow, so you may have to explain things to me. That said-- is this something that Doctor Cho ought to be there to hear as well? Or do you think we will be able to simply pass the information on to her?”

She came around to where Steve was sitting, staying as far away as she had learned he could stand before he began flinching, which was still close, but not as close as she would like, of course.

But she wanted to be there, for him, when he learned whatever it was that Bruce had to tell them.

“And… it is all up to Steve. Do you feel up to it?”

Loki remembered his talk with Bruce, their discussion of what Bruce missed the most from before he was the Hulk, and this woman, this Betty, had been it. She doubted that Steve knew how much she meant to Bruce, but she would be certain to thank him, profusely, for being willing to involve her, later. She was sure it was costing him, in comfort if nothing else.

  
  


Steve hesitated. News about his blood could be good or bad, all too easily. They might have found a cure; or they might have found the change to be irreversible. Maybe he was healing maybe he was dying, God, maybe HYDRA had done _something else_ he hadn’t even realized--

He could feel his pulse starting to ramp up, fluttering in his throat, and made himself take a deep breath. If it was anything cataclysmic, Bruce had a good enough bedside manner to prepare him for it. It was probably none of the above. And even if it was...

“Hardly seems polite to keep her holding,” he replied with a thin smile, once he was confident his brief surge of panic was under control.

  
  


Bruce nodded. “I’ll send the technical report to Dr. Cho later -- with her background in gene engineering, she’ll understand it easily enough -- but Betty works at the university and does some teaching, so she’s a lot better at explaining this in layman’s terms. That’s why I figured it was best to put her on a call with you directly,” he said.

“JARVIS? Can you pull B-- Dr. Ross up on the screen?”

The television flickered on, and a moment later the screen of Bruce’s StarkPad resolved on the display, the icon for a paused call blinking. He swiped it on the tablet, and a moment later--

“--Will have those reports to-- Bruce? Are you back?”

Betty quickly switched off the phone in her hand, scooting her chair in toward the camera with a soft smile.

Bruce swallowed. “Hello Betty. This is Steve, and... A good friend,” he introduced, not sure how comfortable Loki would be with a relative stranger knowing her identity. Given Betty accepted The Other Guy well enough (honestly, more than she should), he doubted she’d have any problem with Loki, but it seemed wiser to leave that choice in Loki’s court.

  
  


Loki smiled blandly at the woman on the screen, biting her tongue to hold back the urge to introduce herself. But… she didn’t know why Bruce had withheld that information. Surely not out of mistrust towards Betty, seeing as she was on of the few people he trusted with Steve’s blood.

Perhaps she had had someone close to her in New York who’d been hurt or killed. Or there was some risk of being overheard… but given the focus here was Steve and his health, she didn’t want to distract from that. Better not to complicate things, just in case.

“Laura.” Loki offered. “Pleased to meet you, Doctor Ross. Bruce has told us great things about you-- and he tells us you have some news?”

This time her smile was slightly strained, but she hoped that it would encourage the woman to be to the point about it.

It had all the earmarks of being a successful entreaty- flattery, apparent intimacy, an appeal for information. And Loki felt that sour feeling, knowing that she was trying-- knowingly attempting-- to use people. _Again_.

She glanced at Steve, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

  
  


Steve had been expecting someone in a labcoat, looking very focused and down-to-business.

The woman -- Betty, or Dr. Ross -- was softer seeming that he’d have thought, wearing a light blue cardigan in lieu of a white coat, her expression gentle, and even her features very oval and soft. And when she spoke, her voice was high and breathy, but soft enough that it was more musical than shrill.

He could see why Bruce liked her; she seemed like a calming presence.

“Nice to meet you,” he managed.

On the screen, Betty smiled. “Likewise. To both of you. I’m very sorry for how long it’s taken me to get back to you, but I understand how important secrecy is with something like this, so I’ve only been taking the samples out of the safe to work on when the lab has been emptied and locked up. I wish I had more conclusive findings to update you on, but I wanted to check in and explain what I’ve worked out so far.”

Steve swallowed. “Which is...?”

Betty nodded. “I’ve been looking at your blood sample to try to figure out the effect of the anti-serum you were supposedly given, to determine if the effects were reversible. Now, the initial serum you were given in 1942 was a formula that, when combined with the effects of a certain wavelength of radiation, altered your body on a genetic level, rewriting segments of your DNA,” she explained.

“A true anti-serum would reverse those changes on a genetic level, mutating your genes back to a previous state,” Bruce supplied.

“But this isn’t an anti-serum. Not really,” Betty continued. “It’s a protein.”

Steve frowned, confused. “Protein... like, chicken?”

Betty let out a soft, tinkling chuckle. “Not exactly. Here...” She reached over and grabbed a notepad, holding it up so it faced the camera at an angle, and began to roughly sketch a spiral, and a double-helix shape. “A protein binds to a molecule of DNA to regulate it, and often acts as an on-off switch for what parts of that DNA are expressed.” She scribbled out a portion of the helix. “The information is still there, it’s just being marked as ‘do not use.’ This is called repression.”

  
  


The drawing helped.

She watched Steve’s face, trying to see how he felt about it.

“So can we do something to remove the protein?” She asked, wondering if there was something she, personally, could do. But this was a part of medicine that she and the Aesir were utterly unaware of, much like seidhr and krellr for the midgardians.

“Or would removing it cause damage to the rest of the DNA?”

It not being a real antiserum was good news, to be sure. It meant that Steve as he was used to being was still under there, somewhere. And she’d fight to help him return to that.

She wondered, abstractly, if removing the protein and unleashing the serum again would allow his healing to return to its previous speeds… and if that, in turn, would be able to help the state of his mind, as well.

  
  


“There’s nothing _we_ can do right now,” Bruce explained, and Steve felt his stomach plummet at that.

“But Steve’s body _might_ ,” Betty quickly explained. “Your body isn’t naturally producing these proteins -- they were synthesized and applied in an incredibly concentrated dose, but it’s possible they’ll degrade over time and be cleared out and destroyed by your body’s natural functions, and with no new serum-negative proteins being generated, the genes they’re currently repressing will return to an expressed state.”

“So... We wait,” Steve said after a moment of processing what she was saying.

On the screen, Betty pursed her lips. “If you can provide me with another sample, I can compare it to the first, and see if there’s any change. If there is, then it’s likely your body will resolve it on its own. If not...” Her brows furrowed delicately. “If not, then Bruce and I are just going to have to figure out a new solution. In the meantime, just... keep taking care of yourself.”

Steve sat back, exhaling shakily.

It _might_ not be permanent. But for all they knew, it could be. Everything about the serum was unprecedented and had baffled doctors for decades, rarely responding as it logically ought to. It was hard to feel optimistic there.

  
  


_Keep taking care of yourself_

Easier said than done, Loki knew, especially when this was only on the strength of _maybe_. Hard enough to get him to eat when he had stronger reasons to believe it would help.

But she had no room-- no luxury for doubting. She would need to be able to allay his, when he grew worried about the time it was taking.

“Thank you, Doctor Ross.” She said, meaning it. “Is there anything we can do to aid the progress, if that is the case? Is there some food or exercise or medicine that would help that breakdown to occur more quickly?”

She knew immunity; she was less familiar with metabolic functions, and she made note to ask JARVIS shortly.

She turned her attention back to her partner, though, hoping he was taking it as well as she was-- hoping he was excited.

Hoping he felt anything aside from his omnipresent upset.

  
  


Betty shook her head. “There’s still a lot of work being done on understanding protein degradation, and at the moment we don’t have a lot of means of impacting it -- though I’ll drop everything and find a way to, if it comes to that. For now, just keep following your doctor’s instructions for good health. I’ll send my findings on the protein levels to Dr. Cho -- she might have ideas for monitoring them. And if you can get me that second sample, I’ll get started on testing right away.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Thank you. I know this is a pretty thankless project, but I appreciate it.” She wouldn’t be able to publish her findings, after all.

She smiled warmly. “Please. I’m happy to help in anyway I can. I’m only a phone call away, anytime,” she said, the last part directed somewhat pointedly at Bruce, who looked down and away. “I’ll keep you updated on whatever I find, Steve. It was nice to meet you and Laura both. Take care.”

  
  


“I’ll talk to you later, Betty. Soon.” Bruce told her, hanging up, and even Loki could hear the naked longing in his voice. But she didn’t comment on it. She doubted that Bruce would appreciate it.

And besides, for the moment, she felt like he understood.

Just a call away; within arm’s reach. Able to see them, talk to them, but knowing you couldn’t touch. She sympathized more than she wanted to.

She swallowed, intentionally averting her eyes from Bruce while he cradled the StarkPad somewhat absently. She turned her eyes back to Steve.

She couldn’t help but feel hopeful, for his sake. She wanted to hug him, to offer comfort as they might have before, but she restrained herself. She was getting better at that with each day that passed.

  
  


Steve mustered up a smile for Loki’s sake -- the only comfort he could offer her -- then glanced back toward Bruce.

“Thank you for keeping me up to date,” he told him. “She ah, seems nice. And very knowledgeable.”

“She’s brilliant,” Bruce agreed with a distant, somewhat melancholy smile. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair, but I wanted you to know that and get the explanation first hand. I know how frustrating it can be not to know what’s happening in your own body. Betty’s gonna type up some notes and send them to me to forward to Dr. Cho, and I’ll let the nurses know they can take the sample and send it up to me next time you’re down there for your check up. Betty will follow up on that, I’m sure, once she’s able. But if you have more questions, I’m sure JARVIS can get you in touch.”

Steve nodded, and watched as Bruce awkwardly shuffled back toward the door, sinking into the couch. He wasn’t going to get his hopes up; not yet.

  
  


“I’ll be just a moment.” Loki promised Steve, following after Bruce.

She walked him out but stopped him at the door.

“Thank you.” She said, pushing as much sincere gratitude into those two words as she was capable of.

“I’m sure speaking to her cannot be easy for you, but I appreciate your doing it to help Steve and I just the same.”

She stepped forward and gave him a hug, but she kept it brief. It was supposed to be thanks, and she was careful not to take too much from it.

She did not want to be greedy.

“Loki…” he didn’t seem to have an answer to that, but that hardly mattered.

He’d only barely brought his arms up to hug her back when she stepped away, and she felt somehow cheated by it. But that was alright. It would be hurtful to Steve if he saw her reacting to his lack of touch by replacing it with others’. It felt like a betrayal even thinking it.

Bruce looked awkward, almost like he felt trapped, and she gave him what was meant to be a reassuring smile.

“I should get back to him. But if there is anything you need… do not hesitate to ask.”

  
  


“Likewise,” he told her. “Either of you. I, um. I’m obviously around,” he finished with an awkward, vague gesture.

He gave her one last gentle smile before taking his leave, tablet held close to his chest.

  
  


\---

  
  


The invitation two days later came via JARVIS.

“ _Pardon me, sir,”_ the eternally-polite voice piped in over the intercom as Steve was lying on the bed with his laptop, aimlessly reading a wikipedia article Bruce had sent him. “ _But Miss Potts would like me to inform you that an invitation has been extended for you and Loki to attend dinner with her and Master Stark, as well as Thor and Dr. Foster this evening.”_

Dinner. Steve’s stomach clenched a little at the thought of food, the way it had all too often since the mac and cheese incident. He didn’t have much appetite anymore, though he did manage to eat enough bland foods to keep Loki from getting too distressed. The idea of sitting at a dinner table for who knew how long, however--

“ _Shall I tell her you will be in attendance?”_

He almost said no. Almost told JARVIS to just leave him alone. But then he thought of Loki in the other room, probably overhearing every word; Loki, who had shut herself up in here with Steve as his caretaker, unwilling to leave him untended for too long and turning into a shut-in herself as a result, with no one but Steve for company.

And he had no illusions that he was pretty godawful company.

He swallowed, mulling it over. He’d probably be little fun to have at a dinner party, but if it got Loki out for a bit-- surely he could suck it up? And maybe it would help everyone else feel a little less guilty or fretful. It’d be something normal, wouldn't it?

Closing the laptop and setting it aside, he carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. “Yeah, okay. What time?”

“ _Six o’clock, in the Penthouse,”_ JARVIS chirped. Steve wondered if the AI sounded pleased or if it was his imagination as he stood up and padded out into the living area to find Loki.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Did, um. You hear that?”

  
  


“I heard that JARVIS called to you, but not what was said.” She answered, honestly, setting her book aside to give Steve her attention.

“Is everything alright?”

She almost winced as the words left her mouth; she knew as well as he did that things had not been _alright_ since he returned, and before then, even, before he left.

But she also could not help but be concerned. For the most part, she spoke to the others only when she left their apartment, which she did irregularly and only when she needed to. She’d discouraged them from calling down by insisting that Steve slept often, and that she did not want to risk disturbing him.

Goodness knew he needed the rest.

And all of that was true enough. But the real reason she didn’t want to talk to anyone was because of the questions.

If they called down, she would answer as a woman. That was still how Steve was most comfortable around her-- which wasn’t saying much. Even as a woman, standing too close or any form of physical contact was enough to cause him panic.

She reclaimed her male form when she left, so that they would not be suspicious, would not ask uncomfortable questions. Thus far, she had managed to make it so that only Bruce had seen. And he did not seem to have said anything on the subject.

But JARVIS hadn’t called for Loki; he’d called for Steve. And that was worrying, in its own way.

She had no idea what would necessitate communication between Steve and JARVIS, kept intentionally quiet, save for news. And whatever it was, it had driven Steve to seek her out. Which seemed rare enough that she would prize it, if not for the anxiety of not knowing why.

  
  


Steve nodded to her, moving to put his hands in his pockets only to find nothing but seams, wincing as he remembered that he was in sweatpants and this particular pair had no pockets.

“We’ve been invited up to dinner in the penthouse with some of the others. Pep, Tony, Thor and Jane,” he clarified. “I, ah,” and here he realized that he might have been presumptuous, but it was too late for it now. “I said yes. Though if you’d rather not...”

  
  


Her eyes widened, surprised, but she wasn't going to argue.

“No, no of course, if you want to, we will.” She gave him a hopeful smile. “Is there anything you need to get ready or…? What time are we meant to be there?”

She wasn't sure if she hoped they had time for him to prepare, or if she hoped he wouldn't have a chance to over think and second guess his acceptance.

  
  


“Six,” he answered, feeling something inside loosen a little bit at Loki’s smile.

She smiled all too little these days. When she did, there was always a tightness to the edges, lines of worry more than lines of mirth.

“So, we’ve got an hour or so. I’m, um. Gonna take a short bath, I think.” And then dress, obviously. In something that had actual _pockets._

  
  


She nodded, mentally categorizing what she would need to do to be ready to meet the others, until her mind stuttered to a halt and she paused.

“I… have been reclaiming my male form when I go out, to avoid questions. Would you-- I suppose, what would you prefer?”

She hated having to ask him, hated knowing she would be the source of discomfort either way.

Physical discomfort or questions, neither was a good option for him. And there was only one easy, good way out of it that she could see, loathe though she was to lose an opportunity to be around the others.

But in honesty, the invitation _had_ been for Steve.

It would be good for him to see the others. And easier for him to say why she wasn't there than to be forced to explain his traumas.

“Or, I could stay here, if that's better. Whatever you think.”

She left it up to him, already bracing for him to agree. Surely he would realize what her attendance would entail, one way or the other.

  
  


He wavered on her question about what form to take. Part of him hadn’t realized the others probably didn’t know already -- somehow he’d assumed-- but of course, Loki would go back to the form she felt more comfortable in outside the apartment. The form Steve had asked her not to take.

A swell of guilt left him unable to look her in the eye, until her next suggestion when his head snapped back up, alarmed.

“No!” he protested, able to be certain on _that_ at least. “We’re both invited, and-- you need air.” It wasn’t fair for Loki to be cooped up like this, just because Steve was a wreck. “Why don’t-- why don’t you take whatever shape you feel comfortable in?”

It was bad enough he dictated Loki’s body’s shape in their own home.

  
  


She swallowed nervously.

He didn’t want to choose, and she didn’t want to impose. But it was gratifying that he wanted her with him.

Still, they would have to ride the elevator together, likely they would sit beside one another. She would rather be interrogated than have him cringing away from her any more than he would be already.

“I’ll go like this.” she decided, words quiet. “And if there are questions, I’ll do my best to answer them.”

Besides, their other friends there would be sets of men and women in romantic relationships.

“If nothing else, I can say I did it to keep the numbers of our genders even.” She said it slyly, with a little smile, as though it was meant to be a joke.

She didn’t have much in the way of women’s clothing, though, and certainly nothing that was not at least somewhat fancier than anything they had that fit Steve right now.

That could be remedied, however, by wearing some of her men’s clothing. Probably it was partially her wearing pants and loose fitting shirts that helped Steve be any level of comfortable with her around the apartment, as it was.

They’d figure it out. They’d be alright. And Steve was right-- she could use the air. They both could.

  
  


He hesitated, but then nodded. It was Loki’s choice -- he wouldn’t try to influence her more one way or the other. “Sounds good,” he said. “I’ll, ah. I’ll be out in a bit.”

He retreated to the master bedroom and bathroom to wash up and dress; he didn’t stay in the bath for long, but the warmth from the water seeping into his bones was comforting and relaxing enough to ease some of the nerves he could already feel mounting at the prospect of spending time around more than one or two people. He’d been in relative isolation, barring Loki and usually only one other visitor at a time, since he’d been released from medical. He supposed he had to be thankful the whole gaggle of agents and Avengers presently residing in the tower wouldn’t be there.

  
  


(Being like this was embarrassing enough in front of a small audience, after all.)

Once he was clean and the water was beginning to cool toward lukewarm, he pulled the plug and dragged himself out, drying off and returning to the bedroom. The clothes Loki had purchased for him to better fit his (wasted, withered) body were hardly appropriate for a nice dinner, more lounge-wear than anything, so he rifled through the drawers he’d avoided since coming home, eventually finding a belt that would keep his khakis from sliding down too-thin hips, an undershirt, and a shirt that didn’t feel clownishly loose at the shoulders.

Combing his slowly-regrowing hair neatly and making sure he was shaved, he emerged at ten of six.

  
  


She had made sure she was presentable, but not overly dressed, or overly revealing. Aiming for Steve’s comfort above all else; the others would no doubt forgive them any faux pas, all things considered.

When Steve came out, he looked… different, closer to himself than she had seen him since his return, but that was worrying in its own way.

His pants were loose and held tight to his waist with a belt that looked as though it was pulled as tightly as it would go. His shirt was loose enough that it hid some of his thinness, though it did almost give the overall impression of his being in clothes that did not belong to him.

She considered offering him another of her shirts, since her male form was now closer in body structure to his than he’d been before… everything.

Instead, she smiled in greeting.

“You look nice.” She told him, trying for warmth without overstepping. “We’ve a few minutes yet-- do you need anything before we go?”

  
  


“So do you,” Steve managed with a small smile. Loki always looked beautiful, anyway. She was wearing the clothes she typically wore in her male form, but on a female figure, fell appealingly enough to look fashionable. Though it was a reminder that this wouldn’t be the form she’d be in if not for Steve...

His smile vanished. “Should-- do you think we oughta bring anything?” he abruptly asked. It would be polite, after all, but would it be expected on such short notice?

  
  


“I am certain they will have everything we need already; Tony seems to act affronted whenever anyone implies his hospitality is anything less than complete.” She reminded him.

“But if it seems that it is expected, I can offer some tea or cider for after dinner drinking. I do yet have some herbs that cannot be gathered here-- surely the exclusivity will make them appropriate.”

She smiled, nodding encouragingly. “All will be well, Steve, these are our friends. And my brother. But for yourself, is there anything you need? Medicine or anything of the like?”

He wasn’t eating much, yet, and she wasn’t certain if there was anything in the latest batch of pills to help him to better digest, or perhaps something to make him less nervous, less on edge.

  
  


He made a face at the mention of medicine. The fact that he was dependent on pills and potions all over again filled him with a deep, low current of shame and disgust. Not that he’d pass judgement on others -- it wasn’t the idea of anyone needing them that bothered him, but the sense regression instead, that ate at him.

“I’m fine. Took a dose a few hours ago,” he lied, forcing a thin smile. “And, ah, I’m sure you’re right and we’re fine. Thanks.”

He wished he could reach out and touch her without balking; he’d offer his arm like a gentleman if he could. As it was, he was left with moving toward the door so he could hold it open for her. “Shall we?”

  
  


“Of course.” She agreed smoothly, following after him, though she was careful to maintain a barrier distance of at least two feet, save when she passed him in going through their front door.

She moved ahead of him to the elevator and called it to them, settling herself inside and to the far corner, so that he would have space there, too.

She could not help but feel the muscles in her shoulders tensing, knowing there would be curious, if caring, eyes on them soon. Knowing that she had already told Pepper too much of her fears and concerns with Steve, and they hadn’t gone away.

“If they ask anything you do not wish to answer, you need only to stay silent. I will do my best to pull attention away. But it should be easy and comfortable. And if you need to leave early, give me some sign, and I will help with that, too.”

She had no idea, not even the slightest concept of how this would go. Only that she needed to be put together and able to keep him comfortable through it.

  
  


He looked over at her fondly from his side of the elevator.

“Thank you,” he said, quiet and earnest. He did mean it -- for all that he felt tremendous guilt for subjecting her to his problems, the way in which she cared for him, accommodated him, and now even _championed him--_

He didn’t deserve it. But it warmed something inside him all the same.

The elevator made a soft ding as it reached the penthouse floor, and he drew a deep breath as the doors whispered open, hands balling into fists and then stretching out at his sides.

He stepped out.

“Right on time!” Tony’s voice proclaimed as the man himself stepped out from the kitchen. “We haven’t got the food on the table yet, but it’ll just be a minute -- go ahead and make yourselves comfortable.”

  
  


His gratitude made something in her chest feel a touch less tight, made her a little less anxious.

She followed Steve into the penthouse, remembering the first time they had come here, how she’d all but fallen over herself to get away from JARVIS, and how Steve had followed behind.

If nothing else, this dinner surely couldn’t be as bad as revealing to Tony Stark just whom he had been flirting with.

She hoped.

She considered asking if there was anything she could help with, but she didn’t want to leave Steve on his own. So instead she nodded to the table, set already for guests and missing only bodies and food.

“Shall we sit?” She asked him.

It might be more normal to have claimed a spot elsewhere in the apartment and then moved to the table when the food was served, but Steve got so tired so often… she didn’t want him to sit only to have to stand again a moment later.

It was too quiet for Thor to be here yet, either, which meant that there was no one for them to join in the other room.

“Impressive, is it not, that even living in the same building, my brother can manage to be late?” She called towards the kitchen, though her words were entirely playful and lighter than she felt.

  
  


“Technically, you’re a minute and a half early, so I’d cut him a tiny bit of slack,” Pepper remarked as she entered the dining area, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and a carafe of water in the other toward the table.

Steve had followed Loki to the dining room, taking a seat beside her and resisting the urge the fidget. The table was neatly set already, with streamlined silverware and flatware in Tony’s modern, almost industrial style, which still managed to speak of luxury despite its simplicity. For a moment, he found himself thinking of the almost flimsy, dainty little silver forks and knives his mother had treasured, taking out twice a year to polish with baking soda and elbow grease, despite the fact no one ever ate off of them. They had been a point of pride for Sarah Rogers -- that however meager, they’d had a few pieces of her grandmother’s silver.

Then one year, the silver had stopped coming out. A year where Steve had been sicker than usual. She’d never spoken of it, and Steve didn’t dare to ask, not wanting to confirm that she’d sold it to pay for his medicine, though he knew in his heart it was the truth.

He’d hoped that would be the last time anyone had to give up something that important for his sake, but clearly fate had other ideas.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he twitched -- not quite a flinch, but close -- when Pepper reached over beside him to fill his glass, only to pause and look at him while biting her lip.

“Oh, I didn’t even think-- are you okay to have wine? I think we might have some sparkling cider somewhere if it’s a problem...”

Steve thought back to the conversation with his doctors about how he could process pain relievers now in a normal manner. He supposed the same would go for alcohol now. “I certainly hope so,” he replied with a wry smile. “I think I’m due a silver lining about now.” He gestured to his glass, and after a moment’s hesitation, she poured in a not-too-generous serving.

“Well, if anything tonight doesn’t sit well with you, let me know, we have plenty of backup options. You know how full of food this place is,” she told him with a gracious smile before moving to fill Loki’s glass. “Assuming Tony doesn’t burn the kitchen down,” she added in a low mutter.

  
  


Loki snorted.

“And who gave him access to the kitchen to start with?” She asked archly. “Of all the people in this tower, we know whom he would obey if told 'no’.”

Which she was perhaps a little envious of. She doubted Steve should have wine. Certainly not, in fact, since he seemed to be surviving primarily on mashed potatoes and oatmeal. But she knew, too, that saying anything to him would not only make him more stubborn about it, but also embarrass him in front of others.

She resigned herself to having to help him later, either by drawing the alcohol out of him-- if he could stand to allow her to get close enough-- or by finding out from the doctors how to get him to vomit… though she hoped he would be open enough for the former. He needed whatever nutrients he managed to get.

She could hear the sound of the elevator arriving and she sat herself down beside Steve, careful not to so much as allow her clothing to brush against him in the process.

If they were both sitting, he would feel less awkward when the others came inside.

There was a knock, barely a pause, and then Thor was opening the door and sticking his head inside. Once he saw they were all there, he opened the door wider and gestured that Jane should precede him in.

This was the first time Loki had seen his brother’s beloved in anything nicer than sweatshirts and jeans. She looked almost put together, in her button down shirt. Apparently she had landed on the same level of dressing up as both Loki and Steve had, and she found herself grateful for her for that, too.

Tony emerged from the kitchen, hands encased in rubbery looking gloves that turned them into something akin to claws.

“Oh good, everyone’s here! Food’s on its way out, careful-- it’s hot.”

“Oh-- ‘kay, here Thor--” Jane said, tugging them towards the table.

It seemed she had gotten at least somewhat accustomed to how in the way the Prince of Asgard tended to be.

  
  


Thor had felt trepidation as he and Jane reached the penthouse, unsure if the Captain and his brother would be there. Lady Pepper had, of course, notified him of her plans when she’d extended the invitation, but hadn’t confirmed with him whether he and Jane would be the only guests in attendance or not.

They’d seen so little of Steve since he’d returned, it was almost as if he was still missing, still a ghost. And Loki along with him now.

So his heart swelled and spirits rose when he spotted figures already seated at the table.

“It is good to see you, Steven,” he declared as he let Jane shepard him to the table. “And you, br-- sister,” he quickly amended as he actually _looked_ at Loki, in mild surprise.

  
  


“Thor.” Loki said, nodding, and then, “And Jane. It is good to see you both. Jane, I trust you haven’t ceased to enjoy and explore Tony’s labs?”

It was polite, and clearly small talk, but she knew she could count on Jane to become excited about science, and, given the opportunity to speak on the subject, she would. Long enough, certainly, to draw attention away from the oddity that was her form.

“The labs here are great-- there’re four floors of them, each with a different focus. And you should see the machines he’s got; his calorimeter is like nothing I’ve ever seen.” She sounded utterly awed, and Loki exchanged a fond glance with Thor.

“That’s ‘cause I made it myself. Patent pending. It’s got its own built in Muon detector, as well as a central tracker, making it the all in one particle physics machine. Let me know if you think of a good name for it-- I’ve been calling it the CMDCT, or commander, but that’s been taken a million times over, so.” Tony shrugged, which was slightly terrifying, given he was carrying a dish full of clearly hot food; the steam rolling off the top was especially thick.

Thick enough that Loki doubted they would be able to eat whatever was inside in the next several minutes, at least.

“And Thor?” She asked. “What have you been doing of late?” More politeness, more small talk. And, she hoped, the sort of question that they would be wise enough not to reciprocate with.

  
  


Steve kept his hands in his lap where no one could see his nervous fidgeting. His eyes kept darting to the doorways (too many) keeping track of the people coming in and out (also too many) and the various lines of conversation starting to spring up, though it was hard to keep those from blending together into white noise. Something clanged in the kitchen after Pepper headed back, and he flinched.

Dammit, dinner wasn’t even served yet. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing and none of the rest.

  
  


“Jane and Lady Darcy have been taking me to Midgardian museums to expand my knowledge of this realm,” Thor supplied, noting that Steven had not yet spoken, but electing not to draw attention to it. “I confess, I am much entertained and delighted by your Space Program,” he informed Tony, who had just set down a steaming tureen of something that smelled delicious. “Your explorers must have been of either incredible courage or incredible foolishness to travel the stars in such primitive and flimsy structures, though I am inclined to think it the former. Midgardian ingenuity and the reckless speed at which it charges forward is... inspiring.”

  
  


Loki nearly clapped her hand to her forehead.

He probably didn’t realize how much of a backhanded compliment that was, and Tony was standing at the table staring with a funny twitch to the side of his mouth, rendered briefly mute.

All too briefly, she was sure.

“And you have returned to Midgard only to work more miracles. Behold: Tony Stark, left without words!” She gestured, but her tone was playful. She hoped it would keep the mood light, and she looked to her partner, checking to be sure he was taking to all of the noise alright.

They did keep things so very quiet in the apartment. Even the television was turned low, when it was on.

Before, she might have placed a hand on his leg, just to check, to offer the support. Now she couldn’t.

He seemed jumpy, though, and as Tony stammered his way through _yeah well_ …

She shook her head.

Maybe they wouldn’t be able to stay after all. Not if he was this upset, already. And maybe that was just everyone moving around, maybe it would be easier once they were all sitting.

That in mind, she stood.

“Here, allow me to help.” She offered smoothly, gesturing that Tony should sit as well. She hurried to the kitchen, where Pepper was, and looked around.

“If I can bring the rest of the dishes out?” She asked softly. “I think the movement… Steve isn’t used to having so many people around. If you’ll just point, I can move them all at once.”

  
  


Pepper was a bit surprised to see Loki joining her in the kitchen. Almost as surprised as she’d been to see Loki as a woman, though now she wondered if she shouldn’t be...

“I’m actually almost done,” she replied, smiling warmly, “though if you could grab that bowl of salad and the tongs-- yes, right there-- then I can get the bread and we’ll be all set to sit down.”

She lifted the basket of neatly sliced baguette chunks, then paused. “Is there anything I should know to avoid or topics to steer the others away from?” she asked softly. She doubted Jane would present a problem, but Tony... Well, she loved Tony, but she knew how his brain and his mouth could sometimes operate on different gears.

  
  


Loki shrugged, pressing her lips together to keep from betraying how helpless she felt.

“I wish I could say, but he just gets quiet until he can’t be, any more.”

There was less to carry than she’d anticipated, and it meant that probably everyone else would be settled. She hoped Steve didn’t feel like she’d abandoned him.

She genuinely had only wanted to help make him feel more comfortable sooner. But she didn’t want to tarry here-- not when he was… well, not _alone_ out there, but that was the problem. And not while Pepper was in here, trying to be helpful and kind and all too effective at poking holes in Loki’s resolve.

But she wasn’t going to seek sympathy or vent. This needed to go _well._

It was the first time Steve had agreed to go out, and who knew how long it would be before he volunteered again, if things ended badly.

“Ready?” She asked, hoping Pepper would forgive her the rudeness, the abruptness, of her behavior. She didn’t wait for an answer, instead hurrying back the way she’d come to set the bowl with the tongs down on the table.

She looked expectantly behind her for Pepper to emerge, glad to note that Thor and Jane and Tony had all seated themselves and weren’t hovering over Steve as they might have done.

Jane was, in point of fact, politely attempting conversation.

About possibly the worst subject imaginable.

“--your recovery coming along?” She was asking. “Are your doctors working out well for you?”

Tony seemed overly interested, and Loki felt her face jerk toward Steve, concerned.

She went wheeling through her mind in search of a change of topic.

  
  


Steve blinked in surprise as Loki stood and left; he was used to her hovering whenever they were in the company of anyone else. Not that there was probably any reason for her to -- they were among friends after all -- but his flank where she’d been seated felt oddly naked with her gone, leaving him with Jane, Tony, and Thor.

For a while they were all talking amongst themselves -- Steve half paid attention to Tony and Jane arguing about the merits of the 60s and 70s era space program compared to the present day -- and he simply fiddled with his napkin in his lap. But then Tony made some crack about aircraft in Steve’s day, and abruptly all eyes were on him.

He forced a weak smile, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up in response to the scrutiny. But he was supposed to be normal tonight, supposed to be getting better like Bruce said he would, and as Loki re-entered the room in his peripheral vision, he bolstered the facade:

“Between Tony’s medical team, Bruce and Dr. Cho, I don’t think I could ask for anyone better,” he answered, reaching for his wine glass. “Plus I’ve got Loki looking out for me,” he added, glancing back at her and hoping it was the right thing to say.

  
  


Suddenly she felt able to breathe again and smiled at him, wishing she could force more confidence into the expression, though seeing his hand close around the wine made her nervous in its own way.

“To the wonders of modern medicine, and the return of Steve Rogers,” Tony proposed, taking up his own glass of wine, and leaving the others to fumble for their own. Loki raised hers, but her eyes were on Steve, not sure how well he’d take it.

She should have sent ahead, asked them not to make too much fuss, warned them that he would be uncomfortable at the center of things.

Especially since she knew he had to feel like he hadn’t returned. Not really, not yet. If ever.

Around them, glasses were clinking lightly, and she couldn’t help but worry.

  
  


Steve felt a muscle in his jaw twitch at the toast, but he managed to keep his expression schooled into something neutrally positive until he could bring the glass to his lips, gulping down the wine and willing it to take effect immediately.

He just had to survive dinner. Act normal until the meal was over, then he could beg off by saying he was tired. Given how damn _frail_ he was, no one would find it odd anyway.

“Well, let’s everyone dish up!” Pepper announced a moment later. “There’s soup, salad, bread, wild rice, and roast chicken, so help yourselves. Tony and I followed the recipes to the letter but if anything is a disaster, JARVIS has Salvatore’s pizza programed into his frequent numbers list.”

“It smells as a truly magnificent feast, Lady Pepper,” Thor assured her, reaching for the chicken. “I am sure all will prove delectable!”

“I lived off ramen for pretty much all my undergrad. The styrofoam cup stuff, not the authentic kind,” Jane added. “So anything home-cooked is amazing.”

Steve thought briefly to how _hungry_ he’d been in the cell and how he’d have given his left arm for the food now in front of him, only to feel his stomach twist ironically, the thought of heavy food sitting in his gut like lead an abruptly unappealing prospect. Still, he dutifully, almost mechanically, spooned some rice on to his plate before passing the bowl along.

  
  


She accepted the bowl from Steve, grateful to see that he’d taken a good amount of the rice. It seemed likely to be the blandest food offered, which meant he may rely on it. And besides-- it would help to absorb some of the wine. She hoped.

She took her own portion, perhaps more than she normally would, if only by a bit, so that should they run out and Steve need more…

“This does all sound marvelous.” She added appreciatively. “Though I was under the impression that neither of you were cooks. A new hobby?”

Tony paused in his ladling, eyes round with mock surprise.

“Who said I can’t cook? I’m an excellent cook. JARVIS, tell them I’m a good cook.” He demanded.

“ _Sir once started a fire in the kitchen attempting to make a cup of tea.”_

Loki snorted and Jane covered her mouth.

“Look, one, it wasn’t for me, I was trying to be nice. Two, I didn’t realize the bag went in the cup, not the teapot, and three, it’s not my fault they put little paper bits on them.” He looked disgruntled, but he put his hand over Pepper’s and looked lovingly at her.

“The rest of the breakfast in bed worked pretty well though, right?”

Loki found herself zeroing in on the touch, and realized she hadn’t moved for a moment, staring as she had been. She passed the rice along and moved to accept the next dish from Steve, being careful not to so much as accidentally brush his fingers.

It was a dance she’d become quite good at, though it was one she was almost afraid to be seen doing in public. Her having a different form was one thing, easily explained away with lies. Steve’s continued shrinking from contact was another… and it seemed likely to cause concern, the likes of which she knew he didn’t want.

  
  


Thor chuckled at the account of Tony’s misadventures, but he kept finding his gaze drawn toward Loki. Her shoulders were tense, and despite the ease he’d seen her adopt among the Avengers and their greater circle of friends previously, tonight she appeared coiled and anxious as if in the midst of negotiations with an enemy. It was odd, and worrying.

Particularly the way she kept looking toward Steve.

Beside him, Jane cleared her throat, passing along the salad. “Forgive me if this is rude to ask, but my curiosity is getting the better of me-- the gender changing-- is it a magic thing or an Asgardian thing? You don’t have to answer if it’s not appropriate...”

  
  


Loki felt her lips curling upward, and she turned her attention to Thor.

“You mean you haven’t shown her your other shapes? Brother-- for shame!”

She watched for a moment as he floundered, then shook her head.

“No, I jest. It is very much a magic thing, or, perhaps more aptly, a shape shifter thing. Though there is an intersection there-- all shape shifters are magic users, but not all who use magic are shape shifters. Thor, for example--” she sighed, as if it were a great shame. “He is trapped with that face.” She smirked at the man in question, took her serving of chicken and handed it along.

“And it is hardly rude. After all you have been explaining to us, I am happy to explain what I can to you.” She added, nodding to Jane.

“But so it’s like, a full change, right? You’ve done it before but I haven’t gotten a good look or anything-- ow!” Tony looked over to where Pepper had elbowed him and rubbed his ribs. “It’s just a question! I wasn’t asking for a show.”

“You may ask Pepper.” Loki replied evenly. “She has gotten a good look. When we went dress shopping for our date,” she clarified, looking to Steve.

Hoping that it would be good to remind him of better times. Hoping that bringing it up now wouldn’t just ruin the memory.

  
  


Tony turned to Pepper with wide eyes. “When she says ‘good look,’ does she mean--”

Pepper swatted him with her napkin, rolling her eyes. “That’s none of your business,” she pointed out. “Though speaking of clothes-- Loki, I have a blouse I picked up a while ago that doesn’t do my coloring any favors, but which I think would look lovely on you if you’re interested. I can ask JARVIS to remind me to go get it after dinner.”

At his seat, Steve pushed the rice around his plate with his fork, not bringing himself to eat much of it, but doing his best to appear occupied by it. The conversation’s turn toward Loki at least meant Steve wasn’t the topic of conversation anymore, but he felt knots forming in his back at the subject of Loki’s female form, knowing the question of _why_ would likely be asked sooner or later and dreading how Loki would be forced to answer.

“You know,” Jane mused from next to Thor, “it’s too bad. Long flowing hair like that, I think you’d be a very pretty girl,” she teased.

Thor snorted, blushing. “Nay. I make not nearly so fetching a maiden as Loki. Remember Thrymheimr?” he said, addressing the last across the table to Loki.

  
  


Loki made an effort to relax into her seat a little more, forcing a laugh and shaking her head.

“Thank you, Pepper, yes, I would appreciate that. And-- as for your loveliness, Thor, it might have gone better had you been willing to _shave_.”

Again, she glanced to Steve, wishing she could will him into joining the joviality. And no one else seemed inclined to going out of their way to draw him into it. She didn’t want him to feel as if he had been invited only to be ignored, nor did she want him to feel singled out. And she certainly didn’t want him to feel it was her being over protective, trying to include him. It left her with very few options.

She took a sip of wine to hide the pause while she thought, averting her eyes from her partner, so studiously concentrated on his food, though it had been some time since she’d seen him lift the fork to his lips.

“So is this a game now of who’d look best in drag? Because let me tell you-- also not willing to shave, but in my college days…” Tony made a clicking noise with his tongue and a circle with his fingers.

Beside him, Pepper looked a touch long-suffering, but this time it was her turn to reach over and pat him, this time on the shoulder.

“Yes dear, you’re very pretty. We all agree.”

Loki saw Pepper’s eyes light on Steve, and she sucked in her breath, afraid for a moment that something would be said about his thinner frame, and how it would be easier now for him to pass himself off… but fortunately, she was far too kind and too smart to bring that up.

Which unfortunately left another round of conversation to pass Steve by.

Loki took another sip of wine, and another chance to dart a look at her partner.

  
  


Pepper’s gaze drifted toward Steve’s plate and her brow furrowed, lips pursing together briefly as her hand slid away from Tony’s shoulder.

“If the rice isn’t settling well, I can toast you up some bread,” she offered. Most of the food she’d selected for tonight’s menu was fairly gentle fare, with no harsh spices or acidic flavors, but if Steve wasn’t eating, it was possible something was upsetting his stomach all the same.

  
  


Steve twitched, then shook his head. “No, the food’s fine,” he quickly replied. “Just had a late lunch is all.”

Which was a lie. But only Loki knew that (well, Loki and the ever-present JARVIS), and he could at least rely on her not to call him out on it in public. He took another sip of the wine, unable to look Pepper in the eye.

“Indeed,” Thor supplied, jumping on the topic of the food. “The meat is most tender and flavorful.”

  
  


Loki made her face go blank, politely bland, even as she hid her surprise.

A late lunch, no lunch at all… the two were similar she supposed. Except for that they weren’t. And it troubled her even more Steve had never used to lie. How he used to be terrible at it, and yet she could see those at the table accepting his explanation.

And of course-- the fact that it even _was_ a lie was her own fault.

She should be working harder to coax him into eating, shouldn’t be such a bad influence on him…

She swallowed her panic with the next forkful of chicken and smiled at Pepper, hiding that anything was wrong, just as he wanted it.

They would think less of her, too, if they knew, she was sure.

And… even if he wasn’t eating much, he was certainly drinking. A fact which made her uneasier still, but there was little she could do about it in the company they were currently in.

“It’s all very good, Pepper, thank you.” She assured her, “and Tony as well. Truly, we appreciate your arranging all of this, and on such short notice, to boot.”

Jane patted her mouth with her napkin, humming and nodding as she finished chewing before adding her own words of agreement.

“Yeah, this is great. Thanks! We should do couples’ nights more often.”

  
  


“Mmm,” Steve hummed absently, thinking the exact opposite. While he knew it was good to get Loki out of the apartment, making it a _couples’_ night when Steve could hardly act like a partner seemed cruel. Though Jane had no means of knowing that.

He felt a little ill and guilty though, the one bite of rice he’d managed to take sitting uneasy in his stomach. Jane and Thor, Pepper and Tony -- was it a mistake coming up here and rubbing in Loki’s face all the things he couldn’t give her?

Across the table, Pepper made a face. “Oh. I didn’t season this soup nearly enough. Could someone pass the salt around?”

  
  


Loki barely glanced up at the request, and then only to see if the salt was near her; it wasn’t. Tony had it and handed it off to Pepper, and Loki nearly smiled at when it occurred: Pepper asking for salt.

She looked around to see if anyone else thought it was funny; meeting Jane’s eye, she had a tiny smile playing about her mouth. Thor, of course, wouldn’t have caught on. But he did take it next, dutifully sprinkling it into his steaming bowl.

“Soup is a difficult thing,” Loki told her, trying to be encouraging. “Liquid tends to do gentle flavoring no favors.” She took a taste of the soup without it. It wasn’t terrible, but Pepper was right; it could use it.

The salt had made its way to Jane, and Loki watched closely when she passed it to Steve, hoping their hands wouldn’t touch, hoping that Steve’s pretense could remain intact. Or at least that he would not be unduly troubled if they did touch.

  
  


“No thanks,” Steve murmured as Jane moved to pass him the salt; he hadn’t taken any soup, after all, and best not to have to risk touching and passing things anyway.

He shrank back as she reached over him to pass the salt on to Loki, bypassing him--

A clink, and the sculptural brushed-steel lid of the shaker fell free, a cascade of salt spilling down as Jane gasped and swore softly. “Oh, geez, sorry, here--”

Steve froze.

His hands had been over his plate. The salt now covered the back of his hand, white grains on exposed skin, coarse and small.

 _So tell me,_ Verschmutzung’s voice whispered in the back of his mind. _How does it feel?_

The chair clattered to the ground as he shoved it back, staggering to his feet with a strangled shout as he tried to brush it all off, nails scraping furiously to scour every last grain away before it could _burn, brand, sear into his skin and burn so hot so cold and mark him as theirs..._

  
  


It seemed such a small thing, and it wasn’t even Jane’s fault, really.

And yet--

She rose moments after his chair hit the ground, raising her hands but not reaching out-- knowing better than that.

“Steve?”

She didn’t understand, but she was concerned, and she was certain all of the others were too.

Especially with the way he was clawing at his hand, like it was hurting him.

“Steve, what is it?”

  
  


His back had hit the wall and he was furiously scrubbing at his hand with the hem of his shirt, untucked now. He had to get it off, get it _off._ He was breathing raggedly, buzzing in his ears, every nerve on high alert.

Someone stepped near him and he flinched, fist clenching. “Get away!” he yelped.

  
  


She heard someone clear their throat behind her, but she ignored it.

“Alright, Steve-- it’s alright. No one is touching you-- no one is going to touch you.” She spoke softly, but pitched her voice back, a warning for the others at the table.

“Is there something I can do, is there something you need?”

Perhaps the salt was affecting his skin? Had the serum rendered him somehow vulnerable to it? That didn’t seem like it made any sense-- he sweated, didn’t he?

She was at something of a loss.

  
  


Steve looked up to yell at Verschmutzung to get the fuck away--

His voice left him. Verschmutzung wasn’t there. HYDRA wasn’t there. Just Loki, and his friends. Who were now staring at him like he’d completely lost his mind.

Maybe he had.

He looked down at his hand, and while the skin was raw and pink from scratching, there was no dead flesh, no blistering or peeling burns. Just his hand. And here he’d gone and caused a whole scene over... Over _table salt._

He swallowed. God, he really was broken, wasn’t he?

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said hoarsely, stumbling toward the doorway.

  
  


Loki blinked, confused by the quick switch, and concerned.

 _The wine_? She couldn’t help but think.

He’d seemed so far away.

“Yes, ah-- excuse us.” She said, turning back to the rest of the table with an apologetic grimace, as she lifted Steve’s chair with her seidhr, settling it back into place.

She didn’t quite meet any of their eyes, but turned and went after her partner, already wondering what she needed to ask, what she should say-- what she could do to _help_ , when she didn’t even know what was _wrong_.

  
  


Steve was halfway to the elevator when he heard steps behind him and tensed.

Loki. It had to be. Of course, she’d follow, dutiful and saintly, dogging his heels to care for him however miserable he was, until the strain of caring for sick, pathetic little Steve Rogers wore her away to nothing too, just like--

He pulled up short, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was ruining everything, but the point had been to get Loki up here. She shouldn’t have to leave because of him.

“You should stay,” he told her without turning.

  
  


She stopped short, stung and trying not to be.

“I don’t-- that is, do you want some time away from me?” She asked, treading carefully with her words. “Will you be-- is there anything you need?”

She’d be wringing her hands if she didn’t have just a little more control than that.

He wanted her to stay, but she could not think of anything she wanted to do less than walk back into that room, into their pitying looks and their questions and the awkward silence where Steve had been.

Except, perhaps, leaving Steve alone when he’d just had another-- what had that been? Some sort of fit, a memory--?

Either way, the last time she had left him alone, she had returned to find him bleeding on the bathroom floor. She didn’t want to give him the option to do that again.

And he wouldn’t even look at her.

Had she done, or said something? Or was he just-- surely he was embarrassed, and she ought to reassure him? Somehow?

  
  


He swallowed, jaw clenching, _hating_ the worry in her voice. Both for the knowledge that he was causing her upset, and for the fact he was such a wreck that he merited it.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he lied, voice flat. “Gonna go lie down. You should stay and eat dinner. No sense letting Pepper and Tony’s cooking go to waste.”

He still couldn’t bring himself to look at her as he crossed the rest of the distance to the elevator and hit the button, feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin as he waited. “Just go back.”

  
  


She hung back wordlessly, didn’t argue against it any more, but lowered her head and let her shoulders slump forward.

She couldn’t.

If she went back, it would be obvious, all of the ways she was failing him. And they would all feel that they had to comment on it. They were good people, they would no doubt offer sympathy, and likely both Jane and Pepper would feel responsible, even though they weren’t, and Loki just _couldn’t._

But she couldn’t go with him, either. He wasn’t letting her, and if she did join him in the elevator, no doubt he would only shrink away from her, and grow irritated-- more so than he already was.

She didn’t know what to do, and she felt so _useless_.

Helpless.

“Alright. I love you.”

There was nothing else she could say right now.

So she did the only smart thing she _could_ do, and shrank out of sight, shielding her existence from view with magic.

She sank down, sitting against the wall to wait. She could go down in a bit, once enough time had passed. She just hoped that her brother and the others kept their voices low when they discussed this, and that Steve was alright, and that he didn’t do anything that would cause JARVIS to give her presence away to the others.

 


	79. Seventy-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for chapter content warnings.

Steve breathed deeply in the elevator for several seconds, before letting out a broken howl and slamming his fist into the metal wall.  
Once, the steel would have buckled and dented under the blow. Right now, his knuckles just ached. He leaned into the place where they pressed into the smooth surface, panting raggedly and squeezing his eyes shut.

 _Table salt._ He was even _worse_ than he’d been before the serum. Small and weak then, at least he hadn’t been off his damn head...

His fist hurt. Which made sense; action, impact, pain. Unlike the salt, which shouldn’t have hurt and then did with HYDRA, and subsequently didn’t hurt at dinner, but seemed as it should have. Unlike every little touch that he flinched at, expecting agony, or the simple act of eating food when starving that left him retching and pitiful. He was on constant alert now, mind poised for a sense of fight or flight that his body couldn’t follow through on in either direction, always expecting pain. And what did and didn’t hurt almost never made _sense--_

Almost.

The ache in his hand was real, logical. Grounding. In the strangest way, he found it soothing, if only for the simplicity of it.

Pulling his fist back, he looked over the reddened knuckles. “JARVIS,” he croaked, “down to the gym levels, please.”

  
The light on the elevator changed and Steve waited until the doors opened again into a mercifully empty hall. “If Loki asks,” he said to the empty air when he stepped off, “tell her I’m in the tower and I’m fine. No more.”

He didn’t want to be followed and tended to. Didn’t want to see the look in her eyes. Didn’t want... so many things.

He wasn’t cleared for exercise, he knew; nothing more than light walking and the physical therapy exercises he’d been specifically given for his shoulder and some gentle stretches. Dr. Cho and Dr. Ortega would be unhappy, and Bruce would shake his head. Right now, Steve didn’t particularly care.

The gym level hadn’t changed at all in the time he was gone. He made his way easily through the banks of equipment until he reached the boxing gear, pausing in front of the heavy bag, which had been specially reinforced to handle his blows. He fleetingly realized he was still in his dress shirt and slacks, and would be better off in the sweats and tees he wore almost ubiquitously now, but changing would require doubling back to the apartment and potentially running into Loki. So instead he simply unbuttoned his shirt, shivering slightly at the cool breeze over his bare arms, leaving him in his undershirt.

Balling his hand into a fist, he threw a punch.

The shock of it ran up his arm, jolting his joints and making his shoulder twinge. The bag didn’t so much as sway, and the sting of impact blossomed over his unwrapped knuckles.

Taking a breath and ignoring the discomfort in his knees as he adjusted his stance, he braced himself, then threw another jab.

  
  


And another.

  
  


The bag was faceless, and when he closed his eyes against the dripping sweat, it wasn’t hard to imagine it was the pale doctor he was hitting; or Verschmutzung; or Scofield. He could almost imagine there was real force behind the blows and that he was able to fight back and defend himself; that he wasn’t _useless._ He could almost imagine--

None of that was real, though. The sweat, the burning in his lungs, the throbbing in his hands and the smack of skin against leather over and over and over -- those were real.

He ground his teeth and hit again.

  
  


And again.

  
  


His legs were getting wobbly and his breathing was wheezy but he didn’t care. He’d beaten bag after bag until the floor was covered in sand and his body was ready to give out when he’d first come out of the ice. It had been better than actually hurting anyone, when he wanted to lash out. He’d had to be careful, after the serum, of not actually hurting anyone.

Ironic, really, considering he didn’t have the serum now (at least, not in a way that worked), and hurting people was all he ever seemed to do. He snarled, throwing his whole weight into the bag and feeling something in his hand _split_ , stinging like a knife. If anyone _deserved_ to be hurt--

  
  


Deserving--

  
  


He slammed the bag with a flurry of blows, spots swimming at the edges of his vision as he heaved for breath.

_He deserved this._

  
  


JARVIS was usually pretty good at knowing when he should and shouldn’t tell people things, so when he’d called Natasha to the gym, she’d responded right away, albeit with her customary amount of caution and calm.

He was also, as it turned out, very good at understatements.

She blinked at what she saw, the door whisking open near-silently. Steve, on the other hand, wasn’t anything close to silent. He was fighting for air, clearly, but that didn’t mean he was stopping. Because he was Steve.

No matter how much he still looked like hell, thin and breakable.

She took a breath, stepping forward, though she stopped short, remembering that, last she knew, he didn’t like to be touched. And considering how little anyone had seen him since then, she didn’t suppose it had changed.

“Steve?” She asked, hoping that would be enough to get him to stop.

  
  


_Thwack._

  
  


_Thwack-thwack._

  
  


_Right. Left-right. Left. Left. Right._

  
  


_Breathe._

  
  


_Thwack._

  
  


He couldn’t see well anymore, sweat stinging in his eyes and vision tunneling as his chest heaved, but he couldn’t stop. If he stopped he’d probably fall over. If he stopped, he’d lose track of the one thing that felt _real..._

He threw another jab, though his balance nearly went with it and he staggered, leaning heavily into the bag.

  
  


She couldn’t tell if he was ignoring her, or a million miles away. Either way, JARVIS wouldn’t have called her if things were okay.

She circled around, careful to walk through his direct line of view as much as possible, not to slink in through his peripheral vision.

From the new angle, she could see his hands-- inwardly she winced. Outwardly, she kept her face as impassive as ever.

“Steve.”

She reached out, laying her hands on the punching bag from the opposite side.

  
  


The sound of his name took a few moments to penetrate the fog around his mind. Steve looked up, heaving for breath, and blinked several times until his sight cleared enough for him to realize who was present with him.

“Nat?” he managed. He would have asked her what she was doing there, but he was too winded to manage more than a syllable at a time, it seemed. And now that he’d stopped moving, he found himself swaying on his feet.

  
  


“I assume the bag did something to deserve this.” She said, though it came out dry as her concern for Steve made her focus on him.

“You need a hand, or do you want to sit?”

Because one way or another, she had a feeling that he wasn’t going to be able to stay standing for long.

“Should I call Loki down to help you out?”

If he was going to be okay with anyone touching him, she figured it’d be the guy he was living with-- the one he had spent the last week locked up with in their rooms.

  
  


Hand, no. Sit, yeah. He should probably do that, Steve thought distantly, jerking his head and stumbling back toward the bench by the side of the boxing portion of the gym.

Right until Natasha offered to call Loki down.

“No!” he yelped, turning and almost falling over, managing to gracelessly trip into a sitting position on the bench and wincing as he hit it harder than he intended. “Don’t... don’t call Loki.”

  
  


She followed, keeping several feet between them and watching.

Her brow furrowed with his adamant refusal and she hid another wince as he sat hard on the none-too-soft bench.

“Alright.” She said evenly. “If I get you the stuff for it, can you bandage your own hands? Or is it something we need to get you to Doctor Cho for?”

His bloody hands, heaving chest, they were all symptoms of whatever caused him to need to be down here to start with, and she hated treating symptoms, but she also knew he’d be more likely to talk if she didn’t press him for the info. Or at least, not directly.

“Or should we start with a glass of water?”

She gestured at the cooler a few feet away, more than willing to fetch it for him. She doubted he was good to stand just yet anyway. He still looked a couple of heartbeats away from flat out fainting.

  
  


And he was right back to needing people taking care of him, Steve thought in disgust, letting his head hang. It took a moment for him to even realize what Natasha was talking about, until it registered that at some point during his boxing session, he must’ve split his knuckles open on the bag, leaving them raw and bloody.  
  


(Funny. Usually it was the bag that split.)  
  


It was eerily reminiscent of not too long ago when Loki had found him in the bathroom with his hands full of glass. In fact, he was pretty sure in a few places, his fresh injuries had just torn along the old scabs. So much for healing...

He didn’t want to look Loki in the eye, didn’t want to go to Medical -- hell, he wished Natasha would go away and the floor would just swallow him up. But sadly that last part didn’t seem to be an option, so he just fought to take a deep breath. And then another, releasing it shakily as his lungs slowly remembered how to work.

“Water,” he rasped after a moment. “Please.”

  
  


“Alright.” She said again, in exactly the same neutral tone.

Steve didn’t like feeling like this, she knew, and she had a feeling that any attempt at gentling him right now would seem too close to pity for his taste. So she just turned and fetched water-- three cups. Two for him, and one for her.  
She sat them on the bench next to him, retreated with hers a little ways, and sat down smoothly on the ground. She could reach him fast enough if she needed to, but he wouldn’t feel crowded, like this.

She sipped at her cup, watching him, waiting for him to catch his breath or say something, before she tried getting him to talk at all.

  
  


It took a while to get his breath back. The haze in his mind wasn’t fully gone, but it was clearer than before. Enough that he could feel all the aches and pains in his body -- the heaviness in his legs, the soreness in his joints, the burning throb in his hands. All of it present and real and accountable. And distracting from the deep ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his lungs.

When his pulse had slowed enough that he didn’t feel like he was going to keel over, he reached for one of the cups Natasha left beside him. His throat was parched, and he realized belatedly he’d had more wine than water at dinner.

He also realized belatedly that his hands weren’t in much condition to be cooperating, right as his shaking fingers lost their grip and he spilled water all over his lap with a curse, crumpling the disposable cup in his hand as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Dammit.” He wondered if Nat had known and that was why she’d brought two. If she was already clued in to just how pathetic he was and knew what to expect, where to show up...

He risked a glance up at her.

  
  


She made no attempt to hide that she was looking, and she didn’t plaster sympathy all over her face, either.

“You want a straw?”

It probably wasn’t the best offer she could have made, but she knew the worst-- offering to hold the cup for him-- wouldn’t do any good.

“I can grab you another, if you want. Someone this fresh off the IV probably oughta be replacing what he sweats off as fast as possible. Think there’s some gatorade in the fridge across the hall, too.”

She didn’t quite offer to go get that, just because she didn’t want to leave him alone to hurt himself worse, if that was where his head was.

Thinking fast, she calculated, and took a chance.

“You always did come down here when something was bothering you. I won’t ask what, but if you want to tell me, I’m here.”

She made the words simple and matter of fact-- again, not pity. Just a statement.

  
  


Steve made a sound that tried to be a dry laugh, but didn’t quite succeed. _Everyone_ was here for him. Long too late.

He almost put his head in his hands at that unkind thought, but just barely remembered in time that his fingers were bloody and the last thing he needed was to wash blood out of his hair. His shoulders sagged inward and he struggled with what to say. Or even feel -- part of him wanted to rage and scream and sob and pummel the bag until his hands were nothing but ground meat, but it was a very distant part. The act of going at the bag had mostly drained all that, and while nothing was _better,_ now he just felt numb.

He stayed silent for long seconds before reaching out, more carefully and deliberately this time, and picking up the second cup. His hands still shook and some of the liquid sloshed over the edges, but he managed to drink down most of it before letting it fall from his fingers this time.

  
  


“I’m losing my damn mind,” he finally said quietly.

  
  


She stood, bringing back two more cups for Steve to work his way through, when he was ready, again setting them down and stepping off a bit.

“I doubt it.” She said, finally. “I’m sure it feels like you lost it, but… in my experience, the hardest part is when you start getting it back.”

She glanced down at his knuckles again, and shook her head.

“This isn’t going to help with that, though. Beating yourself up, physically or not, it’s not going to help you feel better. Have you considered talking to someone? A professional?”

  
  


Steve’s mouth twisted at the suggestion. “Why? So they can tell me I’m crazy?” he asked, bitterly. Contrary to what Nat said -- to what Betty and Bruce and Loki all hoped for -- he wasn’t getting better. Not in the ways that mattered. He at least was able to recognize as much without needing to be told to his face.

  
  


“So they can tell you how to deal with it. Everybody’s crazy, Steve. Different crazies. And we all have times in our lives that we’re crazier than others. But I don’t think it’s-- look, I’m not a professional. I can promise no real professional will call you crazy, but what your brain is doing is reacting. You were in a bad place, and it had to get you through that. A professional might be able to help you readapt. Help you so your brain stops putting unnecessary extra stresses on your body. And trust me, if nothing else, you need that.”  
  


She nodded at his hands.

“You feel up to dealing with your knuckles, now?”

  
  


Steve closed his eyes for several moments, trying to honestly listen to what she said, though it was hard to believe it. HYDRA had _broken_ him, and calling that an adaptation just sounded ridiculous.

“Yeah,” he murmured a moment later in response to her question, flexing his fingers with a wince. He’d better wrap them thoroughly before heading back. Though how he’d keep that from Loki, he didn’t know. Just one more way he’d have found to inadvertently hurt her, in all likelihood.

  
  


“Alright. Hang tight for a minute, think about what I said-- and you want anything else while I’m up? Have you eaten yet?”

Looking at him, other than the fact that he was cleaner and vertical-- sort of-- he didn’t look much different than he had when they found him. When they brought him back.

She knew they were all hoping he was getting better, and they were all being kept up to speed through briefings that were as uninvasive as possible, but…

Morale wasn’t great, with him staying in his room. And she knew-- they all knew-- they couldn’t blame him, or hold it against him. And they didn’t. They just wanted him to be okay.

She just wanted to be sure he gave himself the chance to try.

  
  


Steve made a face, thinking of the few bites of rice he’d had, and how it barely counted as having eaten -- but he didn’t think he could stomach any more. “Just came from dinner,” he muttered, which wasn’t a lie, at least.

He managed to pick up another of the cups she’d brought, downing it and setting it down on the bench this time when he was done instead of dropping or crumpling it. Some of the blood on his hands was drying and starting to turn tacky, and he found himself staring at it and the way it stuck in the creases of his fingers, like an etching.

It was good, he reflected, that Natasha was taking care of the team. She was probably better at it than he was. Now, or probably ever in all honesty. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look up when she returned with the first aid kit, instead reaching for the last cup of water and pouring it slowly over the knuckles of his left hand to try to rinse it before he disinfected it.

  
  


She watched, trying for dispassionate neutrality.

At least he seemed to be making an effort.  
  


“How was dinner? You eating better these days?”

She wished she knew what had sent him down here, especially fresh from dinner. You'd think a starving man would be happy after eating, but then again… what did she know? What did any of them know, after all he been through?

Hell, she'd been combing through Hydra’s records, and she still didn't even know all that he'd been through, let alone what she could do to help.

  
  


He’d need more water for the other hand, but for now he could start on the left. He found a tube of disinfecting goop -- he had to worry about infection now, after all -- and squeezed it out over his knuckles, gritting his teeth at the sting as he lightly spread it about, smearing it over the open cuts. “Not really,” he answered, flatly and honestly, hoping she wouldn’t push. “Kinda ruined it for everyone, so I’ve had better.”

Still clenching his teeth, he reached for the gauze, applying pressure while working on the puzzle of the best way to wrap the injury without rendering his fingers useless.

“I’ve got this, if you came down here to work out,” he added. Whatever had brought her down here, he was probably derailing her plans.

  
  


She shook her head.

“I let Clint bounce off of me for a couple hours earlier.” She told him, taking another trip to the water tank, and bringing back two more cups, since he’d used the last one.

She was glad there were robots for maids, that she could trigger as soon as they were ready to leave, so they didn’t have to worry about someone finding the blood and panicking.

Or finding the blood and doing something with it.

“You ever wrap your hand for fighting? I imagine a version of that might be best, all things considered.”

Since he’d injured his hand fighting, she meant.  
  


But he’d been down here after 'ruining dinner for everyone'-- she wondered if that was why JARVIS had called her, and not Loki. Was Loki angry at him? Was that why he was down here alone and ill-advisedly putting stress on his already much stressed body?

Was that why he didn’t want her to call Loki for help?

“You’re welcome to come to my room for a bit, when you’re done here, if you want. If you aren’t ready to deal with your room again yet.” She made the offer, feeling out the edges.

  
  


Steve started wrapping his hand like he would if he were boxing -- like he _should have_ before hitting the bag, only it hadn’t been about boxing this time around, not really. He stopped, however, when Nat made her offer.

His instinct was to say no; to retreat and find somewhere else to be alone. But given he’d been found out here, it would probably be a matter of time before Nat alerted the others and someone came looking for him and put him under observation to make sure he didn’t do anything else stupid. Or crazy, since he was pretty inarguably that now.

And if the alternative was having to face Loki...

“You sure?” he asked. “Can’t promise I won’t ooze on your couch,” he added, lifting his partially-bandaged hand with a grimace.

  
  


“Hey,” she said, offering him a small grin and half a shrug. “Not like _I_ paid for it.”

But that was how it was, then. She wondered if Steve was so desperate to be away from Loki because-- like he’d said before, Loki was hurting and trying not to show it, or…

She couldn’t help but think about how isolated Loki had been before they’d found Steve again. And how isolated Steve and Loki had been together since.

Not that she thought it was a bad thing- Steve was healing and all. But she’d sort of assumed it was Steve’s idea. If not… maybe she needed to have a gentle talk with Loki.

Once she finished figuring out what it was Steve wanted, exactly.

“Whenever you feel up to it.” She told him. “No rush.”

And Loki hadn’t come looking for him yet, which was another puzzling piece of this whole thing. She wondered what he’d think if he asked JARVIS only to find out Steve was with her.

Nothing she couldn’t handle. She was confident of that at least.

Even after the stories that Clint had to tell, about what had happened in that Hydra base.

But looking at Steve now, knowing how hard he’d been breathing, how he’d barely made it to the bench before, she wasn’t sure if he could even make it to her couch.

“Still under the no touching rule? I can have one of the robots bring us some crutches, if there’s any in the building, if you want.”

  
  


He made a noncommittal grunt, tying off the bandage on his left hand and reaching for the water to rinse off his right, taking a sip of it first. He was beginning to feel chilled now, his undershirt damp with cooling sweat. Maybe something of Clint’s would be left at Natasha’s that he could borrow...

“I’m not an invalid, I can walk,” he remarked dryly at her offer of crutches, hoping it was true and his legs wouldn’t fold under him. This was more physical strain than he’d put his body through since New Year’s Eve, and he couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t have the same result. But his pride was tattered enough as it was.

And not being helped by the process of trying to bandage one hand with another wrapped one. Cussing quietly beneath his breath as he smeared antibiotic gel, he grit his teeth together and looked up at Natasha.

“Not crazy about touching, but I...” he swallowed. “I could use some help.” Already he could feel himself tensing, but if he could tolerate the minimal touches of the doctors and nurses, he could handle this, surely.

  
  


She nodded, inwardly pleased that he could ask.

 _Would_ ask, given how damn stubborn the man could be.

“I’ll keep the actual contact to a minimum.” She promised, stepping in and crouching in front of him. “If it helps, you can hold your arm out as far from your body as it will go. I won’t get too close.”

She grabbed at the bandage, starting to roll it out and test the give on it.

“Think I’ve got some aspirin upstairs too, take the edge off of this. Cause as much as I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time…” She raised an eyebrow, looking him in the face. “I think we can agree it wasn’t, right? And you’re not gonna be repeating it?”

If he was, she’d wrap the bandage on twice as thick, just to try and keep him together through his next freak out.

Because based on how little talking he was doing, and how resistant he seemed to be to the idea of therapy… there _would be another._

  
  


Steve held his hand out as she asked, grateful for her understanding of his aversion and attempts to accommodate it without pressing, even as he felt an undercurrent of bitterness that this was just an accepted part of him now.

It was easier, at least, not to flinch when she touched him; he expected every touch to hurt on an instinctual level, but in this case, it _did_ hurt, and for perfectly _logical_ reasons. There was still rationality to the pain, and the brush of Nat’s fingers as she wrapped the bandage over where bone had driven through skin was not so different from the impact of the bag, however gentler in force.

“I just needed to focus,” he replied, hoping that would be answer enough.

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea. But... He wasn’t sure it was the worst either.

  
  


“And you’re going to get to focus on how many people, frowning and chastising you for it, later?” She kept her words even, though they could easily have veered sharper.

“But even if not for that… don’t you think you’ve got enough trying to heal now, without causing yourself more damage? Besides…” she tied off the bandage while she spoke, then leaned back to give him a little more room. “Whatever made you want to come down here, it’s not like hitting the bag made it go away. Did it?”

  
  


Steve’s jaw clenched tight enough to make his teeth ache.

Natasha wasn’t wholly right. For a moment, it had _worked._ Lost in the act of beating on the bag, beating on himself, he’d at least got to the point where his body and mind were in tandem and the world and his reactions made sense. He’d got to the point where he’d forgotten about the scene he’d made in the penthouse. Forgotten about the way Loki looked at him when she followed him out.

But he remembered it now. And then, maybe Nat wasn’t wholly wrong. He looked down, pulling his bandaged hand back and folding them in his lap.

“I don’t want any of this,” he said quietly. “I hate... I hate everyone needing to take care of me. Thinking they have to, and just...” He paused, breathed, and knew Natasha wouldn’t interrupt in the long break as he organized his thoughts.

“Bruce says there’s a chance I might just get better and go back to having the serum, all on my own. But. It might not. And what if it does and I’m still...?” he gestured at his hands,

  
  


“Still what?” She asked gently.

If the serum went back and he was still down here taking it out on bags, she didn’t see how that’d make things any different than they had been before all of this.

“It’s not easy. To be weak around other people.” She agreed. “It’s even harder to take the help when you don’t want to be a burden, or when you’re too proud to want to admit you need it. But if our roles were reversed… Loki told me some about what happened, after Schultz’s attack. How is what he’s doing now any different than what you did for him?”

And she wanted that answer, badly. Whether it was to get Steve to see the flaw in his argument, or for an actual complaint from Steve… it would be progress, one way or the other.

“No one here thinks less of you for any of this.” She assured him. “It’s part of a process, all of it. But that doesn’t mean that this, the blood, the strain-- it’s not a healthy part of the process for you, right now.”

  
  


Steve resisted the urge to snort. It _was_ different, however much everyone seemed to want to draw comparisons between the two scenarios.

Loki had been wounded while saving civilians, being a hero. Steve had just been a victim, pathetic and letting everyone down. Then Loki hadn’t lashed out and hurt anyone after; it was all Steve seemed capable of doing now. Loki had craved touch when Steve flinched from it. And Loki...

“Loki got _better,”_ he answered flatly. “This isn’t a _process._ It’s...” he broke off with a thin, humorless laugh. “I’m worried it’s just the new reality.”

He knew all too well how life could change -- drastically and permanently -- in the blink of an eye.

  
  


She arched an eyebrow, surprised at that.

Steve, of all people, never was one for giving up.

“And if it is,” She said, “What then? It doesn’t change who you are. Just how you do what you want to do.”

She tilted her head.

“Seems premature to decide that, though. Doesn’t it? You’re improving, after all. Slowly, sure, but it is happening. I know you’re used to it being faster, but that doesn’t mean that this is it. And there’s other folks working on the science behind it to make sure it keeps up. I know Dr. Cho and Jane cornered Thor together earlier to question him about the magical Asgardian rock that helped you regain consciousness. Maybe there are more where that came from, to solve your problem.”

She didn’t doubt that Thor and Loki would be after them now, if that was the case. But then, maybe Steve needed the hope.

“You want anything waiting for you in my suite when we get there? I usually have JARVIS make me some tea.”

  
  


Physically, sure. He was improving, in small measures. But in other capacities...

He wondered if Natasha genuinely didn’t see it; didn’t get it. It would be odd if she didn’t, given she was one of the most observant people he knew. Then again, he knew the blinding power of optimism. But more likely she was probably just bullshitting him out of an attempt at kindness.

He pressed down on the bandage over his hand, feeling the slight string from the pressure.

“I’m fine,” he replied. “Just tired.”

  
  


She nodded.

“Alright.”

She didn’t believe him, but he didn’t need her to push him right now. Not when he was already pushing himself, too hard, in what was probably the wrong direction.

“Just let me know, then, when you feel up to the trip.”

She relaxed, or at least made a show of relaxing, sitting herself back down.

“I have to say, as much as you must be hurting-- your form’s still excellent.”

Maybe a little flattery would help. It was hard to say, though. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him quite like this before, but that seemed only to be expected.

  
  


Steve snorted, disbelieving, but vaguely amused. “Well at least there’s _that,”_ he said dryly.

He waited a few more breaths, then braced himself and slowly pushed himself up to his feet. His leg -- the one with the mostly-healed break -- ached viciously under his weight, and he briefly wobbled for a mortifying second before he managed to recover his balance. He was sore all over, and would probably only be moreso tomorrow, but he’d spent a month in pain. He’d gotten somewhat used to it.

“Let’s go.” Better to get moving now before someone else came looking and started fussing.

  
  


She opted on following him, since she figured running ahead to open doors and the like would only irritate him, and walking beside him ran the risk of touching him-- which he still objected to.

She glanced backwards, at the crumpled cups and the blood, and tapped the service button on the wall to be sure it got cleaned up.

She’d handle Steve himself; the robots could take care of this part. And hopefully JARVIS’s oversight would mean that no reports were filed for the blood.

She’d have a hard enough time explaining this to Loki when she finally dropped Steve back off at their rooms, let alone having to try and tell Tony about it.

She did notice that she was moving much slower than she was used to, though, because of it. But again, she felt like that was expected. And, in a moment of realization, she wondered if he was so frustrated partially because he didn’t remember to expect it, after having his healing be so advanced for a while there.

“Have you talked with your doctors about putting together a rough timeline? To check your healing progress against?”

She wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, talking to him while they moved, since he had been huffing so hard when she came into the gym, and she had no idea what kind of effort just walking around took.

  
  


Steve grunted and leaned against the wall for a minute as they waited for the elevators, hating how _weak_ he felt.

“Physically, I heal like a normal... malnourished human being right now,” he explained, pausing for breath intermittently. “Still waiting on blood samples to... find out if I’ll go back to healing faster or not.”

He knew Betty Ross had to be careful with his blood and her studies of it, so it was hard to know how long to expect before she could get results. If there were any results to find. In the meantime, his bones stitched back together, his muscles slowly strengthened, and his mind--

His mind frequently spiralled right back to that underground HYDRA bunker.

The elevator pinged as it arrived on their floor. “Table salt,” he murmured.

  
  


She nodded as gamely as she could- he was definitely malnourished, and she couldn’t argue with that. And with his body slowing up on healing, not only slower than his super serum, but also slower than a better cared for regular guy’s… of course he was getting antsy.

“Have you ever seen the healing rates for a ‘normal malnourished human’ before, though? Because as crazy as the healing process will drive you, it’ll only be worse if you don’t know what to expect. What’s actually normal, for your body’s current state. Hence why I recommended a timeline.”

 

She didn’t say it was amazing he was healing at all, didn’t bring up the fact that if not for whatever magic rock it was that Thor had brought back, he might not even be awake-- and, quietly, she wondered if that might not be kinder. If they could have kept him stable, but kept him under so that he could heal more before he came around…

Not that he’d ever have wanted it. That was probably unkind to even think.

But then she picked up on him saying something that made absolutely no sense at all- a total non-sequitur.

“Table salt?” She asked, trying to sound cheerful about it. “Not sure if I have any in my kitchen, but I can grab some on the way, if you need it?” She left the question hanging, wondering what it had to do with anything.

  
  


He raised an eyebrow for her. “I was normal and usually malnourished for twenty-five years, Nat. I know the drill there.” People seemed to forget that... Like he’d popped out of the earth fully-formed and serumed-up like some kind of folkhero instead of having a whole life before being transformed into Captain America. And given the amount of scrapes he’d managed to get into back then, he was all too well-acquainted with healing without the serum.

He shuddered though, when she offered him salt, and for half a second could swear he felt a twinge of phantom pain in his back. Of course, she had no way of knowing, but--

“Someone spilled table salt,” he explained more quietly, stepping into the elevator. “At dinner. And I... lost it. That’s how I wound up down here.”

  
  


She was on the verge of pointing out the difference between _underfed_ and _tortured and starved_ , when he started speaking, walking away from her while he did.

Table salt had caused him to run off half cocked like this.

She froze for barely half a second, but it was enough time for him to get on the elevator. Enough time for it to look like she was just giving him space.

There was a reason the phrase ‘salt in the wound’ existed, and she knew it well. She hated that she knew what using it on someone looked like, and how easily she could imagine what Steve would have looked like, sounded like. What he must have done.

Lots of clenching his teeth.

She made a mental note to ask if a dentist had looked him over since his jaw had magically healed up overnight, but set that idea aside for now. She could email Doctor Cho later, maybe. Or mention it to Tony to pass along.

“You remember what I said? About touch?” She asked. “You’re reacting this way because it hasn’t worked out well for you in the recent past. It’s your body trying to protect you, now that you have the freedom _to_ protect yourself. I imagine salt probably hasn’t worked out well for you either. Have you ever heard the term trigger, in relation to mental health?”

  
  


Mental Health. _Twenty-first century way of talking about being crazy without saying crazy_. His shoulders tensed briefly, wondering if Natasha was finally getting it, finally realizing what a goddamn mess he was, though her tone of voice remained as calm and mellow as ever.

Then again, he’d heard Nat talk to the Hulk in a mellow voice and knew she was terrified of him, so maybe that meant little.

“Sounds familiar,” he ventured, though he didn’t know the definition. “More familiar with it being a part of a gun, though.”

He waited for her to push the button to her floor as the elevator doors closed.

  
  


She tapped her floor and leaned back, giving him space without trying to be obvious about it.

“Triggers are… isolated stressors. They’re _like_ the trigger on a gun-- you squeeze it, and you get an explosive reaction. Only in a person, that explosion is usually emotional or something like a panic attack. And the trigger is usually tied to, and the result of, trauma of one kind or another. So something like table salt, while harmless in and of itself, becomes a symbol of something bigger, something worse.” She shrugged. “I don’t know as much about them as I probably should, but I know where to find people who do.”

She turned then to look at him directly, which she’d been avoiding to give him some level of privacy in his struggle to walk around.

“People who could suggest better ways of dealing with them than beating yourself up, afterwards.”

  
  


On instinct, Steve nearly snapped the same thing he’d said to Dr. Cho on the new year: _I don’t need a head shrink_. But just as swiftly, he remembered her response, and bit his tongue.

_If you’re punching your boyfriend in the middle of the night, then I beg to disagree._

He hadn’t punched Loki this time, just a bag, but he’d seen the hurt in her eyes all the same. He was a constant walking injury to those around him. And he damn well was screwed up in the head. Even if a doctor couldn’t _fix_ that... Maybe they could at least help him quit bleeding over everyone else so he could keep his brokenness contained.  
  


“No SHIELD psychiatrists,” he replied instead. “I’m not... I don’t think I could spill anything to one of them.” He hadn’t really the first time around, but now, more than ever, knowing SHIELD had been infiltrated, he didn’t think he could handle being around one at all.

 

She nodded as the doors opened.

“I wouldn’t send you to one of them, anyway. Not until we’ve double and triple checked our house cleaning. But like I said, I know people. Let me see who we can find. Someone actually trustworthy.”

It was more of an agreement than she’d expected to get from him, but she’d take it.  
  


Especially if it meant no more bandage bearing trips to the gym.

“C’mon, my door’s just over here, and my couch isn’t far beyond that.” She wondered what she could do to get him to relax. Her first thought was a nature documentary, but considering how much violence tended to be part of those… maybe not.

She’d do something with space, but from what Loki had told her about Thanos--

\--and that was something else she’d need to follow up with, sooner or later.  
  


She glanced back at Steve, and firmly decided on _later_.

  
  


Steve sighed. He didn’t _want_ to talk to anyone. But he also didn’t want to keep _being like this._ And even if it turned out he was stuck, that this was just... who he was now...

He’d humor them. For a while, at least. He could try.

He followed her out of the elevator and to her apartment, letting her lead the way and hobbling a few steps behind. His leg positively _throbbed_ , but he wasn’t about to say anything. When she indicated the couch, however, he made a beeline for it, collapsing on to it almost immediately.

“Thanks,” he grunted, closing his eyes for a moment and just breathing deeply.

  
  


She watched him for a second, casting a critical eye up and down his form while he had his eyes closed, and wouldn’t notice.

He looked spread too thin, exhausted, and malnourished, like he’d said. His bandages on his hands were a sad new addition to all the other hurts, and she stifled any sort of reaction to what she saw.

But at least he’d made it here. And the trip from here to his room would be shorter, once he was ready for that.

She nodded to herself, satisfied if not exactly happy with the arrangement, and moved into her kitchen.

“You want another glass of water? These don’t crumple quite as easily.”  
  


She started the electric kettle going, and rummaged through her cupboards for a cup and bag of tea-- intentionally making noise so he’d know where she was, even with his eyes closed.

No surprises.

  
  


“Sure,” Steve answered, though he wasn’t sure how breaking her glassware when he dropped it would be preferable. He was still thirsty, he supposed... and cold, now that he wasn’t moving around anymore.

He’d left his button down shirt downstairs, he realized belatedly. Luckily, there was an afghan tossed over the back of Nat’s couch. He debated for a moment, then tugged it down over him, hoping she wouldn’t mind, and doing his best to keep his hands free from it in case they oozed through the bandaging.

Closing his eyes again, he listened to the sound of Nat rummaging in the other room, and let himself sink into the couch cushions. He would just rest for a minute... He was so goddamn _tired._

  
  


It wasn’t like it took her long to fill a glass with water and bring it to him, but even still, by the time she reached him, he was _out_.

She sat the glass down on the coffee table, adjusted the afghan to cover him a little better, and then pulled the throw blanket from the foot of her bed and laid it over the top of him, as well.

She hesitated then, though, not sure what more to do.

Loki would be looking for him, she was sure. But Steve had been so against contacting him. And it was probably better that she let him rest before he tried to face anything else, at least for a while. But he wouldn’t get any rest if Loki got worried and came pounding on her door.

She typed a command for JARVIS, rather than asking for it out loud, lest she wake Steve up, asking him to let Loki know that Steve was here, and resting, and that she’d bring him back to his and Loki’s floor when he woke up from his nap. She hoped that was enough to keep Loki away, for the time being. For Steve’s sake.

She’d have been more concerned, if not for the fact that he was obviously breathing. Even so…

She was glad she’d come down when she had, that JARVIS had called her when he had. If not, she imagined Steve would be passed out on the gym floor right now, instead, and the panic that would have surrounded his discovery, like that...

But maybe there should be some panic. Or at least some level of concern. Right now it just seemed like she was helping him hide what he’d done. And while Loki and Steve’s doctors should probably know, she was sure Steve wouldn’t react well if there had been a bigger fuss made.

Mixed bag, she supposed. But at least he’d agreed to try a therapist. She reached for the Starkpad, settling herself on one of the kitchen bar stools, and started sifting through possibilities for people and places she could take Steve-- or people she could bring here.

  
  
  
  


Loki had waited for a while, probably around half an hour, before she’d pressed the button and taken the elevator back down to their floor, ignoring her friends’ likely confusion about the elevator chiming and no one being there.

The door to their-- to Steve’s bedroom had been closed, and she left it that way, going instead into the kitchen to make herself something to eat, since she hadn’t gotten much at dinner before everything had gone badly.

She wasn’t even particularly hungry, but she knew if she didn’t eat, she’d have no footing when she tried to convince Steve to.

And she knew he hadn’t gotten enough either. That tiny little bit of rice couldn’t be helping to soak up all the wine he’d had.

She made soup, something simple and bland, something well within the realm of Steve’s current diet.

She knocked on the door and spoke through it, letting him know there was food if he wanted it. She didn’t get an answer, but she wasn’t particularly surprised.

“If you need anything, just let me know, okay?” She asked.

No answer to that, either.

So she ate the star shaped mush in broth on her own, and then, unsure what else to do, retired to her room.

Steve being missing and Steve being home didn’t seem so much different, she thought, and then hated herself for it. Because it was different for _him_. It was the difference between him being tortured and starved and suffering, and him being able to walk away.

She sat on her mattresses, still on the floor, the bed frame in its box nearby.

She kept hoping that if she didn’t make this room up, if she didn’t make it feel permanent, it wouldn’t be. That this would just be… a hurdle to overcome, that the current state of affairs would pass, and things could be, if not exactly as they had been, then at least closer to it.

But that was an unkind wish. Selfish. And Steve could probably tell that was where her thoughts were. It wasn’t fair of her to put that kind of pressure on him.

She missed him, though. Just a few feet away, and so absent. So withdrawn and quiet. He told her he loved her every time she made him feel guilty, and then he’d create even more distance. She could feel it, feel the rift, and was powerless to stop it from growing, without hurting him in the process.

  
  


She sat on her bed and cast a double of him, not as he was now, but as he had been.

Beautiful and whole, with the small smile that hovered around the corners of his mouth so often when she spoke, back before… back when he’d been able to love her.

But that only served to hurt her more, because that was exactly what she didn’t need in her life: another version of Steve that she couldn’t have. That she couldn’t touch. Who couldn’t love her back.

She took a deep breath and sent the double away, feeling guilty for even having entertained the thought enough to call it forth in the first place.

If Steve had seen… she glanced at her doorway, afraid. But he wasn’t there.

She jumped, then, when JARVIS’s voice came suddenly.

 

“ _Miss Romanov has asked that I let you know that Captain Rogers is with her, and resting. She says she will accompany him home when he wakes_.”

  
  


Loki cursed, then remembered herself.

“Thank you, JARVIS. Let me know if she needs any assistance.”

What Natasha must think, that she hadn’t come looking for him before now. She should have at least opened the door to be sure he was there- she was _such_ an idiot.

And it stung, knowing that Steve had gone to Romanoff instead of coming home, instead of waiting for her, or…

He’d left her there, told her to go back. Told her he was going to lay down.

Steve had _lied_ to her.

Or… maybe not. He _was_ laying down after all- just, apparently he was laying down at Natasha’s.

  
She swallowed and lay back on the bed, glad that, for once, there was no one here for her to have to try and hide her emotions from. She had the leisure of a little time, before Natasha would come and bring Steve back to her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: this chapter contains self-harming behavior


	80. Eighty

Steve woke and for a moment, had no idea where he was; he only knew that everything _hurt._

The brief surge of panic abated though, as he registered the blankets on him, the soft natural light filtering through the curtains, and finally, the memory of heading to Natasha’s. He’d fallen asleep on her couch, he realized, and inadvertently spent the night.

Guilt and shame warred with gratitude at that realization; he was grateful he’d been allowed to stay, miserable at how pathetic he’d been, and utterly mortified at the prospect of heading back to his and Loki’s apartment, after spending the whole night absent. Though he supposed he’d do better to get it over with, rather than making it worse by staying away even longer. He moved to get up--

\-- And promptly fell back against the couch cushions with a moan, realizing he was stiff and sore from head to toe.

“Do you want coffee?”

Steve blinked and turned, seeing Natasha standing in the doorway to what he guessed was her bedroom, wearing a robe. “Aspirin?” he croaked, willing to concede to asking for that much, if only to get him mobile.

She nodded and disappeared from his field of vision, returning moments later to place a glass of water and a couple of tablets on the coffee table beside him. He downed them, managing not to  drop the glass (though his hand shook all the while), then fell back against the cushions.

“I should... head back,” he mumbled, wishing he could simply sleep the rest of the day away instead.

Natasha for her part merely nodded, disappearing into her bedroom and emerging shortly later -- as Steve had just managed to rearrange his body enough to get his feet on the ground and the blankets off of him -- fully dressed and coiffed.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she told him, using the same calm, even voice she had the evening prior.

Knowing he risked more conversation about ‘seeing someone’ if he stayed, Steve somehow got himself to his feet, tidied his hair with his fingers, and let Natasha hold the door for him and then follow him out to the hallway, apparently intent on making sure he got all the way home.

(Because he needed a chaperone now, he thought bitterly.)

He moved slowly, joints stiff and injured leg shooting pain up to his hip with every step, but it still felt like they reached the apartment all too soon. He hesitated at the door -- did he just go in? Should he knock first so it didn’t seem like he was sneaking in? Should he invite Natasha in?

He glanced back at her, but her expression was a blank mask that offered no help. Using the side of his hand, he knocked lightly, then opened the door...

  
  


Loki had been awake for a while now- she’d only half fallen asleep the night before, constantly expecting Natasha and Steve to show up, and she’d worn an illusory mask to hide the mottling of her face once she’d stopped crying. But after a few hours, it hadn’t been necessary any longer, which she was grateful for, at least.

Even if she still felt a little ragged, from the light dozing she’d done.

She’d finally gotten smart, and asked JARVIS to let her know when Steve and Natasha were on their way, so she’d have warning without making a nuisance of herself.

As such, when she heard the door open, she’d had a few minutes to dress and start breakfast. She hoped Steve would eat, since he hadn’t the night before, and perhaps if Natasha would stay, she could make a show of no ill-will.

And try to guess whether Natasha thought less of her today than she had the day prior, though Loki knew full well that it would be only that. A guess.

“Good morning!” She called, making her voice warm to hide the edginess she felt. “I am making oatmeal, and there is coffee, if you would like breakfast.”

She stayed where she was and stirred the pot, rather than come to the door as would be polite.

Mainly to avoid the difficulty of the hallway and its close quarters. The last thing she wanted was to give Steve another reason to run from her.

Better to play at normalcy as best as she could.

  
  


Whatever Steve had been expecting this, this... wasn’t it. It left him feeling wrong-footed and even less at ease as he stepped in, looking back at Natasha.

“Um. Coffee?”

She appeared to consider it for a moment, then nodded. “I could do with a cup, sure.”

Chewing his lip, he led the way in. Loki was busying herself at the stove, and Steve knew instantly that everything wasn’t alright; she was trying too hard to make it appear so.

Immediately, he wanted to run. To get out of there, to hide, to just... Not talk to her. To anyone. He pushed down the impulse though, subconsciously brushing at his hands. He’d run last night, and he’d been found anyway.

“Smells good,” he offered carefully, taking the far seat at the table. Natasha sat across from him, keenly watching Loki, but making no comment on her form.

  
  


She poured a cup of the foul liquid for Natasha before turning to the table, meeting her eye and hoping to read something-- anything-- from her face. But no such luck. She was pleasantly bland, gave nothing away. But she’d agreed to stay, which was either a good thing… or a sign of mistrust.

Loki couldn’t help but feel like she was being measured, somehow. And she couldn’t tell whether or not she was being found wanting.

“How about you, Steve? Coffee?” She turned to look at him, eyes raking down to his hands, which sported brand new bandages that looked distinctly bloody underneath. Her expression froze, and her smile went a little tight, her eyes darting from Steve to Natasha and back again.

She breathed in through her nose and tried to calm her heart rate, biting down on her tongue to stop herself questioning what had happened.

Her voice came out a little pinched as she nodded to the milk and sugar on the table.

“Let me know if your coffee takes anything else, Natasha.”

  
  


He didn’t want coffee. Despite having slept through the whole night, he honestly just wanted to go crawl into bed. But he owed Loki better than that, so he force a thin smile. “No coffee, but I’ll have a little oatmeal, thanks.”

He was rather hungry now that he thought about it, even if he had little appetite. Hopefully eating something would ease her worries -- and maybe Nat’s too.

“I think this will do,” Natasha told Loki with a smile, sipping her coffee black. “Stark Tower usually only gets good roasts anyway.”

Steve fidgeting, sliding his hands to his lap once he realized Loki was looking at them, hiding them beneath the table. He wasn’t sure what to say -- if he should apologize here and now, or wait for Natasha to leave.

  
  


She had to force herself to look away from Steve, to stop wondering the extent of his new hurts, and how they had come to be. Another mirror? A window, this time?

She swallowed, reaching for and hiding behind the mask of being a good hostess.

“I do not believe there is such a thing as a ‘good roast’, but as long as you are pleased with it.” She flashed a grin at Natasha before turning away to pull down some bowls.

“What would you like in your oatmeal, Steve? Maple syrup, butter, milk and sugar are out already-- we have strawberries if you’d like. Natasha? Oatmeal?”

She felt nearly manic but her voice was holding solid, and for as tense as she felt, her movements were fairly easy.

She thought she might just be pulling this off.

And maybe that meant it would be a good time to go back to working with Natasha. Then again, maybe not-- after as weak as she’d been after, the last couple of  times… and the fact that Steve probably couldn’t operate as much of a safety measure…

No, she needed to preserve her energy for helping him.

She sat the bowl before him, but hesitated, waiting to hear what else she could do, what further busying she could give herself before she had to sit down and stop moving.

  
  


“Do, um. Do we have any cinnamon?” he asked carefully, wondering how long Loki could sustain her nearly frantic energy levels. He hoped she hadn’t been like this since last night -- that she’d taken some time to rest in the interim. She didn’t seem _angry_ with him, but that was almost worse. He’d have deserved that much, at least.

“If not, just sugar is fine. I’m fine,” he added, hoping it would be enough to calm her. Even if it was something of a lie.

He picked up his spoon, grimacing slightly at the clumsiness the bandages lent him, and mixed the oatmeal, trying not to think of the room-temperature gruel HYDRA had given him when they bothered to feed him. This mush was _warm,_ and could have _sugar_ on it, after all.

Glancing up at Natasha, he found her watching Loki with a faint furrow in her brow, like she was assessing her. It made something inside him twinge, and he ducked his head.

  
  


Loki swallowed.

“No, I-- sorry. I didn’t think, ah…” She laughed a little nervously and quickly looked to Natasha, feeling the need to explain. “I am not… overly familiar with cinnamon. The first time I had it, I thought it was poison.” Her eyes slid back to Steve, and she wondered if that was safe to say, now, or if something had been done to ruin those memories, the time they’d shared together then, as well.

“I’ll add it to the shopping list.” She promised.

“If you have enough, I’d love a little oatmeal.” Natasha said, pulling Loki’s eye back to her. She saw the furrow of her brow before it melted away, not quite a frown but not so far removed from it.

“There is plenty.” Loki promised, turning to dish more.

She would have loved to expand on that, to tell Steve there was more, if he wanted it. To urge him to eat his fill. But he filled up so fast, and he was always so careful now not to eat too much…

 _Fine_ , he said.

Their lie no longer felt quite so benign, knowing he’d lied to her the night before. It made her wonder what the next lie would be, and if any had preceded it.

But she shook that off, setting the bowl before Natasha.

She’d lied to him, too, when she had no other means of gaining privacy. Maybe that was all it had been.

She looked to Natasha, who was watching her carefully while she poured herself some of the concentrated orange juice and sat.

She hoped that was all it had been.

  
  


Steve winced at the mention of Loki’s first interaction with cinnamon. At the time, it had been somewhat funny, but later... Was that... Was that a ‘trigger’ for Loki, he wondered? Something that caused her anxiety, after Sco--

He shut down that line of thought quickly, stuffing a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. The texture was a little off-putting, but it was nice and hot.

“It’s good as is,” he assured her after swallowing. “Really.” He didn’t want Loki putting herself out for him. Again. Over and over.

He directed more of his attention to eating the oatmeal before it cooled, adding some sugar and scarfing it down, hoping that would make Loki happy. He watched as she fetched Natasha her own portion of oatmeal, and Natasha poured maple syrup on hers. Steve wondered if Loki remembered the maple rounds, like she remembered the cinnamon.

“Thank you,” he said after swallowing down about half the bowl, unable to recall if he’d said as much already.

  
  


“My pleasure.” She responded, the words coming easily.

And that was… she couldn’t tell if he was eating because he was hungry, because he wanted to, or because he felt guilty for not talking to her, not coming home the night before, and he thought this would mollify her.

She nodded at the syrup in front of Natasha.

“I thought that maple came from a nut, when I first had it.” She smiled faintly at the memory, eyes darting to Steve, then down at the table.

This felt too much like small talk, like she was trying to fill the holes where everything they weren’t saying hovered in the air.

And, she realized, Steve probably was just waiting for her to say something, to ask him about what had happened. To question him about going to Romanoff, about not coming home. Maybe that was why Natasha had come-- to wait and see if she would-- what?

Punish him? Do something to upset him, or impede his healing?

Inwardly she winced.

Outwardly, though, she looked back and forth between them, and cleared her throat.

“If… if there’s nothing else you need, if you wanted to stay and-- we have movies.” She said, which was nonsensical, because they had access to all of the same movies that everyone else in the tower, including Natasha, did.

“I can just--” she gestured off in the direction of the guest room, letting the offer hang, though she didn’t quite manage to look at Steve when she did so.

  
  


He smiled softly at Loki’s confirmation that she did remember, almost as if she’d read his mind.

“Sap and nuts both come from trees, so not far off, I suppose,” Natasha mused, eating her own breakfast with an easy smile, though she looked a bit more tense than Steve thought she typically did when she was actually relaxed.

Or maybe it was just how the small talk seemed to fizzle, long pauses stretching painfully. When Loki invited Natasha to stay for a movie, Steve had to interrupt.

“I was actually thinking I’d go take a shower, after this,” he said. And already he was getting a faint ache in his stomach from eating too much too fast. “You can, ah, leave the dishes. I’ll wash up.” He’d need to change the bandages on his hands anyway, though he didn’t plan on drawing attention to that.

Maybe then, once he was gone, Natasha would tell Loki how crazy Steve was now, or whatever she meant to talk to her about. There had to be some reason for staying this long, after all.

  
  


Loki waved her hand.

“The dishes will do themselves, elskan.”

And she didn’t like the implication that she was making him work. As if he had to earn the care he needed.

She didn’t quite purse her lips, but it was a near thing.

Steve clearly intended to leave her alone with Natasha, and she wondered why that was-- what message she had to deliver that Steve could not tell her himself.

A cold ball of dread formed in the bottom of her stomach, and she masked the anxiety with a drink from her orange juice.

“I will put the rest of the oatmeal away, in case you want something easy to eat later. But there is soup in the crock pot, which should be ready in a few hours.”

She wondered if he would ask her to leave now. He’d certainly wanted to leave _her_ the night prior.

It felt hard to swallow.

She was supposed to have faith, in them if in nothing else, but it was so hard to have faith in anything at the moment.

“Well then, Natasha, of course you are still welcome to stay. I don’t think I have any plans today.”

Not yet, at least. She had a feeling she might be given some soon enough.

  
  


The dishes would do themselves. He smiled weakly. “Right. Merlin.” He remembered now, Loki’s ability to summon similar magic.

(And how pitiful was it that he kept calling on memories of happier times as if he could somehow summon them and overwrite all of this?)

He set aside his oatmeal, pushing himself to his feet with the help of the table and chair to steady him, trying not to audibly grunt or visibly wince with the effort. Maybe he’d give in and take one of the stronger painkillers Dr. Cho had prescribed. Just once.

He wasn’t surprised that Loki already had soup planned for later, but it almost made him want to scream, how attentive, how domestic, how _caring_ she was being. Instead, he managed one last feeble smile, before excusing himself and limping off to the bedroom and master bath.

  
  


Natasha took a long sip of her coffee, waiting until she heard the faint sound of water in the pipes, before turning to Loki, letting her expression turn serious. “I think we need to talk.”

  
  


She watched him go, not even trying to mask the concern and the longing on her face, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to.

She looked down into her drink, miserable and trying to steel herself for it, but she still flinched slightly when Natasha spoke.

_We need to talk_

Which was exactly how Steve had started the discussion that had turned into the fight, just before he was--

She looked up, meeting the other woman’s gaze evenly.

“Alright.”

She let her shoulders slump a little.

“Talk.”

  
  


The way Loki was doting over Steve, making food and acting more like a housewife than any other incarnation of Loki that Natasha had known (and not because of the female body she now occupied), was not what she’d expected. Though she wondered if she ought to have. She’d worried, when Steve had first refused to see Loki, that there was antagonism between them. That didn’t seem to be the case, but given how bereft Loki had been when Steve was missing, it made sense that he -- or she now, as the case appeared to be; Steve’s lack of reaction suggested that this shape wasn’t a new development to him -- would be clingy. If Loki was overcompensating to the point of smothering Steve, that might be a factor they’d need to discuss.

But first, Loki deserved to be brought up to speed. She was Steve’s significant other, and primary caretaker at this point. And if Steve was a threat to himself in any way, the person who saw the most of him needed to be made aware.

“I found Steve in the gym last night, going at one of the bags,” she explained. She put down her coffee and brushed one hand lightly over the other in a gesture that could be construed as subconscious fidgeting, but which drew just enough attention to her knuckles that Loki would make the connection without her needing to spell it out. “He was pretty worked up. I invited him back to my place, since he wasn’t ready to come back here yet, and he fell asleep on my couch pretty immediately. He woke up and asked to come back here.”

She paused, then took another sip of her coffee, giving Loki a chance to digest this information.

  
  


Loki swallowed, her eyes following the brush of Natasha’s fingers.

Of course he had hurt himself taking out his aggression. She couldn’t summon even the smallest amount of surprise.

“It isn’t the first time.” She said quietly. “The last time I went out, when I got back, he had-- he was in the bathroom, sitting in a pool of water and blood and broken glass. He’d punched the mirror.”

She closed her eyes for just a moment, before opening them again and looking to Natasha.

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to stop him from…” she shook her head.

And this wasn’t exactly the conversation she’d been anticipating yet, but she did feel like a weight was being added to her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she remembered to say. “For taking care of him, when he…” When he didn’t want to be anywhere near Loki.

She didn’t know what to do about that, either.

“I’m sorry you had to. Sorry I didn’t go looking for him. He’d said he was coming back here to sleep, and I was giving him space, but…”

But he’d lied. And it wasn’t endearing the way it had been once. Probably because he’d apparently gotten better at it. Because now he meant the lies, wanted to use them to put space between them. She hated it.

“I should have checked on him, I guess. After he fled from dinner.”

She inhaled and then let it out.

“How… how bad is it? His hands.”

She doubted he’d let her heal him, but if it was severe enough, maybe… maybe he could be convinced.

  
  


Natasha sipped her coffee, frowning.

“Split knuckles. Heavy bruising. Nothing needing stitches, and his reactions when bandaging them don’t make me think he broke anything, but it would be worth having the medical staff check,” she replied.

That this wasn’t the first time was... troubling. Steve was establishing a pattern of self-destructive behavior, and that usually only escalated without some kind of intervention. Maybe it was better that this time he took himself to the gym instead of breaking anything, but that kind of explosive aggression was disturbing all the same.

(And she had to wonder if it was only limited to objects.)

(Was that why Steve had been so against returning to Loki when he’d been in that state?)

“I think giving him space was actually the right call, for you,” she finally told her. “No one has seen much of you two. I assume you’ve been keeping cooped up in here?”

  
  


“Steve has been tired, and… the last time I went away, when I came back he had put his hand through the bathroom mirror.” She knew she must sound defensive; she certainly felt it.

“I am not keeping him here, if that’s what you are asking. He is free to come and go as he pleases. Only… only he tires so easily.”

And barely wanted to see Loki, let alone the others, in groups or alone.

She looked down.

“I am trying to find the balance between care and over attentiveness.” She looked up and at Natasha again. “I assume that failure on my part was why he didn’t wish to return, last night?” She fought to keep her voice even, when she asked. Tried to keep the tone light, like she was asking Natasha’s thoughts on the weather, rather than expecting confirmation that she was slowly losing the man she loved.

  
  


She hadn’t suspected too strongly that Loki was keeping Steve hidden away for his own safety, but it was still reassuring to hear that it wasn’t the case. But at the same time, the anguish on Loki’s face was clear.

Which illuminated other explanations.

“Not exactly, no,” she answered, softly. She pursed her lips, thinking of how best to approach the topic. “Back in the Red Room, they taught us how to hurt people. How to frighten them the most when we made threats; how to go for the throat. Or, more figuratively, the heart.” It was not a part of her life she enjoyed reliving or reminding others about, but Loki of all people would understand the will to overcome a dark and murderous past.

“If I wanted to destroy someone -- to terrify them -- I went after someone they loved.” And she _knew_ Loki knew about that. He’d told her as much the first time they’d met.

_Drakov’s daughter._

She looked down at her coffee, waiting for Loki to parse through what she’d said.

  
  


She frowned, trying to understand how that applied to Steve.

“Scofield told him I’d been killed, I think I know that much. When we first retrieved him, Steve was talking about how I was dead, seemed to think he was, too. And… in the cell with him, the helmet that I broke and discarded…”

She had given them the prop to torture Steve with. Helped them to hurt him, twice over-- the helmet and the necklace, and who knew what else.

But when she’d thought Steve had been killed-- both times-- all she’d wanted was to be close to him again.

The thought was bitter and she should be better than that. It wasn’t the same thing. She couldn’t compare them.

“Do you suppose--” the words caught in her throat. “Do you think it is that he is afraid to be my weakness, or that he is pulling away so that I cannot be his, again?”

She pressed her hands flat against the table to hide the shaking, and willed her eyes to remain dry.

  
  


Natasha took a deep breath through her nose, aware that she was treading on treacherous ground. One misstep might trigger an avalanche of emotion that no amount of reason would be able to dig through.

“I think, perhaps a bit of both,” she stated, slow and careful. “Steve is... struggling. And I think, with the two of you so proximate, and you taking on all of the duties of a caregiver, he sees his struggles as causing you pain. And seeing you in pain, I’m willing to guess, is hurting him more.” A vicious cycle, certainly -- and one that neither of them were going to break out of on their own.

Steve hadn’t wanted to go back after beating up his hands. And if Loki had reacted strongly about the last time Steve had hurt his hands -- and the way she talked about it, it certainly sounded like a trauma -- then Natasha was willing to bet that Steve’s visceral refusal to call Loki had to do with sparing her from the repeat performance.

  
  


Loki nodded, accepting that.

It made sense, with what she knew of Steve.

“He has always been so against bleeding on anyone.” She murmured, remembering her own vows to stop herself from doing so to everyone she knew.

She swallowed.

“There was a time when I used to be able to hide my emotions. I used to be very good at it. And I suppose I should reclaim that skill. Not only for Steve’s sake, but because… with some eventuality, I still will have to speak with Thanos.”

And, if it was true that he was pulling away for more reasons than just being afraid of causing her pain… she would need to hide her reaction to that to maintain her position with The Avengers, to keep their support in place.

“Do you suppose that is something you can help me to re-learn? I’m sure Steve would be glad to be rid of me for however much time you feel comfortable dedicating to the effort.”

  
  


Natasha gave a not-so-delicate snort. “Right. Because Steve’s tactic is working out so wonderfully for everyone,” she remarked with cutting dryness, standing to cross over to the counter and pour herself more coffee.

“Walling yourself off from him while he’s walling himself off from you is not going to fix the problem. Assuming you ever want to have an honest conversation with each other again.” She put the coffee pot back on the burner and leaned against the counter, holding the mug between her hands and letting the heat leach into her fingers. “Right now he’s bleeding on you, and you alone. Metaphorically speaking,” she added, remembering the bloody punching bag in the gym. “The fact he even let me help him last night...” she trailed off, gnawing momentarily on the inside of her lip. She and Steve were friends, she was fairly certain of that -- but they weren’t terribly close. Nothing like Steve and Loki. Or even like her and Clint. But he’d spent the night on her couch all the same. “I think it’s proof he needs an extended support network. That way, you can be more than just the person who takes all his weight and deals with all his problems.”

She moved back to the table, sinking into her chair. “I brought up the idea last night of him talking to someone. A professional,” she explained. “He seemed... open to it.” Not enthusiastic by a long shot, but he hadn’t given her an outright no.

  
  


Loki grimaced, remembering that she had once accused Steve of only being kind so that she’d have no one else to depend on-- so that she would feel beholden and indebted and bound to him.

And now she was doing the same.

She did not like the thought that she was lacking in any way, that she couldn’t give him what he needed, but the proof was just there, behind the door of his room.

And no matter what Natasha said… reactions on Loki’s part towards Steve’s injuries were hurting Steve, driving him away. She wanted the opposite of that, which meant she needed to find a way to change her reactions. She’d work on it.

In the meantime…

“Are there… professionals? Someone who can help him, whom we can trust?”

She knew he was a special case, and more than that, he was special. To her. She did not want to give strangers access to him when he was so vulnerable.

She wanted to give him what he needed. Even if-- especially if, she couldn’t provide it on her own. No matter how much of a failure that made her feel like, as a partner.

  
  


Natasha inclined her head. “I’m looking into it. He doesn’t want to see anyone from SHIELD, which limits some of my contacts, but is fairly understandable. I have a few options right now I’m going to do some deeper digging on and make sure their background checks come up clear.” Under no circumstances was she about to trust Steve’s wellbeing to anyone she hadn’t done her due diligence by; not when he was already so fragile.

“Beyond that... getting him out of here, when you can, is probably a good thing,” she added, softening her voice and glancing around the apartment. It was a nice place, but any limited space could start to feel like a prison after enough time confined to it. Even if that confinement was self-imposed. “I’ll see if Clint would be willing to drag him out for a movie at his place or something to that effect.” Roping in the others would divide the emotional labor and take some of it off Loki’s shoulders.

And just as Steve needed others to help him through this...

“Are you sure about picking up where we left off?” she asked.

  
  


“Not as a means of punishment for myself.” Loki hastened to clarify, turning to follow Natasha’s movements.

She didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone with the others-- in fact, she’d gone out of her way, when they were around the rest, to give him means of escaping without feeling bad about it. Signals he could give her, and she’d tried to smooth the conversations. But this… If he was alone with them, she wouldn’t be able to.

But then, that was rather the point.

“My mastering your stress tests is the only way I can protect Steve, at the moment. Perhaps that will be impetus enough to help me succeed where I have failed in the past.”

And if not, then maybe she would at least be able to apply some of the independence she would regain from reconstructing her armor to better support him. If he decided he could ask it of her again.

She suspected that her hurt and sad were causing him to think her weak. Too weak to help, weak enough that he didn’t suppose he could lean on her. And could she blame him, after that last lesson before he’d left? After what he’d last seen of her ability to hold herself together?

No. She was stronger now, more capable. She just had to prove it.

“I trust your choice in professionals. I am sure whoever it is will be… of help to him. And thank you for taking the time to find someone.”

  
  


Natasha inclined her head. “Of course. Whatever I can do to help.” Looking up a counselor of some kind was hardly the most daunting task she’d undertaken for a friend. Though with Steve... it would take some finesse.

Teaching Loki to wall herself off didn’t seem like the ideal lesson for the moment, but she was right; they had other problems besides Steve’s recovery and Steve and Loki’s domestic troubles. And putting off preparing for Thanos, for any reason, was likely unwise. And maybe giving Loki something else to focus on, something that didn’t involve Steve and got her out of the apartment, would help her.

“How about tomorrow morning?” she suggested.

  
  


She hesitated, running through a list of things she would need to do first, making breakfast and hoping Steve ate, wondering if she ought to call someone in to mind him-- though of course she’d word it differently.

But those concerns were not Natasha’s, so she simply nodded.

“Tomorrow morning.” She agreed. “You will send word when you are ready for me?”

And then she would not have to ask that Natasha be beholden to her sleeping pattern, odd and irregular as it was.

“Is there anything you want me to bring?” She asked, trying not to wince as her mind went back to the room she’d created, the arsenal of torture she’d offered Romanov when she’d misstepped.

  
  


“Sure. Though let’s plan roughly for ten o’clock.” Late enough that Loki would be able to tend to anything she needed to do that morning, but not so late they’d be famished halfway through.

It would also give her over 24 hours to come up with a plan of attack, so to speak. Something that would challenge Loki enough to actually be of use, without triggering a panic attack and setting them back further.

She regarded Loki for a long few seconds. “Just so I know... Are you planning on facing Thanos as a man or as a woman?” There were different approaches and different threats often directed on a basis of gender; Loki’s shape could potentially affect the type of defense they’d need to mount.

  
  


That was an interesting question, and it gave Loki some pause.

“I must admit I… hadn’t considered it.” She said delicately. “I intend no offense when I say that I generally consider this form to put me at a slight disadvantage, when it comes to fear of falling into enemy hands. But at the same time… Thanos does have his daughters-- women warriors whom he kept, after destroying their worlds. I do not believe I was ever considered for inclusion in their number, but… I was also never a woman around him.”

She drained the rest of her orange juice.

“Perhaps it is better that I plan to stick to what he is familiar with. But I will keep in mind this other form, in the event that it may offer some… advantage.”

  
  


She nodded. Natasha knew all too well how to turn to her advantage the underestimation of her sex. But in Loki’s case-- “Appearing dramatically different from how he knows you will automatically put him more on guard for other changes. Maintaining the outward appearance of the ‘you’ that your enemy thinks they know best will reduce scrutiny, make them less attentive to other discrepancies.”

Tilting her head, she regarded Loki a little more curiously. “Do you mind if I ask if there’s an advantage right now?” There had been before, as a matter of disguise, but that was unnecessary at the moment. Which made her wonder.

  
  


Loki blinked.

“I-- apologies, if you find this disconcerting…” But that wasn’t what she’d asked. Loki glanced at Steve’s door, still closed, then back at Natasha.

“No. Not-- there is no advantage right now.”

She’d been fairly frank with Natasha, but it felt unfair to Steve to reveal more, if he hadn’t done so himself.

Still, there was a reason Steve had gone to Natasha, rather than any of the other Avengers, and Loki knew they would work it out with some eventuality.

But what she’d said was the truth just the same. Without Steve immediately present, there was no benefit to retaining this form.

She could change, if it would put Romanov at ease.

“I can come to the training tomorrow as a man, if you’d rather.” She offered.

She’d just change once she’d left the apartment; that part wouldn’t be too hard.

  
  


“I don’t care one way or another, but we will probably want to move toward practicing with whatever form you plan to confront him in.” And if Loki was primarily in her female form while at home, changing shape for their sessions might add an additional layer of distance to partition off her personal worries while they worked.

But as Natasha watched Loki’s glance back to the door, she felt the pit of her stomach sink. _No advantage right now._ But there had been, minutes ago.

“He’s more comfortable with women,” she murmured, realizing just why JARVIS may have chosen to contact _her_ and not any of the other Avengers. Normally that might have miffed her slightly, but she’d never known Steve to be sexist in any way, which suggested a different and far more troubling reason.

  
  


Loki frowned, then sighed.

“He has… always had difficulties with our relationship being… what it was, when we are the same gender. I do not know-- before he left, before all of you left, I gave him,” threw at him, but that wasn’t important, at the moment, “A token. A necklace, engraved with a soundwave of my voice. I… know that it was used against him. And I know that Scofield in particular once accused him of various words for perversion, just from the suspicion that he cared for me.”

She looked back towards the door, wondering if his hearing, like the rest of him, was weakened. And hoping that was the case, though she knew it was terrible of her. Even so, she lowered her voice still more.

“When I came back and needed to bandage his hand, he asked it of me. And he seems… it is easier for him. That’s all.”

  
  


Natasha was beginning to regret partaking of the oatmeal, as it now sat uneasy in her belly. Pieces were falling into place; Steve’s aversion to touch; higher anxiety around men; HYDRA using his sexuality against him.

The picture they spelled out was not a pretty one, and she hoped that she was wrong.

Enough so that she wasn’t ready to voice her suspicions to Loki; at least, not yet.

“Well, it’s a good sign that he can make requests for his own comfort,” she offered instead, placatingly. “Given the time he grew up in, I’m not surprised that being outed was... upsetting for him.”

  
  


That was true-- and Loki was grateful, to an extent. Even when it meant that he pushed her away, like the night before.

“He was always very aware of it-- who knew, how they felt about… about the maleness of us. It is odd, I think sometimes that he was more worried about reactions to that than he was about who he was with, exactly.” She smiled, though it was a wan little thing.

“And I do not want you to think-- I have offered in the past. He just preferred me otherwise, before.” and it didn’t matter to her, as long as she was with him, as long as he would let her be around him. She knew she likely had this form to thank for being allowed around him as much as she was at the moment.

“Really, it doesn’t make a difference to me. I am just glad that it can make a difference-- make things easier for him.” Again, she felt defensive, though now it was hard to say whether it was for Steve’s sake or her own.

She cleared her throat.

“I do not doubt I have told you… likely more than he would like. And I am sorry to ask you to keep it as a secret, but these things we have spoken of. He finds them distressing.”

She tried to plead with Natasha without saying anything. Not to say anything.

“It is good that someone else knows, even though I know so little. But better that not everyone know, just yet, I think?”

  
  


Natasha pursed her lips. “I think Steve surrendered a certain right to privacy when he started hurting himself,” she replied quietly, keeping her voice low as she heard the shower shut off. “We’re going to need to work together collaboratively as a support network, and part of that includes sharing enough intel that no one triggers him into a panic attack by accident. That being said...”

She sighed. Her work had given her plenty of experience completely disregarding the privacy of others; but it had also taught her the almost sacred value of it. “I won’t disclose beyond what I think is necessary for Steve’s health and safety. And if there’s anything you need to get off your chest to someone else, you know where to find me.”

She had been roped in unintentionally last night as part of a support system for Steve. But Steve wasn’t the only one who needed it, by the looks of it.

Bumping noises in the next room alerted her to the fact that Steve was getting dressed, and would likely be emerging. Finishing off her coffee, she stood, taking her dishes to the sink. “I should probably get going, but come find me if you need anything between now and tomorrow. Otherwise I’ll see you in the morning?”

  
  


Loki nodded, standing gracefully, and though she hated the thought of Steve surrendering any privacy, or her or anyone else taking it from him against his will… especially so fresh on the heels of him having so much taken from him similarly… she didn’t argue.

Natasha meant to help, and she had convinced him to find someone with whom to share his concerns. That counted for a lot in Loki’s books.

“Thank you again. And I shall see you tomorrow around ten.”

She didn’t think she’d go running for Natasha before then. Didn’t think she had anything else to get off her chest-- she knew too little, and had precious little that he had confided in her that she had not shared.

But more than anything else, she had questions. Such as why he had fled the night before, why he hadn’t called her… but those, she suspected, would be buried. Much like the HYDRA facility that had caused all of this damage in the first place.

  
  


Natasha nodded, letting Loki walk her out, and then letting out a long breath once she was out in the hall and the door closed behind her.

Finding Steve had felt like the hard part. But now...

Putting someone back together after they’d been unmade was never easy. And she knew that better than most. She just hoped Steve would realize he had support, like she had had once. And that Loki realized the same. In the meantime:

“JARVIS?” she spoke aloud. “Is Tony awake?”

“ _Mr. Stark is working in his lab, at present, on minimal sleep,”_ the AI responded, a hint of judgement in its voice.

“Good. Tell him I’m on my way and to pull up all the data we salvaged from HYDRA,” she replied, heading toward the elevator.

There were suspicions she needed to put to rest, one way or the other.

  
  


She lingered at the door for a moment after it had closed behind Natasha, listening more than anything.

The shower was off, and the sounds of the dresser opening and closing had stopped, so it sounded as though he had probably managed to dress himself.

Cautiously she approached the door, wondering what might have changed overnight, what he might have decided in his latest time away from her. And, most importantly, wondering if he would agree to have her call Dr. Cho to have someone come up and look at his hands.

Bandages were a good start, but like Natasha had said, they had no idea of the depth of the damage he had caused himself.

She knocked softly at the door, and, when she received no answer, knocked a little more firmly.

Still nothing.

Damn, but she hated this, hated feeling like she was trespassing. But the last time she had ignored this unease, he had ended up hurting himself. Again.

She opened the door, only the smallest bit. Just enough to allow her to see in, just enough to see that he was actually in bed this time, and not missing. It stung, a little, that he hadn’t wanted to speak to her, but as she’d told Natasha… he tired so easily.

She retreated, shutting the door behind her.

It was fine. They were fine. She needed to hold onto that.

She cleaned up the breakfast mess, and set the dished to cleaning themselves, then returned to her own room. Her first call was to Doctor Helen Cho, to explain what she knew of what he had done, and to make arrangements so that, when he woke, someone might come up and check, to be sure things were not more serious than they seemed.

Her next call, she spent some time considering. And though she knew Steve was more at ease with women, she knew too that Pepper was busy, and that those from SHIELD were not necessarily great choices, given how little Steve knew them, and of them.

Ultimately, it was Barton she landed on. He did not house a monster that Steve need fear provoking, even accidentally and with stories or implied stories of the horrors he’d faced. She hadn’t forgotten her tea with Banner, after all, and his reactions to her past traumas.

And he wasn’t Tony, wouldn’t push buttons. She hoped.

As an additional benefit, he had once been very against them and now was… better, she thought. Accepting, even supportive. Given what she’d told Natasha, and the points Natasha had brought up… perhaps it would help.

Clint agreed to drop by shortly after ten… after she left, so that it might seem coincidental, she hoped. And not too much like she was asking the Avengers to serve as Steve’s temporary keepers, in her absence.

  
She knew how much he would hate that.

 

The rest of the day after Steve’s boxing meltdown was mercifully uneventful. Steve napped until noon, and then awoke to find Dr. Cho had arrived to glower meaningfully at him as she examined his hands. A scan revealed some hairline fractures, which necessitated the splinting of two fingers on his left hand, but fortunately no major breaks. The healing in his leg, however, had been aggravated, and he’d been given strict instructions to keep his weight off of it as much as possible for the next week while the inflammation receded.

Which didn’t seem like it would pose much of a challenge; he had little enough intention of going out again, given what happened last time. He asked JARVIS to convey his apologies to Pepper, Tony, Thor and Jane, unable to quite muster the courage to say it in person. He’d ruined dinner, he knew. And made things harder on Loki, when he’d been trying to accomplish the opposite.

Better to quit trying and stay in the apartment doing nothing; it would be harder to make a mess of everything that way, at least. If he didn’t do anything, then he couldn’t screw anything up. Right?

He was lying on the couch, not sleeping but not doing anything beyond listening to an old Tommy Dorsey album after Loki had departed for some errand, when he heard a knock at the door.

He frowned. “JARVIS?” He wasn’t expecting anyone. Had Loki doubled back and chosen to knock for some reason? Or was there another visitor?

“ _Mister Barton is at the door.”_

Steve’s frown deepened. He eyed the cane that Dr. Cho’d had a nurse deliver up to his floor yesterday, debating getting up and heading to the door. But somehow staying on the couch felt less humiliating than hobbling down the hall like an old man.

“Come on in,” he called, at least swinging his legs off the cushion and pulling the blanket off of him so he looked more alert, running a hand through his hair and making a mental note to shave later.

  
  


“ _Captain Rogers says that you should let yourself in_.” JARVIS told him, and Clint frowned at that, but wiped the expression away as he opened the door.

He got it shut behind him and headed deeper into the apartment, not sure where he was going to find Steve.

He half expected he’d find him in bed, and even though he’d only been here a couple of times, he knew where that was, knew there wasn’t much in the way of alternative seating in there. So he was pretty glad to see Steve sitting up and on the couch.

“Heya Cap,” he greeted. “I was just on my way back from walking Lucky and thought I’d drop in and say hi. Loki around?”

He knew damn well that he-- she-- wasn’t. But he was supposed to be making it look like he wasn’t here to babysit.

And… explaining why he was there and what he wanted had been Nat’s advice. Supposed to cut down on the anxiety he was giving poor Cap. That, and she’d warned him not to react to how he looked. Clint hadn’t had much of a chance to see him since they’d got back, just a minute or two on the medical levels. He knew he couldn’t have healed too much, but near as he could tell, Steve hadn’t healed at all. He was still covered in bandages and casts and splints, still too thin by half.

“C’mon Lucky, sit.” He directed, taking a seat opposite Steve, himself. Fortunately, Lucky was a good listener, when he wanted to be, and apparently this was one of those times.

He kept Lucky on the leash for now, just the same, though. Just in case it ended up being another trigger for Steve.

The last thing he needed to do was set off another freakout.

 

“Lucky, huh?” Steve said, straightening up and looking at the dog, who was regarding him with a tongue-lolling smile. “Guess it’s a bit more traditional than ‘pizza dog.’” He didn’t remember Clint naming him before, though maybe he had, and it had been lost in the jumble of Steve’s memories over the last several weeks. His head was a bit of a landmine field these days.

“‘Fraid Loki stepped out. Um. You might wanna check Natasha’s? They had a coffee date or something this morning,” he ventured, now looking at Clint a bit more cautiously.

He’d been told that Clint and Loki had gone in together to rescue him; that they were on better terms now, and the whole team had pulled together in his absence. But it was one thing to hear it and another to witness it, and seeing Clint voluntarily come _looking_ for Loki for-- what? Socialization? Was just bizarre.

  
  


“Nah, it’s cool. Just Lucky here is probably missing him.” Realizing Steve wouldn’t have any context for why, he hurried to add, “Loki walked him a fair bit while we were looking for you. I’m not an animal whiz or anything, but I figure he probably got a little attached.”

He kicked his legs out, leaning back in his seat a little.

“How bout you-- not quite feeling up to coffee dates yet?”

And that was weird, too. He got wanting to protect the guy, maybe tip toeing around the truth about why he’d stopped in, for his pride, but this-- from what Nat’d described, it didn’t sound like she and Loki were up to any kind of coffee date that Clint wanted to be part of.

Which meant that Loki had lied to Steve, and now Clint was being dragged into it.

And Steve wasn’t the kind of guy it felt good to lie to.

He hurried to keep his mouth going, to try and smooth it over. After all, Nat always said he was shit at lying to folks he cared about.

“You mind if I let Lucky off the leash? He’s pretty chill, won’t do anything bad. Probably just sniff around a little.”

  
  


Steve’s mouth twisted. “Went out the other day. Didn’t go so well.” Which was an understatement, but Clint hardly needed the gory details. He’d probably hear them from someone else in the tower eventually anyhow.

And now he knew Loki and Clint were dog-walking pals. It was like he’d woken up in one of those wonky alternate universes from the pulps, where everything was backwards. Except apparently the only factor needed to make everything weirdly functional was to take him out of the mix.

“Yeah, sure,” he offered, settling back against the arm of the couch. “He hasn’t seen the place since you helped move in my stuff, might as well let him explore.” And it was a bit strange that Clint was staying around when he’d come to see Loki and Loki wasn’t here, but it seemed rude to comment. “If you want, I can let Loki know later to go down and spend some time with Lucky?” It would probably be good for her, to be away from Steve.

  
  


Clint shrugged, not bothered one way or the other.

He unhooked the leash and pulled it away, nudging Lucky with his toe.

“I dunno how much he was down here, actually-- I stuck around in England for a bit after one of our false leads on you turned out a whole hive of HYDRA, smoothing stuff over and answering questions for MI5 and SIS. Left him with Bruce, but when I came back, he was with Loki. I guess Loki co-opted him for walks.” He shrugged again, trying to show there were no hard feelings. Even though, at the time, there had been.

Even though Loki weirded him out for slightly new reasons, now.

He didn’t ask about the outing gone wrong; Nat would fill him in if he needed to know. Instead, he watched as Lucky snuffled his way right over to Steve.

Friendly jerk.

“Hey, Lucky,” he called, remembering Steve’s no touching rule that had been passed around.

“If he’s bugging you, tell him to lay down. He’s pretty good at minding. Sometimes.”

  
  


Steve supposed he should be grateful that his disappearance had a silver lining, in the form of multiple routed HYDRA bases. But mostly he found himself wondering if things would be different if his friends had found him sooner. Would Verschmutzung not have got his hands on him yet? Would Scofield? Would Steve still be able to touch, to walk without limping, to--

His thoughts were interrupted as Lucky, who had been sniffing at Steve’s bandaged hand, suddenly leapt up (in blatant disregard to Clint’s calling him), paws on the armrest, and began licking Steve’s face.

“Gah!”

He reared back in surprise, but Lucky followed, dutifully anointing him with doggy kisses -- and Steve couldn’t help it. It _tickled,_ and a surprised laugh slipped out.

  
  


Clint got up in an instant, already grimacing.

“Sorry, I’m sorry-- I’ll take him--” He stopped, though, hands barely touching the dog, when Steve started laughing.

He froze, not sure if it was a hysteria thing, a mania thing, or if it was actually okay.

“Steve? You okay there, buddy? I can take him home if you want.”

He was pretty sure Natasha and Loki would be mad at him, or worse, _just disappointed_ , if he had to cut his visit that short, though.

And especially if he did damage in the process.

“He’s really friendly, I guess I shoulda seen that coming. Sorry again.”

And Steve was super not cool with being touched, supposedly, but… he didn’t look particularly not cool, at the moment.

  
  


It shouldn’t have been okay.

But when Lucky finally stopped licking him and cocked his head to the side, ears forward, one eye bright and curious -- Steve didn’t feel his chest tighten. Didn’t feel his skin crawl or his heart pound or his insides twist.

 _He_ shouldn’t have been okay. But inexplicably, he was.

Maybe it was because it was a dog, not a person. That was probably it, right? There had definitely been no dogs in the HYDRA base; no dry and scratchy dog tongues on his face; no cold wet noses snuffling at him. Lucky didn’t _feel_ like a person, and there was nothing about Clint’s scrappy mutt that seemed capable of the kind of malice he knew all too well that human beings had in them.

Maybe it was just a fluke.

Cautiously, he reached out and placed his hand on top of Lucky’s head. The fur there was soft, and warm from the dog’s body heat. Steve held his breath, waiting for the panic and revulsion of touch to kick in--

And there was nothing. Just a faint sense of stinging in his eyes as they started to water.

“It’s... It’s okay,” he murmured to Clint, moving his hand to gently rub at Lucky’s ear. And alright, right around then something inside him felt impossibly tight, but not in a bad or painful way. “ _Good boy_.”

  
  


Suddenly Clint felt like he was intruding on some kind of _moment_.

He shot Lucky an aggravatedly fond glance, and backed off, sitting himself back down, though he kept an eye on his pet.

He shook his head.

“I don’t know what it is, but animals _always_ know. I’ve had some dumb cats over the years-- even an alley cat who just showed up one time and starts purring and snuggling up to me when I was all wrung out once. Showed up a week later with food and tried to take her home, and she just beat me up for my trouble.”

He tilted his head and nodded at Lucky.

“He showed up when I was… you know, when I was still worried, I guess. About you and your boyfriend. But… maybe that’s his thing. He’s so chill, he has to absorb everybody else’s stress.”

  
  


Steve’s fingers were stiff, but Lucky didn’t seem to mind as he reached forward with his other hand to clumsily scratch both his ears, instead setting his chin on the couch’s armrest and closing his eyes with a contented huff.

“He’s a good dog,” he told Clint, only half hearing what he’d said as he was still reeling at the fact he was _touching._

Maybe... maybe if he could handle touching the dog, that meant he wasn’t _completely_ broken as far as touch went. Maybe there was something left to fix. And maybe someday he’d be brushing Loki’s hair away from his face with casual, affectionate touches, and not want to scream.

“Thank you,” he added, voice rough as his throat tightened. “I... thank you.”

  
  


Clint’s mouth twisted, half frowning, just because he didn’t know what to _do_ with this brand of soppiness.

“You thanking me, or him?” He asked, teasing. “Anyway, my pleasure. And if you and Loki wanna have him over for… I don’t know, a puppy playdate or something…”

He remembered again how steamed he’d been, coming back to find out that Bruce’d just handed his dog off to his worst nightmare.

But working with Loki, having him save his life once or twice there… it was all twisty. Nothing straightforward about his feelings on the subject.

But Lucky liked him. Wasn’t afraid of him. Maybe partially because the dog had never been mind controlled or seen what Loki did to folks like Scofield…

Clint suppressed a shudder.

Still. Steve was acting like Lucky was some kind of _revelation_ , and Loki…

He seemed to be… alright.

Ish.

Clint could live with this. Even offering didn’t weird him out, which actually weirded him out more than being weirded out would have. Weirdly.

  
  


Steve chuckled softly. “You get the verbal thanks. He gets the ear-rubs.” Which Lucky appeared to be enjoying, making a low whine when Steve paused.

“Come here, boy,” he said, patting the couch beside him. Lucky lifted his chin, then sidled along through the space between Steve’s legs and the coffee table before hopping up on to the couch and curling up, his head on Steve’s thigh -- a warm, comfortable weight.

“I might take you up on that,” he told Clint after a moment, running his fingers through Lucky’s fur. “This is. Um. I’m bad with touch, which I guess you know already. This isn’t... usual.” He pursed his lips together, smoothing the fur between Lucky’s eyes. “It’s good.”

By far the best surprise he’d had this week. And more hopeful, to his mind, than Bruce and Betty’s news.

“And I’m glad that you and Loki, ah. That things are doing better there,” he added, feeling as if it deserved a mention, seeing as it was why Clint had come down in the first place.

  
  


Clint lifted his shoulder, the most half-assed shrug he could muster to partially shrug off the sincerity that felt like it was trying to choke him.

“Well, I’m glad. Like I said, happy to loan him out whenever you need a cuddle with a fluffy, warm, living-breathing-pooping teddy bear.” He paused a beat, then added, “Loki’s… not the easiest guy to be around. Especially when he’s worried about you. But even at his bitchiest, he was… Actually he had his days. But he saved my ass a time or two. So… it all balances out eventually, probably.”

He shrugged again, feeling like he was letting Steve down because things weren’t the type of better that he seemed to think they were.

His eye drifted around the room and fell on the TV.

“I don’t remember-- did you watch Dog Cops? Back before everything? Because, man, you have missed out on a hell of a season.” He tried to make it sound like an invitation, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was.

All of the women in his life had advised him time and time again that subtlety wasn’t his strong suit.

  
  


Remembering how much Clint had _hated_ him when he first found out about him and Loki, how full of anger and disgust he’d been, even grudging apathy was a hell of a step up. But Clint was starting to seem uncomfortable, so Steve shut his mouth on that topic.

“I haven’t. But, I think Tony has pretty much all entertainment known to man on the Tower server, if you wanna catch me up on it?” he offered. If Clint stayed, the dog stayed, and if the dog stayed...

Lucky blinked up at him with an expression that made the origin of the term ‘puppydog eyes’ abundantly clear.

And if Loki found out Steve had done something social and normal... maybe it would make things easier on her.

  
  


“You haven’t? As in, ever seen it ever?” Clint hid his relief behind patently overplayed disbelief. “Oh yeah, we’re gonna need to fix that. JARVIS, pull up Dog Cops, season one, episode one, please. You mind if I grab myself something to drink? You want anything while I’m up?”

This was perfect- a distraction, something lighthearted and good, and a perfect excuse to stick around.

Besides. Lucky looked really comfortable, and Clint didn’t have the heart to move him, just yet.

 


	81. Eighty-One

Loki wouldn’t say that he had put off reporting to Romanov’s rooms, but she had hesitated outside of the door to their apartment for a few minutes, waiting to change to be sure she’d still be in the right form, just in case Steve needed her.

But everything had remained quiet and so, with a few minor adjustments, she headed out and to the elevator.

The trip didn’t take long, even though it felt a bit like an hour.

There would be no Steve to pull him back to his own mind this time, if things went wrong.

They couldn’t go wrong.

  


He’d have to be sure of that.

  


He raised his hand and knocked, hoping that Natasha wouldn’t be angry at him for being late, even though he had no good excuse for it, other than his hovering and worrying. But that needed set aside, for the time being.

Clint should be going to check on Steve soon. It should all be just fine.

Steve was going to be safe. He clung to that thought, hoping it would make him stronger for whatever she had in mind for today.

  


Natasha got up to answer the door after a moment of composing herself.

She was tired, and while she wouldn’t admit to it, a little shaken. The things she and Stark had seen going through HYDRA’s servers since the last time she and Loki had spoken... And knowing that was just the _start_ of it, and there were hours, _days_ more--

She took a deep breath -- in through the nose and out through her mouth -- then pasted on a serene expression. She could compartmentalize. It was troubling, but it wasn’t the issue she was dealing with now. The Natasha who was upset could go sit in the back right now; she wasn’t the one who was needed.

Opening the door, she nodded to Loki, who had appeared in his male form this time. “Come on in,” she told him. Then: “How do you like your tea?”

  


Loki nodded his greetings and his thanks, stepping inside. Into the spider’s den again, though this time with considerably less fear of her, and only a fear of his own performance being lacking… a fear of what she might trigger and what she might have in mind to do. But her, he could now say he trusted. Maybe that would make it easier.

“I’ve not had overmuch tea, while here-- or at least, not many different times. English breakfast I like with sugar and milk. Green I like without those. Other than that… I will try it as you recommend.”

He watched her, watched her face, and couldn’t place what might be wrong or why he felt concerned.

But then, it was probably for his own selfish reasons. His need to prove himself.

“Thank you again, for helping Steve and coming by, before. And thank you for agreeing to this now.” He inclined his head again, unsure how else to acknowledge what he was here for, when she was clearly trying to ease him into things-- offering tea did not seem like part of the test.

Unless it was, and he was already bungling it terribly.

  


“Of course,” she replied lightly, leading Loki into her apartment and heading toward the kitchen.

The kettle was already hot, and she’d set out a small tea set, something made of handcrafted-looking crockery with a dark green glaze. It was the sort of thing that in most homes would be an heirloom, or a gift, or something with a story behind it; she’d purchased it at a flea market, along with most of the decor in her apartment, however. Over the years, she’d learned how to decorate as cover -- crafting a home was just part of crafting an identity, from the ugly afghan on the couch that could have been knitted by a grandmother she never had, to the photos on the wall of places she’d never vacationed in (though one or two, she’d left bodies at).

Slipping a bag of green tea into the small teapot, she filled it with hot water, then brought the tea set into the living room, where she’d dragged back the couch Steve had slept on a day earlier and instead covered the floor with cushions.

“Go ahead and sit,” she instructed, lowering herself on to one of the pillows and sitting cross-legged. Natural light filtered in through the curtains, diffuse and gentle. Everything engineered to be relaxing as possible.

Determining that the tea had steeped sufficiently, she carefully poured out two small cups.

 

She wasn’t being particularly talkative, but then, he supposed perhaps that was for the best-- distancing herself from what she would be doing to him, shortly.

They were much closer to being friends than they had been the last time they’d done this. Knew one another better, had a better grasp on one another’s motives and abilities. And he’d thought that might make it easier, but he could just as easily be wrong.

He sat, as instructed, and watched her pour, not reaching forward to take one until it was explicitly offered.

He let the silence stretch on for as long as possible, biting at the inside of his cheek, before he spoke.

“So… for today…” He trailed off, searching for both the words and the courage. “I have thought about it, and I believe there may be a way for me to bespell a… something like a blindfold. That would allow me to see you as Thanos, without my seidhr, my magic, ever having to touch you. If that would be… of use.”

He did not look forward to her accepting.

  


She waited for him to take one of the cups.

He didn’t.

She frowned faintly as instead, he posited his suggestion. Waiting a moment after he finished, mulling it over, she finally reached for one of the teacups and handed it to him.

“We can try that, if it’s a direction you think will help,” she said carefully. “But if you’re alright with it, there’s a different tactic I would like to try this time.” Something that didn’t have the explosively negative results of their last roleplaying exercise -- especially since now, Steve was in no condition to rush down and snap Loki out of it.

Picking up her own tea, she took a sip. “It will work best though if you’re relaxed first.” Tilting her head to the side, she regarded him, taking in his appearance. He wasn’t as haggard as when Steve had been missing, but he still looked tired. “Have you been having trouble sleeping?”

  


When she spoke of his needing to relax, his eye was drawn to the tea she had given him, only for his attention to be pulled back to her when she tilted her head, considering him.

Making a show of considering him. She would not have drawn his attention to it if it were not intentional.

He lowered his chin slightly.

“I would not say it is trouble.” He was careful to speak evenly. “Merely that I am… sleeping lightly. In the event that I am needed.” It was smooth, polite, and though he knew they were both aware of _why_ , he was neatly skirting the subject of Steve, unwilling to bring him into this.

“I am of course willing to try whatever tactic you have devised. The only thing I will ask is that, if there is anything in the tea, relaxant or stimulant or otherwise, you tell me, so that I can know what sort of reaction to expect from my own body. I do not wish to hurt you, accidentally or otherwise.”

  


She raised her eyebrows. If she’d been someone else, she might have been offended at the insinuation that she might have drugged the tea, but then, Loki knew who she was. And so did she.

“It’s just tea,” she assured him, sipping her own again pointedly. “Bruce swears that it helps. I’m inclined to believe him.”

And hopefully, this particular session wouldn’t result in either of them hurting. The threat of Thanos continued to loom, but without a specific timeline, it seemed easier to continue to delay while they dealt with problems closer to home. Perhaps not _wiser_ \-- but easier. And with Loki so attentive to Steve, she suspected he’d be willing to drag things out a little slower until Steve was back on his feet. Though there was little knowing how long that would take.

“Both times we’ve had... sessions,” she began carefully, not counting the time she’d walked out or their chess game, “things ended due to a panic response. Today I want to focus on tools to keep you from hitting that level of panic.”

  


True enough that she had served both cups from the same pot, but that did not mean it could not be a drug she was familiar with, or had a tolerance to. Even so-- it would be rude now to refuse.

“If any should know, it would be Bruce.” he agreed, sipping from the other cup and proving his trust.

He listened, trying to imagine what ‘tools’ she meant to give him. But it was true- only his own inability to master his panic had forced them to stop. He took a breath.

“I understand, and remain willing. Only tell me what you would have me do. When you are ready.”

He was tensing, he knew, from talking about it, from not truly knowing what was to come. He forced his shoulders down, forced his muscles to unclench, going through the motions, if not the actuality, of relaxing.

  


“Of course.” She inclined her head. “Like I said, your relaxation, your comfort, are important in this.”

She hadn’t taken them into account before, rather plunging Loki into discomfort; she’d treated him then like a puzzle to be picked apart -- like an enemy to be observed. But he wasn’t that. And she needed to be something else for him now. The Red Room’s tactics of forging strength in fire wouldn’t be effective here. There wasn’t 28 of him, after all -- he wasn’t expendable, the way the widows in training had been. She couldn’t afford to break him in the attempt to make him stronger.

She drank the rest of her tea, then set the cup down on the earthenware saucer.

“I want you to take a minute first and look around the room,” she instructed. “Pay attention to details. Map it out in your mind. Make sure you have a clear mental image of everything around us. Take as long as you need, and let me know when you think you have it.”

  


Loki did as she’d asked.

There was more here than there had been before, touches of life, the appearance of it being lived in. Somehow, it managed to suit her even less this way than it had when the space had been empty. He did not comment on that though; he doubted that was the point of this exercise.

It did not take him long; even though there was _more_ to take in, he could not say there was a lot.

“I believe I have it.”

It reminded him a little of Steve, giving him drawings of his apartment for Loki to transport them to, when they’d had to flee SHIELD the second time.

He was curious what purpose this would serve, but he knew he need only wait and find out.

  


“Good.”

Natasha took a breath, hoping this worked. She had never exactly done something like this with someone else. Most of the allies she had were already trained, most of her enemies she was busy taking to pieces instead of rebuilding. It would be something novel, at least...

“Close your eyes. Take a few deep breaths, in your nose, and then out your mouth. In, two, three...”

She counted off, breathing with Loki to set the pace for a minute’s time or so. “Concentrate on the air moving in and out of your body,” she instructed softly. “Breathe into your belly, keep your shoulders low. Expand your lungs and diaphragm deep with every breath.”

  


It was good, he reflected, knowing that methods for lowering the heart rate and encouraging relaxation were the same realms and worlds over. Helpful, in case he ever got to heal a conscious person again.

The thought was bitter and he pushed it away, focusing on obeying. He breathed, like he did before a difficult working, like he did when he knew that diplomacy would make the difference between success and failure.

Breathed the way he’d always done to gain and maintain control of himself.

Which was, of course, the point of all of this. And it wouldn’t do to forget it, no matter how relaxed he managed to be.

He just wasn’t sure he knew what relaxed _was_ , any longer.

  


He followed instructions, and Natasha let the minutes tick by until she was fairly certain at least _some_ of the tension in his shoulders had abated.

It would probably be the best she could hope for, in the circumstances.

“Keep your eyes closed,” she said at length, keeping her voice pitched soft and low. “Keep breathing, but think about what you intend to do with the scepter. How you intend to face Thanos.”

  


He kept breathing, but as he narrowed his focus, as he mentally outlined his intent, he found his breathing becoming shallower. He allowed it; she’d said to keep breathing, and between the two things, he knew which he should focus more heavily on.

His eyes stayed closed, though lightly. He felt no need to clench them shut-- not yet, though he had a feeling that _this_ was why she’d asked him to take in the room. To memorize it.

He’d be spending a lot of time with his eyes closed, today.

“Shall I describe it to you?” He asked, words matching hers in softness.

  


She noticed his inhales growing shorter, but not enough to warrant commenting on. Instead, she just breathed deeply, hoping he would subconsciously strive to imitate the slower pace of her own inhales and exhales.

“When you’re ready, yes,” she said. “Talk me through it. What do you think will happen when you touch the scepter?”

  


He took a deeper breath, trying to focus on a step by step walkthrough for her.

“The moment I touch it, the slightest touch, if He wants to speak with me-- the moment will split into an eternity and my mind will be _pulled_ \--” He paused, forcing himself to breathe again. “I will be summoned before Him. His realm is not-- it is not large. It is not luxurious. It is barren, naught but rocks and dust and ruin-- the result of his presence. His throne is on the edge of the place, and He… floats. High above those he rules, those few souls unlucky enough to be kept there with Him. He looks out to the stars, or maybe to the rubble trapped still within His orbit, hardly deigning to descend.”

Loki swallowed, trying to urge his throat to work more easily. He kept his eyes closed.

“He lowered Himself to train me, to speak with me, but… no more. He has… there is another there-- something Other. The Other serves as His messenger, when He is displeased, when He finds it beneath Him to speak to…” Loki shook his head. “The Other has access to minds, to memories. He can punish, flood your world with pain with a mere touch. But there are times that Thanos chooses to be more involved. He is curious about my Seidhr, He considers-- perhaps considered-- me a useful ally. Difficult to say now…” He trailed off.

“I do not know what will happen. The last time we spoke, He and I, was when He reached _through_ me, somehow. Took the gauntlet. He should not have been _able_ \-- to pull something physical through my magic, through my mind… I was damaged by it, since repaired. But. When we spoke then, He told me to stay near His sceptre. That He would call to me with it when He needed it. If that time is now, He may well choose to pull it through me as well.”

Loki felt his nostrils flare with his next breath, and fought to keep his voice light, to remind himself where he was, to whom he spoke.

Natasha-- Romanov-- she was trying to help.

“The sceptre is larger than the gauntlet. Sharper. And… the Gauntlet was at least in my pocket dimension, my holding. The sceptre will not have that benefit. If He calls it through me… it may be fatal.”

There. The truth. Uneasy and unwanted as it was, it was the truth just the same.

“He told Steve something, though. Something about my being useful, at ‘the end of things’, I believe His words were. So perhaps He will spare me.” Loki shrugged, trying to keep his tone light. Trying to make it sound as though he weren’t concerned, one way or the other.

His breathing, though, he knew, gave him away.

  


Natasha frowned.

Loki was agitated, but staying grounded enough that he wasn’t flying into a panic while discussing what he might face. And he wasn’t catastrophizing yet, acknowledging the chance for less-than-worst case scenarios. So that was good.

“Can you explain to me how he is able to access physical objects through a mental connection?” she asked. “If your mind is connected to a pocket dimension via magic, is that dimension accessible from anywhere? Or only where you are?” She tilted her head, genuinely curious. It made little sense to her, but perhaps the focus on details, on explaining and lending expertise would boost his confidence. People tended to be more at ease when they were in a position of greater knowledge. “And if an object isn’t in your dimension, how can he reach it just by being in mental contact?”

Projecting consciousness was outlandish already. Projecting physical objects through consciousness? Seemed absurd. But then, so had aliens and gods not long ago. “Is that something you’ve seen him do?”

  


This part was easy-- Loki almost caught himself opening his eyes. But he fell into the role of instructor, of lecturer, easily enough.

“Imagine a drawstring pouch. The top edge of the bag is tied to the magic inside of me, by magic. The bag itself is made of magic. But the things inside of the bag, when I put them in there, do not cease to exist. They must exist somewhere. And so the inside of the bag exists on a plane between planes- a pocket dimension. It is a physical place, with only one opening. Other things may exist in that same in-between dimension, but there is a barrier of my seidhr which separates the contents of my ‘pocket’ from whatever lies beyond. And certainly, it is not on a plane shared by Thanos.” Loki stopped, trying to be mindful of his breathing, lowering and softening his voice again when he continued.

“And… no. I cannot tell you how He gained access. Other than that He ripped a hole in me-- not just in the magic of the pocket, but in the part of me that is home to the seidhr within me. He tore a part of me to get to it. Maybe it is that He can use His access in my mind to see _where_ it is… though how He can reach in for it… He has performed experiments on me, made attempts at taking my seidhr before. I do not know what He has managed or how He came by the knowledge or ability... All that I know is that the one place I thought for certain was safe… isn’t.”

  


She nodded along, not fully following, but doing her best. Ultimately it didn’t matter; she wouldn’t be the one facing Thanos.

“So if he kills you... there’s nothing we can do to stop him. None of us will be there, except you, and if he decides to do so, you can’t fight him from the sound of it,” she stated, plainly and without emotion. “So let’s _stop_ considering that possibility. It remains a potential outcome, but not one we’re able to manipulate once he determines it’s going to happen. Continuing to consider it does us no favors.”

Part of being a widow had been living with the knowledge that someday, you’d be sent on a mission you might not come back from. That there would be a suicide job, or an occasion where you might prove disposable. Refusing those missions wasn’t an option; you simply learned to live with the fact that death was a perpetual option, and ignore the Damocles’ sword hanging over your head while moving on. SHIELD was somewhat better, but the risks of spycraft always remained.

“Let’s assume he doesn’t immediately kill you to get the scepter,” she continued. “After that. What potential outcome are you most worried about?”

  


It was such a very blunt way of disregarding his efforts to explain that he would have been offended, if she weren’t right.

If he died… that was it. It was done.

The thought had almost held a twinge of relief, once. No more. But that did not change the truth of it.

The next option…

“It is possible that He does not kill me. That instead He… takes the sceptre through me, and I do not die. But that He leaves me… magically crippled. Unable to hold or affect seidhr, any longer. Rendering me useless.”

Defenseless. Unable to help, and having failed everyone.

“Again… I do not think death or… or _destroying me_ are His intent. He has a purpose in mind for me, and while I doubt I will like it, it does afford me a relative measure of safety, for the time being. Or at least… unless the end that He spoke of is nigh.”

He breathed again, frowning as he tried to think through what was likely to happen.

“I need to talk to Him. Lie to Him, convince Him that I am His, that… that I am loyal. I need to get orders, or attempt to learn His plans, that we can begin to find ways to counter Him. My fear... “

He swallowed, eyes still closed and forced himself to breathe deeper again.

“My fear is that He does not believe me. Or that He is bored, and in either case, decides to test me, as He did when first we agreed to work together.”

His nostrils flared at that, and he pushed firmly back against the memories that threatened, of what those _tests_ had been like.

“I am afraid that… He has broken me before. I am afraid that He will do it again, and I will… betray all of you. Fail.”

Because he’d been weak, then, and Steve had made him weaker still. Given him new weaknesses for Thanos and His Other to exploit.

Not that he blamed him for it. Not that he even would mind, if not for how much it now endangered Steve in turn. The cost of being loved by Steve had always been that weakness, but if Steve suffering for it was added to that… Loki thought the cost might be too high.

  


Natasha listened. She made a note, mentally, when Loki described losing his magic as meaning he would be useless, to perhaps touch on that later, but now wasn’t the time to argue with him about it. _Having failed everyone,_ he said. _Betray all of you._ Not just fear of failure, but fear of letting others down. And _everyone_ \-- not just Steve.

She wondered if that was new... It had concerned her, in the past, how exclusive his loyalty appeared to be to Steve. But the language he used now suggested that was not the case. Or at least, not any longer. She didn’t doubt Steve took priority still, but...

She took in the starts and stops, the way he trailed off and aborted thoughts mid-sentence or hesitated. He was getting anxious again, and while he was trying to fight it and continue his breathing, she could see the tension creeping back in.

“Are you more afraid of pain, or of not being able to help?” she asked softly.

  


“They’re the same thing, here, aren’t they?” He asked in return, brow furrowing even with his eyes closed.

She had never said anything about him not being expressive, had asked him to relax, and yet he still wondered if he wasn’t supposed to be hiding his reactions.

“Pain I have had, in varying degrees throughout my life, as has everyone. But the pain that He can give… the pain the Other can create… it is a complete pain. And it is how I was… broken. Before. If He chooses to hurt me, to punish me… I do not know how I can resist it. And so the pain will render me…” useless.

Killing him would be kinder than forcing him to see what his weakness did to those he cared for. Which was, of course, exactly why Thanos would not do so.

“I am most afraid to see Him win. Pain will lead to me being unable to help, and my being unable to help will lead to pain-- for more than just me.”

  


That last part seemed as good a segue as any. So far he’d been doing a good job of recounting his experiences and expectations without an overflow of panic. But they’d need to push harder to find the edge, so she could help him pull himself back from it instead of falling over.

“Like Steve,” she murmured, watching him carefully. “That was what set you off, during our previous session -- the threat of Steve being hurt because of you. Wasn’t it?”

  


He should have been expecting the question, but he hadn’t been; he flinched.

Licked his lips.

“Yes.” He said quietly.

He’d had a fit about it, really. And then it had happened anyway. He hadn’t been able to help, and Steve had been hurt. For his gifts, by his presence in Steve’s life.

By his inability to find him.

“I won’t let it happen again.” He promised, just as quietly, but fiercely, just the same.

  


“Even if he threatens Steve?” she pressed, keeping her voice low. “Even if he discusses with you plans to wipe out Earth’s defenses, including the Avengers?” Which would be her first tactical move, if she were in their enemy’s shoes. “His ‘Other’ was in Steve’s head, from what you two have told me. More recently than they’ve seen you. Are you going to be able to stay calm if they mention him, ask you about him?”

  


He twitched, sighed, and opened his eyes, leveling her with as even a look as he could muster.

“I won’t let him be hurt by them again. I can’t do much other than this to protect him, or even help him, right now. But I can do this. I can work with you, until I am ready to do this. And if that means… deadening myself to certain subjects, killing the part of me that reacts, then so be it.”

They were brave words, spoken with more assurance than he felt, but he needed her to believe him. He needed to be able to do this, this _one_ thing.

  


She regarded him for several long seconds, searching his face while giving little away on her own. Finally, she nodded.

“Good.”

She reached forward to pour some more tea into her cup. “So to recap: things that could go wrong are death, permanent magical mutilation, and failure that results in not getting us information we need, or in Thanos getting further intelligence to use against us.” She sipped the tea delicately, breathing in the steam. “However, we have reason to believe Thanos doesn’t need you dead yet as he may have further use for you. Mutilating you also seems unlikely for the same reason. And if all he wanted was the scepter back as quickly as possible, it’s likely that he’d have used its influence on someone at HYDRA to that effect. So we should focus on avoiding failures of intel, rather than the potential for physical harm.”

Lowering the cup back down to the saucer, she rolled her head around on her neck, lifting and dropping her shoulders to loosen up. “Fear can be useful. But we need to ignore and dismiss useless fear. Fear that doesn’t help your survival; fear that distracts and inhibits. Fear of stimuli you might encounter, but can’t afford to react to.”

  


He closed his eyes again briefly, drawing a deep breath, and then reached forward to pour himself some more tea as well, since she hadn’t told him off for opening his eyes.

“And how do I learn to distinguish one from the other? The fear reactions you have seen-- the panic at being restrained, have been in reaction to my mind being forced to live through my own death, repeatedly, at the hands of the Other, under similar circumstances. Clearly, those deaths did not stick, but… they seemed real to me, just the same.”

He sipped the tea, hoping she had as ready an answer for that as she did for everything else.

“Or am I to learn that it doesn’t matter that I am dying, because I will come back from it?”

  


“It doesn’t matter if you’re dying, because there’s no extraction plan,” she said simply, lifting her cup once again. “If it gets to the point where you are actively, actually dying, then there’s nothing to be done. But fearing the possibility of death -- we’ve already determined it isn’t going to do any good. And is the less probable outcome anyhow.”

She looked him in the eyes.

“On a potential suicide mission? Where your reasons for going are greater than all of your instincts screaming at you to get out and run? Nearly all fear is useless. Because you are choosing to disregard those instincts. You need to look the possibility of a painful, agonizing death right in the eye and accept that it is there, and keep going.” It was a harsh truth, but one she’d been faced with time and time again.

“The only useful fear is the fear you can harness; that you can distill into rage, and simmer that rage down into something cold and focused. And for that... you need the fear of things that are worse than dying.”

Replacing her cup, she took a deep breath. “How do you feel about us trying restraining you again, but a bit differently this time?”

  


Part of him quailed inwardly at the thought of her giving him something to fear more than death.

But then, he hadn’t used to fear death, had he?

No, he had feared it. He just hadn’t had any better options. That was all that had changed. And those better options-- Steve, this life they were building together, that was what was worth fighting for.

“Whatever you think is best.” He told her, agreeing smoothly. He mirrored her movement, setting his own tea back on the table, though he gave it a last regretful glance-- no doubt by the time he came back to it, he would be a wreck and the tea would be cold beyond any glimmer of enjoyment.

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

  


She nodded. Before, she’d acted without giving Loki much warning of what she intended, hoping to push his adaptability to unexpected situations. But that wouldn’t be helpful in today’s exercise, she didn’t think.

“Our conversation just now tells me you’re able to control your fear when choosing to engage with your worries about Thanos. Just considering those possibilities isn’t enough to put you in a panic when you’re otherwise able to be calm. But if you’re already agitated by an involuntary anxiety response -- like your fear of being tied up -- then facing those possibilities is much more likely to trigger panic.” Like when she’d pretended to be Thanos and threatened Steve.

“If Thanos gets you wrong-footed when you use the scepter, by restraining you or otherwise triggering involuntary panic, then your fear will be more likely to get in the way of your objective. So. I want to practice slowly adding restraints, and have you push back on the fear you have. Face it, acknowledge it, and dismiss it. Don’t let it distract or agitate you.”

She rolled her hips to the side, stretching and leaning over to pull a shoebox-sized container out from under the couch. Dragging it back over to her, she opened it and pulled out several lengths of silk rope, and a strip of black satin.

“Would you be alright with starting with a blindfold?” she asked.

  


Loki smiled wanly, the tiniest upturn at the corners of his lips.

“If you’ll recall, it was nearly my first suggestion upon arriving, albeit a little more… stressor oriented.”

This also made some sense of their current seating- if she meant to give him these things that normally caused panic, but in ways he had not experienced them before, then it made sense that he not be in a chair.

“You have my permission to do as you think will benefit this cause. Starting with a blindfold.” He nodded gamely. “Shall I stand, or…?”

  


Her mouth quirked. “Just checking. Nothing ‘bespelled’ about this one, I’m afraid. No Thanos, simulated or otherwise right now.” She moved the tea set aside, sliding it out of the way where they wouldn’t have to worry about it.

“And staying seated is fine.” If Loki had another episode, keeping him on the ground -- which she’d covered in a throw rug and pillows for more than just comfort for a tea party -- would limit the harm he would do to himself.

She got to her knees and crawled over, kneeling across from him and lifting the blindfold, wrapping it over his eyes and tying it off, mindful not to catch his hair in the knot. “How’s that?”

  


“Only fair, I suppose, in return for opening my eyes without permission,” he deadpanned. “It is comfortable. It does not feel likely to slip.”

And it was almost easy, trusting her with this. After fighting with her, and more, after… relaxing with her. The hours of chess and the time spent circling… it had made things easier, somehow, and he was glad. Even if it felt, in its way, like cheating.

After all, this being easy did not seem like it meant it would be effective. And what she proposed also sounded suspiciously easy.

But he would not second guess her; not today. Let them both ease back into it, if need be.

He would not be taking up the sceptre until he was certain that Steve would be alright, even if the worst did come to pass to him at Thanos’s hands.

  


She stopped short. “This isn’t me punishing you,” she told him, softly but firmly. “This is not going to be about that. And if it becomes about that, we stop. Immediately. Okay?”

  


The slight smile he’d been wearing fell away.

“I was only attempting a joke. I realize-- I am sorry. I did not mean it, and I would not truly think it of you. Not now.”

  


Relaxing incrementally, she exhaled. “Good.” She didn’t like the idea of that. Not when he’d tried it before. But she liked to think things between them _had_ changed.

“Being afraid and uncomfortable are going to be a part of this, but if at any point it’s too much and you feel like you’re about to have a meltdown and absolutely need me to cut you loose -- just say ‘Oslo’, alright?”

Ideally they’d be able to work through his fears without needing to resort to that, but she would rather have that safeguard in place than not this time around.

  


He nodded, mouth shaping the word she had given him-- ‘Oslo’.

He thought he could remember that, at least for the duration of this little adventure. Then again… it was he who was meant to be under duress. And so there was the chance that he would be panicking.

“I’m sorry, I-- Oslo is not a word I am familiar with, and I fear I may misplace it, if it comes to my needing to be freed. Can I suggest-- Steve and I have used ‘cinnamon’ similarly, in the past. For some time now. If… if it is alright with you, I believe that may be easier for me to reach for, should the need arise.”

He was not tensed, exactly. Not coiled and tight, not fighting through anxiety before they even began. But he was… waiting.

“Beyond that, I am ready when you are.”

  


Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Cinnamon,” she repeated. Well, that was also unlikely to come up in conversation. And she had to wonder just how ‘similarly’ Steve and Loki had used it. ‘In the past’ indicated it hadn’t been recent, so probably not as an emotional safeword, but a physical one, when Steve had been capable of intimacy.

Which indicated the existence of a whole rabbit hole of thoughts she was not going to trip down right this moment.

“That will work,” she agreed. “Now, this is about you dealing with your anxiety. You’re welcome to talk through it with me, or not; I’ll listen and respond, or be silent if that’s less distracting. I will speak up though if I notice you struggling. Okay?”

She picked up the silk rope from the box, running the length through her hand and letting it whisper against her skin. Then, in a smooth motion, she draped it over Loki, wrapping it around his torso in a single loose coil.

  


Loki swallowed and trapped the tip of his tongue between his teeth, just in time to feel the rope encircling him.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, even as he felt his throat trying to close, trying to choke him on the air he needed to live.

 _Stupid_.

“I am… uncomfortable. Afraid. But it helps that there is nothing at my back, helps that I can--” he swayed where he sat, moving around, despite the rope.

“This is… give me just a moment. This can be alright.”

He remembered what it had been like when it wasn’t alright, and he tried to cling to the differences.

And she hadn’t even tightened it, yet. He knew there was more to come. There would be more. Asking for time-- he shouldn’t be trying so hard to make things easy on himself. He already didn’t like how simple this seemed, how much like practice-- a warm up, not a truly effective session, this felt like.

“More.” He said quietly, bracing himself for what would come next.

  


“Okay,” she replied, equally quiet. Tying him up completely from the front would be a challenge, but for now, she wouldn’t move directly behind him unless asked.

Tugging on the loop of rope until it was snug (but not _tight)_ , she paused long enough for him to adjust, then formed a second loop around his chest, drawing it firm right under the first loop.

And then a third.

“Keep focusing on your breathing. Count the seconds as you inhale, hold, and then exhale,” she instructed. “Don’t let your mind trick you into thinking the restraints are cutting off your airflow.”

  


He breathed as she asked, the breaths more controlled and obvious than easy and automatic.

His lips flickered into an almost-smile.

“It is never the ropes, never the restraints that make me unable to breathe.” He told her quietly. “It is only the flinch for the pain that my mind and-- body.” He stopped for a second, breathing again. “Know must follow.”

Speaking was harder; forming words took more thought and effort and attention than

_two-three-four-five and out_

But the distraction of words created both an outwards panic, and a deeper, inwards calm. Loki had a safe place in him, where he taught. Despite so much of the pain he’d been awarded at the hands of the Titan being done so in the name of learning, Loki had not been made to speak through it.

And words were often where he felt most at home.

He wished he could think of a story, think of some subject to lecture her on-- if he could just find that, if he could compose it in his head, he might be able to retain his peace through the rest of this, since it was to be just ropes, this time.

“I-- ask me. Something. Not… not as Thanos. Give me something to speak on?” He requested.

  


Natasha watched him carefully, ready to abort if he showed signs of losing it. But though he was clearly uncomfortable and in some distress, he was dealing.

Good.

She looped the rope around a fourth time, then tied it off, leaving his upper arms bound to his torso. Reaching for another length of rope, she cast around for something pleasant for him to remember...

“After you fled from SHIELD, where did you and Steve go? Before New York?” She asked, taking light hold of his wrists and moving them together in his lap.

  


That time he did smile.

If it had been Steve questioning him, it would be the stars, the worlds beyond his own, but with anyone else-- of course it would be Steve.

“We stole a car, drove it out of state. A small town in… was it Pennsylvania? That seems right. My--” another pause, another breath. “Geography is not my strong suit. Nor are your names. Strange-- as they are.”

His arms were immobilized to the elbow, which caused some concern, but a distant part of his mind noticed that, at current, he could still move his hands-- he was not powerless, yet, was still capable of casting spells.

“We got a room in an inn. It was lovely-- green. Steve paid with cash and a lie about his wallet having been… stolen. We were nearly caught out, though.” His smile widened.

“Steve has never been a good liar. He froze when asked for a name.”

The smile faded, though, when he remembered Steve’s flight from dinner a couple of days ago. Remembered him saying he was going to lay down.

Remembered discovering the lie.

Steve never used to lie, because he was terrible at it, but apparently HYDRA had taken that from him, too.

  


Natasha smiled and chuckled softly, beginning to loop the second rope around Loki’s wrists, binding them together. “That sounds like Steve. Thinking through enough of the challenging stuff to get you to safety and then blanking on something as small and easy as a name.” And she knew what a poor liar Steve was. It was why he retreated; silence and omission were his ways of avoiding honesty.

She ran her thumb up and down the side of Loki’s hand in a small, comforting gesture as she wound the rope upward.

“And when he’s better, where else are the two of you going to visit?” she asked.

  


The rope around his wrists didn’t surprise him, but the touch-- her skin on his, that did. He flinched, then grimaced apologetically, and hoped she thought it was a reaction to being bound.

“When he’s better--” Loki didn’t know how much hope he could show for her, on that subject. It was a well he drew from constantly around Steve. But he could try.

“Steve has yet to show me his Brooklyn. And I…” Well, why not? This part was all fantasy, wasn’t it?

“I want to take him to the other realms. Show him the art of each, Vanaheim and Ljosalfheim… they are very beautiful.”

His mobility of his arms, his ability to freely cast, were gone. There were some limited, messy and rough things he could do with this sort of binding, and so long as he could twist his wrist, he could always create a duplicate, hide himself from view until he could struggle out of these ropes.

It was calming, being able to _think_.

And also terrifying, being unable to see what was coming next that might take it away. He could feel his pulse rising and hear his own voice growing higher, even as he spoke of nice things, like travel, and Steve being well again.

  


“Those sound lovely. I’m sure he’ll enjoy that,” she murmured, noting the rising pitch of his voice. She hoped he didn’t forget their safeword; having another meltdown wasn’t the objective here, though making him deal with stress was. It was a fine line -- between distress and utter dissolution -- that they were aiming for.

“You could both probably do with a vacation, when everything is over and done with and Thanos is taken care of,” she added, this time looping rope under his knees and pulling it up to affix to the rope around his hands, tying his wrists to his lap and securing them with a slipknot she could easily remove with a single yank, but which would hold against Loki if he tested it. Assuming he didn’t go full-godly-strength on it.

“Are you with me?” she checked in.

  


“I’m--” he began, trying to respond to her, but his mind and his fear was catching up to him. He couldn’t do any spell-gesturing at all now, couldn’t stand if he needed to, couldn’t run. And suddenly the blindfold was a weight around his face, heavier than made any sense- it felt like it was pulling his head forward, pulling his chin towards his chest. He could feel his body tensing, but not enough to break the bonds, not enough that he would start flailing, struggling-- not enough that he would risk harming Natasha or forget that she was there.

“I am… having difficulty.” He managed to choke out, his voice reedy even to his ears. He sounded distant, too-- face and ears hot as the sound of blood rushing filled his head, a sort of static hum that made him dizzy and only made the panic worse.

  


Natasha began to reach out to cup his face, only to stop short when she realized he might associate that gesture with someone reaching into his head. Instead she rested her hands on the top of his knees, pressing down faintly.

She was prepared for this, this time around.

“Loki,” she said, louder and firm. “When you came in, before we started, I had you look around my apartment. _What color is my couch?”_

  


That made him pause--

The touch, grounding, not trying to pull anything from him, not trying to inflict pain. Just pressing him down, reminding him where he was. But not as much as her words.

It reminded him of Steve, who had always spoken to Loki when he panicked in a tone that was commanding and able to calm, simultaneously.

He was able to draw in a breath, as his mind caught on that, as he was forced to focus.

At long last, he lifted his head a little.

“Grey.” He answered quietly.

Then, “I’m sorry. I’m alright. We can… give me a moment, and we can continue.”

  


“Of course,” she said, keeping her grip firm, not letting her voice show the relief that ran through her when Loki retreated from the brink.

“Think about the room, if it helps,” she added. “Think about this place. Visualize it; fill in the details in your mind’s eye. Feel it around you. And remember -- I’m _not going to hurt you_. This is my home, and I am here with you, and even if you’re tied up, _you’re safe.”_

She didn’t doubt that Steve, if he were better, would be able to reassure Loki even more. But Steve also came to Loki’s mind with baggage and other triggers; Natasha, less so.

  


Loki nodded as she spoke.

“I think it is… it is the being urged to think of something other than my physical helplessness. And… I worry that, even as I grow more in control of this response, able to think of a distraction without urging… it will not matter if they are reaching into my mind. There is a very real possibility of my being both physically and mentally helpless. And I think… I know I am safe here. And thank you. But I will not be when this is real. I worry this is creating a false equivalence.”

It was easier to say so when he did not have to look at her, proving him once more to be weak enough to care and too cowardly to face the effects of his words.

He was already beginning to feel strung out, pulled thin.

But he held on- she had a plan. He wanted to see it through, to have just one of these lessons end well.

He needed that, right now. Needed some small victory in his life that he could claim as his own, pathetic as that sounded, even within his own thoughts.

  


“At the moment, you feel panic, but there is no cause for panic. No real cause, just now,” she told him.

“If Thanos restrains you... there may _still_ be no cause for panic. And certainly no useful reason for it,” she continued. “We already determined he probably needs you and won’t cripple or kill you. If he does, there’s nothing you can do, so panic won’t help. And if he doesn’t, panic has no point and no purpose.”

She rubbed her hands lightly over his knees. “When you’re there, I want you to think of here. Think of the details. The color of the couch; the flavor of the tea; the weave of the rug. Think of those things, and think of being safe. Don’t panic; it won’t help. Just as there’s no point in panicking here. They won’t need to reach into your mind if they don’t think they have a reason to, and they’ll only think they need to if they see you sweating.”

It had been drilled into her since childhood, so even bound and seemingly helpless, she could maintain control of a situation. Turn the tables, and keep her wits about her and the power to determine the outcome.

“I want you to breathe deep. Okay?”

She reached up and behind him, delicately undoing the knot of the blindfold.

  


Panic is not useful.

He nodded, repeating the words in his mind.

He let them fall, one word at a time, in time with his breathing, like water dripping from stone.

Panic is not useful.

And he meant to be useful. So he focused as she said, on the color of the couch, the shape of the teapot, the heft of the cup. Memories of images and sensations that held no real emotion. Neither good nor bad, nothing that the Other would be able to find a use for.

He could feel her move, felt the absence of her hands from his knees, and the way she reached up to the back of his head. He did not flinch this time, and kept his eyes closed, even as the blindfold came away, waiting for her to instruct him otherwise.

  


“Go ahead and open your eyes,” she told him as the blindfold slithered away. “Take it all in. Look at your fear, face it, and acknowledge it. It’s there. The threat may or may not be there. But...”

She let her hands slide forward, gently cradling his face now that he could look and see it was her. “You might be tied up, but you are not powerless. You might be afraid, but you are not useless. And they might test you, but they cannot break you, because while they may have taken you apart, you are _not broken.”_

She nearly hissed the last words, looking him right in the eyes.

  


He opened his eyes, looking straight into hers as he adjusted to the relative brightness of the room.

His throat caught with the emotion behind those words, the certainty that she had, and he suddenly felt as if he was being allowed to see something that not many others had.

Like she was arguing more for herself, or from memory, than directly for him. Or maybe for him as well… she _knew_ what it felt like, this certainty that he had been broken and cobbled back together in some new way.

Not knowing whether what was left was stronger, or weaker, or even up to the task, only knowing that he had to do it whether he was or not.

He breathed in deep, briefly closing his eyes again, just to focus on the feel of her hands on his face, then opened his eyes back up and nodded.

“What I was before, what they made me into, happened because I asked them to. I allowed it. I will not make the same mistake again.” He sounded more sure now, drawing strength from her words, even as he looked down to see what she’d done.

It was just rope. Such a small thing, just threads spun together. Not even enough to stop him if he truly wanted free of it. And it had almost reduced him, again, to a frightened animal. He had to resist the urge to chuckle, because he knew it would be bitter if he did.

“It’s just rope.” He said, looking back to her face, and hoping that communicated enough. It was just rope. Fear was just fear. And panic was useless.

  


The corners of her mouth twitched upward. _I allowed it._ Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t, but right now, that sort of thinking was letting him take control and assume power over the situation. For now, it would do.

“It’s just rope,” she repeated. Then carefully reached around him, almost like a hug, to undo the knot at his spine.

The loops of rope around his chest sagged and slipped down, and it was easy enough to collect and coil the rope, slowly undoing the bindings as he watched. Next, still meeting his eyes, she pulled at the knot that held together the rope around his wrists, and that went slack too, sliding down to the carpet.

“You did good,” she told him, drawing back to give him space as she coiled the rest of the rope to put away. “It’s early days yet, but I think we can call that a success.”

  


It was frankly appalling how good it felt to hear that.

And maybe it was the combined relief of, for once, this not going wrong and the ropes coming off, but Loki felt, for a brief moment, as though he could float.

He came back to himself pretty quickly, though, when his first thought was to be excited to tell Steve how well it had gone, and then the very next thought was that he hadn’t told Steve he was here for this at all.

Which suddenly reminded him of how long he’d been gone.

“I-- thank you, Natasha.” He felt oddly formal, saying it, but he meant it, and it seemed the best way to express just how _much_ he meant it.

He felt as if the hair on his arms was standing on end from the contact, and he wondered if that had been intentional on her part. He’d told her, after all. About Steve.

They all knew.

Either way, he was grateful, and exhausted, but glad.

And now his responsibility to his partner was beginning to make him feel guilty.

“I should get back, though. I’m not sure how long Clint was able to make excuses to stay without it seeming obvious that he was minding Steve, and I don’t want to leave him alone for too long.”

He winced at the thought of the shape his partner’s poor hands had been in, last he’d seen. He didn’t want anything else like that to happen.

Glancing around the room, he saw that she’d already gotten the ropes put away, but he felt bad about leaving her to clean everything up.

And, with all the talk of what Thanos had done, the way he’d damaged Loki’s seidhr, however temporarily, however long ago, he still felt an itch to use it. To prove to himself he _could_.

So he sent the teapot and cups to the sink to wash themselves, giving her a sideways grin.

“I will see you soon, I hope. In fact, I will make an effort to see to it I do.”

Natasha nodded at him.

“You better.”

They did not embrace, but he did not feel the lack of it as he would have, had the day gone differently. Instead, he changed back into herself, sent one last smile over her shoulder, and left.

 

Back on her own floor, she did not knock before opening the door to her apartment, aware that she was not supposed to know Clint was there, or had been, and so she had to act as if it was just another day, as if she left often for social visits, even though her stomach twisted knowing that allowing Steve to think that was what it was meant she was lying to him.

And also because he must think her selfish, thinking that was all it was.

She was admittedly a little surprised to find Clint still there, casually watching television in their living room. But not as surprised as she was to see Steve asleep, Lucky stretched out on him, with Steve’s fingers buried in his fur where he’d apparently fallen asleep petting him.

“Is he--” She wasn’t sure how to ask how it had come about, and she was worried about the weight of the dog, when Steve was so thin and so easily hurt, but… he looked so happy she almost couldn’t bring herself to question it.

“Uh, hey. Welcome back?” Clint said, sitting up straighter.

She felt bad, too, that he was not as comfortable around her as he’d clearly been while she was gone.

“Thank you. It’s… good to see you. And Lucky, of course.” She spoke carefully, in case Steve was not truly asleep. She knew he often lay with his eyes closed, she thought to avoid worrying her, but she hadn’t asked. Either way, she knew there was a chance he was listening.

“Yeah, brought him over after his walk, so he could visit. Turns out Steve took a shining to him, they’ve been napping for nearly an hour now.”

Clint’s mouth was slanted up fondly, and the expression was nearly contagious; Loki found herself echoing it.

“And you’ve been amusing yourself since.” She motioned to the television, and she saw Clint glance over.

“Yeah, well, we turned that on while Steve was still awake. Do you know he’d never seen _Dog Cops_?” He spoke as if that was the most horrific thing to have happened in Steve’s life, despite the glaring evidence to the contrary that was written on every line of his body.

Which, she reflected, was probably good for Steve.

“Well, I am glad to see you’ve remedied that situation.” She told him, mock gravely. “Ah… I do have some things to do, but you are welcome to continue watching, if you like.” She glanced over at Steve and Lucky, never having been jealous of a dog, before, but she pushed that feeling away.

“I would offer to help you retrieve Lucky, but I’m afraid Steve sleeps so poorly, I’m hesitant to do anything that would wake him. Or… if you have things to do, I can always bring Lucky back to you when they do wake?”

She felt a bit silly, pressuring him into leaving his dog, and a little bad for making it sound as though they wanted Lucky more than him, but the way he felt about being here with her was more than obvious in the way he sat, the way he looked. Nervous, uncomfortable.

She’d hoped they would be past that, having fought together, having had one another’s backs, but she could not blame him for that not being the case. He deserved every breath of space that he wanted between them.

Clint stood and stretched, and she gave him room and time to decide.

“Yeah, I have a couple of errands to run. Needed to visit Nat. Just have JARVIS ping me when Steve’s up. Or uh-- you have my number?” He sounded even more awkward at that, but Loki gratefully passed him her phone, to add himself to her contacts.

“Thank you, Clint. Truly. And I promise, the second I can, I will pay you back for the loan of your dog.”

Clint flapped his hand dismissively at her and shoved his feet back into the boots he’d taken off.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you in a couple hours, tops.”

She let him out before returning to the living room to look down on her partner, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, in spite of her jealousy. Lucky opened one watery brown eye, tongue lolling out of his mouth lazily.

“Good dog.” She whispered to him, turning away to return to her room.

But the image of Steve, sleeping so peacefully while in contact with something else-- not a human person, but a living thing, was burned into her mind.

And it was good.

She lay on her mattress, hoping to take a little nap of her own, grateful that it seemed both she and Steve had made some progress, had won some small victories, that day.

They needed more days like those.

 


	82. Eighty-Two

The following morning, Steve was down several floors attending physical therapy -- at Dr. Ortega’s insistence that if he insisted on exerting himself he’d at least do so under professional supervision -- and the apartment was quiet.

Until JARVIS piped up with an invitation to the current occupant.

“ _Pardon, but Miss Potts wishes to know if you’d be willing to join her for breakfast in the penthouse.”_

  
  


Loki hesitated.

There was nothing else for her to do, so that wasn’t the issue, but she also hadn’t seen anyone since their ill fated dinner, and she wasn’t certain what more she could say about it, beyond the apologies she’d asked JARVIS to deliver the next day.

Still, putting it off wouldn’t make it better, or easier. Best, she supposed, to get it over with.

“I am.” She answered aloud for the benefit of Stark’s system. “Tell her I shall be along in a few minutes.”

She looked down at herself and hurried off to change into the top that Pepper had sent down for her. She’d braided her hair the night before for practicality, and she knew that taking it out now would result in a mess, so she decided that this was as good as it would get.

She left a note, just in case Steve returned before she did, then, after another brief hesitation, spoke up to JARVIS.

“JARVIS? Can you alert me when Steve is on his way back from his session with Doctor Ortega, please?”

“ _Of course.”_

She thanked him, took a deep breath, huffed it out as a sigh, and headed for the elevator, hoping she had enough strength to manage one morning without bleeding on all of their common friends.

She knew Steve must be uncomfortable, now, with the thought of her spending time with any of them, knowing they must ask questions.

She hoped she managed to beat him back.

She could try, anyway.

The doors opened with their usual cheerful ding, and she stepped out, heading straight for the kitchen, knowing Pepper would more than likely be there.

  
  


Pepper looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps and smiled in relief.

“Oh thank goodness,” she declared as Loki approached. “I was supposed to have a breakfast meeting, had food delivered, and then the distributors I was supposed to be meeting with cancelled on me.”

She gestured to the spread on the table -- assorted fresh fruit in appealing arrangements, light and fluffy pastries, and a plate of fancy imported jams and spreads.

If she was surprised that Loki was still in her female form -- despite not being accompanied by Steve -- she didn’t show it. Instead she crossed over to Loki and looked her up and down, smiling at the blouse she recognized. “It definitely suits you,” she remarked. “Can I get you tea? Juice?” She knew better by now than to offer coffee.

  
  


She gaped at the spread, confused until Pepper explained.

She shook herself out of it and gave Pepper a smile.

“Thank you, and tea would be lovely- though I am happy to make it for myself if you’d rather see to your coffee?”

She stifled the disappointment she felt when Pepper approached, but held back from hugging her. No doubt a side effect of the uncertainty of their parting. But she was no more owed _her_ touch than Steve’s.

If compliments were to be the gentleness exchanged in its stead, then she was already falling behind.

“One has to marvel- here you are, put together, proper, beautiful, your breakfast much the same, and I was yet in pajamas when you called down.”

All of which was the truth, the pajamas one more change she’d made of late, given Steve’s discomfort and the likelihood that at some point she would be woken in the night and made to go running, either for him or for help, or both.

“One day I shall learn your secret, and then…”

She trailed off, unsure how to finish that didn’t make it sound like she might give ruling this world another try. She shrugged-- no doubt Pepper could and would fill in the blank with something more benign. She seemed better suited than Loki for such thoughts.

  
  


Pepper rolled her eyes. “Trust me, if I hadn’t had a work meeting, I’d still be in pajamas too,” she assured her. “Frankly, it would be preferable. And I have another meeting in forty-five minutes with Human Resources about some contract updates, so I have to be put together for that. But I figured in the meantime...”

She crossed over to the stove, putting on the kettle, “I figured we could at least make a dent in the food and I could catch up with a friend before I have to deal with paperwork.” Smiling, she fetched two mugs from the cabinet.

“Speaking of which--” she hesitated, smile fading, “how _are_ you?”

  
  


Loki shrugged a little helplessly, but fixed a smile on her face.

“Well enough. I’ve resumed training with Natasha- for my use of the scepter. It went better this time.” She wasn’t sure if Pepper knew of the failures that had come before this, but considering how much she ran this business, and how interlinked the security seemed to be, there was the very real chance that she did. So it wouldn’t hurt to reassure, just in case.

“How are you? Aside from your business of frantically running from one meeting to the next in unenviable heels?”

  
  


Pepper nodded. Tony had told her about the Avengers’ plans with the scepter, and while she wasn’t thrilled about having it under their roof, she also had some concept of the scope of the threat they faced. And if Loki was training, well. Preparation was generally a smart thing.

“I’m doing okay. The company is expanding its renewable energy initiatives, so I’ve got all kinds of regulatory headaches right now, but it’ll be worth it to see SI putting a huge dent in the global carbon output. We’ve been rolling out renewable energy tech in all our own facilities -- the tower itself is totally off the grid and produces its own power -- and we’ve reduced our carbon footprint 98% in the last 4 years,” she explained, fetching some small plates for their breakfast and setting them on the table.

“It was... challenging, sometimes,” she admitted, “working for Tony when he produced weapons. I did all kinds of mental gymnastics to justify it of course, but the truth was, I wasn’t always comfortable with what we did. I drafted my resignation half a dozen times, but...” she shook her head, dishing herself up some fruit, which was thankfully devoid of strawberries. “There was Stark Industries, and then there was _Tony._ And I couldn’t abandon the latter.”

  
  


She was able to follow perhaps half of that, but by the end she was able to translate that to, ‘Happier, now, on the road I’m on.’

“It’s good you did not. I think he would attempt to balance Steve’s seventy year unplanned nap with not sleeping for the same amount of time, if you weren’t here. And I can only imagine where the company would be without your guidance. And where I would be. I am very glad not to have to find out.”

Aware of her friend’s time constraint, she followed her back to the table and began dishing herself as well.

She wondered, as she was wont to do, though she knew most of them would be horrified if they knew that she did, whether or not the way Pepper had said that was pointed or not.

She couldn’t abandon Tony. Did she suppose there was any chance of Loki abandoning Steve?

It had never been an option, nor even a wish, as far as she was concerned, but she knew that after dinner the other night… she would have reassuring to do for all of them.

And not much time to do it in.

“I did want to apologize for… how dinner went. I meant to do it in person, but…” But she was a coward, so she hadn’t. She crooked one side of her lips upwards instead. “I suppose I can do that now, at least.”

It wasn’t precisely an invitation for questions, but she knew that if Pepper meant to ask, they would follow, now the subject had been broached.

  
  


Pepper chuckled softly. “You’re probably right about Tony and the sleep thing,” she noted at Loki’s observation. Though there was an undercurrent of something bittersweet. Tony had come so close to self-destructing so many times, even with her there to forcibly drag him back from the edge. The thought of how badly he might have spiralled if she’d left... It made something clench inside her, and she lowered the piece of melon she’d been about to bite into back to her plate, instead moving to fetch the tea bags.

She frowned though, at Loki’s apology. “You have nothing to apologize for,” she assured her, bringing back the tea and reaching out to rest a hand on Loki’s arm. “I should be apologizing. I should have given Steve more space. The whole thing was my idea and I take responsibility for it going south.”

Pursing her lips, she wondered if Loki’s absence since that night had been out of shame. “How is Steve doing?”

  
  


Loki shook her head, unable to stomach the thought of Pepper blaming herself.

“You aren’t to blame in the least.” She reassured her, patting at the hand on her arm a bit awkwardly. “You could not have known. _I_ didn’t know.” And that was a confession of culpability in its own right.

As for the other, well. She still did not know.

He was… avoiding her. It felt safe to say as much, now. Not that she would, of course.

“He did not take his… failing, I suppose, to his own mind, well. But he is doing better, slowly. Clint came to visit him yesterday, and apparently Steve is comfortable touching Lucky, so.” She shrugged, pulling on a smile.

“Progress.”

She pulled herself away from Pepper’s touch and sat, placing a pastry onto her plate, hoping that the physical distance might cause a topical one, as well.

  
  


Pepper’s brow furrowed; she wasn’t sure what ‘not taking it well’ entailed, but she suspected the past day or two hadn’t been easy.

She made a mental note to look into therapy dog programs in the area, at the mention of Steve being able to touch Clint’s dog.

“A lot of people have an easier time with animals than with other people, especially if they’ve been through trauma,” she observed, getting the kettle and pouring hot water into their mugs before bringing them over. “I’m no expert, but I’d think that would be a good sign, at least.”

  
  


“It does seem that way.” She agreed, this smile a good deal more real. “He seemed so happy-- I was almost sad to have to return Lucky to Clint. I wonder if I oughtn’t offer to find a dog of our own for Steve, though… at current, the walks and care of one would draw me away from him for longer than I’d like.”

Still, that seemed a small price for him to look as peaceful and happy as he had when she’d returned. It was worth bringing up, she supposed.

“And… what of the others?” She hadn’t heard much after Steve had left and before she did, but she knew they hadn’t all left right away. So with any luck, the rest of the dinner had gone well enough.

“The rest-- I’ve seen Clint and Natasha, but how is everyone else?”

  
  


“Mmm.” Pepper dipped a bag of oolong into her cup. “A dog is a big commitment. Might be something to talk about once he’s on more stable footing. But I can look into canine therapy programs in the Manhattan area... see if any of them would be willing to do volunteer work in the tower in exchange for charitable support.” One of the perks of being CEO was a great deal of discretion and choice as far as how she gave away Tony’s money.

And she got to give away a delightful amount of it.

“Well, things wound down pretty quickly after you two needed to leave,” she admitted with a small wince, selecting a croissant from the basket on the table. “I haven’t seen much of Jane since -- she’s been in the lab. I ran into Thor the other day but we didn’t chat for long, I was on my way to a shareholders’ conference. And as for Tony--”

“--My ears are burning. You talking about me, Pep?”

As if summoned, Tony rounded the corner, hair standing up in mussed spikes, still in his pajama pants. He eyed the breakfast spread with surprise and delight, bending as he approached to give Pepper a quick peck on the cheek as he snagged an eclair. “What, you didn’t wake me for breakfast?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “After you didn’t come to bed until 5am? I expected you to sleep at least until noon.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Just needed a power nap. J, coffee?” The last was addressed to the ceiling.

“ _Coming right up, Sir.”_

  
  


She watched the way Tony practically floated into the room, and braced for him to say something, something flippant and hurtful, more likely than not.

Likely about the subject she was trying to move away from.

“Good morning, Tony.” She offered mildly, beginning the process of steeping her own tea, following Pepper’s lead.

As it sat, the curls of brown beginning to spiral outwards through the clear hot water, she tore the pastry in two, toying with it out of nerves before actually putting it in her mouth.

It was a croissant, much like the one Steve had brought him when he’d been in the cell. Only this had a line of chocolate running in a seam along the bottom, and the ends of it had been dipped in it, as well.

Nearly more dessert than breakfast, she thought, not that that was an objection.

“Pepper was just catching me up on the news of the tower, while Steve is in therapy downstairs.”

  
  


Tony blinked in surprise. “Therapy, huh?” he asked, crossing over to rummage in the cabinets for a mug. “That’s... huh. Good. I mean, makes sense.”

Pepper tilted her head. “I didn’t realize you’d settled on a counselor. But I’m glad to hear that.” She peeled a flaky piece of croissant away and began to lightly butter it. Behind her, she could hear the coffee maker hiss and gurgle, the smell of dark roast joining the softer aroma of baked goods.

  
  


“Did you not? He is with Doctor Ortega. They told him off for working himself too hard, and insisted if he was going to be pushing himself, he ought to do it under supervision.” Secretly, she was glad of that. Perhaps it would tire him, so that he did not have energy to do anything destructive, and more, it would provide him with a concrete way of feeling he was improving.

Still, she would have liked to have been there.

“But it is good, I think. I hope it helps him to feel better about.” She gestured, moving her hand down her body, hoping that explained without her having to lay words to it. She had a feeling they would come out wrong, otherwise.

  
  


“Doctor Or--” Pepper blinked as the reality of the situation dawned on her. “Ah. _Physical_ therapy.” That made sense. Though she wondered if Loki was aware of the different meanings of the word. “That’s good to hear too.” Steve’s physical recovery was still important. Though given his meltdown at dinner, she hoped he’d pursue psychological help as well.

Not that she was really in any position to push that. She could provide resources, but ultimately, it wasn’t her call to make. She was a friend; not a partner, the way she was to Tony.

And she had plenty to worry about with Tony. He’d been distracted the last few days, and despite his chipper attitude this morning, she could see the strained edges to his smile, and the dark bags beneath his eyes. The scant hours of sleep he’d grabbed were hardly enough.

Not that she was likely to get him to go back to bed, now that he had a mug of coffee in his hand that he was working on downing as fast as he could without scalding himself. “You’re not heading back down to the lab already, are you?” she asked, frowning. She understood the long, obsessive hours while Steve was missing. Now, however...

“Mm,” Tony grunted. “Janey’s got more numbers she wants to look at. Was texting me about it until 2am, which I think is when that Darcy kid took her phone away.”

Pepper gave him a hard look. “She’s texting you at _2am?_ ”

“Well, Bruce gets mean and green without his beauty sleep, and I was up anyway with...” He trailed off, glancing at Loki and finishing his coffee. “Anyway. What about you, Lo? Been a while since we’ve seen you in the lab levels. You’re leaving _Team Weird Science_ a man down. Or, woman. Person. Individual.”

  
  


Loki stiffened, startled, then grimaced into her tea.

“Of course-- I’m sorry. I did promise to supply you any seidhr you needed for your tests, and to speak more with Jane about it. Ah… if there is a time you would prefer, I can make arrangements--” She glanced at Pepper, trying to judge whether she would be added to the list of people who deserved that narrowed eyed look, for volunteering.

Just for good measure, she added on, “And I have to say, when Darcy is the voice of reason, it may be past time the two of you are in bed.”

Though she wondered what Thor thought-- if he cared for Jane the way Pepper took care of Tony. If he had learned enough to be capable of it, or if she was… neglected, in that area.

Or not neglected; after all, she had Darcy.

Then again… if they wanted to experiment, perhaps the best time would be very late at night. At least Steve seemed always to be asleep then. Or if he wasn’t, she thought bitterly, he wasn’t going to tell her. Or miss her, most likely.

But that was something she might volunteer out of Pepper’s earshot.

  
  


Pepper sniffed, sipping her tea. “Hear hear,” she remarked dryly. Then, under her breath, “ _voice of reason,_ ” in a dismayed mutter.

Behind her, Tony scratched his neck, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I mean, I’m sure Jane would love to look at your magic, but I mostly meant... you know. We got used to having you around.” He finished off his coffee. “Don’t get me wrong, I get that you wanna catch up on your Steve-time, no hard feelings there at all. But if you need to get out and flex your brain a bit...”

  
  


A sudden, pleased smile stole across her face, and transformed quite quickly into a smirk.

“Why Stark, if I didn’t know better I would say you miss my sour commentary.”

She couldn’t imagine he’d been at all pleasant to be around, living under that ever tightening tension of Steve being missing. But it was true; he’d spent so much time around all of them, or… well, nearly all of them, the whole time that he was gone. It felt strange and perhaps doubly lonely now that he was back, because of it.

Not that she would ever lay voice to that thought, either. It was hurtful even to think it.

“I would like to get out of our rooms more.” She darted a glance at Pepper. “And I have not forgotten the shopping trip that has been… indefinitely delayed. For the time being though…” She trailed off, not wanting to share with them the truth of Steve punishing himself, harming himself. Natasha and she both knew, and she was sure that to his mind they were two people too many as it was.

“Perhaps if he continues going to his therapy with Doctor Ortega, I might be--” She had almost said free, and it was the wrong word. “-- _available_ ,” she offered, trying to recover as smoothly as possible, “A little more often.”

  
  


Tony snorted. “Maybe I’m just interested to see how you are doing science without a stick up your ass,” he countered. But there was no venom in it, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

The truth was, he kinda did miss Loki. Or at least, the sense of drive and purpose and intensity he’d brought to their work -- if not any good humor or anything approaching a decent attitude. At least while Steve had been missing.

Hell, he missed the Loki from before then too; he’d been coming around even then to his ex-homicidal houseguest.

“I have a business trip out of the country next week,” Pepper spoke up, “but let me know via JARVIS when you’d like to go out, either before or after, and I’ll see about clearing some room in my schedule.”

And of course, that set off something fond in Tony’s chest. Because of course, in the middle of running a company and changing the world and generally being a high-powered Fortune-500 saint, Pep also somehow found the time to take care of sad sacks like Loki and him.

He was lucky and he knew it.

“Well, I’m gonna throw some pants on and head down,” he declared, tossing out the uneaten half of the eclair he’d snagged earlier. “Had J compiling some programs while I slept, they oughta be done by now. But feel free to swing by when you’re done with breakfast. Or, you know, whenever,” he told Loki. “Janey’s been going on about Dark Matter or something for a couple days now and I’ll be honest, theoretical astrophysics? Not my area. Sure she’d love to pick your brain.”

  
  


It was all oddly reserved for Stark, she reflected, but perhaps that was not surprising, given how dinner had ended.

And he hadn’t even asked about it-- which suggested either immense restraint on his part, or distraction.

She nodded.

“I will come down when I am done here. If only for a few minutes.”

She still wanted to beat Steve back, if possible, so that he wouldn’t feel like she only left when he wasn’t around. She didn’t want to make him feel guilty. But she also didn’t want to leave him alone in their rooms, in case the therapy was not going well.

She looked to Pepper and gave her a reassuring grin.

“And I will bring some of this food down with me, so that they will eat while their minds are too busy to notice what their hands are doing. As for shopping-- let me speak with Clint. Perhaps he can bring Lucky by, and then I may be somewhat more flexible about when I can go out. Only let me know what works best for you.”

  
  


It sounded from the way Loki talked that Steve needed constant supervision. Which was... alarming. But still, outside the realm of what she had a right to stick her nose in, so she held her tongue on the matter. “Sounds good. And please do take it,” Pepper urged. “I’d hate to see it go to waste.” And there was the possibility that the lure of free breakfast would bring others into the lab to hopefully keep an eye on Tony, with whatever it was preoccupying him. Food was good for that.

“Jarv, I expect you to hold Lokes here to that,” Tony announced, before giving Pepper a final squeeze to the shoulder. “See you later,” he called heading to the elevators.

Watching him leave, Pepper sipped her tea and sighed. Then she returned her attention to Loki. “Much as I hate the circumstances that forced it, I do think it was good for him to be working in the lab with all of you. Tony’s never been good at playing with others, least of all when it comes to his projects -- I think that might have been unprecedented.”

  
  


Loki inclined her head, almost embarrassed.

“I suppose it was much the same with me. And I am certain I was not good company when we were working together, but progress was made just the same. And I have to admit that, working to find Steve did force me into being… somewhat more social than I had been. It has been… strange, I suppose, adjusting to being around less people, again.”

Which was as close as she would come to saying it was lonely.

It was not Steve’s fault. She didn’t want anyone to think that, or to think she did.

“But truly, taking food down and answering some questions, while I can, it will be no hardship. I have… perhaps missed it a bit, myself.”

Much like she’d missed the chance to go out with Pepper, missed all of the time spent outside of the tower.

Still, the trade off was worth it. She was sure of that.

  
  


Pepper regarded Loki thoughtfully. From what she’d seen, Steve’s company was... well. Not what it had been. And if Loki was effectively exiling herself into being his caretaker...

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to realize how much closer you grew to the team in his absence,” she said. “And proud.” She had to wonder if Steve’s willingness to accept the invitation to dinner before he was ready had been for Loki’s sake, to get her out and among the others. Though without having much opportunity to see him or spend time with him, it was hard to know what his frame of mind was.

“If it would help, I’d be happy to swing down and visit you in your home,” she decided to offer. If Loki was worried about leaving Steve (which was understandable, given what had happened), perhaps that would be an acceptable compromise. “We can do some online shopping together.”

  
  


She bit her lip, considering.

“I would love to have you,” She said slowly, “But with Steve… I believe it depends on the day. He is very much… there are times when he cannot have guests. Which is part of why I was so surprised that he accepted your invitation to dinner.”

_You should stay._

She remembered him saying it, after she’d tried to follow him. After he’d run from the table.

He hadn’t come upstairs for the food, nor for the social opportunity-- he’d barely spoken, and he’d spent so much time shrinking from touch. He hadn’t been comfortable, even before the salt spilled. (And she still wasn’t sure of the significance of that, but asking seemed out of the question, and so she swallowed her curiosity.)

Still, that left the primary reason he’d come up as...herself. To give her a chance to see the others, to try and prove that they were okay.

She took a deep breath.

“You should absolutely come and visit, if you have time free. Just… send a message first?”

She didn’t want to cut herself off, but she wanted to be considerate, as well. It was Steve’s home, too, and she didn’t want him to feel intruded upon.

Especially since, without her room being set up, she would have to entertain Pepper in the common areas… and if Steve didn’t want to be around, that would banish him to _his_ room.

Which seemed unfair.

Almost as unfair as the time she was taking up now.

“You should eat more, if you can, before you have to run. I know you don’t have long, but perhaps Tony is not the only one who needs to be reminded, mm?”

  
  


Pepper snorted delicately. “Trust me, for my non-super metabolism? This is plenty, provided I want to still fit in all my skirts.” Still, she took a few more pieces of fruit to nibble on. “And I’ll absolutely call down first to see if you’re busy or if it’s an okay time,” she assured.

Pepper knew diplomacy, after all.

The rest of the conversation managed to steer toward fairly banal smalltalk, with Pepper explaining one of the initiatives she was presently spearheading and the aggravation of dealing with the crotchety old rich men of the board. When she next glanced at the clock, it was with a sigh.

“Speaking of, I ought to be going,” she announced, getting to her feet and moving her mug and plate to the sink.

  
  


Loki had been nodding along, soaking in the easy warmth that Pepper gave off, even with a table between them.

“Go.” She urged her. “I’ll have the dishes see to themselves. Good luck with the dour and decrepit.”

She stood too, chancing a quick hug, before stepping back and out of Pepper’s way, so she could allow her to escape to her next meeting.

Even just this little- the forty five minutes with Pepper, coming upstairs, the pastries and fruit-- it all felt refreshing. Felt good.

She wished she could share it with Steve, or that she thought he would benefit from it, but this seemed to be the center of so many of his anxieties right now. So better that she do this alone until he was ready. She just needed to be sure to leave the door open to him.

In the meantime, she rearranged the pastries so that more of them were on a single plate, and did the same with the fruit, lifting a dish of each in either hand.

She made her way down to the lab, only a little sad to have abandoned her tea, and hesitated outside of the door, composing herself to answer Jane and Tony’s questions about Steve, next.

That was one benefit of seeing everyone together; not having to repeat yourself endlessly.

  
  


“I’m saying that _these_ numbers were definitely stolen from SHIELD, but for them to have _these_ ones, either you have a massive security breach, or--”

Tony cut Jane’s insistent rant off when he heard the door open, throwing his hands in the air. “Lokes!” he shouted, louder than need be, earning a scowl from Jane that he felt slightly bad about. But he needed a break. “Not even a hobbit, and you’re bringing us second breakfast. Glad you made it down. I take it Pep’s in a meeting?”

Bruce, who had been staring at several screens of data in pensive silence, turned and offered Loki a careworn smile. “Hey.”

  
  


She almost flinched, so used to the quiet now, but  managed to avoid spilling the food she bore.

‘I don’t know what a hobbit is.” She said levelly, “But I assume I should be offended.” Still, she pulled on a smile and glanced around.

Much had been added to the lab since the last time she was there, which she supposed was not surprising, considering all that they had recovered from the various HYDRA bases, and also the way that Tony liked to buy, build, and modify.

“How are you three doing? It has been.. A bit.”

Though her gaze lingered on Bruce, who hadn’t been at dinner the other night, and who looked… almost as exhausted as Tony, actually.

  
  


“No hobbits? Huh. Woulda thought with the elves and the dwarves, it wouldn’t be that much of a longshot,” Tony rambled, snagging another pastry from one of the plates Loki lowered and taking a large bite. “Orcs? Are those a thing? Or-- hey, maybe if we can get giant eagles to help us deus-ex-machina this whole Thanos thing--”

Bruce cleared his throat. “We’re doing alright. On top of everyone’s separate projects, we’ve been working together on all this. Er. Piecing through a lot of the tech and data recovered from HYDRA when we were searching for Steve, trying to figure out what they were up to.”

“And how the hell they got their grubby nazi-collaborating hands on my numbers,” Jane grumbled, snatching up and tearing the wrapper off a muffin with near-violence.

  
  


She remembered she’d found evidence to suggest as much before, when they had been going through the things they’d first brought back, looking for clues about Steve, but Loki had to admit she hadn’t paid much attention then. Too distracted by her own guilt and fear for her partner.

“What numbers are those?” She asked, circling around and bringing the fruit bowl closer to Bruce’s reach while simultaneously ignoring Tony’s questions about various peoples from other realms.

“Have you found more than before? Because we did find at least one of SHIELD’s defectors, but he was a guard last I knew. He stood guard outside of my cell. He didn’t seem the type to know what numbers were important, let alone how to use them.”

And perhaps knowing more of what had been taken from SHIELD, like the seidhr dampeners, would give a better idea of who they ought to be scrutinizing, within the organization.

Such information would be a good way of repaying both Agent Carter and Fury.

  
  


“The ones SHIELD stole, for starts,” Darcy announced as she came through the door, holding a tray of coffees from Starbucks in her hands. “At least, I’m assuming it’s those numbers, since you haven’t shut up about them in, oh, two and a half years,” she mused, setting the drinks down and looking sideways at Loki, then doing a doubletake.

“ _Those_ numbers, yeah, sure,” Jane continued with a wave of her hand. “I mean, I _knew_ SHIELD obviously copied all my data when they stole it, and if they were infiltrated, it stands to reason that data got spread. But hell, I published at least half those findings in the article I submitted to half a dozen peer-review journals with my initial observations last year. That’s no surprise. But these--” And here she pulled up a large quantity of equations on one of Tony’s holographic displays, “weren’t published. And these--” more of those numbers were highlighted at a touch, “are from data SHIELD never had access to.”

“But HYDRA apparently did,” Bruce supplied, mainly for Loki’s benefit.

“Which Janey here figures is somehow JARVIS’ fault,” Tony grumbled, defensive.

“I’m just saying,” she argued, “they wouldn’t have been accessible from many places, but the tower network would be one of the few.”

  
  


“So HYDRA has been in our home.” Loki said, unable to put any tone into her voice.

Bad enough that Steve was hurting, and bad enough that some of those here had seen. The idea that others were watching, those who would delight in it, those who would be _laughing_ \--

She clenched her fist, hiding the motion as much as she was able.

“Steve cannot know.” She said firmly.

She did not want him to feel any more insecure than he did, any more self conscious.   
He didn’t even want _her_ to see.

“Do we have any way of discovering _how_? Or what they have found?”

  
  


“We don’t even know they got it from here!” Tony countered. “And they probably _didn’t_ \-- I have much better security than SHIELD does. And given how often I’ve hacked them, I’d know. SI has some of the tightest infosec on the planet. Which is more than I can say for Tromso University or wherever you were staying in London.”

“Except these numbers _here_ , I didn’t have when I was in London,” Jane replied, highlighting a specific set of figures and equations. “I took these when...” She hesitated, glancing at Loki. “Um. When Thor went to ask Heimdall to look for Steve.”

“Suggesting that HYDRA got the data from Jane while she was here,” Bruce acknowledged, mouth forming a grim line.

“Um. Unless they got those readings on their own?” Darcy piped up.

The others turned and looked at her.

“I mean, Jane’s obviously the leading expert on this stuff, but SHIELD took her gear too when they yoinked everything back in New Mexico,” she pointed out. “Maybe they recorded how you built all that too. I mean, it’s just the raw data, right? They might have measured it on their own...” She trailed off, slightly less confident than she usually appeared, glancing between them. “Seems more likely than them hacking the Tower of Nerd, is all I’m saying.”

“ _Thank you,”_ Tony grumbled. “Someone with _sense.”_

  
  


Loki blinked, looking back and forth between them.

“What does bifrost travel matter to HYDRA? Heimdall will not answer their call.” She felt fairly dismissive about that one. “And if they plan to try to harness the power while it is open for a few spare moments…” She shook her head.

“It seems like a waste of their scientists’ time, considering they have so much from Steve.” Or at least, she assumed. She realized she hadn’t asked, nor had anyone told her. But then, what could _she_ do with the information, anyway?

Aside from growing agitated.

  
  


“That is the million dollar question,” Tony admitted grimly. “They, ah. They have research on Steve, that’s there too. But on top of that...”

“We have a lot of tech schematics,” Bruce said, bringing up a file on his tablet and passing it to Loki. “HYDRA’s science and tech departments have been busy. Some of it obviously for practical applications. The quinjet ones they must’ve had before the attack on Bryant park. There’s the gauntlets Schultz had, which we found on site. The magic suppression tech. And a lot of other gear SHIELD had, like the phase two weapon specs.” His mouth twisted unhappily.

“Beyond that, they seem really interested in energy sources,” Tony added. “They were building those power cells based on the scepter in that base we raided. And we know they screwed around with the Tesseract a whole lot back in the war...” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe that’s why they’re interested in the bifrost?”

“It does take a tremendous amount of energy to create an Einstein-Rosen bridge,” Jane murmured. Then she brought up several images on the display. “But maybe they’re not just interested in energy. Maybe--” Up popped photos of the half-built Tesseract portal they found in England, modeled after the one from SHIELD’s destroyed New Mexico base. “Maybe they’re looking to go somewhere?”

  
  


Loki snorted none too daintily.

“How convenient for us if they are-- they would never survive in another realm. These weapons--” She gestured at the screens. “We have been fighting with similar technologies for millennia. I doubt they will take that into account, in their plans to invade. And if we are especially lucky, their design will rip them to shreds before they ever leave Midgard at all.”

It was disquieting, though, she had to admit. Had they been finished building this, how far flung would her search for Steve have become? Provided, of course, that it had worked.

  
  


“Well, that would solve our problem nicely if they just shot themselves all off into space and got themselves killed,” Tony mused. And given what he’d seen on some of the tapes...

Well. He wouldn’t feel bad about anyone from HYDRA meeting that fate. Not even a little.

“Maybe,” Jane mumbled, appearing less convinced. “But some of these calculations-- they don’t make sense. Unless...” She trailed off, then started scribbling on a bit of scrap paper, furiously writing down equations, occasionally scrolling through the HYDRA files with a fervent gleam in her eyes.

A few seconds passed, then Darcy spoke up: “Whelp. She’s gone off to science land. Remind her to eat in a few hours.” She sipped her coffee and grabbed a bunch of grapes from the plate of fruit. “Besides Jane’s numbers and all those power sources, anything else the bad guys are up to that you found?”

Tony hesitated. Bruce jumped in to fill the awkward silence: “There’s a lot of manifestos, documents that date back to the 40’s. Given all the writings I’ve had to read by Red Skull that they had where he’s ranting on about global domination, I wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted to expand beyond just Earth.”

  
  


“Wanting and being capable of it are two very different things. But if you find in your work that they have made significant progress… it may be something to talk to Thor about. We will have to find the proper way of couching it to Asgard, and we will have to ensure they know it is a small group of extremists, and not that all of Midgard is a potential threat. But from there, it will be easier to reach the other realms. They should be warned, but we do not want to invite a preemptive strike.”

The politics and realities of Midgard being able to travel would be new, and would need to be established quickly, through treaties and trades.

Once, she knew she would have been a good candidate to lead such talks, but as many now thought she was dead, some who didn’t wanted her that way, and the ever present threat of Thanos…

“I feel it would be wise to see to it that someone on our side complete the designs first.” She frowned, caught on that.

“Is there any evidence that they were working on it more places than that one? That they had more than one?”

She wanted to offer to go through things, as well, to offer her time at least, but she couldn’t be here as much as she had been before, and she did not want anything of HYDRA’s in their apartment. For Steve’s sake.

  
  


“Christ. International politics. We should probably get Carter and company in to handle that,” Tony grumbled, running a hand back through his hair.

“If the alternative is _your_ diplomacy, I’m inclined to agree,” Bruce replied, sipping his tea; but though his tone was light, his brow furrowed. “The last thing we need is to invite _another_ alien invasion.” And at that, he glanced apologetically toward Loki with a small, sheepish smile. _No hard feelings,_ the expression sought to say.

“Far as what they were working on and where -- all we have is the data from the cells we busted up,” Tony said, bringing up a huge array of files, separated out into different spheres, on the holographic display. “They operate in distinct cells, presumably so if one gets exposed, we don’t find out _everything_ they’re up to. Which is damn inconvenient of them. It’s possible that the math was worked on in more than one place, I’m still cataloguing everything, but the UK site is the only one we recovered engineering material from. And frankly, it wasn’t in the best shape.”

  
  


She only nodded at Bruce, relieving him of whatever guilt or discomfort he felt, bringing up her invasion, but grimaced in his direction at Tony’s comment about the UK site being their only reference.

“I’m sorry for not saving you more of the place that we found Steve in. I imagine it would be somewhat helpful to you in this.”

She tried to remember, the memories both oddly disjointed and somehow incredibly sharp.

“I recall the earthquake gauntlets, but I did not see anything like a portal there. Then again, I did not see much of the compound. I was… rather distracted.” Another grimace, her voice made lighter than the subject matter they dealt with.

“Did you recover any records from their computers? I’d thought that was something you were doing, when we recovered him.”

She was careful to mentally sidestep the image of Steve in his cell, the reminder of the last time he’d been comfortable with Loki’s touch, while he thought they both were dead. Better instead to focus on the science, the technology-- the threats.

She was, she realized, being drawn back out into the world with this, if only momentarily, before she went back to their apartment, and she hesitated.

“If… there is anything I can do to be of help--?” She trailed off, looking between them all hopefully.

  
  


Tony raised his eyebrows when Loki asked if they’d recovered anything. “Well, yeah. You’re looking at it,” he remarked, gesturing to all the data up around them. “At least some of it. There’s a lot more, but we’ve been combing through it to separate the useful stuff from the not-useful. Anything about a supersoldier army, compared to, say, guard rotation schedules, or what size uniform Hydra-Bob has to reorder. And it took a couple weeks just to me to break through all the encryption. Which I did, by the way. Because I’m awesome.”

“Tony and Natasha were able to get almost everything on the data banks in that base when we raided it,” Bruce assured Loki. “Ultimately, the chance we missed something-- we have to weigh that against the chance of HYDRA being able to recover something. All in all, I don’t feel that bad about you and the Other Guy razing it to the ground,” he confessed. “And it’s not like we don’t have plenty to go through. From-- what, four, five bases?”

“So if you wanna join us sifting through all this junk at any time -- I have JARVIS running preliminary algorithms on all of it to flag anything with a higher likelihood of being worth our time, but some of that is gonna require eyes on it to make sense of it, figure out if there’s a big picture or not,” Tony offered with a shrug.

  
  


Loki nodded.

“I won’t bring any of it to our rooms.” She said that firmly, but not harshly. “But I can come here, maybe. Or…” If she could put it on a screen, and keep that screen only in her room…

She imagined how it would go, if Steve finally did decide he needed something of her, came to ask her for something, and walked in to find her studying the writings of his captors. The fracture of trust that would cause, no matter how momentary.

No, better not to.

“If you will show me how to access it, how to sort it, I would be happy to begin going through whatever files there are, in my spare time.”

When he slept, or when she ought to be sleeping…

She realized that since he’d been home, she had not been pulling her weight in the effort of cleaning up after their search. Trying to make all of them safer.

She’d allowed herself to focus only on Steve and… he didn’t want that. So, maybe he would appreciate if she left the rooms more often. Especially if she was only in the building, and could return in a moment, if he needed her. She would talk to him about it, she decided. And figure out  a way to help, either way.

  
  


“Sure,” Tony said. “I’ll just have... J, remind me to set up a private subserver for Loki?”

“ _Of course.”_

He’d make sure later that some of the files never reached Loki’s hands. Better for everyone that way. “In the meantime--”

“Tony!” Jane interrupted, looking up suddenly. “These numbers. Which HYDRA base are they from?”

Tony frowned, moving over to look over her shoulder. “Which numbers?”

“These readings here,” Jane said, pointing out several strings. Tony’s frown deepened for several seconds before easing. “Bring up the time stamp.”

She did so, and the frown vanished altogether as he clapped her lightly on the shoulder. “None of them. That’s from our server, back in early November.”

Jane continued to eye the readings in consternation. “What were you measuring?”

“That...” Tony peered at the data again. “Looks like the spike Brucey and I picked up on when you guys were all in DC. It’s what led us to the scepter in the first place.”

  
  


Loki remembered.

“From when they turned off my magic. You said it started acting up in response, yes?”

She hardly understood the importance behind it now; they had the sceptre.

  
  


“At the time, we assumed as much,” Bruce noted. “Then after, when we recovered the scepter--”

“Seemed just as likely that it was a coincidentally-timed incident of head-explosion. Or HYDRA somehow otherwise messing with the damn thing, like whatever they did to figure out how to run those power cells,” Tony said.

  
  


Loki lifted a shoulder, shrugging.

“Touching the sceptre nearly undid Steve, at the peak of his strength. He would have died, had I not been there to take drastic measures. If they did do something with the sceptre, I am sure they paid for it. Another case of their killing themselves off, and so much the better, for us.”

She paused, then added,

“When Steve touched it in SHIELD, before we ran, I felt it. I assume there was some residual ties from it to me, and vice versa. So with my power being shut off, when it came back, if the sceptre was looking to reconnect that tie… I suppose a flare of some sort is not unheard of. Whether or not we are still connected is something I would like to know, at some point, but it’s hardly pressing.”

She was glad they were checking over things, but she had to admit that she did not see the relevance. Still… they were the masters of their fields, not she. If there was anything to be found, she had faith they would find it.

  
  


“At this point, I’d say anything HYDRA is up to is pressing,” Tony replied, sans customary irreverence. Menton of Steve nearly dying -- more than once now -- more or less killed his ability to joke at the moment. “My dad was on the team that analyzed their science back in the war, and he’d talk about a lot of things from then, but...” He paused, shaking his head. “They were bad enough that they spooked Howard. And they might have blown up every major city and set the world back a couple hundred years if they had their way and Rogers hadn’t done his best impersonation of an icicle to stop them. If they’re back, and they’re strong enough to do what they did with Steve, have that many secret facilities, and no longer give a damn that they’re showing their hand--”

“They’re strong enough that we ought to be worried.” Bruce finished, looking haggard just thinking about it.

“And smart enough,” Jane added, grudgingly. “This isn’t easy stuff to measure, let alone understand and apply. If they’ve got people actively able to work on bifrost readings -- whether or not they’re successful in it, that’s a lot of intellectual power they have to draw on.”

“Even if they’re stealing most of it. Like sneaky jerks,” Darcy remarked. “I mean. Everyone in this room is smarter, right? ‘Cause they had to figure out all this stuff from you or SHIELD...”

“Maybe,” Jane muttered, before grabbing her StarkPad and standing abruptly. “I gotta go. I’m going to make some calls to friends I have in observatories in a few different countries, make some inquiries.” She moved quickly to the door, Darcy trailing after her.

  
  


Loki watched her, troubled by her abruptness.

“I do not want to toy with the sceptre until I have worked further with Natasha, and am certain I can manage what will come next, should there be any accident.” If she should touch it, she meant.

She also needed to know that Steve would be okay when she did, but he was a long way off from that.

“Either way, if the seidhr dampeners worked on me, it should be doing the same thing on it, now, so any connection there may be will remain interrupted until it is taken out of its locker. That will have to be enough until I am ready to face Thanos.”

The words came out steadier than she would have expected, but she was grateful for it.

She turned to Bruce, though, thinking he might know more of her next interest.

“In England, we recovered a scientist. Someone that HYDRA was keeping as a hostage. Has anyone spoken to him?”

Jane, she thought, would have too many questions, and Tony would likely fumble. If the man had been imprisoned, who knew what else he had seen. Natasha perhaps would have the best luck, but Bruce had the science behind his empathy, and might be the best option, then, as long as his beast stayed firmly buried.

  
  


“Pretty sure the spooks grabbed him,” Tony said. “The UK government was willing to hand over HYDRA’s tech after a while, but they’re a bit cagier about passing off a British national for us to question.”

“Loki has a good point, though. What we piece together may not be as complete as what someone might be able to just tell us,” Bruce mused. “Is there any chance Carter can hook us up to meet with him securely?”

“Probably,” Tony said with a shrug. “She’s got family friends over there.” He sighed. “Part of me wants to take the glowstick of destiny apart and see what makes it tick. But after seeing what it can do and knowing we have bigger problems, now with Thanos _and_ with HYDRA turning back up....” he shrugged, dejectedly. “We’ll follow Lokes’ lead on that one.”

“I’ll shoot Carter a message, see if she can come over this afternoon,” Bruce said, pulling out his phone. “Between the possibility of an interplanetary incident, and dealing with international governments, I think one of us ought to sit down with her, make sure her team is up to speed to run interference.”

  
  


Loki nodded, glad to hear that they hadn’t simply sent the SHIELD team away, now that Steve returned.

She still felt that she owed them thanks, though she knew by now she had given them, at least verbally, to most of them. Even so… it didn’t feel like enough.

“If you need me, when it comes time to talk of the realms outside your own…” She trailed off. “I suppose have JARVIS alert me. I am fairly certain I can make myself available.”

As long as Steve wasn’t in a bad place. Not that she felt she was particularly good at telling, any more.

“I am sorry I cannot commit more time, more fully, for being down here with you.” She didn’t elaborate, but she figured they understood.

“Perhaps soon…” She shrugged, unsure how long off that ‘soon’ might be.

“But I should be getting back, I think. Unless there was anything else I can help with while I am here?”

Which made it sound as though she _had_ helped, rather than merely pointing out more problems for them to have to handle.

  
  


Tony chewed his lip for a few moments. “I think that’s all I’ve got at the moment, but I’ll let you know when we have more? I’m thinking once Jane gets back, she’ll have a lot more to ask about the whole magical space whatchamacallit stuff. And I’ll set those files up on a subserver for you to access from your tablet back home, whenever you have time and feel like it. Though you’re always welcome to. You know.” He gestured around them. “Hang. Steve too, if he feels like it,” he added belatedly.

“It was good to see you,” Bruce said, giving her a thin smile, putting his tablet down and focusing his attention on her.

  
  


She gave them both a wan little smile.

“Steve does not feel much up to...hanging. At the moment. But I hope that will change soon, I hope that he will perhaps begin reaching out to you, although that may be on a person by person basis. He is tired so easily now. But, ah… provided you have time, between this and your own lives… I think he might appreciate hearing from you. If only briefly. One at a time.”

She didn’t want them to think they ought to throw a surprise party, certain that Steve would take it even more poorly than she had, when they’d meant to celebrate her return to health.

But they did not have that to celebrate for Steve.

And she did not know when, or if they ever would.

“It has been good to see you as well.” She added. “I am sorry for my silence, and I will try to make the next one… shorter.”

  
  


“Yeah, well. Don’t be a stranger,” Tony finished awkwardly. “And send our best to Steve.”

It was frustrating that at the moment, it was the best he could do. That no amount of tinkering would _fix_ whatever the hell was wrong. But maybe, if he pieced together everything that HYDRA had been up to -- if he and Bruce and Jane and Loki pulled apart all their secrets -- they could work out a way to foil them completely, and destroy the pieces of shit who had done this to Steve in the first place. Make sure they could never do it again.

“I’ll walk you out,” Bruce said. “I need to go down and get some fresh air anyway. Come at this with fresh eyes.”

  
  


Loki nodded, privately wondering what it was that he needed from her, what he wanted to say that he couldn't in front of the others.

But she wasn't on edge about it; whatever it was, she was sure it was well meaning.

“I’d welcome the company.” She told him evenly.

“Only do not forget the fruit and pastry that Pepper sent for you-- she will be disappointed if it goes to waste.”

She looked around, checking to see if there was anything she could do or take, but she saw nothing.

So instead she just nodded instead and moved awkwardly out of the door to wait for Bruce.

  
  


Bruce gave Tony a nod and then followed Loki out into the hall.

For a good stretch of hallway, they moved in companionable silence; after a morning of Tony’s rambling and Jane’s occasional excited rant, with Darcy’s periodic interjections, it was a nice break.

He hoped it was a good break for Loki as well, though likely for other reasons.

“So,” he ventured. “How’re things?”

  
  


She shrugged, never quite accustomed to the way the movement differed in this form.

“Steve is returned to me. I could not ask for more.” She tried for the diplomatic answer, trying to remember not to let her problems become her friends’. Especially not when she had just shown them several problems they hadn’t considered, otherwise.

“How have you been? I hope it is… easier for you, now, without the pressure of our search weighing on your control.”

That couldn’t have been easy on him, after all. And yet his restraint had been admirable.

She wondered how much he remembered, of the Hulk and Loki’s joint destruction. And if he regretted it.

If he felt she had used him.

They hadn’t seen much of one another since, and Loki had been too preoccupied with Steve to ask, but even now, given the opportunity, she wasn’t sure how to begin to broach the subject.

  
  


Bruce hummed at Loki’s insistence that she could not ask for more, though in his head, he called _bullshit._ Being back in contact with Betty these last few weeks made him all too keenly aware of what it felt like to have someone you loved back in your life, but still out of reach. Still, he managed to keep tactfully silent, as he really had no remedy to offer.

“The tension has gone down, which has made things a lot easier,” he agreed. “There’s still the stress of HYDRA, of Th-- our alien friend. And I’m... angry. About what happened to Steve,” he said. “But not having everyone around me about ready to lose it gives me better reign over the Other Guy.”

He didn’t mention that letting the Hulk out to play at the last HYDRA base had probably gone a long way toward blowing off pent-up steam.

“How’s Steve’s recovery going?”

  
  


She nodded along-- glad to hear things had gotten easier, at the very least.

Though when he mentioned being angry, she twitched a little.

She _was_ angry, of course she was, she’d destroyed so many lives, alongside the Hulk. But since Steve had come back, that anger felt like it had been buried under a thick cloud of despair, and she’d… lost it, somehow, under all of the sadness she felt for him.

She felt guilty. She had promised to raze all of Midgard, erase any sign that HYDRA had been. And here she was slinking around her own home, trying to make a shadow of herself.

She needed to find a way to reclaim that anger. A project for the afternoon.

But more pressing was Bruce’s question.

“He is in physical therapy right now. He pushes himself, so he has to do so under the doctors’ eyes, now. He is… trying. But I do not think he has much hope.”

And she could not blame him. They had taken so long, the hope had to have been all but drained out of him, like it was just more of his blood, taken for experimentation.

  
  


Bruce grimaced. Hopelessness was a dangerous thing. He knew that too.

“Betty confirmed last night that she got the samples I sent her. She’s working on them now. If... If she finds anything, I’ll let you know. Hopefully the news will be, you know. Hopeful,” he said with a shrug.

They’d arrived at the elevator, and he reached out and gave Loki’s slender shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Hang in there. And don’t be a stranger. This team... It’s a mess, but it’s a good mess. You guys aren’t alone here. Not anymore.”

  
  


Such simple words, so little contact, and still she felt her eyes attempting to tear.

“Thank you.” She told him, words gentle. “And give my thanks to Betty as well. Even if things are not hopeful… I appreciate her helping. And I appreciate your calling her for this. Truly.”

She did not know what to do if they were not. She knew if things were to continue as they had this far, there would be a breaking point. The apartment they lived in was too tense too often for this to be able to continue indefinitely.

But that would be dealt with when it became a problem.

And it would not be Bruce’s problem. Or anyone else’s.

“I don’t mean it to feel as though I am pushing you away.” She said, speaking slowly and choosing her words carefully. “I’m just trying to keep a certain amount of… insulation, I suppose, trying to make things easier for Steve. And everyone else. This will pass, given time, I am sure of it.”

  
  


“I’m sure it will,” Bruce agreed. “And when it does... We’ll still be here. Long as Tony doesn’t get sick of us and kick us all out,” he added jokingly, mouth twitching in a wry smile.

The elevator arrived and he inclined his head, stepping back for Loki to take it first. “I’ll catch the next one,” he said.

  
  


She nodded to him, feeling oddly bereft as she stepped into the waiting elevator. But whatever his reasoning for wishing not to share it with her, she did not question it.

“I will speak with you again soon.” She promised, fully intending to make good on it. Tea, perhaps.

And between now and then, she would devise a way of asking to be certain that she had not harmed him, made him feel… badly, in any way, about what they had done to HYDRA. But she would at least do him the kindness of waiting to ask until she could do something about it, if the answer was not in her favor.

For now, as the doors closed and she began her trip back to the quiet of their rooms, she schooled her face, willing the wet from her eyes and a careful mask back on.

Steve must be done with his therapy soon. She wondered if he would be hungry.

That, at least, those basic needs of his, she could see to. Even if all of the rest of what she couldn’t do left her feeling powerless. She just didn’t know in which direction it would turn. And if Steve would just _talk to her_ \--

\--but no. He was doing what he could. She could not ask more of him.

She wondered whether she should tell him where she’d been-- whether he would be hurt or gladdened.

She disliked these secrets and silences that had never been between them, before.

 


	83. Eighty Three

Everything ached like he’d taken another beating.

The physical therapist -- a handsome, solidly-built young man named Amir, with arms that practically rivaled Thor’s -- was nice. Cheerful. Unwaveringly optimistic. And to distract himself from the irrational resentment he almost immediately felt toward him for all of it, Steve had pushed himself as far as he possibly could with every exercise.

Hours later, lying on the couch, he regretted it intensely. His legs burned, his shoulder throbbed with every beat of his heart, and while none of the pain was as sharp or awful as he’d endured before, there was a persistent deep ache throughout his body that only served to remind him of how _weak_ he was now.

(No matter how ‘impressed’ Amir claimed to be as he delightedly clapped Steve on his good shoulder.)

Loki’d had lunch waiting for him, and despite his desire to go fall into bed and sleep the afternoon away, he’d made himself stay in the common area for her sake, eating and then retreating to the sofa to pretend to sketch on blank pages while a documentary droned gently about exotic birds’ mating rituals. He tried not to think about how he wasn’t even sure he could _make it_ to the bedroom now without limping pathetically. But at least there wasn’t anything he had to do for the rest of the day.

Then, as if the universe decided to spite him, a knock came at the door.

Frowning, he looked up at Loki. “Company?” he asked. She’d mentioned seeing Pepper earlier, and while he was glad Loki was being social with others beyond him, he wasn’t sure if his presence in the living area would be a dampener, and if he ought to retreat for the sake of Loki’s guest…

  


Loki looked to Steve, half expecting it to be something _he’d_ known about, but apparently not.

She shook her head.

“I am not expecting anyone. You stay there, I’ll see who it is.”

She started towards the door, then hesitated.

“Is it-- are you up to speaking to someone, or would you rather not?”

She could always lie, say he was resting. She doubted any would challenge it. He had come back _looking_ exhausted.

“ _Agent Sharon Carter to see you.”_ JARVIS announced, and Loki glanced upwards, feeling foolish for having forgotten she could just ask him.

“I can send her away.” She offered quietly.

  


Steve tensed. Part of him wanted to say yes, but he managed to push down the urge. He remembered Natasha visiting him when he was still in his hospital bed and telling him SHIELD had sent a new liaison -- Sharon Carter. He hadn’t spoken to her since his return, and suspected that if she was here... well. It might not be for a social call.

“It might be important,” he pointed out to Loki.

And even if it wasn’t-- It was one thing for Steve to retreat from the world to lick his wounds and be pathetic in private. But withdrawing wasn’t the same as actively turning everyone away.

  


Loki swallowed and nodded, hurrying to keep her from having to wait any longer.

She hesitated again before opening the door, aware that Sharon would be expecting her male form. But Sharon managed to look unruffled at her appearance, and Loki wasn’t sure whether she was very good at hiding her surprise, or if someone had warned her about Loki’s current preferred shape.

“Sharon.” She greeted, smiling in a way that she hoped was warm. She didn’t immediately invite her in, aware it was rude, but politeness was overruled by her wish to support and protect her partner. “It is good to see you. What brings you down this way?”

Sharon’s eyes traveled over Loki’s face, and then briefly beyond her, and Loki catalogued that glance with a sinking feeling.

“I have to take my team back to DC-- the man who came after you and Steve in the park, Schultz? He’s gone missing. And I know Fury’s going to want a report on--” She nodded towards the rest of the apartment.

Loki felt her stomach clench. But there was some relaxation at her next words.

“I wanted to talk with you both, if possible, about what you wanted me to tell him.”

She was speaking loudly enough that Loki thought Steve could probably hear, and even if not… she supposed this fell under the heading of ‘important’.

“Of course. Come in.” She offered another smile and stepped out of the way, directing Sharon toward the living room with a gesture.

  


Steve looked up, half-expecting to see a cross between Peggy and Maria Hill. The blonde woman who walked in didn’t fit the mental image he’d built, however. She was dressed in simple civilian clothes, though the pale gray tactical jacket she wore over them had a SHIELD insignia on the arm. Her face was much rounder and softer than Hill’s, and she looked about Steve’s age -- or, the age Steve thought of himself as, physiologically.

“Agent Carter,” he said by way of greeting, moving to get up and then grimacing as his body protested, forcing him to sink back on to the couch. “Er. You’ll have to excuse me.” Hopefully his poor manners would get a pass, all things considered. He chewed his lip. “Sorry, did you-- I thought I heard you say something about Schultz just now?”

  


Loki followed, watching carefully to be sure that Sharon did not offer him her hand, but it seemed she knew better than to do so.

“I did.” Sharon answered, gracefully ignoring Loki’s continued rudeness and sinking into a chair so she would be on the same level as Steve.

“And don’t worry about getting up on my account. But, yes: Schultz has gone missing, sprung from SHIELD custody. My team is being asked to report to Fury to help track him down, since… well, we’re guaranteed not to be moles.” She grimaced at that.

“Sharon also believes she will be asked to report on your welfare, and she has come to find out what you did and did not want her to pass on.”

“To Fury only,” She hastened to add. “We’re being very careful not to compromise your security in any way, so we’re talking reports given verbally inside of a blackout room with the tech inside killed. I can promise that anything you send me back to say will get to Fury’s ears only.”

She spoke firmly and with such an air of competence that Loki did not doubt her, though she wondered what Steve thought, not knowing her at all.

  


He heard the words she said, but struggled to process everything after _Schultz has gone missing._

Steve swallowed, feeling his throat tighten. _We have been watching you for some time now,_ Verschmutzung’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, _cataloging your abilities since our agent attacked you in that park..._

Schultz had been working for HYDRA when he’d come after them. And now he was free, and HYDRA had sprung him out right from under SHIELD’s noses. If they attacked again, used those shock gloves on Loki again -- could Steve donate energy to save him this time? Or without the serum, would his krellr be useless? If Loki took another hit like that--

His breathing had started to accelerate. “You need to find him. HYDRA hired him,” he insisted, urgency in his voice.

  


Loki took a step closer, alarmed at the panic in Steve’s voice, but Sharon spoke quickly.

“We will. Trust me, we’re hunting down every HYDRA lead we have, right now. Tony’s got some pointers we picked up from looking for you to help us find anywhere they might be hiding, and we’re helping Tony to increase security around the tower, as well. We’ll get him.”

She sounded calm and assured and Loki blinked, remembering--

“We destroyed the gauntlets they had created for Schultz and those like him, destroyed their production place. He should be just a man, now. And I will not be so slow to kill him, if he comes anywhere near here, this time.”

In fact, since having spent some time using her seidhr, it felt almost odd not to be.

She’d been saving it to use in healing Steve, but since he could not permit that… perhaps she was better put to use aiding in protecting her friends.

“I will speak to Tony and see how I can assist.” She promised Sharon, who nodded, though Loki kept half an eye on Steve as well, trying to gauge whether or not he was reassured by any of this.

“And we know Fury’s going to ask, so. What do you want me to tell him about how you’re doing?”

  


The total self-possession that Carter spoke with was -- calming. Steve inhaled, working to get the lid back on his burgeoning anxiety. And if the gauntlets were out of play as Loki said...

He exhaled. Calm. Not losing it.

Though he suspected that with a background in SHIELD training, Carter would have already seen enough. He slumped back. “Tell him whatever you need to,” he said, resigned. Lying and telling Fury he was fine when he wasn’t would only endanger others if plans were made involving him only for him to prove unable to help. If the serum didn’t come back, the whole world would find out eventually when Captain America was forced into retirement. “I’m not fit for duty,” he finished, mouth pressing into a grim line.

  


“I wasn’t going to tell him you were.” She said, lips quirking up just a little. “Even Captain America needs time to heal from something like…” She trailed off, and Loki twitched, anxious to know how she was going to finish.

“What you went through,” she decided on. “But given I hadn’t seen you since we brought you back, and Nick hasn’t seen you at all, so. I can report on what I’ve seen, what I know. But if there’s anything you want to add for his benefit… Like I said, I can promise it won’t go beyond this room, save for Fury’s ears.”

  


Time.

He wondered if that was all it would take. And how much.

Looking at her, he frowned, then looked over at Loki, equally puzzled, unsure if there was something he was supposed to be providing. Something he was meant to take advantage of that was escaping him.

“I...” He hesitated, turning to Carter. “I guess he, ah. Doesn’t know about Loki and me living together, still. Or. Maybe he does at this point.” He shrugged. It was a more distant worry now than it had been. “I’m not sure what to say. I’m...”

Trailing off again, he looked to Loki once more, in case there was something she wanted to supply. He didn’t even know how much Carter knew to report in the first place.

  


“Our relationship is something I have worked to preserve as a secret, in your absence.” Loki assured him gently. “I know how important it is to you that the world not know.”

She turned towards Sharon and took a deep breath, hoping she was not overstepping.

“As for the rest: We are consulting specialists, outside of SHIELD’s network but whom we know to be both knowledgeable and trustworthy. We are keeping his absence as quiet as possible. There are at present no plans nor a timeline for announcing his return or present location, and none but those responsible and Fury-- and your team-- should know he was ever missing. No SHIELD medical will be allowed access to him. No SHIELD _anything_ will be allowed to Stark tower unless it is your team. Security is a priority. Particularly with Schultz disappearing, which sounds to me like your house cleaning was not nearly as thorough as Nick would like to think.”

 

Sharon nodded, eyes sharp as she mentally catalogued all of this.

Loki said nothing about what the specialists were _for_ , or what HYDRA had taken from Steve, what they had done to him. She didn’t know how much Sharon had seen on the site of the HYDRA base, nor what she might have pieced together since.

She didn’t know if she could guess that Steve’s serum had been tampered with, cancelled out. But she certainly wasn’t about to tell her, if not.

“Seems reasonable.” Sharon said slowly. “My team and I already promised not to out you guys, and that’s still true, regardless of how heterosexual you are at the moment.” She shot a quick glance at Loki. “None of Fury’s business, none of SHIELD’s business, far as I’m concerned.”

  


Steve nodded, casting a quick, grateful look Loki’s way. “Thank you,” he said, though the words were directed at Carter. It was a bit nerve-wracking still, knowing the pool of people who knew about him and Loki was ever-expanding, even if it was still contained. Sooner or later, something would give and more people would know than he wanted to. But Carter seemed firm and fair and honest.

Not unlike another Carter he’d known.

He wet his lips, wondering -- the poise and control and kindness were all there. And her eyes -- her eyes were similar too. His mind cast back to when he’d visited Peggy in DC and seen photos of a young blonde woman on her bedside table, and he tried to recall her face. He couldn’t remember it exactly, but something about her was certainly familiar. And another SHIELD agent named Carter, on this particular duty--

  


“Does Peggy know?” he asked quietly.

  


Loki glanced to Sharon, then down at the floor.

“I told her you had gone missing.” She said quietly. “I… didn’t want her waiting, thinking you’d forgotten her, if she remembered you coming before. But. She had forgotten what I told her by the time I left.”

“You could always call her.” Sharon offered. “If you don’t have her direct line, I can give it to you. She’s… most days she knows enough to know that she doesn’t remember things well.”

Loki looked to her, grateful, and then back to Steve, afraid to see what he thought of her speaking to Peggy on her own.

“And if you want to visit again,” she offered, a touch hesitantly, “I can speak to the others. Make arrangements. Whatever you need.”

She remembered her surge of jealousy, the fear that he would replace her with Peggy, ask her to heal her in order to give him the love he’d wanted. The life he’d wanted.

Now he would not even let her heal _him_.

But still she wanted to give him whatever he needed.

  


Steve swallowed. Peggy had seen him small and weak and had cared about him -- _seen him_ \-- even then. She wouldn’t care if he didn’t have the serum. But somehow, letting her see him like this, rather than letting her remember him strong and capable... It made his skin crawl.

But she wouldn’t know as much over the phone, would she?

He nodded to Loki. “Thank you for looking in on her,” he said softly. “I didn’t know you did that. That was... nice.” More evidence of how kind Loki really was. (How much better she deserved.)

As for Carter -- Sharon, he corrected himself -- she’d more or less confirmed his suspicions that she was family with Peggy. A niece, he recalled her mentioning. No wonder Fury had assigned her here as someone he trusted. “I’d like that number,” he told her, assuring himself that just because he had it didn’t mean he had to call _now._ But it would be good to have. “And-- not sure I’m up for travel. But if you’re in DC looking into Schultz and you happen stop in... Could you give her my best?”

  


Loki did not miss the way both Steve and Sharon’s faces softened, momentarily united by their shared care for the woman Steve had loved. Still did, in a way, from the way he spoke of her. The way he thanked Loki for being kind to her. She smiled for him, pleased to find she’d done _something_ right.

“I’ll do that.” Sharon promised, fishing her phone out of her pocket. She hesitated just a moment, then looked at Loki.

“I’m texting you the contact information, if you don’t mind passing it off. I don’t actually have your number, Steve.”

Loki frowned, then remembered--

“Ah, your cellphone is… it’s in a drawer in the kitchen. I’ll fetch it for you in a moment, no doubt it needs charging.”

But it was kind of Sharon, not to presume. Not to ask, since Steve hadn’t offered his number.

Sharon stood, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“Alright. I think that’s all I needed, unless there was anything else you need from me. And… I’m really glad you’re back, Steve. Not just for your and everyone here’s sake… but also because I doubt Aunt Peg’d forgive me if I made a family tradition out of losing you.”

She gave him a little smile, and Loki smiled as well, though she had heard the joke before.

“Thank you.” She said, one last time, and stepped forward, taking gentle hold of both of Sharon’s hands. “And if you think of any way in which I can be of help in your hunt for Schultz, please call.”

Sharon nodded.

“I’ll do that, too. And same for you-- my phone’s always on me.”

  


His phone. Steve hadn’t even bothered to ask for it, in the past week. Hadn’t thought of it. He nodded to Loki. “Thanks.”

And to Sharon: “Thank you. Again.” He mustered a wan smile. “Nobody’s fault for losing me either time, but I’m grateful you all got me back this time around in under seven decades.” Maybe, on a better day, if she was back in New York, they could sit and talk. He was sure Peggy would have liked that, him being friends with her niece. But right now, he didn’t have the energy for it.

“Good luck down there,” he told her. It was about all he could offer.

  


Sharon patted Loki’s hand, nodded, and headed out, Loki following to lock the door behind her. On her way back, she retrieved his phone from the drawer in the kitchen and sat it on the low table in front of him, rather than risk touching his hand by accident.

“I’ll get you the cord for it, too. Is there anything else you need?”

She spoke gently, aware of how tired he looked, how difficult his morning must have been, and then the news of Schultz…

“I meant it, by the way. I won’t let Schultz or anyone else anywhere near you. And if it helps, I can put additional wards on our rooms, just to be very certain--”

Though, they had their anti magic devices. No doubt if they were targeting the tower, they would be wise enough to use them. Still.

It didn’t hurt to take every precaution available.

  


Steve grimaced. “I’m more worried about you,” he admitted, looking up at her.

That had been the source of his panic when Sharon had mentioned Schultz being free. Of course, the thought of HYDRA made his insides twist in knots, but the thought that they’d come after the people he loved, hurt Loki _again,_ so Steve would be left with nothing but a broken helmet all over and this time for real--

“Promise me you’ll be safe,” he urged.

  


Loki blinked, surprised, and then felt instantly bad for it.

His inability to touch did not mean he had stopped caring, and she knew that. She chided herself for not expecting as much from him.

“I will.” She promised. “I will be safe because I will be here, with you. And like I said… I will be much quicker to kill, this time. Now that I know our friends will not turn on me for having done so.” She smiled, grim though it was.

“The devices that harmed me before have been disposed of. Schultz, and HYDRA too, no doubt, are likely running now, not into a fight but into a hole, to hide and lick their wounds. But we will not let them get away, nor get away with the hurts they’ve done you.”

She spoke firmly, calmly, but as reassuringly as she was able.

“Even still- I will not leave you. And neither of us need fear them. Not right now.”

  


Steve didn’t like the idea of Loki being forced into the role of killer again, but it was far preferable to her being killed, or maimed. And when they were talking about HYDRA, Steve didn’t feel anywhere near the same qualms about lives being taken.

He struggled to believe that HYDRA would have broken Schultz out of SHIELD -- there was no way he’d just done it on his own -- only for him to go into hiding. But for the moment he didn’t argue. Just took a deep breath.

Loki wouldn’t go running off for revenge, when she felt obligated to be his caretaker here. A silver lining then, to his condition. He inclined his head, then indicated the other end of the couch. “Do you... do you wanna watch a movie together?” He couldn’t hold her and hug her the way he wanted. But maybe spending time together trying to forget about it all would suffice.

  


The invitation surprised her, too, considering how much time it felt like he spent avoiding her. But she wasn’t about to argue, or turn it down. She circled the table, attempting not to seem too eager, and sat carefully, afraid to get too close.

Even this limited closeness felt like a gift, and she planned to treasure it for as long as he could bear to remain there.

“What would you like to watch?” She asked, proud of how even her voice remained.

  


“You pick,” he told her. “Whatever you like.”

He didn’t much care what they watched. Spending time together, giving her what little closeness he could and selfishly enjoying it -- that was the point. Not the movie.

He waited until she settled in before speaking.

“I’m sorry. About the other night, at dinner.”

  


She’d only ever figured out the TV well enough to watch old interviews he’d given, and then only by asking JARVIS to find them for her. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

She was saved from having to figure out what to request right away by his quiet words, though.

She paused, holding her breath to see if he would offer more; an explanation, or a reason, at least, but it seemed he was waiting on an answer from her.

“No, Steve. I’m sorry. I… shouldn’t have pushed you. And… I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel guilty at all. If you need to talk about it, if you want to, I’m here. But I also won’t ask, if you can’t, or don’t.” She looked down at her hands in her lap, rather than at him, because it felt invasive. Particularly when he couldn’t get away from her with any amount of ease, if he wanted to.

She wanted to ask him about lying, about going to Natasha instead of speaking to her, but she doubted either subject would go over well. It wouldn’t be productive, or do anything but hurt him.

“We can always try again, later. When you feel… like you might be up for it. No harm done.” She tried to be reassuring. She just wasn’t certain how well she managed it.

  


He shook his head. “You’ve been amazing,” he assured her. She’d been kind, attentive, caring, accommodating, all far beyond what he deserved. And he’d done nothing but hurt her in return and he knew it. The last thing he wanted was for her to take the blame of any of this on to herself.

If he felt guilty, the guilt was well-earned and none of her fault.

“I pushed myself. I accepted the invite. And-- you should go, again, if we’re asked out and I’m not up to it. It’s not fair for you to be cooped up in here.” Just as it wasn’t fair for him to ruin everything the other night. For her and everyone else. “I know I’m not...” he stopped, cleared his throat. “I’m not much right now. And if being around anyone else can make you happier, I want that. For you. But I also... I’m trying. I promise.”

  


She wished she could reach out to him, could take his hand, but instead she clenched her fingers together to resist the urge, and shook her head.

“You’re so much, Steve. You always have been, so good and so kind, and so thoughtful. You have always taken care of me, and… and even now, when I should be caring for you, you are trying to put me first.”

And that was what that was, she told herself. That was _all_ that was-- his urging her to be around someone else was for her benefit, and not because it was truly what he wanted.

“I won’t leave you. I know there are… there’s limits we have to work within, for now, but we have had worse, haven’t we?” She’d been a puddle, once. And locked up, before that, and somehow they had made it through.

She lowered her voice, the whispered confession meant to feel intimate and sweet.

“You are all I want, and all I could ever ask for. No matter what, that isn’t going to change. I _love_ you.”

Thinking quickly, she reached up and pressed a couple of fingers to her lips, before turning them outwards, as if she could pass the kiss off to him, somehow, without touching him.

“I know things are difficult for now. And I know you hate it, and I know you want to make things easier on me, but… the best way for you to help is just to...ask me for what you need. Tell me what you want, or what you think. That is all I need you to try and do. The rest… the rest will sort itself out. I’m sure of it.”

  


The not-a-kiss gesture was sweet. But also a reminder that they hadn’t shared the real thing once since his return. Hadn’t shared it since their fight before he was taken. Maybe even since DC, he couldn’t recall.

He had clearer memories of needles tearing his skin and salt burning his back than he did of his own lover’s lips.

“I don’t know what I need,” he admitted quietly. “That’s what’s hard. I don’t know what I’m doing. How to deal with... any of this. I’m trying, but it’s about as much of a mess for me as it is for you.” He barely knew half the time what was happening with him or why, what would be tolerable and what would send him careening off into a blind panic, let alone what was required to fix it.

But he had to find a way to fix it. If not for himself, then for Loki.

“I love you too,” he told her, then grabbed one of the larger pillows and set it between them, leaning into it as it formed a barrier against accidental touch that let him shift closer without anxiety. “Jarvis? What new movies are recommended?”

  


“I am sure it is more of a mess for you.” She hastened to correct. “I am on the outside of your pain, and watching is its own kind of hell, but you are the one hurting, and… it’s you that I want you to think of first, for that reason. I am fine, and will stay fine. I will be even more fine if you can find it in your considerably large heart to be kind to yourself.”

The way he moved, putting a pillow between them and then shifting closer, made her breath catch in her throat, and she swallowed the words that wanted to spill forth, about their trading glass for fabric and down.

It was good, though, and she was glad he was… looking, at least, for ways to be closer to her. That he wanted to be closer to her.

She was saved, again, by Stark’s AI, though this time she was less surprised by it, since Steve had asked.

  


“‘ _The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug’, ‘Frozen’, ‘Wolf of Wallstreet’, ‘Her’, and ‘American Hustle’ are top picks at the box office. There is also ‘Saving Mister Banks’, which is the making of ‘Mary Poppins’ movie, which may be of interest. Additionally, last night Sir enjoyed watching the Spanish version of ‘I, Frankenstein’, entitled ‘Yo, Frankenstein’.”_

JARVIS’s voice was just as dry and devoid of humor as ever, though the last made Loki’s eyes crease a little.

“Does Tony even speak Spanish?” She asked, and though it was rhetorical, JARVIS answered all the same.

“ _He understands Spanish approximately 46% of the time, and is capable of speaking perhaps 35 words.”_

Loki rolled her eyes.

“There we go. Any of that sound good to you, Steve?” Truth be told, she had no idea what any of it was, but he hadn’t steered her wrong thus far.

  


He shrugged. “I could go for the Mary Poppins one, or the Hobbit.” He was familiar with the inspiration for the one, having seen the movie after coming out of the ice, and the book of the other, at least. “Pick one and surprise us, JARVIS?”

“ _Very well.”_

The lights dimmed, and the opening credits began to roll on the screen.

For the next two hours, Steve determined that they wouldn’t think too hard about reality. About Schultz, or HYDRA, or the myriad ways Steve was broken. They’d just watch a movie.

And after...  
After, he’d call Natasha about that list.

 

 

\---

 

 

Perhaps having seen them so recently was what prompted it; her being fresh in Tony’s mind. Or perhaps he knew that with Schultz on the loose, she would be antsy-- either way, when JARVIS asked her to join Stark in the lab, she answered the summons quickly, hoping there was some new development, some news-- anything that would mean feeling a little more secure.

She was glad that Steve was with Natasha. Though she didn’t like being parted from him again, with instructions for he or Natasha to call her at the first sign of trouble, she knew there was little else she could do. And she had seen enough of the city now to be capable of finding them in short enough order, public or no.

Fears stifled as best as she could, she took the elevator to meet Stark, and hoped for something they could work off of.

  


Tony turned when the door to the lab hissed open, brushing off his hands on his pants. “Oh good. You got my message,” he said, smiling widely.

A little too widely, maybe. That sixth cup of coffee might not have been the best idea. But after pouring through all those HYDRA files, and the tapes-- well. Sleep wasn’t happening anyway. Not when he saw that shit every time he closed his eyes. Much better to keep busy. Busy was good.

And Loki would help him with this particular bit of work -- Tony was an engineer more than he considered himself a scientist, most days, but he still believed in scientifically testing his inventions.

“You can -- and I can’t believe I’m saying this -- magically “conjure” stuff, right?” he asked. “Like, summon something as a -- for lack of a better word right now -- “spell” that’s made from energy and sustains through your seidhr stuff?” He was almost sure the answer was yes, having seen Loki summon illusions on multiple occasions.

  


Loki felt her lips quirking upwards, even as eyes too sharp, from having to read the suffering that Steve would not lay words to, took in his haggard appearance.

She’d have to touch base with Pepper when she left.

“I can-- lights, masks, doubles. Why-- and how large of a conjuring do you need?”

Immediately her thoughts went to being able to reach Steve and bring him away if there was trouble, quickly gauging her own power levels. But she had not used much that day, and her stores were high enough, she thought, for whatever Tony needed, so long as it was not too large.

She peered around his lab, trying to guess what he was working on, now, but it all may as well have come from a dismantled toaster, for all that she could identify the pieces.

  


That would do. Tony grinned and snatched up the tiny device he’d been tinkering with -- roughly the size of a quarter, but a fair bit thicker -- and gestured for Loki to follow him. “Over here,” he said, leading the way across the lab, only to trip on some parts he’d left out and could have sworn he told DUM-E to clean up, cursing as he stumbled over them but not stopping. (He’d yell at the robot later. Probably. If he remembered.)

“Here--” he reached where the testing environment he’d built was -- consisting of two large boxes, a little bigger than a milk-crate each, with one side open, both sitting on a table roughly four feet apart. Each box was lined with a dark matte-metal material in hexagonal inlays. Wires protruded from the backs, connecting to a switchboard.

“I’m gonna need you to cast something -- a light? Doesn’t have to be big -- in each of these. Something totally made of your mojo, and sustained. As identical as you can make ‘em -- gotta keep the variables as isolated as possible.” He moved over to the computer hooked up to the switchboard, running a pre-check to make sure everything was in order.

  


She recognized the lining of his containers and felt her lip curling out of distaste before she smoothed the expression away.

But perhaps it had to do with the sceptre, testing something… She tried to pay no mind to the part of her that thought he wanted her to help design a cell for herself.

Tony would not put her in one, not when he knew what it would do to her.

But it still felt like playing with fire, helping him to develop the technology to cut her off from her seidhr.

“What manner of test is this?” She asked lightly, doing as he requested just the same. She created twin orbs, green glowing and roughly the size of her fist, and sent them to hover at the mouth of either crate, waiting for his answer before fully committing to the test.

 

According to the computer, everything was up to snuff. Boxes were operational and ready to go live, and the device was on and running at 100%. He’d made dozens upon dozens of models, reverse engineering all the specs from the SHIELD anti-magic tech and extrapolating from the data readings they’d taken of Loki’s seidhr, then gotten JARVIS to create and run simulations based on designs. And from everything he _knew,_ based on what he designed with the data he had, it _should work._

But even when all the models predicted 99.8% success rates, nothing beat a good old fashioned field test. There were always variables he might have missed. Maybe. Ok, probably not, he was damn good at this, but there was still a rush that came with testing something in the real world that made the success more tangible than in a computer model.

He licked his lips, looking at the green balls of light Loki created, then slid the device into the box on the right, making sure it was activated.

“If we’re lucky? A successful one,” he told her. “J, mark Box B as the test, Box A as control.”

“ _Yes, sir.”_

“We ready to rock and roll?”

“ _Affirmative.”_

Glancing back at Loki, he grinned widely. “You, uh, might wanna step back for this part. Just in case.” He was confident in his math, but not perfectly confident.

  


She frowned, not entirely certain that he realized--

“Stepping back will do very little. Sustained by my seidhr as they are, they are attached to me by a strand of it. I will give you your test, only be ready to shut it down if there is a bad reaction.”

She’d know very quickly if there was a problem, though, and at least Steve wasn’t here to be part of it this time.

She sent the twin lights into their respective boxes and stepped aside, giving Tony room to work.

  


“Of course,” he promised. Obviously. “J, if anything goes wrong or Loki looks hurt, automatic shutdown, okay?”

“ _Those protocols are already in place.”_

“See? J’s got us covered,” he assured her. “He’s had to cut power and turn on the fire extinguishers on me more than once. DUM-E used to be in charge of the latter but he kept-- you know what, nevermind. Not important.”

If he’d calculated everything correctly, the field he’d designated as “alpha” would equal or exceed the “omega” field and everything would work. If not, he might have to tweak things and run another trial, but...

“Alpha field ready to go?”

“ _Alpha field engaged, sir.”_

He nodded, savoring the moment right before triumph or failure before giving the AI the order: “Engage omega fields.”

A switch flipped and the boxes both hummed softly as they came to life. The ball of light in the left box went out immediately. The one on the right flickered for a moment--

\-- then held.

“ _Alpha field appears to be holding, as predicted, negating the influence of the omega field in test box B,”_ JARVIS reported.

Tony beamed, nearly giddy with success. “Field is stable?”

“ _Indeed.”_

He turned to Loki, ready to drink in her reaction.

  


She looked back and forth between the two boxes, a niggle of excitement starting in the back of her mind.

She could feel the one that had been snuffed out, much like a tree must be able to feel the breaking of a far out branch. It did not hurt, but it _vibrated_ unpleasantly.

The other orb, on the other hand…

“I think you will need to explain- they are identical, you said?”

Which meant that somehow, the seidhr negation was not working. And if Tony had figured out a way to stop it…

A small bubble of hope formed in her chest.

  


“Boxes are completely identical,” Tony confirmed, delighted by the cautiously pleased look on her face. “Only difference--” He reached into the second box, pulling out the chip and then stepping back, the second orb flickering out once he moved about two feet from it, “--is this bad boy. J, end test.”

The humming stopped as both boxes switched off. Tony held the chip out to Loki.

  


“Currently, the field is set to about a two-foot radius. I can boost it to six though, in every direction. And if I make a larger one, I could cover a whole room easy enough, but I figured it’d be good to make something small you could fit in a watch, or necklace or belt buckle or something. You got a preferred method of bling? I’m already installing one in your combat armor, but I figure might be good to have it in something that blends in with your civilian wear,” he told her, aware that he was rambling but unable to staunch the rapid flow of words. “I mean if what you say about holding a thread is right and obviously you’d know better than me then you wouldn’t be able to cast spells outside the radius if there’s dampening tech in effect around you-- but I figure at least this way it isn’t messing you up personally so no one can torture you or whatever with it, if we come across that shit again, right? You got your own anti-anti-magic bubble.”

  


The grin that split her face would be alarming in its wideness, if she were not too busy taking the token from Tony and turning it over carefully, very gently, in her hands.

She pulled back the small tendrils that remained from the test, but turned them visible, giving them the slightest green tinge, so that Tony should be able to see them as well, and instead of allowing them back to be reabsorbed by the rest, she brought them up to examine his device.

“There are more of these? One for Steve, perhaps? He was affected more than I, the first time it was used on us.”

She wasn’t entirely sure if the same was true now; wasn’t sure how much of him was still clinging to what little seidhr was left in him.

Still, she’d prefer to be safe, when it came to her partner.  
And for her… she thought quickly, then lifted Steve’s tags from where they rested under her shirt.

“Would this chain be strong enough, do you think?” She asked, offering the necklace part towards Tony.

“I understand it may have been frozen for some seventy years.” She summoned a tiny smile, acknowledging what they were.

  


Tony raised an eyebrow. He’s seen the dogtags around Loki’s neck before -- the tabloids even had a grainy zoomed-in image of them -- but he hadn’t asked and Loki hadn’t volunteered anything about them until now. He supposed having his device paired on the chain counted as something of an honor. “It’s pretty light, I imagine it should, but we can get you a new ballchain for everything if not,” he offered.

“This right now is just a prototype -- there’s some rarer materials , so I probably can’t mass-produce them until I figure out a viable substitute for those components, but I can crank out a dozen or so, make sure you and Steve each have a backup,” he added.

Though Loki’s mention of Steve--

“I’m... wondering...” he hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “I know that HYDRA had an anti-magic shield over the area they were keeping Steve. We figured that was to hide him from you, but if he was affected by it-- I mean, he was deep enough underground it probably wasn’t strong, but do you think it would have been intentional?”

  


Loki’s lips twisted, unhappy.

“HYDRA had to have gotten its plans for the devices from SHIELD, and it was only ever tested on me with any effect once-- which was also when Steve experienced it. I was told immediately after--” She took a deep breath, remembering their fight.

“I was angry it existed. I still am. And angrier still that they tested it on me without asking, without saying anything, and while Steve was close enough to be caught in the cross fire if the effects had gone otherwise. But the results hit both of us, and the only reason HYDRA should want it or believe in it working was because somehow, despite Hill and Natasha attempting to wipe out all trace of its existence, HYDRA’s mole, or moles, got their hands on it. So if they knew it worked, they knew it hurt Steve. It was intentional. And they will all suffer for it, in the end.”

She closed her hand around the talisman that preserved her power, careful not to crush it.

“Thank you, for this.” She said then. “I feel… better, I suppose, about Schultz’s escape, now that I can have some assurance of being able to fight him, if need be.”

And of being able to grab Steve and get away, if no other options remained.

“I will have to ask Steve what would be best for him, as far as wearing it is to go. But if they are both necklaces…” She hesitated, remembering the necklace she’d given Steve, and how it had been found and used against him. How his pet name could no longer be used, because it had been twisted, perverted in his mind into something torturous.

“I think a ball chain would serve Steve well, too.” She finished firmly.

They could put it on something else from there, if need be.

  


Tony’s mouth twisted at the confirmation of his suspicions. One more reason to hate HYDRA. And he already had more than Loki knew about...

But at least he’d done right by Loki. He’d picked up on her trepidation around them using the anti-magic tech from SHIELD to contain the scepter, and it had got him thinking back then about reverse-engineering the tech in some capacity. The project had been shunted to the back burner afterwards, and it wasn’t until after they got Steve back that he began tinkering with it again. Then Loki had said something the other day to remind him of it, and, otherwise unable to sleep, he’d stayed up all night on it last night.

He considered it well worth it now, if it protected Loki _and_ Steve both.

Although...

“I, ah,” he shifted his weight. “I might’ve also made a thing for Barton. He, uh, mentioned that you’d said something about him being a target now for magic--” he waved a hand in a vague gesture, “--and I made a personal dampening field for him. Super tight radius, turned down low, but ah. Figured I’d run it by you, in case you think it’ll be a problem. Or if I should warn him to keep it off if he’s anywhere remotely near Steve.”

  


She nodded.

“Good. I hope… it may help Clint to sleep better at night. As for it hurting Steve… I do not know. I need to check him over, see what seidhr clings to him still. Once, he was all but drained of his life by Thanos, and I saved him by filling him with seidhr. Some yet lingered when SHIELD did their experimenting, and he suffered for it. I am not certain how much is within him now, or even if any of it lives, after spending so long under the technology to negate it.”

She shrugged, not bringing up that she wasn’t sure he would let her close enough to see, without her having to turn her eyes red for it.

Maybe while he slept-- but that would be dishonest and invasive.

“I will let you know what I find, if there is anything to know; for now, Steve still prefers not to be touched. If it is limited to Clint’s body, and he does not come close enough to touch Steve, all should be well, I would think.”

Better safe than sorry.

“Speaking of sleeping better, though-- you do not appear to be sleeping well, if at all. Is something the matter?”

She was hardly qualified for relationship advice, if that were the problem, but maybe she could find some way of helping, regardless.

He’d done so much for her, lately.

  


“Huh. Guess that explains how they were able to keep him from escaping, even before they stuck him with-- you know.” Tony grimaced. Seeing Cap that weak and helpless was just _wrong,_ on so many levels.

Part of him wanted to tell Loki exactly why he wasn’t sleeping; wanted to fill her in on what he and Nat knew. But he probably wasn’t the person to break the news about that information -- not if he didn’t want her haring off to destroy what was left of HYDRA, or drop some kind of magic nuke on the site where it had been from orbit. Hell, he was tempted to do that himself, though the airstrike Carter had called in was pretty thorough in wiping out what little Loki and Hulk had left.

So he lied: “just kinda wired lately,” he said, with a grin and a shrug, hoping Loki wouldn’t pursue it. “Hey, if I give you Barton’s thing, do you think you can give it to him? I’m supposed to be meeting with Bruce in ten. I’ve got it around here somewhere -- it’s powered off, don’t worry--” he turned and began rifling through some of the cabinets near his worktable.

  


He was lying, but she allowed him. Or, at least, did not press him further on it.

If he did not want her involved, it was not her place. And it was likely for the best. She had other things to focus on. Steve’s health, his safety. His happiness. Working with Natasha.

But Steve and Natasha had not called her, nor had JARVIS, so she nodded.

“I can take it to him, certainly. Do you need this one back, or can I keep it? And-- you should probably show me how to turn his on, so that I may explain to Clint.”

Things were easier between them now, she and Clint, and she had a feeling that this gift, from Stark or no, would make things easier still.

  


“I need it still to replicate it, but I can have a final model to you in the next day or so,” Tony told her, “so if you wouldn’t mind leaving it on the desk -- I’ll get you a new one ASAP. Promise. Ah! Here we go.”

He pulled out a metal and synthetic-leather cuff, somewhere between the look of a watch and a bracer, about two inches wide, with a steel inlay. “Button here--” he showed her, “--turns it on. This button expands the field, but drains the battery a lot faster, so that should only be for emergencies. Press it again to return it to the default personal field. And this hole here is the charging port. I made it so it’ll work with a StarkPhone charging cable.”

He took several steps back so he and Loki were a good two yards apart, slid the cuff on, and powered it on. “Go ahead and try to magic me!” he challenged.

  


She hesitated, well aware that he couldn’t have tested this particular device before, but equally aware that it was based on what he knew worked.

She sat the one for herself on the table and concentrated, sending a tendril of seidhr at him with the intent to make him sleep.

Even if it succeeded, after all, she reasoned, it wouldn’t do any harm, and might even be considered a favor, once he woke. Though she’d have to cancel his meeting with Bruce.

Still, it seemed that wasn’t to be the case. Her power came close, then slid up and over him, unable to touch and unable to find a hold to get through.

Curious, she pulled it back and changed it, creating a shield bubble, much like the one she’d put around Clint back at SHIELD.

She could form it, it turned out, but only at a distance a little way away from him, and not close enough to touch.

She nodded, satisfied.

“It seems your design works well, Tony. And… if you pit the two against one another?” She lifted the magic enabler again, holding it towards him curiously, though not enough to touch. She didn’t want to harm it, if that was to be the outcome.

  


Tony felt another surge of triumph as nothing seemed to happen to him as the result of Loki’s spellcasting; another successful test.

“Then yours should cancel it out, just like with the boxes,” he explained. “So if Clint has his on, and you and Steve have yours on, you guys shouldn’t be affected. Though the fields are really just designed for one person.” He powered off the cuff, sliding it off his wrist and handing it to Loki. “If you can pass it along that’d be great. Tell him I can also make it purple if he wants.”

  


She took it, the weight so slight in her hand for something so capable of causing damage to her, and, potentially, to Steve. But then, it was also protection for Clint, and much needed, and much delayed, peace of mind.

She smiled, mirth not quite strong enough to prompt a full on laugh.

“It is touching,” She told him, “to see you so dedicated to preserving your team’s respective aesthetics. But truly, Tony, thank you. I will take this to him now, and leave you to your meeting with Bruce. Best of luck, and get some sleep soon!”

She considered leaving a message with JARVIS for Pepper, but thought better of it. Better to tell her herself, if she could. Ask her if there was any help she could be from her side of things.

“Is there anything else you need of me before I go?” She asked Tony, careful not to activate the bracer by accident.

  


“I’m the guy with red and gold armor. I know the value of a good color scheme,” he countered with a shrug and a smirk.

He doubted he’d be sleeping soon -- after going over things with Bruce, he had sketches for at least 4 more projects to work up -- but he nodded anyway. “I’m all set. Say hey to Cap for me. And Barton.”

And if anything Tony had made kept any of them a bit safer, he’d be glad.

  


She nodded and let him be, heading out into the hallway and back towards the elevator to go to Clint’s room, which, she realized with a sudden qualm, she had not been to, and she didn’t actually know whether he was still on the floor she and Steve had first stayed on.  
Fortunately, there was JARVIS for directions, and she could hope that Clint would not be too upset about the intrusion, when she gave him the personal magic field. And who knew? Perhaps this form would help him, like Steve, to feel less afraid of her.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, to ask JARVIS to show her where Barton slept, JARVIS’s voice came from above.

  


“ _Pardon me, Miss Loki, but Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff have returned._ ”

She nodded, hesitating.

“ _Captain Rogers seems agitated_.”

JARVIS elaborated, and Loki knew that the machine was given to diplomatic understatement.

“Take me to him.” She decided, stepping into the elevator.  
Clint and his gift from Tony could wait.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads up, there will not be an update next week, as we both have a fair bit going on and need to catch up on writing. Thanks for sticking with us!


	84. Eighty-Four

Steve shifted uncomfortably in the overstuffed armchair and glanced at the clock again. Its slow ticking and the gentle whir of the white noise machine just outside the office door were the only nearby sounds, underlaid by the ever-present hum of New York traffic outside.

 

The therapist -- Dr. Cohen -- just sat patiently, watching him over the tops of his bifocals.

“I don’t remember what the question was,” he admitted after several seconds. The silence felt like it had gone on forever.

He hated this.

Natasha had selected this doctor -- this place -- after extremely thorough vetting. The man had contracted out to SHIELD once or twice, but wasn’t affiliated with them, and had supposedly worked with a number of high-profile clients with absolute discretion. Which, given Steve had no idea who those clients were, was probably true. The degrees on the wall were from top-tier institutions, enough so that Steve felt slightly cowed, and the silver in the doctor’s age was testament to a career full of experience.

And yet the minute Steve had sat in the chair in the office across from him, the idea of talking -- of spilling his guts -- was tantamount to pulling out his own teeth. He’d managed to give his name, a little background on himself, admitting he was here because he’d been through ‘some stuff’ and had been hurt and was having trouble adjusting. Then one of the questions presented to him had just-- short-circuited something. He didn’t want to answer. Maybe couldn’t. And he’d found himself taking in every detail of the office, from the loose baseboard to the tank of goldfish to the titles on something called ‘behavioral therapy’ on the bookcase, in a desperate attempt to focus on anything but the reasons that he was actually here.

“Can you tell me where you went just now?” Dr. Cohen asked gently, his voice low and quiet and undemanding.

Steve exhaled through his nose. “Pretty sure I haven’t been anywhere. Unless I somehow got up, walked out, came back and forgot about it ‘cause I’m crazier than everyone thinks.”

The doc tipped his head slightly to the side. “You feel that people think you’re ‘crazy’?” he asked, emphasizing the word in such a way to make it clear he was only deigning to use it because Steve had.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he muttered bitterly. Then reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dammit, this was a terrible idea...

“And you think that makes you crazy?”

“Maybe. For thinking this would work.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m wasting your time. This was-- I’m sorry.” He stood abruptly.

“Steve,” the doctor interrupted. “We still have twenty minutes left. We can talk about anything you want.”

Steve took a deep breath to keep from snapping. “I appreciate that,” he said a moment later, “but I think that time should go to someone else. Someone who’ll benefit from it.”

“You don’t think you can benefit from this?” And now he was wondering if the man only spoke in questions. It was grating.

“I wasted twenty minutes staring at the floor and walls.” He picked up his coat and his cane. “This isn’t going to work. I made a mistake.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. Though I wonder if you haven’t come to that conclusion prematurely. It’s hard to say one has tried something after only half an hour,” the doc pointed out.

Something inside Steve snapped. “I’m _trying,”_ he hissed. “Dammit, I’ve been trying non-stop since I first woke up and it’s never enough, so what’s the _point?”_

And with that he hobbled out of the office and into the waiting room, where Natasha was flipping through a magazine. She looked up, brow furrowed as she glanced between Steve and the clock. “You taking a break, or--?”

“We’re going home,” he announced, already moving to the door.

“Steve--”

“ _Now_.”

Her expression was clearly disappointed, but he didn’t care. He’d done what she wanted in coming here, and it had been a bust. Wasting more time wouldn’t change that. He made his way down the stairs as she called for their car, standing just inside the door with his collar turned up and his head down until one of Tony’s black towncars reached the curb in front of them.

The silence in the car was about as uncomfortable as the silence in the office had been. He nodded curtly to the driver when they pulled in, then went ahead for the elevator, moving as fast as he could while depending on the cane for support -- which wasn’t fast enough to outpace Natasha. She rode up the elevator with him.

“First sessions can be hard,” she ventured. “It can take a while to really form a solid baseline of communication--”

“I’m not going back,” he told her. “It was a mistake. It’s not gonna work for me.”

“Steve--”

“It’s a waste of his time. Let him spend it on people he can help.” Who could be fixed. Who weren’t so paralyzed that they couldn’t even say what the hell was _wrong._

“You’re giving up that easy?” she challenged. The elevator dinged on his floor.

He walked out without responding, shutting the door to the apartment firmly behind him. Inside he made a line for the bedroom, dropping his cane and kicking off his shoes with a low growl before collapsing on to the bed and staring up at the ceiling, voices and questions -- _endless goddamn questions --_ whirling through his mind...

 

_...Can you tell me where you went?_

            _And you think that makes you crazy?_

                          _You’re giving up that easy?_

                                                    _How does it feel, Captain?_

_You like making America get on its knees to suck alien dick?_

_Are you ready to burn, Steven?_

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying just to breathe and block it all out.

 

Loki knew that if Steve was agitated, she would have to tread carefully, and she told herself that was why she had paused outside of her own door.

“JARVIS?” She asked quietly, still unsure how good Steve’s hearing was. “Is Natasha with Steve?”

“ _Agent Romanoff has returned to her quarters._ ” He informed her.

She took a breath, unsure if that was better or worse. It depended on Steve’s mood, she supposed.

JARVIS had said he was agitated, but that could mean he was edgy with pleasure or with anger or hurt…

No way to know without facing him.

She opened the front door and peered inside, then let herself in.

“Steve?” She called. “Are you back?”

She winced, glad he didn’t seem to be in the living room.

Of course he must know she knew he was home. She hadn’t waited long enough for it not to seem suspicious.

She was worried, though, what he might do to himself if things had gone poorly.

 

Steve bit back a groan. He wasn’t sure he had the fortitude right now to deal with Loki. Not when he had to worry about accidentally saying something she’d take the wrong way, and then having to deal with the guilt of having unintentionally hurt her.

Or, hurt her _more._

“JARVIS told you,” he sighed, less a question than a statement. He was back twenty minutes early. Unless Nat had texted, that left JARVIS as the most likely culprit. He glowered at the ceiling in response.

 

She followed his voice to his room, stopping at the doorway.

He sounded… she wasn’t sure.

“He did.” She answered evenly. “I just wanted to check on you, see how it went.”

He was laid on his back on the bed, shoes and cane strewn across the floor in a telltale path, abandoned en route.

“Is there-- do you need anything?” She felt timid, but she tried not to sound it.

She wanted to go to him, to sit beside him, stroke his hair. To order him into a bath, the way she’d done in the hotel before they’d ever come to the tower. Wanted to take some of his load, try to ease the burden that pulled his brows together and tightened his mouth into a hard line.

She just didn’t know how to do that, any more.

 

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping. A dozen possible responses, all of them callous and selfish flitted through his mind, and he felt shame for every single one of them.

What he needed was no more questions. No more judgemental looks. No being treated like a fragile invalid child -- despite the fact he more or less was.

“I just... need some space,” he said after several long seconds, managing to keep his tone even and quiet. And then, because Loki deserved an answer to her earlier question: “It was... It was a bust.”

 

So few words, and they spoke volumes. How measured his voice was, how restrained.

He didn’t like bleeding on others, and he was trying to keep from doing so now. Even when all anyone wanted to do was help stop the flow. And all he was asking for was _space_.

She bit down on her lower lip.

More space, always space. She wanted to ask if it would be better for him, if they moved him into a place away from her, if she moved into her own apartment, if he would feel less… whatever it was, whatever negative thing he felt that made him avoid her and try to drive her away. But that was selfish and too self pitying. And besides, she was too afraid to leave him alone to ever make the offer.

“Alright.” She said softly.

“I can… I need to deliver something to Clint from Tony, anyway. But…” she paused, trying to school her words, trying to shape them into something good for him.

“I love you. Bust or no. We’ll find something that will help. I promise. And when I get back, I’ll make dinner. We can watch a movie, if you feel up to it, later. And if not… that’s alright, too. I’m… I’m just glad you’re here.”

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, _hating_ the tentativeness in her voice. Like she was afraid he’d break. Or worse. He hated how even when he did nothing, _was_ nothing, he somehow, even without doing anything, managed to make Loki sound small.

“I love you too,” he replied. Swallowed. Opened his eyes. “Think I’m just gonna nap for a bit,” he told her. “Leg hurts, so I’m gonna stay off it.” Volunteering enough that she could be assured he’d stay put and not worry about him. He didn’t want to make promises about later, one way or another. But he forced a brief, thin smile for her benefit.

He did love her. He just hated... all the rest of this that they were mired in.

 

She gave him a little smile, tighter now, mind going to the last time he’d said that.

How ‘just going to lay down for a bit’ had turned to him sleeping on Natasha’s couch to avoid her, hurting his hands out of some kind of self recrimination.

“I won’t be gone long, but I have my phone if you need anything. Now or after-- I plugged yours in, and it’s on the side table.”

She gestured at the correct side, but didn’t wait, just in case he felt like telling her that he wouldn’t need to call her.

She didn’t want to hear she was any more useless than she already knew she was.

She paused in the kitchen, thought of how his face had been contorted, and what he’d said about the pain in his leg. She sat a glass of water and two pain pills down at his usual place at the table, glanced back at his doorway, still open, though he wasn’t visible through it.

She sighed, as silently as possible, and headed back out their front door.

“Alright JARVIS.” She said to the empty hallway. “Can you take me to Clint Barton?”

 

Loki left quickly, and Steve waited until he heard the door to the apartment thunk shut a few minutes later before rolling stiffly onto his side and reaching for the phone on the bedside table. It probably said something about how isolated he was, from his friends and from the world, that he’d gone this long without thinking of it. But it had a full charge now, and as he pressed his thumb to the sensor to unlock it, it lit up, an old photo of the Brooklyn bridge as the background wallpaper.

There was also an alert: _voicemail box full._

He stared at the number of missed calls -- had the team called him over and over? Had someone tried to reach him? Did they try to find him by his phone, forgetting he’d left it on the quinjet? -- with growing anxiety. He hit the button to listen to the first one.

There was silence. Then a gasp. Then a wail, and Steve jerked back, nearly dropping the phone. The rest was the sound of someone crying, and it took a moment for him to recognize stifled sounds of Loki’s male voice in it.

Steve’s stomach sank.

He deleted the message, then listened to the next.

And the next.

And the next.

Loki had called, over and over, never saying anything. For the life of him Steve couldn’t fathom why, until he remembered JARVIS walking him through setting up his new StarkPhone, including recording his custom greeting for his voicemail. It had, he realized, been all of his voice Loki had access to, in all likelihood.

And now, she only had the few moments when he could muster up the energy to talk, rarely more than a handful of stilted sentences at a time.

Loki had filled a hundred messages with crying, just to hear his voice, and he couldn’t even hold her now to soothe that anguish.

Feeling sick, Steve hit ‘delete all’ and set the phone down.

“Jarvis,” he murmured, “off the record.”

 

At least, if _he_ cried now, there would be no recording of it. And no one would need to know.

 

\---

 

Clint had apparently remained in the room he’d been initially given, though he was no doubt offered his own suite, just as Natasha and Thor and Steve and Loki had been.

Which was fine, of course; it just meant that Loki ended up back on the same level as the public areas and the penthouse and increased the likelihood of her seeing someone, and of having to hide her reaction to Steve and his return.

It ached, and stung, but the pain was becoming a familiar one, an ever present dull throb at the back of her mind. One she could live with, until she found herself with nothing to do, and worrying at it, like a loose milk tooth.

Which was, of course, all the more reason to stay busy.

She knocked at Clint’s door, feeling stupid for a minute for not having thought to ask JARVIS if he was even in.

Perhaps she could leave it with a note, she was thinking, as the door opened.

 

Clint was just finishing up waxing his bowstrings -- part of the regular maintenance routine for his equipment that he adhered to, even when he slacked on other areas of personal maintenance -- when a knock came at the door.

Lucky’s collar jingled as he perked up, ears turned forward, looking between Clint and the door with a soft whine.

“Who is it, boy?” he asked. Probably Natasha, he figured. She’d said she’d be out with Steve earlier, so they were likely back now. Sighing, he lowered the bow into the case, then walked over to the door, opening it to ask her how it went--

\-- Only it wasn’t Nat. He tensed ever so slightly. “Hey,” he said, looking Loki over. Though, ah, not too closely. Because that would be weird. Especially with the cleavage and all. “What’s up?” His brow furrowed at the idea that something might have gone wrong with Nat and Steve, even as Lucky poked his head around Clint’s leg and began snuffling at Loki.

 

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” She started, pausing to pat Lucky reassuringly, since doing the same to his owner would not be helpful. “I’m afraid I got sent on an errand from Tony. He made this for you,” She told him, holding it out.

She had no hopes of being invited in, so she figured she ought to just get it over and done with. Easier around her did not mean glad to see her. Though, again, perhaps this would make him easier still.

“It’s a personal anti-seidhr field. The Magic Dampeners from SHIELD and Hydra, turned small and wearable.”

She waited for him to take it, to get a good look at it. She didn’t want to just yell instructions at him and dash, aware that this was something of a long-in-coming apology, in physical form, and she could not even take very much credit for the physical aspect.

It still gutted her, to an extent, that because of her, because of what she’d done to him, he would never see seidhr as anything but evil. But at least this would make it so he need not fear its effects. Remove that nightmare, or at least lessen it a little.

 

Clint blinked.

And blinked again.

He remembered, when Loki and he had spoken during Steve’s disappearance, asking about whether the scepter honed in on him specifically. Remembered how their conversation had made his skin crawl with its implications. Remembered the offer Loki had made about Stark using the tech for him. And he’d mentioned it to Stark in passing, sure, but he’d been so hyped up on coffee working on finding Steve that Clint had been pretty sure he hadn’t heard a word out of his mouth, or even knew what day it was.

He’d let it go. And he’d more or less forgotten about it. But Loki -- or Tony, it seemed -- hadn’t.

Carefully, he reached out and took the cuff from Loki. It was lighter than it looked, and he rotated it gingerly, inspecting it.

“How does it work?” he asked after a moment.

 

She stepped in, albeit briefly.

“This button turns it on.” She repeated dutifully, stepping back so that he could try it, and backing a little further away than she had been before, just to be safe. “The other expands the field outward, beyond just yourself. Tony warns that this will drain the battery, though. And it can be charged using your stark phone cord. He also says he can make it purple, if you like.”

She nodded, unsure whether or not to offer, but then went for it anyway.

“If you want to try it out, I can prove its effectiveness to you. But of course, if you would rather not, I completely understand. Just know that Tony and I tested it not an hour ago, and it does work.”

She wasn’t sure if he’d believe her or trust her to work a casting around him, but at least he could ask Tony, too. So he didn’t have to.

 

Clint watched as she explained the way the thing worked, mentally taking note of which button did what. And he silently thanked Stark for not making him have to keep tabs of any more goddamn cables. He didn’t even know what half the chargers he had now were even meant to charge.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said after a moment. Loki was obviously uncomfortable around the thing, which was pretty much a testament to its working in and of itself. And Stark would be able to verify it.

Opening the door a bit more, he nodded for her to follow if she wished. He sat on the edge of the bed -- he’d opted to stay in a guest room instead of a whole floor, as it gave him less to have to worry about keeping tidy -- turning the cuff over in his hands. He slid it on his wrist and moved his arm, pleased that it stayed in place and didn’t slide around, but didn’t threaten his circulation either. It wasn’t ungainly; Stark designed it well.

By the door, Lucky huffed and licked at Loki’s fingers.

 

She wasn’t entirely sure what he expected of her, but she didn’t leave, because he seemed to want her to stay.

The room was familiar from the time she’d spent in one similar, and she tried not to let her gaze wander or linger, too much, lest he feel like she was sizing him up, learning from his environment. She didn’t want him to feel judged.

“I’ll have something similar soon, for Steve and I, but the opposite. Anti dampeners.” It seemed only fair to let him know, in case he might feel betrayed by her not sharing as much if he learned of it later.

She stooped in his doorway and ran her fingers through Lucky’s fur, watching his master as he observed it, tried it on, and moved around. Testing it.

“Will it serve, do you think?”

 

Clint nodded. It made sense, especially given what had happened to Steve with HYDRA’s anti-magic field. He could hardly hold it against them, wanting protection from that.

It was the opposite, but it was also pretty damn near the same.

“You know,” he said slowly. “Time was, if they told me there was a way to disrupt magic, I’d have asked for arrowheads with that tech built in.”

He let the words sit in the air for a moment. Then he reached over and opened the drawer of his bedside table, placing the cuff in it, before sliding it closed. Even without it in view, he felt something inside him relax. A sense of security he hadn’t even realized he lacked, now that he had that safeguard in place.

Turning back to Loki, he looked her in the eyes.

“Right now, I think I’m happy just having that on hand for when I need it. And I can put it on if any magic-wielding bad guys come around.”

He let the fact that he didn’t have it on _now_ speak for itself.

 

She thought back to her invasion, and the arrow he’d shot at her. The one he’d dismissed as useless the moment that he caught it, only for it to explode in his hand and next to his face.

If it had had anti-seidhr technology built in when that happened…

She swallowed.

But then Barton put it away, with that perfectly pointed statement, a compliment without being one, or… perhaps a vote of confidence.

She blinked a few times, then smiled a little.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” she told him bluntly. “But you must know that Natasha and I are working to make me ready to use the sceptre, even knowing that when I do, there is a high likelihood that Thanos will call me back to him, at the very least mentally. You may well want it on when that happens, and… I will do my best to give you some warning ahead of time, as well, so that if you wish not to be here, you can. But as for the immediate future…”

Lucky shifted, tilting his head to direct her fingers where he wanted them to go.

“I wonder if I might ask a favor. And you are of course welcome to say no…”

She trailed off, watching him for a sign, trying to judge how willing he would be to do this for her. After all… he didn’t find her to be bad didn’t necessarily mean he found her to be good, either. But she was hopeful.

 

Clint nodded stiffly. “Thanks for the heads-up.” Okay, he would definitely wear the cuff when _that_ was going down. Even if he trusted Loki (for a given measure of trust), he didn’t trust _possibly-mind-controlled-Loki._ Or mind-controlled anyone for that matter.

He paused when she asked for a favor. He didn’t agree right off, since he’d learned the hard way not to agree to favors blindly. Natasha was pretty much the only one who got to ask for help without details or reservations. But...

“I’m listening,” he told her warily. He’d hear her out at least. She’d earned that much.

 

“May I borrow your dog?”

She all but blurted the words out, unsure if it was wise, or if it would even be helpful, but…

“Steve has had… a bit of a rough time. And Lucky was such a comfort to him before. I will bring him back, of course, and if you’d like me to take him out for a walk before I do, I’m happy to.”

She found herself clasping her hands together, trying not to worry her fingers, but again-- hopeful.

And, she noted, it was funny-- it was so much easier to ask bluntly for something when it was for someone else’s benefit.

 

Clint wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but given how anxious Loki seemed about it, it sure as hell wasn’t something as simple as just borrowing Lucky.

“Uh, sure?” he said, blinking. He looked down at the dog. “What do you think, pal?”

Lucky thumped his tail happily against the floor. Clint found himself unable to stifle a small huff of amusement; he got up and crossed over to his dresser, getting the leash and poop-bags from the top drawer and handing them to Loki. “He hasn’t been out in a while, so you might wanna take him out to do his business first. But yeah, anytime Steve needs him, it’s fine by me for him to go visit.”

If lending him the dog helped Steve, well, who was he to say no?

 

She exhaled, relieved. He seemed surprised, and almost like he’d been expecting her to ask for something more-- something bigger.

Good, that meant that this was… easy, at least.

“I’ll take him out just as soon as I leave here.” She assured him, accepting the leash gladly.

It would be good to get out, and it wasn’t as though Schultz would recognize her to target her in this form, even if he was around.

Besides, taking the time to walk him would give Steve more time on his own, more space. That had to be a good thing, she thought.

“Is there… can I do anything else for you, while I’m here?”

She doubted it, but it seemed polite to ask. He was giving her loan of Lucky, after all, and if the dog could help Steve look as relaxed, and as far from miserable as he had the last time he was over… she would gladly owe Barton, over and over, just to have Steve experience that.

 

Clint waved a hand dismissively. “Nah. Have fun. Tell Steve hey for me.”

He didn’t want to think too hard about how _meek_ Loki acted, and how weird that was. He just wanted to finish maintaining his gear, maybe pop open a cold one, and watch TV.

Yeah. That sounded like a plan.

 

She took Lucky, and gladly, with another promise to bring him back when Steve had had his fill.

But first, to walk him. She remembered the route she’d taken before, when both Steve and Clint were gone. That would give Steve plenty of time, she thought-- and give Lucky ample time to stretch his legs and empty his bladder, lest he decide to do it on Steve, otherwise.

 

\---

 

She’d given him a little time, but this, Natasha thought, was quite long enough.

She knocked at their door, giving Steve the option of being civil, of answering and having this be that much easier on him because of it, but she wasn’t sure how much she believed he’d answer.

And if Loki did, just to send her away, she was going to be _pissed_.

Which she wasn’t.

Not yet.

Concerned, disappointed, but not angry yet. She reserved the right to be after they spoke, but she’d give him that much benefit, for the time being.

 

Steve actually was doing his best to nap. He was tired, the noise and movement and lights of the city having been oddly exhausting, even for the brief period of transit between the therapist’s office and the tower, after so long spent indoors in the quiet. Between that and the physical exhaustion of physio and moving at speed on his bad leg, he’d found himself drifting soon enough.

Then a knock came at the door.

He groaned. If it was Loki, she was probably just knocking as an alert of her presence, and she’d let herself in momentarily. If it was someone else...

JARVIS would open the door if it was an emergency. If it wasn’t -- dammit, he just wanted some sleep.

He rolled over.

 

She sighed and opened the door anyway.

She and JARVIS and Tony had an understanding: She’d get into any door she wanted into anyway, and if they all just played nicely, they could save one another a lot of energy and effort and potential damage. And she helped with security consultations when asked.

And JARVIS opened doors for her when she asked.

She tried not to use that on her friends, but sometimes that was important… like now, when she couldn’t shake the image of Steve beating himself up (more than the punching bag he’d been working on) over something going wrong.

She’d hoped Loki was here, but Loki at least would have answered the door, she was pretty sure, which left Steve alone most likely, and her questions still unanswered.

She closed their door behind her but didn’t lock it, murmuring a small ‘thanks’ to JARVIS, and looked around.

It was dark, and quiet. There was a glass of water next to some pills on the table-- generic pain killers, though, nothing specialized. Interesting.

She wandered in, noting the open door to the spare room, the mattress on the floor with fur thrown haphazardly over it-- Loki, she figured, with a slight pang. Which left the master bedroom for…

Steve. And there he was, on the bed.

“Hey. We’re not answering doors anymore, either?” She asked.

 

Mentally cursing JARVIS, Steve rolled back over at the sound of Nat’s voice, blinking blearily at her.

“I was trying to sleep,” he informed her dryly. “Hence not answering the door.” Which hadn’t stopped her. Because apparently he was too pathetic to be allowed privacy, he noted bitterly.

“What do you want, Nat?” he asked, voice more tired than belligerent as he pulled himself into a sitting position, stifling a grunt at the various aches and pangs.

 

“I wanted to check on you.” She admitted. “Can’t exactly say we parted on the best of terms, and I still have no idea what went wrong.”

She watched him move, keeping a calculating eye on his stiffness, his soreness.

He was still pushing himself, and she couldn’t say she blamed him. It was how she’d been taught to work through injuries, illnesses and hurts of all descriptions.

She just didn’t understand the barrier between pushing himself physically and working to push himself mentally. She wanted to, though.

 

Steve swallowed. “It wasn’t anything to do with you,” he mumbled, looking down so he didn’t have to make eye contact. Because for some reason, everyone seemed to take his being broken so goddam _personally_.

He exhaled in exasperation. “It just. Therapy like that. It’s not working. And I don’t think it will.”

 

“You shutting the door in my face felt like it had something to do with me.” She raised an eyebrow.

“If I made a bad recommendation, I want to know. If it’s something I can fix, something you want to try again, I’ll need to know so I can research and find someone else. But more than that… I wanted to find out where your head is. Find out if you were planning on taking on another punching bag or anything.”

He’d been in physical therapy, she knew, so maybe he’d save his frustration for that, but she also knew him better than to hope for that too hard.

 

Steve exhaled again, then reached up and raked a hand through his hair. It was growing in, but still patchy and ragged.

He didn’t want to have this conversation any more than he’d wanted to have the one in the doctor’s office. But he did owe Natasha; that much he knew.

“I was just lying down. Not doing anything stupid,” he assured her. “I’m just. Tired.” He fixed his gaze on the threading on her boots. “And it’s nothing you did wrong. It’s... Sitting across from someone while he asks me how I feel, tries to get in my head and just... questions, over and over... like I’m getting _interrogated--_ ”

His voice cracked. He stopped, then swallowed, a few beats passing before he kept going, quietly. “I didn’t like it when SHIELD made me go through it after they thawed me out. Don’t like it now. Especially not when--” he broke off with a small sound of frustration. “I shut down soon as he started asking me things. The problem’s _me._ I just... I can’t do it. Not like that. So it won’t help.”

 

She froze, then nodded slowly.

There, that made sense. It was something she hadn’t thought of, and realizing what had happened-- he’d clammed up and refused to talk because that was how he’d been trained to resist, because it felt like he was right back in the hands of HYDRA.

She felt like she should have considered that, but that was neither here nor there-- she hadn’t. She schooled her face blank and her voice into being compassionate.

Now was the part where she had to assure him it wasn’t his fault, and she wasn’t mad.

“Alright. You’re right, then-- that might not work. I’ll see what other options are out there. And… I’m sorry. That it went badly. The problem’s still not you-- it’s what was done to you. We just have to find a different way of helping. And we will.” She promised. “There are always other options.”

She’d just have to start digging for them. In the meantime…

“Looks like Loki left some painkillers out for you, you want me to grab them?”

 

Steve’s mouth twisted.

He didn’t want to take the pills. Didn’t want to need them, or to feel weak and reliant on them. But he was sore, and being sore made him irritable, and the people around him didn’t deserve that. Especially when right now he wanted to scream at how Natasha was handling him with kid gloves.

She was trying to help, after all.

“Sure,” he said, slumping back down on the bed, resigned.

He had little faith in “other options.” But he wouldn’t say as much.

 

“Alright.”

She didn’t say anything else, just turned to grab the glass and pills off the table, wondering at their being there.

“Does he-- _she_ , sorry. Does Loki leave them out for you every morning?” She asked, holding the glass near the rim so that he could take the bottom, and holding her hand out facing down, so she could drop the pills into his palm, without risking touch.

Not that she blamed him for taking them, but if it was going to be a problem of dependence later, it would be good to know.

 

Steve frowned, shaking his head. He took the glass, then held his palm out for her to drop the pills into. “No,” he told her. “I don’t... I don’t usually take them.” He barely managed to make himself take most of the pills the doctors _insisted_ he take. “I just mentioned I was sore earlier... Must’ve been the stairs at the office.” And the PT. And the month of torture, probably.

He grimaced, taking the pills and swallowing them with a gulp of water before placing the glass on the bedside table. “I don’t _need_ them,” he said, almost challengingly.

 

“‘Course not.” She said evenly. “But at the same time, according to you, there’s not much you do need, is there?”

It felt like a low blow, and she wrinkled her brow.

“Sorry. I just want you to know that it’s okay to need things-- help and medicine and time to heal. You just have to tell us. Everyone is chomping at the bit, just waiting for a word from you on how they can help. At least I have the therapy thing.”

She tilted her head.

“Has Loki been here since you got back?”

It seemed… out of character for her to leave him here alone, if she knew he was upset and hurting. From what she’d seen, Loki seemed more likely to hover.

But she wasn’t here now, that was for sure.

 

He flinched and looked away.

“She did,” he answered, after a moment. “I told her I was tired and I needed space. _She_ listened,” he added dryly. But instead of a wry smile, his mouth twisted further into a frown.

Because everyone was waiting for him to tell them how to help. What to do. And Steve--

“I don’t know what I need,” he said, just over a murmur. “I don’t have the answers. I don’t have the orders to give everyone for how to handle this. I don’t-- I can’t _fix this,”_ he stated, gesturing to himself. “I’m not the guy with the plan anymore. I have no idea what’s supposed to make this better, except that everyone _expecting_ me to know, to tell them what to do--” he broke off, throat uncomfortably tight. “I can’t be him anymore, Nat. I’m not.”

Captain America, he was fairly sure, had died alone in a HYDRA cell. The shell of Steve Rogers was all they’d dragged out. Useless as he’d been before Erskine got his hands on him.

 

She blinked, uncomfortable and unsure how to handle this.

Steve was vulnerable, and she’d known that, but this felt like she’d flayed him open, if only emotionally. And she’d seen too much of that in recent days.

“No one expects you to have a plan. No one expects you to… to jump up and be ‘fixed’ but… no one can feel your hurts but you, so you have to tell us when we find bruises we can’t see. That’s all. One day at a time, one step at a time. The best way for us to figure out what to do, how to help you move forward, is to define the edges of this thing, right? Because it’s a lot like fighting something we can’t see.”

Only, again, she’d seen too much. But she wasn’t going to let him know that.

“I’m sorry for barging in on you. If you want, I’ll leave now. Let you rest.” She watched him though, wondering if it was what he wanted, or if he was just pushing people away for some reason.

The tiredness she believed, but he’d spent so long alone… it was the space she wondered about.

 

“Feeling pretty bruised all over these days,” he remarked grimly. And no matter Natasha’s insistence that no one expected it of him, it was hard to believe when all anyone seemed to want from him were answers he didn’t have.

“And I’m as in the dark as you, Nat. I was hallucinating for a whole lot of it, I don’t remember...” he stopped, breathing deeply. “I don’t know what sets me off. I’ve tried to say when I’ve found something. But I don’t know until it happens. All I know for sure is I’m no good with touch, table salt is a problem, and I’m just _tired, Nat.”_

He stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe you ought to. Go, I mean,” he said softly after several seconds.

 

She twisted her face up, biting back more attempts at inspirational speeches. That had always been more his forte than hers, anyway.

“Alright. I’m going, but only because you asked so nice.” She gave him a faint smirk. “You need anything, you can call. Anytime. Even if it’s just company, or crappy movie recommendations, or a game of cards or something, okay?”

She took a deep breath and blew it out.

“And don’t worry about today. It’s no big deal. Really.”

 

“Thanks,” he said flatly, closing his eyes. “Sure.”

 

If he needed anything, he’d have to figure it out first. Mostly, he just wanted to be left alone and forgotten. Again.

 

(They should have left him in the hole HYDRA abandoned him in.)

_(Should have left it in the ocean.)_

(Should have left him in the ice.)

 

Exhaustion hooked its claws into him and dragged him down.

 

She slipped out, locking the door behind her, and headed off in search of Stark.

They had more to watch, and now seemed as good a time as any, given how grim she felt.

She’d save the therapy search for later, while she still had what he’d been through fresh on her mind, so that she didn’t mess up again, and suggest something else terrible for him.

 

\---

 

Loki’s walk was pleasant. She’d almost forgotten… well, not quite. But it was nice to get out, to have some purpose, even so small a one as this, for as brief a time as it was.

And coming back felt… she could feel her pulse tick upwards, could feel the concern and the uncertainty that came with the fear of Steve reacting poorly to her rash request. She ought to have asked him first, and she supposed it wasn’t too late… until it was, and they were just outside the door of their apartment.

She didn’t knock, the way she would if she was bringing someone else with her, because she thought that perhaps Lucky didn’t count in quite the same way.

She entered as quietly as she could, hushing the dog unnecessarily. Lucky’s tail was wagging, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. Nor was she particularly inclined to, if she could.

She did take the leash off of him and set it on the table, though, then crept silently to Steve’s door.

He appeared to be asleep, and she was loathe to wake him, so she let Lucky wander.

She would cook dinner and see if he woke on his own. See if he was hungry when he did, and if he wanted to spend some time with the dog that he could touch, in the absence of physical comfort from people.

She focused on that, on the challenge of making something edible. It was easy enough to lose herself in the work.

And if nothing else, Lucky made good company in the quiet.

 

Steve rested. He was pretty sure he slept, though if he dreamed, he mercifully didn’t remember it. He must have slept, because he opened his eyes and heard movement in the other room, which meant Loki had returned. A glance at the clock confirmed a solid hour and a half had passed since his conversation with Natasha.

Gingerly, he sat up and swung his legs off the bed, groping for his cane and then hauling himself to his feet. His leg twinged slightly, but didn’t hurt as badly as it had earlier.

He made his way out into the living room, and was met with the smell of food wafting from the kitchen.

He was also met by Lucky, who happily trotted over and began nudging his head against Steve’s thigh, demanding to be pet.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Where did you come from?”

“ _Whuff,”_ said Lucky in response. Steve scratched his ears. “Did Clint come by?” he asked, a little louder for Loki’s benefit.

 

Loki turned toward Steve, face guilty.

“No. I had to bring Clint a gift from Tony-- a personal sized seidhr disrupter. I thought it might allow Clint to sleep a little easier. And I thought Lucky might do the same for you-- though, when I got back, you were already asleep.” She gave him a sheepish smile.

“I have dinner ready, if you’d like some. And if Lucky is a bother, I can take him back to Clint.”

It was simple, and nothing particularly exciting, but she’d mixed small soft bits of chicken and vegetables into the rice, and flavored all of it with saffron, in the hopes he might eat something other than starches. It was brightly colored, and, she hoped, inviting.

 

“He’s not a bother at all,” Steve assured her, stroking the silky fur along the top of Lucky’s head. “He’s a good boy. Aren’t you?”

Lucky smiled, and his tail thumped against the nearby furniture.

Steve, however, frowned, when some of what Loki had said sunk in. “Tony’s been developing more anti-magic tech?” he asked, vaguely alarmed by the prospect.

 

She pursed her lips, wondering how much she ought to tell him.

But, he was asking, and she was not in the practice of lying to him.

“The containment that we developed for the sceptre is made up of miniaturized anti magic devices. And… after they got back, Clint sought me out. Asked why the sceptre had zeroed in on him again. Seidhr is like a river. Once a path has been carved for it, by it, it is easier to flow in that direction than any other. As you can imagine…” and here she grimaced, because it was entirely her fault.

“The thought was alarming for Clint. So, I told him to ask Tony to make something for Clint to wear. It is finished now. And Tony is working on the opposite for you and I-- Anti-magic disrupters, so that nothing of that make can harm us again. I helped him test it today, and he should have finished products soon.”

She was glad that he wanted Lucky to stay. Even speaking of this much to him made her tense… she hoped Lucky would help keep him from feeling the same.

 

Steve relaxed at the assurance that the inverse of the devices were in development; both for his sake and for Loki’s. Knowing how frightened she’d been when SHIELD was first revealed to have that technology, before they even knew it was in HYDRA hands -- and how much they’d fought as a result -- it was a relief to know they had countermeasures now.

Though he felt bad about Clint. He hadn’t realized -- hadn’t remembered until now, how shaken Clint had been by the scepter. That mission was so distant in his memory now, overwhelmed by everything that had followed.

“Is he doing okay?” he asked, lowering himself into one of the kitchen chairs. Lucky put his chin on Steve’s knee. “Clint, I mean. I didn’t ask... after what happened with the scepter on that mission...”

 

“He’s…” she hesitated. “When we spoke at first, he looked ill. But… since then, I have used seidhr to shield him from injury, and he has minded my back in fights. He is not… pleased, not comfortable with magic, but nor is he… as he was. Today when I gave him the blocker, he put it in a drawer. Told me he’d wear it if any magical bad guys came around.”

She felt her lips twitch upward, unable to hide the warmth that swelled at the memory.

“I cannot say we are close, and you may be better off asking Natasha after the state of his mind, but. He seems to be doing better, I think.”

She came forward, resting her hands where he could see them, on the back of the chair.

“And what about you, elskan? Are you doing okay?”

She watched him warily, unsure if he would be ready for the question, and even more unsure if he would answer. But if nothing else, she could turn on a movie and let him curl up with Lucky. Once she was done upsetting him.

 

Steve nodded. That sounded consistent enough with his conversation with Clint when he’d come by the other day. Things between Clint and Loki would probably never be _great,_ but they were clearly much better. Which was more than Steve would have hoped for back a few months ago. And he was glad that Clint himself wasn’t too ill-affected by the situation with the scepter, though he suspected it had been overshadowed by his own disappearance.

“Okay as I can be,” he answered with a shrug. Which wasn’t really an answer, but then, he didn’t have a good one. “Painkillers helped. Thanks for that,” he offered. “And... you?”

 

She searched for the lie in his words, but either she had grown rusty or he believed them, or he’d grown very good at hiding his hurts.

Which he must have had to do, she reminded herself, feeling her stomach sink.

“I have to admit that I will be happier once I have the devices Tony made in hand and on you, but until then… you are back, and you do seem happier with Lucky around. So I am well.” She gave him a quick smile.

“Are you hungry, though? Dinner is saffron rice with chicken and vegetables. You needn’t eat much.”

She felt, again, like she was treading rocky ground, unsure if it would be taken as nagging, or if it would sour his mood, dog or no.

 

Steve would probably be happier as well. Knowing he wouldn’t feel that smothering sensation -- that buzz in his skull that had nearly brought him to his knees during his failed escape -- was something he’d need to thank Tony for.

He scritched under Lucky’s chin, prompting a happy grumble as Lucky closed his good eye in contentment.

“It sounds good. I’ll give it a try,” he told Loki, managing a smile. He wasn’t that hungry, but she’d clearly chosen gentle ingredients for his benefit, and where she’d given him space earlier when he’d asked for it, it was only fair to offer her company now. “Saffron’s pretty fancy. Would hate to see it go to waste.” In another life, spices that expensive would have been a luxury far beyond what he could imagine having, even for a special occasion.

 

“Is it?” She asked, unable to help but be surprised, but she was pleased just the same.

“On Asgard it is a weed. It’s also why you see so many yellows in Asgardian clothing. Its dye is powerful.”

She turned her back to him to dish, making sure to choose small bowls so that he would not feel overwhelmed. She could always return for second helpings.

She carried both bowls and utensils back, then paused.

“Milk? Water? Juice?”

She did not offer him wine, though he had seemed to enjoy it well enough before dinner had gone horribly wrong with Pepper and Tony and Jane and Thor.

She was sure it had done its part in making things worse.

 

“Water’s fine,” he answered. The rice and chicken might be simple enough, but the aroma was far more savory than the usual bland fare he was relegated to. Steve might not have had an appetite before, but his mouth practically watered now at the smell.

“Here, saffron’s worth even more than its weight in gold,” he told her. Though a moment later, he recalled how ubiquitous gold was on Asgard according to how Loki told it, and wondered if the comparison would translate. “One of the most expensive foods, by weight, in the world,” he clarified. “Though knowing Tony he probably has a whole locker of it or something.” This was accompanied by a weak smile as he lifted his fork and scooped up a small amount of brightly colored rice. ‘

It was _delicious._ His eyes widened, and he made a sound of appreciation. The flavor was rich, exploding over his tongue, and he already knew he probably wouldn’t be able to stomach a lot of it, but the intensity of the taste was worth it.

 

“If Tony knows of it-- he is not much of a cook, he has said. And I doubt he dyes his own clothing either.” She gave him a half crooked smile as she sat his glass down beside him, and took her seat, carefully across the table, where she only needed to worry about avoiding kicking him.

“It may be worth mentioning to Thor, though-- if Asgard has things that your world lacks, or is short on, they will be excited at the prospect of trading. Good to have something between your worlds, other than a common enemy.”

The sound Steve made at the taste of the food made her stomach twist, and it took her a moment to realize why-- how much it sounded like noises he’d made for other reasons.

She looked down at her dish, ashamed of herself and her reaction.

She took a bite, smiling around it.

“It turned out much better this time than the last. I think I have finally learned how not to make rice which crunches.” She kept her voice light on purpose, hoping-- praying, really, inasmuch as one like she prayed, that he hadn’t noticed.

“Do you--” she cleared her throat, nervous again, afraid already that she was asking too much of him, without even having asked. But she’d started now; it was too late to change her mind.

“Do you have any requests? For food I might purchase, or make? I am always happy to try my hand at learning something new.”

 

Steve chuckled. “Now I’m imagining Tony in bright yellow armor,” he mused. Not that saffron would dye the armor, of course, but it was an amusing mental image all the same. “Trade would be interesting, though interplanetary customs would probably need to be set up first,” he mused. Maybe 70 years ago, it would have been easier, but the future had come with a great deal of regulation.

He took another bite of the food, savoring it, and feeling the warmth of it as it slid down his throat and into his stomach, heavy and satisfying. “This is good,” he confirmed. “I guess you figured out the stove and then some all without me, huh?”

Part of him was a bit bitter at that; not because Loki had become less reliant on him -- it _did_ underscore his uselessness, but it had been something he wanted well before, for her to be able to get by on her own and feel comfortable without _needing_ him and resenting him for it -- but because he only wished he could have been a part of it. Been here for Loki’s first home cooked meal; been there for the first trip to the grocery store that Loki took lead on; been here to laugh together at the failed attempts and cheer over the successful ones.

How had he missed so much in just over a month?

Stifling that surge of melancholy, he swallowed another bite. “Still figuring out what my stomach can and can’t handle,” he said, cautiously, in response to her question. “Probably staying away from mac and cheese for a bit, but any kind of stew’s always been comforting.” And something he knew for a fact Loki found comfort in as well. “Have you tried baking at all?”

 

She shook her head ruefully.

“I have not. I can learn, though. I will admit, I took up cooking primarily as a way to be away from the others. And then as a means of escaping ramen noodles… Agents Ferra and Ben-- Murray. They were the ones to help me learn your grocery stores and JARVIS explained the stove. From there, it has been vast amounts of experimentation.”

And she was glad that the only help she’d had with that phase had been JARVIS-- she doubted any human, including Steve, would have had the patience to coax her through as many mistakes as she had made. Not to mention how emotionally volatile she was, at the time.

“I cannot do anything special, or anything particularly complex. But I should be perfectly capable of making stew.” She was certain of that, at least.

“And if you develop a craving for anything else… like I said, I’m happy to learn.” She smiled warmly at him, glad to see him eating, and even more glad to see he was enjoying it.

She didn’t ask about the mac and cheese, but it was fairly easy to guess why he should avoid it.

 

He smiled back at her.

This was... This was good. Talking about happier things. Not _him._ Not the ways in which he had _regressed,_ but how Loki had progressed. That was better.

“I’m glad Ferra and Murray helped you out,” he said. “That you have friends. It’s good.” Of course, they were back in DC with Carter now, so that avenue of socialization was gone for the moment. But it was a comfort all the same to know how many of the others had been looking out for his partner.

After another bite, he lowered his fork, beginning to feel quite full.

 

She nodded, smiling.

“We both have friends. It is very good, and worth remembering.” She watched him lower the fork, but knew she couldn’t be upset. He’d eaten, and it was a slow process, getting back to eating after not having done it.

Besides, he’d enjoyed it, he said, so it wasn’t anything she could blame herself for.

“Do you have any plans after dinner?” She asked, trying to acknowledge however subtly that he was finished.

“Clint did not seem too concerned with how long Lucky stayed, so if you wanted to curl up with him and a movie…”

She wished she could curl up with Steve, stroke his hair the way he would run his fingers through Lucky’s fur. But at least this way he could feel neither panic nor quite so alone. She’d take it.

 

He nearly made a wry comment about his jam-packed schedule and social calendar, but held back; things were so tentatively _nice_ with Loki right now, her smile coming more easily than it had, that he didn’t want to derail it by being overly sarcastic.

“Movie could be good,” he mused. Glancing down at Lucky, he felt his heart twinge faintly at the pleading look in the dog’s eye as he looked from Steve to his abandoned dinner.

“It’s not for you,” he told the dog. Lucky tilted his head to the side, ears perked, and Steve sighed, relenting. He picked a small piece of chicken out of the bowl, then tossed it in the air.

Lucky caught it nimbly, and then thumped his tail happily against the floor.

Steve laughed. “Good boy.” He rubbed Lucky’s ears, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Now, go give Loki kisses for me!” he said, pointing over to Loki and giving Lucky a nudge. The dog promptly got up and trotted over to her.

 

She felt her brows rise, even as her mouth turned upwards with pleased surprise.

She reached down to pet the dog, touched by the display, and fed Lucky another bite of chicken for his troubles.

“You are a very good boy.” She told him, pausing as she realized how close it was to the words she was not able to say to Steve anymore, and she glanced up at him to be sure it was okay.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but was interrupted by JARVIS.

 

“ _Pardon me, Loki, Captain Rogers. But you are both needed with some urgency upstairs._ ”

Loki sat up straight quickly and looked to Steve.

She’d have offered to jump them there to save him the trip, except that required contact that Steve wasn’t ready for.

“You go ahead, I’ll fetch Lucky’s leash.”

She had no idea what this was about, but she doubted they would be summoned thus if it were anything good.

 

The sweetness of the moment -- something that was almost back to _normal_ between them, with food and care and affection -- was promptly shattered. Steve’s stomach sank, the food in it suddenly heavier than it had any right to be. And he wondered if he even had any right to be surprised...

“I’ll hold the elevator for you,” he told her, picking up his cane from where he’d leaned it at the table’s edge and pushing himself up to his feet.


	85. Eighty-Five

A minute or so later, he was holding the elevator door as Loki and Lucky approached, the button already pressed for the penthouse.

“Any idea what’s going on?” he asked.

 

She shook her head and opened her arms, as if offering to allow him to search her.

“I know only what you do. But I would ask that you stay close, in the event it is an attack. And… if it comes to it, brace for me to touch you. To move us. But we will hope that is not necessary.”

Another moment where she might have offered some softness, some gentle physical reassurance. But instead there was nothing. Just the sound of the elevator doors sliding closed behind her, and the concern that was gnawing away inside of her stomach.

“The only solace I can offer is that, were it truly a threat, I feel someone would have come to us, rather than sending a summons via JARVIS.” That seemed right, at least. She couldn’t really be sure of it.

The doors opened with their usual soft chime, and when she stepped forward, Lucky strained at his leash.

She bent and unclasped it, letting him run to his master, who was already in the living room with Tony, Natasha, Jane, Thor, and Bruce.

Nearly everyone, save them, Pepper, who was traveling, and Darcy, whom Loki still mentally labelled as ‘the loud mortal’.

She held back, able to stroll in with long strides, but choosing not to, in order to keep pace with her Partner.

“Brother?” She asked, as they drew closer, the part of her that was quailing at such a summons wanting the news from him.

 

Steve nodded, thin-lipped, hoping it wasn’t an attack. Hoping he wouldn’t be a liability for whatever was happening. (He already knew he wouldn’t be an asset.)

They seemed to be the last ones to arrive as he walked out into the penthouse, his pride keeping him from leaning too heavily on the cane. Natasha promptly scooted over on one of the couches, indicating for him to sit down next to her. He gladly moved to the open space, thankful someone had left a chair free just to the side of it for Loki.

“Okay, good, everyone’s here,” Tony announced. “J, would you put Carter on the big screen?”

The large flatscreen in the penthouse living room lit up with Agent Carter’s image, looking grim. “Avengers,” she said, voice carrying on the speakers.

“What’s happening?” Jane asked, speaking for them all with that simple question. Steve shifted uncomfortably. Something had to have happened at SHIELD. Something that affected all of them.

Carter pursed her lips. “We found Schultz.”

A moment of silence reigned as everyone processed. “That’s... a good thing, isn’t it?” Bruce asked.

“You’re not looking like it’s a good thing,” Tony said. “Agent. Why aren’t you looking like that’s a good thing?”

Carter sighed. “To be more exact-- we found what was _left_ of him. And no sign of the gauntlets he’d been wearing at the time of his apprehension, which were also missing from SHIELD’s inventory.”

“He’s dead,” Steve said, numbly. The man who hurt Loki was dead; he thought that might merit a small, vindictive surge of satisfaction. Or at least relief. Instead, he just felt a low sense of dread.

“He’s dead,” Sharon confirmed. “Looks like HYDRA realized we were cleaning house and decided to clean up loose ends. Probably decided Schultz was a liability. And if they were looking to recover the gauntlets--”

“-- Then taking Schultz ensured you’d look for him and not the gauntlets on their own,” Natasha finished.

 

Loki scowled, barely stopping herself from trying to move closer to Steve. But then, there was a couch arm in the way, and she suspected Natasha had arranged their seating that way on purpose.

“We know what the gauntlets look like now.” She told them, voice even. “I can destroy them from a distance, if we spot them. But I would advise maintaining that distance. No repeats of our last encounter with that particular pair.”

She glanced at Steve, then away.

 

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking, but-- any forensic evidence on the body tying anyone else to him?” Bruce adjusted his glasses, looking surprisingly calm about all of this, for which Loki was instantly grateful.

“We’re going over everything with a fine toothed comb, but… to be honest, we’re not expecting to find anything. Whoever it was was trained by SHIELD or Hydra or both, so…”

On the screen, Sharon shrugged, still looking grim.

“So what’s the plan for us? Are we a target?” Jane asked, looking from the screen to Tony.

“Who knows. Nat and I have been reviewing some of their files--”

Natasha cleared her throat.

“And we still don’t have any insight into how their brains work. Other than the icky bits.” Tony finished smoothly.

Loki shook her head.

“If we are a target, we should use every asset available to us to add to the defense of our home. I would see plans for the building, that I might add my own strengths to what you already have. Even if they have magic disrupters, the added layer will give us warning time, if nothing else.”

 

Tony nodded grimly. “I’ll have the anti-disruptors on hand for you and Steve first thing in the morning,” he assured Loki, eyes flicking to Steve. “Make sure you guys aren’t getting taken out by that again. And I’ll work on a larger field we can switch on to cover the tower, though that might be a few days. Jarv, give Loki authorization to view the tower plans.”

Steve took a deep breath. HYDRA had the gauntlets. They might be coming after the Avengers. Or this might all be a red herring. Something to distract. If Carter’s team had been too close to uncovering something--

“How much of HYDRA have you rooted out of SHIELD?” he asked.

“Not enough,” Clint muttered from where he perched on a chair nearby. “Scofield, obviously we know about, but he’s dead now so we can’t ask him who all his buddies were.”

“Given HYDRA’s resistance to interrogation and penchant for cyanide, there’s no reason to believe he would have told us anything even if we had him in custody,” Sharon pointed out.

Only--

Steve frowned. Scofield _had_ told him a name, while bragging to Steve in his cell. “Winslow,” he blurted. “Scofield said he paid an Agent named Winslow to shoot at Loki, when he and I tried to come back to SHIELD the first time. Don’t know if he’s HYDRA or just easily bought off, but he might know more.”

 

Loki turned to Steve, surprised.

This was the first of any such information she’d heard from Steve, and she looked to Natasha and Tony, then Sharon, silently hoping they did not push him for more.

On screen, Sharon was writing the name down.

“I’ll look into it. Thank you, Rogers. And if you think of anything else, JARVIS has a direct line to me, and I imagine Loki has direct lines to most of my team.”

Loki nodded.

They would be protected very shortly, Steve was providing information, Schultz was dead. In theory all of this was good-- the heavy weight in her chest just wasn’t convinced.

Natasha was watching Steve closely, and Loki felt that weight plummet.

“Do you remember anything else that might help us find them?” She asked, and all of her attention was on Steve.

 

Steve froze as he abruptly became the center of attention. All eyes were on him for answers.

His gut clenched and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

“I...” he stopped, swallowing, mouth gone dry. “I don’t...” There might be something. But he couldn’t remember. He’d forgotten completely about Scofield’s mention of Winslow until mere seconds ago. He didn’t _know--_

 

“If you remember anything.” Sharon repeated, “You know how to get ahold of me.”

Loki shot her a grateful look, long distance though it was.

Natasha was nodding, and Loki thought the panic Steve felt must be obvious to even the most oblivious of them. She glanced to Thor, just to be sure.

Only to find him watching her, a small wrinkle of concern on his forehead.

It annoyed her for some reason, but she let it be-- it made no difference at the moment. She’d deal with whatever was troubling him later.

“Have you any other updates?” She asked, addressing Agent Carter on the screen, in the hopes that moving the subject outward would help her partner. But she kept a watch on him out the corner of her eye, so that if things got worse, she could take him away from this. Make excuses for them to duck out.

 

“I’ve reached out to MI5 about getting in contact with that scientist HYDRA had. They’re being pretty cagey at the moment, but I’ll keep you posted,” Carter told them. “And I sent a few letters to various scientific establishments... _encouraging_ them to share data with Dr. Foster for reasons of international security.”

“You’re my hero,” Jane told her, earnestly.

“Beyond that -- we’re working on everything we can down here in DC. But if you get noise on your end and want us up there, we’ll be in the air as soon as we hear,” she assured them.

The conversation no longer focused on him, Steve relaxed incrementally, his nerves still jangling, but no longer completely on edge. Still, he could feel Natasha periodically glancing at him.

 

She wished she could reach out, could offer him her hand in a silent show of support, but she knew that right now, that would only make things worse.

So instead she clucked her tongue, calling for Lucky, and nudged the dog in his direction when he came, with a pat on the head and a quick smile sent in Clint’s direction as thanks.

It sounded as though the majority of the moving parts in play at the moment did not concern them, but Loki still listened, trying to remember everything that was being said.

Eventually, though, she gave up, as talk turned to updates on the scientific and technical side of things, instead turning her attention to those around her. There was a grimness in the room, but a determination as well. Natasha’s attention was divided, listening to the conversation and sending looks in Steve’s direction. Thor’s, too, was divided, between watching Loki herself and watching Jane.

Still, it was not disruptive.

And the remainder of their business was finished quickly enough.

By the time Sharon had signed off, Loki was more than ready to return to their apartment, to the remains of their dinner, and, if possible, the relative peace that they had found, though she suspected it had been irretrievably shattered by the meeting.

But she knew there was some unfinished conversation to be had, and she was proven right when Thor spoke lowly to Jane and patted her arm before crossing to Loki.

 

“A word, sister?” He said, through a smile that was no more comfortable on his face than Steve had been under the scrutiny of the team. And loathe though she was to leave him alone, she suspected that whatever Thor had to say would be best delivered away from him.

“I am sure we’ll be just a moment,” she promised Steve, her smile at least more convincing, if no more honest than Thor’s. She hated the dread she felt, not knowing what this was about.

Still, she followed Thor into the kitchen, away from the others.

 

“How are you?” He asked without any other preamble, and Loki was taken aback.

“Is that why you called me away? Truly?” She could not help but feel amused. “I am fine. Steve and I were supping together, before we were called here.”

Thor nodded, accepting that, but there was still a question that lingered on his face.

“What is it, Thor?” She asked, aiming for gentle and afraid she’d managed something closer to ‘fondly impatient’. Still, she knew he must count it as an improvement from a couple of months ago.

“Steve has not spoken to you of his time in captivity.” Thor said, and she felt the weight of his expectation, though it was not a question.

“He has not.” She answered, all the same, lifting her chin defensively.

And how like her brother, to cut so close to the quick of her concerns, to be the first to find her failings.

“But the others have files they are reviewing.” Thor said, and Loki blinked, surprised at the turn of the conversation, until her mind put together what Thor obviously already had.

A slow, incredulous smile formed on her face.

“And when did you become the bright sibling?” She asked archly.

Thor chuckled.

“I think it is merely Jane’s brilliance wearing off on me. Which reminds me-- I should warn you that she is compiling a list of questions for you about your gifts. I do not know _when_ she plans to ask, but…”

It was Loki’s turn to laugh a little.

“I appreciate the warning.” She told him lightly, “But I welcome the questions. Your lady’s mind is a labyrinth of knowledge. I look forward to learning more of it.”

Thor beamed.

“And thank you.” Loki went on. “I will speak to Tony and Natasha, and learn what they have found. There must be a reason they have not said anything more directly to me. I mean to discover it.”

Still, she did not sound too grim. She had trusted them both, with her own life, and, more, with Steve’s. If there was something they were not saying, she believed there was a reason for it. But that did not mean she should like it.

“Come. Let us rejoin our friends.” She told Thor, reaching out for his arm to guide him back, and then, with a jolt of realizing that she could, she changed the movement and pulled herself against him, gratified when his arms came up as well and clasped her in an embrace.

She felt the prickings of tears at the edge of her eyes, and pulled away more quickly than she would have liked to.

But still. There remained things to do.

They returned, and Loki let her touch linger on Thor’s back, just glad to _be_ touching. She sent a questioning smile Steve’s way, checking to see how he was holding up.

She _would_ talk to Tony and Nat, but it didn’t have to be now. Steve and his comfort still needed seen to first.

 

Bruce had caught him for a moment, asking how he was, how his recovery was going, and Steve answered blandly and quickly as possible. When he turned, however, Loki was off to the side, speaking with Thor.

He watched as they hugged, as Loki initiated contact -- chased after it -- and felt a pang. He wasn’t _jealous;_ at least, not like that. Thor and Loki were siblings, nothing more. But he envied him the ability to touch her without flinching. The ability to be that grounding force for Loki. A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he got it under control before Loki looked his way, forcing a smile for her benefit. It would be cruel and deranged to expect Loki not to find comfort from anyone else just because she couldn’t have it from him.

“I think I’m gonna head downstairs and clean up the kitchen,” he told her, getting up from the couch. “If you want to stay here and coordinate plans with everyone, while they’re all here...”

 

She wanted to discourage him, to tell him that the kitchen would clean itself, but she recognized it for the excuse it was, and nodded quickly.

“I won’t be long.” She promised.

It was good, she tried to tell herself. He was respecting his own limits. Taking care of himself. And with him giving her this opportunity, she would not have to leave him alone later to accomplish this.

He was wonderful, so graceful in his retreat, cane and all, and she resolved to tell him so as soon as they were alone.

Provided his door was open to her when she returned.

In the meantime, with one last nod at Thor, she gestured for Tony’s attention.

“Natasha, Tony, if I may speak with you, please?”

 

Natasha pulled away from her low conversation with Tony and Clint at the sound of her name; Loki was seemingly unaccompanied by Steve in her request, as the latter was heading for the elevators, presumably done with their gathering.

Loki, for her part, didn’t seem overly upset, which boded well. Natasha inclined her head towards her. “Of course. What’s up?”

 

She didn’t particularly like the setting, but nor did she want to alarm or arouse suspicion in the others by drawing Natasha and Tony aside.

She lowered her voice, glancing once more at Steve, but he had reached the elevators. Which put him, she thought, well out of ear shot.

“What you saw tonight, insofar as Steve speaking of his experiences, is how it has been since he returned.” She spoke quickly, urgently, not wanting to linger overlong.

The elevator dinged, and she did not turn to watch him step on board, lest he know she spoke of him, though she was certain he must suspect.

“You spoke of files you were reviewing. Is there anything in them about what was done to him? What he suffered at the hands of Hydra?”

She did not want to break his trust, but nor could she continue as she had been, walking around on eggshells and unable to guess what small, innocuous thing might be the next table salt, to set him off.

 

Natasha considered whether to tell Loki yet or not, but Tony limited her options by immediately tensing beside her. Inwardly, she sighed; she teased Steve about his lack of poker face, but Tony wasn’t a hell of a lot better. At least, not when he was caught off guard.

“Yes,” she answered simply. It was the truth, after all; recent years had her experimenting more with it. And then, “why?”

She did her best to ignore Tony’s uncomfortable shuffling beside her. If Loki just wanted answers to a question or two, that would be one thing. But if she asked to see everything... She knew that Tony had deliberately restricted the files Loki had access to. And she hadn’t disagreed.

 

The two syllables she was given were infuriating, but, as she reminded herself, she _trusted_ them. So:

“You have not spoken to me of them.”

She glanced at Thor, checking to be sure he was holding his temper as well, listening in as she knew he must be.

He seemed content with that for the time being, though.

“I cannot know what to say and not say, what I can and cannot do around him, if I am left in the dark like this.”

She dragged her eyes back, first to Natasha, who seemed to be the spokesperson for this effort, and then to Tony, who had reacted visibly when she asked.

She would find the answer she wanted between the two of them, she was certain of it.

 

Thor was hovering back, but Natasha didn’t miss the look Loki cast his way. And given how volatile they both had the capacity to be--

“Let’s go down to the lab,” she said. Tony looked at her, startled, and she raised her eyebrows at him.

“Are you saying...?”

She nodded. “Just us, though.” Not _everyone_ needed to know. Not just yet. Stepping forward, she placed a hand on Loki’s arm. “We’ll talk about it. Just not in front of everyone,” she told her softly. “For Steve’s sake.”

 

Loki swallowed but nodded.

“Alright.”

She glanced to her brother.

“I will speak to you later, Thor. Thank you.”

She caught Natasha’s eye and gestured toward the elevator, mentally quailing. Whatever they had found was worrisome enough that they needed to take her aside.

Which, she knew, was both good and bad. Good, because she would soon know what it was that had been done to her partner, or at least some of it. Bad… because of the same reasons.

She took a deep breath and pressed the down button, glad that Steve would likely already be back in their apartment, safe and sound.

Well. Safe for now. And less sound than he had been before Hydra had got hold of him.

She firmed her resolve.

Knowing would only allow her to help him more effectively. She had to hold onto that.

The doors closed behind the three of them, and the silence felt near deafening.

Tony cleared his throat, but seemed to think better of whatever he’d been considering saying. That, or Natasha had awarded him a swift elbow to the ribs; Loki was hard pressed to guess which.

 

The elevator returned, presumably after dropping Steve off on his floor, and the three of them took it down to the level of Tony’s lab. Natasha gestured for Tony to lead the way, which he did -- tension carried clearly in his shoulders.

He’d looked at her several times like he wanted to argue; she suspected the only reason he hadn’t spoken up was that he was conflicted about more than her decision. He probably wasn’t even sure whether she was making the right call or not himself.

_She_ wasn’t sure either. But the decision was made now and she was moving forward with it, one way or another.

“JARVIS,” she said when they reached the lab. “Bring up tape 00809.01.”

Tony turned to her, surprised. “You’re just gonna--?”

She gave him a look and he fell silent.

One of the screens lit up with black and white security cam footage of an empty cell she had come to know all too intimately. A moment later, the door to the cell opened, and two men in black uniforms entered, dragging a limp figure between them. When one of them moved aside, the figure was clearly Steve, muscular and healthy as he’d been when he’d been taken, though stripped naked and unconscious. He was shackled to the wall, then left in place as the guards took their leave and shut the door, the slight grain of the footage the only indication that they were still watching a running tape and not a still image.

“HYDRA kept cameras everywhere,” she told Loki quietly. “In Steve’s cell and... the other places he was taken. There’s nearly eight-hundred hours of footage. Tony and I have been combing through it. We didn’t tell you, or anyone else yet, because... It’s really rough stuff.”

 

Loki’s eyes widened and she stepped toward the screen before stopping, looking back at Natasha and Tony.

It felt like she’d been punched, all of the air in her lungs turning to lead, and for a moment she was afraid there was a magic dampener near, until she realized it was just plain, old fashioned dread.

“Eight hundred hours.” She repeated.

She inhaled deeply, drawing air back into her chest, trying to fight back the panic.

“I had thought… files, notes… not _this…_ ” but this was what they had. This was what Steve had suffered, not the sterilized version, not the reports.

She would be able to watch what was done to him, watch him writhing in pain and wasting away in real time.

Only she didn’t want to spend another month away from him, which this would necessitate. She could hardly put it on the TV in the living room.

“Has JARVIS gone through and categorized it, the way you had him do with the footage from my cell in SHIELD?”

She looked to Tony, trying to firm her resolve.

 

Tony hesitated, then nodded. “We had JARVIS go through first and scrap all the footage where he’s sleeping or unconscious. That cut it down by more than half. Everything else now is pretty thoroughly catalogued...” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

“Look. When-- When Ten Rings had me in Afghanistan, they took a tape of me in captivity, with them making demands and me looking like shit, and posted it online. And I remember being _pissed_ at the time, knowing my friends -- knowing people I cared about -- were gonna see me like that.” His mouth twisted. “Once I unencrypted the security footage, I kept it secret until Nat asked. Other than her, you’re the only person who knows. And if you don’t wanna watch, I could-- I could have JARVIS transcribe some stuff instead.”

Natasha turned to Loki. “It’s up to you, if you think it would be better for you to know exactly what Steve went through, or better for the two of you if he didn’t have to live with knowing you’d seen it. Either way, we’ll help.”

 

Her eyes were fixed on Tony’s face as he spoke, and she bit her lip, recognizing the truth in his words.

Steve hated being seen as he was, let alone being seen brought to it. And she knew she should tell him, should ask him permission to see this but… it would hurt him. And he would refuse her. And she would be still in the dark, he would be further hurt, and she would still have no idea how to help.

So she took another deep breath, quelling the nausea and the fear of her friends’ judgment at the request she already knew she would make.

“Don’t tell him. Not yet. I need… some time with this first. I’ll watch them, but… can you have JARVIS provide me a list? File names and content?”

That would make for merry watching, she thought grimly.

File 1; Flaying. File 2; Hydra torturing him with the necklace.

All the guilt she had felt about how long it had taken, about the false leads she had helped to send them down… she had a feeling it was about to come back with a vengeance. She found herself reaching up for the dog tags that hung around her neck, guilt already wracking her for this decision. Steve would not approve. And he may not forgive her for it.

But she had to do _something_.

Which reminded her, her eyes focusing on the faces before her.

“This is a big secret to keep, and a heavy burden to bear. Are the two of you… all right?”

 

Tony laughed, abrupt and tinged with bitterness. “We’re not the ones who went through it,” he pointed out. Though Natasha knew he was hiding how much the footage _had_ affected him; he’d barely slept, and had a haunted look about him. He’d also avoided Steve completely, she’d noticed, when they’d been in the penthouse just now.

“Keeping secrets is something I have practice with,” she remarked, turning back to Loki. “We’ll be alright. You have yourself and Steve to focus on; we can manage ourselves and our issues.” She might need to check in with Pepper and Bruce about keeping an eye on Tony, with as little detail as possible, to make sure he didn’t crack. But that shouldn’t be Loki’s primary concern.

She had enough on her shoulders as it was.

“J,” Tony said, “Move the video files and indexing to Loki’s private server, would do?”

“ _Yes sir. Initiating file copy procedures. Shall I maintain encryption?”_

“Yeah. Unencrypt on Loki’s voice command. And take that down,” he added, gesturing to the footage where Steve was just starting to stir. The screen went blank.

 

Her server, she knew, housed files to be accessible in her apartment. Such as the Captain America interviews and speeches that she had eventually been smart enough to have JARVIS save for her to watch, while Steve was missing.

But that meant there was the concern that Steve may see them.

“Steve must not have access to that server, whether my voice is around or no. JARVIS is always watching, yes? If I attempt to pull it up without realizing Steve is there, or should he… should he come in search of me-- everything must be turned off. I do not want any risk of him discovering before I find a way of talking to him about it.” She looked to Natasha. “And I will not do that without speaking with you, first.”

Natasha, after all, was the one concerned with Steve’s mind, with finding a therapist for him to help him heal.

It did sting, a little, to have her concern for her friends’ well being so summarily dismissed, but it was, she was certain, merely another case of their not wanting to bleed on her.

She’d have to remember to do them the same courtesy.

Which meant that she would be alone in the burden of this knowledge. Which was no more than she should be, she supposed.

“I understand why you thought to keep this secret.” She told them. “And in honesty, it was likely wise, at least until Steve and I had time to settle back in. Now, though… if you find aught else, anything more than this--” and she felt an almost maniacal laugh trying to build, though she swallowed it down, because truly, what could be _more_ than this?-- “Please tell me. As soon as you safely can.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” Tony’s mouth twisted grimly. “J, you catch all that?”

“ _Yes sir. Updating security protocols now.”_

Natasha regarded Loki solemnly. This wasn’t easy for any of them. And beyond wanting to protect Steve, she had to wonder if needing to protect Loki’s sanity hadn’t been behind Tony’s initial decision to keep the footage secret. “If you need to talk about any of it,” she told her softly, “you can contact me. Any time.” Maybe the timing was off. Maybe this wasn’t the right choice, not when Loki had to gear up mentally to confront Thanos. But if it meant Loki understood Steve better and could help him heal...

She hoped it was the right choice.

“I’m gonna have JARVIS go through again and comb for anything resembling a name or location. See if there’s anything else Cap might not remember that HYDRA let slip around him that we can use,” Tony announced, moving over to a computer terminal.

Natasha kept her eyes on Loki. “Is there anything else you need?” she asked lowly.

 

She nodded, glad that Natasha would be willing to help her figure out how to talk to Steve about this. But that could be a concern for the future.

In the meantime, Tony had work to do, and it sounded like Natasha wanted her to leave.

She had the grace still to recognize a dismissal, gentle as it was.

“Not that I know of. And it feels odd to say it, but thank you for this.”

She paused.

“Actually- you have devices for personal listening, don’t you? The things you sometimes put on your ears.”

She didn’t want to risk Steve hearing it, either, though the music and films they watched was just played openly, sound and all. But Ben had had some, and she had seen Darcy in the tower wearing them more than once.

 

Natasha blinked, and a second later what Loki was asking for clicked. “Headphones,” she said. “Yeah, I can get you a pair.”

“Top drawer, far right, under the speakers, next to the coffee machine,” Tony called out. Natasha raised her eyebrows, but then followed the instructions, pulling out a spare set from a drawer full of miscellaneous equipment.

She handed them to Loki with a nod.

 

Loki took them with a smile.

“Thank you. Other than this, though… no. I think this is everything I will need.”

For safety-- to avoid Steve’s questions about why she should require them, she banished the headphones to her pocket.

“And if there is anything that you need me for, likewise, please do not hesitate to ask.”

She sketched out a slight bow, looked between her friends, nodded, and left.

The elevator trip to their apartment was both too short and too long, and Loki did not look forward to having to face Steve now, let alone later, once she’d seen things he’d rather she didn’t.

She opened the door and called out lightly, so as not to disturb him if he had gone to bed.

“I’m home.”

 

Steve looked up from where he’d just finished putting the last dish in the drying rack as Loki came in. “Hey,” he said with a smile. He’d moved slower than usual, but finally the dishes were clean, the food put away, and the kitchen thoroughly tidied. With no panic or reminders of HYDRA through any of it. “Everything going okay?”

 

She smiled, relieved to see him looking so… at peace.

“Yes, of course. I spoke with Natasha and Tony about the files that JARVIS transferred to me, and I’ll work on going over them later. Are you okay?”

It was a neat skirting of the truth, and one she’d worked on the whole way back. He’d been there, still, when Tony asked JARVIS to transfer the security files to her, after all.

“And the kitchen-- thank you. I’d expected you were merely using it to excuse yourself, but…” She looked around, impressed. “I do not think even my seidhr cleans up so thoroughly.”

 

He shrugged, grabbing a dishtowel to wipe his hands off on. “Feels good to have something useful to do. Even if it’s just cleaning up.” Loki could do it with magic, he knew, but looking around the clean kitchen still afforded him some small sense of accomplishment. Like he’d succeeded at at least _one small thing,_ some proof that he wasn’t useless. Some aspect of his life he could take control of so it wasn’t a complete and utter mess.

“I’m... all right. Glad I could remember something they might use. And... glad Schultz isn’t going to be able to come after you again.” He paused, and made a face. “I know that’s a lousy thing to think, the guy being murdered and all...”

 

“If it hadn’t been them, it may well have been me, or one of our friends to kill him, so I am glad that it was unnecessary.”

She hated to see Steve wasting his precious energy both on self recrimination and menial chores, particularly when she could see to them with little more than a thought, but she understood the unkindness of denying him any sense of purpose.

“You were fantastic, by the way. No one but you would have that information, and now we have a direction to look in that we wouldn’t have, otherwise. I am sorry, though, that you were put on the spot like that.”

Hopefully, she would be able to help avoid such things in the future. Once she’d seen… more.

“And I am glad that we are here, and together, and safe, and glad that he is dead. Lousy or not, it does make me feel safer. So.” She shrugged.

“I am only sorry that his death interrupted what was otherwise a nice evening.” She gave him a crooked little smile.

 

He shrugged. “It might not be anything... but even if he isn’t HYDRA, I kinda hope it’s enough for them to sack the guy who took a shot at you.” It might be petty and vindictive, but he still hoped that the sort of guy who was alright with taking money from Scofield to shoot at someone who wasn’t an active threat wouldn’t be the sort of guy to stay in SHIELD employ for long.

Especially if that helped to make Loki feel safer too.

Hanging up the dishtowel, he picked up his cane and limped over to the living room. “Do you wanna watch that movie still, or--?” he paused. “Sorry. You have files to go over. Forgot.” He offered a sheepish smile. Security obviously would come first. “I can go read instead if you need quiet.”

 

“It is alright. Tony was working on something when I left, so I should wait until he sends me that update. I should have more than enough time for a movie.”

It was an outright lie, but a worthwhile one, she thought.

The present should always take precedence over the past.

Particularly as she wasn’t sure how interested he would be in watching movies with her once he knew what files she was about to begin going through.

“I discovered an entire animated section in Tony’s movie library, if you wanted to look through that? I recall how interested you were in the artistry behind the Sword in the Stone.”

Merely a suggestion, of course, but one that she hoped would be less likely to cause strain.

 

Steve smiled, genuinely. “Animation sounds great.” And would probably make for lighter fare, given how often it seemed aimed at children. Something light-hearted, hopeful, and lovely to look at would be _nice_.

He made his way over to the sofa, paused, then once again piled the pillows in the middle so they could both lean against them, their weight shared but skin not touching. “JARVIS, get the TV if you don’t mind?”

The screen blinked to life as he settled in.

 

She smiled fondly, watching him, and let him take his seat before joining him, careful as ever not to touch.

But even still, she knew this was good for them both, this closeness that was all they could have right now. Selfishly, she wanted this memory and the echoes of the warmth of him that she could feel, for later when he slept and she would watch the things done to him while he’d been gone from her.

The movie on the screen began, the colors bright and the soundtrack cheerful, and she only paid it half of her attention, the other half dedicated to cataloguing his expressions, the pale freckles that dotted his face, the gentle angle of his lashes.

She wanted to remember everything about this moment, good as it was, to shore her up against the darkness that lay ahead.

 

\---

 

It was dark.

The screen had next to no light on it, and she found herself shivering, sitting on the edge of her mattress, the headphones still on and pinching at either side of her head.

She was ashamed to think how little she had made it through, so far, but she still tapped at the StarkPad, pausing it. Steve was a small, slightly less dark spot on her screen, and she felt as if she couldn’t blink.

She had solved the mystery of the salt. And with it, discovered the story of what had happened to his back, how the brand had been put there. Scars born not of heat, but of cold. The thought made her skin rise in gooseflesh and made her all the more conscious of what lay under her current form.

How a part of her had all of the potential for harming him that it ever had, and then some.

And he’d been alone. Mocked and hurt and tortured, humiliated, and alone.

She wished she could go to him now, wished she could curl around him and promise not to let anyone hurt him again. She had the almost illogical urge to go check on him, make sure he was still in his bed, still asleep… but she restrained herself.

Nothing would be gained if she woke him. JARVIS would have told her if anything was wrong. And if he woke and wanted to know why she was there…

No. Better to stay here.

She wrapped her arms around herself, then gathered a blanket around her, hoping the shakes could be treated as if she were just cold, though she knew that wasn’t the case.

She didn’t recognize the doctor who had spoken to Steve, who had ordered the ice on him. She didn’t think she’d caught his name, but the file was labelled with it-- _Dr. Verschmutzung_.

If he was dead, if he had been killed in the collapse of the base, then he had certainly died too quickly. If not…

...she would see to it that he died slowly. Painfully. That he experienced all of the fear and harm he inflicted upon Steve before he died, twice over.

She made note of the name and sent it in an email to Tony and Natasha, asking if there was any information as to what had come of the man.

She returned to the video, touched the label, and was led to an index-- he had apparently spent a lot of time with Steve.

Her stomach sank, and she mentally revised her promise to force him through Steve’s pain thrice, if he yet lived.

She pressed the first video and held her breath as it began, eyes wide and ready to take in as much of Steve’s pain as she could. She had a feeling there would be little sleep to be had for her, this night.

  
  
  


 


	86. Eighty Six

It was only his second time out of the tower.

Mid-January, the city was cold, and wet and gray. The snowbanks were high and full of grit, packed into ice on the curbs. The sky and the pavement and the concrete were all hard and cold and gray. But the people --

The people were the same as they always were. Loud and rushing, walking at a near run down the sidewalk or laying on their car horns, disregarding the bleakness around them and getting on with their lives.

Loudly. Quickly. Vividly.

Steve sat back in the seat of Nat’s car, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He’d been in almost complete isolation for a month. Then in his own self-exile in the tower, where he still had little stimulus to contend with. His outing two days ago with Natasha to Dr. Cohen’s office had only been a few blocks, and he’d handled that well enough. But as they were stuck in traffic now, not far from Tribeca, the symphony of the city’s noises was starting to be a bit much.

It reminded him, oddly, of when he’d charged out into Times Square right after being thawed out of the ice. Everything was familiar, but somehow different, through a different lens, and so _much._

“How much further?” he asked Natasha.

 

“Not much.” She told him, trying to sound reassuring.

He looked like he was already overstimulated, which didn’t bode too well for what she had planned, but it was also something that he’d need to re-learn how to contend with. This was the world they lived in, the city he loved, before all of this had happened. He’d have to get back into the swing of it eventually.

“Got about four more blocks to go.”

Which she knew could mean a five minute trip or a twenty minute one, depending on foot traffic and any accidents they might run into along the way.

She considered offering him control of the radio, but frankly she thought that would just be another layer of ‘too much’.

“It’ll be quiet inside. Promise.”

It had been when she’d visited a few days ago, at any rate, and the guy who had given her the tour had explained that they had gone out of their way to soundproof it as well as possible, when they’d moved into the building.

“How you holding up?” She asked, wondering what more she could do, other than getting them there.

 

“Okay,” he told her. “It’s just... loud. And a lot. Got used to the quiet in the tower.”

He left out the deafening silence of solitary confinement in HYDRA’s care, with only his own voice and the hiss of the ventilation for company. No sense in reminding everyone about it when he wanted to forget about it just as much.

A virtual river of people crossed at the crosswalk ahead of them. He watched them, half wishing he could stretch his legs, painfully aware of the cane where it rested against the car door.

“What do you need from me when we get there again?” he asked. He’d jumped at the chance to be useful when Nat had asked him for his help with an investigative project -- something she was looking into that she needed his help for as part of her cover -- but hadn’t actually bothered in his eagerness to ask much in the way of questions.

 

“I’m not military, never have been, don’t really know much about the culture of it. Not enough to fake it for something like this. I just need you to help me look more legit, and keep your eyes and ears open. This should be low to no-risk, but it is government funded, and I want to get an idea of what’s going on inside.”

They managed to slide through three more blocks before having to stop again, and she could see the building just ahead on the left.

“I’ll let you off at the back door- go ahead in while I park. If the receptionist asks, your name is Jack Simon. She’ll have you on a list.”

She kept her smile small and grim, the way she did before any mission.

“We’re here to check out a guy named Sam. Like I said, no risk. Just listen to what he’s got to say. And anyone else around him.”

The light changed and the last of the stragglers crossing made it safely to the other side, so she made her left, and a right into the lot, which was, not surprisingly, absolutely full. All five spaces.

“This is you. I’ll be in as soon as I find a spot to drop this off.”

 

Steve wanted to comment that the culture of the military in 1945 and the military now were hardly the same, and even if they were, he and the Howlies were their own damn animal altogether. But they’d come this far, and he didn’t want to sound like he was backing out.

“I’ll do what I can,” he told her instead, hoping it would be enough. He was about to ask if she thought it was HYDRA, if this was another branch they might have infiltrated (though it seemed unlikely she’d bring him out if it was, given how carefully everyone was handling him), when she pulled over and told him to go on in.

He swallowed. “Right. See you inside then.”

Getting out of the car, he moved carefully around puddles and patches of ice to get to the back door. An older man was leaving as he arrived, and nodded with a gruff ‘hey,’ holding the door open for him. He was dressed casually, and Steve wondered at that; none of this screamed ‘military installation.’

Inside he made for the reception desk. A young woman sat there talking to someone on the phone, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. He waited until she finished her call with whoever she was helping, then stepped forward; she turned and smiled brightly at him.

“Can I help you?”

He _really_ ought to have asked Nat more about what the hell they were doing. He smiled back, hoping he could wing it. “Um. My name’s Jack Simon -- I was told you’d have me on a list?”

The woman turned back to her computer, clicking and typing for a moment, then turned back to him. “Sure do! You’re all set, Mr. Simon -- just go down the hall and to the right, and it’s the first door on your left. The meeting doesn’t start for a couple minutes, so feel free to help yourself to coffee or tea.”

“Oh. Great. Um. I have a friend coming too...” He paused, not wanting to leave Natasha behind.

The receptionist just bobbed her head understandingly. “Don’t worry, I’ll let them know where to go when they get here!”

With that friendly of a greeting, he had to wonder what possible trouble Natasha thought she’d get here. He nodded to the receptionist, then headed down the hall where she’d indicated, curious as to just what it was Nat had signed him up for, and who this Sam guy was.

The room she directed him to was -- not full, but there were a little over a dozen people present. One door, three windows on the far side, with frosted glass that gave little indication of what was on the other side. The only furniture was the folding chairs set up, nothing fancy or high-budget, and a card table with a coffee dispenser and styrofoam cups set up to the side. Some people were sitting, some standing; about half were in their twenties, the rest ranged in age. One man was in a wheelchair, another had half his sleeve pinned up, empty of the arm that should have been there. No one looked twice at Steve’s cane, though he got a few nods of acknowledgement as he entered. No one was in uniform, but there was something that whispered _military_ in the back of his mind when he looked at most of them.

Frowning, he moved toward the table with the coffee, if only to give himself something to do. He was disengaging a cup from the stack when his eyes fell on the pamphlets there, and his stomach sank.

 

‘ _Department of Veteran’s Affairs’_ read one. Others were scattered around:

 

‘ _VA Benefits and You’_

 

‘ _Living with PTSD’_

 

‘ _Counseling services for Veterans’_

 

Natasha, he realized abruptly, wasn’t coming. She’d just played him like a mark, duping him into walking into here all on his own.

“All right, everyone -- if everybody can take a seat, we can get started. I see a few familiar faces here, so how about we go around and everyone introduces themselves. I’ll start,” said a man now standing at the front of the room, projecting his voice enough to be heard clearly. From the way everyone responded, he seemed to be the leader of this... meeting. Steve’s age (or visible age). Fit. Handsome. Black. And on his chest was a nametag with SAM written in blue sharpie.

Hesitantly, Steve found a seat near the back, close to the door. Maybe this wasn’t Nat conning him into more therapy; maybe there was something about Sam she wanted him to check out...

Everyone sat down, and then quickly went around and said their names. Marc. Jim. Tamara. Juan. Pete. Brian. Jessica. Steve introduced himself as ‘Jack’ when it was his turn. No one called him out on it or seemed to recognize him, at the very least.

“Great. Welcome everyone,” Sam said, sitting in his own chair backwards, arms folded over the backrest, looking calm and genuine in the way he smiled at the room. “So last week, we were talking about steps everyone was taking in dealing with reintegrating into our lives as civilians. Brian, you were telling me something earlier in the hallway, how do you feel about sharing with the group to start us off?”

The meeting got underway, and as they gradually moved around the room, different men and women -- veterans -- volunteering their stories, their successes and their failures, their anxieties and their histories, Steve began to feel more and more out of place. He didn’t know what an IED was. His nightmares were full of ice, not sand. He didn’t have children or parents to worry about and worry about him in turn, didn’t have a normal job and normal life to adjust back into. He might have been a soldier, once, but his war wasn’t any of their wars, and when someone nodded to his cane and asked if he’d been wounded in Afghanistan or Iraq, he felt his mouth go dry as he just shook his head wordlessly.

 

He didn’t belong here.

_Dammit, Nat._

 

Halfway through, Sam told everyone to take five, get some water or use the bathroom if they needed. Steve bolted, moving as quickly as he could to get out in the hall, pulling his phone from his pocket to text Natasha:

 

_> WHERE ARE YOU?_

 

> _Coffee shop down the street._

 

She texted back, without pretense of the ‘mission’. He had figured it out, she decided, based on the all-caps-scream of his text.

The session wasn’t over yet, she knew, only halfway at best, but then he hadn’t finished the last one, so…

 

> _I can be there in five if you’re ready to leave._

 

She stood, giving up her table, and got a lid for her cup.

She had a feeling this was gonna be a fun chat.

 

Steve ground his teeth. Yeah, definitely not an actual operation.

 

_> I don’t belong here. Need to leave._

 

He stuffed his phone in his pocket before she could respond. Either she was there in five or she wasn’t, but he didn’t want to be talked into going back into that room. He got a quick drink of water from a chlorine-tasting water fountain in the hall, then leaned against the wall, eyes shut, breathing deep.

“Hey man.”

He jumped at the voice beside him, whirling around -- Sam had his hands up non-threateningly. “Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to let you know we’re about to start back up.”

Steve swallowed. “Thanks, but. I think this was a mistake,” he replied. He didn’t know if it was five minutes or not, but he found himself not wanting to wait inside anymore. “I should go,” he said, looking away and then moving around Sam and heading for the door.

 

She opened the door and saw Steve headed her way-- and Sam following sedately a few paces behind, hands held at his sides in a way the looked too practiced to be awkward, but not quite natural, either.

The ‘not going for anything, not a threat’ look he was giving was effective-- or would have been, if Steve was doing anything but heading single mindedly for the exit.

She sighed.

“Car’s right in front of the door. Mind the ice.”

She told him, pretty sure he was pissed at her, and equally sure he didn’t want to talk about that _here_.

“Hey Sam.” She greeted, pitching her voice to carry a little further, not sure if Steve knew, yet, that he was being followed.

 

Steve glared at her, and determinedly moved forward. From the sound of it, she already knew Sam. Had he been in on this too?

He got into the car, climbing in the passenger seat and closing the door behind him. If the two of them were going to talk about him, he didn’t want to have to listen to it.

Sam looked at Natasha apologetically.

 

“Worth a try.” she told him with a shrug. “Thanks for having us.”

She didn’t really plan on sticking around, wasn’t interested in knowing how it had gone. She already was a little too in the know about Steve’s state of mind.

She offered her hand just the same, just to show there was no bad blood on her part over it, though she knew he probably wasn’t hugely fond of her tactics, if Steve had told him anything about why he was here.

 

Sam reached out and took it, then leaned in handing her a flyer with his other hand. “Another option, just in case,” he told her with a nod. “I moderate this one too. And good luck. To both of you.”

 

“Thanks.”

She glanced down at the paper and raised a single eyebrow, looking over his face.

“Pretty sure you have a group to get back to, though. I’ll leave you to it. And let you know if we plan on giving this one a go.”

Internally, she doubted Steve would agree to leave the tower with her again anytime soon, but it didn’t hurt to give him the flyer.

She pushed her hair back out of her face, nodded at the receptionist, and headed out to the car, pleasantly surprised that Steve hadn’t used the keys still in the ignition to leave her there.

She would have, in his shoes.

She got in the driver’s side and dropped the flyer into his lap.

“I don’t know the guy very well, but I think Sam likes you.” She told him, putting it into gear and starting to maneuver her way out of the lot.

 

Steve steadfastly ignored the paper she dropped in his lap, moving it to the center console and keeping his eyes forward.

“You lied to me,” he said, voice blank as she pulled out into traffic, hopefully to take them right back to the tower.

 

“You wouldn’t have agreed if I hadn’t.” She pointed out, fairly, she thought.

“But I asked you to check out a government funded facility and listen to Sam and the people around him.”

She darted a glance at him, almost perversely pleased to see that despite the changes in his face, the mulish set of his jaw was consistent.

“How did that work, by the way? The group setting. Better than one on one?”

 

“Lie of omission,” he corrected. Technically true, perhaps. But she’d mislead him deliberately and he was still peeved about that. “I’m not your mark, Nat. Please don’t try to con me.”

He was irked with her, and unhappy and anxious, but he wasn’t _furious._ There was no impulse to go beat on a bag in the gym, at least. He breathed in through his nose and let it out, staring outside at the flow of pedestrians.

“No one asked me to answer any questions, so that was better,” he stated dryly. “But I’m not a soldier like that, Nat. And what happened to me... That wasn’t war. Not like what they’ve all been through.”

 

She swallowed, keeping her eyes straight ahead.

“I wouldn’t try to make a mark go to therapy.” She told him, a touch flat, and slightly too dry to be casual.

“But point taken.”

She nodded at the flyer.

“Sam’s got a group that isn’t war based. I thought that might appeal since… you know, being military, wounded overseas and all that. But… looks like the other group’s for other types of trauma. Maybe think about it. And you tell me if you want to try. I won’t spring another of these on you.”

 

He took another deep breath. Getting mad -- or at least, _staying mad_ at Natasha wasn’t going to help anything, and she had done what she did with the best of intentions. He had to appreciate that.

Finally glancing down at the flyer, he scanned it quickly; no pictures, just neat block text on a colored sheet of paper, indicating a support group for survivors of trauma to meet in a church basement in Hell’s Kitchen.

Pursing his lips, he made himself actually _consider_ it. The group setup meant he could sit in the back and let others talk if he couldn’t handle it himself. He wasn’t alone, wasn’t being bombarded with questions... Even if it didn’t _work,_ it didn’t seem likely to make him feel worse. And while he didn’t expect to meet anyone with the exact same experience as him (and wouldn’t wish it on anyone to share), in a more diverse crowd, he might feel like less of an outlier.

“I’ll think about it,” he agreed after a minute. “And... I know you were trying to help,” he added. “I guess I just count on you to be the one person who’s straight with me.”

 

She smiled at that.

“Well, if I get to be straight with you, then here’s the thing: you need to find a stranger to talk to. A good one. Me, Tony, Loki… any of us, we’re too close. And that’s going to be a problem, whether you mean it to be or not. You’ll be afraid of hurting us by saying anything. And there’s probably things we _shouldn’t_ know.”

And she’d have to deal with that crossed line, later.

But at least they didn’t get access to his thoughts, during all of that.

“What you said before, about it feeling like an interrogation? That’s fair. And avoidable. I think group is a good option, but if I’m wrong, we’ll find something else. I care about you, Steve, and none of us is going to give up on you, however long it takes to find out what helps.”

 

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Thanks, Nat,” he said. And meant it. He was far from the Avengers’ most exciting or rewarding mission, he knew. But as agonizing as it could be at times to know how invested they were in him when he felt like such an irreparable mess, at other times, knowing they had his back...

It counted for something.

“How do you know this Sam guy?” he asked, changing the topic slightly as Natasha changed lanes.

 

“I looked into the VA, looked the people there. Sam comes from DC, newly relocated. Family stuff, nothing to do with you or the Avengers. I checked.” She smiled a little grimly, not feeling at all bad about the various violations she’d taken part in to get that confirmation.

“He’s got a good history. No marks on his record. So I went to the center and had him give me a tour. I haven’t spoken to him much, but from what I know of him, I like the guy. Which says a lot, since I don’t like much of anyone.”

She shrugged one shoulder.

“Not saying that’s a perfect knowledge, but-- guy’s good at his job, really cares about people, and people like him. He’s got a lot of friends and a lot of good connections through work. SHIELD had him tagged as a potential recruit, til he moved and pulled out of the fast lane for his career. I can’t find any record of anyone talking to him from our team-- which means no reason for the other side to be interested in him, either.”

 

“Huh.” Steve turned that over. If Natasha had vetted him and liked him, that at least boded well. He was a little apprehensive about the group setting, if only because it would be impossible to vet and screen every person there -- especially given the nature of the meetings -- but given no one had recognized him or said anything at the VA, it might not prove to be a problem.

“SHIELD was looking at recruiting a therapist?” he asked a moment later, puzzled. He’d met a few of the doctors SHIELD held on retainer, but he didn’t think they were SHIELD operatives so much as in SHIELD’s employ...

 

“No,” she told him, pausing to avoid hitting the asshole who had decided to cut them off, though she kept the ride as smooth as possible, for Steve’s sake. “He’s a peer counselor, ex pararescue. He’s not a traditional therapist. That’s part of why I thought he might be a good fit for you-- nothing about you’s traditional either.”

Except the part where the myth about him was All American and apple pie.

“He also doesn’t know who you are, which I think helps a bit. I’m not sure if he knows who I am, but even if he did, he’d have no reason to suspect anything about you.”

She glanced at him.

“Up to you how long you want to keep it that way, though. I imagine if you do end up opening up to him, he’s gonna need to know for context. But no rush, and no pressure from me.”

She’d definitely be watching him between now and then, anyway.

 

“Pararescue... Air Force, right?” That made more sense. He was a veteran too, someone who understood what other soldiers had been through. The easy way he talked to the vets in the group session spoke to that.

He had to smile a little at Nat’s assessment of him as un-traditional. And having that anonymity for now was... comforting.

Looking at the flyer again, he checked the schedule and then did a moment of mental math, trying to remember what day it was. “Looks like this other group meets the day after tomorrow,” he noted. “Don’t suppose you’d give me a ride?”

 

She blinked, all the surprise she was willing to show at the moment, and grinned at him.

“Yeah? Sure, I’d be happy to. Where’s it say they meet? And what time?”

So this had been a strike-out, and it was maybe a little rocky, but if he was willing to try again so soon… then it wasn’t all bad.

She’d take it.

“So uh, you feel like letting me take a picture of you for your fake ID, Jack?” She asked, trying to keep the tone light.

She could fake a lot, but without a photo, it’d be pretty hard to make any of it legit.

 

Steve winced. He could see his own reflection in the passenger-side mirror, and it wasn’t something he wanted recorded. “Not exactly at my most photogenic right now,” he muttered. At least the bruises on his face were finally gone. But he looked gaunt still, his hair patchy and ragged. “Couldn’t you just use a photo from--”

And then he stopped. Because sure, Nat could use a photo of Steve _before._ But she hadn’t. Because he didn’t look like that anymore. And if anonymity was the goal, well. At least no one was going to mistake him, or ‘Jack Simon’, for Captain America.

He sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“Don’t worry.” She flipped her blinker on, not really expecting it to do much good.

“I’ll take it in photoshop, fill your face out, just in different ways. It’ll end up as a before picture, just… one that doesn’t resemble Steve Rogers. Which will let you keep your name out of it for as long as you want.”

She glanced at him.

“And when this is over and you feel more like yourself, you can shred it or throw it away.” She smiled encouragingly and finally merged, just in time to make her turn.

“How’s Loki doing?” She asked, changing the subject.

She’d only had access to the videos for a couple of days, but it was long enough that Steve would have noticed if she was taking a nosedive, or treating him differently.

 

Steve wondered, if it would be possible to shred _everything_ about this part of his life and throw it away. Shred the evidence, shred the memories... Though that presumed that this part of his life wasn’t just going to be his new baseline normal. Which all evidence presently pointed to.

He frowned at her question. “I was gonna ask you the same thing, to be honest,” he told her. “She’s been... quiet. Helpful, always. But. I catch her looking at me like she’s incredibly sad when she thinks I’m not paying attention.” He pursed his lips. “This whole thing is killing her and I don’t know how to make it better.” He’d been trying, recently, to force himself out of his room and to share meals, watch movies, make conversation even when the effort was utterly exhausting. It just didn’t seem to be enough.

 

She frowned, eyes still on the road, and nodded.

“I think that’s her problem, too. Not knowing how to make things better for you, any more than you do, for her.”

That was why she’d wanted the videos, according to her.

“It’s gotta wear on you though.” she offered, not quite a question. “Is it better or worse that she’s trying to hide it, and not trying to talk to you about it?”

 

He frowned, watching as a police cruiser flew past them, sirens blaring, setting his nerves on edge.

_Alarms and booted feet and the hum in his skull as he tried to run, HYDRA closing in on all sides--_

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, voice strained. “I don’t... What’s there to say?”

He couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t hold her. Had her trapped in a female body for his own comfort. He couldn’t be her support or her anchor or anything for her besides a burden, and she was too devoted to leave for her own good. And he was too selfish to ask her to.

 

“I don’t know,” She repeated. “I can’t read Loki’s mind, any more than you can. Unless you’ve been holding out on us.” She tossed him a wink, trying to lighten the tone a little, get some of the strain out of his voice.

“I’m sure she has things she wants to talk about and feels like she can’t-- like I said, I’m sure you have the same, which is why I’m suggesting we find you a good stranger to talk to. Do you think Loki would benefit from that, too?”

She remembered Loki’s attempt at getting her to hit the pain out of him, and almost rolled her eyes at how alike the two of them were. Except that Steve was more about beating himself up.

 

“Yeah, didn’t I mention the part where HYDRA make me psychic?” he retorted, maintaining an utterly deadpan expression.

He sighed though, at the suggestion that Loki see someone.

“Getting Loki to trust someone she _knows_ enough to open up is a chore,” he pointed out. “Do you think we could _get_ her -- or him --” Loki might not want to stay in female form once away from Steve, “-- to talk to someone?” And by ‘we’ he hardly counted himself, since he suspected Loki would smell the hypocrisy from a mile away.

 

Nat shrugged.

“Stranger things have happened,” she pointed out. “But… I don’t know Loki as well as you do. So if you think she needs someone she knows to open up to…” She trailed off, trying to think how wise it would be. “I’ll offer.”

It might be a conflict of interests, trying to be her confidant while trying to train Loki to fight back against Thanos. She’d have to be careful not to use anything she told her against her while they were working, which would go counter to her own training.

But… with Loki closing herself off from Steve to avoid hurting him… she’d need to talk to _someone_.

“In the meantime… you might mention that you can see those expressions she thinks you don’t. It’ll save you some heartache, and.. I don’t know, at least acknowledge that the charade sucks for you both.”

They were nearly at the tower now, and she pulled onto the street that led to the garage entrance.

 

“Thanks,” he told her, looking her way with a small smile. “And... Thank you all for being there, for Loki, while I was... away. It means a lot.” To come back and find Loki had really found his place on the team in Steve’s absence had been jarring, but at the same time, seeing her now at ease around the others, working with them -- it had been the sort of thing he’d dreamed of, mere months ago.

Though he didn’t know what to do about Nat’s other suggestion. “Sometimes I think the charade is all that’s keeping us afloat,” he admitted. “Loki’s miserable. I’m pretty miserable. If we both face that...” He trailed off and swallowed.

He was terrified of what might happen if they faced that.

 

“He didn’t make it easy. He picked fights, shut us out… honestly, I don’t think any of us even got close until we got closer to finding you. He’s prickly, but once he started trying, he’s not so bad. And… I think he did a lot of growing.” He’d ended up a lot more self reliant than she would have expected, based on what she’d seen from before then. Which maybe wasn’t great for Steve’s ego now, but meant that maybe Loki could do more to help him out than otherwise.

“I think if you face the charade… at least you can be honestly miserable. Together.” She tilted her head.

“Just a suggestion.” She hesitated, then added, “She-- He, I guess, blamed himself pretty hard when you disappeared. He asked me to hurt him, I think as punishment, but under the guise of more training, and I told him no.”

Loki wouldn’t want Steve to know this, but it only seemed fair, all things considered.

“You aren’t the only one prone to beating yourself up, when you try to suffer alone. And if that’s too much for you to handle right now, I understand. But it’s good to know, just so I can get the others to help keep an eye out for signs of it.”

 

Steve nodded. Picking fights and shutting people out... That did _sound_ like Loki. But knowing he’d come through it more capable in the end -- able to cook, able to manage without Steve -- that was good.

He couldn’t bring himself to agree with Natasha’s suggestion though, he held his tongue there.

The asking to be hurt, however -- that unfortunately sounded like Loki too. And it made Steve ache inside to think about it, and to know he was the source, the thing that drove Loki to that.

Sighing, he reached for his door once the car was in park. “I appreciate you telling me. And... thanks for today. Or what today was meant to be.” He made a face, then handed the flyer to Nat. “So you know where to take me and when.”

 

She nodded, accepting the paper.

“I’ll see you soon, okay? Go ahead in-- I have to check the car back in with the Stark employees.”

She figured he might need the space to absorb everything, anyway. And it sounded like she had a call to make to Sam. And maybe a gift basket to send out. She’d ask Pepper about that one, though.

 

Steve made his way to the executive elevator bank, and leaned heavily against the wall as the elevator silently launched upward. He was worn out, from the city, from the meeting, from the rollercoaster of shame and anger and acceptance and worry. He hoped that the next group meeting would prove more fruitful, and he was grateful to Nat for trying, again, but the whole thing had still been something of an ordeal, even if he was doing his best to be optimistic.

Though optimism might prove hard, heading back to Loki and knowing that she was suffering because of him. Had suffered. Had tried to suffer _more._

Perhaps, he thought, he’d just head to bed and lie down when he got in. Less chance of seeing Loki that way. He could deal with it all when he had more energy.

Later.

(He hoped.)

 

\---

 

There was only so much time she could spend immersed in it before she needed to _move_ , to get out and be around the others. Even knowing that Steve hadn’t had that option, knowing that he hadn’t been able to take breaks and escape… it made her feel somehow worse, doing it. But she knew it was necessary.

Especially if she had to face him and make it seem as if nothing was wrong.

Which was how she found herself in the lab, secretly glad to catch Tony alone.

She had no idea where Bruce or Jane were, or what he was working on. But he had said she was always welcome, and…

He would understand her need to be around others better than most, right now.

“Hey,” She greeted, during a momentary silence between songs.

The music was loud enough, she imagined, to drown out the sounds that echoed in both of their skulls. Just as the bright sparks that flew from the device in his hands was likely enough to blind him to images seared into the backs of his eyelids.

She couldn’t help but be a little jealous.

 

Tony looked up, then turned off the blowtorch and lifted the welder’s mask up off his face. “Hey yourself,” he greeted with a lopsided smile. It faded a moment later though, as he took in how worn down Loki looked. “Everything alright? That dampener working okay?”

He couldn’t think of any reason it wouldn’t be, but it seemed worth asking after. He’d dropped them off a couple days ago -- one for Steve and one for Loki, both embedded in dog-tag-like metal rectangles, suspended on reinforced ball chains. ‘’

 

She smiled.

“I wouldn’t know, so I suppose that is a yes.” Or at least, she hadn’t experienced the ill effects of having her seidhr go dead within her, so she counted it as a win.

“Am I interrupting? I don’t have anything important-- I can come back another time.”

The music had started back up, but it seemed Tony had arrangements in place with JARVIS, because it was quieter now-- a volume they could easily have a conversation over.

“I just felt like getting out of the apartment for a bit.”

She grimaced, apologetic, and hoping he wouldn’t ask what she’d been doing before she’d decided to leave.

She felt like being out was thawing her, somehow, but the core of her still felt frozen and sharp.

 

Tony nodded. “Pull up a stool,” he told her. “I’m just tinkering, no worries. Building armor’s kinda my happy place at this point.” He nodded to the new gauntlet he was working on, sleeker and more streamlined than its predecessors.

It was something relaxing to work on, a project that was fun and easy, but still involved enough that he didn’t get bogged down in his own head.

Which, from the sound of it, was a problem Loki was also running into. “Find anything worthwhile in HYDRA’s files or...?” he regretted it almost the minute he’d brought it up, but it had been the shared project of the whole team, going through the data and numbers HYDRA had collected.

 

She did as he suggested, pulling up a seat, but froze at his next question before shrugging.

“I doubt anything HYDRA has done is worthwhile. I am certainly not finding anything… hm.” She cut her sentence off. “I have made sense of a few things.” She said quietly. “Beyond that, though…” She shrugged again.

“I assume from the dark circles under your eyes that you are still reviewing the files, yourself?”

She let her gaze wander from his face to the armor he was working on.

It was beautiful, in its way, and Loki wished she had a similar project that she could throw herself into, rather than pestering her friends.

“As for the other files… HYDRA’s placement of its anti-magic dampeners has served as a good template for the placement of my own alarms. If any should seek to breach the tower carrying that sort of technology, we will know.” She did not mean to sound as grim as she no doubt did, but it was hard to aim for levity when so weighted.

 

“Good to know,” he remarked, reaching for a screwdriver to remove a component. “I’m pretty proud of the security here, but it only stays as good as it is because it’s a constant work in progress. If we identify new threats, I wanna make sure we account for them.” Which meant studying the hell out of every ounce of tech they’d recovered from HYDRA and having JARVIS run dozens of simulations about how the tower might be attacked.

His tower had already been the epicenter of one near-apocalyptic attack. Tony wasn’t taking any chances.

“I finished watching all the pertinent ones already,” he said, grimacing as he worked a misplaced bolt loose -- he’d need to rearrange the outer plating from its current position and file it down if he wanted to maximize field of motion -- “So anything where HYDRA turns up or there’s dialogue. JARVIS did another sweep for any names, and I passed them on to Carter to run a check on. But that’s... the kind of thing that stays with you.”

Especially when they’d dunked Steve in water, drowning him, and Tony had felt his own lungs seize up with the memory of Ten Rings dunking him over and over and over --

He dropped the wrench with a curse, ducking down to pick it up.

 

She nodded, cringing when the metal hit the floor, and wincing at the thought of how much he must have seen by now, to have it stay with him enough to keep him from sleeping, even after he’d gone through most of it.

“I cannot say my own watching has been as thorough, nor… so organized, as all that.”

She knew for certain of at least one video that she needed to watch, and had not yet had the courage to select. One labeled ‘Scofield’ ‘necklace’ ‘gun’ and more, that she didn’t even want to think about.

“Is it… is that what is keeping you from sleep?” She asked, finally addressing the fact that he clearly hadn’t been getting rest. The dark circles under his eyes had begun to look like bruises, and his usually steady hands had turned clumsy.

Not that she had much room to speak, her own rest now splintered with memories of Steve’s hurt sounds, with the words that the doctor had said to him.

She’d seen him dosed with something that would make him burn from the inside, seen the way he’d tried to fight it, and had found herself wishing that he would just give in-- make it easier on himself.

Though she knew he would hate her for that if she ever said as much. Knew that it went against everything that he was.

Knew that he bore the resulting additional abuse with more pride and courage than she had ever known any other to have.

She had the potion of dreamless sleep that Thor had brought for her from Asgard, as yet unused, but she did not offer it to Tony.

If mere videos were causing them to have such reactions, she could only imagine how the memories were keeping Steve awake.

Though, as with the pain of the torture, he had not said anything. She would have to find a way to offer it to him, if she could, without causing more upset.

 

“Kinda,” Tony answered. The sight of Steve -- of _Captain America_ \-- getting taken apart like that had shaken him pretty damn deep. Steve was his friend, but layered on top of that, Cap was a symbol. He’d grown up hearing stories from Howard about Steve Rogers, larger than life, noble and good and everything Tony himself failed to live up to. And even decades later when he’d met the guy, Steve in the flesh had lived up to a surprising amount of the legend. Then he’d shown up with Loki, and okay, Tony had seen a more human side of the guy. More vulnerable. Especially with the whole coming out thing.

But the tapes -- seeing Steve reduced like that -- were just _wrong._ On every level. Like someone was perverting a fundamental law of the universe.

So that stuck with him, unsettling him. And that probably would have been enough to give him nightmares on its own, but on top of that he had to remember his own time being held and tortured. It had been a long time since he woke up in a cold sweat expecting to find himself in a cave in the desert, but those memories had been dusted off and thrown back into the mess of Tony’s dreams.

All in all, it was easier just to down some coffee and stay up. And with Pepper traveling for business, there was no one to tell him no.

“Is it helping?” he asked after a moment, glancing up from the gauntlet. “Watching it all? To help him, I mean.” Tony knew he probably ought to go talk with Steve, spend time with him and offer support, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get past his own shame at having seen Steve like that to manage to look him in the eye.

 

“I… do not know, yet.” She answered, hesitant, despite the urge to be honest. “It is helping me, at the moment, nearly as much as it hurts. It helps me to… understand, I suppose.”

And while she had never been through that sort of torture, there were ripples of similarity between some of what he’d gone through, and her own training at the hands of Thanos, which furthered both her understanding and her nightmares.

“I have not attempted to speak of it to him, yet. I do not want to force him to relive-- and more, I do not want him to forbid me from seeing it through. From watching the rest.”

Which she knew he would.

But the words they said to him, she knew now not to say. She knew the environments he had been in, what kind of lights and sounds to avoid. She wished the rest of it could have been captured too-- the temperature, the smells. It had been cold when they found him. _He_ had been cold. And the videos showed him shivering, or trembling-- difficult to say which, and no one could blame him for either.

She’d quietly added another blanket to his bed when she’d changed the sheets the day before, and she wasn’t certain if he’d noticed or not. But she doubted he would know the reasoning behind it.

“Is there anything I can do to help _you_? You clearly need the rest. I could, perhaps… I have medicines that could send you to sleep, if it is getting there that you need assistance with. And if it is staying asleep, there are things I may do to help, too. I could cause you to lose consciousness long enough, at least, for your body to heal and recharge. If you would like.”

It was not the best she could do, but that remained reserved for Steve alone, while her supplies were short.

 

Tony sighed. An offhanded dismissal and some snarky line about how he’d sleep when he was dead didn’t quite seem like it would work without putting Loki out further. “Appreciate it, Lokes, but I’m okay. Not the first time I’ve had bad sleep. Won’t be the last.”

Between Ten Rings, the Security Council’s nuke, and the Mandarin, he had enough fuel to keep him awake for the next ten years probably. “If it gets to point where I really need something, I’ll let you know. K?” That seemed like enough of a concession, at least, even if he didn’t plan on taking advantage. He trusted Loki, sure, but he still didn’t like the idea of a magic roofie knocking him out.

“So,” he said, changing the subject. “You’ve been rocking the Lady look lately. Is this a permanent deal? Should I be modifying your armor? Building in some underwire support?”

He had a pretty good idea now, why Loki was sticking to a female body for Steve’s benefit. HYDRA was apparently pretty misogynistic as well as being terrible in literally every other capacity. But given Steve was unlikely to be in the field anytime remotely soon...

 

She hesitated, looking down at the piece in his hands.

“No-- I. When I fight, I will take the form to fit the armor. It needn’t be the other way around.”

Unless…

This did make Steve’s life easier. And it could continue to do so-- she had suggested it before, more than once, as she recalled. And he had always said that he had fallen in love with her as a man. That it was what he was used to, which she read as it seeming more right for him. And they had never been intimate with her as a woman, but… it was not as though they were being particularly intimate now.

“Maybe… I will speak to Steve about it. For the time being, though, changing will hardly put me out any, unlike making an entire new set of armor would for you.”

And as for him asking for help, she did not hold out any hope that he was any better at it than the rest of them.

“I will ask that you at least make some concentrated effort to sleep before Pepper returns, though. I would hate to be included in her disappointment at the state of you.” She gave him the sort of smile she usually reserved for glib flattery, but followed it with, “If your eyes become any darker, your face will begin to resemble the void between stars.”

 

“Wow. Dramatic. Usually Rhodey just goes for saying I look like a raccoon that got in a barfight.” Tony’s mouth quirked up as he said it. “I’ll see what I can do. Though after a week of not dealing with me at all, Pep might need something to scold me about. Won’t feel like home otherwise.”

The truth was, he missed her when she was gone this long. Even moreso right now when he could use her as something to ground him.

And he _had_ Pepper to ground him, usually. Loki and Steve were both pretty damn adrift from the look of things, and he wasn’t really sure how to help.

“I’m sure she’ll wanna see you too, once she gets back,” he pointed out.

 

“All the more reason for me to be sure she has no urge to scold me, when she returns. You, she will always find reasons to fuss about. I, on the other hand, wish to continue to be her well behaved friend.”

She held up her hand, conceding the point to the disbelieving snort she was sure to follow.

“Inasmuch as any of us could claim to be ‘well behaved’.”

She eyed him over, then nodded.

“Rhodes would not be incorrect, however. And if it is causing _me_ to be concerned, imagine poor Pepper’s response.”

She fought as hard as she could to put on airs of innocence and earnestness. Ill-fitting as they were.

 

Tony snorted all the same. “If someone told me a year ago the guy who threw me out a window would one day be my girlfriend’s _well-behaved friend,”_ he muttered good-naturedly, smirking at the absurdity of it all. “Inasmuch or otherwise.”

He sighed a moment later though, running a hand through his hair. “Once I’m done with this, I’ll take a nap. Happy?”

If he kept it short, he shouldn’t dream much. And then he’d get back to work after.

“So how is Capsicle, anyway? Figure he has to be doing a bit better if you’re up here.” Or at least, he hoped that was the case, and not that Steve was so badly off that Loki was straight up running away.

 

“Happier.”Loki corrected. “I will be happy when Pepper comes home and does not disapprove. And, if it helps at all, I would happily pull you back through a window, if you find yourself thrown through one again.”

She shifted on her seat, crossing her legs primly, and studying her nails, as if the thought of throwing him out a window had never even crossed her mind.

Though she did look sharply at him at the nickname he gave Steve.

“As poor taste as that name was before, I’d say it’s worse now-- wouldn’t you?” She asked mildly, though she remembered a discussion with Steve when she’d complained of Tony trying to take her personhood away by refusing to use her name, and how Steve had said his least favorite of the nicknames Tony had used was that one.

She tried not to remember how close they’d been, then. How he’d touched her…

“He is spending more time with Natasha of late. I suspect he’s finally realized he is allowed company outside of mine, and, given Natasha is one of the most observant people here… she is the hardest to hide anything from. I would hazard if the videos are helping anyone to help Steve, it is her.”

 

Tony grimaced. “Ah, sorry. Force of habit. Nicknames usually make it easier to deal with this heavy stuff.” He got flippant whenever the topic of conversation made him uncomfortable, the added levity making it more tolerable. But Loki did have a point; probably not the best choice of monikers at the moment.

Man, if Cap had disliked ice before, he had to hate it pretty pathologically by now.

He held his hands up in a mea culpa gesture, making a mental note to refer to Steve by pretty much anything else. Spangles was probably still on the table, at least.

“Nat’s sharp. Probably knows what he’s thinking before he does,” he mused. It was a little surprising to see her stepping into that role, since she didn’t exactly give off the maternal caretaker vibe -- but then, she had filled Steve’s shoes as team leader admirably, and this likely came with the territory.

Though even Nat’s poker face hadn’t been able to hide the way the blood left her face when Tony had shown her the tapes, or how pale her knuckles had gotten.

If they ever found Verschmutzung, Tony wasn’t sure who the guy oughta be more scared of.

 

She was glad that Tony did not take her correction too hard, and glad, too, that he saw her reasoning behind it. Hopefully that would help to dissuade him from using it to Steve’s face.

“I am not sure whether it is wise to wish he would speak to Bruce or not. On the one hand, I have found him to be… wonderfully understanding. On the other, speaking of my experiences nearly sent him verdant, so I can only imagine…”

She wished Steve felt he could speak to her about his experiences, but he seemed unable to speak to any of them about it. And perhaps Natasha merely did not ask. Gave no sign of there being a difference, between before he left and now. Of them all, she was the best at her masks, and if she could provide Steve some normalcy while all Loki was capable of was concerned hovering…

She could not blame him for choosing to spend time with her.

Loki would just need to try to learn to correct her behavior, before he grew tired of it on a more permanent basis, while still being able to provide what he needed.

It was a balancing act, one she had never trained for, but would need to teach herself as soon as possible.

“And… what of yourself? Have you spent any time with Steve, or… would you like to?” She wasn’t sure how either of them would feel about it, especially with Tony watching the videos now, and how bad he was at keeping secrets. But she did want Steve to open up to his friends more, and maybe seeing more of his friends would help.

 

Tony made a face, reaching for a pair of pliers so he could tweak the wiring he’d just managed to expose. “Yeah, let’s... avoid telling Banner about the tapes. Bruce is a good listener, level guy, but for his sake and the sake of my walls, there are some things he probably shouldn’t be involved in.” It was sometimes easy for people to forget, when faced with Bruce’s mild-mannered zen, just how much _effort_ went into maintaining it.

Tony frequently forgot about it himself. Right up until he pushed Bruce to his limit and got a warning look, flecked with green.

He tweaked the wires, focusing on the connectors to the point he almost missed Loki’s question. But when his brain caught up with his ears, he stilled.

“Haven’t yet,” he replied carefully. “Uh, I’m not exactly... soothing. As a presence. Tend to put my foot in my mouth, like you’ve noticed.”

 

“True.” She acknowledged. “But I think part of why he goes to Natasha is that she does not attempt to soothe or coddle him. I think it is something you would excel at as well- not treating him like an injured bird.”

She smiled thinly and self deprecatingly.

There had to be a balance.

“And I agree. I would not ask that Bruce watch the things we are watching. I only wonder if Steve would be more likely to talk to so good a listener.” She lifted a shoulder, trying to say that it didn’t matter-- Steve would do as he pleased, always, which was good. At least she would not be able to bully him into complacency with his healing, no matter how she worried.

 

“Might not treat him like an injured bird, but I might spill the goddamn salt shaker,” Tony muttered to himself, tearing out a few of the wires to start over. Dammit. He was going to have to redo all this circuitry.

He sighed. Bruce was a good listener, sure, but he’d been dealing with Tony and pretty much everyone else, and Tony felt bad asking him to take on one more person’s woes when the poor guy had been on the edge for weeks now. Especially when Tony himself shied away from it.

“Whaddya think Steve would be up for. Pizza, beer and action movies? Something with Nazis getting cathartically punched in the face? Cause I’m pretty sure I have the Indiana Jones box set up in the penthouse.”

 

She blinked, uncertain, then offered,

“Before he was taken, we watched Casablanca and the gunshots made him flinch. I do not know how he would fare with films that are more action than that. And… He still eats little. Rice, some chicken, but a few bites and he is full.” She didn’t even broach the subject of drinking; she didn’t know how much of a hand the wine had played in his trip to the gym.

But she took Tony’s point.

Although…

“Though perhaps that is me treating him like an injured bird, myself.” She said, unable to keep from sounding a little bitter.

“And the salt shaker, that is the sort of thing this has helped with. Clearly he would not want salt on his skin, after…” She paused delicately. “It does make sense.” She insisted.

 

Tony raised his eyebrows. _Before?_ That was a little surprising. Of course, he knew Cap had been through a war, but he never showed any signs of it having affected him all that much. Guy acted like he’d been born to be a soldier. The thought of him having PTSD before this whole Cap-napping thing would have made Tony roll his eyes in disbelief. Obviously now he was having a hell of a time with it, but Tony was starting to wonder if he needed to keep a damn shrink on retainer for everyone in the tower.

“It... does make sense,” he agreed grimly. He’d seen that tape. And wished now that he hadn’t. He’d polished off almost a fifth of scotch after that particular bit of footage, as if the liquor could somehow sterilize it from his mind.

“If you need me to track down other stuff for him to eat, or order anything you think he might like -- just give the word, alright?” He’d seen Cap put away pizza, he knew what the guy’s metabolism should be. And the fact he’d been home for weeks now and was still rail-thin was more than a little alarming.

 

She lifted one shoulder, feeling, again-- or increasingly perhaps, since it never seemed to leave her-- the weight of helplessness.

“I am making stew tonight, at his request. With any luck, he will like it, and there is enough for it to last multiple days. He is not… food is not as interesting to him as it once was. And I assume his stomach has shrunken so small. But I do wish I knew how to help him eat more. I am trying.” She added the last quickly, afraid that Tony would think poorly of her for her inability to help there, either.

“At any rate, I’m sorry. I did not come here to unload my burdens on you. Rather the opposite. And… I know you have your own as well. So thank you, I suppose. For watching what you have, despite your own… experiences.”

She remembered how he’d reacted to the little he’d heard of her training with Thanos, and Steve’s explanation as to why.

Little wonder it was affecting him so strongly now.

Not that any could watch what they had and be unaffected.

“I suppose… if I cannot be of help to you, I am only in the way. I should go back downstairs to check on the stew, at any rate.” She stood, pushing the stool back to where Tony had pulled it from.

 

“What?” Tony frowned in disbelief. “Hey -- You’re not in the way, okay? It’s kind of a huge goddamn lab. And you don’t have to be useful to hang around; if you need to be outside of your place, you can crash around here, okay?” He didn’t want her to think he was kicking her out. “If you wanna leave, that’s one thing, but... Look, you don’t have to _earn_ the right to just hang out around anyone here, okay?”

At least, not anymore. Once, he’d been skeptical and uneasy of Loki’s presence. But that was in the past.

“If you wanna stay a bit longer, you’re welcome to -- I dunno. Read, fiddle with stuff, bring up any adjustments to your armor you want me to make. It’s fine. And I don’t say that to a lot of people,” he added.

 

She was a little taken aback by his vehemence.

But she felt a knot swell in her throat as she understood why.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to imply you were kicking me out. Only that I am… a distraction, when you are clearly working, and I have no valid reason-- nothing to do, short of continuing to go through Hydra’s files-- video or otherwise. And as that is what I came up here to escape, it seems to me I have done a poor job of avoiding it.”

So poor of a job, in fact, that she had only become more morose, more convinced of her uselessness and inadequacy in helping her partner-- and she was taking it out on Tony.

And he was trying to reassure her that she was _wanted_.

So much for his argument of not being soothing.

“I wonder if Steve would consent to a group movie night, perhaps.” She mused. “If he were allowed to choose a film, and I could summon him a chair, so he need not share a couch with anyone else…”

It seemed a good way of bringing everyone together with it still being low effort for Steve. Maybe.

 

“Hey, say the word and I’ll set it up. Can even just be you guys, me and Pep if he can’t handle a crowd,” Tony offered, grasping at something he could potentially help with. “I can get food delivered, or. You know. Whatever one needs for a movie night.” He waved the wrench in his hand in a general encompassing gesture.

It was pretty remarkable how much they’d all changed since the last time they’d all sat in the penthouse and watched a movie.

“Pretty sure being distracting isn’t a problem when we’re both in here to be distracted, but that may just be me,” he added dryly. “But if you have other things to do, that’s fine.” He didn’t want to guilt Loki into staying either. It was like a balancing act.

(Being a sensitive, considerate guy was mentally _exhausting_ sometimes. Maybe after this he’d go out and be obnoxious to some reporters, just to balance things out...)

 

“Let me speak to Steve first. I will let you know, though. Maybe even in person.”

She couldn’t help the anxious feeling like she’d been gone too long, but she was partially certain that it was only because of how much time she had spent in their apartment lately.

“When does Pepper return, again?”

It gave her an excuse, a little time to figure out when it would be best to ask him. Time to hold off if he wasn’t in a good mood.

She did still need distraction from the horrors that lay always at her fingertips, but she wasn’t certain that she would find that distraction here, with someone who was as familiar with them as she was. And had far better ways-- more productive ways-- of entertaining himself, to boot.

She hesitated, not reclaiming her seat, but not moving to leave, either, unsure what to do, what she wanted.

The mood those videos left her in felt a little like a fog, and she knew that both sorrow and fury lurked just below the surface of it, either of which could be useful, or at least a relief, but neither of which was accessible at current.

Perhaps she should take a page from Steve’s book, and just take a nap.

 

“J?” Tony was shit at scheduling. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what day today was.

“ _Miss Pott’s itinerary has her return scheduled for late next Friday evening, barring inclement weather between here and Tokyo potentially precipitating travel delays.”_

“Ok, so, next Saturday or later?” Tony threw out. His calendar was cleared easily enough. He rescheduled on people all the time anyway. Well. _Unimportant_ people. Or Tony’s definition of unimportant -- like board members.

 

“Perhaps best to ask Pepper.” Loki suggested gently. “I know she is often very busy, and I imagine that is doubly true after any sort of absence,on her part.”

She worried at her lip, then nodded.

“We will both speak to our respective better halves, and reconvene to set about planning. In the meantime… I think I will go. Not because I am in the way, or from any lack in your company. But I think it might be good for me to… go outside, for a little bit. While I have the chance.”

She hadn’t actually thought about it before she started speaking, but it wasn’t a bad idea. It sounded very much like advice he’d given Steve, the first time he’d woken with nightmares at Loki’s side.

Maybe the sun, while it lasted, could pierce through the fog she carried with her.

  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone curious about who we would cast for the various OCs and supporting characters from the comics and not the films, [we put a list together on tumblr](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/post/161864169074/little-talks-fancasting-for-comics-characters-and) for y'all to check out!


	87. Eighty-Seven

Two days passed for Steve far too quickly.

He didn’t know if it was better or worse this time, knowing ahead of time what to expect -- or just enough of what to expect to foment a sense of dread. Sam had been... pleasant enough. And this group -- maybe he’d stick out like less of a sore thumb. There’d be less of that camaraderie he failed to share in. Maybe.

Maybe he’d just discover one avenue of fixing him that merely terminated in a dead end. It seemed just as likely, given his current batting average.

Natasha might have been right to lie to him earlier. That had at least gotten him in the front doors without second-guessing every single choice that led him there. He was beginning to hope she had forgotten about this second group and they could skip the whole thing when he got a text from her telling him to make sure he had pants on, she’d be giving him a ride in fifteen. So that was that.

He dressed in the pair of jeans that had mysteriously appeared in his dresser that fit his slimmer hips (Pepper’s gift, he suspected), and a soft green henley. His shoulder was sore, but on the mend; still, his fingers, no longer bandaged, but scabby and stiff, led him to avoid anything with too many buttons. Shoes on, cane in hand, and a baseball cap over his head, he met her by the door.

She passed him a glossy card. “Jack Simon,” She said with a smile and a nod. He looked down at the freshly minted New York license in his hand.

Jack Roger Simon. Born June 15, 1985. He recognized the photo as one she’d snapped of him the other day, though as promised, it had been run through some digital editing so it looked less gaunt. It didn’t look like _him,_ now or before, but it looked like a possible version of him. A possible version who wasn’t Captain America.

(And for half a second, Steve envied Jack Simon, fictional though he was.)

“Looks good,” He told her. “Thanks.”

“I know,” she replied with a smirk. “I do good work. Now, let’s go.”

 

The trip took less time, Natasha edging carefully through traffic in Hell’s Kitchen, and they pulled up at the location with a solid ten minutes to spare.

The address had been for a church, but unlike the spired Catholic churches Steve was accustomed to, this was a squat, blocky building he might have mistaken for an unfortunate-looking bank if not for the stone cross over the door and the chipped blue and gold mosaic tiling along the edifice, vaguely reminiscent of eastern orthodox flavor. Steve found himself oddly grateful that the place _didn’t_ resemble the church of his youth; he wasn’t sure he could bear the combined brunt of shame _and_ Catholic guilt.

“Do you need me to stay?” Natasha asked as she killed the engine out front.

He took a deep breath and shook his head. “No. I... I’ll text if I need a pick up, but I’m gonna try to make it through at least one session of something all the way through.”

She nodded. “Okay. I’ll keep my phone on. I have an errand to run in the neighborhood anyway.” Her businesslike expression softened. “Good luck. And remember -- no one expects anything from you. We’re all just here to help however we can.”

His smile in return was brittle at the edges. “Thanks,” he replied, extricating himself from the car and taking a deep breath of the city air -- the smell of exhaust and cigarettes and garbage and distant fried food -- before making his way up the steps.

 

It was dimly lit inside, but an a-frame sign just inside the door read “PTSD SUPPORT ---> BASEMENT, 7PM.” Following the arrow, he passed the entrance to the chapel and instead found the door to a stairwell propped open, with voices rising from below.

The setting was not unlike the VA, he found, though a bit grungier, a bit more derelict. There was no chipper receptionist. Just printed signs taped to doors indicating where to go, and a room that he suspected was multipurpose for various church events and meetings, where the folding chairs were set up in a circle.

There were people milling around too, though no one he saw immediately struck him as a soldier. At least, not yet.

He hovered in the door for a moment, then finally stepped in. He was doing this. He’d made it all the way here and he was going to sit through an hour-and-a-half-long meeting without being a basketcase, dammit. He ought to be able to manage that much.

That resolve was immediately tested when a young man with dreadlocks broke away from a small group that had been talking and headed his way with an affable expression.

“Hey, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. You new?” he asked as he approached.

Steve smiled tightly. Great. So much for not sticking out. Everyone here must have been a regular if his newness was that obvious. “Yeah,” he admitted, one hand gripping his cane tightly and the other shoved into his pocket.

“Cool. It’s a good group of people here, man. Don’t worry. I’m Trey.”

 

And then he held out his hand.

 

Steve stared at it, every muscle in his body tensing. _Shake his hand._ It was the normal, not crazy, polite thing to do. The thing anyone else ought to be capable of.

_Shake his goddamn hand._

Steve’s hand twitched in his pocket, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, utterly paralyzed.

Trey’s smile fell, and he drew his hand back, expression guarded. “Okay... I guess not, then...” He was looking at Steve in a way that was offended. Hurt.

The dismay that bubbled up inside him in response was enough to drive out the words: “I’m sorry!” he blurted. “I don’t-- I’m not good with... With touching.”

And that was embarrassing as hell to admit. But it had to be preferable to Trey thinking Steve was a rude jerk or a racist piece of shit, right?

Trey’s expression mercifully softened, but instead of looking at Steve with pity, there was a hint of... understanding?

“Gotcha. No worries. We got a few of those. More common than you think.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged in relief and he shot Trey a grateful look. “Thanks. Um. I’m Jack, by the way. And... sorry.”

Trey shrugged. “Hey man, everybody here’s got their issues. Trust me.”

Steve was about to ask what he meant, but didn’t get the chance.

 

“Alright everyone,” Sam’s voice called out suddenly, loud enough to carry but not loud enough to be alarming. “Everyone find a seat and we’ll get started.”

Some people were already seated, but the rest who were milling around moved to take their seats. Steve followed Trey and took the seat between him and a woman with frizzy blonde hair and a heap of knitting in her lap. Sam sat in his own seat -- part of the ring, not removed from it in any way -- and gave everyone a few moments to settle in before speaking again.

“I just wanna start off by saying welcome to everyone. I see a couple new faces--” his eyes flicked briefly to Steve, and somewhere else in the circle, too fast for Steve to follow, “so I just wanna recap some of the group ground rules.” His tone was serious, but calm. “This isn’t therapy. I’m not a doctor. I’m a counselor, but I’m also a part of this group. We are a support group, which means we are all in this together. It also means we respect one another, and part of that respect means minding each other’s privacy. Nothing said in group leaves group; no one’s story here is yours to tell outside these walls. No one’s name here is yours to repeat. This place? It’s safe.” He smiled at that point. “Now, I’d like us to go around, introduce ourselves real quick, then we can get into shares. I’ll start: my name is Sam, and I founded this group three years ago.”

He nodded to the young woman to his left, who introduced herself as Caitlyn, who’d been here for six months. And so on and so forth.

Trey introduced himself -- He’d been coming here for almost a year -- and then it was Steve’s turn. A lump almost immediately formed in his throat, and he fought to choke it down.

“I’m Jack.”

And that was it. The introductions went on and he slumped in his chair, feeling he’d passed the first round of some test.

Next came ‘shares,’ where anyone in the group could volunteer to talk. Either about their trauma, or something they were dealing with as a result.

“My husband and I are talking about trying again,” a woman volunteered. “It’s been two years since _He_ \--, since we lost the baby,” she swallowed, “and I want-- I want to try. But I’m absolutely terrified of losing it again, you know? I know that’s irrational, given what happened the first time was... you know. But I don’t think we could survive it a second time. I don’t even know if I can be pregnant again after all the damage, and I’m scared to go to my doctor and ask.”

“I had a panic attack in my friend’s car,” mumbled a young man (could hardly be more than a _teenager,_ Steve thought _)_ who had introduced himself as Zack. “Some guy changed lanes and almost side-swiped us. And all I could think about was the accident and I thought I was there again for a minute. He had to pull over because I was trying to get out through the goddamn window right there in the middle of moving traffic, like an idiot.”

“I finally walked down the street where it happened,” an older man -- Craig -- said quietly, wringing his hands. “They cleaned it up. You can’t even see where the rubble was where the building fell on-- on--” he broke off, everyone sitting in silence for several moments before he could go on. “I had to go the credit union at the end of the block and I made it. Didn’t scream or anything,” he added with a self-deprecating chuckle, hands still twisting. “Almost three years now since the invasion. And I still see that building come down every time I walk past a construction site and smell masonry.”

Steve’s stomach plummeted at the last one, and the realization that this was someone who had suffered because of the invasion -- which Loki led, and Steve had failed to stop before it began. And he had no idea that he was sitting near someone who maybe might have been able to save his loved one. Whose loved one in turn maybe killed her.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn’t even hear the next share. Barely heard Trey beside him after that, talking about how he’d found out one of the guys who shot him in a driveby was getting out on parole.

He couldn’t tell Loki about any of this. Not that he ought to anyway -- Sam said nothing left this room -- but if Loki found out that any of Steve’s fellow ‘trauma survivors’ had become as much through the result of the invasion -- Steve wasn’t in any place to pick up the pieces from that. He couldn’t help, couldn’t comfort her.

She couldn’t know. _Ever._

Then somehow, forty minutes had passed and Sam announced, in the mellow-yet-commanding voice he’d mastered, that it was time for break. Some people checked their phones, a few turned to each other, speaking softly, and others got up to get a drink of water or coffee.

Steve stood, stretching out the stiffness in his leg and rolling his shoulder, forward and backward in slow circles, the way Amir had taught him to in PT. Letting his chin drop so his neck could stretch helped too. He breathed deeply, trying not to think too hard on all the stories he’d heard; all the suffering that had been endured by the people in this room.

He didn’t even realize he’d let his eyes close until he heard a footstep scuff the linoleum from somewhere next to him, and his chin jerked up. For half a second, his heart leapt into his throat--

\--But it was just Sam, still a couple paces away, looking at him curiously, but not critically.

Steve swallowed, a wave of self-consciousness cresting over the nape of his neck.

 

He saw the guy flinch, and realized that even the intentional noise making hadn’t been enough warning. He kept his hands in his pockets, not reaching forward at all, especially after the ‘not good with touching’ explanation he’d observed earlier.

“Jack, right? I’m glad to see you made it over. Your friend didn’t seem to think you would.” He gave him an easy smile, watching for any reactions that might clue him in to any other… needs, for lack of better word, that he had.

“How you holding in there?”

The last group had been too much for him, obviously, and he’d said he didn’t belong there, despite his qualifications, resume wise. So while this was worth a try, he was definitely looking shaken, and Sam wanted to be sure he wasn’t just letting the guy run out and disappear, wasn’t going to make him give up on the whole process, just by not taking a little extra time.

 

Steve grimaced at the revelation that Natasha had told him she didn’t think he would make it. Not that he wholly blamed her -- he’d panicked and bailed on the last two attempts at some kind of counseling. But the lack of faith in him still hurt, however justified.

“I’m fine,” he blurted, as a matter of habit. Then stopped, swallowed. “I, uh. I’m probably not going to lose it and run away,” he amended. Sam had taken the time to come over here and ask, he deserved the courtesy of an answer. And he seemed really decent, the way he listened to everyone and kept his face carefully schooled not to show judgement or pity.

He reminded Steve a little of Natasha like that.

“It’s, um. Intense,” he added after a moment. “But I guess it is for everyone.”

 

Sam nodded along, noting the faces he made and the pauses he took.

“I’d say not running’s a good second step. After showing up, I mean. And yeah, something like this, the intense part is what makes it work, I think. Just knowing no one has any grounds to judge, no one’s without their hurts. Everyone’s seen or been through something-- if not the same thing, then…” Sam lifted a shoulder. “It’s a shit club to be part of, but some folks find it helps.” He said bluntly.

He hesitated, then added,

“If you find it’s not helping, let me know. I can help find something different that will.”

 

Steve pursed his lips. Everyone here had been through something -- losses and hurts and horrible things that probably gave them all nightmares. He had no right here to act like the most screwed up person in the room. And if they were all sticking around and getting something from it...

“I think it’s a little early to tell,” he said, then stopped, realizing how stupid that sounded when he’d decided in under an hour at both the VA and Dr. Cohen’s office that he could tell right off that things wouldn’t work.

“I don’t have reason yet to think it’ll hurt,” he clarified. Besides the stark reminder of the invasion -- which was almost inescapable in the city -- he hadn’t felt anything too alarming. Hadn’t felt put on the spot beyond this conversation, and the earlier one with Trey. Whether or not it _helped_ was a whole other question, but even if it didn’t, it would make Nat and Loki happy to know he was coming. Right?

 

Sam nodded again.

“It takes a bit to build confidence in any sort of therapy, help group thing. No rush; take all the time you need.”

Jack looked like, despite his words, he was still anxious, thinking about bolting, and Sam didn’t want to push him. He wasn’t going to push the conversation any further, but before he dropped it, he did want to extend the invitation.

Some people got the idea, depending on what they’d been through, that if they weren’t invited somewhere, they weren’t wanted or welcome there.

“We’re here every week. There’s no dues, no membership, and no harm if you miss a week or a lot of weeks-- we’ll be here for the foreseeable future, and you are more than welcome to join us, if you decide it is helping.” He smiled. “I’m gonna go chat with the other newbie, but if you need anything, just holler, alright?”

 

Steve swallowed again, then nodded stiffly. “I-- okay. Thanks.”

It helped knowing Sam was going to see the other new person -- that this was routine, and not because Steve was in need of special attention and looked more screwed up than usual.

Or maybe he was, and Sam was just really tactful. It was hard to dismiss it as a possibility.

Still, he forced a small smile. He had told himself he was going to _try_. For the sake of everyone around him.

Sam moved away and a few minutes later, everyone reconvened and sat back down. Steve nodded to Trey as they returned to their chairs beside one another.

The second half of the session was mostly devoted to discussion. No one had interrupted beyond a few supporting murmurs during the sharing, but apparently they’d all saved their commentary for now. Sam mediated the conversation, kept everyone talking one at a time so anyone who wanted to pipe up had a chance without being talked over.

Some of the conversation seemed to be a carryover from this same group in a previous week, where Steve hadn’t been present. There was one thread of discussion on forgiveness and whether it helped with healing or wasn’t necessary or deserved, and Steve found his thoughts flickering to Loki again, wondering if anyone here would be willing to forgive her. Would be willing to forgive Steve for loving her, if they knew.

His jaw tightened, and he kept his head down, mouth shut, throughout the second half of the meeting.

And yet...

As hard as it was to focus at times, for most of it, he made himself listen.

The group offered the woman who had shared her worries about motherhood -- Mirabelle -- support and assurances that she would be a terrific mother, and that someone knew someone who worked with an adoption agency if she had interest in that route. Craig’s story led to discussion about revisiting places of trauma -- out of necessity or to face their fear -- and Steve shuddered slightly at the thought of _ever_ returning to where HYDRA had kept him, though he understood it to be mostly rubble now.

“I got a flashback last week and panicked too, if it helps,” the tall man with a beard told car-accident-Zack. “I’ve got a book though that’s got exercises in it that’ve been helping. Breathing and stuff. I’ll bring it in, next week, if you want.”

And Steve _almost_ opened his mouth, to ask the name of the book. But he couldn’t bring himself to, his jaw locking and throat clamping down on any possible words before he could draw attention to himself.

Finally Sam called for the discussions to wrap up, indicating the time, and Steve realized with a start that the meeting was already over. Or nearly. And he’d stayed for the whole thing.

“I just wanna end this week with a quote,” Sam said. “I’m not always a fan of Hemingway, but there’s a line in one of his books I wanna read here--” he pulled a small notecard from his pocket: “ ‘ _The world breaks everyone, and afterward many are strong in the broken places._ ’ Over the next week, I want us all to think about how _we_ might be stronger in _our_ broken places. Now everyone go have a great rest of your evenings, take it easy, you were all great tonight. I’ll see y’all next week, aright?”

Then that was it. Conversation started up at a gentle murmur as everyone stood and fetched their coats, Trey gave him a nod before heading out, and soon all the participants were filtering out the door.

Part of Steve had wanted to be out like a shot the minute things were done -- Natasha was probably waiting by the curb -- but instead he found himself lingering. Maybe to prove to himself that he’d actually been able to stay all the way through, or to make up in some small way for leaving early before. He wasn’t all that sure. But once Sam finished shaking Craig’s hand and the older man left, Steve was the only one left, apart from Sam, who began breaking down the folding chairs to stack on a rack in the corner.

Steve hesitated, then propped his cane against the table by the door and moved to start folding up the chairs on the other half of the circle.

 

Sam watched Jack work out of the corner of his eye, surprised that he’d stayed behind, but getting the sense there was a reason for it.

He hadn’t seen him go for his phone, so he doubted it was him waiting on his ride-- he’d have texted if that were the case.

Sam paused on his way back from the corner rack, wondering if he ought to take the chairs from him and save him the walk.

But that also risked getting too close for his comfort.

“Thanks for sticking around to help.” He said, going for easy and affable. “You want me to grab those?” He nodded at the ones Jack held.

And maybe that would break the ice. Even if it ended up offending the guy.

 

“I got them,” Steve replied automatically. Just because his leg was healing -- and it was _on the mend,_ it really was -- didn’t make him an invalid incapable of helping. Though he realized a second later that Sam may have just been offering since he was closer.

Still, he carried the chairs over to the rack, trying not to think too bitterly about how he’d easily have been able to carry three under each arm without batting an eye, _before._

“You didn’t read the rest of the quote. From Hemingway,” he said after a moment.

 

Sam thought about that- there were options there, to how to respond. But finally he shrugged.

“I did say I’m not always a fan. The rest of that, about how life’s in no special hurry to break people who aren’t brave or good… I think everyone here is. But some of them don’t see themselves that way. And I don’t want to encourage them to stop trying to.”

And they’d had more than one group session take a turn down the path of ‘deserving’ what happened to them, whatever it was. It could turn into a vicious circle.

“Are you a fan? Of Hemingway, I mean.”

Clearly he was, enough at least to recognize the quote. But it would do to keep him talking.

 

Steve shook his head. “ ‘ _Those that it does not break, it kills,’ ”_ he quoted. “Kills the very good and the very brave... Doesn’t say a lot about us who somehow stuck around,” he finished grimly. Though he knew that wasn’t the point. ‘ _If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.’_

He sighed a moment later. “Sorry. I know that’s... not helpful.” He’d always fought the urge to chide Loki when he got pessimistic like this. He could only imagine everyone’s frustration with him now.

“I liked _A Farewell to Arms_. Or, the first half, anyway.” He wondered if any of the others had read it. If Sam had quoted a book from the latter half of the century, odds would be in favor of a lot of them recognizing it and Steve being in the dark, but fortunately he’d read the book in question as a teenager. The spine had been broken, so his mother had gotten it in a stack of old, battered books from the used shop for only pennies.

 

Sam wondered what he was hoping to get out of this. It was a weird, roundabout conversation via bookclub, but he was a patient guy.

“Think that’s why I pulled out just that one line. When you take it away from the rest, it makes you fill in the blanks that Hemingway didn’t care about. Being strong in the broken places of ourselves… that’s how you keep it from killing you, whatever it is that caused the break in the first place. That’s how you keep going. I think it’s a little more hopeful than most of the rest of what Hemingway doled out.”

He carried another couple of chairs to the wall.

“Not everything has to be helpful, but… bet it helped to say it, rather than just let it rattle around in your brain, right?” He arched an eyebrow, watching to see if he was hitting any nerves.

New people always felt a bit like groping in the dark, and when you knew you that dark hid some pretty deep wounds, it took a fairly gentle hand.

 

“You mean other than the part where I spend the next six hours kicking myself for probably sounding like a pretentious ass?” Steve remarked, getting another chair, the corner of his mouth twisting wryly. He managed to say it without bitterness, though. “Sorry.”

Sam was right, of course. The words were more helpful on their own, without the context of the rest of the book about the war that had killed Steve’s father. The ‘War to End All Wars.’ Which was promptly followed by the war that Steve fought in, and lost Bucky and his own lifetime to. It probably amounted to some cruel cosmic joke.

“I actually meant to ask,” he finally said, putting words together to the vague anxiety he’d only just recognized had been gnawing at the back of his mind for a while now. “If I come but I don’t talk -- at least, not for a while -- will people mind?” He didn’t want to come off as some kind of voyeur of others’ suffering, taking but never giving. He just wasn’t sure how to even begin to talk about... it.

 

“Hey man, I’m not gonna judge you. I’m the one who ended a group session with a quote from _A Farewell to Arms.”_

Sam shrugged, opting to lean back against the wall rather than approach, especially since Jack finally got around to-- probably-- the reason he’d actually stayed behind.

He listened, but shook his head.

“Most everyone who sticks around has a silent period, and we all get it. Everyone’s here because they’ve been through some stuff-- takes time to build up to it. First you come, you listen, get used to the idea. Everyone takes their own time. One of the guys who was here tonight, he’s been coming for almost a year. Hasn’t spoken yet. But I know he hangs out outside the meetings with a couple of the others. So. I’d say you’re safe.”

 

Steve exhaled, nodding. _You’re not special,_ he reminded himself. He wasn’t _more_ damaged, or more hurt by anything that had happened than anyone else here, necessarily. Maybe he was dealing with it worse than most, but-- it was arrogant to imagine himself as a special case. The knowledge was both relieving and chastening.

He didn’t have to talk. No one would ask him questions, demand he tell them how it _felt._ And no one here would resent him for it, or fret over him pointlessly.

(Maybe it would be nice, to have someplace where no one cared or even noticed what a goddamn mess he was.)

“Thank you,” he told Sam, and realized he meant it very sincerely. He offered a small smile. “This is the point where normally I would shake your hand, but...” he shrugged. “I appreciate it. And... I think I’ll see you next week?”

 

“We’ll be here. And so will my hand if you ever get ‘round to it, but no pressure.” Sam assured him, but left two of the chairs unfolded.

“You wanna text your ride before you say goodbye? Parking can be a pain, she might be a ways off.”

He was pretty good about not asking questions and prying into the lives of the people who came here, and he wasn’t breaking that rule now. No matter how high the redhead who set this up for this guy was pinging on his radar.

He didn’t think it was just because she was hot. Or even just because she was hot and scary.

But he didn’t ask questions.

He just really hoped no one in the group ever did anything that wound up with Jack getting hurt-- obviously, he never wanted that anyway, but he didn’t want to see what her face would do in response.

Scary.

 

Steve shrugged. “I’ll find her. My physical therapist says I can take short walks... Should be good for me.”

Which was probably about as much as he’d confided about his recovery and PT to anyone. And Sam was a relative stranger.

Maybe that made it easier? Coming here and only being with strangers? No one here had any idea of who he’d been before. No one was expecting him to be Cap. Just Jack Simon, whoever the hell he was.

He nodded to Sam again, then headed for the door, picking up his cane and using it to take his weight on the stairs, but leaning on it less when he walked down the hall and out to the curb.

It only took a few minutes to spot the car Nat had brought him here in, parked halfway down the block. He made his way over, then climbed in the passenger side, exhaling once the door was shut.

“Made it through,” he said simply.

 

He was lucky she paid attention to her surroundings in public-- she’d seen him coming and managed not to tense when the door opened, but if he’d surprised her…

Then again, he knew her well enough to know that wouldn’t happen. She hoped.

“Yeah?” She asked, buckling in and offering him the hot cocoa she’d picked up fifteen minutes prior. “That oughtta be cool enough not to scald your mouth, if you want it.”

She was trying not to ask how it had gone, trying not to sound like just another interrogation.

She wondered if she should ask about bringing him back, but decided to let him make that call.

 

“Thanks.” He took the styrofoam cup and let the soft warmth seeping through heat his hands. A tentative sip flooded his mouth with chocolate, and while not scalding, it was hot enough to ward away the January chill.

“Yeah,” he repeated. “Um. You don’t have to drive me next week, if you’ve got other stuff to do. I could take the subway.” And once his leg was better, it would be nice to just _walk._ The tower wasn’t so far from this neighborhood, really.

 

So he was planning on coming back, then. Good.

“No problem. Wasn’t sure if you would want a doughnut or not, but there’s one in a bag in the glovebox, just in case. And for next week, I can take you. I could also take the subway with you, if you just want the company.”

Besides, considering how recently she’d seen him push himself and end up on shaky legs and having a hard time breathing… She wanted to see him eating more, and wanted to see signs of him doing better before she left him to wander around the city on his own.

“This group’s better, though? A better fit?” She allowed herself the one question, not fishing for details.

 

He frowned, holding his cocoa with one hand and fumbling with the seatbelt with the other. “I’m not sure,” he admitted honestly. “It’s at least... Everyone’s problems are kinda different. So there’s no assumption that I’ve been through the same exact things. And no one asks me to talk, so.” He shrugged. There were fewer expectations here, in the grubby church basement, than in the fancy doctor’s office or the clean VA center.

He could deal with fewer expectations.

“How were your errands?” he asked mildly, sipping more from the cup.

 

She nodded along, listening and thoughtful.

“Errands were fine. There’s a bag of beets in the back. I’m making borscht-- have you ever tried it?” Borscht was good, good for you… and it was one of the things she thought of as comfort food. Thinking of how thin he looked, working on photoshopping his face to be more built up, for the fake ID… it had made her want to feed him.

And she didn’t know how to cook much.

“I’m glad they aren’t pressuring you. Does it help to listen, though, if their problems are all different from yours?”

And she wondered what they assumed his problem was, that had gone unspoken. An eating disorder, maybe? He certainly looked the part, for the time being.

 

“Can’t say I have,” he admitted. “Loki made stew the other night, and it was pretty good... She’s ramping up on comfort food, I think.” Steve was making an effort to eat more, though a certain apprehension around food tempered his appetite still.

He shrugged in response to her question. “I’m not sure. Maybe? I mean, no one was taken by-- by HYDRA,” he said, mouth twisting, “but they’ve all been through something. Maybe some of it won’t ever apply to me... I’m not exactly gonna cope the same way as someone who-- someone with different history. But...”

He trailed off. It felt horrifically selfish to say he was grateful not to feel like the only shattered person in a room.

 

She could see-- and hear-- how even saying that much was difficult for him.

And with him trailing off like that…

“Well, as long as you want to go, I’m happy to keep bringing you. I’m glad you think there’s something of value in it.”  
It was better to leave it at that, she thought, than keep prying on the subject, especially since he’d accomplished so much just by making it all the way through.

“Loki any good at cooking?” She asked, navigating the roads of the city with the endless patience of someone used to sitting still for long periods.

“And… what does Asgardian comfort food even look like?”

 

Steve relaxed a little, glad that she wasn’t pressing. Not that he could tell her much anyway; he benefitted from the sanctity of the group’s confidentiality far too much to risk breaching it.

“Thanks, Nat.” She was being a good friend and deserved his gratitude.

The dense traffic meant that even the short distance through midtown was taking some time. Steve stared out the window at all the lights. “Considering we had a tiff about Loki not knowing how to use the stove shortly before I left? She’s come a long way,” he said. Loki’s cooking wasn’t hugely varied or expert by any means, but she could put food together into something edible, and that was about as much as Steve’s standards required.

He _did_ know about Asgardian comfort food, though. Memories of all the times he and Loki had discussed food brought a smile to his lips. “Stews,” he told her. “Thick, heavy breads. Roast meat, like pork or mutton or ox, I think, though she’s been going easy on the meat for my sake. I get the feeling it’s a lot of hearty, old-world tavern fare.”

 

She felt her eyebrows rise and snorted.

“You got into a fight about a stove? That’s amazing. And also: that explains a little more why Thor got really fixated on the idea of bringing home a jaguar to roast for you when he saw Bruce watching a nature doc.”

It was good to see him smiling, though.

“And how’s that cross over with your idea of comfort foods? What’d you eat, growing up? And I know it was the depression, but… your mom cooked certain things, right? Is there anything you liked that she made? Or... I don’t imagine it’d be too hard to find the sort of stuff they would’ve served in the army back then, if you have a craving.”

She wondered whether he had a dietician or not, or if anyone had even taught Loki about the food pyramid, or anything like that. If Loki was just winging it on meals after not knowing how to cook at all a few months prior… Steve might not be doing so great on nutrient intake, which certainly wouldn’t help him heal faster.

 

Steve thought about correcting her, that the stove hadn’t been the point of the fight, just a symptom, but then elected to let it go for now.

“Well, Ma’s roast jaguar was definitely a staple of the Rogers household,” he deadpanned, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Mostly we ate whatever we had, didn’t matter if it was good or not. Soup was pretty common -- never thick enough to call it stew. You’d take whatever you had left from anything else you’d eaten, throw it in a pot with water and cheap bones from the butcher for stock, and the boil the everloving hell out of it and call it dinner. We had sandwiches, too. Though not with a lot in them. I had entirely too many ketchup sandwiches,” he mused. “Biscuits were pretty cheap. Honestly, we’d put pretty much anything we had on bread and call it a meal. Mayo on bread. Bacon grease on bread. Canned beans on bread... And as for the army...” he chuffed. “If I never gotta eat army rations again I’ll be happy.”

The sight of his mother stirring something over the stove had been comforting. Sitting with Bucky down by the dockyard eating sandwiches had been comforting. The feeling of a full belly had been comforting. Sharing contraband swiss chocolate with the commandos had been comforting.

But none of it had been because of the food.

 

“Don’t tell Thor that. He’s getting better, but he’s still startlingly willing to take things at face value, sometimes.”

And how someone who was raised with Loki was bad at detecting sarcasm was beyond her, but…

“Do you _want_ soups and sandwiches? There’s a subway sandwich shop on the next street over. I draw the line at ketchup sandwiches, though-- that’s not happening.”

Tomato sandwiches, sure. She’d had a few of those in her time. And Russia had a love affair with mayonnaise that meant lots of mayo toast, or mayonnaise on a bun. She would never have called it a sandwich… or a true meal, for that matter, though she’d used it as such, in the past.

But maybe she could check in with Loki, make sure there was sandwich stuff in the apartment. Maybe Steve would feel better about eating if he had stuff he could make whenever he wanted it, without having to ask Loki to make it for him.

So he wouldn’t feel like he was putting anyone out.

 

Steve laughed. “I’ll keep it to myself,” he assured her. The idea of Thor bringing in exotic animal carcasses was... alarming. Steve doubted he’d be able to handle anything more than a pig roast. Not to mention wildlife protection groups would lose their minds.

He shook his head. “Pretty sure the only thing I have serious nostalgia for is apple pie,” he reflected, “but it might be a little rich for me right now.” He wasn’t sure if that still held true -- it had been weeks since the macaroni incident and he’d been handling solid food well enough -- but there was a nervousness around overly rich foods all the same.

“I’d be willing to try your borscht though.” Hopefully it would go better than his dinner at Tony and Pepper’s. It was a very low bar to clear, after all.

 

“You’re welcome to hang out with me while I cook,” She offered, remembering the way he hadn’t wanted to go back after his fight with the punching bag. He didn’t seem as shaky now, but there was every chance that was just because the physical aspect of the emotional rollercoaster had been lacking. He might not be ready to face Loki, or anyone else. And it was good to give him options.

“And once you’re ready for apple pie, you let me know. I will personally assign a team to find the best in the city.”

She wondered if any bakeries were still around and using their recipe from back in his day, and made a mental note to check on it.

 

Steve hesitated. “Let me check in with Loki first,” he said. He wasn’t sure if she’d made plans for the time when Steve was out, or if she’d be waiting for him and distressed by his absence. If him being away gave her a reprieve, then he’d head up to Nat’s. If, however, Loki wanted to spend time together...

Perhaps there would be enough borscht for three?

The tower loomed ahead as they got closer to home. On a whim, he asked:

“Have you ever read _A Farewell to Arms_?”

 

Nat raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Thinking of starting a book club, Rogers?” She asked casually, as they turned down the street that would lead them to the underground garage, circling the base of the tower.

“I haven’t. I’m a judge it by the title type, and… can’t really say parting ways with weapons seems like an appealing subject. Who’s it by?”

That he wanted to check in with Loki was… sensible, probably, and courteous, which Steve always was. She was just concerned about whether or not it was a sign of dependence. Loki had been pretty heavily dependent on Steve before everything had gone down. She didn’t want the pendulum to swing the other way-- or a dangerous co-dependence to form. Especially not considering what she was working with Loki for.

If things went wrong…

They just needed to put it off for a bit. At least until Steve got the ground back under his feet again.

 

“Hemingway,” he said, then shook his head. “Sorry. Forget I asked.” He wasn’t even sure why he had. Though the words kept echoing in his mind. _Strong in the broken places_ , and _you can be sure it will kill you too._

If he was stronger anywhere, he’d yet to find it. Mostly he just felt brittle all the time. Pulling a face, he took a gulp of his cocoa, feeling the heat slide comfortably down his throat to his stomach.

Soon enough they were pulling into the tower garage, and Steve reached back to grab one of the grocery bags to help carry up, or at least carry to the elevator. “Do you know how... How things are going with SHIELD?” he asked carefully.

 

She opened the car door and was nearly out of her seat when he asked, so she turned back to look at him, weighing the cautious tone of his voice against the expression on his face.

“It’s slow going. There are so few that we know can be trusted, and those few have an insurmountable amount of work to do, checking and double checking personnel backgrounds. Not everyone knows why it’s so tense, but there’s a huge spike in paranoia, which isn’t helping matters. As for the hunt for Hydra outside of the ranks… it’s going. The info you gave us is good, and we’re following the guy that Scofield bribed, hoping he’ll lead us to bigger fish, inside or outside. That’s a patience game, though.”

She lifted a shoulder.

“Other than that, we have our team here combing over everything we took from the site where we found you and the ones before, looking for names or references to other locations, or any clue that will lead us to more dens. And if we find them… I can make sure you hear about it, if you want to be kept abreast.”

She’d turn it into dry, sanitary reports first, but she could do that in her sleep. And maybe knowing would help with his sleep.

 

“I’d... yeah. That’d be good.”

He wasn’t sure it would _matter_ \-- it wasn’t like he was an Avenger right now, or capable of doing anything about HYDRA or their plans. But he also hated the idea of Verschmutzung still being out there, or HYDRA experimenting with his blood, making their own soldiers, infiltrating and corrupting Peggy’s legacy and Erskine’s both.

Though given the glacial pace of the investigation and lack of results, there might not be anything for Nat to fill him in on.

They got in the elevator, and Steve pressed the button for his floor as well as Nat’s. “I’ll swing by and check on Loki first. Have Jarvis let you know if either of us will be up or not.”

 

She nodded.

“I’ll start cooking; whether you have it today or later, there’ll be plenty.”

She wondered at him wanting to talk to Loki-- inviting her without Natasha being there, or maybe asking permission. She was curious about their current dynamics, and suddenly was glad she might be hosting dinner. It would be good to see how they interacted.

She couldn’t help but hope that Loki would get more out of Steve about the session he’d just had than she did. But hoping wasn’t the same as thinking it would happen.

So she rode with him to his floor and watched him get off, giving a slight, awkward wave as the doors closed behind him.

 

 

 

Loki got back from her walk and, on a whim, had checked in on the medical levels. It had been some time since she had been down there, and she had never been in this form.

There was a small scuffle when she’d shown the identification that Pepper had given her, which was very much for a man, and looked nothing like the way she did now.

She’d been saved by Ortega coming to her rescue, and once the other doctors had gone their ways, she thanked her.

“Any chance of you coming back down, maybe working with a few more of our… we used to call them ‘incurable’ patients, or ‘terminal’ but… that doesn’t have to be true anymore.”

She looked so hopeful and pleased that Loki couldn’t help but feel a flash of guilt.

She’d stayed away, hoping to save her seidhr for use on Steve. But he couldn’t even stomach the thought of her being that close. So…

“I need to discuss, tactically, the best use of my power right now. But if there is any left over…” She trailed off, trying to sound like she was busy with something other than watching her partner be tortured.

“I will contact you about it either way very soon, alright?” She asked, and while Ortega had clearly been disappointed, she had bid her farewell with surprising grace.

And so Loki had returned to their rooms with that new thought echoing in her mind, mulling over the best way to ask Steve if it would bother him.

And maybe, just maybe, in this shape, she would be allowed to work with people while they were awake, conscious… maybe it would be allowed to be less lonely.  
Though she knew that that was not the important thing. The important part was the healing, and not the satisfaction she did or didn’t get from it.

 

Parting ways with Natasha, Steve knocked lightly on the apartment door before letting himself in. “Loki?” he called, not sure if she was here or had gone out.

He almost hoped the latter, if only because it would make him feel less like a ball and chain. And while part of him thought dinner with Natasha -- just Natasha -- might go better than the dinner in the penthouse had, there was still anxiety that he might find a way to ruin that too.

 

“Here!” She called back, hurriedly closing down the Starkpad and tucking it under her pillow as she rose.

She crossed to the doorway of her room and hung back a bit, not wanting to crowd him in the hall.

“You were gone for much longer this time,” she told him, a hopeful smile twitching the corners of her mouth up as her eyes moved over him. “I hope that means it went… well?” He seemed unharmed, but she knew more than most the damage that words could cause. The sort of hidden hurts that a careless stranger could inflict.

She wished she didn’t have to send him out there like this. But if it did actually help…

Speaking of helping, she realized with a start that she had forgotten to make plans for dinner. And he couldn’t afford to miss out on any meals.

“I just got back myself, and I was looking for ideas for dinner. Anything you’d like?”

 

“It was alright,” he answered non-committally. It was too early really to say. He didn’t want to claim he’d found a perfect solution and seed false hope if nothing about this came to fruition, or if in a few sessions he realized it was making things worse. “We’re not really supposed to talk about it in detail -- confidentiality and all,” he added with a thin smile, hoping she’d accept that explanation for his reticence. “But I made it through the whole session, and the guy who runs it seems like good people, so...” A shrug.

It didn’t seem like Loki was busy or had other plans at the moment, so when she brought up dinner, Steve took a deep breath.

“Actually, I meant to ask-- Natasha is making borscht. It’s a Russian dish, I think. Any interest in going up and having dinner at her place?” he ventured.

 

Loki nodded along with Steve’s words, glad for his smile at the end of it, if only because something was making him want to try to smile.

“Will you be going back? To the group,” She clarified, trying not to allow any inflection into her voice, not wanting to influence him one way or another.

As for their dinner plans-- she was hesitant. Because she and Natasha had two secrets from Steve, now, and though she trusted them both not to say anything, she knew it would weigh on her mind with them both in the room.

Because Steve had had to visibly built himself up to asking-- like he feared rejection, or maybe like he didn’t actually want to ask in the first place.

And because the last time they’d eaten with Natasha had been on the heels of the last dinner they’d shared with friends. And both times, Steve had excused himself. But he had been spending more time with her of late… Loki supposed that meant Steve had a certain level of ease with Natasha that would hopefully make it better.

If not though… if it turned out that Loki being there was the reason these things went bad…

And if it turned out that Steve was making an invitation out of concern, either for her eating or her feeling included...

She bit the inside of her cheek, considering quickly.

“I am free to go with you for dinner, certainly. Though-- if you’d rather dine alone with any of our friends, you know you needn’t invite me, yes? I can--” she gestured towards the kitchen. She watched him, looking for any sign that that was close to the truth.

 

“I think so,” he said when she asked if he’d return to the group. He planned on it, at any rate. At least a few more times.

Then she asked about dinner, and Steve tensed, feeling like there was a trap there. On the one hand, if he demanded Loki attend when she didn’t want to, he’d be setting them all up for an uncomfortable evening. On the other, if Loki did want to go, but thought Steve didn’t want her there, excluding her would only make her feel more rejected. If he made the decision on his own one way or the other--

Their fight before he’d... gone, had been over him making too many choices for the both of them.

“It’s up to you,” he told her with a shrug. “I’m fine either way. Natasha said there’d be plenty, if you’d like to come, and if you’d rather not, I’m sure she’d understand.” Leaving the ball in Loki’s court felt like the safest option here. _I don’t know what you want. I don’t know what to say._

 

If she could have taken his hands or held his face-- something, some contact to prove to him she wasn’t upset or angry… but she didn’t have that now. And when had their communication become so reliant on touch?

 _I’m fine either way_ , he said. As if he did not care.

“I am also fine either way.” Loki said slowly, trying to feel out the thickness of the ice she walked on. “But… do you have a preference? I do not want you to… tire of me. Or feel like I am chaperoning you. I don’t want you to feel as if you must make arrangements for me, just because you have made them for yourself. I promise, I am not trying to be difficult-- I only want to be sure I am not… grating. Or hovering.”

 _Intruding_. _Smothering him._

 

Steve sighed, running his hand back through his hair.

“I don’t have a preference,” he answered, honestly. “I just hate feeling like I’m... limiting you. By being like this.” His mouth twisted. “I made all the choices for both of us before, and it didn’t turn out great. And I feel like you’re already losing enough of your choices and wants now because of me. I mean, hell... you’re not even in your preferred _body_ because of me.” He made a small sound of frustration, closing his eyes.

“There’s gonna be times I’m pushing you away, yeah. But that’s... That’s mostly gonna be the times I know being around me is gonna hurt you. And that’s the last thing I want to do to you -- for either of our sakes. And yes, I want you to have a life that doesn’t revolve around taking care of me, because you deserve better than that. But it doesn’t mean I don’t like being around you.”

He opened his eyes again, looking at her, hoping to find understanding in her expression. “Does that... help?”

 

She looked down at herself, then back up at him, brows furrowing.

“I understand why you may think… that way, of our situation, at present. And I am sure some of it is my fault, and I apologize. I never intended to make you feel guilty about-- I have no preference as to my body. If you’ll recall, I have offered this form to you many times. I always felt it was you who preferred me as a man. And as for me losing choices-- you could not keep me as a woman if I did not wish to be, no matter how you tried. I have chosen to be this way, to stay this way, _because I love you_. Because I want you to feel safe, as safe as I can make you feel. And I choose to love you, I choose _you_. Those are my choices, and they are good ones.”

She hoped the words would be enough. She’d never felt as though they were, had always sought to prove it to him, to show him, but he’d always said that words were enough. She supposed this would be the test of that.

Not that she would ever have chosen to find out the answer, on her own.

“As for dinner, and pushing me away-- I would like to go to Natasha’s for dinner with you. I like being around you, again, because I love you. And I’m sorry it has begun to feel as though my life is just… entirely around you. Like I said, I do not want to give that impression. I actually… I was on the hospital levels, earlier. The doctors there were wondering if I would be interested in returning to working with them, and I… wanted to speak to you, on the subject. Find out if you’d be comfortable with that. I would only be a call away, of course. And you will always be my priority; I cannot pretend that will not be the case, but…”

But if he truly could not be around her without feeling guilty because she was always there… perhaps this would be good for them. For both of them.

 

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “None of this is your fault, and you didn’t do anything wrong, I just-- I have _eyes_ , Loki. I _know_ this is hard on you. It’d be hard on anyone. It’s just... _Hard_.” He hadn’t meant for her to somehow turn this into a criticism. And as much as Loki claimed to have no preference, the fact she’d lived most of her life as a man and defaulted to it clearly suggested that there was at least some gravitation to that direction when left to her own devices.

His shoulders sagged. He didn’t want to fight about this. And if Loki was insisting -- maybe some of this _was_ all in Steve’s head. He trusted his own senses, his own mind, a lot less than he once did.

“Why wouldn’t I be comfortable with that?” he asked, blinking in puzzlement. “Of course, if you can help people there, absolutely.” It would probably be a lot more satisfying than trying to help Steve. And yield results for a lot more people. “If you can -- if you want -- I support that, a hundred percent,” he assured her.

 

“It is not your fault, either, that it is hard.” She countered. “And it is true-- it is. But you are worth it, and you always will be. I was only worried you wouldn’t be comfortable if you were afraid I was… trying to get away from you, or… or if you thought I wasn’t concerned for you, too. I am, and I will be, until things get easier again. And as I said, you will always come first for me. I only wanted to be certain you knew that. Were secure in that knowledge.”

She watched him closely, reading between the lines, looking for any sign that he was hiding something, or lying, or otherwise uncomfortable.

“Did, ah. Did Natasha say when we ought to join her?”

 

Steve nodded. He didn’t feel worth much of anything, but... Saying that wouldn’t help anything. Certainly wouldn’t help Loki.

“I think we can go up whenever. Might be a while before she’s done cooking, but we could probably help with the dishes and whatnot,” he said.

Normally, he’d have pulled Loki into an embrace, or given her a peck on the cheek right about then. Something reassuring and affectionate. Without those tools in his arsenal, he felt bereft.

Although, he reminded himself, it wasn’t that he _couldn’t_ touch Loki. He just didn’t want to. But not liking it or enjoying it wasn’t the same as not being able. So he steeled himself, stepping closer, then reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

And maybe it wasn’t _so_ bad, though it still felt strange and difficult. He gave her a quick squeeze before letting his hand slip back down to his side. “Whenever you’re ready.” And then, because he could: “I love you.”

 

She stiffened when he took the step forward, wondering if she ought to retreat, but then he reached out, _reached for her_ , and she had to restrain herself, stop herself from reaching for his hand and holding it there.

She looked to where he was holding her shoulder, then back to him with wide eyes, smiling as he gave her a squeeze.

“And I love you, Astin min. Let me change my shirt, before we go up. And will you call and ask if she would like us to bring anything? I am not above raiding Stark’s kitchen for a contribution.”

She tried to keep herself even, to stifle her reaction to his touch and make it seem normal, and like she wasn’t five heartbeats from happy tears.

Like when they’d first known one another, when they’d first touched, she felt the ghost of his hand on her in lingering tingles. She reached up to place her own hand there, still smiling absently, wishing the sensation would never go away.

 

Steve hated himself, in that moment, for the way Loki’s whole face lit up. It was such a small thing, to make her so happy -- and he could barely bring himself to give it to her.

He felt like a monster.

Nodding stiffly, not trusting himself to speak, he texted Nat once Loki left the room. She told them they didn’t need to bring anything, but Steve decided they ought to stop at the penthouse kitchen just in case. Maybe there was ice cream they could bring for dessert, or wine to have with dinner.

“Ready when you are,” he called to Loki, moments before she emerged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A cookie to whoever spots the significance of Steve's alias)


	88. Eighty Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning in the end notes

It didn’t take her long to put on a different shirt, but it was long enough to get herself at least a little more under control. Or, rather, enough time to stop herself from beaming like an idiot.

And enough time for her to wonder if she ought to have said something.

He’d touched her, but he’d been… silent, afterwards, stiff. It had clearly been an effort, and maybe she oughtn’t have let the moment pass without having said something. But if she did… that would only underline how it _was_ an effort. And he hated how difficult things were.

But she also didn’t want him making himself uncomfortable just because she was… needy. Selfish, for wanting that from him, before he was ready.

The train of thought was sobering, and allowed her to come back out into the shared rooms a bit more reserved.

“I’m ready. Has she said anything about what we might bring?”

 

“She said she’s got everything, but I figured we’d stop upstairs and raid the kitchen for drinks and dessert to bring along,” he told her. And then, because it was true and ought to be said: “You look nice.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Loki’s female form. She was _beautiful._ And Steve enjoyed women too -- his utter infatuation with Peggy from the first time he saw her lay out Hodge with a single punch was proof enough of that. Loki even looked a little like Peggy in some small ways, when she was in this form. But he also missed the lean, hard planes of Loki’s male body, the tenor of his voice and the muskier smell of him.

He missed so much about _before._

Shaking his head to dislodge the thought, he moved to hold the door open for her. “Shall we?”

 

“Thank you.” She said, the words simple, but heavier, she knew, than the compliment demanded. Probably he would know why.

 

She smiled at him as she passed, his touch still lingering on her mind, if not her skin. She didn’t seek to return it, though, aware of how he felt, still, aware that it hadn’t changed. It was odd, the way something simple as touch between them felt a bit like a perversion-- something she wanted that made him uncomfortable. And she decided to try and treat it as such. To remember that it wasn’t owed to her, that when he gave her what he did, it was against his better wishes.

It might help him feel less guilty, less like a burden.

But that was a line of thought best put away until later, so that she did not have to worry about hiding it from Natasha as well as Steve.

“It has been some time since I have raided a kitchen-- it feels a bit like the sort of adventure Thor and I used to go on, in our youth.”

She said it with the air of a confession, well aware that their own kitchen was lacking, if he was of a mind to raid it. She determined to take note of their raid tonight and see what he gravitated towards, so that she could stock it for him.

Or have JARVIS do it.

 

“You’ll have to tell me stories about that,” he replied as they headed to the elevator. He wondered if Loki’s stories about Asgard would be different now that she and Thor seemed to be on good terms again. Not that he thought Loki had lied before, but he suspected the tone of some memories might change in light of recent developments.

It didn’t take long to go up to the penthouse, which appeared empty. Pepper was probably working, and Tony in the lab, if Steve had to guess. Heading to the kitchen, he began rifling through the cabinets, and was going to pull out a bottle of wine from the rack when he spotted something better on the top shelf.

He had to stretch to reach it, but after a few moments recovered the unopened bottle of vodka. “Russian,” he pointed out, gesturing to the cyrillic on the label. “Should be a good host gift, right?” He’d ask JARVIS to order a replacement bottle for Tony and bill it to Steve. “Any ice cream in the freezer?”

 

She watched him, face calm, but the remembered worry of watching him drink wine while refusing to eat dinner surfacing again. But maybe it would be different; there were less people going to be there, less reasons for him to want to drink, and the conversation, she was sure, would be far easier with just the three of them.

She opened the pull out drawer of the freezer and couldn’t help but laugh.

“There are only a few dozen flavors in here to choose from.” She told him. “Is there… one you’d recommend? Because my wager is that they have it.”

She stepped aside, giving him room so that if he wanted to, he could come over and look. It struck her as frankly ridiculous, this amount of variation. But who was she to say?

 

Steve snorted. The vodka he’d gladly replace, but there was no way in hell he was replacing the ice cream when Tony couldn't possibly even realize it was missing.

“I usually stick to chocolate or vanilla myself,” he told her, “but go ahead and pick out anything that looks good to you.”

 

She looked down into the drawer, running her fingers over the names.

“Ah-- is it something like frozen whipped cream?” She was trying to imagine the flavors combining-- and whatever ‘Phish food’ was, she was fairly certain it would be slimy and green-- just as she thought ‘moose tracks’ must be muddy and gritty, but the rest seemed alright.

“I do not see either vanilla or just chocolate- there is ‘triple chocolate dream’ and ‘chocolate fudge brownie’. Will either of those do?”

She turned to look up at him, amused by the thrill of this.

It was not any more forbidden than the sacking of the kitchens had been with Thor, so long ago.

“I think Thor’s parents were amused, when we used to play games of invading the kitchens and pillaging the stores. It was not forbidden; we were princes, and would have been granted any of the food we wished, had we but asked. Looking back now, if they do, I am sure they miss the days when we could entertain ourselves with self-made adventures. Games with so much lower stakes than those we came to play as we grew older. When pretending to be risking punishment was no longer satisfying, and we came to court greater dangers… and greater rewards.”

She regarded the ice cream again, considering.

“Do any of these pair well with the alcohol?”

 

Steve blinked at her when she asked if it was like frozen whipped cream, realizing belatedly that Loki _hadn’t had ice cream yet._ Which he supposed made sense -- they hadn’t had it together, what with the weather being cool from the time they went on the run onwards -- but it was a terrible oversight on his part. And still, he might have expected someone to give her some while he was away, but...

At least this way, he realized with a small, warm feeling, he’d be able to watch her face when she tried it for the first time.

“Triple chocolate dream sounds good,” he told her, nodding to the freezer. He wasn’t sure how chocolate could be tripled, but he was interested to find out. “Don’t know if it pairs with alcohol, but I guess we can always look it up.”

He smiled at the thought of Loki and Thor sneaking around, getting up to trouble-that-wasn’t-trouble. It reminded him of the thrills he and Bucky had sneaking around with their minor delinquencies, sneaking into movies they weren’t supposed to be in or smuggling food places it didn’t belong. Or later, when they were older, drinking themselves sick on moonshine.

The stakes had gotten much higher over time for them too. Too high, he reflected, smile slipping.

“Come on, let’s head up,” he said, before he could get maudlin about it.

 

She withdrew the one he chose and gave him a lopsided grin.

“Maybe when you feel up to it, we should find ways of easing ourselves back into trouble. Like this.” She gestured with the carton of ice cream.

And maybe harmless trouble making, harmless adventuring, would help him feel less trapped, and give them… something to do, a way to be around one another without either of them fixating on the lack of touch.

Because this was the first time they’d done anything, since he’d returned, that didn’t focus on them as a couple, she realized, and maybe that was the key.

She pressed the button and the elevator doors opened immediately; apparently no one had been on it since they’d arrived. Which was nice, made for less time waiting.

She stepped in and hugged the far corner, waiting for Steve to press the button.

 

Steve smiled back. Small amounts of trouble -- the kind with no consequences beyond a scandalized glower and a bit of finger-wagging -- could be fun. Nice. Distracting, most important of all. “If you have anything in mind, just let me know,” he told her.

Loki’d had a reputation once, after all, for mischief. He was willing to see how she lived up to it.

He pressed the button for the floor where Natasha’s apartment was, and they rode down for only a few seconds before the doors dinged open. Several paces down the hall, and he reached up to knock gingerly at her door, mindful of his scabbed knuckles.

 

She watched, wincing when he rapped at the door, and then, worried that Natasha might not hear it, she reached out and gave it a slightly harder knock, grimacing apologetically at him as she did, both for the necessity and the closeness.

She took a step back immediately afterwards, so that she wasn’t crowding him.

 

Nat opened the door, glad to see them both there, though Steve had told her they would be coming.

She gave them a quick once over, taking in the things they carried and their body language-- easier than the last time she’d seen them together, she thought.

 

“Hey Steve, come on in-- and I see you decided to bring something anyway.” She made it soft, a tease rather than a reprimand, and nodded at Loki, hovering behind Steve. “Hey, Loki.”

The borscht was cooking; it had only been around half an hour since she’d last seen Steve, she thought, and that meant that while everything was in the pot, they had a good half hour to forty minutes yet to go.

“Dinner’s not quite ready-- feel free to make yourselves at home until it is.”

She reached out and took the ice cream from Loki, reading the flavor and giving her a half-smirk.

“Good choice.” She complimented.

Her eyes went to Steve’s offering.

“What’s that?” She asked, unable to read the label through his hand.

 

Steve managed to avoid outwardly grimacing when Loki knocked the door _for_ him. Just because he was frail now didn’t mean he had to insist on being impractical after all. He kept his expression from souring and plastered on a smile when Natasha opened the door, the smell of food wafting on the air behind her.

He was going to be a good guest, and he was going to be _normal_ tonight, dammit. He could pretend to be a whole and functioning person for a whole dinner outside of the apartment, surely.

“Seemed rude to come empty handed,” he told her, shifting his grip. “Ruskova? I admit, I know jack about vodka, but it seemed like it would fit the theme tonight.”

 

Loki also knew very little about vodka, other than she was nearly certain that had been what Steve was drinking when they both had too much and quarreled, before.

And he was not nearly so capable of downing it, now.

She didn’t grimace, hiding her worry and distaste behind a calm mask.

“The ice cream flavor is Steve’s doing as well-- I haven’t had it. Though I do trust chocolate, and Steve, enough to believe it will be wonderful.”

She inhaled, the smell of dinner overwhelmingly earthy and warm.

“It smells heavenly,” she offered, complementing their hostess as she took in her appearance.

 

“If the theme is ‘things Natasha likes’, then yeah, it fits perfectly. Let me get a bucket for chilling the vodka. Go ahead and set it down.”

The ice cream wasn’t exactly Russian, but she wasn’t about to complain.

“You’re in for a treat.” She informed Loki, as she rummaged through a cabinet in search of the one dish that she trusted Tony to stock in every room-- the ice bucket.

Discovering it, she hesitated at the thought of filling it, well aware that Steve’s last dinner party had ended early because of salt… and given what had followed it in that video…

She put water in the bucket instead, put the bottle in the water, and put the whole thing in the fridge, even though she knew such treatment might mute the vodka’s flavor, somewhat.

They had time for it to chill that way, and it was just safer, all around.

 

Steve felt a small surge of validation at Natasha’s answer. He could at least recognize enough of the name to tell it was Russian, and from the fact it was in Tony’s cabinet, he expected it was decent, but it was still nice to know his selection wasn’t earning a brittle, pitying smile or an eyeroll.

He handed it to her as she got out the ice bucket, a bit curious that she was filling it with water and not ice, but elected not to say anything. There was probably some proper, traditional way to serve it he didn’t know about.

“Can we help with anything with dinner, or setting the table?” he offered, leaning his cane against the table where it wouldn’t be in the way.

 

Natasha shrugged, and Loki wondered at the slight tightness of her studied nonchalance, which hadn’t been there before.

There had been a misstep somewhere, but Loki hadn’t seen it. She felt her eyes tugged toward her partner, wondering if he had.

“Nah, soup’s just got to boil itself into being done, and there’s not much point in setting the table-- I figured I’d dish the bowls right out of the pot, so no point in walking them back and forth.”

Natasha nodded to the chairs around the table.

“Have a seat though- can I grab either of you something to drink? Water, juice, milk, tea… coffee?”

Loki looked to Steve, uncertain if there was a polite answer, but she shrugged; if Natasha was offering…

“Tea sounds nice. Thank you.”

She sat, hoping it would make Steve feel more free to follow suit.

 

Steve was honestly tempted to try the vodka, but clearly it needed to chill first.

“I’ll just have water to start, thanks,” he told her, easing himself into one of the chairs. His leg twinged less than it had, but he’d been up and about a lot today and was perfectly happy to be off his feet for a bit.

Natasha seemed a little more tense than usual, though he supposed, given how difficult he’d been lately, that was warranted. He exhaled, not quite a sigh, hoping he could make it up to her tonight by acting like less of a burden and more of a friend.

“How’s Clint doing?” he asked, groping for topics of conversation. He hadn’t seen Barton in a few days, and knew how close he and Nat were.

 

The orange light came on when she pressed down on the electric kettle, letting her know it was heating-- so she turned her attention to grabbing a cup for Steve’s water, which came out of the refrigerator door.

“Clint’s doing well. He’s trying to train Lucky, with limited success. If we’re being honest, I think the dog is doing a better job of training him.”

She sat the glass down in front of Steve, careful not to touch him, and returned to the kitchen.

“Loki? Earl grey, green, chamomile, or mint?”

She pulled down two mugs, dropping a chamomile bag into the one for herself.

“Green, thank you.” Loki answered, and Nat nodded. It was what she’d given… him, at the time, during their last training session.

“And how about you? What have you been up to, lately?”

They spent so much time in their rooms, they had to be doing _something_. Even if that was just watching their way through Stark’s entire library.

 

Steve smiled at the thought of Clint trying to train Lucky -- who definitely had a mind of his own and probably better judgement than Clint on most days -- then blinked at the question.

“Well... You know where _I’ve_ been today,” he pointed out. Natasha had been the architect of that particular experience. “Other than that... I have PT.” He shrugged. Physio was challenging and frustrating and he didn’t want to talk about it much, although--

“Amir thinks I’ll get full range of motion back in my shoulder,” he added. That had been good news, and was worth sharing. Small, but good. “Just gotta keep doing all these exercises he’s giving me and take it slow.” The latter being the hard part.

 

Loki beamed at him-- that was the first she was hearing of it, but it was fantastic news.

“That’s wonderful, Steve, congratulations.” She told him warmly.

She looked to Natasha, realizing belatedly how it might look; her not knowing. It dimmed her smile slightly, but she tried to recover.

“I have been speaking with the doctors on the lower levels, and it seems I’m going to begin healing again-- helping your scientists to figure out ways of approximating what I am capable of, so that your people will be able to heal themselves.”

And, of course, watching videos that she would not have mentioned before dinner, anyway-- let alone in front of Steve.

“And yourself?” She asked, as was only polite.

 

Nat nodded-

“That’s all great stuff.” She looked between them, wondering at the lack of communication. How did they spend so much time together and have so much they didn’t tell one another? It just made her more curious what happened behind the doors of their apartment. Especially since they only volunteered information about what happened outside of it-- and independent of one another.

Nothing about what they did together.

It made her wonder if they spent much time together at all, or if they mostly were separated, even at home.

“I’ve been good. Mostly running errands, reviewing intel, communicating back and forth with the B team at SHIELD-- they all send their greetings, by the way.” She nodded, more to Loki than Steve, but just because he didn’t know them as well.

“And trying to teach myself to cook again. It’s one of those skills that I only learn a little at a time. So I hope dinner’s edible, but in my experience it’s hard to fuck it up.”

 

“I mean, it’s not a sure thing,” Steve quickly explained -- only time would tell how much of his shoulder healed, after all -- but it seemed good to offer some optimism. It was one of the few things where _back to normal_ seemed a remote possibility.

He knew about Loki’s plans to help the doctors now and nodded along as she explained it, smiling gently at her in pride. He really _did_ love her, so much at times it ached.

“Loki’s turning into quite the cook too,” he offered. Which he’d already told Natasha before, but it seemed worth bringing up for Loki’s sake. “Maybe you guys can swap recipes or experiment in the kitchen together?” he looked to Loki with brows raised, to see if she responded to the idea. It would be something fun she could do, potentially away from Steve, and something they could share later where he could praise her skill.

 

 _It could be a sure thing_ , she wanted to say. She almost wanted to point out the irony of working on healing others, while Steve himself insisted on taking the long route, the route full of _maybe_ s.

And he _had_ touched her today; perhaps--

But that was a conversation to be had away from Natasha. In private, so that if-- when he turned her down again, no one else would ask why.

“I would not wish my cooking skills on any also attempting to learn,” Loki demurred. “It is primarily JARVIS thus far who has kept me from any massive failures or explosions-- though there have been some close calls.”

She smiled at Natasha, hoping that she would not take offense.

Steve, Loki knew, would eat nearly anything. Or he used to; now he ate little, but he never complained about the food. Someone with a more discerning sense of taste… she did not actually want to know how bad of a cook she likely was.

Unless this was Steve’s way of telling her.

She cleared her throat.

“Although, I do not know many of your dishes, in honesty. I actually do not know what it is you are making now.”

 

Watching Steve watch Loki was enough to make her ache for them both. But that was neither here nor there, and not particularly helpful for dinner conversation.

The hot water clicked, and she poured it into the mugs.

“I’m making borscht, which is something eaten a lot in Russia, where I’m from originally. It’s beets, carrots, potatoes, onions… turned into a stew.”

And she knew Loki made soups, so this wasn’t unfamiliar territory.

“This is fairly easy to make-- it’s just a matter of boiling it until it turns soft enough to eat. Which is the rule for most soups, I think.”

She gave the borscht a stir and brought the cups over to the table.

“It needs another few minutes.” She told them both. “But since we are both learning… maybe we _should_ have cooking days. Steve can be the judge of our efforts.”

And once he seemed comfortable with just the three of them, Nat could bring in Clint, who was actually a pretty good cook, when he could summon the will to put out the effort.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Your cooking is _fine,_ ” he assured Loki, hating that she was probably judging herself based on Steve’s own lack of appetite. “And think of how far you’ve come in a short amount of time. That’s impressive!”

It really hadn’t been long, in the grand scheme of things; five weeks at most, was all it had taken for Loki to become independent, caring for herself and cooking on her own, and for Steve to become a shell she now felt responsible for.

“Boiling things until they were edible was pretty much my ma’s recipe for everything,” he joked, again struggling to keep his own maudlin mood at bay. “‘Cept for pie, I guess. But any meat we got, and carrots and potatoes -- that all got boiled to death.” He sipped at the water Natasha brought. “And I’d happily judge that for you two,” he added, grateful for Natasha backing him up in encouraging Loki to have something entertaining to do.

Normal. Happy. He was doing alright so far, wasn’t he?

 

Loki felt her attention catching on the pie-- which Steve’s mother had apparently made for him. He’d mentioned pie in the past, she was fairly certain… and maybe Natasha could help her figure out how to make it.

She glanced at the other woman and smiled.

“Well, if Steve is willing to risk himself at the mercy of our cooking, I suppose it would be unsporting to deny him the chance.”

She sent him a supremely fond look, trying to make it clear she was teasing. Especially in light of the praise he’d seen fit to lavish on her.

“Perhaps we can even rope you into learning to cook with us as well. Though,” she turned to Natasha almost conspiratorially. “Steve makes fantastic pasta with bacon in it.” She tried to recall the name, but found herself unable to-- the only thing that came along with the memory of the taste was the memory of the song they’d danced in their living room to, afterwards.

 

They were being so sickeningly sweet that Natasha found herself wanting to give them the moment. Especially since she wasn’t sure how many moments like it they got.

“Let me give you tonight’s dinner before you start penciling in cooking dates.” She told them, rising to stir the pot.

She tested a potato against the edge, pleased when it broke and crumbled into a slightly mushy texture with just a little pressure.

She snapped off the flame under it and pulled three bowls from the cupboard, placing three spoons inside.

She grabbed the roll of french bread that she’d picked up, and carved a few pieces off.

“Give it just a minute to thicken and cool enough not to scald our tongues.” She told them. “Meanwhile-- vodka?”

She took down tumblers for each of them.

“In Russia, these would be about the size of a man’s fist, but this is America where everything is bigger. And normally you just sip the vodka with your meal. But I won’t judge you if you decide to shoot it. Much.”

She knew it wasn’t to most peoples’ taste, and sipping it that way, you absolutely tasted it.

 

“Pasta carbonara,” Steve remembered, smiling back at Loki. It had been the first and only time he’d made it, for his and Loki’s indoor date, where they’d picnicked in the spare room and danced...

He hadn’t been in the spare room much, now that it was where Loki lived and slept, he realized. They’d talked about making it his study, but now he’d laid enough claim to the bedroom, which had become his and his alone now that he was a danger to Loki with his nightmares--

( _No._ Not thinking about that. Normal and happy. No dark thoughts and no ruining _another dinner._ )

At Natasha’s prompting he got up, opening the fridge and withdrawing the bottle from the water-filled ice bucket. He snagged a kitchen towel to wrap it and dry it off before handing it to her to pour.

“The borscht smells great,” he told her, breathing deeply of the aroma. There was a rich, earthy smell to it. After a minute he took two of the three bowls and moved them to the table, in front of himself and Loki, and settled back into his chair. “Is there a traditional toast...?”

 

It did smell delicious, and Loki found herself watching Steve as he navigated, able to observe how much distance he maintained for himself when given the chance, now that she was around him and others, while he was able to move around.

It was good for her to know, and more, heartening, somehow. He’d said before, on the roof, that it wasn’t just her. And she hadn’t really doubted it. But… it helped, somehow, selfishly, seeing his unease around other people held the same.

 

“There’s one- За здоровье, which is something like thanking someone for the meal, essentially. But then english speakers came and mauled it, so the more common slang these days is ‘Nostrovia’, which we just take to mean, ‘Let’s get drunk’. Your choice.”

She tossed a wink at them, turning her head away to pour.

“It’s alright, though. I’m not a particularly good traditional Russian.”

She poured each glass a little less than halfway full.

“Bon appetit.” She said, with a slightly impish smile as she took her seat, leaving the bottle on the table, just in case.

 

Steve snorted, raising his own glass. “Nostrovia,” he countered with, grinning.

Natasha might not identify much with Russia anymore, but she still opted for the comfort food of her childhood home, and Steve knew as well as anyone that even if the loss of a home was painful, reminders of it could be bittersweet and grounding.

He wouldn’t give up memories of Brooklyn back in the day for anything.

The vodka, when he sipped it, was potent and astringent, without much flavor beyond _alcohol_ \-- not unlike the grain alcohol Tony had made him drink that one night -- though when he swallowed and felt it burn down his throat, there was an almost peppery aftertaste tingling on his tongue. It burned, but in his mouth and throat, rather than on his skin or in his veins. So HYDRA apparently hadn’t managed to ruin liquor for him (small mercies).

Lowering the glass, he took a moment to note that there were no salt or pepper shakers on the table, and felt a twinge of relief. He didn’t know if it was deliberate or not, but that was one less experience he had to worry about repeating, and for that he was grateful.

 

“Nostrovia,” Loki murmured, echoing Steve, though she was careful to keep the concern off of her face. It was obvious that he had no issues with remembering, and so he could obviously recall the last time they’d gotten drunk.

Besides. It was only a little bit with dinner. What could be the harm?

She tried a sip herself and swallowed uneasily, but it… wasn’t actually all that bad. It bit back, going down, but it wasn’t awful.

Not to say that she enjoyed it, but just the same… it was alright for with dinner. Which, she had to admit, she was very curious about.

She lifted the spoon, surprised at the color of the dish, and lifted a spoonful, glancing around quickly to be sure she wasn’t the only one.

 

Natasha felt her lips quirking upwards at Steve’s playful response-- good. This was going well, and it looked like she’d made a success of her efforts in getting them both out of their rooms, even if it wasn’t much of a trip to hers.

Baby steps.

The vodka was good and smooth, with the pepper aftertaste that she’d remembered and missed when she’d first had American vodka.

“It’s very good. But if you need something else to drink, just say so; again, I won’t judge you. Much.”

Setting her glass aside she took a bit of her borscht, pleased to find that it too tasted as she’d remembered.

Whether they liked it or not, she would have plenty left for lunch tomorrow. Success all around.

Though she hoped they liked it. She just wasn’t anxious about it.

There was always pizza as a backup, after all.

 

The flavor was interesting. Steve had never eaten many beets growing up -- his mother had hated the red staining, and with two small boys often running around and getting messy, she couldn’t afford for them to get red beet juice on their clothes -- but he’d had them a few times during the war and recognized the taste immediately. There was also something almost sweet to the soup, which he found intriguing.

He swallowed a spoonful, then washed it down with another small sip of vodka. “It’s good!” he said, turning to Natasha.

He probably wouldn’t finish his bowlful, and he hoped she wouldn’t take it to heart -- but it wouldn’t be due to any flaw on the soup’s part. “And I like the vodka too. Glad we picked a decent one out.” Not that Steve’s tastes were especially discerning, but it was good to hear Natasha was enjoying it.

He glanced over to Loki to see how she was enjoying things. Hopefully tonight would make up, in some small part, for the incident in the penthouse. Steve knew that putting up with him was her choice, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he _owed_ her.

“Was this something you had often, growing up?” he asked Nat.

 

It was extremely earthen, the flavor clearly the result of a mixture of root vegetables. She could appreciate that; it was often the sort of fare that the less wealthy families of Asgard served throughout the winter.

She was not accustomed to seeing it this hue, but then again, she remembered the ‘blue raspberry’ flavors available in stores, and did not question it.

The vodka paired with it did not change her opinion of either, but it did seem to go together, in some logical sense. She thought she favored the soup to the alcohol, and she was glad to still have most of a cup of tea.

“It reminds me of winter fare-- when the meat had run thin and the hunters hadn’t returned with more, yet.”

Not that the meat would ever have run thin for her, but she knew Steve’s own experience was very different.

 

Natasha smiled, trying to think of a polite, not socially awkward or emotionally shitty way of explaining that this had been what the girls ate, after they’d made better food for the instructors. Or at least, more food-- borscht was often part of the faculties’ meals, but nearly always the majority, if not entirety, of the girls’, unless someone made a kill, or there was an assignment coming up that they needed to be strong for. Or trained for.

They got better food when they were placed at the training tables.

“Yes,” she said simply, keeping the smile in place. “It’s not exactly the same-- there’s often more cabbage in it, but I didn’t want too much in this pot. The texture can go slimy if you aren’t careful, and I tend not to be, in cooking.”

 

Steve nodded. “Ah. Cabbage, I am familiar with,” he replied with an apologetic smile. “Ma was Irish and grew up with cabbage and potatoes as staples, so there were times we ate so much boiled cabbage I was half-afraid I was gonna turn into one.” He never came to _hate it_ per se -- he couldn’t afford to hate any food, really -- but he didn’t mind Natasha not using much. He knew that sliminess and sure as hell didn’t miss it.

Loki’s observation was an interesting reminder though, of how different a culture she came from. “Do you think,” he mused, “you’d be able to recreate any dishes from Asgard?”

He supposed it would be a challenge, with different ingredients and different animals and the fact that as a prince, Loki had probably not spent much time cooking in the kitchens. But Thor was here too now, and might have ideas to contribute.

 

Loki scoffed.

“Certainly-- slay any creature and put it over a fire for a few hours, and there you have it. Authentic Asgardian fare.”

She shook her head.

“In fairness, there was a lot of variation, but I am not certain how it was achieved. Many herbs I am familiar with only through their uses in medicine; those that existed merely for flavoring are, by and large, beyond me.”

She took another bite of the borscht.

“Though, were I to attempt to recreate anything, perhaps the pastries. There were both sweet and savory ones, and they came as little pouches of dough, with sausage and cheese baked inside… delicious, and they traveled well and tasted good at any temperature.” Which was a bonus on a journey, or if, like her, the intended eater had a tendency to misplace the food and forget about it for a few hours in favor of something more interesting.

Usually a book.

 

“Cabbage can be good. I just haven’t figured out how to get it there myself, yet.”

And funny how all three of them seemed about equally matched in the food prep game, despite their wildly disparate backgrounds.

She listened to Loki’s description of Asgard’s food, and found herself nodding along.

“We had similar-- pierogis. Though ours usually were fried.”

And she knew of variations that were boiled, or, like with her favorite Chinese restaurant, they had their steamed bao.

It seemed some recipes were truly universal.

She’d asked earlier, but maybe it was worth trying again--

“You were telling me about some of the weirder foods-- or, more common? Foods you had growing up. Were there any meals you especially looked forward to?”

There had to be something other than pie that would count as comfort food for Steve-- though if they had to help him put some weight on with a steady diet of lard, apples, and cinnamon, she wasn’t above it.

 

Steve shrugged. “Culinary excellence wasn’t really a staple of my childhood. Getting our hands on a chocolate bar, or actual meat was generally cause for celebration, but the future kinda blows everything I liked back then out of the water.” The bar had been low, and the variety and intensity of flavors available now -- the sheer _abundance_ \-- meant that relatively little of his nostalgia was focused around food.

“I like pierogis though,” he quickly added. “We had a polish neighbor who would make them and share sometimes. I remember them being real good.” He and Bucky would do odd jobs for her sometimes and she’d reward them with hot buttery dumplings that they scarfed down as fast as possible, licking the juice from their fingers.

 

Loki hummed around her next sip of vodka, though she rinsed her mouth quickly with a larger drink of tea before speaking.

“And you have shown me many of the wonders of food now- pizza and orange chicken and such. I have seen many of the foods you got for me ready made in the cold boxes at the stores. As soon as you feel ready to eat them, I will be happy to make them for you. Or just order out- though I admit I have not gotten much better at using the phone, sadly.”

She wondered if the doctors had given him any news of progress, if they had signed off on his eating more and richer foods, but… he still liked to see them without her. Which made it difficult for her to ask questions. Still… he ate so little, and the food he ate was still so easy to digest that she supposed anything more would not only be likely to make him ill, but it would just continue to be a waste. She just wished they had any idea of when that might be expected to change. Or if there was anything she could do to help it.

 

“We’ll start with pierogis, then.” Natasha decided, eyes sliding to Loki as she registered how defensive she got around Steve’s answer.

Like she was trying to dissuade Nat from asking questions. Which implied that Steve didn’t like answering them, or that she wanted to protect him from having to.

There was some of the hovering they’d talked about.

It wasn’t… unexpected, or even rude, exactly. But it did make Natasha a little more alert, looking out for it more.

“And we can take turns figuring out what to make next. It’ll be fun.” She said it lightly, helping herself to more borscht, surprised at how quickly she’d moved through her bowl. Then again, she had craved it for a reason.

“Anyone want more? I promise, there’s plenty.”

 

Steve’s mouth quirked upward. “I know I’m a bit of a sad sack these days, but I’m pretty sure I can handle ordering us takeout over the phone on my own still,” he assured Loki, a bit dryly. He didn’t doubt Loki would do just fine, but if there was something Steve was still capable of doing, he’d rather be allowed to do it himself instead of having it mothered away from him.

He took another bite of the borscht, and was surprised to find his bowl was already half-empty. He took another sip of vodka, and then another, enjoying the tingly sensation. The burn that didn’t _burn._ “Mmm. I’m still working on the soup, but I’d go for a bit more vodka. And pierogis sound great. I’ll be your taste-tester, since I’m pretty sure the two of you are trying to fatten me up anyway,” he remarked, leaning back in his chair.

He could use it, after all; he’d put some small amount of weight back on, enough that his hip bones didn’t jut out from a pitiably concave stomach, but he could still see his ribs easily and his clothes hung loose on his frame.

Pitiful skinniness: another aspect of his youth he held _no_ nostalgia for.

 

Loki bit down on her tongue, willing herself not to start an argument by insisting that that wasn’t what she had meant.

Of course he could call out. That had been what she was suggesting, since she wasn’t good at it. But… somehow he’d grown offended instead.

She breathed.

No need to be defensive, no need to try and appease. Natasha would no doubt judge them even for this hiccup, or learn things from it that neither of them wanted to verbalize.

“I should hope you can place orders,” she returned, attempting to match his dryness and make it somehow teasing as well. “We would be in a sad state if the both of us fumbled with our cell phones.”

Besides, she knew she could just call for JARVIS to place the order, but that seemed unspeakably lazy.

“As for fattening you up, I believe you should consider this fair turnabout, for my days behind SHIELD’s glass.” She lifted her vodka in a mock salute, and watched as Natasha refilled his.

 

She gave him another couple of fingers, gratified to see he was eating more than she’d seen him eat any other time. More than the guilt-oatmeal he’d downed after staying over, the other night.

Once his glass was refilled, she looked to Loki, offering her the same, but Loki shook her head.

“I will take more of your borscht, though, if you don’t mind.”

She asked, offering the bowl to Natasha, and Natasha smiled, seeing the increased edginess in how Loki sat, the way her shoulders rose a little.

Nat glanced back over at Steve, looking for anything in his body language to reflect it, but she couldn’t be sure-- she couldn’t apply what she’d known about his expressions before to his current body, not only because of the physical disparities, but because who knew what had changed through trauma.

“I don’t mind at all. Just a sec.”

She whisked both hers and Loki’s bowls back to the stove, ladling more into each, and returned, sitting easily again between the two of them.

“And if fattening is really the goal here, I guess maybe we should start thinking about doing more baking. That seems like the real winner.”

 

Steve bit his tongue hard when Loki mentioned cell phones, spurring to mind the memory of endless voicemails filled with nothing but gasping sobs. Loki had obviously worked out the use of a phone well enough for that, though Steve was determined not to let her know that he knew.

He sipped more of the vodka -- maybe a bit more generous than a sip this time -- disregarding the sting where it hit his bloodied tongue.

“Baking is good,” he said, coughing into his hand. “Can’t say I know enough to help, though. But again, happy to taste-test.” Even if he never regained his previous physique, he still might hope to fill out enough to look _average._ He took another bite of borscht, but he was starting to feel full, and had been wary of overeating since the mac & cheese incident.

“Your bathroom’s over to the left, right?” he asked Nat.

 

She nodded, swallowing.

“Yeah, straight back, can’t miss it.”

And her rooms were laid out identically to Bruce’s and Clint’s, though she wasn’t sure if Steve had been to either of their apartments, yet, either, so she wasn’t about to make the comparison. Just in case.

She didn’t watch him go, instead watching Loki watch him.

His last drink had been a little on the large side, but his coughing had no doubt been enough of a warning for him not to repeat the experiment.

The vodka was good, though, and she was glad he seemed to be enjoying it.

Though, he had gotten more tense. And she wasn’t sure if there was some between the lines conversation going on between he and Loki, or what-- because they had seemed alright, if a little wry. But… maybe it was just the pains of being in public together again.

Or as much of ‘public’ as dinner in her apartment counted for.

“I’d like to arrange another of our lessons, if you are available.” Loki said, out of the blue and without segue. But, Nat supposed, it made sense she’d want to do it when Steve wasn’t here. She had wondered if they’d talked about it yet, but the answer appeared to be no.

“Yeah, of course. When were you thinking?”

Loki shrugged, eyes wandering off in the direction Steve had gone, and a frown creasing her features.

“I don’t know.” she said. “Soon.”

 

In the bathroom, Steve relieved himself, careful to lower Nat’s toilet seat when he was done, and washed his hands. Glancing up into the mirror, he noticed that he had a slight flush to his cheeks. It couldn’t have possibly come from time spent outdoors -- he’d barely been in daylight enough for that -- perhaps the heat of the food?

He splashed a few handfuls of cold water over his face and breathed in before grabbing a hand towel to dry off.

 _Happy and normal._ He could do this. They’d finish eating and have ice cream and maybe a nightcap, and then he and Loki would go home and he’d have proved himself capable of at least _one_ functional social interaction.

Though who exactly he was meant to be proving it to, he didn’t wholly know.

Hanging the towel back up, he swiped his fingers through his hair, grimacing and reminding himself to ask JARVIS for scissors so he could tidy it up himself, then headed back to the kitchen.

“Your soaps smell nice,” he told Natasha, grasping for something normal and pleasant to say.

 

Loki fell guiltily silent as Steve returned, though she smiled up at him in greeting. His face was pink and wet, like he’d washed his face, and she wondered if he’d been sick in just the short time he’d been absent. But she didn’t know a polite way of asking.

“I was just telling Natasha that, despite how good dinner has been, I find myself very much looking forward to dessert.” And if he begged off, then that would be that-- they could go back and he would rest and she would retire to her room.

She was taking some ice cream with her, though.

She wondered what sort of soap it was that Steve liked so much, and considered taking a trip to the bathroom herself just to find out, so that she could get some on her next trip to the store.

She was saved, though, by Natasha.

“It’s supposedly scented like pomegranate. One of the few fake scents that manages to be pleasant, even while not resembling its namesake at all.” She took a sip and smiled at Steve.

Loki made a face.

“Yes, I discovered the pitfalls of artificial blueberry smell in a shampoo I bought.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how they decide what it is supposed to smell like, but I think that they are wrong.” It felt desperate, seizing onto the first subject Steve brought up, but she would take it over silence any day.

 

Steve chuckled softly as he settled back into his chair. “It’s funny you say that, because I’ve found that candy and shampoo and stuff that’s labelled as smelling like banana smells more like the way I remember bananas tasting than actual bananas today do.” He paused after saying it, going back over the words in his head. “Did that make sense? Made sense in my head...”

The artificial flavors were the only thing that had apparently preserved the flavor of a fruit that had gone extinct in the intervening decades while he’d been in the ice, he mused, sipping more of his drink. “Maybe there was a blueberry once that tasted that way?”

 

Nat tilted her head, paying a little closer attention as Steve showed signs of doubting his own thought process.

“It’s possible.” She agreed. “It’s also possible that Loki’s just not used to what blueberries on Earth smell and taste like. I know soil and weather can cause changes in taste-- I imagine there’s some healthy variation between worlds.”

Not that she was an expert on the subject, of course. And not that Loki was, either.

“Is it just bananas, Steve? Or does other stuff taste different?” She had to imagine seventy years could cause a lot of variation, too.

 

“Bananas were the most unpleasant surprise, but...” Steve frowned, thinking. “Meat was more flavorful all on its own, especially chicken. Meat and eggs -- but more expensive. Any vegetables someone grew right in their garden were flavorful, but it was hard to get good produce in the grocery a lot of the time that wasn’t already spoiling. And everything today is a lot saltier and a lot sweeter? Like, we didn’t put corn syrup in everything then like they do now. Or anywhere near as much salt on a lot.”

He recalled the first time someone from SHIELD had taken him out for fast food, and the mix of delight and revulsion he’d felt at the experience.

 

Loki nodded along.

“I find the same with the meat-- it is all lighter, here, the flavor almost muffled. And the orange juice, all juices, but that one the most-- making it as you do, from concentrate… the flavor is bolder, sweeter.”

 

Natasha nodded, thinking.

“I think the biggest difference for me is the chocolate. But that’s just because American chocolate is gross.” She shrugged. “No offense, Steve.”

 

Loki raised an eyebrow at that.

“There are other flavors of ice cream upstairs, if chocolate doesn’t appeal. I can always go and get another. But… what I have had of chocolate I am very fond of. What makes it so different where you’re from?”

 

“We don’t put spoiled milk in our chocolate.” Natasha said firmly. “I don’t know how it started, and I don’t care-- it’s gross.” She made a face. “It’s not bad in things, though, so the ice cream is just fine. Just… to eat alone…” she shook her head mournfully.

“Speaking of, though-- everyone good on borscht? I think I’m done if you guys are. And do you want to move straight to dessert or take a few, maybe have a little more vodka in the interim?”

 

It was an interesting note about chocolate. Steve remembered it tasting a bit different back in the day, and the local European stuff tasting different from the bars that came with their rations, but a Hershey bar was a Hershey bar at day’s end. It was almost reassuring that he could still get one, even if it was sweeter than he remembered.

“I’m all set on borscht -- and it was great, thank you, Nat,” he replied. “Need help clearing up, or--?”

Natasha had cooked. Clearing the table and helping with clean-up seemed only appropriate.

 

It was one thing to let Steve use it as an excuse to get away from a group, quite another to let him use what energy he had unnecessarily.

“Please, allow me-- It is not as though I am using my seidhr for anything otherwise, this evening.” She waved her hand, the bowls taking themselves back to the kitchen.

Natasha sat still as they flew past, then turned to look, watching the dishes do themselves.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use your magic outside of fighting.”  
Save the time she’d been thrown backwards because Loki had panicked, but she wasn’t about to bring that up, when they were obviously hiding their continued lessons from Steve. And maybe here and there, like with her face and the shifting genders thing. And the summoning an arsenal thing.

“At least, not for anything so mundane.”

Loki shrugged.

“It has been good learning how to exist without it, just in case I run low, but when I can, I prefer not to sit through the drudgery of manual labor. I’d much rather spend time with friends.” She smiled, looking back and forth between the two of them, to be sure the answer was good.

“And Steve’s right, it was delicious. Thank you.” She hurried to add, lest she be thought rude.

“My pleasure.” Nat responded. “Do you want to move into the living room for a bit?” She looked to Steve, since he knew the layout of her place, and knew his own comfort levels better than either of them did.

 

Steve felt some relief that he didn’t have to scour out the pots and pans -- but also a pang of disappointment that he wouldn’t get to do something _useful_ tonight. Then again, perhaps Loki had needed to feel useful? In which case it would be selfish to begrudge her the chance to use her magic to help.

Or perhaps, he wondered at Natasha’s comment, to show off a bit? It was odd to him that Nat hadn’t seen any of Loki’s magic, when it was so much a part of her. But then again, Loki had been working hard not to appear as a threat when Nat and Clint had first showed up at the tower, and after Steve had gone missing--

He swallowed. Obviously Loki hadn’t been using it on cleaning dishes then. He _knew_ all hands had been on deck to find him. That the delay had nothing to do with a lack of effort on anyone’s part, least of all Loki’s.

“Living room is fine by me,” he said, picking up his glass to carry with him.

In the other room he settled down on the far end of the couch he’d slept on, mindful of the abundance of throw pillows he didn’t remember from before, draining most of his second tumbler of vodka as he made himself comfortable, leaving plenty of room on the sofa for either Loki or Nat without danger of either of them brushing up against him.

 

Loki followed Steve into the other room, grateful to find that their usual trick of pillows between them would work-- and that there were seats still available for Natasha in the form of other chairs.

Natasha watched Loki put two of the throw pillows down, and then settle beside them-- creating a barrier between she and Steve. It looked practiced, like it was something they did often, and that was simultaneously encouraging and… She didn’t know what. She wondered how they’d come to the compromise of closeness without touching, and how many near panics had been caused in the process.

But it was okay now and that was the important thing, she thought.

She sat the vodka bottle down on the coffee table, and noticed that Loki had abandoned her glass in favor of taking her mug along with her.

She smiled a little, amused at the silent show of distaste.

“More tea, Loki?”

“Thank you, no. I have plenty yet left. Steve?” She asked, turning to him in the hopes he’d ask for something else to drink.

 

“Sure,” he said, sliding his glass over to Natasha to refill from the bottle she’d generously brought with her.

Steve was finally beginning to feel loose and warm -- from his full belly or the vodka or some combination of the two -- and it made for such a welcome reprieve from the near-perpetual tension he carried with him these days that he was loathe to give it up. He just had to get through the rest of the evening.

“Any good movies come out while I was missing?” he asked, searching for topics of small talk he could contribute. “Looks like I’m falling behind on pop culture again...”

 

Nat reached for the bottle, but paused, realizing she’d filled Steve’s glass more than her own. Still, he had more reason to want help loosening up, everything seemed to be going well, and he’d bristled at the implication he couldn’t make a phone call before. She remembered him saying, repeatedly, that he wasn’t an invalid.

And so it seemed only fair to let him make the call on his alcohol consumption, until he gave them a reason not to.

She poured him another glass, just another couple of fingers, and more for herself while she was at it.

She caught Loki’s worried look, but ignored it. Let her say something, if she felt like it. It was probably more her place than Natasha’s right now, anyway.

“I think we’re all a bit behind, but I heard ‘Her’ was good. ‘Wolf of Wallstreet’, too. Uh…” She tried to think of what else had come out. “‘47 Ronin’ was supposedly really bad, which might be in a fun way, I don’t know. But the really tattooed guy, Zombie boy, from the Lady Gaga music video? He’s in it. And so’s Rinko Kikuchi, from Pacific Rim. I’ll probably watch it just for the pretty factor. And to laugh. Hopefully.”

 

Loki narrowed her eyes.

“You and Murray both have spoken of movies so terrible they are enjoyable. I don’t know how that’s the case. Do you not feel trapped by them?” Some part of her felt like this was a joke being played on them, but at least she felt like she and Steve were probably in it together. She glanced his way to be sure.

 

Steve shrugged when Loki looked at him, equally baffled. He and Buck had seen plenty of movies that weren’t that good but had enjoyable qualities, or were just plain silly, but he didn’t think any of them had sought to be terrible?

And he had no idea who Zombie Boy or Rinko Kikuchi were, or what Pacific Rim was. Lady Gaga he recognized as a name -- a pop musician, he was pretty sure? -- though he doubted he’d be able to recognize her by any music.

It all served as a reminder that despite his occasional attempts to check in on pop culture and contemporary trends, he was either too out of touch or too unmoored, lacking decades’ worth of context, to understand much of it. And there was so _much_ of it -- such a deluge of movies and shows and music and news, more than any one person devoting all their time to it all could possibly consume -- he had no idea how everyone kept up with it enough to catch all the references without drowning in it sometimes.

 

She could tell she’d lost them, so she backed up a little.

“Also, Disney put out a new movie, and I hear it’s causing big waves all over the place-- it’s based on The Snow Queen. I think.”

All she knew was that for most of December, and even now, the chorus of Let it Go’s that she heard any time she flipped though any sort of media was almost overwhelming.

She pushed Steve’s glass back his way and sat back with her own.

“But I’m sure there’s other stuff to catch up on still, too. Do you have a favorite genre?”

 

Loki felt her eyebrows raise at the mention of the snow queen. That sounded… like she might hate it, based on the principle of the thing. But she also knew that Steve enjoyed the art of the movie, and, if she hadn’t read the book before hand this time, perhaps she would have less to complain about.

Whatever he wanted, she was prepared to watch, if that was to be their plans for the evening.

Provided she got to indulge her sweet tooth at some point, still.

 

Steve shrugged. “I like whatever.” Left to his own devices, he’d often opted for history and documentaries, or animation. But he enjoyed science fiction and fantasy too, or the occasional comedy.

“Gives us a list of things to check out over the next few weeks,” he said, looking over at Loki with a smile. Movies were safe, for the most part. They avoided war films, opting for more whimsical fare most of the time, but it spared them both having to make conversation and allowed Steve to drift with minimal energy expended.

He took another sip of his vodka, enjoying the way it stung all the way down. “Some movies though, it’s like-- it’s like they’re just tryin’ to prove how much they can do, how crazy the effects can be, and just how much of the future it is now, you know?” All those explosions rendered with computers, just to show off. Like Tony’s fancy displays, when nothing actually _needed_ to be three-dimensional and lit up in a floating hologram. It was all just... showing off, really. Rubbing the future in Steve’s face.

 

Loki felt her brows rising as Steve’s accent became more pronounced.

“Not a fan of CGI huh? You may want to stick to indie movies, then. At least they usually can’t afford a lot of crazy future effects. Or dramas-- no need for them.” Natasha told them. “But yeah, I’ll put together a watching list for you, there’s some good stuff. Have you guys seen Midnight in Paris, yet? That’s real cute. And I bet you would like Wes Anderson.”

Natasha seemed to be focused on the request for a list, so Loki took advantage of the slight lull in conversation and leaned in towards Steve, though she still stopped a safe distance away.

“Steve?” She asked, voice gentle. “Are you feeling alright?”

That snapped Natasha’s attention back to them, and Loki winced, afraid she would seem controlling.

And yet…

“You’ve gone red and you’re slurring a bit.” She told him, still speaking carefully. Not wanting to start a fight.

 

Steve frowned. “I’m good,” he insisted. He felt warm, yes, which was probably the source of the flush. And relaxed, almost melting into Natasha’s pile of cushions. And far less on edge that he had been in a while.

He actually felt _good_ \-- a little loose and a little fuzzy, sure, but his brain being a little cottony meant it wasn’t trying to sabotage itself with memories or crazy, stupid, irrational reactions to ordinary things. He took another drink from his glass and felt a surge of gratitude for whoever had invented vodka.

“Wanna go to Paris someday,” he told Natasha. “When it ain’t occupied, I mean.” She’d mentioned Paris just now, hadn’t she?

 

Nat didn’t raise her eyebrows, but only just.

“It’s been a while since Paris was occupied.” She informed him, though she was fairly certain he knew that while in his right mind.

While sober.

And, she realized, he was what-- one up on her? Or was it more?

While at probably just her weight. And after eating very, very little.

Suddenly, Nat was regretting the vodka she’d had, knowing that it was enough to impair her, even if not to the same levels as Steve was at right now. She glanced at Loki, wondering exactly how much trouble this had the possibility of turning into.

Loki just swallowed.

“We should go to Paris.” She agreed, and Nat winced-- both at how she was humoring him, letting the subject of his alcohol intake drop, and at the nearly mournful tone of her voice.

“But not before ice cream, I hope.” Nat said, standing.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I know _that_. Now. But it-- I went once but it was goddamn Vichy.” He scowled, then looked at Loki. “Like in Casablanca. You remember, right?”

This laid back, the Brooklyn twang he’d long managed to suppress in his speech was beginning to emerge, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “We can-- find a nice place to drink and dance like Rick and whatsherface. Ilsa,” he murmured, taking another sip. Assuming he could relearn to touch enough to dance, he thought, with a pang of bitterness. But in his fantasy of Paris with Loki, he ought to be able to dance.

Then Nat mentioned ice cream. “Sounds good,” he told her with a smile. “How-- how do they get it to be _triple_ chocolate? Innit just chocolate once over?”

 

Chocolate seemed a safe subject.

As was the movie from their date-- as long as they didn’t bring up anything like _children_ again, maybe this wouldn’t end terribly.

Though, she knew that the likelihood of them returning to their rooms in a good mood had gone drastically downhill. All it had taken was salt, last time, and now…

“I’d like that. Dancing in Paris. Pepper asked me not long ago if there was anywhere we might like to visit… I’ll have to remember to mention it to her, next time she asks. Paris.”

She watched Natasha cross back to the kitchen, and tried not to frown. Ice cream went into freezers. She had to hope that wouldn’t be enough to send him into a panic again.

 

“Usually it’s different types of chocolate. Like, fudge and brownie bits in chocolate ice cream. Or chocolate ice cream with chocolate chunks and chocolate syrup, or something. It just means there’s a lot of chocolate, and not much else in it.”

She pulled out the carton and pulled more bowls out of the cupboard.

“How much ice cream do you guys want? One scoop? Two? Five?”

 

Fudge and brownies and ice cream, all in chocolate. It sounded decadent. The sort of thing he and Bucky might fantasize about and dream of gorging themselves on until they got sick, all while making do with penny-sweets from the corner shop--

Only it wouldn’t take much for him to gorge himself sick these days. Steve made a face. “Just one for me,” he told Nat, further nursing his drink. He wasn’t that hungry anymore, after all.

 

She was glad to see him exercising some restraint-- she thought, until she noticed him taking another drink.

But he was doing alright, wasn’t he? There was no sign of anything being… wrong, exactly. So this was probably just her overreacting. Hovering.

And then there was the matter of dessert. She usually would echo Steve’s portion size, but from the face he’d made and the ‘just’ in front of the amount, she gathered it was a small serving.

“Two, please.” She requested.

 

“Coming up.” Nat said, running the spoon under hot water. She didn’t have a dedicated ice cream scoop here, mainly because she didn’t often share her ice cream. But that was fine; this would do the trick. And probably make it easier to give Steve just a little, since she knew he needed to take it slow for his stomach’s sake.

She prepped the bowls and added spoons, returning to the other room with all three.

She handed them out, then paused, looking at the vodka bottle still on the table.

“Here you go, and I should probably put that back in to chill…” She said, waiting to see if Steve would stop her-- quietly testing his limits.

 

The bowl was chill in his hands, but Steve was warm enough all over that it felt alright. Nice, even.

Memories of hot and sticky Brooklyn summers flitted through his mind, where he and Bucky would scrounge up change for an ice cream cone apiece, or flavored shaved ice. Trying to catch the melting drips with their tongues before it got all over their fingers and made a mess...

He dipped his spoon in the ice cream and took a taste. The flavor was _dense,_ rich and chocolatey on his tongue, and he made a small sound of approval.

“Top me off before you do?” he asked as Nat moved to take the vodka away.

 

Loki held a hand up, meeting Natasha’s eye and deciding she needed to say something.

“Is that wise?” She asked Steve. “Alcohol dehydrates you, and you’re already feeling its effects, are you not?”

She kept her voice low and hoped-- hoped he would not take offense, though she braced for it, well aware that he would see no option but to fight back.

 

Natasha stayed where she was, trying to be unobtrusive, but observing-- intensely curious as to the outcome of this particular standoff.

 

Steve blinked, then scowled. “What I _feel,”_ he pointed out, a touch peeved, “is _good._ For once.”

And not like he was about to crawl out of his skin or put his fist through a wall or shut down at a moment’s notice.

“I kinda know what it’s like to be dehydrated. Plenty familiar,” he pointed out, slouching deeper into Natasha’s couch. Loki was doing that quiet, gentle voice, where it was clear she was handling him with kid gloves. Like he was some petulant, irrational child in danger of hurting himself.

 

Loki wanted to crawl under the couch they sat on, but took a breath instead.

“I am glad that you feel good. I don’t want you to feel _bad_. But… I’m worried that you will, later. If your stomach still can’t stand to eat more than you do, I doubt any of you will feel well if you drink too much. And you have already had more than either Natasha or I.”

Loki carefully did not look to Natasha for backup, did not want to pull her down with her, if Steve’s temper got the best of him and this turned into the fight that seemed to be brewing.

 

Steve ground his jaw. For a second, he wanted to lash out. Point out to Loki that he could damn well choose to feel ill if he wanted to, he _had that choice_.

Only, he realized sinkingly, he didn’t.

He wasn’t in a cell, but he hardly had left the tower or his rooms, and was hardly ever left unsupervised. He was watched over, chaperoned, and his food and drink were monitored-- and not fully within his own purview, he could see now.

It was a nicer prison, ultimately. A comfortable one, that aimed to protect him rather than tear him apart. But some days it felt like a prison all the same, with a tender, suffocating warden. And instead of HYDRA’s doctors, he was tortured by his own damn mind.

He slumped, realizing there was really no point in putting up a fuss. He put the glass on the coffee table and slid it away wordlessly.

(So much for normal and happy.)

 

She released the breath she’d been holding, grateful that it hadn’t escalated.

“Thank you, Steve.” She told him, and meant it.

She didn’t like how he’d just given up without arguing for it, but she supposed it wasn’t surprising. He didn’t want to fight any more than she did, and he tired so easily… maybe it just wasn’t worth it for him.

She looked up at Natasha, finally, willing her to take it away.

 

She could take the hint, and whisked the bottle off-- though she left the glass as a concession for Steve.

She’d already poured it, after all.

She wondered if her being there was keeping them from saying something that needed to be said, and decided quickly to give them the opportunity, given how tense the room had gotten.

“I’m just gonna run to the restroom real quick. Be right back.” She promised.

She glanced to Loki, caught her eye, and intentionally slid her eyes towards Steve, hoping that got the point across.

 

Steve found he didn’t have much appetite for the ice cream now, though he was slightly transfixed by watching it slowly melt in the bowl.

“I guess this is the part where we beat a tactical retreat for appearances’ sake?” he muttered quietly once Natasha left the room. He must have exhausted the amount of time he could pass as sane for if Loki had to rein him in.

 

She was disappointed, but it made sense.

He was embarrassed-- she’d embarrassed him by questioning his choices in front of their friends.

“If you want to leave, we can. Though… I truly don’t think Natasha will think any less of us for this.” And if she did, it was probably in how Loki had handled the situation more than a judgement on Steve.

“I’m sorry.” She said, quieter.

 

“Yeah, she’s seen me be a wreck. Might as well see me be a drunk,” Steve grumbled, knowing it was unkind even as he said it and looking away, shoulders curling inward defensively.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to sleep. Hell, he wanted to have another drink or three or however many it took to let that warm, fuzzy feeling obliterate everything else; it would actually _work_ now, unlike in the bombed out bar in London where he’d tried uselessly to drown out the image of Bucky falling.

God, if Buck could see him now. Even more pathetic than where he’d started.

Loki presented it to him as a choice: stay or leave. Like it was all his to determine. But he knew that as soon as he started making _wrong_ choices, the illusion would shatter.

 

“You aren’t.” She protested. “I have known drunkards in my time, and Steve, you aren’t one of them. But you also aren’t… particularly kind to your body, as it is trying to heal, and as a healer… it’s just not… I don’t like seeing you hurting. Especially if it’s preventable.”

Just as she didn’t like watching him fight to heal like this, interrupting his progress and refusing her help.

“I _am_ sorry for-- it can’t feel good, my saying something. And I will make excuses for us and we can leave, as soon as she returns, if that is what you want.” She hesitated. “Or if it’s better, I can leave and you can stay. Whatever you want, Steve.”

 

Steve sighed. Whatever he wanted.

As long as he wanted the right things. The right foods, the right therapeutic exercises, the right drinks, the right therapy sessions.

Did it even matter what he chose at this point?

“I think I’ll head down to bed. You can stay if you want,” he told Loki with a shrug. Standing, he wobbled on his feet slightly, his balance taking a few moments to catch up.

 

She nearly reached to catch him, worried about what would happen if he fell, before he found his balance and she remembered exactly what would happen if she _did_ touch him.

“I’ll be right behind you.” She promised, feeling a shaft of disappointment pierce her through the stomach.

She looked over at the melting bowls of ice cream and sighed internally-- but better to wait, she knew. Better than letting it be soured by the circumstances.

She wondered what he felt, the emotions that his exhaustion hid, and knew he would not speak of it to her. Knew that he would let it fester within him.

And maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. He’d been-- he’d felt good, _for once_ , as he said. And she’d taken that from him.

She didn’t think she was completely wrong, but that didn’t explain why nothing felt right, either.

Sighing, she stood and moved hers and Steve’s bowls to the sink, and set her seidhr to cleaning them.

It was a waste, but better a waste than an imposition, a burden left for Natasha to care for.

She waited for their hostess to return, and then she’d apologize and take her leave, and that would be that.

Another evening gone wrong, and this time there was no salt, no trauma to blame. Just Loki and her need to put her foot in it.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> This chapter features alcohol as a coping mechanism, concerns about overdrinking.


	89. Eighty-Nine

Steve slept poorly that night.

His skin was hot, feeling too tight over his bones when he fell into bed, and the room felt as though it were shifting around him, like a ship on a stormy sea. Squeezing his eyes shut against the vague nausea, he tried to find rest -- but whenever exhaustion managed to pull him under, he didn’t stay there for long.

A dozen times he woke up during the night, tossing and turning, chased by the ghosts of dreams he only half-remembered, and wished to wholly forget. Whispers crowded in at the edge of his mind, detailing his myriad failures, until sleep found him again, however briefly.

When morning light finally began to spill through the curtains, he felt more exhausted than he had on going to bed, and he already knew that this was going to be one of his _bad_ days.

“JARVIS,” he croaked, hating the sound of his own voice, “cancel my PT appointment for this afternoon.”

“ _Would you like me to reschedule?”_

Steve rolled over with an indistinct noise that the AI could take however he damn well wanted, burying his face in a pillow.

The thought of getting up and out of bed, now or at any point, seemed entirely too daunting. Even getting up to piss and shower and dress was enough to make him want to sob, so he just curled into a tighter ball and willed the entire world to go away.

 

Loki had watched a couple of hours’ worth of videos of Steve’s captivity when she’d returned to her room, only turning it off when she realized with disgust that she was using them to reassure herself that he was better off here, even with her ruining his night.

It took a long time for her to fall asleep, after that, as the self recrimination that Steve used to be so good at helping her to allay preyed on her thoughts and ripped through her sleep, when she did manage it.

Still, she managed to drag herself, exhausted, out of bed the next morning, up from where the mattresses still laid on the floor.

She stared for a moment at the bedframe still in its packaging, wondering if it was too optimistic to continue leaving it there.

But he’d reached out and touched her the day before. That had to count for something… despite how the night had ended.

She went to the kitchen and pulled the oatmeal down from the cupboard before thinking twice and putting it away in favor of looking up ‘after drinking foods’ on her StarkPad.

Following the advice on the internet, and eschewing the heavier, greasier options, she prepared scrambled eggs and toast with peanut butter and bananas on it, then poured a small glass of milk to serve alongside.

Steve still hadn’t risen, and she hoped it was just him being upset with her, and not some new injury or the effects of the alcohol she’d been so concerned about.

But there was only one way to find out.

She knocked on the door of his room.

“Steve? I have breakfast on the table for you.”

 

Steve groaned softly into his pillow.

His stomach rolled at the idea of food. It wasn’t that he felt particularly ill; he just had nothing even resembling an appetite. And yet Loki had made him food. She was being dutiful and caring and Steve was being useless and ungrateful.

Last night... He’d been bitter last night. Angry when he felt his choices slipping away, even though he knew anything denied him was done out of love and care since he couldn’t be trusted anymore to get it right on his own. Loki deserved better.

And if Steve were a better man, he’d get out of bed and go eat the breakfast she’d cooked without complaint and thank her for it.

If he were an _even better_ man, he’d face his own discomfort down and give her a kiss on the cheek, and it would be worth it just to watch her face light up.

But he was a selfish man, apparently, and couldn’t muster the energy to get up, let alone any of those things.

“I’m... not hungry,” he managed to call, desperately trying not to picture in his mind’s eye the way Loki’s face would fall in disappointment.

 

She swallowed, the answer unwanted but not wholly unexpected.

She tried to think of what she could offer. Her first instinct was to offer to leave so that he could eat without seeing her, if that was truly the source of his refusal.

But if he was ill, then she would be abandoning him to it, and it might feel to him like retribution for the previous night.

“Alright,” she said, hoping she was erring on the side of caution. “Is there anything else I can get for you, then? Aspirin? Your other pills? Something to drink?”

If he was annoyed, or angry at her, surely that would be enough to make him say so. If not… well, they were all things he genuinely might need.

 

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He wanted to melt into the mattress and dissolve completely. And he wanted Loki to forget he ever existed. But as neither of those were options...

It would be easy enough to say ‘no’ and let that be the end of it. But doing so would probably lead Loki to think he was mad at her or hated her, and that would be beyond cruel. And if she was offering to bring him things that didn’t require him to get up or move--

He swallowed. “Water?” he said tentatively after a few moments.

It would let Loki do something, and save him having to get up for it later.

 

She felt flush with relief-- at least she would be allowed entry, be allowed to see him and figure out what was wrong, knowing he wouldn’t tell her.

“Of course-- just a moment.”

She hurried to the cupboard and filled the water from the refrigerator door, hesitating and wondering if he wanted ice or not.

She filled a second cup with ice just in case, and pulled out a straw left over from one of the many ordered in meals, again, just in case, before returning to the door.

She opened it slowly, giving him a chance to cover up if he needed to.

“Hey.” She greeted softly, putting on a smile as she entered the room.

 

“Hey.” His voice was toneless, flat. Inflection felt like an excess of effort.

Steve glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t move or sit up. It was like a crushing weight had him pinned under it -- some invisible mass of dread that he couldn’t move out from under if he’d tried.

Watching as she set the glass down at the bedside table, he sighed, working to put together words in his mind before speaking.

“I’m... I’m not gonna be much use today, I think,” he said. Not that he was useful _any_ day, now. But today even less so than usual. “Sorry.”

 

“That’s alright.” She was quick to reassure him, crouching down by the bedside to put them at the same level, or at least, closer to eye level.

“Is there anything you need, anything I can do to help?”

It was probably the wrong thing to ask, given how much he hated needing help, but it was really all she could offer without knowing more.

“I don’t have any plans today, so if there’s anything you want, at any point, all you have to do is say so, alright?”

And of course, she’d have to check in on him to be sure, since, again, she knew he wouldn’t ask. But pestering him was better than the alternative, she thought.

Though… if anything, last night had made her uncertain of the truth in that belief.

“If you want me to just leave you be, though, I can do that too. Whatever you need.” She added quickly.

 

Steve closed his eyes, unable to look her in the face.

_Get up,_ a voice screamed in his mind, eerily reminiscent of Colonel Phillips barking orders. _Get up and move! Go be a person, dammit!_

But his body wouldn’t obey, willpower failing utterly.

“I think... I just need space,” he managed, hating that he didn’t have a better answer to offer her.

 

She nodded.

“Alright. I won't stray too far, if anything changes. The water is on the table, and there's also a cup of ice and a straw. I'm putting your phone here…” she stood, rounding the bed and bringing the cell phone back to sit beside everything else.

“If you don't feel up to shouting for me. I'll have my phone.”

She wanted to smooth his hair, to sit and rub calming circles on his back. But it wouldn't help, right now. It would only make things worse.

“I love you, Steve.”

It felt like it was worth reminding him. He just looked so miserable.

 

He swallowed. “I love you too,” he echoed back to her.\

He couldn’t fix anything, but he could try to avoid making it worse. Just stay in bed and try not to be a burden and try not to hurt her anymore than he already did by failing to be the man she’d fallen in love with.

(He dreaded the day she realized that was no longer him.)

 

\--

 

Loki’d spent much of the day hovering around the apartment, but with Steve silent and in his room and asking for space, she felt not only useless, not only trapped… but almost like she was intruding.

So she checked in again, well aware that she was bothering him, and asked if there was anything he wanted, or needed.

And when there wasn’t, she told him she had to run upstairs for a bit, and that she had her phone, or he could just tell JARVIS if he needed her, and she’d come right back.

Thus excused from haunting their rooms-- at least temporarily-- she left, though without any plans or thought of where she would go. To the healers, perhaps, though she still needed to speak to Pepper about getting a second identification for her current gender.

But she knew too that she still owed Pepper another girls’ day, which Pepper did not get often enough, and which she felt like she ought to follow through on before she asked any further favors. Already, she owed her so much. And she did enjoy spending time with her. Only…

She would be miserable company right now, nearly sick with concern for Steve and with guilt for her part in making him feel this way.

Miserable enough that she wouldn’t wish her companionship on anyone… save that there weren’t any private places left to her, outside of their rooms, unless she were to hide away in one of the empty rooms upstairs. Which seemed… suspicious and greedy, somehow.

She was left standing in the elevator, uncertain of what floor to go to, what to do with herself, when the doors closed and the elevator descended.

She could have made herself invisible, she supposed… except that she did, despite her mood, or maybe because of it, feel a sort of thirst for company. Even if she had no idea whose company it might be.

 

Bruce waited for the elevator, thoroughly engrossed in the readings on his StarkPad.

They were still working on piecing through everything they’d decrypted from HYDRA, but a lot of it had been exhausted. It was hard to say what experimental endeavors HYDRA had even still been working on, and what they’d abandoned as false starts. Not all of the notation made any sense, and it seemed like chunks might be missing, where information had either been corrupted and lost, or hadn’t been on any of the servers they’d pillaged.

It left them with a lot of frustrating maybes, and very little helpful ideas as to what HYDRA was doing or planning.

So Bruce had taken a different tack, looking through his older research for the Bio-Tech Force Enhancement Project, trying to determine the likelihood that HYDRA would be able to circumvent the government’s failures in recreating Project Rebirth now that they might have Steve’s blood...

The elevator dinged, and he caught, out of the edge of his vision, sight of a pale face surrounded by long dark hair.

He jolted. “Bet--?”

Only it wasn’t, and he stopped short. “Loki. Sorry. Hi.”

 

She smiled sadly and glanced downwards, apologetic.

“I’m sorry to disappoint.” She glanced back up at him, as a thought suddenly occurred. “Were you… expecting her?”

If so, no one had told her, and she didn’t know that Steve knew, either.

Though she did know that he was in no state to entertain at the moment.

She also considered changing her hair color to help keep the mistake from happening again, but she thought it might be kinder to do that around Steve, so that he didn’t have to have the moment of panic, thinking a stranger was approaching him.

She’d certainly consider it, though. And maybe mention it to Steve, to see how he felt about it, when it seemed he was capable of feeling things again.

 

Bruce felt heat creeping across his cheeks as he stepped into the elevator. “Ah, no. Sorry. Guess I just... had her on my mind, and you kinda look like her when I’m not paying good enough attention.” It didn’t help that he’d had an email from Betty yesterday, discussing some of the tests she was designing for Steve’s blood samples. And the last month constituted more contact than he’d had with her for years, so the yearning he’d had for her -- which he’d managed to suppress and forget about for a while -- was back in full force.

But it would be worth it, he reminded himself, to help Rogers out.

He went to push one of the elevator buttons, but paused on seeing that none of them were lit. “Where are you headed?” he asked Loki.

 

This time when she looked down, it was less about sparing him embarrassment, and more about saving herself from it. Avoiding seeing the look on her face when she murmured,

“I hadn’t decided yet.”

Then, because she realized exactly how that must sound, she did look up, trying to put on a more pleasant face.

“I just stepped out for a little while to give Steve some space, but… in a building this large, it is hard to decide where to go, and how to spend my time.”

Though she winced, well aware that everyone else was elbow deep in digging through information garnered from their various raids of Hydra bases.

And, in Bruce’s case, busy doing all he could to help find and undo what had been done to Steve. To heal him.

She must sound absolutely ungrateful, complaining of her boredom when they were all so occupied.

“How have you been, though?” She asked, hoping to shift the conversation, at least for the short time they would be on the elevator together. “I feel like I have seen less of you than the rest, and I’ve only seen each of them for scattered minutes, here and there.”

She spoke lightly, attempting not to make it sound like an accusation; she certainly didn’t mean it as one, since her absence was very much her own fault.

 

Bruce’s brow furrowed, wondering if there was more to Steve needing ‘some space’ than Loki’s light tone implied. Then again, it could be nothing. Bruce hadn’t cohabitated in a long time, but everyone he knew who did share a home with a loved one had means of getting out and spending time elsewhere, for work or hobbies. With Steve so incapacitated, it made sense for Loki to be the one to get out and about.

“I’ve just been keeping my head down. You know me,” he said with a shrug. “Doing research, trying to figure out some of what HYDRA’s been up to, making sure I don’t go big and green. The usual.”

He mustered an anemic smile. He’d been heading up to the labs, but after a few seconds passed, he found himself reaching out and hitting the ‘door open’ button instead of the buttons for any of the levels. “Wanna have some tea? We could. Um. Catch up.” Socializing wasn’t his forté, but then, he didn’t think it was Loki’s either. And it had been a while since they’d talked. Most of Bruce’s time these days was spent around Tony and Jane, and it might be a bit of a relief to have a less manic presence to chat with.

 

She fixed him with a mock-stern look.

“Bruce, you have no responsibility to entertaining me, particularly not on such short notice, if you have better things to be doing.”

She paused delicately just the same, appreciating the offer and unsure how to accept and still have it come off as graceful. And not be burdening him.

“I would like to catch up. If it is inconvenient now, we could always choose another time. It isn’t as though we live a long way apart.”

She offered a quick smile, perhaps a little too broad, but fairly steady just the same, she thought.

“I do miss our talks.” Few as they had been, and far apart as they were. She enjoyed his company just the same, and found him oddly soothing, in his way. He was a good friend, no matter how deeply he seemed to doubt it when she told him as much.

 

Bruce smiled sheepishly. “I don’t really have anything better to be doing. I’ve been puzzling over--” he waved the StarkPad “--some physics problems posed by alpha-waves in some of HYDRA’s experiments, but was just heading upstairs to see if a change of scenery helped me think any better. It’s nothing urgent though.” He shrugged.

“Maybe this is the universe telling me to take a break. Like you said, you haven’t seen me for a bit, and that’s mainly because I haven’t been around much.” Or, he’d been around, but not in any capacity that allowed for socializing. Holing up in his apartment or in his lab, despite living in the same building, didn’t mean he was especially available.

 

“In that case…” she paused to smile, just to be certain her glumness didn’t break through the mask of her sociability, “I would love to have tea with you. Thank you.”

She could not begin to understand what he was working on, she knew, and she would be no help in solving the problems posed by Hydra reports, but she could serve as a distraction. A change of scenery.

And maybe allowing him to come back to it with new eyes would help.

Or maybe she was simply trying to justify the selfishness of taking his time. But she knew that that line of thinking was… destructive, in its way. The sort of thing she needed not to let the others get wind of.

The sort of bleeding on others that she needed to learn not to do, most especially for Steve’s sake.

“I’m afraid I didn’t think to bring anything to add to tea, but if you wanted to order out for something, I would be happy to pay for it.”

She knew how her card worked well enough to do that.

 

“Pretty sure I have a tin of cookies somewhere. Probably some fruit,” Bruce mused as he led the way back down the corridor to his apartment. “Though if you’re hungry, knock yourself out and order whatever you like.”

He hadn’t exactly had lunch, but he’d been picking at things on and off all morning -- a piece of toast here, an apple there -- and wasn’t particularly famished, though he supposed he could eat.

Once inside, he winced at the state of the place. “Uh. Sorry for the mess--”

He immediately moved to clear a stack of printouts from one of the kitchen chairs, grabbing his laptop from the table and adding it to the stack, moving the whole pile over to the couch where it joined a banker’s box of old files. “I usually keep it tidy. More relaxing that way. But sometimes when I’m in a project I get... carried off,” he confessed.

 

She shrugged.

“If you do not want a meal, I have things back at the apartment that I can prepare later.”

She was trying her best to be agreeable, and easy to please, and Bruce was similarly low-effort, in her experience. Which was nice-- she felt like everything she did at the moment required so much effort.

“I have seen you immersed in your projects before.” She said, nodding. “I recall the state of this place when we returned with those files… in honesty, relaxing or no, I think clutter suits an occupied mind, in its way. I cannot imagine Tony’s lab has ever been clean, for example. Despite the robot cleaners.”

She slung a half smirk in his direction.

“But you needn’t apologize or clean for my sake. As long as there is tea and room to talk, I am satisfied.”

 

“It might suit an occupied mind, but it’s not very conducive to entertaining,” Bruce remarked with a sigh, stacking most of the rest of the clutter on the table so it only occupied one end, then moving a few odds and ends off the stove ( _that_ was where he’d put the spectrograph readouts) so he could put the kettle on.

“And there are certain habits of Tony’s I definitely never want to adopt,” he added balefully, lighting the stove and then moving around the kitchen, grabbing some pita bread and hummus out of the fridge. Loki had mentioned food, so he suspected she was at least a little hungry. He quickly sliced the pita into wedges, dumping them into a bowl, then set the bowl and container of hummus out on the table for snacking.

“How about you? How’ve you been?” he asked, searching her face. She seemed fine -- but knowing how easily Loki’s face could transform with magic, Bruce didn’t know how much to trust the evidence of his eyes.

 

She watched him as he moved around, and when he stilled, she wished he hadn’t.

And wished that people would ask that question less-- she was running out of stock answers, as they each took turns poking holes in them.

“I have been… tired.” She answered with a shrug. “But that is hardly surprising, all things considered.” It was honest, and, with any luck, it would be enough.

She had spent so long being unused to people asking after her that she was weak to it, weak still to the care she was shown here.

“And what of yourself? How have you been, aside from occupied and disorganized?”

She put a smile on it, turning it teasing, rather than judgmental.

“All of this has hit each of us in different ways, and I know working with Betty is… thank you, for being willing. For Steve’s sake.”

 

“Tired,” Bruce echoed, not disbelieving and not judging, just... acknowledging. “Not surprising at all.”

He fetched a pair of mugs from his cabinet, one with a Culver University crest and the other, inexplicably, emblazoned with _World’s #1 Grandma._ Tony didn’t seem the sort to stock the apartments here with thrift shop finds, so he could only assume it was there as some sort of joke, and sighed.

“I’m doing fine. Working with Betty is... difficult,” he acknowledged, “but at the same time, it’s nice to see that she’s okay. Hear her voice.” He shrugged, sitting down while they waited for the water to boil. “Having an excuse to do that where I don’t feel totally selfish is rare.”

 

Loki nodded, almost too aware of what he meant.

“It’s good to have a reason to talk to her, even if you can’t do anything else.”

She frowned, aware of the way her brain was struggling to make this about her.

“I do mean it though-- I… can’t say I understand how difficult it is for you,” though she thought she might have some small inkling, “But I appreciate your willingness. She seems… fantastically intelligent. And I believe she can help, if anyone can.”

She lifted her shoulder.

“I… know you are busy, as you said. But I am making arrangements to return to my healing-- or, to do more healing, at least. If you had any interest in observing, or seeing what advancements Tony’s doctors have made with what I have given them thus far.”

It was a piece of news, at least one, that seemed like it should be well received by all.

 

Bruce smiled faintly, picking at a piece of pita bread. “She’s one of the most brilliant people I know,” he murmured. “And considering I hang out with Tony and Jane, that’s definitely saying something.” He’d fallen in love with Betty for her mind, her passion for discovery and diligent attention to detail, every bit as much as he’d fallen in love with her smile, her soft voice, her sparkling blue eyes. She was beautiful, sure. But knowing how brilliant and how kind she was, he doubted he could have seen her as anything else, regardless of how she looked.

His chest ached, and he tried to fill the sudden sense of yawning _emptiness_ by nibbling on the pita.

“I’d love to observe, if you don’t mind,” he said, trying not to think about how Betty would probably give her left foot for the chance to work with Loki and Helen Cho on their medical breakthroughs. “And... I think that’s a good idea. I’m not a medical doctor, but being able to apply what little I knew to help people when I was, ah, traveling...” he trailed off. “It helped. Feeling like I could do some good, for someone. Anyone.”

 

She lifted one shoulder, aware, as he must be, that it was a stand in for the healing she most wanted to be doing.

“I have hurt and killed enough-- even if it cannot have my name or face attached to it, knowing that, if I leave nothing else behind, I will leave a legacy of healing…”

Supposing, of course, that anything was left at all. That Thanos did not destroy all of it.

But she was working to learn to stop that, as well.

“Likewise, if there is anything I might do to repay you or Betty, I hope you will tell me. I find my days… simultaneously spoken for--” mostly to ensure Steve did not injure himself, and hating that she felt so unwanted as a chaperone-- “and unoccupied. Anything I can do, I am happy to.”

Anything aside from watching the videos, which she could only take so much of. And which, as she recalled, Bruce didn’t know of, for fear of his reaction.

Well. She could abstain from mentioning that as well. It shouldn’t be difficult.

 

Bruce finished the slice of pita, then reached forward and slid the bowl a little closer to Loki, so she would know she was free to help herself.

“Steve still needs a lot of help?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. He assumed that was what she meant -- keeping herself on retainer to take care of him while he recovered. Though Bruce had thought he’d have recovered most of his mobility by now.

 

She made a face, taking the offered bread and dipping it in the paste before shoving it into her mouth, primarily as a means of buying herself time to think before she spoke.

Something she had become alarmingly bad at, of late.

With a sigh, though, she remembered how Natasha had wanted the others to be involved in reaching out to Steve, to helping ensure it wasn’t just Loki hovering all the time. And if they did, they should know… what they needed to watch out for.

She knew he’d hate it, but she knew she’d rather that than find something worse then him bloodying his fists, _again_.

She swallowed, and didn’t look Bruce in the eye.

“Twice now, he has hurt himself. Both times when left unsupervised. When no one was around.” In fairness, she’d thought she was around one of those times; she’d just been wrong. “He pushes himself and… makes poor choices.”

And still ate only the smallest amounts, the bare minimum to keep her from saying anything. Except today, when he wouldn’t even take that much. She felt the frown on her face deepening.

“I like to stay close.” She finished, words quiet.

 

_Hurt himself._

Bruce froze. In the silence, behind him, he could heat the ticking of hot metal as the kettle heated up. Did Loki mean--?

He swallowed, taking a breath, then pursed his lips. “When you say he’s hurt himself,” he ventured after a moment, doing his level best to keep his tone neutral, though the sense of alarm he felt had the Other Guy perking up with a confused whine in the back of his mind. “Do you mean... on accident?”

‘Poor choices’ could cover a hell of a lot of territory, accidental or willful.

 

She’d been intentionally vague, but now she winced, wishing the tea was done so that she could stare into the cup, rather than at her empty hands, twisted together on the tabletop.

“I don’t--” she heaved a sigh. “He put his hand through a mirror, and I found him on the floor bleeding and naked. I have no idea how long he sat there-- I was gone for over an hour. And then he… _chose_ to go punch a bag in the gym, without making any preparations for his safety-- no one knew he was there, he didn’t wrap his hands. I believe it may have aggravated the injuries in his leg, but…”

But she did her best not to be around when the doctors came, as he’d asked.

“I do not know what causes him to do these things, his thought processes behind them.”

Which was as good as a full admission of her failure.

Unable to heal him, unable to take proper care of him, and unable even to talk to him.

She had no idea what she could do. Especially if this latest bout-- his drinking enough to cause concern, followed by his refusal to eat… if it continued, she would have no choice but to approach the others. She clearly wasn’t what he needed.

 

Bruce almost felt guilty for the faint pang of relief that ran through him. It wasn’t _good_ news, but at least from the sound of it, Steve was merely self-destructive and not outright suicidal. Though putting his hand through a mirror was a hell of a loaded gesture.

He was hurting himself, but not in a way that suggested he was... as low as Bruce himself had once got. Though Bruce had been alone, isolated, desperate. Steve was in the company of people who loved him and were looking out for him, and wouldn’t let it get that bad.

(They _wouldn’t,_ he reminded himself firmly, quieting the Other Guy’s rumble of distress.)

“I think,” he said after several long seconds, “I think I might. Understand, a bit.” He sighed, then stood, switching off the stove and pouring water into the two mugs. “I mean, I’m not a psychologist any more than I’m a physician, but he definitely sounds like he’s depressed.”

 

She spread her hands helplessly.

“I realize.” She said, then-- “I just don’t know what I can do. Today he will not get out of bed, will not eat--” she shook her head, forcing herself to go mute, only too late, once again.

Steve would hate this, would hate what the others knew. Would hate what they must think of them both-- though none could blame him. None should.

She looked up at that thought, looked Bruce in the face, searching for any sign of him judging Steve. Not that she expected to find any. But… to be sure, for his sake--

“I know it is difficult. We cannot know what he has been through, and… he has apparently found a group to go to. Therapy. He is trying, he truly is, and I have never met anyone stronger. But… he seems to need help that I do not know how to give, and he does not know how to ask for.”

 

Bruce sighed, realizing his mistake. “I don’t just mean that he’s sad,” he clarified, bringing the mugs over and placing them on the table, giving Loki the Culver University one. “I should have been clearer -- clinical depression is... it’s an illness. Of the mind. And given what Steve’s been through, it makes sense for him to have developed it.” Frankly Bruce found it a wonder that Steve hadn’t been suffering from it before, given the whole ‘losing seven decades’ thing, though it was possibly he’d simply been able to hide it more effectively.

“No one is going to judge Steve for having trouble in his head after all that any more than they’ll judge him for limping after having his leg broken,” he assured her, moving to the pantry to fetch the tea tin. “The fact that he’s getting help is... is really good, Loki. It’s a big step, and one a lot of people never get to.” Tony, for instance, had once figured spilling his soul to Bruce when he was jet-lagged and half out of his mind with exhaustion was an adequate substitute for seeing an actual professional for his PTSD. And it really, really wasn’t. Though Bruce was hardly in a position to cast stones himself, given he hadn’t seen anyone since he’d been a teenager. Frankly all the Avengers could probably use psychiatric help.

“Is he seeing a psychologist individually, as well as in a group?” he asked, sitting back down.

 

An illness of the mind.

She tried very hard not to allow that to translate into ‘madness’. Tried not to be offended on Steve’s behalf. Tried to listen.

Things were different, here, she knew. And what he was doing… it was very far removed from how she’d been, for her previous visits to Midgard. He was not mad as she had been. She had to cling to that.

“I do not know. He will not speak of it with me. Or… he says very little, he said it was because they promise not to share one another’s stories, or something to that effect. So… I suppose not. But it is new yet. He has not been to many. Natasha might know more; she is the one to have found the group, and the one who is taking him.”

The only one to be doing any good for Steve’s mind, Loki thought, but did not add.

 

Bruce pulled out a packet of lemon ginseng and tore open the package, pulling out the tea bag and placing it in his cup to steep. If Natasha was taking point on Steve’s mental rehabilitation, that was good. She was sharp, emotionally aware, and probably had connections to make sure Steve got help from the appropriate people. Bruce felt another pang of relief at that -- he’d been briefly weighing the merits versus risks of reaching out to Samson for psych recommendations, but it seemed he’d be spared having to worry about that just yet.

“Natasha will look out for him,” he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. Though given how forlorn Loki looked, the words probably wouldn’t help. Not when she probably felt helpless in all this to lend a hand to, or even understand Steve.

He lifted the teabag by the string, then lowered it again, watching amber swirl out from around it into the surrounded water. “I know that--” he stopped again, parsing over the words in his mind before trying once more. “It’s terrifying to not have control of your body, or your mind,” he said. And the horror he remembered in the beginning, when the transformations had first started and he had no control at all, was rivalled only by his terror as a child during Brian’s more violent episodes. Feeling like a prisoner in his own body, in his own skull, no longer at the wheel but a helpless passenger as a monster took him over-- it had been agony.

Thank god, Steve hadn’t been subjected to _that,_ but he’d clearly had control torn away in other ways. “What must have happened for him to be in the shape he was when we found him... I’m guessing he had very little say in anything that was done to him.” And who knew what methods they’d used to get into his head. “Usually, when depressed people hurt themselves, it’s... It’s common as a coping mechanism. Sometimes just to feel _something,_ though, in Steve’s case....”

He lifted his tea, blowing on it gently and then wrinkling his nose as his glasses began to steam up. “In Steve’s case -- and I’m just guessing, but -- it might be that at least if he’s beating his hands up on a bag, that’s pain that he’s feeling that _he has control over._ ”

 

She swallowed, the words reminding her of the talks she and Steve had had about some of their bedroom play.

It made her think of how he used to take comfort from having orders-- she wondered if that was still true, or if he would only resent her more for trying to give him them. If he would see it as her taking control away.

“I try to give him choices, to get him to… to make decisions. What to do, what to watch, whether or not to go out, what we eat. Often, though he just…” saying he didn’t care seemed inaccurate. He seemed not to have the energy _to_ care.

“He tires so quickly.” She said instead, finding herself falling back on the phrase yet again.

“He said, last night-- I stopped him from having any more alcohol, and he said he was just… feeling good. For once.” She felt her stomach twist at the words, hating how guilty she felt. And hating that she brought it up hoping that Bruce would side with her. Knowing that he had reason to, based on his past experience.

“I don’t want him to find new ways of being destructive, if I cannot even keep him safe from those he has been using. But he did stop drinking, when I asked. Though… I suspect he resents that I did.”

 

“Oh boy.” Bruce set his mug down with a wince, then pulled his glasses off to rub on his shirt. “Yeah, depression and alcohol are... definitely not a good combination.” Especially where Steve hadn’t had to worry about holding his liquor since the early 1940s and probably had no idea what he could and couldn’t handle.

Bruce himself had made some stupid choices in his youth, before he met Betty and got himself sorted out. For a brief while, anyway, before he got messed up in new and interesting (and very green) ways. “He might resent you, but self-medicating with booze isn’t gonna make him any better. Hell, it generally makes things worse. Tony’s had a few meltdowns that are prime examples of that.” He felt a bit guilty bringing up Tony’s weaknesses, but given at least one of those meltdowns had been on the major networks’ news cycle for nearly a week a couple years back, he knew he wasn’t exactly divulging secrets.

“If he needs substances to help him feel better, he should be talking to medical about a prescription,” he concluded. “And... yeah, it’s hard taking that choice away from him, and I don’t envy you that, but.” He slid his glasses back on. “If it helps, it sounds like you made the right call. And the fact he stopped is good.”

 

She nodded, knowing she hadn’t expected him to say anything otherwise, but somehow not comforted by his agreeing with her.

“I know that he has pills, though I don’t know what they are for, nor how often he takes them. It is possible he is already being medicated for-- Dr. Cho told me it is likely he has PTSD. I have done some reading on that… I suppose I will need to read up on depression, and what it entails, too. Still, it’s possible she already knows of it.”

Especially since the things she’d read on PTSD had given her eggshells to walk on, in hope of not causing him distress. Depression no doubt would give her more.

She just was unsure how much more gently she was capable of treading before the care she needed to give him would require levitation.

But, she supposed she would find a way.

She had to.

 

It sounded like Steve was keeping his treatment pretty close to the chest, which was... probably not great. But also not Bruce’s business; he wasn’t Steve’s doctor or therapist, so it wasn’t really his place to comment.

“It’s good that he’s getting help,” he said, sipping his tea. “And, Loki-- speaking as someone who, ah, went through this alone--” and did his best to end it alone too, “--Steve is really lucky to have you. More than he’ll ever know.”

He smiled softly, sadly at her.

 

Loki choked on any words she might have said in response, primarily because she wasn’t sure that was true. And, even if it was, she was more than half-afraid that what they had would not survive through the indignities she was inflicting on him. Like last night. Like every time she did something for him that he couldn’t, or didn’t have the energy for.

She tried to smile back, but felt even the attempt slide from her face.

“He is getting help, yes, but it is not from me. I don’t know what to do, when every aid I offer comes at the price of his resentment.”

And there it was, the point where, once again, she made the entire social visit about her.

 

“He might not be getting _professional_ help from you,” Bruce pointed out, “but that doesn’t mean he’s not getting help. The fact you’re keeping an eye out for him, keeping him from drinking himself to death, keeping him from hurting himself worse than he has? That’s help. And it might not seem like much, but only because it’s hard to see how much worse things can be without it.” His lips pressed into a thin line.

“It’s not fair that he resents you. And it’s not fair that any of this happened to him in the first place. But it is what it is, and I think we all have to just keep slogging through, and... well. You’re going to need to find a balance, from the sound of it, of giving Steve enough room and enough choice that he feels like he’s regaining some control back over his life, but keeping a close enough eye on him to make sure he doesn’t end up worse off.”

He frowned, another thought occurring to him. “Have you talked to Tony about, um. Having JARVIS monitor Steve?” He knew Steve liked his privacy, having been the one to tell him about going ‘off the record’ in the first place, but if Steve was a potential threat to himself, it might be good to have an unobtrusive set of eyes on him at all times.

 

She nearly flinched when he spoke of fairness and finding balance.

She knew. She knew it wasn’t fair. And it was unfair of her now to bring the others into her problems.

“I haven’t spoken to Tony of it, but it seems JARVIS is already inclined toward monitoring him. At least, I do sometimes request that JARVIS tell me where Steve is, or ask that he alert me when he is returning… when I try to give him space.”

Which felt a good deal like admitting she was spying on her partner.

“And I have… orchestrated things, only once so far, but such that, when I have something I need to do, one of the others drops by to visit.” Which had been how he’d realized he could touch Lucky with no ill effect, she remembered.

“He ah… I’ve borrowed Lucky from Clint a time or two, because Steve can be around him, can touch him, without…” She trailed off, thinking of the reactions he’d had to touching her.

“He’s improving, I think. It’s not… I must make it sound horribly dire. It just… aches, watching him, and being unable to help. Or knowing I could but that he...” Wouldn’t, couldn’t let her. She wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.

 

Bruce sighed, wishing he had better advice to offer. “Well, you might want to talk to Tony anyway, in case JARVIS has any... updated protocols. For monitoring signs of emotional distress.” JARVIS was smart, but he wasn’t omniscient about the human mind. It might be worthwhile to make sure he could let them know if Steve was exhibiting any additional self-destructive behaviors or warning signs. And it might allow Loki to feel less like she had to watch him like a hawk.

And Steve to feel less like he was being baby-sat, in all likelihood.

“Is he making any progress with human touch?” he asked.

 

She nodded numbly, resolving to do as Bruce recommended. Any help that JARVIS could give, any option for keeping Steve safe that would allow her not to seem so overbearing to him… she would take it.

She paused though, thinking of the tiny touch he’d given her, before the night had gone badly.

“He’s trying. I don’t think-- it’s still uncomfortable for him. I have not pushed.” And she made certain her tone advised that no one else should, either.

They all owed him that space, especially her.

She dipped another slice of bread into the spread, as she’d seen him do, and thought of the food she’d planned to make that evening for dinner. She wondered if it would be worth the effort, or if it would go uneaten as breakfast had.

She hadn’t bothered with lunch, so she supposed she ought to at least try and coax him into eating, though no doubt he would be annoyed by that as well.

“Do you have plans for dinner this evening?” She asked Bruce, wondering if it mightn’t be better to just eat in one of the common spaces, and bring food back for Steve, rather than make him listen to the sounds of her cooking. Then again, the smell might be a good motivator for him… she was undecided, as with most things in her life, at the moment.

 

Bruce took that as a ‘no.’ Which again, was alarming. It definitely indicated that Steve’s aversion was less of a knee-jerk instinct in the immediate aftermath, and was on its way to becoming an ingrained, pathological fear. Which didn’t bode well for a lot of things... Steve and Loki’s relationship prime among them.

“I-- no, not really,” he said, caught a little off guard by the non-sequitur. He thought briefly of the leftover falafel in the fridge he’d been planning on finishing off, but he supposed it would keep another day.

“Do you, uh, want me to join you and Steve?” he asked carefully. Depending on how tense the environment was, it might not be the best idea. But then, maybe an extra presence might help Steve? At the very least, he felt like a jerk for refusing Loki anything at the moment.

 

She shook her head quickly.

“Steve is… as far as I know, he has not risen today. He requested I give him space at breakfast time, and since then I have only checked in on him. I thought-- I might order something to be delivered, and eat it upstairs, if you would like to join me, later. I’m sure you have other things to do between now and then, but…” She let the invitation trail off.

She would want to go back once at least, between now and then, check on Steve. See if he was hungry. But for the most part… this was the only thing he had asked of her in some time, and she wanted to do her best to give it to him.

“I will have JARVIS monitor him, as you said-- JARVIS? Will you tell me if Captain Rogers appears to be in distress, or in danger, including from himself?”

She wondered, though, if Steve would have the presence of mind to attempt to override the request, by asking that JARVIS not alert anyone. And she wondered, if that was the case, whom JARVIS would be more inclined to listen to.

 

“ _Yes, although if you wish to override off-record protocols, you will need administrative approval from Master Stark,”_ JARVIS announced.

Which, Bruce figured was wise -- if Steve was shutting himself off this much, he might try to take things off the record or forbid JARVIS from telling them where he was, just so he could suffer in silence some more.

“Sounds like a plan,” Bruce said. “Do you mind if anyone else joins us, or did you want to keep it just us?” Tony might be able to inject some levity and distraction, as he was better suited to it than Bruce. But if Loki wasn’t up for that, Bruce didn’t want to step on her toes.

“Any particular place you were planning on ordering from?” he asked, sipping more tea.

 

Loki bit her lip, considering what JARVIS had said.

She felt bad enough lurking around their home, straining her ears for any sign that something was wrong. Asking JARVIS to actively spy on Steve felt… it felt like a violation. And she knew, with far too much certainty, that he had been violated enough. Which was, in itself, a violation.

Guilt made her stomach heavy, though she knew she would do it just the same.

He would be furious and hurt, if he found out. But he would be safe.

She found her eyes drawn back to Bruce when he asked, though, and she shook her head.

“I had made no further plans that thinking I should order out, so I am happy to take any suggestions. Perhaps pizza?” She wasn’t sure what was around, really. She could ask JARVIS about that as well. And as for the other part…

“It seems I will likely be visiting Tony today, so it would be in poor taste not to invite him, considering we mean to make use of one of the public rooms in his tower. And anyone else you wish to ask to join us is, of course, welcome.”

It was a public room, after all.

“Only let me know how many I am to expect, so I can arrange to feed them all.”

 

“Pizza’s always good,” Bruce agreed. “There’s also a Thai place Tony and I got food from a couple weeks ago that’s quite good. And an Ethiopian place I’ve been meaning to try that opened up nearby, if either of those interest you.” He didn’t honestly mind that much what they had, but was willing to throw out suggestions for variety’s sake, so Loki didn’t stick to the same things and never branch out.

Then again, pizza was probably the easiest option for feeding a group of people.

“I’ll check in with everyone and see who’s free and feels like joining,” he told her. “We can work out the logistics once we have a body count. I think Pepper’s away, and Thor and Jane might already have plans, but I don’t know what Nat and Clint are up to.”

 

She tilted her head, acknowledging the wisdom of that.

“Then we will ask those who show interest what they would like. So that no one is stuck with something they will not eat. And it is a fine opportunity for Tony to get his pineapples, since they apparently cause Steve such distress.”

She wasn’t sure she knew what Ethiopian food was, but she thought she remembered Thai as having been eschewed as an option for her due to the spices involved, early on in her stay. Perhaps she was misremembering, though… and she _had_ gotten better at eating some spices, she thought.

And as for who he hoped to invite… Natasha would likely accept, she thought, if only for the opportunity to observe, to see how she acted and answered the others’ questions, which were bound to arise.

Though… also as a friend. She had certainly been that, and then some, these last weeks.

Clint, though…

He seemed, if anything, to be more wary of her now than he had been during the search for Steve. She could not blame him-- never that-- but she doubted he would have any interest in going out of his way to break bread with her.

She found herself wondering if borrowing Lucky would help Steve again today, but she knew that the dog was not, could not be, the answer to everything. Life was just not that easy.

Still-- she thought that might bring their number up to three or four, in all likelihood, which was a perfectly respectable number. More if Thor and Jane and Darcy chose to join them.

Pepper, at least, would be glad to find Tony being social and eating. And Loki would get to spend some time in the company of more than one other at a time.

It seemed a winning proposition, provided it all worked out.

 

Bruce chuffed in amusement at the memory of Tony and Steve’s arguments about pizza toppings. Amazing how something that only happened a few months ago could feel like they’d happened in a whole other lifetime. Though so much had changed since Loki and Steve first turned up at the tower. Bruce had only been planning on a brief visit at the time, and now he lived here, apparently as a permanent thing. Tony had gone from flitting about his near-empty tower to hosting a whole family of agents and avengers alike. And Steve and Loki--

Well. A lot had changed around those two. For better and for worse.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, pulling himself from that line of thought and finishing his tea. “But while it’s just us, is there... Is there anything else eating at you that it would help to talk about?”

 

The smile she wore froze and she worked to keep it from going strained, choosing instead to just drop it altogether.

“I doubt talking will help. I feel… immensely guilty for all of the complaints I have, enough even without laying voice to them. And there is nothing that can be done to fix things, not in any sort of immediate way. So. It is not worth it, I suppose. I am unaccustomed to being around others while upset. And I’m trying…” to be better, than she had been. Not to bleed on everyone, though she was failing. Miserably.

She shrugged.

“This is the way things are, right now. Protesting against it will not help anything. Dinner with friends, though, might.”

 

There were a dozen things Bruce might have said, insisting that it was okay to complain, that venting helped people, that even if it didn’t _fix_ anything, it could help. But Bruce had never been one to talk much about his own hurts and problems, so he knew it would ring hollow to come from him. Hypocritical, even.

He was the sort of person by and large to keep his head down and not push. No sense digging for trouble when trouble so easily came to him, after all.

“If there’s anything that _does_ help, I’m happy to be a part of it,” he simply said. Even if it was just as a distraction. Though if Natasha showed up, he might check in with her.

She was probably better at wheedling problems out into the daylight than he was.

 

She nodded, accepting his offer and grateful that he wasn’t pushing for her to spill her problems.

She was so _tired_ of having problems, and of having that be all she could bring to the others.

“Thank you-- even just knowing that you are _willing_ to listen is… I appreciate it. And as I have been discovering, I grew accustomed to being somewhat more sociable, in Steve’s absence. As he gets better, as he feels more up to it, I hope to return to being around the rest of the Avengers more.”

It was such a small thing to hope for, she felt fairly safe in vocalizing it. Though, she knew her luck with wanting things. Fortunately, there was plenty of wiggle room, if, as Steve feared, he didn’t get better.

She stood.

“That said, I should check on Steve, and search out Tony. Let me know, about dinner. And… if something else comes up, I completely understand.” She beamed, silently wondering how many smiles it would take for each of them to stop asking how she was doing, rather than just asking about Steve. Until she could be one less thing to worry about.

“Thank you for tea.” She added.

 

“Because my schedule is so brimming with activity,” Bruce replied dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Trust me, I’ll be around later. Text me if anything comes up, otherwise I’ll check in around 5-ish.” That would give them time to coordinate and then order food.

He was glad that Loki wasn’t retreating entirely. The socialization around the tower had been.... Good. For all of them, he suspected. Tony thrived on company and attention; Bruce would be a hermit if left to his own devices, though it was better to have friends, he decided. It helped Thor adjust, and he figured it was good for Natasha and Clint to have honest relationships outside of SHIELD.

Hopefully, it would all help Steve in time too.

He got up to walk Loki to the door, smiling at her as she took her leave. “I’ll see you later, then.”

 

It felt oddly comforting, having that confirmation. No waiting and seeing-- Bruce, at the very least, would be around later, and looking forward to… or at least, prepared for, having dinner with her.

She took to the elevator, finger hovering over the button that would lead her to her and Steve’s floor. She wasn’t certain if there was a way of telling Steve that she was planning a casual dinner upstairs that wouldn’t make him feel _worse,_ somehow, even if he was of course invited.

He would feel bad about not going as much as he wouldn’t want to go.

Might not even be able to, based on what she’d seen that morning.

But she was certain he would let her go, no matter how he felt, and take it out on himself after, if he was of a mind to.

So maybe it would be better to go to Tony first, make sure that JARVIS would and could tell her, if necessary.

And then she could check on Steve.

That decided, she glanced up at the ceiling.

“JARVIS? Is Tony in a position to be disturbed, at the moment?”

“ _Sir is in the lab, reviewing tapes. I imagine he would appreciate the interruption.”_

Loki nodded to herself, pressed the button for the lab level, then paused.

“And if Steve asked the same question, you know not to mention the tapes, right?” She asked, just to be sure.

“ _Of course.”_ The voice in the ceiling sounded almost stung, and for some reason that made Loki smile.

“Thank you, JARVIS. I don’t doubt you-- I was merely asking for safety’s sake. He’d be very upset if he found out.”

“ _Of course.”_ JARVIS repeated, sounding a good deal more mollified.

The elevator slid to a stop, and Loki stepped out and beelined for Tony’s work station, already not looking forward to the discussion ahead, and the realization that, after this, Thor would be the only Avenger not to know about Steve’s latest turn towards harming himself.

She swallowed.

So much for her giving him his privacy, guarding his secrets-- and now she meant to violate it further.

And his safety and well being justified each action, to her mind, but she doubted he would agree.

Pausing at the door to the lab, she sighed, able to hear the loud music through the door, and well aware of the sorts of noises that Tony was attempting to drown out with it.

 

Fifty-six.

That was the number of HYDRA personnel Tony had been able to isolate facial stills of in the footage so far. JARVIS was running facial recognition algorithms against databases and social media profiles to try to identify as many as possible, and putting everything together into a file to forward to SHIELD. And while a lot of the bastards were thankfully buried or atomized by Loki and Hulk’s rampage and Agent 13’s subsequent SHIELD airstrike, Tony wasn’t letting any of them who might have gotten lucky get away.

Even if it meant watching the world’s worst home-movie-from-hell over and over. At least he’d had the audio all cut out for the time being; the Rolling Stones were a lot easier to listen to than Cap’s screams, and he still doubted he’d ever get the latter out of his head.

“Pause,” he said, reviewing the footage of Steve’s brief escape for the dozenth time. Only a dozen or so guards routinely came to his cell, but his foray outside of his detention level had been recorded and archived, and captured the image of all the HYDRA personnel he came in contact with. Most of the tape was grainy and blurred by motion, but he was going through still frame by still frame now, trying to find a clear angle on every face. “Can you clean this up, J?”

In response the music dropped in volume, and he heard the door hiss open. He tensed, yanking down the footage on the display, and turned.

 

Her mouth pulled into a small, bitter little smile.

“It’s only me. I just left Bruce in his room, and Steve hasn’t left bed today, so far as I know.”

Which, of course, meant that they were both going to be forced to acknowledge what he had been watching.

“Have you found anything helpful in all of--” she gestured at where the video had been, grimacing.

Helpful, outside of knowing, for certain, what had happened, she meant.

There was a lot to go through, she knew, but she also knew that the amount of time he’d already dedicated to it…

It was worrisome, for Tony’s sake.

Unless he thought there was something worthwhile hidden in it.

She wasn’t so certain.

 

Tony relaxed, incrementally. JARVIS, he knew, would have shut off the footage before allowing anyone in, if it had been anybody but Nat or Loki. Still, there was a certain tension that had crept into his muscles over the last couple weeks that seemed to have established permanent residence.

His mouth twisted. “Besides a cure for ever sleeping again?” he said. “Not a lot. Million new reasons to hate HYDRA. A few positive IDs, and some partials I’m forwarding on to SHIELD for Carter to try to identify.” He almost hoped a few of them were alive, so he could have the pleasure of burying them himself.

“What’s up?” he asked, picking up a wrench and fiddling with it idly, nervous energy coiled inside him like a tightened spring.

 

Loki watched him, feeling sorry for him, in his agitated state, and certain that she was not the person to help him.

“Two things: first, and more happily, Bruce and I are making plans to share dinner on the common level. I wanted to see if you had any plans, or if you'd like to join us. I believe he means to invite the other Avengers as well. And I will ask Steve, though I do not know that he is feeling up to it.”

Better, she thought, to cushion the shock of her arrival with something pleasant, something social. The request she would save for at least a few minutes from now.

Just to see if she could lower his shoulders from near ear level, first.

 

Tony nodded, jerkily. “Yeah, okay. Um. Not really feeling all that hungry--” he’d found the cure to ever wanting to eat again, he was pretty sure, and felt guilty as hell about it after watching Cap live off next to nada, “--but I might swing by later. Thanks for the invite anyway.” He paused, putting down the wrench and dropping into his chair, rolling it sideways along the worktable.

“What’s the second thing?” he asked, sensing the presence of another shoe, and the imminence of it dropping.

 

She took a deep breath, realizing that this was a test of trust and, while she was fairly certain by now that she had it… when and if Steve found out, Tony would be dragged into his ire if he agreed.

“I made a request of JARVIS earlier and was told that I would need permission from you for it to be carried out fully.” She paused, searching for the right way of phrasing it.

“I asked to be alerted if Steve injured himself. But if he tells JARVIS not to tell me, there is a conflict. I think your computer is wise enough to tell the difference between an embarrassment and a real danger to him. So I wished to request…”

She paused again, all too aware of the violation to his privacy. Of the fact that there was so much she was doing now that went against his wishes.

“I want to be told if he needs help. Whether he thinks he does or not.” She spoke firmly and looked Tony in the face as she did, hoping it would be obvious that she did not make such a request lightly.

 

Tony fell briefly, unusually, still.

Loki was afraid Steve would injure himself. Implication: Loki had _reason_ to believe Steve would injure himself. Suggesting: Steve already _had_ injured himself.

As if anything needed to be added to the work those HYDRA bastards had already done on him.

He swallowed, and wished he felt some sort of vehement denial or surprise. It shouldn’t be possible to accept the idea of _Captain America_ being brought so low. But after watching hours of Steve being taken apart piece by piece, and knowing how much of a self-destructive trainwreck he’d been himself after... After other things, Tony couldn’t feel anything but a cold, resigned anger.

“Pretty sure his privacy’s been invaded to hell and back anyway,” he said flatly, jerking his head to the screen. “What’s a little more.” He shrugged, then raised his voice a notch, speaking clearly:

“J, admin override in effect for privacy protocols regarding Captain Rogers, admin exception: Loki.”

“ _Yes, sir._ ”

 

She grimaced at his announcement, and waited until after he had instructed JARVIS to say,

“I would not ask if--” but he hadn’t asked. And maybe already knew.

He was the man with the controls, of course.

She stopped her words and looked down, sorting out the emotions she felt like snakes burrowing into her chest.

“I’ll have you remove the permission as soon as it seems safe.” She promised instead. “And thank you. If… I hope he will never need to know, but if he does… this is my doing. And I will make sure he is aware of that.”

It felt like a hollow sort of consolation for what had to be a blow to Tony’s own morals.

But that was all she was good for at the moment.

“And… perhaps if you were to take a break from watching--” she waved at the screen again. “You may remember your appetite. I suspect Pepper would thank you for at least eating, if you won’t sleep, though you know she would rather you do both.”

She spoke gently, trying to make it a suggestion, a show of care, rather than a scolding.

The last thing she needed was his defenses raised any higher.

 

Tony reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache brewing behind his eyes. “Yeah. I’m pretty aware of Pep’s wants, thanks,” he replied, perhaps a bit snappishly, but he didn’t need to be chided like a kid and have Pepper used as leverage. Even if Loki was probably coming from a well-intentioned place, it irked him.

Though he couldn’t pin his sour mood on her.

“Look. We’re all... We all have culpability here,” he added gruffly. “None of us found him in time. The whole team in France lost sight of him when we shouldn’t have, and we all worked together and still took as long as we did, and you, me and Nat are all watching those _damn_ tapes, so you don’t exactly have any blame to claim for just yourself here.”If anyone had a right to the lion’s share, it was probably him, with all his tech and cameras and eyes in the sky, and nothing to show for it, over and over.

 

She bit down on her lower lip to keep from snapping back at him, as she once would have done. Exhaling harshly through her nose, she pushed down her temper as much as she could.

“You can’t change what happened, any more than I can change the failings on my part that led to him leaving me here, going off without me to get captured. Your culpability isn’t helpful, and if you are watching these tapes only to punish yourself, then you are using him as surely as Hydra did.”

It was blunt, too blunt, but there was so much she had been forcing down, and Tony just happened to be the one to set her off.

Even so, she gripped tightly at her anger and self recrimination, trying to turn this into some form of help, for Tony’s sake.

“I am working with Natasha, preparing to face Thanos, and she has been teaching me that there are some emotions that are of no use. It doesn’t mean you don’t feel them, but it does mean that if you want to be able to help beyond them, you can’t let them rule you. And you can’t neglect the things that those emotions cover up-- including your well being. You think I _want_ to eat, when Steve takes two spoonfuls and decides he is full? When I watch him struggle and fight and fail and hate himself for it, day after day? No. But I do so that I will be able to help him. And I sleep around the nightmares so I will be awake when he needs me. You have a good heart, Tony, and a brilliant mind, but sometimes you need to be reminded to take care of yourself. And Pepper isn’t here. So this is your reminder: take care of yourself. Whether you join us for pizza or not, do that, at least.”

And maybe it was a little more bitter than it should be.

But she could hardly step into that role for him, especially while occupied with trying, and failing, to take care of Steve.

 

Tony wanted to snap. Loki sounded like Rhodey, but she _wasn’t_ Rhodey, had no right to try to fill Rhodey’s place in his life as that voice of reason. And for it to be _Loki_ of all people, advising him on taking care of his _emotions--_

He ground his jaw, biting back on the scathing words that all swam through his mind. A couple years ago he’d have let fly, but right now, he managed to hold back. Whether that was age, experience, or sheer exhaustion tempering him, he didn’t know. But picking a fight right now wasn’t going to help, and he frankly didn’t want to deal with it. Not when Loki’s little monologue just served to remind him of all the ways he’d failed Steve, whether his acknowledgement of that guilt was healthy or not.

Tony was a man of science. Of facts. And facts didn’t give a damn if they were _helpful_ or not.

“Enjoy the pizza,” he said flatly, spinning his chair away and picking up a screwdriver and circuitboard he’d left out earlier. He hoped the tone of dismissal would be enough for Loki to leave.

 

As usual, the part that she had been worried about was what came easily, and just trying to _care_ \--

She cut off that thought, acknowledging it as useless.

She knew what she was and wasn’t good at.

She left him, with no further word of parting, glad that at least she’d gotten what she needed from him before things had gone poorly.

“JARVIS?” She asked. “Please tell Bruce that Tony will not be joining us for dinner.”

She considered asking after Steve, but she needed to go see him either way, and it felt too much like using the power she’d been given when it was unnecessary… even when it wouldn’t necessarily be an abuse of said power.

So she got into the elevator and punched in the button for their floor, maybe harder than was necessary, all things considered. The plastic housing cracked, and she was quick to repair it magically, lest anyone have cause for concern.

Once she reached their apartment, she let herself in and looked around, looking for any sign that Steve had gotten up or moved around while she was gone.

Hesitantly, she moved to the doorway of his room, tapping on the door.

“Steve?” She called, burying the anger she felt towards Tony and making certain that none of it would come out directed at Steve.

 

Steve wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He had dozed, and woken from fitful dreams a few times. He’d downed the water Loki had left, and a few hours later the pressure on his bladder had been enough that he’d gotten up and gone to the bathroom. Once there, he managed to brush his teeth at well, and since he was close enough, stripped and climbed into the shower.

He’d stayed under the hot spray, pounding down on his scalp, until his fingertips started to prune.

Once out and dry, he’d gravitated right back toward the bed, utterly exhausted by the simple act of washing and taking a piss. The thought briefly flitted through his mind that he could sleep for another seventy years, until everyone who remembered Steve Rogers was gone again and he’d no longer be a disappointment, but he banished it quickly, stomach rolling.

He couldn’t bear losing that much again. Even though he could feel so much of his life slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

The light through the window had changed, shifting across the room, by the time he heard Loki’s voice again. And, he realized grimly, he was right where she’d left him.

“Here,” he said, pulling the sheet around his shoulder and hoping that answer would be enough.

 

She would never say she was disappointed to find him still in bed, but she had hoped he would feel better as the day wore on. Clearly that wasn’t to be the case.

Still, she came in again as she’d done that morning, gratified to see that at least he’d finished the water she’d left.

“Hey,” she greeted.

She wanted to ask how he was doing, what he wanted, if he needed anything, if there was any way she could help. But she knew he’d probably only ask her, again, for space.

She took a deep breath.

“I made arrangements with Bruce-- we’re going to order dinner upstairs. Pizza, maybe. Or something else, I’m not certain yet. If you want to join me, you are more than welcome. And if not… I could make you something before I go. Unless you’d rather I didn’t go.”

The last was perhaps a little hopeful, even for her.

But she was at a loss as to what to do, what to say. How to act, knowing how small he must feel, to have remained so long abed.

She used to have a hard time convincing him to sleep in, let alone… this.

But much had happened. And he’d come back changed.

She hoped for both of their sakes that it wasn’t permanent, and sent a silent prayer for flexibility, in the event that it was.

 

Steve kept the grimace off his face as he heard the door open, rolling over so Loki could see him. “Hey,” he replied.

Then felt a surge of relief at the information that she had plans. With Bruce, and maybe others, who would offer far better company than Steve. It felt like a burden being lifted, oddly enough, knowing her happiness would not be on his shoulders -- where he’d inevitably fail her -- at least for tonight.

“You should go,” he urged her. “That sounds like-- like you’ll have fun. I’ll heat up some leftovers if I get hungry, don’t worry about me.”

He forced a smile for her benefit.

 

She smiled back, hoping hers was more convincing than his was.

She nodded toward the glasses.

“Let me at least get you more water before I go-- I have time. Unless you’d like something else instead? Tea?” Something warm, she thought. Something to warm him up inside, since he was burrowed into the blankets like he was cold.

And since he was happy to hear she was going out, happy for her, despite his apparent misery for himself.

She wanted to ask if he’d eaten anything that day, but she suspected it would only sour the mood, make her sound over attentive. He said he could fend for himself; she didn’t want to second guess him or make him feel like she thought him utterly helpless.

“I have powdered apple cider, which could be made in short order, if you’d like that?” She remembered bringing it to him on the hospital level, when they had first begun learning of his aversion to contact. Perhaps it was to become something of a tradition for them, a shorthand for care and warmth and understanding. Of wishing there was more she could do.

Then again, maybe not. But then, there was another option she thought might be worth offering.

“Bruce is inviting Clint to join us at dinner. Would you like me to see if he’d like to loan us Lucky for the night?”

If she couldn’t hold him, maybe him holding the dog would help.

 

Offering. She kept offering and offering, water, tea, cider, the dog-- offer after offer for him to refuse, over and over. Steve’s expression grew pained, knowing as she rambled that her face would just fall every time he turned her down, and still she kept on at it. It was suffocating.

“Loki, just...” He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Just _stop._ If I need anything, I can get it. I don’t want anything, I don’t need anything, I--” He broke off with a noise of frustration.

_Stop offering. Stop asking._

_Stop trying to help._

_Stop trying to FIX everything. Stop trying to fix ME._

“Just stop,” he murmured. “Please.”

 

She swallowed, stomach dropping, throat feeling tight and eyes growing warm, though she fiercely forbade the tears.

Not trusting her voice, she nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at her.

Likewise, she looked away, struggling for control over herself; she knew her upset would hurt him just as much as her attempts at kindness were hurting him.

She stood, withdrawing and giving him the only thing he had asked for from her-- space.

She swallowed again.

“I’m sorry. I’ll… try not to wake you when I get back.”

Which meant that she wouldn’t bother him again, tonight. She had the willpower to restrain herself that much, she thought.

And she’d sent him from trying to smile to hiding his face, all in a few heartbeats’ time. Damn.

Part of her wanted not to go out again.

But he’d know, and blame himself, and more… if she stayed, the temptation to gravitate back towards him would be too great.

So she left, stopping only long enough to look herself over in the mirror, and make sure her distress was not too physically obvious.

She didn’t want the sympathy it would bring.

 

Steve groaned once he heard the door click shut.

Dammit.

No matter what he did or said, the outcome would always be same. He’d let Loki down, and fail the person he cared about.

 

_(You are not enough...)_

 

He rolled over, burrowing into the blankets and wishing they could block out his thoughts along with the rest of the world.

  
  
  


 


	90. Ninety

More time slipped past, the room growing dim, when he heard a knock on the apartment door. Was Loki back from dinner already? It seemed early. Then again, he had no real grasp of what time it was, so maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Who else would it be, after all?

He tensed, then sighed. He shouldn’t have snapped. Maybe if... Maybe if he met her at the door, it would help ease the injury he’d caused. Running a hand through his hair, he tossed the blankets back. Slowly, he swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood, feeling shaky but forgoing the cane for the short walk from the bedroom to the front door.

“Look, I’m sorry--” he began as he opened the door, then stopped on seeing that it _wasn’t_ Loki. “What...?”

  
  


“Hey there, Steve, hope you don’t mind that I dropped by. I heard there was a tea party happening upstairs, figured it’d be quieter down here.”

This was the first time in a while that Tony’d gotten a good look at the guy up close, in person, and he looked rough.

Which, considering the things Tony had been watching, he couldn’t blame him for.

Not that he would’ve anyway.

He raised the bag of Thai takeout that he had draped over his wrist.

“This Tom Kha Gai soup is warm for the time being, but it might need heating up, if you don’t mind me borrowing the microwave. Got some steamed dumplings and fried rice, too. Real good.”

He stood there on the doorstep, more than a little afraid he’d just be turned away, and maybe more afraid he’d be let in, because he had exactly zero idea of what to say if he was.

“You look like you’re having a rough day, not to mention that greeting-- relationship issues? Doesn’t matter- Thai food cures all ills. What do you say?”

  
  


Tony was definitely the last person Steve had expected to see. He hadn’t crossed paths with him since the ill-fated dinner party upstairs, and assumed he’d had the wisdom to stay the hell away. Why he was on Steve’s doorstep all of a sudden, with food--

“What are you doing here, Tony?” Steve asked, bewildered, even as he found himself stepping aside to let Tony in, abruptly self-conscious in the realization that he was in a t-shirt and boxers still, having never bothered to dress. “Did... Did Loki send you?”

He’d be vaguely annoyed if she had. He didn’t need a _minder,_ and sending Tony to check on him would hardly be leaving Steve alone the way he’d wanted.

  
  


Tony snorted, knowing that if Loki had managed to get on the wrong side of him in just a couple of minutes, Steve could probably sympathize, after weeks of her.

“Nah, Victor/Victoria tried to send me to _bed_ , told me to take care of myself. _For Pepper’s sake_.” He huffed, moving past Steve to sit the meal down on the table. “Good at lectures, isn’t she?”

He turned away, letting Steve get used to him being there, just in case he needed time. Tony knew he was a big personality in any space, but especially someone else’s space. His tower or not. So rather than look at his friend, he looked around.

“Love what you’ve done with the place. Very homey, very nice.”

He wandered out into the living room, nervous energy propelling him. He didn’t pop his head in the bedroom, actually averting his eyes from the open door, since he didn’t know and despite his curiosity, also didn’t _want_ to know how they were dealing with Steve’s no touching rule when it came to their sleeping arrangements.

They had a couch, everyone was covered. If they needed something, they could ask. He was gonna keep his nose out of that part, at least.

Finally, he turned back to Steve, and decided to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“Sorry bout the lack of warning. Spite Thai was the only real plan, dropping by was sort of an impulse. If you wanna put some pants on, I can totally take care of the whole food thing.”

  
  


Steve cringed. Tony sounded irked at Loki, and Steve was torn between sympathy, feeling a bit smothered himself, and indignation on her behalf, since from the sound of it she’d only been trying to help. And then, thirdly, there was a sense of guilt; Loki probably wouldn’t have gone and mothered Tony if Steve had been more receptive and let her feel like she was taking care of someone here in their home.

Hell, Steve had been the one who had worked so hard to bring that caring, gentle side of Loki out. And now she was being pushed away because of it.

Tony’s comments as he entered the space served as a strange reminder that he hadn’t really been here since Steve and Loki moved in to their own apartment in lieu of the penthouse. It was another failing on Steve’s behalf, this time as a friend.

“I...” He hesitated, arms crossed protectively over his chest, then felt his cheeks prickle warm with embarrassment. “Ah. Right. Pants. Um... I’ll be right back.” He edged back toward the bedroom, then shut the door. After being in the living room, it suddenly felt all too stuffy in there, the air stale and tinged with the smell of old sweat. Steve made a face, then stripped off his wrinkled tee in favor of a clean one, and pulled some sweatpants on over his boxers before slipping back out into the main area of the apartment.

“Is there anything in particular that makes it _Spite_ Thai?” he asked as he reappeared, still feeling wary and a bit wrong-footed by Tony’s appearance.

  
  


Tony made a face, closing one of their cabinets. Nothing in there but tasteless mush and tasteless mush substitutes.

If that was all Loki was making, no wonder Steve wasn’t eating much.

“Well, Loki came down to ask me about coming to the pizza party, so since I ordered Thai instead, I decided it was spite Thai. Nat taught me that one-- I think she takes a spite bath any time I ask her to do something stupid.”

He shook his head, mock disappointedly.

The microwave beeped and he pulled out the soup, swapping it for the rice. Bowls were already waiting-- he’d found the dishes pretty easily, at least-- so he started ladling the soup out.

“Soup’s on, dumplings are still warm, rice’ll be done in a minute. Anyway, since Pep’s out of town and Loki’s holding court in the penthouse, I figured this was a good opportunity to have a man-date. Or… bachelor’s night or something, I didn’t really spend time working on a name for it.”

He sat the soups down on opposite sides of the table.

“So, figured we could catch up. It’s been a hot minute.”

  
  


The aroma of the food -- spicy and rich -- was equal parts enticing and daunting. Steve’s stomach gurgled and clenched, reminding him of how he hadn’t eaten all day. But at the same time, he didn’t want to make himself sick. Loki would probably require him to have supervision for all his meals if he managed that again...

Still, he found himself gravitating toward the table, eying the dumplings covetously.

“I told Loki to go ahead and have dinner with Bruce since... Well.” He made a face. “I haven’t exactly been good company lately.” And would hardly be good company here and now, undoubtedly adding Tony to the list of people he’d be disappointing.

  
  


Tony watched him coming closer to the table, feeling like he was luring an alley cat with food.

“Yeah well, I figure this is paying it forward time; I wasn’t exactly good company for a long time after I got back, either. Hell, I’m still not, some days. But from the looks of it, you could stand to have something that isn’t oatmeal. And let’s be honest-- I can talk enough for both of us, if you aren’t feeling it.”

He pasted a big grin on, for effect.

“Talking: just one more thing I’m better than the average person at.”

The last beep sounded and he pulled the rice in its cardboard container out, maneuvering it until it unfolded into a plate, and that he sat down on the table.

“Alright- Rice isn’t spicy, it’s just rice and veggies and chicken. So that’s your safe bet. Dumplings are safe too-- there’s a sauce to dip it in, but that is a little tangy, probably on the sweet side. And the soup--” He paused to sigh happily.

“This is my favorite cure for hangovers, and pretty much anything else. It’s coconut and galangal and chili oil, sort of this sour/spice thing going on, but it’s not real spicy. There’s lemongrass and galangal still in it-- they look like chunks of bark and really hard green onions respectively. You can’t eat those. Everything else though-- it’s good.”

  
  


“...Don’t eat what’s in the soup, got it,” Steve replied deadpan, eying the soup in question curiously. “And for the record, I like oatmeal.” Or, he didn’t hate it. It was boring, sure. But it was easy to eat and easy on his stomach and easy to make. And cheap enough that he didn’t feel too guilty when he failed to finish it, though he still felt constant shame about food going to waste because of him.

He reached for a plate, and carefully forked some of the rice on to it, along with a dumpling. It was nice of Tony to come by after all, and the food did smell good.

“Way I remember hearing it,” he said carefully as he sat down, “when you got back from... abroad, you became Iron Man. Pretty impressive, all things considered.” Tony had started being a hero after being held and tormented. Steve had stopped. It didn’t seem like the best comparison.

He took a bit of rice, chewing it thoughtfully, letting the flavored oils slide over his tongue.

  
  


Tony sniffed disdainfully.

“Have you been reading online psychoanalyses of me? It’s okay-- I do it too. I like them, actually, they praise me for my ‘post traumatic growth’, which, frankly, is why I won’t pay to go see them. I got beat up, so I took away the toys they used to hurt me with, and built a literal wall between me and the rest of the world. Super healthy. Pretty sure if I had slowed down and dealt with it, I wouldn’t be the fabulous wreck you see today.” He gestured at himself like he was showing off a brand new car.

“That’s conjecture, of course, but my way of dealing, piling myself up with more and more responsibility and work, lots of busy work, lots of brain stress-- nearly ended in burnout. A few times. And so much alcohol. _So much_. I’m going to need to invent a liver for myself eventually, that’s how rough I was on it.”

He shrugged, taking in a mouthful of soup and the straw mushrooms that absorbed all the flavor.

“Maybe I could have used a few hundred more naps, back then. Sure seems smarter in retrospect.”

  
  


Steve flinched at the mention of alcohol, remembering the night prior. He didn’t think he was hungover that morning, but the crash after the buzz couldn’t have helped things. And he’d resented Loki for cutting him off, but... Had she been thinking of Tony, and trying to protect Steve from the same?

“Turns out I can get drunk again,” he murmured, dipping the dumpling in some of the sauce and taking and bite. And _damn_ was that good. The salty-sweet explosion of flavor was like a punch to face, in a good way.

He swallowed, and finally looked up at Tony. “You’re not a wreck, Tony. You’re a good man,” he told him.

  
  


Tony grinned even bigger.

“Well look at that! Silver linings. Though, as we discovered, you could do it before, too. It just took a lot more effort. And, for the record, being a wreck doesn’t mean you can’t be a good man. I can be both. I am, most days. Or at least, I try. Not to be a wreck, but…”

He lifted a dumpling and frowned down at it.

“There’s a lot of stuff that lingers. Most of it isn’t as bad as it was. If you’da met me back then…” He shook his head. “Maybe you wouldn’t have thought I was such a good man. Or maybe it’d just be easier for you to agree that I’m a wreck. Again, less of one, but still. We all figure out our own way through all of this stuff, and I think we’re all our own worst judges.”

He tilted his head, wondering what Steve would make of that, or if it would just sound like what everyone else had told him.

Tony tried to think back. Tried to think about what he would have wanted to hear, back then. A list sprang to mind, but very little of it was applicable, here.

  
  


Steve thought back to the time he’d been drunk before, with Tony’s help, and frowned.

It had taken more effort, yes, and it had been under happier circumstances. But he and Loki had fought after that -- not about the alcohol, but perhaps because of it. Shame weighed on him, folding his shoulders inward. He shouldn’t have tried to find escape in the bottom of a bottle at Natasha’s; not when he already knew how easily it made things fractious and and fragile between him and Loki.

He was making enough of a mess of things there as it was. He didn’t need hard liquor helping it along.

“How long does it linger?” he asked after a few moments, pushing his fork absently through the rice on his plate, avoiding eye contact.

  
  


Tony lifted one shoulder.

“Your mileage may vary. No two torture vacations are alike. No two people experiencing them are alike-- hell, we still don’t know how human brains work, really. Not enough to predict growth or trauma or reactions accurately. Some things get better fast. Some just hang out in the back of your head, waiting to be addressed. Me, I figured if I ignored them, they’d just disappear. But if you don’t face ‘em when you’re awake, they’ll come when you’re asleep. Or when your guard’s down and you’re vulnerable. They’ll pop up when you’re already low. They’ll drag you down when you think you’re in a good place. And some things get better… and then all of a sudden they come back and sweep your legs out from under you with no warning. It’s all… part of recovery, I guess. But you do recover. There’s not exactly another option.”

Except, Loki kind of made it sound like they should be worried Steve was thinking about that one other option.

He wasn’t sure how to go about addressing that one.

  
  


Steve already knew all too well about having his sleep haunted. He’d even been having a reasonably good couple of days, only for... well. Only to get dragged down, as Tony said.

It didn’t feel like recovery. And it didn’t sound like getting better.

“I, um. I found a support group,” he said, taking another bite of food. It felt like he had to say something, and it was the only development of note in his life. “Nat tricked me into going to the VA first. But...” He made a face. “Don’t get me wrong, the war was bad. There’s stuff I still see when I close my eyes at night that I don’t think is ever going away, but I could still function and pass as normal after it.” Unlike now, where he was more of a wreck than he suspected Tony ever was. Tony still had a _life,_ even when he was being a disaster.

The war had been bad, and Steve had emerged damaged, but still whole. But maybe there had been cracks -- weak spots, where he wasn’t holding together as well as he’d thought. All it had taken was a month for HYDRA to find those cracks and apply the right pressure to make him shatter.

_(So much for being strong at the broken places.)_

“Anyway. Other group is... I’ve only been once, but it’s supposed to help.” He twirled his fork, then exhaled. “Not sure if that’s ‘facing things’ or not.”

  
  


Tony tilted his head and listened, chewing slowly and working hard to keep his face blank when Steve talked about ‘the war’. His war, Howard’s war. And he’d been alright, after it-- but in the empty space between that and ‘anyway’, Tony knew exactly what filled it. All the things that had happened to change him from being able to pass as normal, to… this.

He swallowed, mouth feeling dry, which he knew it couldn’t be.

“Sounds to me like that’s a pretty long ways away from hiding from it. And like it might be a step in the right direction, if it works for you. You gotten any vibes off of it yet? Think it’s helping-- planning on going back?”

It was sort of interesting that the VA didn’t work for him, considering the B team kid’s ‘at ease, soldier’ trick. And the fact that you’d think the VA would be used to dealing with POWs. But… whatever worked. Like he’d said, mileage may vary.

  
  


Steve shrugged. “Hard to say. Guy who runs it seems decent though. He’s a vet too.” He’d liked Sam well enough. “I told Nat I’d go back,” he added.

Right now he didn’t really _want_ to go back -- the thought of facing anyone and doing much of anything made him want to curl up and bury his head in his arms -- but he wasn’t going to tell Tony as much. He wasn’t here for Steve’s whining, after all.

  
  


Tony lifted one shoulder.

“My guess is, if Nat figured she had to trick you into going, she probably won’t be too bent out of shape if you change your mind. If you decide it’s not for you, or whatever. But it’s good you’re at least working on figuring it out, finding what is the thing for you.”

He paused, staring at the mushroom in his spoon and the steam coming off the soup.

“I should thank you, though. If you hadn’t brought Loki here, if I hadn’t gotten a chance to know him-- her?-- either way. I’d probably still be having meltdowns. Mind you, I do, but about other stuff. Not Loki centric. Mostly dying alone in space centric, so you know. Considering exposure therapy with that one, maybe I’ll talk to Elon. He’ll have private space flights happening-- maybe before the year is out, who knows. Within the next five, I assume. Maybe that’s the key for me-- just doing it til it’s not scary any more. But again… brains. They work different for everybody.”

And he wondered what exposure therapy for Steve would even look like. Getting poked? Eating corned beef? Licking a gun? Bath salts?

He frowned at himself internally.

Jerk.

  
  


Steve frowned. He remembered how on edge Tony had been, at the start. Bruce had mentioned he’d been struggling, though that seemed like a lifetime ago. Even before Steve’s disappearance, when the team had done training simulations with Loki, Tony had been one of the least ill-at-ease.

Tony’d had _reason_ to fear Loki, and had gotten past it in a matter of weeks. Steve had _no good reason_ to recoil from his partner’s touch, and yet. Here they were.

He wondered, if he’d stayed with the first therapist Nat had taken him to, if he’d be doing better. If they’d be talking about _exposure therapy._ If so, right now the biggest obstacle to Steve’s recovery was Steve himself, and he had no idea how to deal with that. Though neither did anyone else, judging from the vague, repetitive encouragement he seemed to be getting from all fronts.

“So...exposure, facing things. That’s what works for you?” he asked.

  
  


Tony huffed.

“What works for me is ignoring it and hoping it goes away. But when that fails and I have to face my problems, head on seems to be the best way. This is probably the most ‘talking about it’ that I’ve done since the time Bruce fell asleep and I monologued at his unconscious form for two and a half hours.”

He popped a whole dumpling into his mouth to save himself from having to talk for maybe a minute.

He could tell Steve was taking notes, maybe considering trying it out himself, and he knew the guy was prone to jumping before he looked, even before the likely depression and maybe suicidal inclinations.

“But if talking and listening to other people talk is working for you, you might want to consider talking to somebody who isn’t me before you run off to try whatever it is you’re thinking. The whole thing with exposure therapy is that you’re in control, and you have people around who can help you. Like with what Loki’s doing with Nat, trying to work through _her_ torture hangups.”

And there was that, too-- he wondered if they compared notes, or if Loki, like him, did better by not talking about it.

  
  


Half the rice on Steve’s fork fell off it back on to the plate when Tony mentioned Loki and Nat.

Loki hadn’t mentioned that they’d been working on that, but... He shook his head. Of course. The morning where Loki and Natasha had _tea._

And Loki was getting over what had been done to him, recovering, getting stronger. Tony had recovered from what he’d been through, in Afghanistan and in the invasion. It was a sobering reminder how much everyone around Steve had suffered.

And yet, somehow, he was the only one who spent a whole day in bed, too crippled by despair to even properly dress himself. Meanwhile Loki was--

Steve let his head hang. “I’m.... Thank you, Tony. For stopping by.”

  
  


Tony chewed, well aware that it was a dismissal. Or at least an attempt at one. Hell, Steve looked like he’d just shriveled up, and Tony knew he’d said the wrong thing. Not that any of it wasn’t true, but it hadn’t helped.

He wasn’t going to beat himself up over it though-- not when he still had a chance to make it right.

“Sure thing,” he said dismissively, once he’d swallowed. “And hey, I’m just saying-- trying to have this conversation a couple years back? I woulda been running away to hide in a shower for the next three hours. So the fact that you haven’t ralphed up the bit you’ve eaten so far? Props.”

And considering how little the bit he’d eaten had been, Tony really hoped that wasn’t all he planned on eating.

“If you’re gonna stick with rice though, feel free to dump the dumpling sauce on it. It’ll only make it better.”

And give it more calories, which, from the looks of him, Steve needed badly.

  
  


Steve managed a small smile at that, and then did as Tony instructed, pouring out the syrupy sauce over the rice and mixing it in. It would be rude not to eat it, after all. Though when he stuck another forkful in his mouth, he didn’t find himself thinking about the taste or even noticing it all that much.

The thought of Tony hiding in the shower reminded Steve of all the times he’d panicked and hidden in the bathroom to compose himself. Or the time Loki found him in the bathroom with a shattered mirror and busted hand. He winced; the cuts were from that incident were healed, but the scabs from his boxing were still tight over his knuckles.

He wondered if they’d scar.

“You’re a good man, Tony,” he said quietly, repeating his statement from earlier. “And a good friend. I... I know none of this is easy on you, and I took advantage of your hospitality last fall. And since then you’ve done nothing but look out for all of us, far above and beyond anything you owe anybody.” Just the fact that Tony hadn’t kicked him and Loki to the curb back when they’d arrived had shown more compassion than he’d expected from the man when they first met.

And now he was discussing his own trauma and the darkest parts of his life to try to comfort Steve, who’d brought nothing but trouble to everyone in this tower. The mix of shame and gratitude was nearly suffocating.

“If you... if you wanted to come to group with me...?” he offered tentatively, because it was the only thing he had right now.

  
  


Tony felt his lips twitch-- a sure sign of something caustic about to come out, and he bit down on his knee jerk reaction, taking a moment instead to compose a better answer.

“Awh shucks Steve, you sure know what to say to make a guy feel special.” He tossed back, teasing to hide his vague unease with this kind of praise.

He liked praise, lived on it, really- but he was used to it being his looks, brain, business, or money. He didn’t get many accolades for his morals or life choices, other than picking Pepper. (Even though she’d mostly picked him.)

In truth, he didn’t know how good of an idea him going to group was, not because he didn’t need it-- he probably needed something, but.

Steve needed a place where he could feel safe to talk about what he went through. And Tony had a feeling that any of them being there might hamper that.

Then again, him learning about it first hand from Steve would mean he’d have come by what he already knew a little more legitimately. Or at least-- Steve would know he knew. Which meant they could maybe talk about it here, too.

He teetered on the edge of accepting, just wondering if it would help.

“Well.” He finally said. “I might come, once or twice. But how about you tell me when, okay? I don’t want to step on the toes of your healing process. And it’s not like my needs are as pressing, given how long I’ve let them scab over, now.”

He just hoped that was the right answer.

  
  


It wasn’t a ‘no’ , but it was far enough from a ‘yes’ that Steve was pretty sure Tony _wouldn’t_ come. And part of him was relieved about that; looking the way he did, Steve was unrecognizable, and everyone knew the shield and cowl better than they knew his face, but Tony Stark would definitely turn some heads if he walked into the church basement. And then Steve would be left explaining why Jack Simon was friends with Tony Stark.

But it had been the right thing to offer all the same, he was pretty sure. So he just nodded and shrugged. “Alright.” It wasn’t just _his_ healing process, he knew, but he wasn’t going to push.

He fell silent for a while, dutifully forking food into his mouth with little attention to the taste, slowing down when his belly started to feel full. Finally he had cleaned his plate and he pushed it away slightly. “Things are... good with you?” he asked.

  
  


Tony turned on his press appeasing smile.

“Things are good.” He replied easily. “Pep’s off running the show, so I’m reliving my rebellious teenage years-- less drugs, alcohol, and prostitutes, but… mostly no curfew. Not a lot of sleep. It’s more fun in my lab anyway.”

And that was true enough, normally. Lately, not so much, mainly because of what he’d been doing in it, but…

“Got a new suit in the works, tweaking some stuff. I guess Loki probably gave you the anti-anti-magic pendants, and there’s the mini-magic-killer I made for Clint. And… just upping security, giving Carter what I can as far as support.” he lifted one shoulder, then froze sort of mid shrug.

“Speaking of Carterses… someone told you Peg’s still kicking, right?”

He wasn't entirely sure how it hasn't come up before, but given how she and Howard used to talk about Steve like he was the second coming… probably she'd like to hear from him. And maybe it'd be good for him, too.

Though he hoped it wouldn't seem like this was another spite thing against Loki. He wasn't that mad.

Or ready to sink that low.

“Her sense of humor probably hasn't changed since you first met.” He offered.

Come to think of it, it had been a hot minute since he'd talked to the old girl himself.

He'd have to call her. Soon, probably.

  
  


Steve grimaced. “Yeah, we... I went and saw her, back when a bunch of us were down in D.C. to talk to SHIELD,” he said. “She, ah. She doesn’t remember things so well.” He looked away. “Might not remember I was there. She forgot halfway through that I wasn’t dead, so.” A shrug.

There seemed little point in going to see her like this; it would either confuse her or upset her and she deserved neither. Though-- “Sharon gave me her number. I should probably try to call, at some point.”

It would be a healthy part of that whole ‘happy-normal’ thing he was failing miserably at.

A moment later he blinked, realization belatedly sinking in. “Did-- do you know Peggy?” He’d never thought about it -- Peggy and Tony belonged to such different chapters of his life after all. But Howard bridged that divide, and if Howard and Peggy had kept in touch after the war, then there was a chance…

  
  


Somehow he’d thought this would be a safer subject.

Maybe not so much.

“Yeah, Peg-- Howard wanted me to call her Aunt Peggy, and I did when I was younger, but… she came around when I was growing up, every now and then. I think she was closer with the Jarvises than she was with my folks.”

He’d liked her, admired her. Hard not to, the way she talked and the stories she told. Not to mention the way everyone else around him admired her.

She was like a weird government rockstar.

“She was busy a lot. Inventing SHIELD, as it turns out. But I saw her, from time to time. Friend of the family.” He cracked a little grin at that.

But then he winced, thinking of the state of her now-- the fact that, like Steve said, she’d forgotten he wasn’t dead halfway through the visit.

“Some days she’s whip sharp. Some days… not as much, anymore.” He watched Steve’s face. “We all have bad days, though. I think when you get old, you just stop being good at hiding them, and they get a little closer together.”

  
  


_Aunt Peggy._ The words rattled around in Steve’s mind. Tony really was the one point of connection now between Steve’s old life and the one he had now. And in another life...

If he’d never crashed the Valkyrie, never lost all that time, he might’ve been _Uncle Steve_. He would have watched Tony grow up, instead of meeting him as a man after he’d been through hell and back. The thought was surreal, and made something in his chest ache. He might’ve helped Peggy create SHIELD, and met JARVIS’ namesake.

But even now, well over a decade physically younger than Tony, he still felt those bad days closing in together as time weighed heavier on him.

“Can’t imagine what a terror you must’ve been as a kid,” he said after a moment, when he trusted his voice not to crack.

  
  


Steve's face did some pretty magnificent, 10-on-the-scorecard-style emotional gymnastics.

“Yeah, I'm told I was a nightmare of a son.” He said, putting a smile on it and hoping that it was enough-- he wanted to help, but they had done enough scraping at his sore spots. And for as little as he cared about what people remembered of Howard… he didn't want to kick Steve's good memories while he was down.

“Peg was cool, though. She was good at distracting me from being a jerk. She had fancy gizmos courtesy of SHIELD that she would let me take apart, and good stories. She never took any of my shit. I used to look forward to her visits. Probably ought to go visit her myself, honestly.” He shook his head.

“We could go together if you want, when you feel up to traveling.”

It didn't hurt to offer at least.

  
  


Steve’s smile eased into something less brittle. “Not taking anyone’s shit was kinda her specialty,” he said, remembering. “First time I met her, she punched out a G.I. for sassing her. Decked him to the ground in one hit.”

Not that he imagined she’d reacted to Tony as such, but still; he had a hard time picturing her tolerating much backtalk from him, or Howard for that matter.

“That might be good. When I’m less...” he gestured to all of himself. He wondered, with her memory, if she’d recall Tony. She’d known him since he was a child, and the nurse had said older memories endured better, so those odds were better than most. But there was also the chance she’d mistake him as a grown man for Howard, and he wasn’t wholly sure how Tony would handle it.

  
  


When he was less what, Tony wanted to ask, but he had at least enough tact not to. When he was feeling up to getting out of bed in the morning? Or was he planning on waiting until he got all thick and muscley again? Because that would be very different timelines. Unless they were utterly and inseparably linked in Steve’s mind.

“Yeah, no problem. I’ve got a pretty clear calendar, thanks to Pepper handling pretty much everything. We’ll look for a day that’s good on her end, good on your end, and we can take one of my jets. Make a day trip out of it. Leave after breakfast, be home in time for dinner sort of thing. Supper. Whatever you call it.”

He gave Steve a slightly critical once over.

“How’s the spite Thai settling? Probably more flavor than you’re used to-- not eating a hole in your stomach or anything, is it?”

  
  


Steve regarded the food consideringly. “Well enough.” He’d been cautious -- perhaps overly cautious -- since the first time he’d made himself sick, but his few ventures into more flavorful foods hadn’t gone too poorly. Dinner upstairs had obviously been a disaster, but that hadn’t been because of anything he _ate,_ at least.

“If I’m sick later, I’ll know better next time,” he said with a shrug, “but so far so good. Think I’m done though.”

He got up and shuffled over to the sink to deposit his plate in it, pausing as he passed Tony. “Are you...?” He didn’t want to clear the table if Tony was still eating.

  
  


“I’ve had plenty.” Tony answered, scooting his chair back a bit. “I’m sure you’ve probably got some old fashioned ideas about your job as a host, but since I invited myself over, pretty sure it doesn’t count. If you want help cleaning up. And leftovers’re yours if you want ‘em. I’ll just forget they exist until they turn into science experiments.”

He looked up at Steve, glad that no matter how thin he might be, he still retained his height.

It would feel somehow _wrong_ for him to be taller than Captain America.

No more wrong than the rest of this was, though, he supposed.

“You are getting enough to eat, though, right? I know Loki’s weird about food. Or at least, he was the whole time you were gone. You need anything, just ask JARVIS and it’ll be delivered ASAP.”

  
  


“Not much to clean up,” Steve said with a shrug. Most of the food was still in takeout containers, after all, and it wasn’t like either of them cooked. “But thanks.”

He ducked his head a moment later, frowning faintly. Having leftovers would at least give Loki some variety from their usual bland fare if she wanted to try it, and the Thai wasn’t terribly spicy so she ought to be able to tolerate it. “Go ahead and leave ‘em. I... Yeah, Loki’s on me to eat more.” Not by nagging, but offering, _always offering,_ cooking and making him breakfast like this morning which he hadn’t eaten, and suggesting different foods even when he had no appetite; it wasn’t so much aggravation as _guilt_ that he was suffocating in.

Though it made him wonder just what Tony meant by being ‘weird’ about food while Steve was absent. “Did... Did Loki not eat while I was gone?” he asked, the crease in his brow deepening.

  
  


True enough; they’d done a pretty good job of not making a mess.

Still, he made sure to fold everything back up and put the lids on to make it easier to transport from table to fridge. And it was good that Steve had the chance to eat, though Tony got the feeling that if Loki was after him, he might not be eating enough as a way of rebelling against her mothering. Or maybe it was just Tony who reacted that way. He’d have to ask Pepper when she got back.

But the follow up question-

He frowned, too.

“He was just weird full stop. Secretive and snippy and accused me of wanting to put him in a cell or something. He skipped some meals, ate with us a little bit, but didn’t eat much til he figured out how to make food on his own. We had a few group meals, but… he left them almost as often as you have, lately. Honestly, you two have so much in common. Glad you found one another.”

He said it waspishly, trying to play the amusement factor up and trying to see if he could spot a problem. See if there was anything he could do to help.

Though, maybe with less nagging than Loki was prone to.

  
  


Steve’s frown deepened, shoulders beginning to hunch -- as if there were some small gravity well pulling all of him inward, furrowed and compressed. He’d _thought--_ Things had seemed like they’d gotten _better_ in some respects, in his absence, with Loki working with the team. They definitely appeared to all get along better, judging from Thor and Loki’s improved relationship and Clint’s willingness to actually be in the apartment and acknowledge Loki’s existence. But the account Tony was giving him now felt at odds with everything else. And he knew Loki had been upset, but... If he’d only learned to cook to avoid others, and not out of newfound independence and self-sufficiency...

He didn’t know what to think of it all or how to feel. But the food in his stomach abruptly felt all too heavy and he just wanted to get Tony to leave him alone so he could go crawl back into bed.

“Huh,” he muttered, reaching for some of the packed up food to place it in the fridge. Wasn’t sure what else to say that wouldn’t risk inviting more conversation. He swallowed, focusing on moving the takeout until the table was clear.

Once it was, he chewed his lip, trying to think of a tactful way to kick Tony out. If he didn’t, he’d ask more about Loki, and that risked drowning him in shame and guilt and more. He was barely treading water as things stood.

  
  


He was doing more face gymnastics. Tony watched and knew he'd said something else wrong, but not bad enough that it was turning Steve into a zombie, which was good.

Still, this wasn't exactly the high point he'd wanted to end the visit on.

The question was, did he stick around and try to make it better, or figure he should go while he was still a little ahead?

“So. I hear alcohol works on you again. You want me to go grab an after dinner sip, or are you all peopled out?”

  
  


Steve hesitated.

He remembered the warm feeling from the night before; the looseness in his limbs, and the way his whole body relaxed, his thoughts slowing into something liquid and content. And there was no Loki now to purse her lips at him and fret. He could have that drink, or two.

But at the same time, he’d _know_ Loki didn’t want him to. He’d _know_ she’d look at him with that crushed expression afterwards, and he’d have deliberately done it to her this time.

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t. Had too much vodka last night... I should probably avoid it for a while.” Sighing, he leaned against the counter, then gave Tony a curt smile and nod. “Thanks again, though.”

  
  


“Hey, sure. It was good to have an excuse to drop by. And if you change your mind about that drink, or if you just need someone to stop in with something a little more flavorful than warm mush, let me know.”

He paused, remembering how he'd been when he first returned, how he was to this day when he felt out of it. How bad he was at asking for what he needed, let alone what he wanted.

“I'll probably do this again soon anyway.” He warned, figuring it was only fair. “Feel free to tell me to buzz off of it isn't a good time, but… next time, we'll get some spite Mediterranean. I hear it improves the flavor.”

And he hoped that it would help, maybe. Having other people stop by.

People who were less likely to harp on the guy about getting better.

He stood and stretched.

“I'll see myself out, unless you have any requests before I go.”

  
  


“Spite mediterranean,” Steve echoed, the smile growing less curt. “I admit, I’m curious to test that theory.”

Tony at least hadn’t watched him eat every bite looking like it might delight or crush him if Steve did or didn’t take another. Even if he wasn’t all that hungry... It was something different. And in the monotony that was subsuming Steve’s life, perhaps that wasn’t a bad idea.

“Say hello to Pepper for me. For us,” he corrected, knowing Loki would want her best conveyed as well, walking Tony to the door, only briefly leaning against the wall for support as his leg twinged.

  
  


He noticed the lean but left it-- Steve was stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid, and Tony had good enough doctors in his employ that he knew Steve would hear about it if he hurt himself more.

And it probably had done him some good during dinner not to be asked if he was okay.

That had been Tony’s big takeaway from his come back: don’t ask if someone’s okay when you know good and damn well they aren’t.

“Will do,” he promised, in regards to Pepper.

And, as he headed back to the lab, he realized that his chest felt a little lighter, too.

Yeah, they hadn’t gotten to Steve in time to keep all that bad from happening to him. Yeah he was having a rough time. But he was here. And that was a damn good start.

Plus, they’d managed to have dinner and talk without anyone blowing up and no flashbacks. It was a win, and Tony would take it.

  
  


Once he was alone, Steve took a deep breath. Returning to the kitchen, he finished with clean up, washing the plates in the sink and setting them in the drying rack. From there he stood aimlessly for a few minutes.

It wasn’t that late, and he’d slept all day, but he rather wanted to go to bed. He didn’t want to think too much about... all of this.

Pulling out a scrap of paper from one of the drawers and a pen, he scribbled out a note for Loki, for whenever she got home, then left it on the table before retreating to his room. He picked up his phone from the bedside table to check the time, and frowned at the new text alert, opening it up.

The photo that loaded showed Sharon Carter in civilian attire, leaning over next to an aged woman -- _Peggy_ \-- and smiling at the camera.

  
  


_> > She says hi._

_> > 202 555-4921_

  
  


Steve’s heart clenched in his chest. He’d almost banished thoughts of Peggy away after Tony had brought her up, but now they were back in full force, making something inside him ache as he stared at the phone.

The underlined, clickable phone number seemed to stare back.

God, he missed her. But she wasn’t here to see him at his worst; he was sparing her that, at least. Thought she might worry, depending on what Sharon told her. And if he just _talked_ to her... She couldn’t tell what a ruin he was just from the sound of his voice. Just hearing hers, however transformed by age, would likely be a balm; she always had the most practical advice, after all.

  
  


Finally, after waffling so long that the screen dimmed, he tapped it.

The line rang.

And rang.

Steve almost hung up on the third ring when there was a click, and then a creaking voice: “ _Hello?”_

He took a deep breath. He didn’t know what he was going to say, whether she’d even remember, but, well, there was only one sure way to begin.

“Hi Peg,” he said, sitting on the bed, “it’s Steve...”

\---

 

Dinner had gone well-- or well enough. What had begun as forced jollity had slowly given way to something else, something more sincere and relaxed. Particularly when she realized there were to be no demands made on her, in regards to Steve.

They were fairly up to date on his progress, and the fact that he hadn’t come along spoke enough. Natasha had asked after Tony, but Loki said she’d invited him, and from there it was let go.

It had been… almost easy. Easier than it had been before Steve left, or at any point while he was gone.

Which led her to believe that most of the change must be with her.

He was back; it _should_ be easier.

She returned, the dishes tending to themselves upstairs and a box with half of a pepperoni pizza inside balanced on one hand.

She moved through the quiet and the dark of their apartment to set it on the table, then snapped on the light to read the note Steve had left beside it.

  
  


_Loki,_

  
  


_Tony stopped by. He brought Thai food, got me to eat some. So I_ _have_ _eaten today. There's plenty of leftovers in the fridge, and it's not too spicy so I think you may like it after all. I hope pizza with the others went well. I'm sorry about today not being one of my better days. I'll try harder tomorrow._

  
  


_-S_

  
  


She glanced toward his bedroom door-- closed, of course, then back at the note, brow furrowed.

It was good, she supposed, that the two of them had managed to find a respite from her together. Though the pang in her chest told her she was lying to herself with so charitable a thought.

When she’d left, he didn’t want to get out of bed, wouldn’t eat the food she brought, but _Tony_ showed up, angry with her, and…

That line of thought was unbelievably bitter, and she knew how Steve would feel about it.

Guilty, probably. Just like he felt-- just like she _had made him feel_ , guilty about how he was feeling.

He’d _try harder_ , he said.

Which was what she’d told him, after their first fight, after he’d grown upset with her for wanting to use the sceptre against Fury, against SHIELD… did he think that she felt the same way now that he had then? Horrified and disappointed in him?

The pizza felt heavy in her stomach, and she decided not to bother checking in on him again. She’d done enough of pushing people away today by trying to be something she wasn’t. By trying to act like she had any idea of how to care for anyone other than herself.

Though, at this point, she wasn’t sure what she _was_ supposed to be. Because the last time she’d been herself, acted like herself around him…

...she’d given him the necklace.

And she still had yet to see how it had been used against him, though she knew it had. She put the note back down on the table and retreated to her room.

He didn’t get the luxury of not knowing. Hell, he must think of it every time he looked at her. She owed it to him to stop being a coward and find out what had been done to him. What she had helped them do to him.

She sat on her bed and pulled up the file she’d been avoiding, finger hovering over it. She had her headphones in so Steve couldn’t hear, but she kept the door open-- just in case he got up, she should be able to hear him, and get the screen put away before he could see.

She took a deep breath and started it.

It took a moment to get her bearings, though it was from the same angle as the rest of the videos that took place within his cell. But this time it was Scofield in there with him, and she felt herself scowling at the recognition.

Though, of course, things went downhill from there.

Watching as Steve thought at first that he was saved _ached_. She knew it had been weeks after this, likely, before they had found him-- her own fault, for sending them chasing the dead ends that she had created.

And then Scofield had explained _why_ he had done what he had-- and showed Steve the necklace they’d found on him, her necklace. The one she’d given him because she had been _jealous_ of his and Peggy’s love token, and then _angry_ at having been left behind.

She bit her lip hard enough that she thought she tasted blood.

Little wonder that Steve was happier with her being a woman, with all that Scofield leveled at him about him _sucking dick_ and being a _fag_. And his gun was leveled at Steve, and she felt her fingers tightening in the fabric of her pants, digging into the skin of her legs.

He had survived, she knew. But she did not want to see--

\--and yet he’d _lived_ it.

She kept watching as Steve talked back, throwing insults at Scofield, too brave and too stubborn to keep silent, even to save himself.

And then the gun was _in his mouth_ , as Scofield used her name for him as if it were an epithet. Threatening his life and showering him with hate, all in a mockery of the things they had done together.

And then it was over and she breathed a sigh of relief, watching the necklace fall down the drain with a soft exhale-- it was for the best, she was sure.

And then Steve--

She watched in horror as he hurled one last insult, and the result was… it was instant, violent, and brutal. It didn’t stop until Steve was clearly unconscious, or near to it, and the alarms were going off, and others came to pull Scofield away.

Others came and pulled Steve away, and the cameras changed, following him through hallways as he was dragged, the way a woodsman dragged a felled tree, through the halls and into another room.

He was tended to, though with no real care, no tenderness.

No doubt they did just enough to keep him alive, or conscious, to get whatever more they wanted out of him.

There was more to watch. There was always more to watch- a month of time, and then some.

But she turned it off.

She had seen enough, for that night. Enough to understand what she had done, what he must think of.

And still he’d come home, able to say he loved her. Able to look at her fondly, if not touch her.

And she had been so selfish.

She slid the screen away and laid on the bed. Then, unable to hold still, she sat back up and dug through the box Thor had brought, ignoring the books and the journals, in favor of the small box within.

She wanted her mother, but did not have that luxury. Likely never would again. And the closest she had was this single bloom, held in shaking hands, wilting and withering, albeit slowly, thanks to the little seidhr she had imbued it with.

She pressed it to her nose as if it were the very air, the only way she could breathe.

It felt as if it was.

  
  


She laid back, fighting, trying not to think of anything. Not to listen to her own poisoned thoughts or to relive what she had seen.

  
  


_He stood over Steve, towering over him, looking down on him with contempt. His hand that held the gun was blue, and Steve looked… scared, in the brave, stubborn way that he had._

_He was right to fear him._

“ _Sweet Boy,” he heard himself croon, and he watched, unable to stop himself from feeding the barrel into Steve’s mouth, the movements almost kind, sweet, as though he were trying to force him to take something he needed. Medicine, perhaps._

_Or the food that he clearly needed, thin and hurt as he was, that she kept trying to force on him when she wasn't trapped in this dream. When she could choose not to hurt him, and still did it._

_In the dream, Steve was gagging, choking, tears streaming down his face, and Loki kept pressing, until his hand came into contact with Steve’s skin._

“ _So good-- look how good you’re being for me,” he whispered, as Steve’s skin cracked and bled and blackened under his touch. As Loki destroyed him, as he had always been going to. As she still might. As she had. As she had helped HYDRA to._

 _In her mind’s eye, she watched, helpless to stop it, as every pain he had suffered at their hands was inflicted again, this time by her. She wanted to retch, to tear her eyes out. She would have, if she were not frozen, unable to help, unable to stop it, unable to apologize or say or_ _ **do**_ _anything._

  
  


Steve woke abruptly, pulse in his throat and instincts on high alert.

The room was dark, and as he lay there, perfectly still, there was no sound except for his own thudding heartbeat. And yet--

And yet he could swear _something_ had woken him. It was the middle of the night, and for once, he remembered no dreams. He glanced at his phone, but the screen was dark.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, a creeping sense of dread sliding like ice water down his spine.

Slowly, he swung his legs out of bed, getting to his feet. His thoughts went to his shield in the closet and he debated for a moment whether to fetch it. He was probably being paranoid -- it was probably just wind rattling the window or air in the vents -- but he still wished he had the weight on his arm when he ventured out into the living room.

Everything remained dark and quiet; there was no sign of anyone or anything out of place. No intruders -- Stark’s security would surely make that impossible, along with their elevation? -- and no anomalies that he could see. Steve frowned, waiting for a moment, then began to turn back, feeling foolish for his hypervigilance--

The noise was muffled, indistinct, but he heard it all the same, coming from the guest room.

Loki’s room.

Heart back in his mouth, Steve froze for a space of seconds, then quickly began to move as silently as he could over the distance, keeping toward the walls and trying to fight down panic. If HYDRA had tracked them back here, _if they had Loki--_

The door was already ajar as he reached it and peered into the darkness of her room, looking for figures looming over her, but found none. The room was empty to all appearances, and when he hit the lightswitch, remained empty.

Far emptier, in fact, than it should have been; Steve hadn’t been in this room in some time, and he’d have expected... more. There was a mattress on the floor, but no bed. No furnishings, except for an old looking wooden trunk. Nothing on the walls.

And on the bed, Loki was lying tangled in a heap of blankets and-- furs? -- thrashing and whimpering in the throes of a nightmare.

“Loki,” Steve called, softly at first, then louder. “Loki!”

She twisted, expression pained, lashes wet, and Steve felt an echo of whatever agony plagued her sleep. Without thinking, he dropped to his knees on the mattress beside her, grabbing her shoulder and shaking her.

“ _Loki_!”

  
  


She jerked awake, jaw aching from the way it had been clenched, and it took her the space of two or three too-fast heartbeats to realize where she was.

And what she had done.

“I’m sorry.” She managed, reaching for him before remembering and letting her hands fall back.

She sat up, putting space between them and pulling her fur with her. It was easier to look at that, at the soft bristles than at the concern on his face, when she didn’t deserve it, when she’d done nothing but--

She looked at him anyway.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” She said apologetically, then grimaced as her voice came out in a croak, as if she’d been screaming.

Then again, he was _here_ , so maybe she had.

She wanted to apologize for all of the rest of it, too, but… he felt guilty as it was. And he was hurt enough as it was. He would feel like he needed to reassure her, and she knew that was a burden he didn’t need added to his own.

She was meant to be protecting him. She just didn’t know how to keep him safe from _her_ , when everything she did, both in sleep and while waking, seemed only to hurt him more.

She clenched her teeth back together and began the effort of schooling her face, of hiding whatever vulnerability he might read on it. Even if it was so obviously already too late.

  
  


It was only when Loki jerked away from his touch that Steve even realized what he’d done, and that he’d touched her on instinct, without thought, without focusing on it--

The moment was over though, and he awkwardly let his hand fall to the bedspread. “I’m glad you did,” he replied softly. “I must’ve been sleeping light to have heard, but... That looked like some bad dream you were having.”

Another reminder that Steve by no means had the monopoly on nightmarish experiences. He pursed his lips for a moment, then shifted his legs so he was sitting instead of kneeling, now cross-legged on the bedspread. “Are you okay?”

  
  


He was still there, making himself comfortable instead of going away.

She felt wretched and wasn’t sure what she could say, what she could possibly tell him…

Her eyes were still wet and she summoned up a weak, watery little smile.

“I am fine, Astin min. It was only a dream.”

She felt the smile wobble and looked down, hoping she’d done so in time before it fell.

She cast desperately about for something, anything else to focus on.

“I… saw your note. About eating with Tony. Was that-- did it go alright?”

She winced, realizing how that would sound to him, as if she did not think him capable of getting through a single meal.

She just couldn’t _stop_ hurting him.

“He was ah.. In a mood, when I spoke to him earlier.” She added, though it felt like a weak excuse to her.

  
  


Steve shrugged. He’d been in a ‘mood’ himself. Perhaps it was just as well he and Tony had stayed removed from all the rest. “To be honest, I was just surprised to see him. Kinda figured he’d been avoiding me since the whole table salt thing, but...”

He fidgeted with the rumpled sheets. “Only got up to answer the door because I thought it was you. Then he kinda barged in and just started setting out food.” He smiled faintly. It had been baffling, but at the same time, the conversation hadn’t been all bad. It had been particularly honest, even, for Tony. “We talked. It was... It was alright, I think.”

He looked back up at her, wishing he could make himself wipe the damp from her eyes. “How was dinner with everyone else?” he asked.

  
  


She nodded eagerly, glad that this was, somehow, going well.

“It was good, fine. It-- I brought back pizza, if you want some.”

She wondered what they had talked about, but apparently it wasn’t anything that she should worry about. Steve had gotten out of bed, had eaten.

She probably owed Tony her thanks for that, as distasteful as she found the concept.

“Bruce sends his regards.” She remembered to add, her heart rate slowing back down to something normal.

She reached up, wiping at her face and glad he was giving her this… this pretense of normalcy.

She didn’t know what else to say, what else she could add.

So, softer, she said,

“Thank you. For coming to wake me.”

Some part of her had known it was a dream, had known she was dreaming. It didn’t make her any more in control of it, though. Who knew how long it might have gone on without him. And he didn’t even know-- _couldn’t_ know what he had saved her from.

  
  


He chuckled softly when she mentioned pizza. “Sounds like we have plenty of leftovers for us both tomorrow,” he remarked.

Then she thanked him, and he took a deep breath. “You’ve done the same for me,” he reminded her, matching her quiet tone. He tried not to think about how if he were able to share her bed, he’d have woken her much sooner. Then again, it had been the violence of _his_ nightmares that made it impossible.

Uncrossing his legs, he carefully got up, ignoring the stiffness in his knees. “You should try to get some more sleep,” he murmured.

  
  


“You too.” She told him, looking up at him when he stood, and aware enough, now, to feel self conscious about the state of her room. But he hadn’t commented, which… was for the best.

“You can tell me about the Thai food tomorrow. I’m fairly certain I haven’t tried that yet, either.” She smiled again, this one more real, even as the thought registered-- she _had_ done the same for him, and that was before all of this. If she had nightmares from merely watching what he’d been through, what must he be going through?

And she hadn’t heard him, the way he had heard her. She hadn’t been there for him.

She wanted to hang her head in shame, but that could wait. She would see him back to bed before anything else. And maybe try, as he said, to get more sleep herself. Though she doubted that she would be able to.

  
  


Steve looked at her for a moment, then crouched down briefly, pressing a kiss to his index and middle-fingers together, then placing those fingers against Loki’s pillow; not as good a gesture as an actual kiss, he knew, but he hoped the intent came through all the same.

“Goodnight Loki,” he said, standing and switching the light back off as he left, though he kept the door slightly ajar.

He didn’t return to his own bed either; he ducked in to grab a pillow and blanket, but then pulled them back to the living room, moving silently as possible as he laid down on the couch, where he’d be able to hear better if Loki had another nightmare.

He’d promised to try harder, to do better -- and he intended to keep his promise, as much as he could.

  
  


She felt her stomach do a little flip in response to his kiss, and she felt simultaneously flattered and guilty.

If he had any idea…

But then he retreated, and she let him go, with just a quiet, “Goodnight, Steve.”

It was the only thing she could give him.

It took her another moment, but then she began casting around, worried that she’d crushed her mother’s flower. She found it though, as close to intact as it had been, underneath of her pillow.

She smelled it again and laid back, thinking of Steve’s face. Concerned and sweet and _here_.

He was here, _home_ , away from that sort of pain, now. And if she could only puzzle through what it was he needed from her, she would give it to him, and then… then things would be right again, and he could get better.

  
  


She’d just have to try harder tomorrow.

  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be taking a break next week, so see you all in two weeks!


	91. Ninety-One

The next day was better.

Whatever nimbular cloud of despair had hung over Steve the day before, smothering him and all sense of hope or motivation, appeared to have moved on. He didn’t feel perfectly _better_ in its absence, but it did feel as though a crushing weight had been lifted, allowing him to get up and move around and actually _do_ things.

Shame lingered, however, at the setback. He’d regressed, after working hard to do and be better, to the lackluster and listless state he’d been in during those first days after Loki brought him back down to their apartment. Whatever progress he’d thought to have made in that area felt cheapened and undone.

Fortunately, his physical progress was measured in other ways. Later that morning he had physical therapy with Amir, who clapped his hands jovially at Steve’s improved range of motion. The early-afternoon session with his doctors that followed yielded more good news; they were thrilled with the state of his shoulder overall, and the inflammation in his leg had gone down almost completely. He was cleared to begin doing a few simple muscle-building exercises with Amir’s supervision, and given permission to go on short walks outside the tower if he wished, though they recommended he keep the cane for the time being.

His mind was a minefield, but his body was less of a cage. It didn’t feel like a win, but it wasn’t a total loss either; he reminded himself of the latter as he looked himself in the mirror that afternoon and carefully shaved the stubble on his throat. He ultimately left it on his chin, jaw, and upper lip, just shaving around it and neatening the lines of his incoming beard. Jack Simon could have a beard, after all. He’d look less like Steve Rogers, and how everyone expected Steve Rogers to be, and if he had a bad day, or string of bad days again, no one would notice as quickly when he forgot to shave.

Returning to the kitchen, he checked the clock and decided it wasn’t too early for dinner, and began retrieving the leftover Thai from the fridge -- enough for two.

  
  


Steve had spent some time down in medical and at therapy, and so Loki had spent some time with Natasha.

In light of the events of the night before, it had had the potential to be disastrous, but managed not to be, much to her relief.

She still didn't feel as though she was getting anywhere, but at least she wasn't getting _worse_ so that was a small victory.

She still managed to get back before Steve, and had decided to invest some time in straightening up the room she slept in, just in case he needed to wake her up again.

Though she was considering erecting a silencing barrier around herself, if this problem became a persistent one.

He still need his sleep to heal, whatever he said.

As she moved Frigga's flower back into is box, she recalled her thoughts about Steve and how his mother had treated bad dreams.

Going into what had been their room without him there suddenly felt invasive, and she liked the fact that she felt that way even less than the feeling itself.

She touched as little as possible, respecting his space as much as she could. And then she retreated to return to her own room.

She stared at the box with the bedframe in it, wondering whether she should put it together or not.

It felt… permanent, somehow, using it, but then again she also felt shamed by the state of the room, by the fact that it made it seem she couldn't take care of herself, much less him.

And… maybe it was permanent. Maybe her acting as if it wasn't was only putting more pressure on him.

So she opened the box and found the directions. It was enough to occupy her until he got home, and then some.

  
  


The thumping and occasional bang from the second bedroom piqued Steve’s curiosity more and more over time, though he did his best to afford Loki her space. He couldn’t ask for what he was unwilling to give, after all. Still, once the food was heated up and dished out and the table set, he was eager to find what exactly Loki had been occupying herself with, now that he had an excuse to peek in.

He rapped lightly on the door, then opened it, leaning in. “Loki? Dinner’s ready...”

He trailed off, looking at the half-assembled bedframe, feeling an odd pang in his chest.

  
  


She looked up, pushing the hair out of her face and smoothing the frustration away.

“You made dinner?” She asked, pleased and surprised.

She felt as though she should have done it, but… he used to make dinner all the time. And the thought that this was a little taste of normal made her grin. Especially after the day before...

And on top of that, he got to see her making an effort. _Doing_ something. Being useful.

“Thai?” She asked, climbing to her feet and wiping her hands off on her pants.

  
  


“Just reheated it,” Steve replied with a sheepish look. Making dinner required effort; using the microwave hardly counted. “But it’s all set if you’re, ah, ready for a break.”

It was a good thing, he told himself, that she was making the room her own. That she was putting together an actual bed. She deserved as much, and more, given Steve had ousted her from their own bed. But the need for it served as a reminder of his failings.

He swallowed. “I, uh. I got cleared for more physical activity if you need a hand with that, after dinner,” he offered as they moved toward the kitchen.

  
  


She gave him her own sheepish smile in response.

“I am following the instructions, but… it does advise that it is easier with two people.” It wasn't the most gracious of acceptances, but she didn't suppose this was particularly strenuous work.

She didn't think it would hurt him.

“But that's wonderful! Your being cleared to do more, I mean-- I am glad to hear it. Do you feel a difference?”

He must. Or at least, she hoped he did.

She walked towards him, still careful to stop short, to keep from touching him. He'd had to touch her to rouse her the night before, and she knew how much he didn't want that. She almost wanted to apologise, but she knew better.

  
  


Steve shrugged. “I guess? Things hurt less.” It was more an absence of feeling -- the lack of twinging and shooting pain when he moved -- and a diminished level of physical exhaustion over simple physical tasks. Though he knew he still had a ways to go, he felt like slightly less of an invalid at least.

Sitting down, he waited for her to do the same and began to eat, a chicken and noodle dish full of flavor but not too much heat. He summarized what the doctors had told him for her, what he was and wasn’t allowed, and what they intended to keep an eye on.

“Also...” He paused, taking a sip of water. “I checked the website for the church where the support group meets, and they had the calendar there... The group meets twice a week. Next meeting is tomorrow, and I figure I should go.” If he wanted to get better after all, for Loki’s sake, he had to be willing to put the work in. Not just with physical therapy, but also with trying to get his head on right. And if the group had any chance of helping with that... He ought to go whenever the option presented itself.

  
  


She listened raptly, committing to memory what he told her of the doctors’ words, so that she did not push him too much… or limit him unnecessarily. Or at least so that she could try.

She felt as though he were telling her more now than he usually did, and she wondered if this was the guilt she’d sensed from his note, rearing its head. Making him force himself to share more than he wanted to.

To make it up to her. As if he needed to.

“That’s good,” she agreed, not entirely certain what to say. He didn’t seem as though he were asking her for anything-- permission or help. And she didn’t want to push him toward going if he hadn’t made his mind up, though it sounded like he had, or to discourage him by telling him not to overtax himself. “I am glad,” she added, figuring that ought to be safe enough.

She ate some of the noodles, enjoying the flavor immensely.

“And the food?” She thought to ask. “This is… a good deal more heavy than what I have been making, or at least… richer. It didn’t upset your stomach last night? Did the doctors say anything about your diet?”

  
  


Steve had dished himself a smaller portion, and was picking at it, but she wasn’t wrong about the food being richer. And yet--

“Didn’t feel sick last night when I had some, though I stuck to rice and dumplings. I’ve had a few other things that weren’t bland by now,” he said, lifting one shoulder. “It’s been a few weeks. I probably shouldn’t be eating hot peppers or anything like that too soon, but they were thrilled that I put on a couple more pounds this week and want me to focus on getting more calories.” They’d also harped on him the importance of taking his prescribed vitamins, which he’d been forgetting a fair bit. “Guess some heavier foods will be good for that.”

It was good though, to see Loki enjoying food. Introducing his partner to new foods had been... Had been something important and central to the start of their relationship. The reminder made him smile wistfully as he watched her chew.

  
  


She nodded.

“If they don’t think it is a bad idea, I would be happy to go out and get you anything you may be craving. You spoke of steak, before, I think. And potatoes. Or…” She gave him a little smile, though she knew by now not to be too hopeful. “Perhaps we could go out together. I could call ahead, make arrangements.”

Make sure there was no salt on the table, maybe get them somewhere quiet or private-- she was sure Pepper or Natasha would be able to help.

Or Tony, if he wasn’t likely annoyed with her.

He did say he could go out again.

“Or if that’s too much too soon, I am equally happy to bring it back here,” she hurried to add.

  
  


He smiled slightly. “Or we could try just going out for coffee first? Then eat at home after.”

If he panicked, or otherwise spiralled downward, it would be easier to pay and leave than if they were at a sit down meal. But it could be something to get them both out in the fresh air on... well, on a _date._ Like a normal couple.

They’d had far too little of that, now that he thought of it. Beyond grabbing food in DC on their way to the cemetery... Had they even had a real date outside the apartment since the night at the restaurant with the paparazzi?

  
  


Apparently she hadn't been completely wrong, on either count; the suggestion or the reconsideration.

“Coffee sounds wonderful. Provided, of course, that you don't make me drink any.” She grinned to show it was a joke.

“Whenever you like, whenever you feel up to it. No rush.” She told him softly, smiling with her eyes more than her mouth, as she took the next bite of noodles.

She made a mental note to ask JARVIS later about how to cook steaks, or where to order them, though she thought that cooking that, of all things, ought to come easily to her, considering past hunting trips.

She’d cooked slabs of meat over open flames often enough-- how much harder could it be over a human stove?

She would figure it out.

  
  


“Of course. We’ll find a place that has tea,” Steve promised.

He then tucked into his dinner, determined to clean his plate. He needed to put on weight, and put on muscle. Even if the serum never returned and he was an ordinary man again, he could do his best to be... well, _ordinary_ at minimum, and not a shambling mess.

They made a bit more small talk, about the food, about their respective evenings the night before, about the chill winter weather. He found himself watching her, and the way her black hair curled softly over her shoulders, and her lashes were longer in this form, dusting over her cheeks whenever she closed them.

She was lovely.

But the change in shape was a reminder too, of how much was different between them now. How much had changed, beyond just Loki’s form. Or even Steve’s.

Steve stood to clear his plate once he’d finished, checking to see if Loki was done. “I can clear up,” he offered.

  
  


The idea of going out with him again was good, nice even… but also terrifying, given how easily broken he seemed, now. Not fragile, exactly. He was still one of the strongest men she knew. But… damageable.

All too apparently human. And while she had always known he was, he had always been more, too. Stronger and faster and braver…

At least part of him was still more. Still better than anyone else she had ever known.

But now she felt more fear for his safety. Especially in a world where those gauntlets were on the loose, and where any face in a crowd may be an enemy.

She’d bespell them, she decided. Cast glamours. And put every protection she could on him before they left the tower.

Though she wouldn’t tell _him_  that. She wouldn’t want to offend him, or make him think that she thought less of him in any way.

“You can clear up if you like,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. “Or I can have it clear itself up if you have something you’d rather do. If you still wanted to help with putting together the bed in the other room…” She trailed off, not wanting to guilt him into helping her, or being around her, if he was looking for a way of excusing himself.

“If not, of course, I don’t mind.”

He had emptied his plate, something she hadn’t seen him do since he had returned, and she thought that much food might make him tired.

Best to give him easy ways out, if he needed them.

  
  


Steve paused, considering it. “Most of the containers can just go in the trash -- Let me wipe down the plates and silverware and I’ll join you in a minute to work on the bed?”

It felt good to have _useful_ things to do. Cleaning. Helping. Being more than just a bump on a log -- especially after the day before, when he’d barely done more than be a waste of oxygen. He rinsed the plates off, running a sponge over them before setting them in the rack, and quickly cleared the empty takeout containers from the table and into the trash. There was a time, even shortly after coming out of the ice, when he would have quailed at the waste and insisted on washing out every container for re-use until it fell apart, but for better or worse, he was getting more accustomed to the casual wastefulness of the modern age.

He finished by running a wet cloth over the tabletop, clearing up any spilled sauce. Once done, he dried his hands off on his pants, then headed for the second bedroom to lend a hand.

“Do we have the directions?” he asked, lowering himself to the floor.

  
  


She let him be, let him clean without hovering, just in case he did need the space.

It gave her a chance to go back to her room and look around, making sure nothing was out of place, that there was no sign of what she spent her nights watching… not that there could be, she didn’t think but… her guilty conscience was at work, and it made her worry.

When Steve appeared, not long after, she was back where he’d found her the first time.

She had the side rails both pressed into their corresponding holes on the foot of the bed, but trying to get them into the head of it was difficult.

“I have the directions there--” she nodded at the paper, strewn across the empty box. “First these sides need inserted into those holes, and then there is a cross beams support system, and a few more pieces that are meant to lend stability and keep it all squared up, along the bottom.”

And it was the squaring it up and the dealing with longer pieces that demanded another set of hands.

“Thank you,” she remembered to add, guiltily and a little late, and she tried not to think about what this implied. What it meant for them, that she was putting this together now.

  
  


“Of course,” he replied easily. “I... I would have helped sooner. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were still sleeping on the floor,” he added, sighing. Of course, there was probably hope earlier on that Steve would bounce back faster.

He pushed the urge to wallow out of the way, focusing on the directions and making sure that they were assembling the bed in the right order. It was far more complicated than the bed he’d slept on in Brooklyn or any of his army cots, but not dissimilar from the bed he’d put together in the master bedroom. “I think if you hold this part here, I can line up the foot of the bed and then hold it in place while you screw in the bolt.”

  
  


She winced at that-- she hadn’t thought of it as sleeping on the floor. But she had been embarrassed enough of him seeing her like that to do something about it.

“I have had other priorities.” She said simply. “And it was comfortable, as it was. But I thought it would be good to finally get the box out of here-- it’s been sitting around for some time now.”

A few weeks, she thought. Which, considering how long it had taken them to get any furniture in the first place… all things considered, it wasn’t bad.

But Steve was better at this than she, more capable, and gave good directions. Good enough that the assembly started to go fairly smoothly.

It was good a good reminder that, even when she had to be careful not to touch him, they still worked well together. Made a good team.

Even for the simple mundanities. Perhaps especially for them. Because, even though this bed was proof of their separation, they were literally building their life together, at the moment.

And she buried the thought of how they would have celebrated having done so, before all of this. How they had celebrated his _getting_ them this home, in the first place.

Watching him, being close to him… she remembered what it was like to be touched by him. To make love to him.

And it had been a while, but he wasn’t in any state, let alone interested, and she…

...felt sick to her stomach for feeling that way about him _now._

When he didn’t want it, and when she’d seen what he’d gone through _because_ of the things they’d done together.

She bit her lip, focused on the bed, and buried as much as she could.

And silently thanked Natasha for the help she was being at remembering how to hide and shield and deflect, how to keep her emotions as far from her face as possible.

  
  


The bed came together surprisingly quickly, with the two of them working at it. It was heavier than Steve would have thought by looking at it, though he wondered if that was simply because he was weaker now. If so, his strength-building exercises with Amir couldn’t start soon enough. He sagged with relief when he no longer had to hold up the entire foot of the bed and the general box shape was in place, and after that the hardest part of setting up the cross-supports was just slotting everything into the right place in the right order.

As the worked he found himself watching Loki and the serious look of concentration on her face, with the way she chewed on her rosy bottom lip and a faint crease formed between her brows.

She really was beautiful. And Steve found himself remembering what it was like to kiss Loki’s lips, hot and dry and soft--

Their knuckles brushed briefly against one another as they both reached for the same piece, and he twitched. The touch was too brief to send panic through him, but it was a frustrating reminder of what his broken mind wouldn’t let him have.

What he _missed._

Standing, he moved over to the box spring. The frame was assembled, all they had to do now was get the mattress on it. He gripped it, lifted--

\-- And grunted. It was _heavy;_ and the sudden strain sent protests shooting through the muscles of his back.

“We... might need Thor to help with this part,” he acknowledged ruefully, knowing that a few months ago he’d have been able to lift the whole thing easily.

  
  


She frowned, feeling guilty for being able, and worse for correcting him. She assumed it was the form she wore now, the fact that he’d seen very little of her capabilities in this shape.

“I can manage.” She told him softly.

She’d moved it to assemble the bed, after all.

“You’ve helped with the difficult part-- here--”

She gestured that he should stand aside and lifted it fairly easily, though she did make a slight show of it, making it look harder than it was, if only for his ego.

Once the firm box was in place, the mattress came next, and it was more of a challenge, if only because it lacked the rigidity.

But she got it in place, too, and then faced him, pushing the hair out of her face.

It felt good, finishing something, and she felt the glow of accomplishment.

“I’m going to fetch glasses of water for us. Go on-- give it a try.” She nodded at the bed, thinking it would be best for him to sit down, especially after having strained to move the heavy mattresses.

  
  


“...Oh.”

Steve felt stupid. Of course, Loki was still _Loki_ and godlike. Naturally, she could lift the mattress and box spring alike.

It was just _Steve_ who lost his abilities, after all, and he felt himself flushing in embarrassment at having forgotten as much.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath and waiting for a few moments as he heard Loki moving about the kitchen. He should probably start on getting the sheets on, but he was surprisingly tired and just resting for a few minutes had a surprising amount of appeal.

Even if they weren’t about to christen the bed the way they might have once.

“Seems pretty solid,” he announced when she got back. He almost added that it could be a good guest bed whenever Loki moved back into their shared room, but decided against it. It would be cruel to dangle potentially false hope about an uncertain future, after all.

“We should get some stuff for the walls,” he said instead.

  
  


She passed him his glass and joined him in sitting on her bed, though a careful distance away to keep from causing him any distress.

She felt her throat close up a touch at the way he looked around the room, at him wanting it to be nice in here for her.

“Perhaps you could paint me something? I found the paints that Tony made JARVIS order for you, after the Sword in the Stone, while you were gone.”

She glanced at him slyly, trying to judge whether the request was a good one or not.

“If you feel like it, that is.”

She thought that she should get a bookcase, even if it was a small one, for the things that Thor had brought for her from Asgard. But it was hardly, as she had said, a priority.

She was just running out of useful things that she could do which _were_ priorities.

“And your room? Is there… anything you want to change?”

She hadn’t asked, mostly because she hadn’t thought to. She’d been doing her best to spend next to no time in there, and now she felt she’d been remiss.

  
  


Steve thought guiltily of his sketchbooks, largely devoid of any new material, and his clumsy failed attempts at drawing. He’d largely given up, devoid of motivation and inspiration alike, but if Loki wanted him to paint her something...

Well. Perhaps that would be part of his physio regimen. Fine motor skill development, right?

“I could try my hand at that,” he said, cautiously -- he couldn’t commit to making anything _good,_ but he would at least be open to the idea. “Been a while since I painted.”

Seventy-odd years. At least. Since he’d run out of money for art school and sold most of his nicer supplies off to the students still enrolled.

“My room’s fine,” he quickly added. There were traces of Loki in it still, of course, but like hell was he going to get rid of those on his own. It was always supposed to be _their_ room, and he couldn’t fully accept the idea of it never being that way again.

  
  


She nodded, pleased at least that he would try… and that he had no real complaints, insofar as his room went. Seeing him unable to move the mattress… she realized there was much that she hadn’t considered, about his current abilities and strengths… or lack thereof.

Some part of her knew that she had always justified her loving a mortal with thoughts of how far superior he was as one. But she did not suddenly stop loving him just because he could not move her bedding.

It was… almost a relief, she thought, remembering her self doubt when it came to his talking of Peggy, and how she had wanted him even before he’d grown strong. But it also was the source of still more turmoil-- he had nearly died, and she knew she’d had to face that. But she couldn’t hide behind the thought of him being more than human, any more. And that would take some coming to terms with.   
It was probably good they could not touch one another; she’d have to learn her own strength much more lest she risk damaging him. And learn how to do what she could without causing him to flush as he had, to grow embarrassed again.

“Let me know if you need any help setting up your art supplies… or if there is anything that Tony failed to order. Whenever you feel like painting, I mean. No rush.” She gestured around the room. “Clearly, I have been in no hurry.” She put a smile on it.

  
  


Steve smiled sadly. She was in no hurry to claim the place for her own; and he was in no hurry to force her to. But in the meantime, this limbo that she existed in... He had to do better.

“I’ll let you know,” he promised, though he doubted there would be anything he couldn’t manage himself. But pushing her away when all she wanted to do was help -- he couldn’t keep that up. She deserved much better, and he was ashamed of his outburst from the day before.

“It’s still pretty early,” he said. “We could, ah, watch a movie?” It was a safe enough past-time for them to share. They could even watch something on Loki’s laptop here in the room, if it made it feel less lonely.

  
  


She smiled for him, and it did not feel as dishonest as so many of her smiles lately had.

“If you’d like.” She agreed. “Do you want to go and pick a film? I should dress the bed, but once the sheets are in place, I can come out and join you.”

She did not want to admit that she was a little concerned-- it was still early yet, but with as much as he had been sleeping of late, and as much as he had managed to eat, in comparison to his usual meals, she had to worry that, if he leaned the pillows against her as he had been, and then fell asleep, it seemed likely that he would fall asleep _on_ her, and she knew he didn’t want that.

No matter how greedily she did want it.

Better to leave him on his own for a few minutes, better to see if he changed his mind while she busied herself in here.

She had to be careful, she knew. Had to seem at least like she wasn’t too concerned for him, to make as few offers as possible.

And she hoped that asking for his help in this had done him some small amount of good, at least.

  
  


“Sure,” Steve agreed. He finished his water and took the glass with him as he left the bedroom and returned to the living room.

He perused the film selections for a few minutes, skipping past the new releases and asking JARVIS to pull up the “classic library.” When Loki emerged, he’d just queued up an old black and white mystery that had come out a few years after the war, with actors whose names he recognized featuring in it.

It would be nostalgic, sure, but it wasn’t a war film. And the opening strains of music as the credits began felt comforting in their familiar style of sound. He piled the cushions up between them and smiled at Loki, knowing that this -- dinner and a movie and working together, but never touching or kissing or holding -- wasn’t enough.  
But maybe, he hoped, it would be be _enough for now_.

 


	92. Ninety-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: there is a brief mention of recovery/aftermath of implied sexual assault.

The next day, Steve returned to group, opting for a cab in lieu of taking Nat up on her offer of a ride to the church. It wasn’t far to go anyway, and he hoped that soon enough, he’d be able to simply walk it, though Amir cautioned him against too much too fast.

It was a different group than it had been earlier in the week. A couple faces were familiar, and of course, Sam was there, but to Steve’s slight dismay, he got to be the new guy all over again with a fresh group of faces.

Again, he didn’t talk at all through the meeting. He nodded to those milling around at the start and sat, though the young woman in the seat next to him gave him an abrupt look of alarm and quickly moved to another seat, leaving Steve startled and somewhat hurt. He _knew_ he hardly cut an imposing figure these days...

“Don’t mind her,” the woman taking the seat to his other side said as she lowered herself down. “It’s nothing you did wrong.” She smiled warmly, and Steve felt himself settle, just a little.

People shared. Steve found himself drifting a few times, but quickly returned to listening as soon as he realized, shamed by his inattentiveness. He was supposed to be getting better, and if he couldn’t quite work up the courage to speak, he could at least have the decency to listen.

Then a woman who introduced herself as Ellen spoke.

“Jeremy moved out, a while ago,” she said, voice rough, looking at her hands as she hunched over, elbows on her knees. “I’m kinda surprised it took this long, but.” She sighed. There was silence for a few moments as everyone waited patiently for her to continue, in her own time.

“He was okay after-- after what happened.” She grimaced. “Said he knew it wasn’t my fault, that I hadn’t wanted it, that he didn’t blame me. Which is better than a lot of guys do, I know. He didn’t call me a slut or any of that shit. He was supportive and went with me to file the police report and everything...” Another pause, and she ran her hand back through her hair with a sigh.

“It was just a thing to get through, you know? And he was happy to help me get through it, but... I didn’t. I mean, I still am. It wasn’t something with a clear-cut end, you know? And when I didn’t just... magically get over it or whatever... That’s when it all started falling apart.” She huffed, still staring down.

Steve grimaced in sympathy.

“I kept zoning out and remembering it. Kept flinching whenever he touched me. I didn’t want to... you know. And it kept going on and he started to get less supportive. Shit. I don’t mean-- he’s not a bad guy, he wasn’t a jerk about it, but it wasn’t what he thought he signed up for, you know? And after a few months of that he got pissed about how much I freaked out sometimes when he touched me. Like I was... I dunno. Accusing him or something,” she muttered, then sighed.

“He could accept what happened to me. But I don’t think he could accept the damage I had after, and the person it turned me into. So a few weeks ago I came home from a late shift and all his stuff was in boxes and that was just... it.”

Steve’s mouth went dry as the others murmured their sympathy and support, blood rushing in his ears.

He didn’t hear much of the next share, and didn’t move when Sam called for everyone to take a break and the others stood and stretched and got coffee. He was still lost in Ellen’s words.

A few months, she’d said. Then that had been it.

... How long did _he_ have?

  
  


Sam took a seat next to the new guy, moving slowly as not to spook him.

He watched, he observed. And he’d seen the way Jack reacted to what Ellen said.

Now, he didn’t know the guy’s story. But he’d gathered he was pretty against touching or being touched, so he didn’t reach out. Just sat.

“Hey Jack. Not feeling coffee right now?” He asked, voice soft so no one else would overhear. Not that they would try; he’d had this kind of talk with most of them in turn, and they knew better than to interrupt or listen in, if they could help it.

And normally he wouldn’t shut everyone else out for more than a minute, so he was hoping to be able to snap Jack out of it on the quicker side, but if not… well, he could always invite him to stay after.

They’d have to see.

“You still with us, man?” He asked.

  
  


Steve startled. He hadn’t heard Sam approach, though given how deeply buried in his own thoughts he’d been, he doubted he could fault the guy for that.

“I... yes. I mean, no, not... I had coffee earlier,” he stammered, embarrassed to have been caught paying so little attention. He grimaced. “Sorry.” That was probably rude.

  
  


“Yeah, I feel you. Too much gets me jittery.”

He watched Jack’s face as he spoke. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, and I’m not trying to pressure you to talk, either in group or out of it, but if you need an ear...” he trailed off, letting the invitation hang.

“It can be hard sometimes, if a story in the circle resonates a little too well. A fair few folks here know that-- but it’s also a good thing, whether it seems like it or not. You aren’t alone, and the person sharing, they aren’t either.” He smiled wryly. “Congrats on being part of someone else’s process, and I’m glad to see you back again, working on being part of yours.”

  
  


Steve was about to point out that not listening, when someone had the courage -- more courage than him -- to spill about their darkest secrets was definitely worth feeling sorry for, but then Sam _congratulated_ him and he didn’t quite know what to say or feel.

Was he part of Ellen’s process? Or by not having the courage to say anything, was he failing her too?

He pursed his lips. Part of him was tempted to talk with Sam, but knowing how short the break would be...

“I, ah. I don’t have a ride waiting for me. I could stay after and talk if-- if you’re not busy?” He didn’t want to keep Sam if he had a family to get home to. “Or-- or whenever works. I, ah.” He made a face. “I don’t have a terribly busy schedule.”

  
  


Sam pressed a hand to his chest.

“No scary redheads today? Dang.” But he grinned.

“Stick around after, I can even give you a ride back, if you want. Up to you though.” He nodded.

“Might grab some water while the break lasts. All this leading and talking-- leaves me parched. You want me to grab you a cup?”

Wherever Jack’s mind had wandered off to, it seemed fairly present and accounted for now. Which had been the aim. And if he did actually stick around, Sam would count it as a win. But even if not… it was a baby step. He’d asked, after all.

Which meant he’d be likely to follow through on it, even if it wasn’t today.

  
  


A startled chuckle slipped through Steve’s lips. “I’ll tell her to swing by next week for your sake,” he replied wryly, though with little intent of making good on the threat. “And thanks, but I’m good.”

Spacing out was rude enough. Getting up to take a leak in the middle of the meeting would be even worse.

The meeting reconvened sometime later, and while part of Steve hoped the discussion would gravitate toward Ellen’s share, the conversation instead focused largely on managing PTSD in the workplace rather than on relationships.

Time went by surprisingly quickly, and soon enough, Sam called an end to the meeting and everyone was standing, some attendees dispersing, some congregating in small groups. One of the members caught Sam by the arm to ask him something, and when Steve stood, shifting from one foot to the other, he spotted Ellen retrieving her coat from the pile in the corner.

Steve took a deep breath. If he was supposed to be a part of her process, well. He ought to say something. And if he couldn’t say it in front of everyone in the group--

He approached, clearing his throat, and she tensed, turning to eye him with a frown.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, I’m, uh. I’m Jack,” he offered.

She nodded curtly. “Hi.”

“I just, ah, I wanted to ask... Has it gotten any better? The whole flinching when you’re touched thing?” he asked, hoping, but also hardly daring to hope.

Ellen’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”

Steve blinked. “I... I just wondered, I guess.” He licked his lips nervously, startled by her defensiveness, which bordered on outright hostility. “I haven’t been good with being touched either since, um. Since my thing,” he added, gesturing vaguely.

Some of the tension in her shoulders eased, and the line in her brow faded. “Oh. Sorry. For a second there, I thought--” she broke off with a small huff. “Sorry. I mean, it’s a little easier now. Especially with family, and if I see it coming. I don’t deal well with strangers or surprise contact, but I’m working on it. Though even with people I’m pretty comfortable with, there are days where any touching makes me feel--”

“--Like your skin’s gonna crawl right off your bones?” Steve supplied.

She blinked, then the corner of her mouth twitched. “Yeah, pretty much.”

For a second, Steve wanted to tell her everything; about how he couldn’t touch his partner, how they slept in separate beds, how he was terrified of losing her and wanted to kiss her even as he was terrified that he’d spiral into a panic if he tried. Then it passed, and he took a step back, hands in his pockets, nodding. “Thanks. For sharing.”

“Yeah. You too, Jack,” she replied, smiling faintly as she pulled her coat on and then headed for the door.

Then she was gone and Steve took a deep breath and let it out.

  
  


He kept an eye on Jack while he said his goodbyes to the regulars, though when Todd asked to talk to him for a second, he gave him his full attention.

It was good news, fortunately, an update on how he’d followed through with some of Sam’s advice in regards to his mom. And it seemed things had gone well.

Sam congratulated him, shook his hand. Offered to let him share first next time, if he wanted.

And the next time he looked over, Jack was talking to Ellen. He felt his brows furrowing as he pondered the implications and kept an eye on the interaction, making sure no lines were crossed and neither of them was showing signs of distress.

The tension eased though, and they parted in a way that seemed… almost friendly.

That was great; Sam would have to say something to Ellen later. She’d come a long way since she’d first showed up.

But the last few stragglers were filtering out, and that left him with Jack.

“You feel like chatting now?” He asked, “Or do you need a minute? I can put up some chairs first, if you rather.”

Options were good. Not pushing him was good.

But the fact that he was here was most important. Sam couldn’t help but wonder what Jack’s deal was, but he mentally steadied himself, ready to listen, no matter how bad it might be.

  
  


Steve looked up when Sam spoke, and smiled weakly. “I’ll, ah. I’ll help you with the chairs,” he said. If they started talking while they were moving, the division of his concentration might be enough to keep him from getting tangled up in his own mind. And hastening Sam’s cleanup time would alleviate his guilt for taking up more of his time for Steve’s own problems.

Grabbing and moving the chairs to the rack in the corner was easier than wrestling with Loki’s bedframe, even if he was still limited in how many he could comfortably carry. They had half the circle cleared up when he finally asked:

“Does that happen often? Relationships falling apart, I mean.”

 

Sam felt his eyebrows rising, and schooled himself.

Right into it, then. Though Jack had never seemed like much of a small talker. Or much of a talker at all, from what he’d seen.

“Sometimes. Depends on the relationship, depends on the people in it. ‘Bout as many fall apart as get closer, grow stronger.” And Sam didn’t need to ask which Jack was worried his would do, since he was bringing it up..

“You have trouble at home?” He asked, though he made sure not to sound accusatory. And he kept moving, making a point of not stopping to look at him, so he wouldn’t feel like he was under a microscope or in a spotlight.

  
  


Steve pressed his lips together. “I’m not sure,” he answered. Only... That was a lie. It wasn’t trouble on the level of Loki walking out just yet, or the two of them throwing things and fighting or anything like that, but it was trouble all the same. “Yeah,” he amended with a sigh, shoulders slumping as he put two chairs back on the rack.

“I’m trying right now, but I know that this is really hard on-- hard on my partner,” he explained, referring to Loki as vaguely as he could, “and I don’t know...” he trailed off.

He didn’t know what to do.

  
  


He felt his brows trying to rise for a completely different reason this time.

He was here straight from DC, where people did a whole lot of not talking. Professionally, even. He knew the guy was some form of veteran. And the total avoidance of any specifics…

His partner. He was trying, but trying what? Sam pushed down his reaction, though. Paranoia came with his own experiences. And people weren't generally out to get him. Especially if they were asking him for relationship advice.

“How communicative are the two of you? You talk about it at all?”

  
  


“We talk,” Steve replied carefully, thinking of their conversations. “A lot of it is just... small talk. Trying to be a normal couple. Like if we fake it long enough things will... go back to how they were.” Even if they’d never exactly been a _normal_ couple. Their domesticity at the moment was greater than it ever had been before. “We don’t talk about... Um. What happened. At least not much. I’ve mentioned a few things real quick just to explain-- triggers?” That was the word Nat had used.

“And we’ve talked a little about... things between us.” He sighed. “I lashed out a bit the other day about being kinda smothered, which, I shouldn’t have. But I’ve also tried to make it clear that my bad days are nothing to do with-- that none of it’s anyone’s fault, you know? And that I love--” he broke off, voice threatening to crack as a lump crept up his throat. He coughed, then cleared his throat.

“Anyway, talking is... Not so much the issue.” He slotted one of the last chairs into place. “Not when you’re with someone who counts actions for a hell of a lot more than words.”

He could tell Loki he loved her until he was blue in the face, but when he shrank away from her touch and wouldn’t kiss her, wouldn’t hold her, how much could that count for?

  
  


He didn’t miss the utter lack of pronouns, and he was trying not to jump to conclusions about that. But maybe all he needed was reassurance that he wouldn’t be judged.

“How long have the two of you been together?” Sam asked, and followed it up with, “And how long since what happened--how long has it been that you’ve been small talking and being ‘normal’?” He threw in some finger waving airquotes, just to try and make it a little less like he was grilling the guy, or… maybe less serious, less heavy.

He was curious about that last bit though-- someone who counts actions more than words usually meant trust issues, and that often meant there was more than one set of problems at play.

But he’d need to start with the ones sitting in front of him first.

  
  


“We’ve.... Known each other for a few years,” Steve ventured, leaning against the chair rack and rolling his shoulder. “We started talking a lot more last August. Then about a month later, things started getting serious. It’s been pretty intense since then. Or, ah. Until... Mid-november.” He made a face. It was such a short span of time, all things considered, but all of it-- being in HYDRA’s clutches, being together with Loki -- had the intensity of what felt like distilled _years._

“I woke up in-- in the hospital at Christmas. Came home on New Year’s. Haven’t been able to handle being touched much in that time.”

  
  


_A month?_

He was maybe the freshest person Sam had seen in group in recent history. And his relationship was, what, a year and some old. He couldn’t help but think it didn’t bode well that a month was testing it, but he wasn’t going to volunteer that opinion.

“How’d he react to you lashing out?”

He let it be pretty casual, nonjudgmental and not too obvious-- the sort of thing that Jack could just pick up and roll with, if he was listening for it, or he could potentially glaze over it.

He wondered, too, what lashing out looked like, since Jack wasn’t exactly what he’d call the picture of health. Then again, for being out of the hospital for around a month, that wasn’t exactly surprising.

  
  


Steve startled, breath catching at Sam’s use of ‘ _he.’_

Steve had been careful, evasive, he knew. He didn’t think he’d done anything to suggest--

But Sam was still looking at him with the same measured, patient kindness as before. It seemed that if he’d sussed out as much about Steve’s sexuality, he didn’t particularly mind or care.

For a second, he considered correcting him -- Loki was female at the moment, after all -- but if she shifted back and Steve was suddenly talking about the man in his life instead of a woman with no explanation... No. Easier to just use male pronouns for the time being, to be consistent. If Sam had already figured Steve swung that way, then it would just be easier.

(And besides, it wasn’t _Steve_ who Sam was looking at, but Jack Simon. Jack had the luxury of being no one -- nobody would care if he was queer and out and had a boyfriend.)

He swallowed. “Looked at me like I’d murdered a puppy, then gave me the space I asked for until I made things right,” he explained. “We’ve... We’ve been sleeping in separate bedrooms since I accidentally, um. Took a swing, when I was having a nightmare.”

The air in the basement abruptly felt stuffy and cloying. He cleared his throat. “Could we, ah, walk? I think I need some air.”

  
  


Sam nodded, turning over the words and picking them apart.

Jack had nightmares that he fought back against physically- he and his guy lived together. He’d seemed a little dismayed when Sam gendered his partner, but he hadn’t corrected him, so he figured he’d been right.

Which was good, he was getting somewhere, and Jack wasn’t having to spell it all out.

“Do you live close enough that we can walk in that direction? Or is there somewhere you’d like to aim for? There’s a coffee shop a couple of blocks from here, got some good other options if you still aren’t feeling the caffeine, though.”

He wondered about the scary redhead, and where she fell into all this-- his guy’s sister, maybe? And the guy himself. Didn’t trust words, smothered Jack, made him feel guilty and then ran off til he apologized. It wasn’t a great picture, but he knew he was only getting one side of it, and that picture was biased in favor of the guy he was helping. Or supposed to be helping.

Would be helping, if he ever got enough of the puzzle assembled that he thought he could give any advice that would be worthwhile.

Then again, he was listening. For some folks, that was enough.

  
  


Steve let out a breath. The tower wasn’t that far from Hell’s Kitchen, but indicating he lived there would raise questions he didn’t want to answer. Not that he really wanted to answer any of them, but there was productive conversation and then there was blowing his cover. “Coffee shop sounds fine,” he answered.

They climbed the stairs from the basement, Steve doubling back to grab his cane when he realized he forgot it, giving Sam a sheepish look, and made their way out to the street.

He was surprised, all in all, how much easier talking to Sam was than Dr. Cohen had been. Maybe it was the setting. Maybe it was the less formal, more conversational tone. Maybe it was just knowing that Sam had a reason for being the epicenter of this group. But while he felt tense talking about all of this, he didn’t feel like he was going to be sick.

“We’d always been really tactile,” he volunteered after a few moments, during which Sam had been quietly pensive. “Not being able to hold or touch or anything is... hard.”

  
  


Sam wasn’t sure there was a good, sensitive way of phrasing this, but he gave it his best.

“When you say tactile,” he started, “do you mean that your relationship is pretty sex-based? Because that’s not necessarily a death knell, or anything. I mean, I’d never tell you who, but I’ve heard from some of the folks I’ve talked to over the last couple of years some pretty good… workarounds, I guess. Being repulsed by sex or touch shy after some kind of trauma, that’s not exactly uncommon.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded with his head, aiming their feet so they’d be moving in the right direction.

“That physical stuff, it tends to work itself out in time. Which might be hard to believe now, but… I gotta say, I’m a little more worried about the other behaviors you described. You taking a swing, the smothering, the guilt trips. If you wanna elaborate, I’m down to listen.”

  
  


“I-- no!” Steve nearly squawked. “I mean we-- we do, but not--” He felt his cheeks flushing. He was _not_ discussing his sex life with a near-stranger. And _God,_ was he grateful they’d left the church before _that_ came up. “It’s a lot more than that.”

He and Loki had sex -- quite a lot of excellent sex -- but that wasn’t even the part he missed most. It was the little touches -- the kisses, the hugs, the sleeping with their limbs tangled together, the hand-holding and the dancing in their living room. It was being able to reassure Loki with a touch, or ground him with an embrace. Even when they’d hidden their physical affection and kept their relationship a secret, it was those little touches he’d coveted, that they’d take wild risks for.

Thinking of it all now all but brought on a physical ache. He was caught off guard by Sam’s next statement though.

“I didn’t mean to,” he clarified, skin prickling with shame all the same. “I didn’t know where I was. I’d _never_ deliberately hurt him.”

  
  


“Nah, didn’t think you would. You said it was an accident, and, frankly, I don’t let the type of people who deliberately hurt others like that in my groups. If I thought you were one of those, you’d have been asked to leave.”

And unfortunately for him, but fortunately for the others in the groups, he’d gotten a pretty good taste for that sort of thing.

“I’m glad though. About you guys being more.” Especially since they were living together. “Sounds to me like, if he just moved into another room instead of moving out, he agrees with you. But that still leaves the smothering and guilt trips. And that’s not to mention you being worried that your words are going pretty unheard, or at least, that they aren’t worth much to him. Have you considered couples’ therapy at all?”

  
  


Steve made a face. “It’s not-- I feel guilty because I _know_ I’m... I’m not doing enough. It’s nothing L-- It’s not like that.” He hung his head.

He’d never hurt Loki deliberately, but still managed to do so, over and over again, in a multitude of ways.

“I didn’t do so well in a therapy setting,” he admitted. “That’s why Nat dragged me to the VA. She figured a different format would be easier.” And she’d been right, even if the VA itself didn’t work for him; the group sessions diverted scrutiny from him, made things easier.

And truth be told, he struggled to imagine Loki spilling anything about their relationship to a stranger.

  
  


“You’re coming to therapy a month out of the hospital. If you think that’s _not doing enough_ , I don’t know what to tell you, but from what I’ve seen? On average, people don’t show up til four to six months after their traumatic experience.”

He tilted his head though, watching the sidewalk ahead of them while he thought.

“So you don’t talk about real problems together, unless it’s a breaking point, is that right? I know you’re more concerned about touch, and I get it, believe me, but… you can’t hurry that along. Can’t force it. I’ve seen folks try, and seen the fall out. Which means that if you’re worried about it ruining or ending your relationship, you have to deal with what you can do, which is addressing the problem, handling expectations, and communicating. Now, tell me some about the whole counting actions more than words thing. What’s that all about?”

  
  


_Four to six months?_

Steve wasn’t sure he could handle four to six more months of... this. And with the threat of Thanos still looming-- did they even _have_ six months?

(And would he still be this _useless_ in that time?)

He tried to focus on what Sam was saying, asking, even if not all of it seemed right. Forcing it through exposure had sounded like the right path when Tony discussed his experiences; surely that had to be worth a shot. And as for communicating...

He let out a short sigh. “He’s... been through a lot. Before I met him,” he explained cautiously. “He was lied to in ways that really hurt him. He knows-- we made a promise, early on, not to lie to each other.”

A promise Steve had likely broken now, he realized with a fresh surge of shame. “But... He puts more stock in what people do than what they claim.” It was frustrating at times, but from what Loki had told him of what happened with his family, Steve could hardly blame him.

  
  


Sometimes Sam hated being right, but there it was-- trust issues.

“It’s a good promise. And I get why you might be hesitant to turn to talking, but what if it’s… planning? Talking about doing something and then following through with it? Like, if you talk about what you can do, options for replacements for the intimacy you’re used to. Because while I am all about you taking things at your speed, if you really are kicking yourself over not being enough or doing enough, or whatever variation of phrasing you use to beat yourself up with--” He gave him a wry half smile. “It’s sort of half-way between reassuring him you’re trying and asking for help. Which… I’m guessing he wants to help, and that’s where the smothering comes in?”

He sidestepped someone who had decided to stop in the middle of the flow of sidewalk traffic, not even breaking eye contact.

“And then when you follow through with it… it’s action, but it’s helping to reinforce that your words are worth something. And so are his. Maybe build up the trust on that front.”

  
  


Steve’s walking pace slowed as his mind raced, going over Sam’s words and potential scenarios in which they could apply...

Planning could work. It could also make things ten times worse if Steve had one of his bad days and let Loki down, undermining his promises, but if he did better and followed through, it could pay off. And if it was something where both of them felt useful, both of them contributed and worked together, like they had back in the early days on the run--

“That could work,” he said carefully. “Thank you.” And that was said earnestly as he turned to look at Sam.

  
  


Sam nodded.

“Let me know how it works out. And definitely get to talking with him. Not necessarily a play by play of what you’re recovering from, but the more you share with him of the recovery process itself, the more he’ll feel like part of it. And the less he’ll feel pushed away. Whether you’re touching or not.”

Without knowing more, that was about all the advice he could give. He pulled his hands out of his pocket and gestured at the coffee shop that they were coming up on.

“How you doing? You want to grab a table, sit down for a few?”

  
  


Steve winced. He definitely wasn’t ready to give a play-by-play of everything just yet. He didn’t even want to _think_ about it. Let alone have Loki know about it.

He wanted to keep that as far away from Loki as possible.

“I could... yeah.” He felt bad for taking up Sam’s time, but it was cold out and the January chill was eating at him through the light jacket he’d grabbed. And talking with Sam so far was... okay. He listened, he spoke easily, he asked questions without making it feel like an interrogation, and his advice didn’t seem half bad.

The coffee shop was small, fairly quiet at that time of the evening, and trendy without being off-puttingly modern. The smell of roasted beans hung heavy in the air, and acoustic guitar piped gently through the speakers. They lined up for drinks and Steve stared blankly for a few minutes at all the selections before ordering a small hot chocolate when he got to the register, just barely remembering in time to give his name as ‘Jack’ and not Steve.

  
  


Sam followed suit, having meant what he said about coffee-- and if he had any this late in the evening, he’d never get to sleep. So he went with a chai tea latte instead and settled into the seat at the table.

There’d been a corner spot unclaimed, and he figured it was their best bet for Jack’s comfort. He gave him the seat with its back to the wall and he turned the chair for himself so that, instead of having his back to the door, he could sit nearly sideways, back to the window. It’d keep the scrutiny down, so Jack wouldn’t feel like he was facing the dean, and it’d let Sam keep an eye on the place. He figured Jack would get it, being… whatever branch he’d been.

“Nothing like a hot drink,” he said, by way of easing back into conversation. “Warms up the tips of your fingers and the depths of your soul, huh?”

  
  


Steve was pleasantly surprised by the table Sam picked -- the same he would have opted for, tactically strong for scoping the exits -- then remembered that Sam was a soldier too. He nodded gratefully when Sam allowed him the corner seat, where he had the best view of the shop.

It made him feel at ease, and made him like Sam that much more.

“Mmm,” he hummed in agreement, sipping gingerly at his scalding hot cocoa. He recalled sitting around a campfire in the woods with the commandos, nearly frozen in the sleeting rain and the mud, holding a cup of coffee like it was the holy grail and thanking God for the stuff.

“My guys didn’t gripe about getting shot at, but the time we ran out of coffee grounds in the field was the closest I think I ever saw them come to mutiny,” he mused.

  
  


That startled a laugh out of him.

It was the most story he’d gotten out of the guy so far, but it said plenty.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter what the job is, if the food isn’t good, no one’s happy. And coffee comes in just north of that, in importance. Can’t say I blame ‘em.” He studied him for a moment, trying to imagine where this guy fit into the world of the average grunt.

“You army?”

And the way he talked-- his guys sounded like he was leading them, rather than just part of the crew, not _his unit_. His _guys_. Also sort of implied a lack of women on the team, but that still wasn’t all that surprising. No matter what year it was.

  
  


Steve snorted. “Don’t get me started on their complaining about the food. I was just happy we _had_ any.” Field rations weren’t exactly gourmet cuisine, but the U.S. Army at least made sure that Steve and his men had a few square meals a day, which was more than he’d generally been able to hope for before his enlistment. (Though if he never had to eat a tin of baked beans again, he honestly wouldn’t mind.)

“I was,” he confirmed, shifting a little in his seat. “You?”

He knew the answer already; Natasha had told him that Sam was pararescue -- Air Force. But Jack Simon had no reason to know. (Natasha would be proud of him.)

  
  


“Air force.” He told him, nodding where he might have shaken another guy’s hand. “And my mom cooked well enough that I woulda been right there with your team, bitching and being picky. At least for the first few months. Peanut butter, man, one of the most underappreciated foods in the world.”

Though fancy fluffy tea like the one he was sipping now wasn’t far behind. He was too damn much city boy, and he’d never heard the end of it.

“And before that? What part of the world did you start off in?”

He knew the lifestyle; military moved around. For all he knew, Jack was a long way off from Idaho, or somewhere similar. Though there wasn’t enough accent for him to say.

  
  


Steve actually laughed at Sam’s assessment of peanut butter. “Can’t disagree with that. And I’m from Brooklyn.” And then, because the temptation was too great now that he knew Sam’s branch--

“Air Force, huh? What, you too good to get your feet dirty on the ground with the rest of us G.I.s?” he teased, grinning impishly. There were some things that never changed, and the friendly rivalry between military forces had to be one of them. Even if the Air Force was its own independent military branch now, and not a corps within the army the way it had been during his war.

  
  


“Gotta be someone around to do the math for you boys.” He shot back, smiling and gentling his usual retort. He still didn’t know the guy well enough to go any sharper, and he definitely didn’t know him well enough to talk about what he actually did-- usually he’d make a quip about being the 911 that the SEALs, green berets, and recon marines called, but he hadn’t brought up Pararescue, and Jack probably didn’t need that kind of insight into Sam’s life.

Not when he was busy trying to rush his mental healing and take care of a untrusting partner.

Poor guy.

“Besides, I hear our chairs, rations, and just about everything else is better. Happy to serve, even happier to do it in relative comfort.” Or as much comfort as any tour could afford.

  
  


Steve grinned. “Okay, definitely can’t fault you for that,” he agreed, glad that Sam was taking the playful ribbing in the spirit it was meant. He didn’t doubt that Sam did good work, after all. And the technological advances in the Air Force since Steve’s day were staggering.

He sipped his cocoa, regarding Sam thoughtfully. “Jump out of any planes?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer given Sam’s background.

  
  


“Oh, a few.” He said, gesturing vaguely. “I was on two tours, and there was practice before that. I swear, the moment it got cloudy, we were in the air practicing. Day or night.”

He shook his head ruefully, but didn’t follow up with any questions of his own, just in case what Jack did tied in to why Jack was there today, and last week.

“How bout the redhead? Not to sound over interested, but all my days in the service, I never met anyone that kind of--” He trailed off, looking for the word. “It’s not just scary. She’s competent. I just don’t know at what. Aside from being scary.” He flashed a grin. “She serve with you?”

He wondered about Jack’s guy, too-- there was always additional support when it was a service couple, but he’d get there. He hoped.

  
  


The redhead? Steve chuckled ruefully. “We worked together for a while after I left the service,” he explained, aware that he was on dicey territory, but not overly worried. “I could tell you what she does, but then she’d probably have to kill you.”

That would probably convey about as much as Sam needed to know. Whether he thought Natasha was CIA, NSA, or something else, he’d know not to dig too deep. And, knowing Natasha... It was also likely the truth.

“You ever get that feeling,” he mused, picking at the cardboard sleeve around his cup, “when you jump, and you’re weightless and it feels like you’re flying, and everything just gets... focused? Like with the rush of air, all your noisy thoughts get drowned out, and the wind just-- just strips away all the unimportant stuff and you’re just perfectly concentrated and clear-headed for those few moments?”

  
  


Sam nodded, perfectly able to recall the feeling, and surprised that this guy knew it.

“Yeah, I know it.” He couldn’t help the fondness. “It’s cold and it bites at you, but you can’t even start to care. It’s a great feeling.” He found himself back on earth though, and shook his head. “I’ve got some sound generators, that white noise stuff that’s supposed to mimic it. And it helps, sometimes, but it’s not the same.”

He tilted his head, watching Jack now with added curiosity.

It felt like he was implying rank, but maybe it was a branch difference, or maybe Sam was off his game, because he wasn’t catching it. Either way, the mysterious redhead just kept getting more mysterious, and Jack just kept getting more interesting, the more little bits he got out of him.

“You hoping to get back into it? Once everything’s run its course?” He nodded at the cane, carefully trying to ask whether or not it was permanent. If Jack expected to heal and fully recover.

  
  


Steve could imagine the noise, the dull roar that covered everything but the steady thrum of his own heart, but without the sensation of cold air stinging his face, the pressure of it against his chest -- he couldn’t picture it coming close.

He sobered though, at Sam’s next question. “I... Not the army, no. I’m done with that. The... work I was doing after...” He pursed his lips. “Maybe. I want to, but, realistically?” He sighed. “No idea if I’ll even get my head screwed back on right, let alone be physically fit for duty again.”

Even if he healed and no longer limped or any of the rest, without the serum -- he’d no longer have strength like Hulk or Thor. He didn’t have the same niche skillsets as Nat and Clint. Didn’t have a suit like Tony. Most of his fighting strategy incorporated the physiological advantages the serum gave him; without it, he’d need to relearn how to fight. And who knew how long that could take?

And if he couldn’t stop jumping at shadows, panicking over nothing and freezing when he needed to act, he’d be a dangerous liability, no matter his physical status.

  
  


Sam nodded.

“I hear you. I got to the point where I could, you know? Healthy enough for it, head’s screwed on right enough most days, but… I figure I found something that works a little better for me. Grounded myself, decided I should help the folks I can, instead of dwelling on the people I couldn’t.”

He thought that maybe volunteering a little info on his side might lead to Jack doing some of the same. Especially since apparently what had happened wasn’t connected to the time in the army, but might be connected to the work he was doing after. The same work he and the redhead had done together? Maybe the same work she’d have to kill Sam if he knew.

And man, he’d thought he’d left that kind of subterfuge-y shit back in DC.

But at least he knew how to work with it.

“Maybe there’s something out of the game that’ll feel worthwhile to you, too. But don’t stress finding it til you’re ready for it.” He nodded and took a sage sip of his latte, despite it being still a little too hot.

He swallowed anyway, trying to look cool and pretty sure it was obvious he was a dumbass.

  
  


Steve nodded, not missing what Sam said between the lines. Steve had suspected that he’d gravitated toward helping trauma survivors due to personal experience and personal struggle, and with a few words he confirmed as much. Healthy enough most days, dwelling on people he couldn’t help...

He might be leading the group, but he was definitely in there in that circle with the rest of them. The knowledge was reassuring, almost comforting -- though Steve felt a pang of guilt a moment later, since it came with the knowledge that Sam too must have gone through hell.

He sighed. “Maybe,” he acknowledged, though _not stressing_ was a hell of a lot easier said than done. Not when the Avengers still had threats looming over them. “Almost everyone I know is still in the thick of it. And I can’t help-- I can’t _protect_ anyone like this. Folks who are the closest thing I’ve got to family are gonna be out there risking their lives and I’m--”

He cut himself off. Sam was no longer risking his life in the field either, but he was doing good work and Steve didn’t want to say anything to disparage that. Still, he heard echoes of his own conversation with Bucky from a lifetime ago. _What am I gonna do, collect scrap metal in my little red wagon? I’m not gonna sit in a factory, there are men laying down their lives..._

  
  


“If nothing else, there’s always people on the other end of the comms, right? Desk jobs may not be the most glamorous, but maybe something like that, something administrative. I don’t know--” and here was the point where he tried the edges, just a little, “No idea what sort of work you and your scowly ninja friend _do_ , but safe to say everyone needs backup, everyone needs planners. But that’s a worry for later, right? Gotta have your head on straight, be able to take care of you before you try taking care of everyone else. First thing I learned about these sorts of sessions-- if you can’t tread water, don’t try to save someone else from drowning. You’ll both go under.”

No family, and so far Sam only knew of two other people in his support group. The guy with the trust issues that Jack felt like he was gonna lose, and the scary chick who had brought him in in the first place. But he said there were folks, multiple, who were the closest thing to family.

“You still in touch with any of the guys? Your army buddies?”

  
  


The other side of the comms. In the war, for Steve, in that last flight on the Valkyrie, it had been Peggy. Could he put himself in that position, to be the one listening as his team, as _Loki_ went down and there was nothing he could do to stop it? He shuddered. Though given the Avengers had JARVIS, it was probably a moot point. The AI would be a lot faster than Steve anyhow at managing intel.

Treading water was all well and good, but if everyone around him drowned, he doubted he’d have any will to swim.

“They’re all dead,” he answered flatly, taking a deep draw of his cocoa, finishing it off. He looked down at the cup bleakly. “I’m gonna get another -- do you want anything?”

  
  


Sam felt his eyes going big and round, and he shook his head mutely.

Near the bottom of the cup or no, you didn’t bring up a dozen dead soldiers and then ask the survivor to buy you tea.

“Actually, yeah, but pretty sure I owe you one for stepping in that, so you stay put-- you want a bigger size this time?”

He stood.

“I’m sorry.” He added. “We can talk about it, or not, if that’s better, once I get back with the drinks.”

  
  


Steve opened his mouth to argue, but at the last second bit his tongue. He’d gone and made things awkward; if Sam needed a moment, needed to cover this, Steve would be an absolute ass to deny him. He probably should have come up with a lie -- that they were stationed too far away, that they’d fallen out of touch, that they called each other up once a year -- but the truth had slipped out instead.

Sam was _easy_ to be honest with. Maybe too easy, given Steve had a cover to keep.

He waited for Sam to return, this time with a large cup, and gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry. I don’t usually blurt that out like that.”

  
  


He shook his head as he regained his seat.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m used to a lot of blurting, a lot of bluntness. I work with a lot of military. I just didn’t expect-- and maybe I should have. I’m sorry. Just, since you said you had been doing stuff since, I sort of ruled off anything terrible happening while you were in. And that was my bad. I’m sorry, about your guys. Really.”

He passed the cocoa.

But it sort of sounded like there were _two_ things here-- Jack had been out of it, but all the rest of his guys were dead. And clearly Jack had had something happen to him, physically.

He shook his head, wishing he was doing this in some sort of professional way, with files and references. Instead he was flying blind and playing twenty questions, neither of which was a great idea in this sort of situation.  
Case in point.

But there was one thing that hadn’t come up that he couldn’t help but still be curious about.

“But if you don’t want to talk about it, I get it. We can talk about something else. How about your guy? What’s he do?”

Just an offered redirection, one Jack could take or leave.

  
  


Steve hesitated.

He was eager to get off the subject of the loss of the commandos -- how did he explain that half of them died of old age? That their loss was painful, but he hadn’t watched them all die in the field -- besides Bucky, of course...

But the topic of Loki wasn’t necessarily safe either. Did he explain that they worked together, now that Loki might be joining the Avengers and in harm’s way? Or would that raise too many red flags? Did he make something up-- that his partner was a baker, or a veterinarian, or a librarian? Or--

A solution occurred in a moment of clarity as he sipped his cocoa. One that wouldn’t sound bizarre, wouldn’t be a lie, and would explain Steve’s proximity to Stark Tower in one fell swoop.

“He’s a researcher for Stark Industries. Medical R&D,” he replied. And Luke Smith was a documented SI employee, if anyone tried to verify his story.

  
  


He nodded; that made a certain amount of sense, and he felt like he saw a lot of that-- the military/medical field combo, in relationships.

But he also felt like a lot of the science types he knew overlapped with the trust issue folks he knew. Or in this case, knew of.

Not that generalizations helped for the most part, but the picture that came together made sense.

“That’s a good job. And local-- He must be bright to hold down that kind of work. He been there long?”

There was talk around town of high levels of burnout coming from the folks in the tower, how Stark himself was so bright but super eccentric, and, at times, demanding. Though he’d handed things off to his-- wife? Girlfriend? Whatever she was to him, Virginia Potts was heralded as a business genius. And Sam couldn’t help but wonder how closely Jack’s guy worked with those folks. And how long he’d be able to keep it up.

How stable Jack’s life was, at the moment, and how much chance there was of things taking another turn for the worse for him.  
Sam couldn’t help but hope they didn’t, though. He barely knew the guy, but he already felt like he deserved way better than what he’d been dealt lately. Whatever that had been.

  
  


Steve nodded. “He’s brilliant,” he confirmed, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a fond smile as he thought of Loki -- clever and talented and deeply creative with his use of magic. “He’s been there a few months now -- we moved up from DC to be near SI’s main office,” he half-lied glibly (they _had_ come to New York to take refuge in the tower).

“He’s working on developing cancer treatments right now. Though he’s been taking a lot of time off to, well. Take care of me,” he admitted.

  
  


Oof.

Another potential source for guilt-- If Jack felt like he was taking his genius boyfriend away from a potential cure for cancer…

That was a lot of people dying every day that he could be taking on as partially his fault. And it was hard to tell if that was what he was doing or not.

“Sounds like he’s pretty well suited for it, at least. Taking care of you. Not everybody gets medical geniuses on their team.” He tossed a half grin Jack’s way.

And if that smothering was a combination of personal concern mixed with medical science… yeah, he could see how that could get overwhelming.

“Does he have a period of leave, or a date to go back to work?”

Jack might be feeling claustrophobic at the moment, but it would be good to follow up once he lost that caretaker, make sure he didn’t suddenly feel abandoned or unsupported.

  
  


And now the lie was getting more complicated. Steve cursed himself a little, hoping he remembered everything he said and kept it all straight so he wouldn’t contradict himself later. “Not that I know of,” he replied carefully. “He’s technically a consultant, so he’s got some flexibility in his contract. From what I gather, everyone there’s been pretty understanding.” Again, neither a lie, nor the whole truth.

He _did_ hope Loki got to spend more time down on the R&D levels helping. Steve would feel better in her place if he did as much, he knew. That Loki could even do what she did was... it was incredible.

Everything about Loki was incredible. And Steve now, not so much.

“Honestly, I feel like I’m just waiting for him to realize he deserves so much better,” he added quietly.

  
  


Sam tilted his head.

“Has he ever given you the impression that he was only in it for your body? I mean, it’s clear you’re crazy about him, but. I don’t know, I don’t know the two of you well enough to be able to tell if you’re not giving him enough credit, or where he’s coming from in all this. But seems to me that if you knew one another for that long before you ended up together, he grew feelings for you for a reason. Gonna go out on a limb and guess that reason hasn’t disappeared just because you’re running around with a cane and a head full of nightmares.”

The lack of return date was less than ideal. Not that it actually would stay like this forever-- he had to go back to work _sometime_ , but for Jack, not having a date might make it feel like this was the new reality. With the boyfriend he didn’t think he deserved being over attentive and hovering.

“And I’ll bet if you said any of this to him, he’d rush to tell you why you’re wrong.”

Because you didn’t get to suffocating levels of care by not caring.

“When I see relationships end, it’s usually because the other person can’t or doesn’t know how to deal with it. And they usually become avoidant, spend more time away from their partner, find excuses not to be around. Sounds to me like you have the opposite problem. Which sounds like it’s more of a needing to find boundaries problem than a worry about him running off problem. Just my two cents, though.”

  
  


“And if he burns out?”

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck, grimacing as he looked down at the table. He could hardly explain that Loki was a god and Steve had been more-than-human and that had to have been a factor in the start of their relationship. Couldn’t explain that Loki had only in the last six months stopped being his active enemy and the feelings between them hadn’t been gradual in the grand scheme of things at all.

“I was... I was the stable one. Stabler, anyway,” he explained, haltingly. “Not that’s he’s _unstable_ , but I... I took care of things. Of him. Grounded him. I can’t-- I can’t be that support anymore.” He let out a huff of breath, frustrated.

“He had a... A breakdown, once before, before I knew him, and ended up running pretty far away from... From everything in his life. If he gets pushed to that point again...” By HYDRA, by SHIELD, by Thanos, by Steve’s own problems -- maybe not now, or in a month, but eventually, the possibility lingered.

  
  


Hoo boy.

“Is-- are there things right now that are being neglected around your place, because neither of you can manage? Because… there’s a team of volunteers for stuff like that, especially for vets. I could get you a number…” He trailed off, trying to think it over.

If Jack was used to shouldering the brunt of the burden, and he couldn’t… no wonder he felt like he was failing.

And no wonder he was worried. He felt like, if he couldn’t provide, couldn’t be the giver he’d always been, he wasn’t worth it.

And Sam didn’t know the other guy. He barely knew Jack. But the picture he had of him, again, the biased, protective picture… was someone who was clingy, needy, distrustful. Smart, but that just meant he was good at arguing his point, maybe. It all could be incredibly bad news, as far as Jack’s recovery was concerned. Or it might not. It was hard to say.

And the part where he’d had a breakdown, where he had a history of picking up and leaving… maybe Jack’s fears were well founded.

Again, hard to say.

“I don’t know the guy. I imagine you do, though-- is he showing signs of burning out? Of wanting to pack up and go? None of those reactions are sudden things, there’s usually signs. But if you aren’t sure…” he trailed off. “I could talk to him, maybe, if you want. Try and feel things out. Obviously what you’ve said here is in confidence, not to be repeated but… I don’t know, man. I’m sorry it’s something you have to worry about. I wish I could tell you those fears aren’t real, but until you talk to him, or I do, or both…” He trailed off with a shrug and took a drink.

“You can think about it if you want. No rush.”

  
  


“What? No, nothing’s being neglected, we’re-- we’re fine, we have resources,” he quickly explained, not wanting Sam to think they weren’t capable of caring for themselves. Even if they weren’t, Stark had ways of helping them out if they needed it without having to take volunteers and other assistance away from vets who needed them more.

As for Sam talking to Loki--

“God, no.” He buried his head in his hands for a moment. Loki had a hard time with strangers, and with a stranger whose only impression of him included Steve’s worst fears... It was a recipe for disaster. “That’s... That wouldn’t go well.”

He groaned, raking his hands back through his hair. “Maybe it’s all in my head,” he mumbled. “Enough other things are. Maybe I’m... Seeing problems where there aren’t any. Being paranoid.” Loki had done nothing to indicate any wish to leave; quite the contrary. But the fear of losing his partner, one way or another, hung over Steve like a sword of Damocles.

  
  


Sam watched him, sympathetic.

“If it’s in your head, talking it over might reassure you. If it doesn’t… well, I’ll be around. You know that. Paranoia’s normal. Not great, not something you want to listen to, or spend a lot of time believing in, but… when you get hurt, your brain starts yelling directions at you to try and keep from getting hurt again. They’re not _smart_ directions, necessarily. It’s all fight or flight, just… on a shitty delay that makes life awkward for a bit.”

The fact that Jack was that torn up over the idea of Sam even meeting his partner only deepened Sam’s unease about the guy. But he was the stranger, here, and he was trying to keep that in mind.

“Is your guy-- sorry, I didn’t catch his name, he talking to someone else? Since he used to lean hard on you and that’s not smart right now-- does he have someone else to lean on? A therapist, a close friend?”

  
  


Steve found himself fidgeting with his cup again, running his finger up and down the seam in the cardboard, tracing the generic pattern printed on it in the shop’s colors.

“Our friend-- the redhead,” he explained. “They have coffee pretty regularly. We haven’t talked about it much, but... Our friends are looking out for him.” Between Natasha and Pepper, and Bruce he was pretty sure too, the others in the tower had all been checking in regarding Loki’s welfare. “I can’t really see him at a therapist’s though.”

Maybe it wasn’t a fair assumption, but knowing how long Loki took to trust, it seemed a likely one.

He sighed in exasperation. “I’m probably not giving you a good mental image of him at all,” he mumbled. “He’s... He’s really amazing. He’s just been through a lot too and I worry.”

  
  


And apparently a name wasn’t forthcoming.

Fair, he supposed. He probably could use a name- even a first name, and a place of work and a department and figure it out.

Not that he would, but at least Jack was smart in his paranoia.

And there it was, finally, _our friends_. More than just the redhead, like he’d been hoping, though there wasn’t really much of an opening for him to learn more about them, with just what Jack had given so far.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that the worrying is mutual. _Talk to him_. Honestly, if that’s the only takeaway from today, that’s the most important one. And I know I’m only getting the outsider’s view, just getting the worry and the fear. That’s alright, and honestly, you gotta put it somewhere. Just so long as _you_ remember the balancing side of it, the good stuff. Because that’s what’s going to help you be less afraid.”

  
  


Steve grimaced. He knew Sam was right -- It was just difficult.

Then again, he’d promised to do better. Try harder. And trying harder meant trying difficult things.

“Thank you,” he told him, quiet and sincere, looking up to meet Sam’s eyes. “For... doing all this. Listening especially.”

  
  


Sam smiled, flattered by the thanks against his better judgment.

“They say you should do what you're good at. I'm lucky enough to have figured out what that is.”

He nodded at the drink in Jack’s hands.

“You take your time with that, and let me know if you want me to call you a cab. Or the offer still stands-- if you want a ride. But given how top secret your life is, no offense taken if you'd rather not.”

  
  


Steve nodded along. Sam _was_ good at this. Unfortunately, Steve had also found what he was good at, and so far it had been being a soldier; Captain America, specifically. And without that, he honestly wasn’t sure what he was left with.

He winced. “I swear I’m not being difficult on purpose, it’s just... a lot of it _is_ classified,” he admitted. He half expected SHIELD to come swooping in and bundle him off if he let too much slip, like that Cap was compromised. Natasha had probably gone to a lot of trouble just to give him this much opportunity to talk to someone outside the intelligence community.

  
  


Sam shook his head.

“I'm here from DC, man. I get it. I'm just yanking your leg. That's what we're for right? Airforce buddies keeping the grunts on their toes.” He asking him an easy going grin.

“But hey listen.” He pulled his wallet out and took another card, not his VA one, but a plainer, more personal card, out to slide across the table. “This is my direct number, goes to my cell. You need anything, even if it's just someone to listen…” he trailed off, tapping the number in question.

“And I hope I'm gonna see you next week?”

  
  


Steve blinked in surprise, looking from the card to Sam and back again before reaching out and taking it.

He hardly knew Sam. Knew he was from DC, and ex-Air Force, that he worked at the VA and ran a group for trauma victims. And that... was about it. He’d come and spilled his guts all over the guy, and he’d been patient and listened and given advice, and frankly given Steve far more of his time than he warranted.

And now he was giving him his personal number, like they were old friends. Just in case he needed to talk.

A small, cynical part of Steve wanted to be suspicious at this unfettered generosity and look for the catch. But a greater part of him found his throat tightening as he tucked the card carefully into his pocket. “Thanks,” he managed, not quite meeting Sam’s eyes.

He took another sip of his drink, swallowed, and got his reaction under control. “I’ll be there,” he said. And he had every intention of following through.

  
  
  


 


	93. Ninety Three

Loki was going stir crazy in the apartment, and she didn't want to inflict her nervous energy on their friends. The only person it could potentially be of any use with would be Natasha, but given she was Steve's escort to his therapy sessions, Loki was down one option.

Which left her one other… but she hadn't had a chance to talk to Pepper about getting a badge for her female face, since Pepper still wasn't home from her meetings. Which meant that Loki could go and work on the medical levels, but she'd have to turn back into himself to do so.

But with Steve not home, that wouldn't hurt anything. Or anyone.

Mind made up, she adjusted her clothes and then his skin, reaching up to run a hand through his now shorter, more manageable hair.

Still, remembering that it was kind not to simply drop in unannounced, he spoke to JARVIS.

“Can you let doctor Ortega know that I'm available today for some work, if there is a patient available for me?”

He tried to make himself sound civil as possible, and as though it hardly mattered to him whether or not there was someone there.

But when the response came not long after, he heaved a sigh of relief.

The elevator took its time sliding down, and by the time he reached the correct floor, he had narrowed that energy to a clear head figure, ready for an assignment. Ready to help.

  
  


Dr. Ortega looked up when Loki -- _Mr. Smith,_ she reminded herself, to refer to him in front of the patients and associates -- walked into her office.

“Oh good,” she said, straightening with a smile. She was a little tense, recalling all too clearly Loki’s... _outburst,_ when Rogers had been recovered, but his body language was less confrontational now, and there was little to indicate a repeat incident. “I understand you’re available to do some work with us this afternoon?” It was closer to evening, and a lot of the staff had actually gone home for the day, but she’d been able to make a few quick calls when Stark’s AI had contacted her.

  
  


“I am.” He answered, words coming out smoothly and perhaps just a touch eagerly. “I have used next to none of my stores, today, and so am prepared to take on as large or difficult a case as you have for me.”

In truth, after the work he’d done in Steve’s absence, he felt the lack of magical release like an atrophying muscle.

But then he remembered something else, something he’d been trying to work on, for Steve’s sake, so he stopped and shook his head.

“Apologies, and please pardon my manners. I should have asked-- how have you fared? It’s been… some time.”

  
  


Ortega offered a polite smile. “I’m well, thank you.” She found herself caught a little off guard by the pleasantries, as Loki was usually very direct, and covered her surprise by removing her glasses and wiping them off on her lab coat.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a lot on this short notice -- Where we aren’t a functioning hospital but more of a research location, we don’t tend to have a lot of patients in residence. If...” she paused, “I know that you have other commitments and we’re grateful for whatever time you can spare, but if you’d be amenable to a schedule, or at least several days’ notice, I’d be able to book appointments with patients who come to us from further away.”

She pulled a few folders from a drawer in her desk and handed them over to Loki. “Right now I have one man staying for observation for treatment on a pancreatic tumor that doesn’t seem to be panning out the way we hoped, and if you’re willing to wait for a little while and try something... new, I have a patient with nerve damage who lives in Tribeca that could get here within an hour.”

  
  


Loki was hesitant, unwilling to commit to anything without first checking with Steve, and even then… what if he had a bad day, an off day, like…

Like he had the other day, when he’d sent her away.

He wanted space. It was all he ever asked for. Maybe he could give that to him without it being obvious, by taking Ortega’s schedule.

But for now… for now his therapy was two days a week.

He could make arrangements for then.

“Perhaps if we commit to several days’ warning, with the understanding that, at present, I am most likely to be available on Mondays and Thursdays. I cannot say I will be free _every_ Monday and Thursday. But with scheduling… that is the best I can do right now.”

It felt like he was disappointing, already, and to make up for it, he shook his head.

“Call your nerve patient, see if they are available. I will work with the tumor, until then. With any luck, I can take care of it in a single sitting, but if not, you may schedule that one as my first priority for next week.”

He paused.

“The other patients I have seen, we have put to sleep so they did not see what I was doing. Do you wish to continue doing that?”

He remembered the hollowness of performing healing on people who hardly seemed like people, healing without a bond between them. He swallowed, but tilted his head, certain that that would need to continue to be the case.

At least, if nothing else, he may be able to tire himself out enough that he would not wake Steve again.

  
  


She hummed thoughtfully. “I may need to check with our lawyers to make sure the non-disclosure agreements are ironclad. Or find some cover story to explain what it is you’re doing in ways that people will accept...”

They were working, of course, on understanding what Loki was doing by observing keenly when he applied his abilities, in the hopes they’d be able to recreate them in time. But in the meantime they were left with waving their hands and claiming magic -- which wouldn’t exactly go down well with a lot of people who were coming to SI for top-of-the-line scientific development and not mystical remedies.

But communicating with patients would also potentially yield more data, and improve quality of care, which was hardly something she could ignore.

“Let me put Mondays and Thursdays in the calendar. I assume around this time?” Two days a week had actually been better than she thought to hope for, and she was eagerly rearranging schedules in her mind. “Give me a moment and I’ll have someone take you to Oncology Research while I make a few calls.”

  
  


“Where I am from, there are certain herbs and medicines which will induce hallucinations. Could we not tell them that is what they are seeing? Side effects of a medicine? And I can change-- I need not look like this, if there is fear of my being recognized. I have… used a female face, increasingly, of late. I may speak to Pepper- Ms. Potts-- about changing my identifications to support it.”

And that would be a handy solution for if Steve came looking for her, or needed her suddenly while she was here.

Not that she thought it likely that he would call for her. The thought was bitter, but she knew he seemed to favor Natasha. She was no doubt better suited to helping, at any rate.

“Either way- if you do not have time to put the tumor bearer to sleep, I can take care of it, and waking them after, as well.”

He’d offered the same for Tony recently… and would do for Steve if he was allowed to touch him. But then, maybe a stranger would accept the help from him that his friends would not.

 

“Mr. Morris is on enough painkillers right now that you could probably throw a fireball in his room and he wouldn’t remember it later,” she observed as she typed at her computer, inputting Loki’s available times into the schedule. She paused, looking up with wide eyes. “Not that I would recommend that. At all. There’s oxygen tanks,” she hurried to add.

They would just tell him afterward that that the experimental procedure he’d volunteered for had succeeded after all, and then remove his results from the study. “The thought about medicinal side effects isn’t a bad one though... We could offer some patients a light sedative, and let them know mild hallucinations are a side effect so they’ll hopefully write off anything they see as a result of that... I’ll come up with some ideas for the more complicated cases.” Fortunately, people tended to be too happy about a drastically improved prognosis to look a gift horse in the mouth and ask too many questions. But she didn’t want to risk any rumors of malpractice all the same.

The FDA probably didn’t approve of “Acts of Literal Gods” as a medical treatment.

“I wouldn’t worry about changing your face,” she said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t have recognized you and I _know_ who you are. Especially in this context, it shouldn’t be an issue. And besides, people tend to trust you more when you’re a _man_ in medicine,” she added, a touch bitterly. “Cameron never gets asked for a second opinion, lucky bastard...” She mumbled as she pulled up a few contact numbers, then sighed. “Okay. Looks like Jim left for the day, so I’ll just take you down there myself. Here--”

Standing, she grabbed a spare labcoat from the coatrack in the corner and tossed it to Loki.

  
  


Bemused, he shrugged the coat on, following as she led the way to the man waiting for his help.

The man who would soon be healed, even if he didn’t know it yet.

“I don’t suppose you were able to find that tea I asked for?” He said, trying to keep his tone cool and polite, so as not to sound threatening. Especially since she’d seem concerned that his work today just might involve fireballs. Which was, of course, his own fault for having lost his temper before.

He had given a bag to someone as a sample, but hadn’t been down since. And it had been months. For all he knew, it had been misplaced and forgotten. Which would slow the work considerably.

Human krellr just moved so sluggishly without it.

  
  


“Yes! Hang on, let me see...”

She paused in the middle of the hallway, whipping out her phone and firing off a flurry of texts, her phone quickly buzzing in response. “Okay, looks like we were able to find most of the herbs, or very close substitutes, and the ones that we didn’t have anything comparable to have been artificially synthesized. I’ve got someone bringing some down to us as we speak.”

They hadn’t been able to replicate Loki’s healing capacities. But herbal tea mix wasn’t beyond their capabilities, thank god.

Soon enough they reached a door to a patient room, and she knocked lightly on the door before poking her head in. “Mr. Morris?”

There was no response, the man in the bed proving to be fast asleep. “Well, that takes care of that,” she murmured, opening the door to let Loki in.

A minute later a young man in scrubs showed up with a steaming mug of tea and she took it from him, passing it to Loki. “Alright. I’m going to step back and observe, if you don’t mind. Mr. Morris is already under very close monitoring and he underwent scans earlier this week, so we have a lot of data gathering.”

  
  


Loki took the cup and looked back and forth between the doctor and the patient, brow quirked.

“I’m not certain how I am to administer the tea, if he remains unconscious.” Loki admitted. “I suspect merely pouring it down his throat would wake him and negate any benefit his sleep may afford us.” He nearly laughed, not sure exactly what sort of observation she thought she would make. Did she think he could just phase it into his stomach?

He might. But the effect would be lost.

He sighed.

“Rather, I will probably have to do without it. Ah… I do not know whether I explained before, but. Where I am from, the energy that you are attempting to study, what we call krellr, it is responsive to the touch of a healer or sorcerer, when the intent is there. You cannot see it, and our healers only can with the aid of a device called the soul forge. But there are certain others who may see-- I am one such person, though I have discovered a new way recently-- by transforming my eyes to those of another race, I can mark the movement of the krellr much more easily, and without the strain on my mind or resources.”

He enacted the transformation slowly, waiting and bracing for Ortega’s reaction, for her fear, or disgust…

“Humans’ krellr burns brighter than Asgardians do, and it can be more powerful. But it moves slower, is less responsive to my seidhr. And as such, it is more of an effort to bend it to my bidding. The tea helps with that, loosens it, helps it move more easily. Without that, I may have to space out this healing over two sessions.” Not ideal, but hardly the worst thing-- especially considering these people would otherwise be considered untreatable, here.

  
  


“...Oh. Hm.” Ortega’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “Guess I ought to have predicted that. Ah, here, let me just... hold on to that.” She took the mug back sheepishly. Maybe there was some component in the tea that could be given intravenously? She’d have to ask.

But then Loki was explaining what he did, and she was following with rapt attention, gasping softly as his eyes turned red and leaning closer to see whether the color was limited to the retinae or if it continued through the sclera. “Fascinating,” she murmured. “I... I realize it doesn’t look like much from our end, but given all the monitoring equipment, I’ll be able to observe any changes as they happen. Also, well. Someone from staff should be with the patient just as a matter of policy,” she explained, hoping he’d understand that it was protocol and not a lack of trust.

Truth be told, she _did_ want to watch, whatever there was (or wasn’t) to see.

“We could wake him for a little while,” she offered a moment later. “Like I said, he’s on a lot of morphine, he’ll probably go back to sleep on his own in short order.”

  
  


Loki blinked and brought his eyes back to normal.

“If you want to wake him, it will make my work easier, and ensure I have enough left to aid the other patient, after. And I will keep my eyes their Aesir color, for the moment. No need to startle the poor man.”

He smiled at her, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back on his heels, attempting to appear the very picture of mildness.

“If you would like, also, I would be happy to walk you through the process. I am certain that Stark’s AI will be able to furnish video of this all for your examination later. To compare to your data that your machines are collecting.”

  
  


She nodded eagerly. “I’d like that very much,” she assured him.

A moment later she was at the patient’s beside, gently shaking his shoulder. “Mr. Morris? Mr. Morris, it’s Dr. Ortega...”

The man opened his eyes and looked up at her. He was middle-aged, prematurely balding, and his skin had the slack quality of a man who had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. “Szzwhat? Mm up,” he mumbled, blinking sleepily.

“Sorry to bother you Mr. Morris, I just need you to drink this,” she coaxed, holding out the mug. “It’s medicinal,” she added, when he looked at her in confusion.

“S’ part of the treatment?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

“Yes. It should help flush some of the toxins from your system,” she told him, hoping that would be enough.

Apparently it was, as he lifted his hands to take the cup and tilt it to his mouth, letting Ortega help him to sit up. The tea had cooled in the time she and Loki had spoken, and Morris gulped it down now fairly quickly. “Not bad,” he declared, sagging back into the pillows.

“We’ll let you get some rest,” she told him. “Thank you, Mr. Morris.”

He hummed, and she slipped away from his bedside toward Loki, ushering him gently out of the room. “Let’s give him a few minutes to drift back off,” she whispered.

  
  


“He must truly be out of it, as you said.” Loki returned. “If he finds hvonn at all appetizing.”

Considering the taste was used to keep reindeer milk from seeming too bitter, he’d never found anyone with a particular affinity for it.

Of course, the other option was that their tea was not what he needed it to be. He should have tested it, he realized. Now there would only be one way to be certain.

But first the man needed to settle.

He looked around the room.

“I doubt this will be all that interesting for you, unable to see what I am working on or with. Do you want a chair or something…?” The patient, at least, seemed plenty comfortable-- he was nodding into his pillows, and Loki smiled a little at that.

  
  


Ortega nodded. “I’ll go get one. I have to make that call to my other patient anyway...”

She departed, and then returned some ten minutes later, with two folding chairs under her arm. “Figured you might want to sit down too,” she explained, nudging open the door and peering in.

Mr. Morris was snoring faintly, apparently not too disturbed by his brief period of wakefulness. “Looks like he’s ready for you to do your thing,” she murmured, holding the door open the rest of the way.

  
  


He moved to meet her, taking the chairs easily, rather than watching her fumble with her arms full and the door attempting to close on her.

He sat one up beside the bed, where she would be out of the way but able to see, but left the other folded.

“I will need some mobility,” he explained. “But I appreciate the thought.”

He nodded at the chart having from the end of the bed, which he had taken the liberty of looking at in her absence.

“From what I can see, it would be easier for me to reach his pancreas if we were to roll him over. Is that right?”

He wasn't particularly familiar with the lesser organs, and while he could target main areas, he didn't want to look too foolish in front of the doctor. He'd also wanted to familiarize himself with the man's symptoms, aside from the obvious yellowing of his skin. He suspected there would be fluid to be drained, once he was finished. But that was to be expected, he supposed.

“I'm going to turn my eyes again and examine him, but if it is easier the other way, with your permission, I can move him without help.”

He did as he said, letting his bestial eyes manifest themselves.

It did not take him long to find the clumped and deadened krellr, nor to note the way it grew by attracting more to it.

“This tumor is growing from where the pancreas connects.” He told her, though he thought she must already know.

“The first order of business will be for me to construct a net of my seidhr, to prevent any of the sick krellr from entering the rest of his body, once I have loosened it. The seidhr you will be able to see, so do not be alarmed.”

  
  


Ortega pursed her lips. “Roll him on to his left side,” she recommended, “so none of the IVs get pulled loose.”

She trusted Loki to manage it more smoothly with his magic than she’d be able to with simply force.

The flicker of his eyes to red again was fascinating -- a second lid, she wondered? Or an actual transformation at the cellular level, the way he had shapeshifted before into a woman?

“You said krellr is energy before,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Can energy _be_ sick? Does it have to do with movement patterns or some kind of frequency of resonance, or--?”

 

He did as she recommended, remembering with a pang the last time he’d lifted someone with his seidhr similarly.

But he got their patient settled comfortably before he began answering her.

“To my vision, krellr appears as pinpricks of light. They weave and dance and flow, much like your blood does, oft in time to your pulse. The ‘sick’ krellr has ceased to move, become dormant. And healthy krellr, in trying to heal it, or bumping against it… it becomes stuck, both together and with the weight of the other, and it too goes still. It causes the life not to reach that area, stops it flushing away the things that are unwanted. In my language, the name for this disease means ‘wandering soldier’, or ‘lost soldier’. Something that has gone off the path and grown where it oughtn’t.”

As he spoke, he began pulling a line of seidhr into existence, rolling it together, and making something of a net out of it, like the string games they had played as a child. Draped across his hands, his fingers wove in and out, until the spaces in between the lines shone, too-- and would keep the sick krellr out of his body.

“Once this is in place, I will be manipulating the living krellr in him, using it to break the growth up. And once I have pulled it apart enough, I can gather the bad and let the good go to its work.”

He looked back at Ortega, checking to be sure she didn’t object before he moved to place the net, and did a quick double take.

“Forgive me,” he said, smiling slightly. “It seems congratulations are in order.” He nodded, before turning back and placing the working where he needed it to sit.

  
  


Ortega began taking notes, marking down the words ‘wandering soldier’ along with what Loki described about stagnated energy. “Like necrotic tissue blocking blood flow and killing off the healthy tissue around it as necrosis spreads,” she mused. Not that Mr. Morris’ tumor was necrotic, but if the principle applied in some way...

While it made sense compared to something like gangrene, she struggled to reconcile it with mutated cancerous tissue. Then again, it might help to actually see as Loki saw. She was hesitant to ask about studying his eyes, but if there were a way to extrapolate to create their own technology with which to observe this krellr -- Loki had mentioned something called a soul forge? -- they might be able to better understand underlying roots of myriad illnesses...

She was so consumed with her thoughts that it took her several moments to register what Loki had said, and she blinked. “Congratu--?”

She stopped then, eyes widening, one hand flying to her stomach -- still flat, swollen only by the enchilada she’d had for lunch. Yet somehow--

“You, you can _see?”_ she squeaked.

  
  


He turned to her again, amused by her higher pitch. Indignation? Surprise?

Either way, he turned his eyes back green, feeling somewhat uncomfortable about using Jotun eyes on a pregnant woman.

“The life within you is strong. Stronger even than your own krellr. Which is as it should be. On Asgard… children are not common. We have them, but rarely. And it is important to find out about them as soon as possible. To be able to encourage the safest environment for them, and help them grow. Recognizing a pregnancy is the first lesson a young healer is taught.”

He turned his eyes back and looked back to his patient.

“It is less like tissue damage and more like… your body is, if you will imagine, a series of interconnected rivers. If a blockage forms, trees and moss grow on it, and it upsets the flow of the river. Krellr is the same-- when the flow is upset, the body does strange things. Grows things it oughtn't. Such as his tumor.”

  
  


Ortega’s cheeks warmed. “I... Yeah, we try to find out soon too. I’ve known, or been pretty sure anyway for about two weeks, but, I haven’t told anyone. I have my first prenatal appointment next week,” she said, unsure why she was even blurting it out. Maybe just so she’d have someone to _tell._ It had been eating at her, the excitement and the worry and uncertainty, as she’d been unconvinced that the test hadn’t been a false positive, but--

\-- Loki had _seen_ the life inside her. And vouched that it was healthy.

She took a deep breath to get the fluttering feeling those words gave her back under control, schooling her expression and making herself focus, listening to Loki’s analogy. _Rivers,_ she scribbled down, and beside it, _energy pathways/conduits?_

She might not understand it all, but damn if she wasn’t going to try. Even if it didn’t make sense or seem like it could be real or reconciled with what she knew about medicine, she was determined to keep an open mind. After all, if someone hadn’t been brave enough to throw out all the astronomical models built on geocentric theory and start over with something weird and impossible, they’d still be thinking that the sun revolved around the earth and not vice versa. And she couldn’t just dismiss what she’d seen when Loki had been under her care, and then Rogers after him. There were results, results modern human medicine alone couldn’t have accomplished, and she couldn’t just dismiss that.

“If the cancer metastasizes, would that be like...” she frowned, hoping she wasn’t overextending the analogy. “Like bits of the log and plantlife breaking off and causing other blockages downstream?”

  
  


And so Loki was the first to know.

He wondered if she wished differently; likely, he thought.

“Well, it seems you are on track, then. But I would not expect anything less, since you are a doctor. May I-- that is, before I leave, if you like, I could do something similar to…” He gestured to the net in the mouth of the tube that led to his patient’s pancreas.

“Since you work around diseases. To ensure that none make it to your womb. A gift, for what it’s worth.”

He tried to follow what she meant, but ran into a slight issue.

“Meta-- I assume you mean, when the disease spreads? That can happen when the sick or dead krellr breaks apart, yes, and weakens another area, allowing for more growth. And it must be treated as a separate issue. But it can also happen a bit like… mold? Your body is a whole system, and when one area is exposed, similar problems may crop up in several places. That is just the way of it. But fortunately, I can cure it after it spreads as well. It’s merely more work. Not harder work.”

He began the motions he needed to make, swirling and pushing and pulling at the man’s krellr, beginning to batter the blockage with life.

Not the most exciting work, nor the most draining, but it was helping. It was good. And that was all he needed to be, now. Busy. Helpful.

“What I am doing now is creating a tide, focusing the efforts on the sick krellr, in a bid to break it up.” He explained.

  
  


Ortega smiled softly, looking down. “I... Yes, if you don’t mind. We don’t handle anything infectious here, so I’m not too worried about that, but all the same...” A bit of a peace of mind would never go amiss. Not when she already had anxieties about carrying a pregnancy this far into her 30s.

“After,” she reiterated, determined that they both focus on Mr. Morris for the time being.

She nodded along to Loki’s description, watching the shimmer of his power with fascination, doing her best to concentrate on what she knew of Mr. Morris’ tumor -- inoperable, stage IV, and thus far unresponsive to treatment.

“Are there technological methods where you come from for-- for manipulating krellr?” she asked.

 

“After.” He agreed easily, somewhat surprised and gratified to have his offer accepted.

He had given her reason enough to mistrust him, he knew. Especially when Steve had first returned. But it seemed she had forgiven him, at least enough to trust him with her unborn child. Which was no small thing.

“We do have the soul forge. It works… hm. In essence, it uses seidhr- the magic you can see, to replicate what I can see of krellr. It allows those without sight, or who need to be aware of both the body and the soul simultaneously, to monitor the movements of krellr in their patients. And it also shows problems very visually. Where I see krellr that is sick as dark spots, or grey spots, or stillnesses within eddies of glowing points, the soul forge shows them as contrasting colors, which makes it easy to locate problems. But that is only for seeing. It takes abilities with seidhr to manipulate krellr, and works… in a way like a magnet? They are oft-opposing forces, and seidhr can be used to push krellr one way or another. When focused properly, though… I have never heard of it being done before, but in an emergency, I once replaced much of the Captain’s lost krellr with my own seidhr. It saved his life. So it must be like a magnet. Different sides, one to push the krellr away for manipulation and one to bind to it. But I do not know whether that has been studied on Asgard. If so, I never heard of it.”

He wished he had access to books from the library of Asgard, to learn more and to be able to pass along the knowledge. But he had only what he had with him. And what Thor had brought, which he doubted covered anything so specific as this.

The first bits of the bad krellr broke, and Loki promptly caught them up and banished them, never losing his focus in the work.

  
  


Ortega nodded along, though she felt herself getting lost halfway through the explanation, starting to feel like she had during her first year of medical school when she only just realized how little she actually knew.

There was a logic to what Loki was saying, but only if she threw out everything she knew about medicine and the human body. And God Almighty, please let this not actually have to do with magnetism because she _definitely_ didn’t understand the physics of that, beyond what was necessary to operate an MRI.

She blinked as Loki made a gesture, the green shimmer in his hands briefly changing shape. “That-- what did you just do?” she asked, eagerly.

 

“Hm?” He was working on directing the krellr into a spiral, the better to pry apart the blockage, and so it took him a moment to understand the question.

“Some of the illness broke off. I gathered it and banished it. I ah-- I must admit, it will sound… uncouth perhaps, but there is a realm made of fire. I tend to send a lot of undesirable material there.”

He had the good grace, and enough presence of mind to realize how that might sound to an outsider, and to be suitably sheepish.

“Better than allowing it to stay, though, or having to find ways of disposing of it on this realm.”

He made an expression of distaste.

  
  


Ortega raised both eyebrows. “Realm of... fire,” she repeated, not disbelieving, but still a touch incredulous. Though given she was watching actual magic happen in front of her, she supposed she had little excuse for surprise. “I... suppose that’s a reasonably sterile way of disposing of hazardous waste, at least.” Incineration was fairly effective.

She continued to watch as Loki worked, scribbling down observations and thoughts as they came to her and periodically glancing at the monitors. Morris’ vitals were largely unchanged and steady, so nothing Loki did appeared to cause his system any undue stress.

The minutes ticked on.

  
  


The work was largely redundant, fighting with the krellr and shaping it, shaving off some of the illness and banishing it, and repeating the process until he could safely pull the main body of it out and away, without worry of upsetting anything else around it.

Once it was gone, he reshaped the krellr that was left and eased it back into place and motion, letting it do its job.

He watched for a moment before pulling back, willing his eyes to return to normal, and sighing.

“There. You may do your scans as you like-- it will not immediately disappear, but you should find that over the next few hours, it will be gone.”

The part of the cancer that was infectious was gone, at least, and all that remained was to allow the body to process the material. And with the aid of the tea, that should happen faster than usual.

“If there are any complications, of course, you need only let me know. I would be happy to review him if needed.”

He withdrew the seidhr dam and let his power drop back into himself.

“Have you had word from our other patient?”

  
  


A few hours. With no poisonous medicinal drips, no harmful radiation, and no invasive surgery.

If they could replicate what Loki did, find a way to make it widespread... They’d have cancer wiped out in no time. Ortega shook her head in awe. She’d been dreading telling Morris that the treatments hadn’t been effective, that he had two months, or maybe less left. And now...

“I’ll schedule scans and blood panels for first thing in the morning, just to be sure,” she said. “I got my other patient’s voicemail, and she hasn’t called back yet... it’s pretty late,” she remarked, checking the time and realizing just how long the removal of Mr. Morris’ cancer had taken, though she hadn’t paid much mind to the passage of time during the process. “I’ll try to get a hold of her tomorrow and see if she’s free to come in on Monday, if that works?”

  
  


Loki nodded, unable to do much else, though he was not as drained as he might have hoped.

Still, the focus, the work, it had helped to at least calm his mind a bit, and he could be glad of that.

He looked over his patient again, already having forgotten the man’s name. But what did they expect? He had no attachment to them, this way. By design.

It felt… impersonal. Hollow.

But it was how he could help, now.

Much like with Steve.

Though he could only wish he could help Steve as much as he had helped… whoever this was.

“As I said, if your tests find anything, you need only let me know, and I will come back. But he should, by the time you scan him, at least be on the mend, moving towards being cured, if not there already. And if there is still fluid or mass, do not take it for failure. Some illnesses take longer to be absorbed than others, and I have not worked with one situated where this one is, before.”

But there was nothing else for him to do today.  
Save the gift he had offered her.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing at her abdomen. “I promise, it will be quick. Unless you’d like to attempt to measure this, as well?”

  
  


Ortega snorted indelicately. “This, I think I can hold off recording any data on,” she said, knowing that there was a far more urgent and personal curiosity that needed to be sated. She swallowed, butterflies in her stomach again as she nodded. “Go ahead.”

  
  


He grinned,the expression quick and fleeting.

“Alright. This will tingle, perhaps. Tickle at most. But certainly not hurt.”

He drew another line of seidhr in the air and caught it up, this time weaving it in and around itself, until it formed a series of intertwining loops, almost floral, almost similar to the design set in the floor of Frigga’s dressing room.

And once he was satisfied with the shape, he pressed a seal into it, and stepped in closer to the doctor.

He looked her in the face, glad that he did not have to change his eyes for this one.

“Here we are.” He said lowly, and with a quick gesture, sent it in to settle itself over her womb, letting it spread. It sank into her and the glow diminished, and then Loki stepped back, dipping out a quick bow.

“You have my blessings… and my congratulations, again.”

  
  


Her throat felt a little tight, and she swallowed convulsively, trying not to think about the fact that her eyes felt a little warm.

_Magic_ had been pressed into her body. _Magic_ was going to protect her unborn child, and keep it safe.

Not the pre-natal care most people had access to, but then, Loki provided better cancer care than anything she’d ever seen, so she was willing to put her faith in it.

“Can you-- can you tell anything else about it?” she blurted. “You said it’s healthy and strong, does that mean-- there’s nothing congenital, or...?”

  
  


He raised an eyebrow and hesitated.

“The life force is strong, and strongly pooled within you, but I barely glanced. If… if you want more information, I would need to turn back my eyes. Ah…”

He struggled, unsure how to explain to her why that would be unwanted, without it taking too long or giving too much away.

“A moment.” he muttered, letting the Jotun eyes return. He tried to remind himself that she wouldn’t know any better, wouldn’t object. And they _were_ useful.

He glanced back over her, looking through his own seidhr now to the life beneath it.

“It is young, still. Small, undeveloped. But the light is a solid color, bright and strong. I see nothing yet that would signify any wrongness, but… I might look again. As it develops. If you like.”

He felt certain that he’d be refused, politely and firmly, but refused just the same. He pulled his eyes back to their normal color, willing himself to look as much like a person as possible, so that the monster wouldn’t color her decision, as much.

  
  


She exhaled, relieved. It was early yet -- she didn’t even plan on telling anyone else besides her OBGYN until she was well into her second trimester, just in case -- but it sounded like good news so far. Healthy, strong, nothing noticeably wrong.

“I might take you up on that, if it isn’t too much trouble,” she replied, knowing it was selfish when Loki’s time and efforts were better suited to saving lives than easing her anxieties, but... It was a small thing to check on, wasn’t it?

“Thank you,” she told him, smiling earnestly.

  
  


He couldn’t help but smile back, pleased and flustered at the fact that she was saying yes-- though, he reminded himself, she was only _saying_. Whether she did or not, that was something else, but… she did seem sincerely grateful.

He nodded, the dip of his head a little jerky, his elegance needing a moment to catch up.

“Of course! I’ll just, uh. I’ll hear from you tomorrow, then. About whether I can come down Monday.”

Hardly the smoothest way of excusing himself. But it would do for now.

He found his own way out, waving one last time and feeling incredibly pleased with himself all the way to the elevator, where he sobered, wondering what sort of mood Steve might be in, having returned from therapy by now, he was sure.

But maybe that would have gone well, and with as late as Loki had ended up working… maybe the additional space was good. And-- oh.

She regained her female form, straightening her clothes as she shaped them to match the body beneath.

She needed to figure out if he was hungry, and what he might want to eat, but that could be handled easily enough. Perhaps they would order in, if he felt up to stomaching it.

She couldn’t help the slight spring in her step as she returned to their rooms, and hoped it wouldn’t be too contrary to his mood.

  
  


Steve knew he was later than he’d expected to be home, having not anticipated the extra time spent getting coffee with Sam. So when he walked through the door to the apartment, he half expected to find a worried Loki waiting for him.

He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse to find the apartment empty.

“JARVIS?” he asked. “Where’s Loki?”

“ _Master Loki is on the medical levels with Dr. Ortega, assisting with a patient,”_ the AI reported.

Steve exhaled, feeling relieved. Loki hadn’t gone looking for him, and probably didn’t even realize he’d been late. She had her own thing going on, helping people -- and that was _good._ Healing people was what he’d told Sam that Loki did, after all. And Sam would probably have been pleased to know that Loki was ‘back at work’ and doing something outside of caring for Steve.

“ _Shall I pass on news of your return?”_

“No need,” Steve assured the AI, heading to the fridge to pour himself a glass of water, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. He was halfway through the glass when he frowned at himself, and moved to pick the jacket back up so he could hang it properly in the bedroom. He wasn’t so much of a mess that he needed extra help just to keep their place in order, like Sam had offered to find, but just because he’d been.... Feeling low, didn’t excuse acting like a slob or leaving extra mess for Loki to deal with.

The common space was tidy enough, but the bedroom, where Loki had left him his space, was dim and stuffy and smelled of stale sweat. He grimaced, determined that he’d do laundry the next day, and in the meantime set to tidying up, making sure all the clothes were either hung up or in the hamper, and straightening out the tangle of sheets to make the bed, tightening the corners with military precision.

(Phillips would have been proud.)

By the time he was finished he was starting to wonder about dinner. He turned to head into the kitchen, and just then heard the door click open.

“Hey,” he called out. “How’d your healing go?”

  
  


She paused, startled, then realized that of course, he must have asked after her when she wasn’t home when he arrived.

She couldn’t help but feel as if she should have been, but there was no accusation in his voice.

“Well,” she answered, emerging into the dining area. “It was a cancer of the pancreas. I believe it has been removed, and the patient will be scanned tomorrow to be certain that I did not miss anything, but I am fairly confident.”

She smiled, glad to see him up and about, and not sitting or lying down or feigning sleep.

“And your therapy? How did you fare with it?”

Again, it was all incredibly domestic, if one could ignore who they were. Which it had been increasingly easy to do of late, but felt jarring today, after having to be so mindful of what was and wasn’t the norm on this realm, for Ortega’s benefit.

  
  


“Good, I think. I... I haven’t talked in group, but I talked with a woman there during the break, and with Sam afterward, about some things,” he said with a shrug. “Told him I’d be back next week. Which I will.” He owed it to everyone around him to put the work in on that front.

He wasn’t saving people, like Loki was. Wasn’t even helping anyone, really. But he could at least stop _harming_ things, if he got himself put back together. And if that was the best he could hope for, well. It would still be worthwhile.

“That’s great. That you removed it -- you saved someone’s life,” he said, smiling at Loki. “That’s pretty incredible.”

He wanted to pull her into a hug, to press a kiss to her forehead; his hands almost itched at his sides to do so, though a shiver through his nerves reminded him why he couldn’t.

  
  


She returned his smile, though it felt dishonest for a reason she couldn’t point out and didn’t want to examine too closely.

Just wishful thinking, she hoped. Wishing she could help him in the same way.

“ _You’re_ incredible, Astin Min. To have gone through so much, and be where you are.” That, at least, was sincere, though he had no way of knowing what she knew when she spoke of his experiences.

“I am glad this effort seems to be going better for you. Helping.”

She turned her attention to the kitchen, then looked at him, slightly worried.

“I must admit, though, that I am… a little tired. I spent longer downstairs than I intended. Ah-- I can cook, if there is something in particular you would like, or I thought… we might order in?”

She could put it on her card. She knew that, for once, she had actually earned some of the money it contained. Privately, and selfishly, she hoped Ortega had told Pepper as much, or would soon.

  
  


Steve shrugged off her praise with a twinge of discomfort. _Incredible_ belonged to the people at group who were actually making real progress with getting past what they’d gone through. But then again -- Sam had said most of them didn’t even start coming until after it had been months. That knowledge lent some context, and he’d have to remember as much.

“Ordering in sounds fine to me,” he replied with a smile, glad that Loki was willing to admit as much instead of working herself to the bone. “I can call it in if you know what you want?”

He was actually feeling hungry and craving food himself, despite the two hot cocoas he’d just drunk; that seemed to be a good sign.

  
  


She wasn’t sure what to ask for, what would appeal… at least, not immediately. But then she felt a slow smile spreading and she cast her eyes down, remembering the way she’d last answered the door for delivery in this form.

“Well,” she said, “It has been some time since I have had any bacon. We might order from that diner again-- do you remember the one? When we got breakfast, and were… _busy_. Until the very moment that delivery arrived.”

She looked back up at him, eyes dancing.

“At least this time, I shall have pants on when I open the door.”

  
  


Steve flushed. He _did_ remember -- remembered the way the light filtered through the sheets as he slipped under them, remembered the sound of Loki’s moans and the feel of his fingers tangled in Steve’s hair, the musky smell of him as Steve kissed his way downward --

It ordinarily would have been memory enough to make his cock twitch and his blood rush south; but as wonderful as the memory was, his body had little response beyond the rosiness of his cheeks.

“I can’t imagine the delivery guy complained,” he pointed out, doing his best not to think too hard on the physical reaction, or lack thereof. He was probably just tired. “I’ll get us some breakfast for dinner, then. Extra bacon.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and stepped aside to look up the number to call their order in.

  
  


She smirked and let him make the call.

“We can put it on my card, if you like--” she placed it on the table, in case he wanted to use it.

“I’m going to change into another shirt before food arrives.”

She’d had a jacket on while she worked, which theoretically was enough to keep Steve safe, weakened health or no, but it had the unfortunate side effect of adding an extra layer, and she was certain she did not smell pleasant enough to share a meal with, though Steve hadn’t complained.

And… a few moments away from him was enough to give her time to un-remember what it was they’d done before that last breakfast delivery.

After all, if he couldn’t so much as share a couch with her without a wall of pillows between them, it was certain that he wanted nothing to do with her in a more sensual setting.

Which was fine. She would do a better job of not pressuring him into it now than she had done at first, when he’d first told Loki that he was uncertain and untouched. She hadn’t been particularly good at giving him his space then, and she was realizing now just how important it was.

Especially in light of those videos.

  
  


Steve called and put in the order to the 24-hour diner for delivery of an ample spread of breakfast food, using Loki’s card as she requested.

Maybe all the catastrophizing _was_ all in his head. Loki was finding things to do away from Steve to give her the sense of purpose and support that he failed to provide. She seemed in good spirits, and they were making time for each other, for all the things that weren’t touching. And their relationship, while tactile, had always been about more than touching, as he’d told Sam. He’d fallen in love with Loki when there had been a heavy pane of bulletproof glass between them, after all.

He wasn’t Ellen. Loki wasn’t Ellen’s boyfriend. They didn’t have to wind up the same way.

He began to set the table after hanging up the phone, getting out glasses and silverware. “JARVIS? Could you put on some music?”

A minute later, Glenn Miller began piping in over the sound system, and it brought a smile to Steve’s lips.

  
  


When she returned to the common area, she felt better. Cleaner, and less worried, at least for now. After all, Steve was in good spirits. And there was music playing through their rooms, which made everything seem that much lighter.

Things felt… okay.

And there was bacon coming. Which only made it better.

She rested her hands on the back of one of their chairs, smiling softly as she discovered the table set and everything ready.

True, they couldn’t pass the time until the delivery arrived the way they had before, but…

“This is nice. I’m glad you seem to be feeling better.” She offered.

Or at least, he’d been out more. Staying out of his room for longer. They’d been spending their evenings together, and spending time doing things together. It seemed to bode well, she thought.

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the evening?” As much as she enjoyed their careful closeness during their movie nights, she wondered if there was something else they might do. Some other way of filling their time together.

“Natasha and I played chess, a little. And she mentioned that there are other similar games. Have you ever played any?”

  
  


“Not particularly. I was thinking about cracking those paints out at some point, but it can wait until tomorrow,” he answered. He was drained from group, and might go to bed early.

“I’ve played chess a bit, but not enough to get very good,” he admitted. “Monty found a set at base back during the war, and we’d play sometimes, but usually in the field we just played cards.”

He smiled ruefully at the memory of getting completely fleeced by Dernier. “I was terrible.”

It had been chess with Monty (and sometimes Gabe, or Peggy if she had a moment), plenty of cards with the commandos, and of course, he and Bucky would play checkers back when Steve would be laid up in bed, balancing the board on his lap to while away the time as sickness ran its course. “Checkers,” he added, smile softening. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s other board games somewhere in the tower.”

  
  


Loki tilted her head, watching the play of emotions on his face and echoing the fond smile that finally settled there.

“Well, perhaps I will have to go looking for them. Though you may have to go easy on me, until I figure out the mechanics of the rules. Or if it is something you are unfamiliar with, we can learn together.”

She missed that, she realized. Experiencing new things with him.

It was harder, when they were working so hard not to touch one another or leave the tower. But perhaps this would do, for the time being. Something different.

She gestured at the glasses on the table.

“Did you order drinks, or would you like something from the refrigerator? Juice?”

  
  


“I didn’t order drinks, but... Orange juice would probably fit the theme,” he mused.

They both puttered for a few minutes, Steve checking the time, though the delivery would be at least twenty minutes. He chewed his lip, his earlier conversation with Sam playing through his mind.

_Planning,_ Sam had suggested. That and actually _talking_ to Loki. At the time it sounded like a great idea, but now he found himself unsure of how to broach it.

“I know that we’re, ah,” he hesitated, stumbling over his words as he leaned back against the countertop. “I know intimacy isn’t really on the table at the moment. But are there other things -- or, ways of being intimate where we don’t physically touch -- that you’d want to try?” he ventured.

  
  


She felt the pit of her stomach freeze, turning to look at him and trying not to furrow her brows or otherwise do anything that make him feel guilty. Or, guiltier than she had already made him.

“I hope you are not-- I’m sorry. If I have been making you feel pressured.” She started, unsure how to ask what it was that had brought him to bring it up.

“Truly, I enjoy… just being around you. There is no need…” She let the words trail off, well aware that any alternative she could come up with would be entirely self serving.

Steve had only ever asked her to retain her male shape for their lovemaking, and now he could not stand it. He liked the look of her female form well enough, but seemed not to be sexually interested in it, even when they had been having sex.

So of course…

“All the time you were gone, all I needed was you back. And I have that, now. That is all I could ask for. Unless there is something you want, or need, or… was there something you want to try?”

  
  


“You haven’t made me feel pressured,” Steve rushed to assure her. “If anything... If anything I worry because I know you’re probably _not_ telling me what you need because you _don’t_ want to pressure me.”

He took a deep breath, knowing he was on treacherous ground, and poor phrasing could cause damage he’d struggle to repair. “You’ve been really great about trying to cater to all my needs. But I’m not the only one with needs, and if this is supposed to be a partnership, I want to try to meet you halfway. I know the lack of touching is hard, and I’m gonna keep working on that, but in the meantime, we could... we could get creative, maybe? And if there’s anything I’m actually uncomfortable with, I’ll let you know, I promise.”

He pressed his lips together, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I want to make sure you’re not... You’re not left with so many empty places that it gets to be too much. I want to find ways to make up for the things we don’t have right now, so we don’t fall apart,” he added quietly.

  
  


“We started with less.” She reminded him gently.

“And managed to develop what we have just… just by talking, and eating. Sharing food, sharing stories. The first time we kissed, when you trusted me with your life and your health and your heart… we’d touched hardly more than a handful of times. And it was enough.”

She watched his face, searching for any sign that the words weren’t enough. That he didn’t believe her.

“Do I wish I could touch you? Of course. For comfort and reassurance, to heal you and make you feel better. And selfishly as well, to remind myself that you’re here. But… it is not what you want, and I would never force that on you. And there are other ways of accomplishing each of those things.” She shrugged.

“As for the other part of it… I promise you, I have spent hundreds of years without a regular lover. I am utterly capable of taking myself in hand, when need be.” She gave him a crooked little smile, not sure how he would take that.

  
  


“We did,” Steve agreed, cautiously, “but I’m not the same person now.” And might not ever be, despite his best efforts. If the serum didn’t return, if he could no longer be Captain America -- who was he?

He flushed a little at her assurance that she could ‘take herself in hand.’ And it was a good reminder, but still--

“I want to know what you need. And I want to find ways around-- around all _this_ to try to help give it to you,” he told her. “I want to explore those ‘other ways’ you mentioned, because I don’t know if we’ve found enough of them. I want to make sure I’m still taking care of you like you take care of me, so you don’t burn out and--” his voice caught and he swallowed hard, glancing away.

  
  


The ‘and’ she thought was telling.

Especially since he wasn’t looking at her now.

“You _are_ the same person.” She told him firmly. “You are the man I love, new experiences or no. Changed appearance or no. Is that not what you have told me? Over and over, about my other shapes?” She held her arms out to her sides, looking down at herself to demonstrate.

“Here I am, not at all the man you fell in love with. And we would not be having this discussion if you did not care for me just the same. So. The shape of our love may be changing, shifting forms-- for the time being, forever, who knows? That does not mean I want it, or you, any less.”

She pursed her lips.

“What I need… is just to be part of your life. I would… like. If you are willing, I would like to know what the doctors are saying. Perhaps I can guide them, help with my knowledge, even if I cannot directly heal you still. But if you are not willing, if you do not want me to be part of that, I understand. I understand that you need space, and while I may not like giving it to you sometimes, I will. And I need you to continue telling me, when you need it. Only tell me. That’s what I need. For myself… I am well supplied. It is a period of adjustment, I grant you, but… I think I am balancing just fine. And If there is something I cannot do, I will tell you, and ask for help. Much as I hope you will tell me, should you encounter the same.”

She paused, delicately.

“We are partners. All I need is you around. Not all of the time, but… in my life. That’s it.”

  
  


Steve took a deep breath.

He’d hoped for more -- it still felt like Loki was keeping her own needs at arm’s length, no matter what he said, but the one thing she had offered was the desire to know what the doctors said.

And that was _difficult --_ Steve still flinched and tensed every time they had to touch him to manipulate his shoulder or test his reflexes. He was on edge or sullen in most of his appointments, and he didn’t want Loki seeing him at his worst. But if it was what she said she needed... how could he deny her the only thing she asked for?

“I have an appointment tomorrow morning,” he told her quietly. “I could... You could come with me, if you like.”

  
  


“Only if you don’t mind. Only if it’s not… if it can help you, I want to. But if not, it is hardly… it’s not imperative for my happiness. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

She wanted to stress that.

“I only want to know, like you, that I am doing everything I can to help. I’m just afraid that… in both our cases, what the other wants most, you to be well and me to hold you again… they’re both things we can’t do for one another, right now. And that’s alright. Uncomfortable, maybe but not-- It doesn’t have to be... insurmountable. And it won’t be, not for you and I.”

  
  


Steve inhaled through his nose, thinking quickly. He _was_ uncomfortable with Loki seeing him that way, and knew she would be uncomfortable too, though she’d soldier through it if she thought it meant she could help him in some way. He wanted to spare them both that, but without seeming as though he was failing to follow through on his offer to meet her needs.

“I can ask Dr. Ortega or Dr. Cho to give you access to my medical records and current file,” he said. “And include you on any updates about my health, so you’re in the loop.”

There was a knock at the door. “ _Your delivery has arrived,”_ JARVIS announced.

  
  


It was a neat middle-ground.

She nodded.

“That’s plenty. Thank you.”

She glanced towards the door.

“I’ll get that. Just a moment.”

She stepped back and gave him a quick smile.

“We’re fine. And just to prove it, I’ll share my bacon with you.”

True love.

She accepted the delivery and tipped the man with an addition on the receipt.

Once the door was closed behind her, she carried the bags-- two of them-- back to the table, incredibly pleased at the sheer amount involved.

“You were hungry?” She asked, unable and not trying to hide how happy that made her.

  
  


“I was,” he admitted, eyes widening at the sheer amount of food. “I may, ah, have gone overboard a little.” He was used to ordering for a super solider-sized appetite, after all. But his stomach growled and he was more than happy to help Loki unload the bags, taking out the styrofoam containers and opening them up so they could dish up a mix of the omelette, sausage, hashbrowns, bacon, and pancakes that they contained.

“I’m a lot more mobile now, and I’m being cleared for more physical activity -- I think I mentioned it earlier? -- so we could go for a short walk tomorrow, if you’re not busy,” he offered, as he dropped a pancake on to his plate. He’d meant to plan things and then follow through, after all.

  
  


She nodded slowly, a slice of bacon already half-chewed.

She swallowed.

“In the morning, I am waiting to hear from Ortega on medical. She’s having today’s patient scanned, and she’s contacted another patient who needs help-- something to do with damaged nerves, I think it was. But that wouldn’t be until the next time you go out for therapy. At any rate… if I missed anything, I should probably see to it early, so as not to keep the man here any longer than necessary, but I can’t imagine that will take long. And I would be more than happy to go for a walk with you after that. If there is a time you’d prefer, just let me know.”

She took her seat and dished herself some, keeping half an eye on his plate, though she was gratified to see his appetite did not seem to have faded, despite the conversation they’d been having before the food arrived.

  
  


“I have my follow-up in the morning anyway, so we can just plan on after lunch?” Steve offered, picking the lid off a container of syrup and carefully dribbling it over his pancake. It was good that Loki had more than one patient she was helping Ortega with -- if this was going to be a regular thing, something with a schedule, all the better. It would give them both some breathing room too.

“I’m probably also gonna do some laundry, maybe try some art if the day is going well,” he commented. “And a few of my physio exercises for my shoulder. But those don’t take long to do.”

He took a bite of pancake, and the nutty sweetness of the syrup with the fluffiness of the pancake combined to form a mouthful of heaven. He smiled as he chewed.

  
  


“After lunch is good.” She agreed, glad that it was all… easy.

“How is your shoulder? If it is giving you problems, I am happy to help with the laundry. Whatever--” she stopped herself. Whatever he needed. He knew. She gave him a quick smile.

“I can’t wait to see what you create, though. If it turns out the way you want it to. You know I have always loved your art.”

She wondered if it would change, after everything, too. If it would become an outpouring of the hurt he held inside. And if he would even be willing to show her, if that was the case.

But that would be a concern for later. For now… there were pancakes. And while they had not sent whipped cream, the syrup was maple and delicious, and the cakes themselves hot enough still to melt the butter. Enough that she could soak them in sweet liquid before she ate them.

  
  


“Shoulder’s doing a lot better,” he said. “I’ll be honest, with how much it was dislocated, over and over, I...” he hesitated, realizing what he was bringing up made for poor dinner conversation, but he could hardly just leave it there. “I thought it’d be messed up forever. Knowing that the prognosis is good and they expect a full recovery now is amazing.”

The recovery might not be universal, but it was one good thing he could focus on. One of his peers at group had mentioned how she focused on little victories to get through the day; this was a little victory, and he would take it and cling to it like a lifeline.

Loki was happy. That was a little victory too, he reflected, looking up at her and seeing her smile.

  
  


She felt her stomach drop out and tried to keep the smile from wavering, though it felt a little forced. Still… it was the first time he had brought it up casually. She didn’t know how to react to it, though, didn’t want to discourage him from sharing more. And she really didn’t want him to think she was unfeeling-- that she wasn’t reacting correctly to his words, his experiences.

“I’m sorry.” She told him softly. “But… I’m glad that it is going to turn out alright.”

Her next smile was softer, but more real than it had been.

She just wished she could help him heal, could take the time and the effort out of it for him. But he would panic. She knew that. She sighed.

“I wonder if… would you mind, that is…” She glanced at the food, belatedly realizing she might ruin both their appetites by asking.

“Ah. maybe I should wait until after dinner to ask. It is nothing bad, and you can say no and that will be the end of it.” She spoke quickly, unwilling to rile him up or make him anxious about what it was she might want.

  
  


Steve paused, another forkful of pancakes halfway to his mouth.

He was more worried by Loki’s reticence than anything. If she thought it was going to put him off his appetite, that probably meant it was important. And if it was important...

He finished the bite, chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with some orange juice, the tangy tartness of the citrus all the more potent after the sweetness of the syrup. “Go ahead and ask, whatever’s on your mind,” he urged her gently, hoping to get whatever it was out of the way so it wouldn’t plague them for the rest of the meal.

  
  


She screwed up her face and her courage and took a deep breath.

“We have… been able to get closer. And we have not tried since you were abed in the hospital. I wonder if… we might try. If you think it might be worth trying… if you could stand my not touching you, but… getting close enough. Maybe I could heal your shoulder the rest of the way, all at once. And… if that works…” She tried not to look too hopeful, tried not to allow herself to be.

She licked her lips, aware she needed to tread carefully.

“I just wish that I could make this easier for you. But if… if you don’t think it wise. I’ll understand.”

  
  


“The shoulder’s mostly healed--” he started to protest, then stopped short.

Loki wanted to _help._ And this was something he could swallow his discomfort about and give to her -- he’d even benefit, really. He just had to quit being an ass and let her touch him.

At the same time, he’d almost mustered something vaguely resembling _pride_ at healing without magic. His body -- his un-serumed, stupid, weak mortal body, damaged as it was, was still capable of repairing itself, and he was doing his PT and seeing the results. A wash of magic would rob him of that sense of accomplishment. It almost felt like cheating.

_But Loki would be happy._

He gnawed his lip.

“The shoulder’s mostly healed, and will finish up fine on its own,” he reiterated, “and the fracture in my lower leg is pretty much all fused now. But the bullet that went through my thigh left a lot of muscle damage... It gets sore if I’m on it for too long. Maybe we could see about you helping me with that after dinner?” he offered.

  
  


At first, she had braced herself, accepting the dismissal as gracefully as possible. But then…

She exhaled, grateful.

“Alright.” She nearly breathed the word, unable to contain her excitement at the prospect.

“And… again, I need not even touch you. I won’t, I-- know it pains you. I only want to take your hurts away, not give you more, I--” she stopped, well aware she was precariously close to babbling, and that he’d already said yes.

She grinned.

“Thank you, Steve.”

She reached across for another piece of bacon, this one feeling distinctly celebratory, even as she cursed herself mentally-- how many minutes had passed since she’d said she would not ask him for this closeness?

But then… it had been the closeness she’d thought he could not give. Now he thought he could. Or at least was willing to try.

She would need to be careful, this time. If it was successful… perhaps there was more she could do, or would be permitted to. If it wasn’t… she doubted there would be another chance.

  
  


The grin on Loki’s face made it all worth it. Open and uninhibited, it made something inside Steve loosen. He plucked up his own piece of bacon and nibbled at it, enjoying the savoriness of it.

He hadn’t lost his appetite after all.

It didn’t take long for them to polish off a fair amount of the breakfast-for-dinner spread. Steve still grew full quickly, but he’d managed to put away two pancakes, three pieces of bacon, a hearty scoop of eggs, several hashbrowns, and a sausage before lowering his fork in defeat.

“I think I might explode if I eat anymore,” he confessed.

  
  


She laughed at that.

“I think that is the most I have seen you eat all at once in some time. Perhaps we should order in more often. We could even see if there is more that neither of us are familiar with to try. If you feel up for it.”

This felt… right. Closer to how it ought to be. Easier.

She felt like she was soaking it in, like a thirsty vine after too long in the sun.

“I will clean up, and the rest will hold in case you want more for actual breakfast.”

She didn’t push the healing immediately, allowing him time and hoping he would bring it up himself.

And if he didn’t… well, she should allow him to change his mind if need be, too.

  
  


“Oh-- okay.” He almost pushed back to insist he could clean up, but then, he was trying to be accommodating. If Loki wanted to clean, he’d let her clean; if she wanted to heal him, well. He was going to let her.

He wasn’t going to lose this.

He watched as she tidied up, then moved to the living room, sitting gingerly on the edge of the sofa and waiting for her to be done and approach.

“So...” he paused, licking his lips. “What do you need me to do?”

  
  


Here again she hesitated, biting her lip as she considered.

He was unhappy about his body, and she knew that. She knew, too, how long he’d spent without clothes, without the comfort of cover, and while it would be easier to work without pants in the way…

“Do you have… shorts, perhaps? Something that will bare your thigh to me, but still let you retain some comfort?”

He was already sitting, but she could always go and fetch them. Or…

“Or if you’d prefer, I can get a blanket that you could drape over yourself. I truly don’t want to put you out any more than necessary to try and help.”

She wished there was a way to tell him that she didn’t mind the way he looked now without it coming across… well. She knew how it felt when he told her as much about the form she loathed. And more, she didn’t want to call attention to, again, the things he couldn’t give her.

  
  


Steve blew out a breath. Of course -- she’d need access to the leg. He didn’t relish the idea of stripping, but changing into shorts was just... Dammit, it was stupid. He was being stupid. Loki had seen him naked tons of times, and it wasn’t like he’d be completely bare.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. Before he got a chance to psych himself out, he yanked his trousers down, sliding them easily off his hips, even with the belt, and kicked them free. The cool air made the hair on his legs prickle, and he tried to focus on the shirt he was still wearing; the socks; the briefs.

For a moment he had the urge to yank the afghan down from the back of the couch, or pull a pillow in his lap for modesty’s sake, but he balled his hands up at his sides instead. There was nothing here Loki hadn’t seen.

Save, of course, for the knot of scar tissue in his thigh, where a HYDRA agent’s bullet had torn through his hamstring and quad, leaving a gnarled exit wound. He pulled a face.

  
  


She hung back, carefully watching his expressions and his body language before she approached and dropped to kneel, close but not enough to touch.

“Oh my love, were we in Asgard you’d be celebrated for this. But as it is… I hope you don’t mind my saying that I am very eager to help you heal from it.”

It looked like it hurt, and he’d already said as much-- it pained him, kept him from standing for too long. As far as picking a wound for her to see to first, he’d chosen passing well.

She took a breath.

“Do you remember, when I was in the cell, and you cut my hair, that very first time?”

She did. She remembered the panic and the comfort that his voice brought. Remembered being soothed by his manner, and so grateful…

“Would it help if I speak to you, as you did to me then? Tell you what I am doing and what I see? Or… if it is easier for you to just close your eyes…”

She didn’t raise her hands yet, waiting for him. Wanting this to work.

Willing it to with all the faith she had.

  
  


“I... Don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe.”

It had worked for Loki, being grounded by Steve’s voice, having all his movements described and telegraphed to avoid unpleasant surprises. And here -- Steve would see every touch coming, if he kept his eyes open. There would be no sudden pains or attacks. There would just be Loki, who he knew wouldn’t hurt him.

Taking a steadying breath, he nodded, trying not to tense up too badly. “Ready when you are.” Truth be told, he just wanted it over with, the cold feeling of apprehension in his gut already coiling.

  
  


“Alright. If it gets to be too much, tell me. I will stop and back away immediately.”

She raised her hands.

“I will not touch you.” She reminded him. “And I am just going to turn my eyes now-- that shade of red that you like so much.”

She looked up at him, looked him in the face as she turned them, hoping that these eyes did not haunt his dreams, the way they sometimes haunted her own.

She held his gaze for a moment at most before she lowered it, looking down and towards his injury.

“Your krellr is thin yet-- though more meals like the one tonight, and I am sure it will only grow again.”

It was, as a matter of fact, still worrisome how sparse the glow was within him. Still bright, still strong, but perhaps diminished. And certainly not so full of stars. They now moved through him in a way that would best be described as leisurely. Not sluggishly, as the dying sometimes did, but… certainly not the quick coursing run it had been before.

“I am going to work quickly. It will be similar to what we did when I was injured, you remember? Creating a tide? Your foot may feel as if it is falling asleep.”

She slid her hand downwards, hand slightly cupped, but still hovering over his leg by a fair distance. As far off as she could and still be effective.

She drew it upwards, gesturing all of the krellr within his leg up towards his groin, and letting it fall back to its position, as gravity took hold, or whatever similar force affected krellr in that way, she supposed.

“How is it?” She asked, pausing to be sure he was okay.

  
  


Great. Now if he flinched, he’d have to worry about Loki thinking it had to do with her Jotun eyes. Steve’s muscles were taut as piano wire as Loki lowered her hands, not touching, but just ghosting over his leg, enough that he could just barely feel the displaced air over skin.

He held still though, not drawing back or wincing or giving any other outward sign of the anxiety bubbling inside him.

_It’s just Loki,_ he reminded himself. _This is helping. It’s the opposite of hurt._

She was talking about his krellr, but he only half-listened, the words jumbling together in his ears, mixed in with the rush of blood.

Then there was a tingling in his leg, and his hands fisted into the fabric of the upholstery as he inhaled sharply. For a second, his foot was full of pins and needles and his heart skipped a beat, but then the feeling returned, and his thigh was left feeling oddly warm.

“It’s fine,” he answered quickly.

  
  


She could hear his breaths, all but seen his quickened heartbeats, and hear the strain in his voice. She didn’t stiffen or pull away, though, better trained than all that.

“Still so strong,” She murmured. “Once, perhaps twice more, and you will be mended, I think.”

The shape of the krellr around the injury had already smoothed somewhat, but it still held stubbornly to the shape it had taken when it healed poorly.

“You are doing well. I am going to pull again, now.” She reached back downwards, “and up--” she said, moving as she spoke. “Breathe deeply, if you can. I know it is difficult.”

At least she knew that nothing they had done to him could possibly feel like this. This was something that she alone was capable of.

“Good,” she told him, watching as it smoothed away the twisted form, much like sand being levelled by the sea. “Once more now. Are you with me still?”

Even if she had to stop now, it was so much better than it had been. She could stop. Would, if he said the word.

But it was _helping_ him; he was _healing_. And she could not suppress the joy it was bringing her, knowing that she was ending at least some of his pain. Even if only the physical.

  
  


The feeling was familiar -- something warm and fluid trickling against the inside of his skin, faintly tickling and soothing all at once.

Steve tried not to think about how the trickling feeling or the pins and needles felt so close to the numbing that preceded burning. He wasn’t there. He was here. He was _here._

So he stared at Loki, focusing on her instead of the sensation. He stared at the glimmer of scarlet under her lashes, eyes bright like gemstones. At the contrast between her soft black hair and alabaster skin. At the high arches of her cheekbones and the gentle hollows of her cheeks, narrow and sculpted, and at the full rosiness of her lips, so different in this form than the narrow gash of his mouth when he was a man--

“Mm,” he hummed in confirmation when she asked if he was still present.

He was _here._ With _Loki._

  
  


He seemed, if not relaxed, exactly, then at least calmer. Calm enough that the krellr did not fight her as much, that it moved easier when she pulled and pushed at it now.

And so she did it one final time, smoothing the stars inside of him over his wounds, willing them back into the shape they should be.

Once the push was done and the trickle receded, she blinked her eyes back into her aesir female form, and took in the shape of his thigh.

It was still thin, still malnourished and less muscled than it should be, or than it had been, but for the most part it looked whole now.

“There,” she breathed, and looked up into his face.

“How’s that? Better?”

She moved her hand to the floor to allow her to push herself backwards and away, giving him more room.

She felt the distance from him near-physically, but more, she needed to see that she had done what they needed, that he was okay with it.

  
  


Done. Steve swallowed, a little surprised that, for all he’d felt her work, Loki had never actually _touched_ him.

He looked down at his leg, and there was nothing but a pink mark where there had been scar tissue, and he had little doubt that would fade soon enough. Reaching down, he felt for the smaller scar on the back of his leg where the bullet had entered, confirming that it was gone too.

Taking a breath, he stood, carefully, and put his weight on it. His shin twinged slightly, but the deep ache in his thigh -- so ever-present he’d almost come to tune it out -- was conspicuously missing. Flexing the muscle brought no pain, and he felt himself smile. “Better,” he agreed, looking at Loki, and then realizing with a flush that in another circumstance, their relative positions -- her kneeling and him pantless and standing in front of her -- might be construed as something... less chaste.

He quickly ducked down to reach for his pants.

  
  


Watching him move, watching him smile, it felt like relief itself. But his smile disappeared all too quickly as he went for his clothing and she averted her eyes, giving him as much privacy as she could.

“If… if there is anything else… you need only let me know. You know I would be happy to help.” She glanced up, trying to tell if he had been truly alright with all of this, or if he was only saying so.

He hadn’t reacted as he had before, though, hadn’t flinched or gone into a fighting panic.

“Thank you,” she added. “For letting me do that.”

She wondered which of them it had ultimately helped more, but it did feel as if some of the guilt had lifted from where it had settled over her lungs.

She still couldn’t escape how much sooner they might have found him, how much less time Hydra would have had to hurt him this way, if she had been better, or smarter. If she hadn’t had so many to make reparations to, or if she hadn’t been so focused on tracking down the signs of her seidhr.

But that was a useless emotion, as Natasha had said. And she needed to focus on being useful, now.

Healing him was a good effort on that front.

  
  


Steve jerked his pants back on, relieved once the weight of fabric hung over his body again.

Though he was relieved about a whole lot more than that, really.

His leg didn’t ache, but more importantly, he hadn’t flashed back to his time at HYDRA or lashed out at Loki. He hadn’t recoiled from her and hurt her more, physically or emotionally. She was _happy,_ and he’d managed to do _something right,_ even if he’d been anxious and struggling through it.

It wasn’t perfect, but it had to count as progress, however small.

“I’m glad I could,” he answered her, “And I’m looking forward to ditching the cane that much sooner.” He flashed her a quick smile.

Now that the tension was bleeding away though, he felt like he’d run for miles, the emotional intensity of group, his talk with Sam, and now his healing with Loki all culminating and catching up with him. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “I’ll be honest though, I’m kinda wiped out. Raincheck on board games? Maybe tomorrow night?”

  
  


She nodded quickly, wanting to give him the space.

“Of course. Whenever.”

It was easier to let him come to her, let him make the choice, than to ask and be pushed away. Or feel like he was agreeing only for her benefit.

“I might look into the nerve issues I’m meant to be working on soon, but-- as ever, I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything.” She gave him one final, quick, honest smile before turning away.

This was good, she told herself. Had been good. And maybe… maybe more good would come of it.

It wasn’t a big step, but it was that much closer to what she’d wanted.

Him better.

If only physically, for now.

  
  
  


 


	94. Ninety Four

Steve woke to a sound coming from Loki’s room.  


It was still dark, though the faint glow of the city filtered through the window. Getting to his feet -- he no longer needed the cane -- he made his way across the apartment, hoping it wasn’t another nightmare. Though he’d wake her if it was.

“Loki?” he called, rapping his knuckles lightly against her doorframe before pushing the door open. “Are you alright?”

Loki was sitting up in the newly-assembled bed, facing away from the door. Not a nightmare, then? Or had she already woken?

“Loki?” Steve ventured, stepping closer. Her shoulders shook with a rattling cough. “Are you sick?”

“Steve--” She turned, then doubled over, coughing violently. Steve crouched on the bed, frowning, wishing he could put a hand on her back to comfort her as spasms tore through her, hacking and wheezing for breath.

“Loki-- do I need to get the doctors? Or Thor?” he asked, distressed. He’d never seen her sick--

She lifted her hand away from her mouth, and Steve froze, ice pooling through his gut.

Her fingers were spattered with _red._

“No,” he mumbled. “No, no no--”

“I can’t keep doing this, Steve,” Loki told him, voice breaking and tears glimmering in her eyes. “I can’t. It’s killing me.” She coughed again, blood flecking her lips. “ _You’re_ killing me.”

Steve’s breath caught, and he felt like he’d been physically struck. “No, this isn’t happening, you can’t-- I won’t let this happen, we’ll get you help, Loki--”

He reached out for her, to comfort, to _touch,_ but the distance between them was abruptly too far to reach, and she was coughing again, horrible wracking coughs that threatened to shake her apart.

“Loki!” Steve called, reaching for her, as far as he could, straining for it to be _enough._ But as his fingertips grew close, she retched blood and then fell, _falling, beyond where he could reach as he screamed and leaned after her--_

 

Steve sat up in bed, gasping, drenched in sweat and feeling like he would be sick.

A moment later he was on his feet, stumbling as the tangled sheets threatened to trip him, tearing himself free as he made for the living room.

He’d gotten all the way to Loki’s door when he stopped himself, realizing he was being an idiot. Loki’s room was silent; she was likely sleeping. He’d just had a bad dream.

Just a dream.

Swallowing, he took several deep breaths with his head against the doorframe, trying to calm his racing heart. It was just a dream and no reason to wake her. Eventually, he managed to get himself back to his own room, though he doubted he’d be able to go back to sleep.

“JARVIS?” he asked quietly. “Is Loki okay?”

“ _Mistress Loki does not appear to be in any form of distress at present.”_

Steve sucked in a breath and nodded, leaning back against the pillows. It was still dark, but the kind of gray, pre-dawn dark that meant he’d be justified in getting up in another hour or two.

It had been a dream. That was all.

 

\---

When the light finally grew paler through the window, Steve got up, showered, and dressed. He didn’t shave, though; the scruff itched, but he thought the light beard look probably suited _Jack Simon,_ and reduced his risk further of being recognized.

Combing his fingers through his hair, he went into the kitchen and began rifling through the cabinets, pulling out a box of muffin mix with a smile. They’d had breakfast food for dinner last night, so he wasn’t sure if Loki would want more eggs, but muffins from a box would be easy enough, and make for something different.

He was mixing the ingredients in a large bowl with the oven preheated and a muffin pan he hadn’t even known they owned greased and ready, when he heard footsteps emerging from the other room.

  


There had been a few minutes, the night before, when she’d thought he might need her, or have something more to say-- JARVIS had stopped her playback of his escape attempt, and she had waited with baited breath until the AI’s voice in her earphones asked if she wanted him to resume playing.

She’d opted for sleep instead, her heart thundering from the near miss of being caught.

And she had managed to get some, despite everything that might have stopped her.

He still didn’t know. Her secret was safe for the time being.

But that meant she needed to act as though everything was normal. So she got up around the usual time, earlier now than she used to. Then again, she had less good reason to stay awake late since she and Steve were in different rooms.

She was surprised to see him in the kitchen so early, though, and she immediately felt a little guilty for not having beat him to it, though she quashed the feeling. He wouldn’t like it if he knew, she was sure.

“Morning,” She greeted, eyes wandering to his work. “What are you making?”

That he was out of bed and invested enough in food to be cooking seemed like a good sign. She wondered how much of his poor appetite before had been a side effect of the pain his body must be in… and how much more she could potentially alleviate.

But… she wouldn’t press him for it.

It hadn’t escaped her notice, on further reflection the night before, that he hadn’t thanked her for healing him… which had made her think he saw it as a burden, perhaps. Something he had done for her benefit. So she would let him approach her, if there was more she could do. And see if maybe he’d prove her wrong.

 

“Chocolate chip muffins,” Steve answered, looking up with a smile, though he felt his heart skip as he looked at her.

Loki’s lips were rosy, but not red with blood. _Just a dream,_ he reminded himself, like a mantra. She wasn’t dying. He wasn’t killing her.

He _wouldn’t._

If that meant eating when he wasn’t all that hungry and feigning a chipper mood and letting her heal him, he’d do it.

“At least, that’s what the box says. I remember muffins involving a lot more butter and flour and less powdered mix when my Ma made them, but probably for the best that it’s easier now,” he rambled. “Should be done in about half an hour... We could make tea and coffee until then?”

 

She nodded, appreciating his talkativeness.

“Yes, I think Ferra mentioned something about there being a long way of doing it, and that this was a short cut, but that she didn’t taste much difference. I’ll be interested to see what you think, when they’re done.”

She did move a little closer, but she stayed back enough to give him his space.

“Would you like me to start on the drinks?”

It wasn’t a large kitchen, and it might be close, but she was reasonably confident they could both be in it without her crowding him too much.

But, then, if he was uncomfortable after the night before… he could always say no. She braced herself for that, just in case.

 

“If you don’t mind,” he replied. “I have to pour all this into the tin.” And do so without spilling globs of batter everywhere, which proved more difficult than anticipated. He winced at the mess he made, but eventually the muffin trays were filled more or less evenly, only a few minutes after the oven beeped to indicate it had reached the recommended heat. Muffins in and timer set, he grabbed a sponge to wipe down the counter.

“What time are you going down to medical?” he asked. He didn’t want to make Loki late, but then, it was still quite early now that he glanced at the clock.

 

She gave him a nod and a smile and went about the task, setting the teapot on the stove and putting both filter and grounds into the coffee machine. She silently thanked Ben Murray for having shown her that much, and was glad she could help out, even if she hadn’t made his breakfast for him.

“I haven’t heard from Ortega yet-- I don’t expect to for a while yet. After all, I kept her a little late last evening. I imagine she needs time to rest.” She tossed him a little smile, hoping it didn’t sound reproachful or any such thing.

“I’ll give her a call after breakfast, if I’ve not heard from her before then.”

 

“Sounds good,” Steve said, finishing with cleaning the countertop, and licking a bit of batter off the spatula he’d been using to mix before depositing it and the bowl in the sink. “If the muffins come out remotely edible, you can bring her a couple.”

Steve’s own appointment wasn’t until mid-morning, but that would give him time to clean up and wash the sheets he’d soaked with sweat last night.

“ _If I may,”_ JARVIS interjected from above, “ _Dr. Foster has data to share with ‘Team Science’ should you be undisposed this afternoon.”_

 

Loki startled, then settled, only to frown as she took in JARVIS’s words.

She looked to Steve.

“I… perhaps it will not take over-long, and we can still have our walk?” She offered, almost afraid that he would claim a rain-check for that as well, and it would be pushed off, much like her outing with Pepper had been, to exist in the realm of something that had been going to happen, but likely no longer was.

There was nothing more she could do to help in the kitchen until the water boiled and the coffee finished brewing, but she hadn’t moved away yet.

“Or… I could call Ortega now, to see if I can finish that early, and then speak with Jane while you are at your appointment?” She hurried to offer an alternative that wouldn’t rely so much on hoping that nothing would get in the way.  


 

Steve shook his head. “If Jane’s found something she needs you to see, it’s probably important. Our walk can wait.” It was just a whim, really. Something he’d suggested, but didn’t _need._

He was almost relieved that for once, _he_ wasn’t the cause of things being put off or made difficult.

“And given it’s not even eight yet, I doubt Ortega’s even in the building. Besides,” he glanced out the window, to the gray sky outside, “weather isn’t looking so great.”

He didn’t want Loki to put off dealing with Avengers issues of actual importance just because she was busy catering to Steve.

  


Loki sighed. She probably sounded petulant or desperate.

“I know. I suppose I’m just being irresponsible and selfish; I was looking forward to our walk. But… I know you’re right. JARVIS, let her know I will call as soon as I finish up my morning appointment on the medical research level.”

She glanced at Steve, hoping that was what he’d wanted. That he didn’t feel like he was being cast aside in favor of Jane and work.

“Of course you’re welcome to join us, but as I don’t know what the data may be, and I know they’ve been reviewing the files we recovered…” she trailed off, not exactly telling him not to, but certainly warning him away from it.

For all that she knew next to nothing about this world and its science, she did know about her abilities, and maybe that could help more in these applications than it had in finding him.

She looked away from him, the surge of guilt rising in her throat like bile, but anything she might have been tempted to say was silence by the whooshing that preceded the teapot’s song.

  


“You’re not selfish,” Steve assured her. “Anything but. And I’ll... stay out of the way as far as the lab stuff goes.” He forced a smile. “Anything interesting, and you can tell me about it later.”

If it was Avengers business, there was little enough he’d be able to do, and sitting there through it, useless, would just be agonizing. Better to keep occupied in other ways.

The coffee was done brewing and the kettle began to whistle, so he got up and fixed them their respective cups to enjoy, setting Loki’s in front of her and holding his own mug between his hands to feel the warmth as he eyed the timer, counting down.

Soon enough the muffins were ready, and once they were out of the oven he gingerly plucked two hot ones out of the pan (with minimal crumbling) and set them out on small plates for them both. “They smell good at least,” he mused.

  


Breakfast would have to count as the replacement for their walk, she supposed.

She was glad he didn't seem to begrudge her thirst for his company. But the insistence that she was not selfish she knew to be anything but true. Still, it was kind of him to say, and she smiled for him, grateful for it. For him.

She touched the top of her muffin and pulled her finger back, blowing on it and laughing.

“They do smell good-- though I may wait a moment before I try to eat. I don't know how you can withstand such heat.”

She kept her words light and teasing and made a face.

“I can tell it will be sweet though. I am excited to try it.”

She loved that he was right back to speaking to her sweet tooth. But then, he didn't seem to have forgotten anything about her.

She'd been so afraid of forgetting anything about him, she was afraid now that she had, and he'd notice.

“Is this like the donuts you brought me at SHIELD?”

  


“Not quite as sweet, I don’t think, but they fall in the same general classification of foods that are basically dessert-for-breakfast,” he reflected, gingerly picking at his own, peeling back the top a bit and watching steam waft up from the fluffy insides.

Loki had learned to cook, in his absence. Maybe Steve would be the one to learn to bake properly -- beyond just using a mix. He could make Loki apple pie next, or ask JARVIS for ideas.

He managed to avoid letting his bad dreams tarnish their breakfast, thankfully, the mood remaining thankfully light and cheerful; when Loki bit into her muffin only to have her eyes widen and light up with delight, Steve felt a surge of warmth unrelated to the swig of coffee he’d just taken. They chatted about nothing in particular, and when they’d finished eating Steve got up and put a few of the muffins in a plastic bag, handing them to Loki.

“For the medical staff,” he told her with a smile. “Or if you get hungry after healing.”

  


She didn’t know how much healing she would actually be doing that morning, but she didn’t correct him, thanking him instead before checking with JARVIS to be certain Ortega was in her office.

She was, which meant Loki was free to head down. She bid Steve a quick farewell, not wanting to linger on it, but some part of her afraid that not doing so would lead to similar, or worse results, as the last time she hadn’t done so.

Again, in the elevator, Loki resumed his male form and straightened his clothing, then patted at his pocket to be certain his badge was in place.

He needed it only for a moment, when he reached the entrance to the back halls of the medical level, but it seemed that maybe Stark’s security was growing used to him.

He found himself in Ortega’s office in short enough order, either way, clutching a bag of muffins and feeling somehow silly, like he was too tall for the room, though he knew that wasn’t the case at all.

  


Ortega looked up, blinking in surprise.

“Oh! You’re here early.” She adjusted her glasses. “I’m still waiting on test results from Mr. Morris -- they only took him to imaging about twenty minutes ago. Um. Here--”

She reached into her desk, pulling out a folder and handing it to him. “Madeleine Zidane, our nerve damage patient. Suffered loss of sensation and motor control in most of her right leg after being in a car accident a couple years ago. We were actually screening her for the exoskeletal prosthetic trials SI R&D is working on engineering, but...” She shrugged. “Take a look, see if it looks like something you’re up for tackling. I’ll be right back!”

She then darted out the door to check on Morris.

  


The file that Ortega left him with was confusing… some of the terminology he was familiar with from having studied the texts that Steve had put on his digital library back in SHIELD. More of it, though…

He didn't benefit much from having seen it, he didn't think. But he could take a look, could try… the worst that could happen was he would fail. And it wasn't as though he would hurt anything in the attempt. And with his patients drugged… one benefit would be not having to be around to see their disappointment.

He settled himself, leaning back against the wall opposite the door and staring into the folder as if in concentration. At least this way, he would not look ignorant when Ortega returned.

  


The techs had finished with imaging, and Ortega had a set of xrays and MRIs on her tablet as she returned. She was focused on them to the point of nearly walking into her own doorframe as she returned to her office.

“Okay,” she announced, finally looking up. “I have the results back, and I’m going to need you to come with me. Go ahead and grab a labcoat from the rack again, if you don’t mind.” She gestured to the spare coat he’d worn the day before.

  


He felt his stomach sink, his cavalier posturing now seeming insensitive and inappropriate, but he did as she'd asked just the same, shrugging his way into the coat.

He wondered what had gone wrong. Maybe he'd missed something…

The paper folder in his hands felt heavy and he wondered if he would be trusted to help her after this one.

He considered reassuring her that he could fix whatever it was. But he held his tongue. It would be better just to do it.

To prove he could set things right.

  


Ortega walked quickly, a few paces ahead of Loki, her sensibly-low heels clicking against the linoleum. It didn’t take long to reach Morris’ room, and the techs had just escorted him back from the look of things.

She knocked lightly on the door as she entered to announce their presence; the man was awake today, and while he seemed a bit bewildered, enough of the morphine had left his system that he was able to look at them both with lucidity.

“Hello, Mr. Morris,” Ortega said, smiling at him with her best bedside manner. “There’s someone I want to introduce to you. This is Dr. Smith; we’re lucky enough to have him as a consulting specialist, and he’s responsible for some major experimental breakthroughs in your treatment. I wanted you to meet him, since he’s the reason I have some very good news to give you.”

She paused, turning her head to look sidelong at Loki.

In his hospital bed, Morris’ eyes widened. “Good... news?” he repeated, hesitantly, as if afraid he might have heard wrong.

  


He was half tempted to echo the man, but as he was currently doing his best to hide the surprise he felt, he simply smiled and nodded.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said carefully, though he did feel some concern… he hadn’t modified his appearance at all, and what she was about to tell him, if indeed it was all good news, would seem nothing short of magical… and he didn’t need that connection being made between his face and his abilities.

But Mr. Morris still seemed groggy, so perhaps it would be… it would be alright, either way. After all, who would believe the man if he claimed _Loki_ had healed him.

“Doctor Ortega has your most recent test results.” He said firmly, though kindly, prompting her to tell them both.

  


Morris looked between them. “Is... Did the tumor shrink?” he asked. “Do I have-- do I have more time?”

Ortega felt a pang in her chest at the tone of the man’s voice. “The tumor didn’t shrink,” she began, and then hurried as she saw his face begin to fall; “it’s gone. Your blood counts are coming back normal.”

It took a few seconds for this information to sink in, Morris staring at them in silence. “I’m... I’m in complete remission?” he finally murmured, seemingly stunned.

“Yes,” Ortega confirmed, smiling broadly. “We’ll want to keep an eye on things, of course -- and as this treatment is still highly experimental and in trial stages, you’ll still be under your non-disclosure contract you entered when you signed up for the trial -- but as of this moment, you appear to be cancer-free.” She stepped forward, pulling up the image on her tablet to show where the mass no longer was. “Congratulations.”

Morris stared, then began to blink rapidly as his eyes welled with tears. “Oh my god,” he murmured, then clamped a hand over his mouth. “Oh my _god...”_

  


Loki felt a pulling sensation around his lungs, as he realized that all the man had thought to hope for was a little longer. _More time_.

He wondered what he would have used it on, so small a reward, but was glad he didn’t have to ask.

This was better. He wouldn’t last forever-- none of these people would-- but his life would be his again. For as long as it would have lasted.

Loki wondered, suddenly, if there was more he could have done, if there were other things he could have tampered with while he was working, if he were less fixated on just the cancer.

But…

Maybe it didn’t matter. After something that large, smaller inconveniences must seem only that; temporary setbacks.

“Congratulations,” Loki told him earnestly. He hung back, still not sure why Ortega had insisted on bringing him, but… grateful. Glad of it.

If only for the memory of Mr. Morris’s expression. This small proof that he could do something good, from time to time.

  


Morris closed his eyes and stifled what sounded suspiciously like a sob before looking back up at them both. “Thank you,” he said, voice tight, making eye contact with Loki. “ _Thank you,”_ he repeated, voice cracking. “Can I-- I should call my family, my daughter,” he said, glancing back toward Ortega.

She nodded, then moved over to the small cabinet in the room’s corner that served as a locker for trial participants’ belongings and withdrew a cellphone from within after a moment’s rummaging, bringing it back to her patient and placing it in his hand. “Go right ahead. We’ll go give you some privacy.”

With that she got the door and held it for Loki, closing it behind them both.

“His daughter’s a senior in high school,” she said softly. As someone whose focus was in research, she didn’t usually try to find out too much about her patients, but Morris had been chatty during the early stages of the treatment, before he’d needed the morphine at higher doses. It had been hard to see him as just another test subject in their medical research when he’d been pulling photos out of his wallet. She had to wonder if it was why she’d immediately thought of him for Loki’s healing when he’d offered. “He wasn’t going to live to see her graduate, but now he will.”

  


Standing in the hall, Loki felt his composure shuddering, and found his mouth crumpling in an effort not to let any other expressions cross his face.

“I thought I’d failed.” He said quietly. “When you came back for me, I thought--” He broke off, switching to a more immediate thought.

“Thank you.” He said instead. “For letting me… see him.”

Of course he’d seen him the day before, so it wasn’t exactly a sensible thing to have said, but… he hoped she’d understand.

Seeing him awake, seeing how the news affected him… and that he had a _family_. Knowing that his family would be spared mourning him, at least for the foreseeable future.

Loki felt near to weeping, and he was reminded of Ferra. Of the almost desperate sense of hope that these people exuded when the realized they would live.

Their short, precious lives, returned to them.

He thought of Steve, and how he hadn’t been able to give him the same relief, the same restoration. And then he looked back up, met Ortega’s eyes.

“Thank you,” he repeated, and this time he could not stop the emotion leaking into the words.

  


She smiled softly back at him, glad to hear the strained quality of his voice; she had wanted this to mean something, to have an impact.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” she apologized. “I just thought...” She looked back at the closed door. “Moments like that? Are why I got into medicine. And sure, my area is research more than practice -- but only because that’s the best way I know how to save lives.” And saving lives was the reason she’d gone through nearly a decade of higher education and days at a time without sleeping to complete a residency. “Doctors, we-- sometimes we shutter ourselves off emotionally from patients so we don’t burn out or hurt too much when things go badly. So we don’t lose it when a study doesn’t go anywhere and a cure doesn’t pan out and people still die.” She made a face, trying not to think about how many research avenues had proven dead ends, and how many people hoping for cures or treatments from her and her colleagues had been left disappointed over the years. “But sometimes we have to let that... that human portion in again to remember why we do it in the first place and why all of this is worth it.”

Her gaze returned to Loki. “You gave that guy his life back. You get to hold on to that, okay?”

  


He swallowed, feeling the distinct bubbling sensation in his throat that came as a prelude to tears.

“I know why I do this. I… missed this, before. The human part, the connection. When they had to be asleep. But…” He stopped for a moment, struggling to find the words.

“It seems dishonest.” He settled on, finally.

“Taking this from them, when I think we both know-- if they knew who I am, their reactions would differ. They would be appalled at how their cure came to be, if not at the cure itself. And it seems… selfish. To me.”

He enjoyed this, had yearned for it when he was healing while Steve was gone, and yet… it seemed important to explain to her why this couldn’t happen again. Why he couldn’t be part of these moments, thoughtful though her inclusion was.

“If anyone recognizes me… I don’t want to take this moment from them.” He said, attempting to be firm despite how emotional he still was.

  


Ortega shook her head. “Humans rely on context heavily in order to recognize people,” she pointed out. “And they tend to focus on recognizable details. Like, ah, a somewhat ostentatious helmet,” she pointed out, keeping her voice low. Most of the medical staff didn’t know the extent of who Loki was, after all. “Change the context, the perception, remove those key details? Nobody here is going to know you from Adam unless you tell them as much. They definitely won’t remember your face from grainy news footage. But what they _will_ remember is the tall, dark handsome doctor who waltzed in and fixed everything,” she added, mouth quirking upward wryly.

Whatever her reservations when Stark had first drawn her in to treat Loki after the Bryant Park incident... She’d spent enough time around him that even if his temper occasionally made her jump, she didn’t think he was the monster the Battle of New York would have made her believe.

Especially not after seeing him just now.

“I don’t wanna burst your ego either, but their focus on how you changed _their_ lives? Is going to eclipse pretty much everything else about you. And given you _are_ helping them-- pretending you _aren’t_ would be far more dishonest, wouldn’t it?”

  


He chose not to focus on what had happened to that ostentatious helmet. She didn’t know, couldn’t know, the sheer depths of damage he had caused with it on a personal level… but it was a reminder just the same.

“I don’t have to pretend not to help them-- no one is lying and telling them they are still sick. Only… It is better I keep my distance, I think. In the event that they feel differently.”

  


She sighed, then shrugged. “Your call,” she told him. “But if you ever want some face to face time... I don’t think the risk is as high as you think.”

At least she’d gotten him to see Morris and hear his thanks. Hopefully, it would be enough.

“At some point,” she said, changing the subject, “if you’re willing, I was thinking it might help to run some tests on your vision. Nothing invasive,” she quickly added, “just set up some simple experiments so we can determine what your full range of vision is when you change your eyes to see if there’s some part of the spectrum that you’re detecting that’s outside our vision. It might help us figure out where to start in conceiving imaging technology to see... krellr,” she said, hesitating on the foreign word, despite hearing Loki say it many times now.

  


He stiffened, unable to relax despite her assurance that it would be noninvasive.

He didn’t know or trust the sciences they employed. And the person he trusted most to guide him was… unavailable, at the moment.

But she was right, it could very well help them.

And, he realized, it wasn’t the first time someone had proposed observing some aspect of his Jotun form.

“I’ll consider it,” he said slowly. “But only if Bruce Banner agrees to be part of the experiment. I will bring it up to him, and see if he is willing to come down and speak with you.”

Which also left him able to change his mind, later.

This screamed of being unwise, but at the same time… he was still working with Natasha. If something went wrong, and Thanos killed him… there would be no more Mr. Morrises, no more cures in this way. No progress from their doctors.

Even Loki wasn’t that selfish.

  


“I-- okay, that’s fine.” At first she was puzzled what role a particle physicist would have, if there was some different composition of matter or radiation at play when Loki looked at his patients--

Then, she belatedly registered his stiff posture and realized Banner was probably more of a safeguard than anything. “Whatever you’re comfortable with,” she added. “I just thought... I know there’s only so much you can do here. I mean. Only so much we can ask of you and energy you can afford to spend,” she corrected herself. “The more we can understand about what you do, the better our chances of replicating it on our own and spreading the impact of your knowledge.”

She shook her head, just thinking about the potential implications. “Imagine. A hundred years from now, medicine could be a completely revolutionized discipline thanks to this.” She barely managed not to bounce on the balls of her feet at the prospect, taking a breath to restore her composure. “Anyway, I won’t keep you. But feel free to take Madeleine’s file with you if you want. Or I can have JARVIS forward the files to you if you prefer digital.”

  


Loki smiled slightly at her defense.

“I do not question why you want the study, nor what you stand to gain from it. I am merely… you will recall the safeguards that were in place when I was… _indisposed_ , before. Those of us with altered or alien physiologies have… I’m given to understand we need to be careful about what is and isn’t taken, measured… and for all that I want to help, there is much of your science and medicine that I do not understand. Bruce has much more experience with where such lines ought to be drawn, and has expressed some interest in my other form, the one that my altered eyes are borrowed from, as well..”

And considering, last he’d heard, there was some possibility that HYDRA had gained information from within Stark’s computers, he was more than a little leery about having tests run and recorded on aspects of himself, if that information was anything less than secure.

“I will take this with me, thank you. And I will speak to Bruce tonight if he is available-- but I will try to have an answer before she comes in.”

It seemed only courteous, to keep her from having to wait for an answer.

But he paused, well aware that he should, at least, be honest about their next patient while he was at it.

“As I said, much of your science and medicine I do not understand, and though I will do research to grasp what I can of this file with the library I have access to, I will not fully know if I can help her, or how I will help her, until I see her. So do not guarantee a miracle cure to her just yet. But I will try whatever I can.”

  


“Trying is all any of us can ask for,” Ortega assured. “And if you can’t fix it, we still have her on the list for an external prosthetic, so we’ll make sure she gets help one way or another.”

Even if the miracles Loki worked weren’t always guaranteed, they were still _miracles_ as far as modern science was concerned, as amazing and frustrating as that was. And even if cases like Morris proved to be one in a dozen... that was still one more than they were otherwise able to save.

She’d take it.

“Thanks for coming down. I won’t keep you, I’m sure you have other plans for the day,” she said. “I’ll see you Monday?”

  


“Monday,” he confirmed, sliding the jacket off of his shoulders. And then, just because he could and because it lent some legitimacy to his claims of business, he glanced upwards.

“JARVIS? Is Doctor Foster ready to see me?”

He realised that he wasn’t actually certain how the title worked in conjunction with her name-- he’d been so busy referring to her first as his brother’s woman and then, begrudgingly, and finally with gratitude, just Jane… He knew she was good with the sciences she worked on, and that Bruce was also a Doctor, but not of the medical field… he needed to better understand these things, he thought.

But it seemed to be correct, or at least JARVIS knew better than to correct him while others were around.

“ _Dr. Foster is currently fetching additional coffee. Shall I have her meet you in the lab?”_

Loki restrained himself from rolling his eyes-- of course she was. And he had already experienced her near mania when she was excited about her science a few times. Better to be prepared, he supposed. And perhaps he should bring food, just to ensure she had something other than coffee in her stomach as well.

“Is she in the public kitchen? If so, I can meet her there.”

He gave Ortega one last glance and a near apologetic smile and shrug, before heading towards the elevator.

At least he could be sure that JARVIS would follow where he went, and keep up with him.

-

 

After Loki left that morning, Steve spent some time tidying up the kitchen and doing all the dishes. Eventually the only sign of his baking endeavors that remained was the plate of muffins they hadn’t eaten (or sent off with Loki), and he shifted his attention and sudden burst of productive energy to the bedroom. There was cleaning to be done, and he had time before his follow-up with the doctors.

He began stripping the sheets from the bed -- no longer damp with sweat from his nightmare, but still stale from it -- only to pause as something small and greenish tumbled out of one of the pillowcases.

Frowning, he knelt to pick it up, then stilled as he realized what it was.

Somehow, a sprig of dried rosemary had found its way to his pillow.

Lifting it, he sucked in a breath and smelled the familiar, pungent aroma -- woodsy, like pine and lemon and--

  


“ _Mama?” He looked curiously at the twig as she placed it under his pillow._

“ _It’s for your dreams, dear heart,” she murmured, brushing Steve’s sweat-damp hair from his brow as she smiled down at him. “It will ward away the nightmares so you can sleep.”_

_He blinked up at her, wondering if this was one of his mother’s ‘Old Country’ things. The kind she only talked about under her breath, when no one from their church was around, and usually with a sort of sad, wistful sound in her voice. “It will keep away the bad things?” he asked._

“ _It will,” she promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and he could feel the shape of her smile against his skin, her soft blonde hair tickling him where it slipped from her bun and fell against his ears. “Now sleep, Steven. And dream nothing but sweet dreams, you hear?”_

“ _Yes, mama,” he said, yawning and smelling the herb as he nuzzled into the pillow..._

  


In Steve’s grip, the brittle sprig crumbled, needle-like leaves falling to the floor. He cursed himself quietly, carefully brushing them up, even as his hands were shaking.

How--?

 _Loki,_ he realized a moment later, as the initial shock cleared from his mind. He had to have told Loki at some point. Sarah Rogers was long dead and gone, but Steve must have mentioned to Loki her habit of hiding rosemary under his pillow for nightmares.

Not that it worked.

Steve sank slowly to the floor, leaning against the bed and staring at the bits of plant matter in his hand. His nightmare echoed in his mind, with Loki coughing up consumptive clots of blood, dying because of him--  


_She used to put rosemary under his pillow--_

(She was dead because of him and he knew it, he always knew it--)

 

He drew a shaky breath, unsure of how much time had passed as he’d zoned out, paralyzed by his own spiraling thoughts. But his legs were starting to cramp and the bedframe was digging uncomfortably into his back.

Standing, he dumped the rosemary into the bathroom trash, and finished stripping the linens to wash.

He’d been a burden to Sarah Rogers. He would _not_ be the same burden to Loki.

So Steve got busy. He had the laundry in the wash and the bathroom tidied up by the time his appointment with the doctors rolled around, and he could almost forget the rosemary, forget the dream.

(Almost.)  


\--

 

The distance between the lab and her suite was, technically, shorter than the distance between the lab and the penthouse. At least in terms of vertical distance traveled. But given the minimal effort that standing in an elevator for an additional two seconds took, and factoring in both the significantly higher-quality selection of coffee available upstairs and the reduced risk of being apprehended by Darcy, she opted for the penthouse kitchen for her refill.

“JARVIS, can you reorder some more Keurig cups for the coffeemaker in the lab? We ran out,” she said to the AI as she put on the pot to brew. Then, because artificial intelligence or not, she’d been raised to be polite to everyone, added: “Please.”

“ _Certainly, Dr. Foster.”_

The coffee machine bubbled and hissed, and the smell of dark roast filled her senses, the aroma a promise of the boost she sorely needed. She was so intently focused on it, that she barely registered the ding of the elevator doors until she heard footsteps approaching.

  


He put a smile on his face as he approached, only aware that he had retained his male form once he could see her, and once it would be too late for him to change and it not to be odd.

“Good morning, Jane.” He said, aiming for warmth and hoping that neither his good mood nor current body would be too off-putting, considering what she was used to from him.

He nodded at the drink in her hand.

“I hope you’ve had something aside from just that this morning. Have you eaten?”

He stopped a couple of feet away, more aware of distance and personal space, lately.

For some reason.

  


She blinked, startled. “Oh! You’re-- other you, today,” she observed, then felt color prickle high in her cheeks. “Sorry, just... caught me off guard. Um. I had a bagel a couple hours ago, thanks...”

Jane was used to being nagged by Darcy, or to Thor not-so-subtly steering food in front of her while making puppy-dog eyes. But _Loki_ getting in on the mothering bandwagon was new. And odd. Though considering how much his attitude toward her had shifted over the last month or so, and what it had been before, she wasn’t going to complain.

“How’re you? Sorry, JARVIS said your morning schedule was busy, I didn’t mean to pull you away from anything,” she hurried to add. She’d _wanted_ to share the information right away when she’d finished her call with a colleague in Manilla last night to confirm her figures, but the AI had pointed out the wisdom of waiting until everyone was awake and available.

  


He shook his head.

“No need to apologize. I was curing a cancer a few floors down, but Pepper only gave me a badge for when I was male, hence--” he gestured at himself. “I can change back if you’re more comfortable the other way-- I will before I return to my rooms, at any rate. And once I was finished, I asked JARVIS where I might find you, and he brought me here. So you’ve pulled me away from nothing.” He said it lightly, wanting to encourage her to be comfortable.

“And whatever it is, it can wait until you’ve had your coffee to tell me, I’m sure. Have you heard from the rest of ‘team science’ this morning?”

  


“You were curing cancer,” Jane repeated. _Like you do._ Just another one of the insane things that the people around her got up to. Hell, she was the girl who had been through an actual _alien wormhole,_ and she didn’t even have the strangest resume in the tower. “Right. Well, glad that’s a thing.” She blinked, shaking her head. “And don’t worry about it -- you shouldn’t have to change for anyone’s comfort but your own!”

Loki as a man was a bit more intimidating, sure, mostly because he towered over her by even more. But she was under no illusions that they were different people just because of an exterior change.

“I haven’t heard from the others yet, but... JARVIS?”

“ _Dr. Banner returned from the Farmer’s Market some time ago and is currently meditating in his rooms. Mister Stark is asleep, but has requested to be awoken for ‘science shenanigans’ at any hour that they should occur.”_

  


Loki stared at Jane for a moment, the slightly bitter part of him wondering if she simply lacked social awareness, or if she was just that obtuse, but he decided not to comment on when and why it might be appropriate to change forms for others’ comfort.

Certainly _she_ had no reason to know what had been done to Steve.

And that was a little comforting on its own… that some things existed outside of that knowledge, without that burden.

“I have been informed that if he is to be awakened before noon, it is wise to do so only with two cups of coffee on hand. So if you did not make enough to share, perhaps that should be the first order of business?”

He suggested.

He did want to change before the others arrive, though. Or at least before Tony did, since what tact Jane lacked, Tony seemed to have missed the memo it even existed.

Bruce, he suspected, would be fine either way.

Which reminded him--

“I actually needed to ask Bruce something related to the medical field… I could fetch him if you wanted to rouse Tony? Or… have JARVIS rouse Tony, and you have coffee to hand him?”

Though he could ask JARVIS to interrupt Bruce’s meditation… he suspected it would be more polite to do so in person.

 

She chuckled. “I have a whole pot brewing, so we should be okay. It should only be a few more minutes.” The kitchen being a more social setting had been equipped with a traditional coffee-maker as opposed to the kind that spat out single-servings from K-cups. She’d been entertaining the idea of simply absconding to the lab with the whole pot, but she supposed she could pour Tony some too.

And having JARVIS be the one to deal with a pre-caffeinated Tony did seem like the safest option. “JARVIS?” she asked. “Would you mind waking Mister Stark and letting him know I’ll be in the lab with his coffee in five minutes if he’d like to join?”

“ _Certainly, Dr. Foster.”_

(That was the other thing she loved about the AI. She never had to deal with being called _Miss_ Foster.)

“I’ll meet you down there?” she said to Loki as she reached up to fetch a travel mug from the cabinet.

  


Loki nodded, pleased with the arrangement.

“I don’t imagine it will take me particularly long. We should be along shortly, barring any unforeseen catastrophes.”

He took his leave, heading back for the elevator, and couldn’t help but be glad that Bruce would be there as well, his presence a calming balance to Jane’s likely excitement, and Tony’s uncaffeinated grogginess.

Once the doors were shut and Loki was alone in the lift, she returned to being female. It would just be easier, she thought, and if Jane said anything, she would be in the minority, and it had been easy enough to explain before.

She reached Bruce’s door and did not hesitate, knocking firmly, but by no means insistently.

She was, after all, both interrupting him and asking a favor.

  


Bruce sighed as the knocking at the door disrupted his sense of zen.

Not that he suspected someone like himself was every going to achieve nirvana or anything like it. He was a realist, after all. But his morning meditations soothed his mind, and gave him good practice for controlling his breathing; at times when The Other Guy got restless, the deep cycles of breath -- in and out -- proved invaluable in de-escalating his own mood and keeping control of his heart rate.

Unfolding his legs from lotus pose, he stretched, then stood, padding over to the door to answer it.

“Hello, Loki,” he said, on seeing who it was, tilting his head curiously to the side. “Is everything all right?”

  


“It is,” she assured him, then-- “or at least, no one seems to be in any particular panic. And I apologize for interrupting your morning. But Jane has some new information-- though no doubt JARVIS has told you as much already. Tony is being roused now, and I volunteered to fetch you to rejoin the quorum of team science. If you don’t mind coming along, that is-- if you’re free.”

She tilted her head to match the angle of his.

“I also have a favor to ask, though it is of no pressing importance. Both things can wait, I believe, if you are otherwise occupied, or have other plans.”

She did not feel nervous, exactly-- he’d done so much for her and she did not feel as vulnerable as she had in times past that they’d spoken… but she wasn’t entirely sure if either today’s meeting or the medical request might be too much to ask.

  


Bruce nodded. No reason to panic was good. Loki seemed a little tense, but not as on-edge as she sometimes appeared, so it was unlikely that anything was wrong with Steve (or, more wrong than it had been), and JARVIS would have sounded the alarm if there were any actual crisis.  

Which meant he had time to dress himself properly. “Gimme a second to go put on some real pants,” he said, gesturing to the sweatpants he wore for yoga. “I’ll be right out and we can talk and head down to the lab.”

He ducked into his bedroom, emerging a short time later in a button-up, jeans, and birkenstocks, adjusting his belt as he rejoined her. “So,” he began. “What’s the favor?”

 

She waited, casually looking around his rooms now that they were not covered in sheet upon sheet of aged paper, and when he emerged, dressed and looking more like himself, she smiled.

At least, until he asked what the favor she needed was.

Fortunately she’d had a little time to organize her thoughts.

“Do you recall offering, once, to do some sort of… study, I suppose, on my Jotun form? You were interested in the cold aspect of it, I believe. Well… I have been working with Dr. Ortega in the medical levels, and she mentioned wanting to do a study of my Jotun eyes… with which I can more easily see krellr. But… I wanted to ask if perhaps you would be willing to be there? I don’t… know, exactly, what they should and should not know, or take, or see. And I thought… Steve doesn’t do well in, ah, medical settings, at the moment.”

She hoped that said enough; she had to smooth her face to keep from giving away exactly how much more she knew on _that_ subject.

“And of course,” she added, realizing that he was gaining nothing as it stood, “if there are studies of your own you’d like to do…” she shrugged.

If they could replicate krellr manipulation and sight with machines, then maybe… maybe that would be easier for Steve. And he could be more thoroughly healed, without having to strain himself, and his comfort, to humor her.

 

Bruce nodded. He of all people could relate to the unease that came with being an experimental subject, in any setting. He’d repeatedly turned down Tony’s offers to run tests on the Hulk -- not because he didn’t trust Tony to be a good person, but because he didn’t trust Tony not to get carried away and do something less-than-responsible. Ortega seemed a bit more grounded, but he also didn’t know her as well.

“I’d be happy to come with you and make sure nothing happens that you aren’t comfortable with, or that isn’t safe,” he assured her. “I’m... Kind of a big fan of lab safety these days.” He smiled crookedly. He’d also have a talk with Ortega about just how much of her research and experimental results would be made public; it would be one thing to use it as inspiration for a new procedure, but another entirely to write up an article on Loki’s eyes in a scientific publication. It would be best to ensure they were all on the same page.

“Do you have a particular timetable set for this already, or is it still just in the ‘maybe’ stage of planning?”

  


Loki shook her head.

“I told her I would speak to you before I agreed to anything. I'll have to introduce you two, and after that, if you think it is safe, we can make plans.”

She couldn't help but sound relieved.

“And thank you, truly. I… would likely not do this without you. But I think… it will be good, if it works. We cured another man of cancer yesterday and got to tell him this morning.” She told him a little shyly. “I would like if that were a more widespread occurrence. So that I do not feel that I am killing-- or at least condemning people to death, just by existing without spending each moment healing.”

She shook her head.

“but depending on what Jane has found, I may not be available for healing as much again after today.”

She shrugged, trying not to let it bother her.

  


Bruce chuckled softly. “I have _met_ Dr. Ortega already, you know. She kinda patched up two of my friends in the last few months.” They might not have been close, but he’d been present when Loki had been injured by Schultz, and during Steve’s medical care.

Their interactions had been professional enough that he didn’t anticipate much pushback from him being present for Loki’s testing.

And if it helped Loki and Ortega help even more people, it would absolutely be worthwhile. “I... Spent a lot of time trying to help people when I was on the run, even though I’m not a medical doctor,” he said. “I knew enough about basic stuff to fill in where people had no access to anything better. Made me feel like I was at least doing _something_ to balance out all the bad that The Other Guy did. I know how important that feeling can be... But don’t burn yourself out for it, or you won’t be able to help anyone. And if Jane found something that related to HYDRA or something bigger that we need to be involved in, well. I imagine you’ll be saving lives with that too.”

He nodded to the door, indicating that they could walk and talk as they made their way down to the lab.

“Did she mention what this was about?”

  


“Oh, yes-- of course, I apologize. But you have not worked with her in a professional way, I suppose, so… you may still refuse to, if it seems a poor fit, obviously. I would not begrudge you if that turned out to be the case. If there is anything you feel is… unsafe, or insufficient. I trust your judgement.” That was really the point she needed to make; the trust.

“I do enjoy helping. But there is some part of me that finds it galling, being unable to help Steve because of his aversion to touch. So, maybe this will prove a way around it, if the machines you and Tony and his people can create can take my place…”

And she’d been so afraid, before, of the prospect. But that was a secondary concern, when stacked against the potential for Steve not recovering.

As for what lay ahead of them, Loki could only shake  her head.

“I know only what JARVIS told me during breakfast-- that Jane had found something she wished to share with Team Science. And so here we are.” She pressed the button and the elevator doors opened near instantly.

  


“Just because you can’t touch him doesn’t mean you’re not helping him,” Bruce pointed out, though he suspected the words would effectively fall on deaf ears. Probably no matter how often she heard otherwise, Loki would convince herself that Steve’s slow recovery was a sign she wasn’t doing enough.

Even if she was doing a hell of a lot just by being there so Steve didn’t go through his life being turned on its head all by himself. (Bruce had toughed that kind of change through on his own and recommended it to no one.)

The doors opened and he gestured for Loki to lead the way, following a half step behind her as they made their way to the lab.

Jane and Tony were waiting for them, though from Tony’s spiky, messy hair and bleary-eyed look, he’d only just rolled out of bed. The wrinkled AC/DC shirt was probably one he’d slept in, and Jane had just pushed a travel mug into his hand as they walked in the door.

“So...” Bruce looked between them. “Morning?”

 

“Morning,” Jane chirped, blinking for a moment at Loki, who had changed _again._ “Oh, sorry, I didn’t think to make tea for you guys, I should have-- I can run back up and get some hot water if you want?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce quickly interjected, though he glanced askance at Loki.

  


“I’ve been awake for some time, no tea needed.” Loki assured her.

She wished she had had a chance to speak more with Bruce, explain that she knew she was helping-- or at least, that she was trying to be helpful, wanted to talk to him about how healing Steve had gone earlier.

But there wasn’t the time.

Which was probably for the best. Steve wouldn’t want that shared. Better that she keep her mouth shut on the subject and just focus on what lay ahead of them.

  


“Don’t ‘morning’ me. You morning people sicken me.” Tony groused. “And the only cure is science. Jane, lay that sweet sweet data on my eyes and ears, if you’d be so kind.”

He punctuating the request with a long gulp from the mug he held, and Loki couldn’t help but roll her eyes, though she did so with an affection that she wasn’t quite aware she’d developed.

She turned her attention on Jane, who had been excited before, but now seemed positively to be vibrating to tell them whatever it was she’d gathered them here to say.

“Right. Yes. Data.” Jane nearly bounced on the balls of her feet. “JARVIS, would you please pull up figure 59A from the open file on my computer?”

One of the holographic displays lit up with a series of readings, and a graph that showed a large spike.

“This is the energy reading you guys took in November,” she explained, “when you were looking for the scepter.”

“When it spiked when SHIELD messed with Loki’s magic?” Bruce asked.

She shook her head definitively. “I don’t believe so, no. I checked the time stamp and then I called SHIELD -- at first no one would give me an answer,” she said, a tad bitterly, “but then I talked to Agent Carter and she was able to put me on a line with Agent Hill. She said they scrubbed the security footage, but she was fairly confident about the time of the... incident.” She glanced sideways at Loki, wincing slightly. “Unless someone is wrong, or JARVIS timestamped the data with Mountain Time instead of Eastern, there was a roughly two hour difference between the spike and Loki’s magic being messed with. Which means the spike had a different source.”

  


Loki looked around the room, taking in the faces of those around her.

“I do not fully understand. Are you saying this energy was released before or after SHIELD decided to test their seidhr disarming device on me?”

She tried to think, both before and after, too guess if there was anything she had done which would have caused it.

“Is it comparable to any other information you have collected from my activities since then?”

She knew she and Steve had traveled. And fought. And that she'd insisted on checking him over.

But then he'd left and she'd… showered. Say and started out the window and thought on her choices, on her decisions.

None of which seemed like they should be things that would cause such a reading to appear.

“Or… did SHIELD perhaps experiment with something else they oughtn't have?”

She looked to Jane, expecting her to have answers.

Any of them, really.

  


Jane pursed her lips. “I don’t think, for once, we can blame this on SHIELD,” she said. “And I don’t think it’s connected to you either. The timing is pretty remarkable, but I think it may ultimately be coincidental.”

She shook her head. “Something about the data on that energy spike bothered me when I looked at the numbers, spectral analysis, all of that, but I couldn’t put my thumb on it. I reached out to a colleague who was working with the VLA around that time--”

“Very Large Array -- it’s an astronomical observatory,” Bruce murmured for Loki’s benefit.

“--And he actually did have similar numbers from around that time, but he dismissed it as an aftershock of the London incident instead of a separate event,” she explained.

“The London incident? You mean with you and Thor and the... Elves?” Tony’s eyebrows rose.

Jane nodded. “Apparently there were... some similarities in the energy readings. Though looking closer, they definitely have different signatures overall. But it got me thinking -- I compared it to all the other extraterrestrial portal events that we have data for. Since HYDRA may have been tracking that data too, it got me thinking, about our discussion about them maybe looking to build their own portal and--”

“Janey, you’re killing me here. Skip ahead?” Tony begged.

She glared briefly, then looked up. “JARVIS? Figure 59B?”

The image on the display shrank, and another graph popped up beside it. “This is a reading I got from some friends in the NRAO that they took during the Battle of New York.”

Bruce took his glasses off and peered at it. “The scale is completely different,” he murmured, “but the energy signatures are....”

“Similar,” Jane concluded. “If this,” she pointed to figure B, “is a door, then this--” she pointed to the first figure, “is more like a peephole. But--”

“But HYDRA figuring out how to build a peephole ain’t nothing,” Tony said, expression grim. “Damn.”

  


Loki swallowed.

“Does your data have any way of telling where they were looking? Where they opened their small hole… to?”

She looked to Tony, certain that the answer would be no.

They didn't even know other realms existed until she had… exposed them.

“My fear is that they are drawing attention to-- has it happened again since? If they are looking for something, I suspect it is something we should get to first. And if not, if they are stabbing in the dark, we should know if they have stabbed anyone.”

  


Tony shrugged. “We haven’t been really looking since then,” he said. “Given we switched gears to look for Steve, I cannibalized most of that equipment,” he added, a touch sheepishly.

“I don’t know where they went to,” Jane said, shaking her head. “My work on wormholes... it’s been purely theoretical until recently, and this is a very new field of observation.” She sighed, grimacing. “I wish I could offer more there. But I think it’s safe to say that HYDRA has figured out some way of reverse-engineering SHIELD’s research and _my_ research to create a wormhole of their own.” And here her voice was definitely bitter -- both at being made complicit, and at being beaten to the punch. “Bastards,” she mumbled.

“But given that spike happened when we located the scepter, isn’t it likely that they relied on the scepter to establish the connection?” Bruce mused, glancing at Loki inquisitively.

“Or that they let us take the scepter because they successfully tested something else as a power source,” Tony muttered.

  


“But what else do they have-- the, the bracers?” Loki shook her head.

“This is important, I understand that. The mechanics behind it, I am woefully unversed in. But if you will… if there are files and Jarvis is capable of explaining, I will take the time to learn. And if there is anything I can do… I do not know that I am capable of providing energy comparable to this on my own, but we could make an attempt. And if not…” she looked around, setting her jaw.

“I am still working with Natasha, training for the next time I use the sceptre, and what is likely to follow. I can redouble my efforts on that front as well, if it is necessary.”

If they reached Thanos, or even if he was just watching, if he could claw his way through their shoddy portal…

Then Steve in his current, more vulnerable state was in even more danger. And she needed to act.

She looked around, at the faces of her friends. Their friends.

The people she had endangered.

“I want to help. If you can tell me how, I will. If you can't… I'll figure it out.”

  


“I... I don’t know...” Jane looked a bit helplessly at the others. Bruce ran a hand through his hair and Tony made a face and shrugged.

“At this point... not sure yet what we _do,”_ he ventured. “We’ll wanna keep an eye on this, definitely. Make sure we don’t have to worry about cosmic shenanigans on multiple fronts.”

“I’ll go back through everything we got from HYDRA, see if there’s anything we might have missed indicating why they’d want a portal,” Bruce said.

“And I’ll keep contacting all the physicists I know to see if they’ve picked up anything anomalous. Maybe I can set up an array on the roof,” Jane murmured.

“If you need something with less interference, I have property upstate, out of the city,” Tony suggested. “Might be a better place to set up equipment.”

Jane nodded. “Right. That’s good. Um. Do we tell SHIELD?” She looked to Loki for an answer. “Or-- Natasha’s in charge of the Avengers right now, right?”

  


SHIELD being the sieve it was, Loki wasn’t thrilled at the prospect.

“Natasha ought to tell Agent Carter, I think-- Sharon.” She corrected, recalling the other Agent Carter. The elderly one.

“And perhaps Fury, but… if HYDRA were to become aware we know, and are watching for their activities, I fear it would encourage them to further speed along their work. And who knows what sort of unpleasant mistakes would result from such a rush?”

She looked to Bruce, hoping that her words sounded right; hoping she was speaking sense, and not just speaking from fear.

She wasn’t ready for Thanos, yet. She knew that.

And Steve…

He wasn’t well enough for her to risk not being able to return to him. She needed to see him healed enough physically that, if Thanos killed her…

...much as Steve would hate even the thought, she needed him fit enough to survive without her. And for all of his pushing her away right now, he was trying to keep her close, trying his damndest. And he loved her. Losing her… she doubted he’d take it well.

And she didn’t have many options as to what to do about it.

She would have to work with Ortega, have to heal Steve, have to work with Natasha and do all she could to keep from letting Thanos kill her.

_Such small goals. Ha._

She could feel the bare edges of panic setting in.

  


“Okay,” Tony said with a nod, uncharacteristically serious. “Janey and I will talk with Natasha next, give her the lowdown. I’m sure she’ll know what to share and what to keep mum on better than most of us.”

“And I’ll be... subtle, with my inquiries,” Jane offered. “Ask for a whole smattering of data, keep it vague -- everyone knows wormholes are my thing anyhow, so it’s not likely to raise red flags if I ask about weird astronomical readings. I can just say I’m following up on the London incident if anyone asks.”

“So right now, we stay aware, and collect information. If HYDRA makes a move, we’ll be ready to act,” Tony confirmed. “Sound like a plan for the time being?”

  


Bruce nodded, shuffling his feet with obvious discomfort. Loki hesitated, then nodded, unable to think of any further options or any other pertinent information.

She tried to think of anything else she might offer, and, with a slight jolt, only managed to come up with _muffins_. The ones Steve had baked, to be precise.

She pulled them from her pocket, where she must have put them while distracted by Jane.

“It sounds like a plan. And… Steve baked earlier, so, he asked that I give you these.” She held them out, feeling slightly ridiculous.

She didn’t have much to contribute, and even this was more Steve’s doing than hers, but…

“If and when you would like to experiment with what power I can give, insofar as acting as a replacement power source, only let me know. Preferably with some advance warning, so that I can be sure that I have not spent any of my power elsewhere, ahead of time.”

That seemed like the next logical thing she could help with; she knew they’d found pieces and designs… and they did need to know what lay on the other side of the hole they’d torn between the worlds.

She left the lab alone, puzzling through what they had learned and what would, necessarily, come next. She shuddered to think about what would happen if their experimentation bled her dry, magically… without Steve to help her back, she’d have to be sure that she reserved at least enough seidhr to make it to their rooms. To make dinner-- maybe she could do one of those recipes in the slow cooker.

But she’d need to make an effort to be sure he was provided for before she fell into bed, after that. Because that kind of exhaustion, she couldn’t know how long it would take to overcome it. And that meant likely Steve would object to her trying, if she told him as much ahead of time. Or he wouldn't, because he wouldn't want her to feel like he was holding her back. Wouldn't want to admit to needing her help, whether he did or not.

She’d just have to explain after, if it came to that. And she could always hope not, no matter how counter-intuitive that was. After all, if she wasn’t strong enough, that would mean that HYDRA would have a difficult time of summoning the power to investigate further. Or at least, a harder time of hiding what they were doing.

She checked the time and headed back to their rooms to wait for him to be done with his doctors, swallowing her latest secret from him and worrying at how it got easier.

What was this, after all, on top of the secret of how she’d forced her way into his torture? Next to the privacy she’d torn away from him via JARVIS?

It felt like so little, something so small, in comparison.

And she knew he would hate that.

But she knew, too, that once, she wouldn’t have been aware enough to worry about it.

And that was what she was working to return to, now. Or some approximation, or pretense of that unawareness.

Better to bury it. Better to give him space and time to heal as much as he could, before she did anything he’d else he’d hate her for.

  
  


 


	95. Ninety Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains significant spoilers for the musical Wicked.

The next day came with a knock at the door, and when Loki opened it, Pepper stood on the doorstep, smiling broadly, a coat slung over her arm.

“Loki,” she said by way of greeting. “We’re overdue for a day out. JARVIS informs me your calendar isn’t otherwise full -- would you care to join me this afternoon?”

She had timed it so her arrival would coincide with the end of Steve and Loki’s lunch, which JARVIS had notified her they’d eaten.

  
  


Loki, eyes wide, glanced back inside in the direction of where she’d left Steve, then back to Pepper, then down at herself.

She wasn’t exactly dressed to be seen beside Pepper, with her smart tailoring and her clean, bright glow.

Not that Loki was letting herself go, or allowing her late nights to become too obvious, only…

“Would you like to come in for a few minutes? I think I had better change, and let Steve know what the plan is, before we go running off. But I would like to, yes.” She gave her a quick smile, and then, on second thought, a quick hug.

“Welcome home!”

  
  


Pepper’s grin widened as she hugged Loki back. “Thank you! I got in the day before yesterday but I was so jetlagged that I slept-- you know what? I’ll tell you later. Go ahead and get changed.” She pulled back and gave Loki’s shoulders a last quick squeeze. “Might I recommend the purple dress?”

The cute number she’d helped Loki shop for back in October would be well-suited for their outing. Not that there was exactly a dress code, but she knew Loki enough to know she’d be more comfortable looking well put-together.

“Is everything all right?”

Steve poked his head out of the kitchen into the front hall, and blinked. “Oh! Hi Pepper.”

“Hi Steve,” she replied. “I hope you don’t mind my stealing your lovely partner for the day?”

  
  


Steve looked between them, then smiled easily. “Go right ahead. I’ve been monopolizing her plenty.”

Pepper was a stabilizing force for everyone in the tower; Pepper’s presence didn’t court chaos, and she wasn’t involved in any of the planning around Thanos. If she was taking Loki out, it was probably for something genuinely benign that Loki would benefit from. And getting her out of the tower with a friend--

That would be _good_.

“Long as you bring her back at some point, please,” he added, glancing sidelong at Loki with a fond look.

  
  


Loki felt her face slip into a crooked grin, before she headed off for her room to change.

The guest room.

Pepper would know better than to mention it. She was sure of that.

The purple dress, though… it seemed an odd request, but she reasoned that it likely meant Pepper had something specific in mind. Something that required she look good. She just hoped Steve wouldn’t feel badly, seeing her in it.

The last time she’d worn it, after all, was when they’d gone out. The first time they’d come home to _their_ home.

Changing was a quick process, and doing her hair was a process made quicker with a touch of seidhr.

She emerged no more than perhaps five minutes later, glad that, at least with Pepper, she didn’t need to worry about what kind of emotional state Steve would be in when she came back.

  
  


Pepper made idle small-talk with Steve while they waited for Loki. She noted that he was looking a fair bit better -- both less gaunt, and less anxious -- and felt relief. She helped him clear the table of the lunch dishes (despite his insistence that he had it under control), pausing only when she heard the door close and Loki stepped out of the second bedroom.

Pepper sighed with mock envy. “I wish I could look that good that fast,” she remarked wryly. “Do you have a coat? It’s chilly out...”

  
  


Loki frowned. She had the sweater they had purchased with the dress, and she had her suit jackets, but neither was particularly warm against the cold. She had her cloak, from Asgardian winters, but that, too, seemed ill-fitting.

She considered being flippant, after all, she was what she was. It wasn’t as if she would suffer unduly in the cold. Hell, she may not even feel it.

But considering what scars Steve hid on his back, and how they’d been received… it did not seem a good idea to remind him of what she was, under the trappings that he smiled so warmly at.

“I… do not think I have anything suitable, no. Perhaps-- Steve? Do you have anything I might borrow?”

 

“I don’t know if anything of mine would fit you,” Steve said regretfully, not adding that at the moment, very little of his old things fit _him_ terribly well. “I mean, if you don’t mind it being oversized...”

  
  


“How about we just stop at the penthouse and grab an extra one of mine,” Pepper supplied, shooting him a smile. She had grabbed a white quilted Burberry coat for herself, but she was sure the black wool peacoat still in her closet would suit Loki fine.

 

Steve nodded in relief. “Have fun!”

  
  


Loki nodded flashing them both a grateful smile.

“I’m sure we will. You too!” She said it before she had time to think it through, and found herself regretting that she wouldn’t have the opportunity to be wrapped in the smell of him, nearly as much as she wondered how he would fill his time.

But, she knew, he managed perfectly well without involving her when she _was_ here, so… perhaps he’d visit with one of the others. Or at least relax.

She didn’t ask.

She followed Pepper out of the apartment and to the elevator, instead, worrying over him silently. She felt bad, though, knowing she must seem distracted, so she tried to set it aside and turned her eyes on her friend.

“How was your trip? It seems as if you were gone for a very long time-- though I admit, my grasp on that might be tenuous, yet.”

  
  


Pepper sighed. “I was home briefly, and had to fly out again less than 24 hours later,” she explained, pressing the button for the penthouse. “I’m negotiating about three major multi-billion-dollar contracts at once, and I _want_ to be able to delegate it, I do, it’s just...” She rubbed at her temples with a grimace. “I guess I just don’t trust anyone else to handle it. At least, not the way I want it to be handled. Steering the ethics of SI and balancing the company’s mission with successful business practices is a challenge. There’s people I trust to make brilliant, cutthroat business deals, but who I don’t trust not to cut moral corners, and there’s people who I trust to be decent and enforce the vision of the company, but who would probably flounder in a negotiation room and lose us millions that could be otherwise put to good causes...”

The doors opened and she stopped herself, looking at Loki ruefully. “I’m sorry. The last thing you need is to hear me vent. Here--”

She tugged Loki down to the hallway closet, putting the door open and rifling through until she found the black peacoat. “Try this on.”

  
  


“By all means,” Loki murmured, happy to be the one listening for a change, but the light turning on in the closet stunned her into momentary silence.

Clearly it wasn’t only Tony who enjoyed his fine things. But frankly, Loki wasn’t at all sure why Pepper had ever gone shopping with her in the first place; it seemed she could open her own store, if she ever tired of these things.

Almost dumbly she accepted the coat that was handed to her, not even realized she’d continued staring at the closet beyond for a moment while it hung limply in her hands. But she shook herself and pulled her arms through.

“It’s-- this is lovely. As is your closet.”

It was bigger, even, than Loki’s had been on Asgard. As a prince.

She was glad, suddenly, that Steve did not seem to expect her to have a similarly far reaching selection of clothing. She had no idea how she would select all of it.

  
  


Pepper chuckled. “It’s a bit much, I know,” she said. “I guess I overcompensate a bit... When I first started in the temp pool when I was still putting myself through school at nights, I had one skirt and two blouses and washed whichever one I’d worn that day in the sink of my apartment every night.” She shook her head. “That’s something I _definitely_ don’t miss. Though I should probably go through this and clear out a lot of the things I never wear and donate them. I’m sure some temp out there with only two blouses would appreciate it.”

She took a moment to look Loki over; the coat fitted her fine, and suited her well. She made a mental note to order Loki a coat of her own -- probably something in a fairly unisex design, not too fitted, so it would fit both her forms. Luckily Loki’s male body was fairly narrow...

“Shall we?” she said, gesturing back to the elevator.

  
  


“You certainly have come a long way from that.” She remarked evenly, taking the lead that Pepper seemed to want her to. “I didn’t think to ask before, though… did you have something in particular in mind for this outing? I have to admit is still strikes me as odd, wearing a coat over a dress that is made to bare the leg.”

And being asked specifically to wear this dress, all the odder.

Still, they boarded the elevator and headed for the garage.

That much, at least, wasn’t a surprise.

  
  


“People tend to dress up a bit when they go to the theater,” Pepper answered. “And frankly, I think it’s a shame that you’ve lived with us in midtown this long without seeing Broadway. It’s part of the New York experience, and pretty much right in the tower’s back yard, so to speak...”

She trailed off and frowned faintly at the buttons, then pressed the one for the lobby instead. “We can walk, actually. It’s cold, but it’s only about ten minutes on foot from here to Times Square.” Tilting her head, she looked at Loki. “Does Asgard have plays?”

She led them out of the elevator and through the lobby to the doors, nodding briefly at a security guard.

  
  


Loki felt her lips twitching- If Pepper was alright with walking, then the winters here could not be so terribly cold. Even with her wrappings, she seemed thin. Not frail, mind, not like Steve’s present thinness, but… almost like the wisps of Vanaheim. Though she daren’t say as much; she had no idea if that would be a positive comparison, in Pepper’s eyes.

Loki followed her through the lobby, quiet so that none of the people there could overhear and draw any conclusions, wrong or worse, about her origins.

“We have plays,” she answered shortly, the cool of the air almost a surprise after so long inside the tower. “But ah… more like players. Groups who travel with performances, usually farces. And a few recitals, performed almost ritually, at certain times of the year. Beyond that though… nothing like the films you have, here. Is your theater like that?”

  
  


“A little,” Pepper acknowledged, moving closer to Loki so they were almost shoulder to shoulder and less likely to be separated by the flow of foot-traffic on the sidewalk. “But we have a lot of different types of theater. Broadway is particularly known for musicals -- plays with a lot of songs peppered throughout. Though it’s not _all_ music -- that would be the Opera.”

She’d actually considered taking Loki to the Metropolitan Opera, given she could never get Tony to go with her, but given most of the current performances were tragic, she opted for lighter fare.

They sidestepped a bike messenger making illegal use of the sidewalk, and moved around a painfully-slow gaggle of teenage girls, more focused on something on one of their phones than the pedestrians around them.

“I’ve actually wanted to see the show we’re going to for a while,” she admitted once they’d passed them.

  
  


“Another thing to have fallen by the wayside in favor of your responsibilities?” She guessed, not entirely surprised if that were the case. She just wished that Tony did more to lighten Pepper's load.

Though it just seemed that wasn't how their partnership worked.

“I am glad you invited me to accompany you, regardless. I must admit myself intrigued to see how you accomplish stagings without the aid of spells and seidhr.”

Though as she had come to know, humans had something near magical in their technology. It was all just a matter of skill and application.

“What is it we’re going to see?”

  
  


“Some of it might as well be magic. The only way I can get Tony really excited is when he’s working out how they engineered certain set changes and stage tricks,” she mused.

They were approaching Times Square now, and even midday, the lights were bright and colorful, marquees calling out names of shows as they walked past, and signs sporting advertisements and sponsors and coming performances. There was a high level of energy in this part of town, like the electricity from all the signage was bleeding into the air somehow, suffusing it with a charge that soaked into the people.

These few blocks of midtown were like someone took all the creativity and passion and manic ingenuity and idiocy alike from all of Manhattan and _distilled_ it.

“We,” she announced, putting a hand on Loki’s elbow to stop her as they reached a set of sumptuous golden theater doors, “are seeing this one.”

The poster was on display, surrounded by twinkling lights, and she gave Loki a moment to read it.

  
  


Loki’s initial reaction to the space was to wonder if this was what the inside of Tony’s brain looked like. It would make sense, she thought, given how frantic and distracted he could be, in turns.

But her attention turned towards the poster that Pepper brought them to.

“Wicked.” She read out.

The poster itself was of two women; one dark and smirking, the other light and whispering in the ear of the first. It was a striking image, and it sent Loki’s mind scrambling, wondering what it could possibly be about.

She did not miss, however, the way the figures on the poster resembled she and Pepper; at least in color schemes. She did have a penchant for green and black, just as her friend had a leaning toward whites and creams.

  
  


Pepper smiled. “The songs are supposed to be really catchy,” she supplied as she pulled two tickets from her coat pocket. “And it looks like we’re just in time...”

They got in line to have their tickets checked, and before long, they were in their seats and flipping through their playbills, center mezzanine, with a perfect view.

“If it turns out not to be your thing, we can leave at intermission,” she murmured, hoping that it wouldn’t be necessary. Then a hush fell over the audience as the lights began to dim…

  
  


Music began to swell and just when Loki had become used to the relative dark, the curtain lifted and the lights lit the stage.

She watched, rapt, as the play began to unfold.

Perhaps her first impression was the the blonde woman in her flying contraption was obnoxious, had an annoying voice, and was thus unpleasant to listen to. Almost immediately, she began bastardizing words, and Loki raised her brows, chancing a glance at Pepper.

But that didn’t last long; her eyes were drawn back to the stage as the people sang the words, ‘the wicked die alone’, and then obnoxious woman began to tell a story.

Loki shifted uncomfortably as it was revealed that the baby was green-- the horror of its father, at his child coming out the wrong color. A fear Loki shared, should she ever reproduce-- Pepper knew that, though, from the argument that followed their drinking. Another sidelong glance that she thought probably went unnoticed. Or at least, that she _hoped_ went unnoticed.

And then the green girl was grown, or at least, no longer an infant. An adolescent, perhaps, a young woman. And, in her knit cap and glasses, carrying her box, she looked utterly unthreatening.

And yet everyone scattered and ran from her slightest gesture, when she had done nothing to earn such fear from them. All while everyone fawned over the blonde, comporting herself as though she were some prize, some high born gift from the norns. Loki found herself wrinkling her nose.

She hated watching as Elphaba's sister was given gifts by their father while Elphaba was denied, but secretly thrilled, feeling her kinship to the green girl grow.

And Loki sighed as the blonde made it clear she was interested in learning "sorcery"- but they had sung about the witch, after all, so no surprise in the inclusion of magic in the story.

What _was_ a surprise, though, was the way the sister, confined to her wheeled chair, was whisked away by Madame Morrible, and Elphaba and Galinda became roommates, and then, distressed by this turn of events, Elphaba apparently caused the chair to move-- _sorcery_. Loki watched with pleasure as the green girl was given the position the blonde had so clearly wanted. _Good_. She liked Elphaba much better than Galinda, already.

She smiled all through her song about how bright her future was, now that she was to learn magic-- much like Loki's own seidhr had helped him to overcome his differences from those around him. Or, not overcome precisely... but. Make up for them. Compensate.

And she was immediately intrigued by this wizard who could apparently take the green from Elphaba's skin. Such power, not to have been reached out to already. But she supposed this was a play of Midgard, where there were so many people that it seemed only logical that one could not merely contact a wizard to help set a child that had been born wrong right. For either Elphaba or her sister, Nessa Rose.

When Elphaba described her roommate summarily as 'blonde', Loki could not keep from snorting indelicately. She thought that she fully understood Elphaba's dismay, though she was thinking primarily of the differences she’d found between herself and Thor, at a similar age.

The subsequent song, though, about loathing, about _hatred_ , was surprisingly happy. She couldn't help but be amused by the conflicting tone and message. Sarcasm in song form-- what a delight. The Midgardians, she thought, were something of masters in this field.

On stage the schooling began to share some similarities to Asgardian histories... and then the disrespect on the board towards their teacher made Loki frown. And the song that followed, about something bad, some horrible undercurrent cutting through the joy of earlier songs, stirred interest for her. And the wise seeming professor began reverting to his animalistic sounds. Even if Loki didn't fully understand what was happening yet, she understood how horrifying that was. The idea of losing one’s intelligence, one’s ability to communicate… she shuddered.

Next a prince burst on the scene, like some sort of exaggerated Midgardian musical Fandral. A prince, apparently, who had never tasted responsibility or expectations in his life.

  
  


Loki could not help but hope that he and Galinda ended up together.  
Preferably at the bottom of a well.

  
  


And then-- Galinda worked a bit of manipulation that Loki could not help but find almost impressive, to her dismay. And which the prince _did_ find impressive, much to her further displeasure. She would scowl, but things were moving so fast-- Elphaba's sister, Nessa Rose, suddenly found herself in Galinda's debt.

And Nessa was taken with a man who did not want her, Boq. And then Elphaba arranged for the horrible Galinda girl to receive the lessons she'd wanted, in payment for her kindness to her sister... just as it became obvious that the gift she’d given, a pointed black hat, had been an unkindness to Elphaba.

Loki cringed, expecting the girl to leave the ball in disgrace and humiliation... then watched as she began to dance. Alone. To no music.

And then Galinda joined her, out of a sense of guilt.

The dancing, Loki was not sure she had ever seen anything quite like it before. But slowly it began to flow a bit, and music was added. And it became obvious that Galinda was facing potential ostracization from her friends for this action... but it continued, and it seemed they began to enjoy themselves, and slowly the others joined, Galinda's popularity clearly overwhelming Elphaba's strangeness.

While she was happy for the girl for that moment, she couldn't help but feel... conflicted, too. It would not work the same for her in Asgard, even if Thor was able to support her as fully as Galinda supported Elphaba.

There were some sad, sober confessions, and then... another upbeat song followed, and Loki felt as if she were traveling magically by someone else's power. Even if only emotionally. That strange pulling jerk as directions changed from within you. Almost like a lashing.

And as Galinda offered, backhandedly, to take Elphaba under her wing, Loki could see Elphaba's discomfort, and again, sympathized.

She marveled at Elphaba's patience with Galinda's stupidity. Even as she waved around her wand and achieved... nothing. Loki smirked.

Until Galinda proclaimed Elphaba beautiful, and her face fell, and she fled.

Her heart ached for the green girl, and she was silently thankful she, at least, could hide the color she'd been born.

Though she did wonder, a little, if her approach would be different had she known what she was similarly, the whole time. If Asgard could have grown used to her, tolerant, even, had she been Jotun her entire life. Or maybe she would have been killed in her swaddling clothes. Who knew.

Her attention returned to the play when the goat teacher was dragged away. And they introduced a small lion in a cage, and introduced a means of keeping it from ever speaking.

Unable to help herself, Elphaba's magic took action, and she and the spoiled prince took the lion and ran off.

And suddenly... he seemed better somehow. More full of a person.

Loki mistrusted this.

But the prince took the lion to safety, and Elphaba...

decided she was attracted to him.

She deserved better, Loki decided. So perhaps it was best that Galinda had already declared that she and the prince were to be married.

But after Elphaba finished being sad about might have beens, she got news that the wizard wished to see her-- so that she could focus again on the important things. Like her future.

And the Prince came to see her off, trying to allude to his own interest in Elphaba. And Galinda chose to make her name Glinda as a sign of solidarity with Doctor Dillamond, and to try and impress the prince, who had grown... intellect. Likely only to impress Elphaba.

And being a good friend, Elphaba invited Glinda to join her on her trip to see the Wizard.

  
  


When they arrived, suddenly the city they were in sounded a bit like the one the tower and its inhabitants lived in here. And the Wizard...

He was not what Loki expected. He seemed... small, somehow. False.

Weak.

And he sang of sentimentality that rang untrue.

Similar to Galinda's manipulation of earlier. But Loki liked this much less.

They gave Elphaba a book, a grimoire, and tricked her into harming an animal- causing a change, which, as Loki knew... changing someone without their consent… it was unpleasant and unkind. And she felt badly for her.

Then it turned out that the Wizard was turning the speaking animals into the enemy, for his own chance for power, and taking away their ability to speak. He gave the girls, Galinda and Elphaba, the chance to join his plans, but Elphaba ran away with the grimoire... and Glinda gave chase.

It became quickly clear that they were divided; and Elphaba was to be added to the list of people who were 'The Enemy'.

So she firmed herself, much like Steve set his chin and squared his shoulders... and chose to be cast out, in favor of doing what was right. Pride surged in Loki’s chest, even as she wondered if she possessed such courage.

She watched their parting and it was sweet and sad, how neither of them quite understood the other's choice, couldn't agree... and...

and then

 

 _Elphaba flew_.

  
  


Even Loki could not do that. And there was a Midgardian woman... true, though she was suspended from strings... but for a moment, Loki _believed_ it.

“How long will the pause last?” She hissed anxiously at Pepper. “How long until it begins again?”

  
  


Pepper had stolen glances at Loki throughout the first act, dividing her attention between the performance and her friend, just to make sure the story wasn’t hitting any overly sore points for Loki. She’d read the summary and knew that a few things might hit home for Loki, but decided to take a chance; Loki would probably be bored stiff, after all, if she were dragged to a show she had no emotional connection with at all.

“About fifteen minutes, I think,” she answered as the lights came on for intermission. “What do you think so far?”

  
  


“Oh, I like it very much. It is… the music is odd. But familiar in a way, as well. With intent, if not with sound. It’s… Asgardian music tells stories. This does that, too-- and what Steve has shown me does not, or rather, it tells only part of a story or describes an emotion.” She shrugged. “I… feel badly. For the animals being stripped of their personhood. Are you-- you said you had not seen this, yes? Are you enjoying it? If.. if you want to leave, of course, we can.”

She realized that at some point she had stopped checking to see if Pepper was reacting, and she hoped she hadn’t been selfishly absorbed in the show if she was not.

  
  


Pepper smiling reassuringly. “I’m enjoying it plenty; I just wanted to check in. Though I’m going to go use the ladies’ room while I have the chance...”

She stood and carefully extracted herself from their row, ultimately returning just a few minutes before the lights began to dim again, and the announcement called for the audience to return to their seats for the second act…

  
  


Loki found herself uncharacteristically energized, antsy and too anxious to sit still. She tapped her toes, jangling her legs as quietly as possible, and watched the people around them. She smiled her greetings when Pepper returned, and nearly sighed when it was announced the show would soon continue.

The music rose again, and it seemed time had passed within the show.

Glinda and Fiyero were given positions, and were announcing their intent to wed, though it seemed Fiyero had not been aware.

He seemed to disapprove as Morrible and Glinda told the tale they had made up, turned Elphaba into the enemy. Twisted the facts.

Loki swallowed.

It was what Steve had suggested had been done to the Jotnar, but… she could not help but doubt that.

Elphaba had done no intentional harm.

That was less true of Loki’s people.

Nessa Rose reappeared, loveless and sorrowful for it. She informed Elphaba that their father was dead. Died of embarrassment at Elphaba's betrayal. Loki wished, half heartedly at best, that it was possible for that to happen in the real world. She would have found it rewarding, once.

The sisters spoke, and when Nessa revealed how she hated Elphaba for never having tried to heal her with magic, Loki swallowed. But she was trying, for Steve, had been trying.

Then Elphaba found a way to enchant Nessa’s shoes. In came Boq, the munchkin Nessa loved that she ruled over now. And since she could walk now, Boq finally revealed his love for Glinda, and told her he was leaving. She didn’t need him, he decided. Not any longer.

Nessa Rose took up the grimoire and found a spell to try and make Boq love her. Instead, she shrank the heart inside his chest.

Elphaba, worked fast to save him and Loki gripped her seat, silently hoping, for Elphaba’s sake, because she knew all too well who would be blamed if she failed. Elphaba told her that she had done everything she could, and that it had never been enough and it never would be.

And she left, just as Boq revealed that he was now made of metal-- the only thing Elphaba could do to save him. And so Nessa turned against her.

Elphaba confronted the Wizard, and he attempted again to sway her to his side. Called her strong. Asked her if she was tired of being strong. If she wouldn't rather someone else be strong for her. Take care of her.

Loki felt her eyes widening, remembering Steve after they'd run from SHIELD.

Had she not said something similar, then? Did everyone in the audience find so many echoes in their own lives? Some stories, certainly, had similarities, but if everyone was feeling the way Loki was… that was a wholly other sort of magic.

The thought nearly distracted her--

until the Wizard said, in a further attempt to convince her,

“The most celebrated are the rehabilitated”. Even after it was he who had called her bad, made the people believe she was an enemy in the first place.

And Loki, with growing horror, watched as Elphaba got swept up into the Wizard's promise. She kept her wits enough about her to demand a that he set the monkeys free first. The wizard agreed.

And then she discovered Dr. Dillamond. She tried to comfort him. But he'd been stripped of his words. And so she was reminded why she had rejected this life in the first place.

She changed her mind. Refused the Wizard. And in stormed the guards, led by Fiyero.

Fiyero sent the other guards off to fetch water, supposedly to melt her.

Alone with the wizard and Elphaba, Fiyero betrayed the wizard, attempting to allow Elphaba to escape. But in swept Glinda, just in time for him to announce that he was leaving with Elphaba.

In pain, Glinda explained that if they threatened Nessa Rose, Elphaba would be sure to appear. To help her. She left then, to be alone with her sadness, in a song that sounded an awful lot like the one Elphaba had originally sung, about Glinda. About how neither of them were the person that Fiyero wanted.

(Privately, Loki still did not care what Fiyero wanted, but…)

But the light faded on Glinda to reveal Elphaba and Fiyero... alone, together, for the first time. Almost desperate with love and want, and disbelieving that this was to be theirs.

Again, Loki could relate, thinking of her first kiss with Steve.

Then things went quite horrible. Nessa Rose was killed. A confrontation with Glinda. Having to leave Fiyero behind while he threatened Glinda. And they mounted him on a stake as a form of torture to make him tell them where Elphaba went.

She created a spell to try and make him safe.

If Loki had been able to do the same when Steve was gone...

She felt queasy.

And Elphaba was blaming herself for all of this.

It was... not nearly so much her fault as she thought. But as she listed off all the things that he gone wrong for her, Loki understood. And felt bad for her.

All of Oz seemed to be mobilizing against her. Everyone she had ever met.

Loki's legs shook and she wrapped her arms around herself, all too able to imagine herself in a similar situation.

There was a lot of scattered applauses that Loki didn't understand. References, she supposed. She did her best to ignore them, to focus instead on the story. To learn whether things could go right for poor Elphaba.

Glinda appeared to confront her, to tell her she was out of control. And so they were together to learn of Fiyero's fate. And they both knew that there was nowhere left for Elphaba to go. She fetched a bucket of water to dissolve herself with, and her grimoire as a gift for Glinda.

And they sang of... what they were, what they had been to one another. That they had been led to one another. How knowing one another had changed them.

Loki felt her eyes filling with tears.

It ended just in time for Elphie to melt at the hands of her enemies, until all that was left was her hat. The same hat that Glinda had gifted her as an unkind joke. And that was all Glinda was left to mourn, in the end.

And Glinda was left alone. She exiled the wizard. She sent Madame Morrible to the dungeons using the same disparagement that had once been used against her.

And then she went before her people to play the role that was suddenly all she had left. Empty power and the love of people that she knew from experience could be made to turn on her in an instant.

Loki thought she might never feel safe for the rest of her life, nor happy, nor truly loved.

Then, Fiyero arrived in the shape of a scarecrow, the result of Elphaba’s spell, knocked on a trap door on the floor, and told Elphaba that it had worked. That faking her death was a success. He thanked her for saving his life. And they got to be happy together. To leave. To make their own life together.

That was good, at least. At least Elphaba would be happy with her prince.

And that was it... it ended. Things were right, she supposed, but bittersweet. And she felt... hollow, a bit. But impressed.

When the audience applauded, she found her feet as well and followed suit.

  
  


Pepper had grown misty-eyed toward the end, reaching for a tissue from her purse to dab at her eyes with (carefully, avoiding makeup smudges) during the final number.

Then it was curtain call, and soon enough, they were all shuffling out to the lobby. Once the crush of bodies thinned, she looked to Loki with a smile. “I think I’ll be humming some of those numbers for the rest of the week... How did you like your first Broadway show?”

  
  


Loki nodded enthusiastically.

“Your productions are… much larger and grander than those on-- back home.” She redirected her words, not caught up enough in her giddiness to forget that they might be overheard.

“Though you shouldn’t try to tell them that. They would be horrified.” She grinned.

As they made their way out of the theater, though, slowly because of the crowd, she thought further on it.

“Its message was much more sober than the music, though. I think I appreciated that most of all. And you? I was curious… perhaps it is only my being unused to the mode of telling stories, but this one resonated often with me. Enough that it felt as though I could see bits of myself in nearly every character. Is that… a common thing, in your plays?”

  
  


Pepper chuckled. “Well, Broadway is about as grand as it gets, except maybe for Vegas... Don’t expect every theater or playhouse to put on something with that much spectacle.” She thought of the few black box theater productions she’d attended in college, where the lack of costumes or set were presented as a style choice, despite everyone knowing there was simply no budget for them.

“They definitely worked in a lot more serious thematic stuff than I was expecting,” She mused. “It was powerful.” Even with the colorful costumes and chipper songs to mitigate the darker aspects.

“I think it depends on the show, and depends on the person,” she answered to the last question. “Any good performance -- or movie, or book, or whatever -- should try to be relatable in some way. That’s what makes it compelling. But I admit, knowing you personally, I figured you’d probably find more to enjoy with _this_ show than with, say, _Jersey Boys_.”

Out on the sidewalk, it was already getting dark, the sky a deep blue above them, making all the marquee lights around them shine all the brighter.

“A lot of the bits people were laughing at,” she explained as they walked, “were references. The show is based on a book, but the book was written as a different take on another story -- _The Wizard of Oz_. It’s also a book, but better known as a movie, has Steve shown it to you? I know for a fact he’s seen it...”

  
  


“He may have mentioned, but I don’t believe he has shown me it, no. Perhaps I will have to ask him to do so. I did enjoy the characters quite a lot. Particularly Elphaba. Though… as I said, it was odd being able to see facets of myself in so many of them.”

She grinned.

“I suppose it must be difficult to find things with characters reminiscent of yourself. I suspect had you been at school with them, you would have summarily solved every animals rights problem before Fiyero ever arrived.”

As they moved, Loki couldn’t help but turn her head from side to side, taking in the sights all around her. The lights and the flashing, screens and colors and advertisements… it was a lot. Not quite a roar, but a constant hum of noise surrounded them.

“Thank you,” she finally remembered to say, “for taking me out, and introducing me to your theater. It has been lovely. Did you have any further plans?”

She tried to think of what she might propose, but short of asking about a coffee shop near the tower-- one that she could take Steve to, later, when he felt up to accompanying her, she didn’t know what else there was to offer.

  
  


Pepper shook her head with a rueful smile. “If I’d been at school with them, I’d have probably been taking too many courses to notice anything, and Glinda would have critiqued my wardrobe,” she said. “You give me entirely too much credit.”

The flashing lights danced over Loki’s face, highlighting her look of wonder. Pepper felt a surge of satisfaction, knowing she’d helped give Loki a respite from everything she was dealing with, if only for an afternoon.

“Well, we’re right near Times Square,” she said. “It’s touristy, but it’s worth seeing, especially in the evening. We can walk through there, then catch a cab -- there’s a restaurant I like that’s a little ways uptown from here where we could get dinner if you like.”

  
  


Loki tilted her head, thoughts guiltily straying back towards Steve, after having neglected him for a while.

“I… yes, let’s go there. I think I'd enjoy having something that isn't delivered and that I didn’t cook. Not that I mind; Steve's been eating more and richer foods of late, so... our options have broadened. Even still.”

She gestured for Pepper to lead the way.

“And, in all honesty, I think that Glinda would likely have a conniption at the sight of your closet. What you lack in pastels, you more than make up for in structure, form, and sheer quantity.”

  
  


Pepper let her head fall back as she laughed. “Oh, you haven’t seen my summer wardrobe. _Plenty_ of pastels there,” she replied. “And I noticed Steve was looking better. He seems like he’s put some weight back on and he’s moving easier. You must be so relieved.”

She didn’t want to focus too heavily on Steve -- but his progress seemed like a positive point of conversation, at least.

  
  


She furrowed her brow, but then smiled.

“I suppose it is hard to see the scope of his progress, being so close to it, but… he was able to let me use some seidhr on him-- the moving easier, it is because I was able to heal him a bit, finally.”

Still, she knew the doctors had also been pleased with his progress. And she was… she was glad, relieved, that it was noticeable.

“And I am so grateful for all the support you and your staff have been able to give. So thank you for that, as well. You must allow me to treat you to dinner, this time. As a welcome home gesture, if nothing else.”

  
  


Pepper sighed. “Oh, all right,” she agreed with mock reluctance. She knew the gesture was more symbolic than anything, given Pepper authorized Loki’s pay, but she also knew how grounding it felt to pay one’s own way.

And then they were in Times Square, the signs reaching stories high, in the brightest, busiest part of the entire city.

“It’s a little overwhelming,” she said, stepping close, “but when a lot of people around the world talk about New York, this is the place they think of.”

  
  


Loki had never seen anything quite like it.

Overwhelming seemed like an understatement, and if she’d thought it loud, bright, and colorful before, that was nothing compared to now.

They were still moving, the press of bodies all but forbidding them to stop, and yet there were people all around who had done just that, and held out cameras and phones, documenting what they saw.

Somehow, Loki doubted that they would be able to capture the sheer madness of the space.

“Someone built this on purpose.” Was all she managed to say about it, trying to fathom the reasoning- if each sign was large, then the next sign to be added must be larger, until the competition did exactly what this seemed to have done-- eating the entire horizon, or, at least as far as one could see, here, given the height of the buildings. It was almost daylight bright, despite the dusky hour.

Amidst all the flashing of the changing lights, she might not have noticed the ones suddenly directed at them, had someone not called out Pepper’s name.

Her head jerked toward the voice, and she instantly moved to grab Pepper’s arm, in case they needed to be moved _now_.

She had been in the tower for some time now, but she had not forgotten the threat that lay beyond its walls.

  
  


“ _Ms. Potts! Ms. Potts--”_

“...Shit,” Pepper hissed beneath her breath.

After this long, she ought to have known better. The press in New York weren’t as bad as in LA, but they could still be damnably persistent. She was fairly good at ignoring them and avoiding unflattering shots, but her routine dismissal of them meant she’d frankly forgotten about the likelihood of running into paparazzi in this part of town.

Alone, it wouldn’t be a problem. But with Loki--

“Don’t slow down,” she said. “Look straight ahead, move to the left. I’m going to hail us a cab as fast as I can.”

  
  


The directions were good and appreciated; Loki’s first instinct had been to drop her chin and let her hair slide into her face, but seeing as they were capturing images, no doubt that would only lead to her looking sad or guilty or any number of other things for them to weave their stories around.

So she looked straight ahead, kept her hand on Pepper’s arm, and moved as she’d been instructed, towards where cars sped by on the street ahead. She just hoped there was an empty one looking for passengers. It seemed like this would be easier-- these camera people did not appear to be chasing after them with the same furor as those outside of the restaurant had, and they did not seem to be attempting to stop Loki and Pepper from leaving, though they did continue to call out behind them.

It was good, she supposed, that none tried to lay a hand on either of them; without Steve there to grow angry, Loki might well have said something that would be all too revealing.

  
  


Pepper’s heartrate had leapt a bit, but she kept her expression blank and moved with calm purpose, refusing to look at the flashing cameras. She hailed a series of cabs, and one finally pulled over after a minute’s time.

She held the door open for Loki, then slid quickly in after her.

“Fifty-seventh and Lexington,” she told the cabbie. “And an extra $20 if you make sure to lose anyone who tries to follow us.” These folks didn’t seem too aggressive, but she’d been followed more than once. Happy usually wove between the blocks as a matter of course when taking her or Tony anywhere.

The cab lurched forward, and she turned to Loki apologetically. “Sorry about that.”

  
  


Loki shook her head, glad to be away from it.

“It is hardly your fault. What a life, though-- minding one’s business until you’re recognized, then being forced to flee.”

She glanced at the reflection of the driver’s eyes, wondering if he was truly a random driver, or if he might be an enemy, placed to do them harm.

The run in had made her jumpier than she wanted to admit.

“You goin’ to the hotel?” The driver asked, and Loki looked to Pepper for the answer, though she was fairly certain it would be no. They meant to dine, not sleep. Unless, of course, it was meant to insure that none had followed them.

Or to make it look as though Loki was trysting with yet another of the Avengers’ inner circle. Provided they put it together, this would make Steve, Thor, and now Pepper that they could say they had seen her with. Or near.

She smiled a little at the thought; Pepper, at least, seemed calmer about addressing such rumors than Steve was.

  
  


“The Italian place across the intersection,” Pepper answered the cabbie. He grunted in understanding and took a right turn.

“It doesn’t happen all the time,” she told Loki, more quietly. “Or everywhere. But... It is a hazard of being a public figure. Or rather--” she made a face, “--of dating a public figure.”

She had little doubt that she’d be left well-enough alone, and be largely obscure outside of business circles, if not for her connection to Tony, whose antics had made him a paparazzi darling since he was in college. And the only reason anyone recognized Loki at all was because she’d been seen with Steve.

“At least if they got any photos of you, they’ll be flattering,” she added, hoping to lift the mood.

  
  


Loki smiled.

“I just liked that they were not so forceful this time. My last experience was far more of a confrontation-- but I think also that they were better prepared. This time, I think it likely they only happened to recognize you, rather than laying in wait.”

Even still, she did not like that it happened.

But they were away from it now.

“Italian.” She murmured. “I’ve been told I would likely enjoy it, but other than pizza and I think a dish Steve once made, noodles and bacon-- I’m not sure I’ve had anything else in the genre.”

  
  


Pepper smiled. “Well then, you’re in for a treat.”

The cab eventually pulled up outside the restaurant, and Pepper quickly settled the fare, thanking the driver as she stepped out. It didn’t appear that anyone had endeavored to follow them. The maitre d quickly sat them in a quiet corner of the restaurant, away from any windows, and they were given menus and a wine list to look over along with a promise that their server would be with them shortly.

“Anyway, what I meant to say earlier--” Pepper began, shaking out her napkin and delicately placing it in her lap, “was that in the original Wizard of Oz, The Wicked Witch of the West is the villain. She doesn’t have a name or backstory, she’s just a force for evil, and the heroes are Dorothy -- the girl whose house lands on the Wicked Witch of the East -- a Scarecrow, a Tin Man, and a Cowardly Lion. The musical worked all of those in, but told the story from a completely different perspective.”

  
  


Loki listened, brow lightly furrowed, while she echoed Pepper’s gesture and placed her own napkin in her lap.

“And is this-- what we just watched, Wicked, is it something that I could show to Steve? If he has only seen the other side of the story…”

Childishly, she felt sad about that. The fact that Steve should think Elphaba to be only a ‘force for evil’.

She supposed she could ask him about going to see the play itself, but… considering how many people had been in the square, and in the theater, and all of the jostling that had accompanied leaving… she didn’t think that was an option for him, right now.

  
  


Pepper smiled softly as she glanced at Loki from over the top of her menu.

“I can get you tickets, if you want to take him sometime,” she offered. “And Steve... Well. I think he’s already pretty good at finding goodness where other people maybe haven’t looked closely enough to see it yet.”

He might have sentimental attachment to the original, but if he saw anything of Loki in Elphaba, she didn’t doubt he’d cherish the show’s happy ending.

  
  


“That he is.” She agreed easily. “And perhaps, if it is still available when he is ready-- we have discussed going to a coffee shop, soon. Small outings. When he is feeling up to it.”

She told Pepper this with a small grin, proud of Steve for how far he had come to be able to agree to try, even if they did not have a date in mind as of yet.

She turned her attention to the menu then and rolled her eyes, wondering if there would ever come a time that she could go out without having to fear making as fool of herself with her order.

“Is there anything I should avoid? Foods with too much spice for comfort, or something to that effect?”

Maybe it would be better this way, asking what she shouldn't order, rather than trying on her friends and partner to tell her what she ought to get.

  
  


Pepper shook her head. “It tends to be rich, but I think you’re safe from anything overly spicy,” she assured her.

She was eyeing the baby spinach, pear, and sheep ricotta salad, though the gnocchi with crab meat and tomato-brandy sauce looked decadently good as well.

“Anything catch your eye?” she asked. Mostly so she could figure whether to pick a red or a white wine for them to share.

  
  


She read through the fare on offer, till she reached the end of the secondi menu.

“Ah- this is the first restaurant on this realm that I have seen to offer suckling pig. I think I will have that.”

Easier than any of the other names, and something familiar, to boot.

Though that did betray the point of going to an Italian restaurant-- trying something new. She glanced back over the top listings.

“Or… the Tagliolini ao Finferli. I have not had crab in a while, either.”

She looked across at Pepper, trying to gauge of one was a better choice than the other by watching her face..

  
  


Pepper chuckled. “Whichever you want. Though their pasta really is excellent. If you go for the crab, I might get us the Sauvignon Blanc...”

The waiter came to their table and Pepper deferred to Loki to order first.

  
  


It seemed her choice would dictate something else, so that made it a little easier. The crab it was.

She placed the order and listened as Pepper placed her own, the words flowing with near equal ease from both of their tongues, though Loki remembered to marvel at the fact that her friend managed without the aid of magic to ease the way.

So when the waiter left, she asked how Pepper came to speak Italian, or at least order in it, with such ease, and from there, the talk came naturally.

And the conversation was good- nearly as good as the wine, and at the very least equal with the main courses.

Loki appreciated Pepper’s choice in restaurant, and made sure to say as much, savoring both dinner and the company until they were finished eating, and it was time to return home. To Tony and Steve and the tower.

But Loki made mental note of the place.

Maybe she and Steve could come here, too, when he was feeling more up to it.

It was fancy, but the serving size was much less prohibitively small than their last date-dinner had been.

Though, she thought with a frown, since that had been about the size of serving Steve had been eating of late, maybe that wouldn’t be a mark in its favor.

She buried the thought and kept the talk light and easy all the way back to the tower.

  
  
  


 


	96. Ninety Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a brief summary of The Wizard of Oz with slightly spoilery comparisons to Wicked, following up on the last chapter, but does not center on it.

After Loki left, Steve finished cleaning up after lunch, setting the kitchen to rights and then doing a sweep of the apartment to tidy up. That finished, he launched into his physical therapy exercises he’d been assigned, feeling the burn in his muscles as he worked them, but without the deeper, unpleasant pain that had been there even just a few days ago.

The healing on his leg that Loki had done had gone a long way. He had to wonder if she’d done more than just heal the bullet wound too... The previous day’s meeting with his doctors had gone well, with Ortega practically glowing as she commented on his progress. The newest x-rays of his tibia showed the break fully healed, he didn’t need the cane at all anymore, and he’d even put on a few more pounds according to his weigh-in, his stomach somewhat less concave and his ribs less protruding. He was ‘ahead of projections’, he’d been told, and in his next appointment with Amir, would probably be given more physical activity he could do.

While he certainly wasn’t in an ideal condition, and he still felt achy and weak at times, it was a relief to find he was at least managing to not disappoint _somebody_.

And the fact that Loki had been comfortable enough with the idea of leaving him to go out with Pepper was a good sign. She’d left, not because he’d been an ass and demanded she leave him alone, but because she’d wanted to, and apparently trusted him enough now not to put his hand through a mirror again.

(Not that he doubted JARVIS was keeping a careful eye on him all the same.)

But he _was_ relieved that she was out and doing something fun, and he was relieved his body was healing, however slowly. He was... if not content, then at least somewhat at ease.

Though with his exercises done and the apartment clean, he found himself swiftly growing bored. He wasn’t tired enough to lie down for a nap, and the book he’d been idly working his way through didn’t appeal at the moment. Still, it was better than daytime television, so he began casting around for it, grumbling as he searched, trying to remember where he left it--

Moving aside the side table to see if it had fallen behind it, he paused at the site of blank, white canvas.

It felt like a lifetime ago that Tony had ordered art supplies for him, back when they’d watched The Sword in the Stone. An _actual_ lifetime since he’d painted for real. And his sketching was still stilted, though his hands shook less now when he held a pencil than they had before...

He almost moved the table back. But then he found himself glancing over his shoulder toward the spare room -- _Loki’s_ room now, with its barren walls -- and remembered her request.

With a sigh, he pulled the canvases out.

  
  


Tony hadn’t been a slouch when it came to art supplies.

There was an easel in the hall closet, and while it took Steve a few minutes to puzzle out, he eventually got it set up by the window. JARVIS had directed him to where there were some spare linens he could use as a drop cloth, and while it almost physically painted him to throw decent sheets on the floor to catch paint drips, he knew it was a better alternative to mucking up the nice floors.

The canvases were pre-stretched, and already coated in white; he didn’t have to assemble his own frames or cover them in gesso, which was a novelty. Some weren’t even stretched on wood, but covered thin panels instead, and had less give than even the tautest canvas.

The paints themselves were acrylic. This gave Steve pause initially, as he was used to oils. But a few youtube tutorials and some cursory research had him feeling confident enough that he could handle them, and since they required only water to wash his brushes and mix his paints, rather than turpentine and linseed oil, that seemed to simplify things considerably.

And finally, there were the brushes; a whole assortment, in different shapes and sizes, some with bristles he was certain were authentic sable. He’d only had about five brushes back in his art school day, and he’d coveted them dearly. This? This was luxury.

Once he had everything set up, palette out and dabbed with primary colors, and black and white, a jar of water at the ready and one of the medium-sized canvases arranged on the easel, he found himself deliberating about what exactly _to_ paint.

His first thought, glancing out the window, was the city -- capturing New York in all its splendor, from Midtown out to the river, full of lights and towering buildings--

Only Loki could see New York anytime she looked out the window. It would be redundant, he realized, chewing his lip, and casting around for ideas.

Eventually, he settled on a scene from memory. Not New York, though he’d played with the idea of painting his old street in Brooklyn -- but a little village in France, not far from the Italian border. He and the Howlies had stayed there for several days, and it had almost been idyllic. Dernier and Gabe had charmed nigh-on everyone, and Dugan had given himself a hell of a headache on wine.

He found himself smiling as he sketched it in loosely; the uneven buildings and sloping tiled roofs, the way the houses seemed to cascade down the hill and the winding, cobbled streets; the distant outline of the alps in the background, under a sky that had seemed impossibly blue.

Soon enough he had the shapes in, and he began mixing his paints, trying to get that blue just right. Cerulean at its peak, fading to something paler and softer at the horizon, where it kissed the white caps of the mountains...

They’d been waiting for a signal to know that a HYDRA caravan would be passing through with a shipment of those strange blue power cells, coming in through a pass in the mountains. Their job was to intercept before they could reach Grenoble, destroying the weapons and apprehending any plans that the SSR could derive actionable intelligence from. The caravan had been held up though, from poor weather on the Italian side, and they’d caught a breather in the interim. Steve had found himself watching those mountains regularly, knowing they’d have to go that direction soon, but Bucky had teased him every time he caught him staring at the horizon.

“ _Come on, they’re gonna have to start calling you Captain Stick-in-the-Mud.”_

And Bucky of course, had been the one to drag him down to the town square where there had been candles and lanterns and lights on strings, an old man with a mandolin and lively dancing -- a scene almost untouched by the war, the muddied uniforms of the commandos aside. For a night, everyone forgot the destruction and death in the surrounding countryside, and Gabe had twirled pretty girl after pretty girl around, while Monty lost every last cigarette he had at cards to a couple of genial old farmers, and Morita had kissed a gorgeous young french barmaid under the moonlight. Steve had begged off every time he was asked to dance, remembering Peggy’s deadly aim with her pistol, and Bucky had ribbed on him, buying them round after round.

It had been an oasis of life in the midst of so much death, and something ached in Steve as he recalled it. Of course, he and the Avengers had camaraderie too, but... It wasn’t the same.

Everything about his time with the Howlies was just memory now. Clippings in museum exhibits, and mental images of ramshackle hillside villages, which he tried to capture in loose brushstrokes, frozen in a moment in time. The town as it had been, for that week.

It wouldn’t be the same now.

 

Hell, it wasn’t the same even a month later.

  
  


They’d come back that way again, but when they did, it was in the wake of German artillery. There were no lanterns; no mandolins. The terra cotta tiles of the roofs were smashed into rubble in the streets, many of the buildings demolished by bombs. The greenery was reduced to bramble, and no one danced... The war had caught up with them all, and that brief interlude of peace was reduced to ruin, as the miasma of the war had spread and corrupted all it touched.

(He hadn’t been able to help wondering then, if they’d brought the war there somehow -- like it followed them, or like they were carriers of it like a plague.)

Steve knocked his paint water over and swore, quickly righting the glass and grabbing a paper towel to mop up the brackish, gray spill. He looked up at the canvas, _really looked,_ and went still as he finally realized what he’d been painting.

The blue sky had been muddied by more and more washes as he’d tried to get the hue just right and failed. The buildings he’d sketched were half missing now, dark strokes of black and gray leading to heaps of rubble, formed with frenetic impasto and slices of his palette knife. Smoke -- a thin, gritty wash of gray, swirled with his fingers against the canvas -- obscured the delicate peaks of the mountains. It was still the village, no longer as it had been briefly, but as he remembered it the last time he’d seen it.

 

Somehow, over the course of -- an hour? Two? -- he’d painted it, without thinking, the downward spiral of his thoughts directing his hand, his choice of colors...

Carefully, Steve took the ruined canvas from the easel and set it aside, then began cleaning up.

He would paint Loki something else. Something better.

Just... not right now.

_(Corrupting all he touched...)_

  
  
  


In the bathroom he scrubbed his hands free from paint, scouring under his nails and working dried paint from his nailbeds, from the creases in his knuckles, and out from around the few remaining scabs on his knuckles. He remembered this from his art school days, though the inks tended to stain, and he could never quite get his hands to look clean.

(Bucky had teased him about that too, he thought with a pang.)

Eventually he’d scoured his hands raw, pink and aching. He was clean though, as were his brushes, and his paints were put away (though he left the easel out). It was getting dark out, but Loki and Pepper were still gone.

Steve felt a pang of hunger, and realized they’d probably be getting dinner out.

A brief survey of the fridge found some leftovers, but nothing that immediately appealed. He knew he _ought_ to finish off the leftovers -- it would be wasteful and spoiled not to -- but the idea of staying in the apartment and eating the same things fed into his sudden, growing sense of antsiness.

Maybe Loki wasn’t the only one who needed to get out of the apartment.

Almost on impulse, he grabbed his jacket and pulled on jeans and shoes, snagging his keys, phone and wallet before heading out to the elevator.

Outside, the air was crisp and cold; it was a shock to the system and left him feeling more alert and grounded, any memories of lazy summer nights in 1944 long forgotten. It nipped at his extremities and he shoved his hands into his pockets, picking a direction and walking without any particular purpose or destination.

The shop windows, he noticed after a couple blocks, had taken down their Christmas displays; he’d missed the season of tinsel and fake snow and colorful lights, for the most part. But in their place were glossy pink and red hearts.

Christ. It was February already, wasn’t it?

He stopped, ultimately, at a small Lebanese take-out joint where he got falafel, and ate it standing outside in the lee of the entryway. It was something different, and it tasted good while sating his hunger. It was entirely up to him, too. He could finally eat what he wanted now, when and where he wanted, no longer beholden to schedules or specific mealplans or the whims of men who slid a bowl of gruel through the door, which he might or might not be unchained to reach.

The thought gave him a small surge of something _triumphant._ It might not be much, but it wasn’t nothing. It was progress.

And in the doorway, he could people-watch, observing New Yorkers going about their daily lives at ground level, instead of from the great height of the tower. None of them so much as gave him a second look, and it was a reminder that whatever his failures or successes, whatever misery or joys defined his life up in the tower -- most of the world was unaware and didn’t give a damn. Life went on, with or without him.

  
  


Eventually his toes started to go numb in his boots, and he tossed his wrapper in a nearby overflowing garbage can, turning and heading back to the tower.  
  
  


“I’m here to see Dr. Banner, please, can you just -- no, he’s not expecting me, but he _knows_ me, just page him, please--”

In the Stark Tower lobby, Steve paused. It was probably only because he’d been people-watched that he’d been outside of his own head enough to notice, but he _knew_ that voice, high and breathy. The familiarity without context made him tense, and he looked around until he spotted a dark-haired woman in a pale coat arguing with a security guard.

Pieces clicked into place, though the picture they formed was... unexpected.

“Dr. Ross?”

She turned, and yes, that was the Betty Ross he had video-conferenced with a few weeks ago. Though why she was at Stark Tower and not Culver University, he didn’t know -- and that lack of knowing made him uneasy.

“Steve!” she breathed, smiling in a way that reduced his unease by a fraction. “It’s so good to see you.”

The guard looked at Steve with a raised eyebrow and he nodded, reaching into his jacket and pulling out his tower ID access card. He might not _look_ like Captain America, but he had clearance all the same. “It’s all right, I’ll escort her,” he told the guard, who seemed willing enough to accept that as the end of the matter.

Which left Steve with Dr. Ross, heading toward the VIP elevator.

“Is everything okay?” he immediately asked, voice lowered. “Are you alright? Did anyone come after you for your research? Did--”

“I’m fine,” she quickly interjected, putting a hand briefly on Steve’s arm to forestall him, then withdrawing at his sharp inhale. “Everything is fine. I didn’t mean to worry you. _Thank you_.”

Steve gnawed his lip, then nodded, pressing the button for the elevator. “You’re... here to see Bruce, then?” Bruce would like that, he thought. Or hoped. He didn’t know how long it had been, exactly, since he and Betty had seen each other in person, but it seemed like it had to be far too long.

“Well, yes and no. Technically, I’m here to see _you_ ,” she answered as they got in the elevator. “But I figured it made more sense to tell them I was here for Bruce, especially since I know we’re trying to keep your current condition... discreet.”

“Ah. Thanks. That was... thoughtful.” Though it did beg the question why she was _here._ “My samples, are they--?”

Betty sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m afraid there was a lab accident. No no no, nothing like-- nothing like _that_ lab accident!” she rushed to add as Steve looked at her with wide eyes. “A boring accident, I promise! The power went out across campus and some idiot forgot to hook the lab’s backup generator back up after the last refueling, so all the frozen and refrigerated lab samples were damaged.”

Steve frowned, deeply. “Do you think it was sabotage?”

She shook her head. “Honestly? I doubt it. It’s possible, but given how many projects were impacted outside my own, and how close to the vest I’d been keeping the work, I’m willing to chalk it up to bad luck.” A sigh. “I was _almost_ finished, but I wanted to run one final test before declaring my results conclusive. With the samples damaged, well. It made sense to just come to the source.”

“Ah.” Steve nodded, and they got into the elevator. “Which is why you’re here to see me.”

“Yes.” A moment’s silence reigned. Betty smiled softly, looking down. “That being said, I’d... Really like to see Bruce, too.”

Steve felt his own mouth curling into a smile as he reached out and hit the button for Bruce’s floor. “JARVIS? Where’s Dr. Banner?”

“ _In Mister Stark’s lab at present. Shall I tell him to meet you in his quarters?”_

“Please do.”

They emerged a minute later on the floor that housed Bruce’s rooms. Steve led her down the hall, and when he tried to the door handle, it opened easily. “I’m sure he won’t mind if we sit inside and wait for him,” he offered, holding the door open.

Betty walked inside, then exhaled with a small “ _oh.”_

Bruce’s place was fairly tidy, a few errant files lying around in the kitchen, but otherwise full of open space and minimalist decor. A few potted plants dotted the area, along with a few pieces of art from distant continents. But there was still a sort of acetic quality to the space; it was calming.

“This is _Bruce’s_ apartment?” Betty asked, a hint of something disbelieving in her voice.

“Er, yes?” Steve tilted his head. “Why?”

She laughed softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him be this clean. He’s usually-- I mean, he used to be...”

She trailed off, smile fading. _He used to be someone different,_ Steve realized, and wondered just how changed the Bruce he knew was from the man Betty remembered.

“Steve?”

The front door swung open as Bruce entered, wiping his glasses one handed on his t-shirt. “JARVIS said you wanted to talk, is everything... o ...kay....”

He slowed to a stop, staring at Betty.

Betty stared back, inhaling softly. Then-- “Hi, Bruce.”

Bruce licked his lips. “Betty.” His voice managed not to crack on her name.

Abruptly, Steve felt like a voyeur -- like he didn’t belong here in this moment. Stepping back, he mumbled something about taking a leak, then retreated to Bruce’s bathroom to give them both a moment’s privacy.

He pulled his phone out to check for messages from Loki, but there was nothing yet. He had to assume that meant she was having a good time (he hoped). He pulled up a card game, and whiled away several minutes at solitaire while sitting on the edge of the bathtub, until he figured Bruce and Betty had probably gotten the most emotionally charged parts of their reunion over with.

When he re-emerged, they were sitting at the kitchen table, two cups of tea out in front of them, and Bruce carefully holding Betty’s hand like it was made of glass, still looking at her like he couldn’t quite dare to believe she was actually present.

Steve cleared his throat to announce his presence, and Betty looked up sharply. “Steve!”

“I know you need more samples,” he said. “I’ve gotten pretty good at drawing my own blood for the docs, so if you tell me how much you need I can swing down to medical--”

“I don’t need much,” Betty interrupted. “Actually...”

She leaned over to the small rolling suitcase she’d brought up with her, rifling through it until she withdrew an object roughly the size of a brick. “I only need a few drops, if you don’t mind pricking your finger.”

With a mix of relief and apprehension -- relief that he didn’t have to deal with finding a vein, and apprehension at the strangeness of the device Betty held -- Steve caught Bruce’s eye, and his nod, and held his hand out for Betty.

The device had a small spring-loaded needle that took the sample, depositing a few drops of Steve’s blood onto a glass plate that Betty slid inside. “This should analyze your blood very quickly. I’ve calibrated it specifically to scan for the proteins HYDRA introduced into your blood,” she explained.

“You engineered this in the last few weeks?” Bruce asked, looking impressed.

“Not really. I had it mostly built before, to scan for gamma-irradiated cells,” she answered after a moment. “It took some piecing together to change parameters, but not as long as you’d expect.”

Steve bit his tongue, and the device whirred.

“Ah.” Bruce looked away. “That’s... Good use of resources. How long does it--”

The device beeped, and Betty snatched it up, checking the screen. Steve found himself holding his breath, waiting for her to explain the results, explain what had brought her all the way to Manhattan just for a few drops of blood---

“Oh,” she breathed after a moment. Then looked up, first at Bruce, then at Steve.

She smiled.

  
  


\---

  
  


It wasn’t until Loki got home that she realized that she’d forgotten to call and ask Steve if he’d eaten.

The guilt that she’d managed to avoid for going out surged, strong and fast, and she swallowed it down quickly.

There was food here. He could have called for a delivery. And even if not… there was any other number of ways he would have been able to be cared for. Still…

She opened the door to their apartment, having already bid Pepper a good evening and thanked her for taking her out.

Looking around, it seemed quiet, almost too much so, and there was no food smell that she could tell.

“Steve?” She called. “Are you here?”

If not, she didn’t know where he would be… but JARVIS would be able to help, she was sure.

  
  


Steve had been flipping through the news on his Starkpad without seeing any of the headlines, perched on the edge of his bed when he heard the door open. He’d been buzzing with energy since returning to the apartment some thirty minutes ago (leaving Bruce and Betty more time to catch up with one another without an audience), anxious and thrilled and _dying_ to share the newest development with Loki, even as he struggled to process it himself.

“Loki!”

He dropped the tablet on the bed and practically bounded out of the bedroom. “How was your night?” he asked.

  
  


She nodded.

“It has been well enough- we saw a play-- a musical. And had dinner. I’m sorry; I should have asked if you wanted me to bring something home. But if you haven’t eaten, I could cook-- or order something?”

He’d seemed so eager to see her, much more so than any other time recently, to the point that she was, almost humorously, reminded of Lucky and his enthusiastic greetings.

“And… how has your evening been?”

  
  


Under most circumstances, Steve would have pressed further. Would have asked what show they saw, and whether Loki liked it; asked what they had for dinner, and if she’d discovered anything new that she liked. Hell, he’d have asked how Pepper was doing.

But thoughts were jangling too loudly in his brain.

“Betty’s here,” he blurted. “In the tower -- she came to confirm some results.”

  
  


Loki felt her brows rise as she considered what that might mean, words drying up and tongue feeling heavy. She had no idea what sort of results those might be, or if she had told Steve yet-- she had too many questions but she needed to be sure if a couple of things first.

“Are you alright?” She asked quickly. Then followed with, “is Bruce?”

  
  


“...Yeah.” The word stuck in Steve’s throat. Loki’s wariness wasn’t too surprising when he thought about it, but it still caught him off guard. All of this had him a little off guard, to be honest.

He took a shaky breath, a fragile smile blooming across his face. He swallowed. “I-- I think I am, anyway. I mean, I think Bruce is too. I came back about half an hour ago. Loki...”

He took another breath. “The serum is coming back. She didn’t want to say for sure without confirming it with a direct sample, but HYDRA’s protein anti-serum is breaking down. As my metabolism kicks back in, I should start getting better even faster.”

He hadn’t dared to actually believe it would happen when Betty and Bruce had explained it before. It had been a distant, abstract possibility -- not an actual, potential reality. And yet, Betty’s device had confirmed it, right in front of him.

His body, at least, would heal back to what it had been before. He’d get his strength back.

  
  


She thought she might have stopped breathing.

“You-- you're going to heal? Fully? Oh, Steve.”

She could only whisper the last part, her eyes were full suddenly, and she was smiling so hard her cheeks felt pulled taut.

She wished she could hold him, kids him, do a dance around the room with him.

Instead she clapped her hands together tightly in front of herself.

“But that's wonderful! And… and whatever we can do to assist your metabolism… anything you need, we'll do it. This is fantastic Steve! Are you… it's good news obviously, but, what are your thoughts?”

She couldn't actually tell how he felt, and she hoped there wasn't some pitfall she had not yet thought of.

  
  


Regardless of how Steve felt about it, it would have been worth it just for the look of joy on Loki’s face. Seeing her light up like that--

His smile grew easier. “I’m still pinching myself to make sure I’m not dreaming it,” he admitted. “I don’t know about _fully,_ but, _physically,_ it seems like it. And Dr. Cho told me that if... ah, if the scarring on my back doesn’t clear up on its own, her skin grafts are coming along really well, so that’s still an option.”

He didn’t know if the serum would fix whatever was wrong with his head. But maybe he could at least learn to fake it well enough that they’d let him back in the field.

For the first time since he’d been dragged out of that hole in the ground HYDRA kept him in, the possibility of _being Captain America again_ felt real.

  
  


Loki hesitated, then decided to go for it, at least while he was already in a good mood.

“And if… if my work on your leg was not too upsetting, I could perhaps help, as well. With whatever you would like me to work on.”

Skin grafts, after all, sounded like they might require more touching than Loki’s way of doing things, but then again, with their sciences, she couldn’t be sure.

“Is there-- this is all so much to process, of course, but is there something you would like to do? To celebrate?”

She realized he hadn’t answered her about his having eaten or not, but she didn’t want to press him, not when everything seemed so _good_.

  
  


“If it doesn’t heal on its own, then yeah, that’s another good option,” he quickly replied, not wanting to dismiss her help or let her feel rejected.

He thought through ways to celebrate; once, it would have been kissing, and sex, like the night where she’d first worn the purple dress she’d had on now, and they’d christened this apartment in their first night here together. Or he’d have suggested they go out -- but she’d only just returned, and Steve was feeling a bit wrung out after his meeting with Betty and Bruce.

Even suggesting drinks seemed like a poor idea, given her reaction to his alcohol intake earlier in the week.

“Not much is coming to mind,” he admitted. Then he remembered the ruined canvas in the corner, and his hand twitched.

“Actually, would you mind if... Could I draw you?”

  
  


She blinked, surprised by the request.

“I-- of course, if you want to. How would-- what shape do you want me in?”

It seemed easier to ask that way; if he was after her being blue, she had offered, once, and she knew he liked the way that looked.

More importantly though, that his hands were well enough that he felt he _could_ draw her was exciting. And that he wanted to…

“I am incredibly flattered that this is how you want to celebrate,” she told him slyly, making the words into something flirtatious.

  
  


“However you want,” he told her. “However you’re comfortable. If you want to change shape or clothes or curl up on the sofa-- whatever you’d like.”

It didn’t truly matter to him what shape she took. It would be Loki, and that would be the important part.

He moved to dig through the art supplies tucked away in the corner, pulling out a set of pencils and a blank sketchbook. There were still blank pages in his old one, but somehow, starting with something fresh and clean felt... appropriate.

Looking back up at her, he caught the hint of flirtation in her voice, but when he answered, it was with complete guileless sincerity:

“I always love looking at you.”

  
  


That made her smile again, harder.

“And I, you, Astin min. Where will you sit?”

She knew he felt badly about his having “forced” her into this form, so perhaps it was best that she remain in it, reassure him that she wanted to be seen this way. Wanted _him_ to see her this way.

Besides, the news that he would heal didn’t mean he had. And she hadn’t missed his stressing that he would heal physically- to say nothing about his mind. And that was the part of him that objected to touching, and her potential for maleness. That was the part that had been wounded beyond her help. By people taking choices away from him, and hurting him for who he was. Who he loved.

And she wouldn’t let that happen any more.

“Direct me, love. This is your celebration.”

  
  


Steve chewed his lip, considering. “How about on different ends of the couch? We can have JARVIS put a movie on, if you get bored. Or some music?”

He moved to one end of the couch, sitting on the armrest with his knees pulled up to form a drawing table out of his lap, resting the sketchbook against his thighs. “JARVIS, do you mind turning the lights up a bit?”

  
  


As the brightness rose, Loki settled herself on the couch, her body turned mostly toward Steve, though she was careful to tuck her feet into the edge of the cushion she occupied-- to be sure she did not reach out too far, did not touch him by accident.

She glanced at the screen, considering his offer of a movie or music.

“Pepper and I went to see a show tonight called Wicked-- apparently based on _The Wizard of Oz_ , which she said you are familiar with. Would you object to listening to that while you work? Or is there something else you’d rather we turn on?”

  
  


“Based on _The Wizard of Oz_?” He smiled. “Heh. I’d like to see that sometime. I remember when the movie first came out and Buck and I even _paid_ for our tickets. First time around, anyway. I made him go back and see it with me twice and we snuck in the second time around. Even being colorblind, I couldn’t get over the effects... JARVIS?”

“ _I’ll queue up the movie.”_

A moment later, the screen lit up and the opening credits began to play. Steve knew the movie well enough that he didn’t have to watch the screen. He knew what was happening more or less from the musical cues and dialogue.

It was a fragment from his past, but one he was sharing with Loki. And looking at her, noting the shape of her jaw and the curve of her skull as he lightly sketched them out, he didn’t feel mired in the past. Not like he had earlier, when he’d been painting.

Loki was someone he could share parts of his past with, but she was his present. And god willing, his future.

Just from the shock on her face when he’d given her the news about the serum, he could tell that she hadn’t expected it any more than he had. She’d been surprised, which meant she hadn’t expected the serum to come back; and she’d _stayed anyway_.

She’d stayed, through all of this.

 _I love you,_ he thought fiercely, as he caressed the arch of her cheekbone with his eyes, delicately tracing it on the page with his pencil tip.

  
  


“It’s very good.” She told him, seriously. “The music is very light, but… it’s told from the point of view of the witch. The wicked witch. I liked it. But Pepper said she could help us get tickets, if I wanted to bring you back with me. Which I’d like to, when you feel ready.”

She turned to glance at him, noting that the movie, like Casablanca, was lacking in color.

Which, of course, begged the question of how anyone was to know that Elphaba was green.

And also begged the question of who this high pitched child with the dog was. But she was willing to hold her peace and wait; the familiar characters would appear eventually.

  
  


“The point of view of the witch?” Well, that sounded interesting. Steve roughed in the mass of Loki’s hair, loose arcs of his pencil capturing the general shape of her curls, before moving on to gesturally note the position of her limbs, the curve of her spine and the mass of her torso in geometric blocks. “I’d like that, someday.”

Dorothy had begun to sing, and Steve found himself humming along with _Somewhere Over the Rainbow_ as he drew.

  
  


The music was very different, it seemed, but then, she supposed what she had seen was a product of today, whereas this was a product of Steve’s time.

And she found herself relaxing, when he began to hum along.

He wasn’t just humoring her, which she’d known with his story of seeing it multiple times, but especially now, with it so clear in his memory as for him to sing along with it while concentrating on his art…

She didn’t say any more about wanting to take him; didn’t want him to feel she was rushing him into it, when he was not healthy yet, and the idea that he would become healthy again was so fresh.

“You do have a beautiful voice, Elskan.” She murmured, careful not to move too much, so as not to disrupt his likeness.

  
  


Looking at Loki, he could see as some of the tension bled out of her. He snatched up his kneaded eraser, gave the gray, putty-like blob a few pulls, and used it to wipe up some of his lines, redrawing them with a deeper curve to better capture her posture.

He flushed at her compliment. “Shame my barbershop quartet’s all dead,” he replied dryly, a deprecating smile on his lips. On screen, the twister scene was approaching, and he found himself glancing at it askance, his attention flickering between Loki’s face, the page, and the movie.

Soon enough Dorothy was whisked away in the tornado, and then--

Steve lowered his pencil and actually looked at the screen. He hadn’t seen this part since he’d got his full range of color vision.

  
  


“What’s a--” she began, but cut off when the next door neighbor woman suddenly became the character who Elphaba had been based on, maniacal evil cackle and all.

She frowned at the portrayal already, but reminded herself that this was the other side. The-- what had Steve called it? Propaganda?

The wizard’s propaganda.

That made it easier, knowing that Elphaba would be quietly winning, in the background. Running off with her straw man love.

She glanced at Steve.

Fiyero had also come back from torture as something other than what he’d been when he left. And if Fiyero and Elphaba could have their happy ending…

Well. At least Steve was somewhat less flammable than all that.

She turned her attention back to the screen, just in time for her eyes to widen as color washed over the world.

  
  


Steve had been able to see _some_ color, back in the day. He had trouble with seeing some, but he’d been able to recognize the change from monochrome to technicolor, gasping aloud in the theater as Oz had come to life, more magical and more real than anything else he’d seen shot on film.

He got to feel that sense of wonder all over again now, seeing the full gamut of bright, glowing colors as Dorothy emerged in Oz. A sideways glance, and he caught Loki’s eyes widening as well.

He returned to drawing her, as Dorothy’s adventures unfolded. His pencil whispered against the page, and soon he had his shapes and contours mostly in, and began laying in areas of shadow with quick and delicate hatching.

  
  


That must have been what Steve had meant about his being impressed by the _effects_ , despite his color blindness.

“That was brilliant-- do other films do that? Go from no colors to full of them?”

She liked it. It did make the world seem more… magical, in a way. Even if it was only the brief human version of magical-- where they were limited by their uninformed imaginations. And, she supposed, what they could manage with what technology they had.

She wondered, if they were to take video of an illusion she made of Asgard, if it would be believed, or if they would wave it off, saying it was impossible, that such things couldn’t exist.

She felt herself smiling and wished, again, that she could take Steve there.

Though the illusion was a thought… She’d have to mull that over. Maybe she could show him, at least a pale likeness, of what had been her home. Like his images of his Brooklyn, though created by much less artistic hands.

She found herself listening for the sound of his pen on paper, even over the sound of the film, though she did cock her head a bit when a bubble appeared, and from it-- the good witch, Glinda.

She nearly snorted at the cake-like frothiness of her dress.

  
  


“Not that I know of,” Steve answered. _The Wizard of Oz_ was certainly the first time he’d seen technicolor used to such an effect. Any attempts to repeat it would probably be seen as derivative.

The Good Witch of the North appeared, followed by the Wicked Witch of the West. Dorothy and Toto were sent off down the yellow brick road to more singing, and Steve had a strong suspicion he’d be humming this under his breath for days to come.

His drawing was coming together, the figure on the page growing more solid and more detailed. An errant slip of his pencil left a ghostly line hovering over her, and he paused with eraser in hand, before deciding to leave it.

A second figure took shape, as Dorothy collected her companions and they went on their quest to find the Wizard. By the time they reached Oz, Steve had worked up a significant level of detail on both, and the side of his hand was shiny with graphite when he lowered his pencil to stretch his wrist.

  
  


She got absorbed in the story, amazed at how little the characters she knew were featured, and how large the roles of smaller characters had suddenly become.

It was interesting, and, she realized, the same would be true for the opposite side of the experience. Steve would likely miss this Dorothy in Wicked, much as she was missing Elphaba now.

But that did not change the interests in the world, in the story itself. And… it did seem sad, when Dorothy was tasked with the murder of Elphaba, how each side was only doing what they thought was right, what they thought they had to, to be able to live their lives.

Amusingly, she had always thought growing up that story characters were lucky; that everything was so clear cut and good and evil, and how it must make decisions much easier. But… that wasn’t true at all, here. Conversely, she’d always thought life to involve far more shades of grey, but… there, the lines seemed to be drawn in much starker relief.

And speaking of drawn lines, she realized she hadn’t heard Steve’s pen scratching at the page for a few moments.

She glanced at him with a smile.

“I’m sorry; I got caught up in--” she gestured at the screen. “I didn’t shift around too much, did I?”

  
  


“You’re fine,” he told her, happy to see her so engrossed in the movie.

At this point, he was pulling quite a bit from imagination after all. Though he occasionally glanced up to make sure he was catching the way shadows fell on Loki’s face just right, and extrapolating the shading in rest of the composition from the directionality of the light.

As the movie reached its climax, with Dorothy and Toto taken captive by the witch and Scarecrow, Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion sneaking in disguised as guards to rescue them, and the witch ultimately being melted by a bucket of water, Steve was mostly working in background shadows and watching Loki’s face as it moved through a range of emotions.

  
  


Loki couldn't help but feel her sympathy shifting to be on the side of Dorothy, particularly when the wicked witch appeared to mock her in the form of her aunt.

She just had to accept that the two characters, Elphaba and the witch, were two separate people.

Even so, she knew that if any of her enemies appeared to her as Frigga, she would destroy them as thoroughly as possible.

Which, in retrospect, Thanos _had_ done, a time or two.

She snuck a look over at Steve, thinking of all the reasons she had now to want to destroy the mad Titan.

And, in the process, she accidentally met his eye, looking at the same time as he'd been looking at her. She gave him another quick smile.

“Is it coming out the way you want?” She asked.

  
  


“Yeah,” he answered with a smile. “Almost done.”

The witch defeated, Dorothy and her friends returned to the Wizard. The story came to its conclusion, with Dorothy eventually finding her way home by tapping her slippers together, and chanting ‘ _There’s no place like home’_ until she eventually woke in Kansas.

And damn if Steve hadn’t wished for a while, after coming out of the ice, that he could do the same -- click his heels and wish his way back to 1945. Or hell, 1939, like Dorothy -- before the war, before everything.

Though now, he found himself wishing for it a lot less.

Finishing the drawing, he set his pencil case aside and wiped his hand off on his jeans. The orchestra swelled with the movie’s end, and he glanced at Loki. “So, how’d it measure up to the musical?” he asked.

  
  


“Hm.” She said, not certain how to begin comparing the two, despite the fact that was what she’d been doing the entire time she’d been watching.

“They are… very different. And it makes sense to me that this came first. The musical deals with… since the wicked witch is the only person in the show who is green… they are not fond of her for it. And she is taught that her magic is bad, right up until it is useful for others. I think that show paints everyone involved as victims of circumstance, and the wizard as… something of a… a trickster, I suppose. A manipulator. And this is really more about just Dorothy and her adventure to get home. I enjoyed it very much, but… as a character to follow, I think I like the witch better.”

She grimaced apologetically, aware that it was becoming a pattern-- a predictable one, at that. Of course she always was more drawn to the stories of the wicked ones.

And yet, somehow… he was still drawn to her anyway. And wanted to draw her, anyway.

An odd celebration, to be sure.

But she was glad of it, and him.

  
  


Steve nodded. “That makes sense, I think. This story -- it’s pretty cut and dry. Good wins, evil loses, the good guys are easy to tell from the bad guys and they get their happy ending. But it’s not always that simple. Sometimes we need those simple stories, where the world makes sense, and... Sometimes we need stories to remind us that it isn’t always that straightforward.”

He hadn’t really thought to feel bad for the Wicked Witch until now -- but if she was mocked for having strangely colored skin and for having magic --

Steve frowned, still looking at Loki. “In the other show, the witch -- does she still get melted?” he asked cautiously.

  
  


Loki laughed.

“I am not going to tell you the end. You will simply have to come and see it with me.”

She could tell he was treading carefully, afraid of upsetting her, especially since it must be easy for him to see why Loki had appreciated Elphaba so much in the first place.

“But I think-- at least, I hope you will enjoy it. It enfolds elements of this show in interesting ways. Tells them from a different angle.”

She tilted her head.

“How are you feeling? Now that you have had time for the news to sink in a bit more?”

If he could be careful and aware of her feelings, she ought to do the same.

  
  


Steve nodded, grateful at least that whatever the ending, Loki didn’t appear distressed by it. She’d been in good enough humor, it seemed, when she returned, and looked happy now.

“I’m... good.” Or he would be. He knew that as a certainty now -- he’d be strong and whole and _useful_ once more.

Looking down at the drawing, he smiled softly, then passed it to Loki. “Here...”

 

On the page, Loki sat curled up on the couch, in profile, attention off the side of the page, folds of her skirt rucked up around her knees. And behind her, leaning over the back of the couch to drape his arms around her shoulders, wrists crossed loosely over her chest, Steve had drawn himself. Drawn his lips pressing a kiss to the crown of Loki’s head, obscured by the dark swirls of her hair, casually touching her with all the love she deserved, and in all the ways he couldn’t.

At least, not yet.

  
  


She took the drawing and felt her eyes well up and a hollow ache fill her chest, because she _wanted_ this, with an intensity that was nearly frightening. And at the same time… he wanted to give it to her.

They just both knew he _couldn’t_ right now.

She took a deep breath and beamed at him, trying to will her eyes to dry.

“I--” she wished she could draw him, show him similarly how much she loved him-- more than her words could ever do justice to.

But she’d had a thought earlier…

She sat the drawing in her lap and twitched her hands, creating the two of them in the same scale as he’d laid them on the page, in the same position. Only in her illusion, Loki reached up, laid her hands on his, tilted her head back and returned his kiss.

She let the image fade, half afraid that she’d overstepped, but watched him to be able to tell.

“I love you.” She told him, words coming out softer than she’d intended.

  
  


Steve’s breath caught in wonder as Loki called an illusion forth that brought Steve’s drawing to life. And as the small illusory versions of them kissed, he could almost imagine the feel of Loki’s lips against his own.

It _ached,_ how much he missed it; and how much he feared ruining it by flinching should they actually touch.

“I love you too,” he answered, in practically a whisper. And then--

“I’m going to get better.” Firmly, a bit louder. “I promise, Loki. I’m gonna _be better._ ” Even if he wasn’t sure how, he would damn well find a way. For her. For _them._

  
  


She wasn’t sure what she could possibly say to that; he needed to be well, for sure-- for his own good at the very least. But as for better…

How could she tell him that he already was better?

Better than she could ever have wished for, better than she would have dared hope for, better than she could have imagined. Better than anyone on his world or any she’d been on could ever hope to deserve.

“You’re getting better already. And you will continue, in your own time. No matter how long it takes, I will be here, beside you, helping if I can. For however long you will have me. As long as you want me.”

_As long as you’re mine._

It felt like a vow, and she meant it.

“Don’t rush yourself, though. I mean it. I am not going anywhere. And all healing takes time, the deeper the wound, the longer the process. I can be patient. I will be. We both will.”

  
  


Steve didn’t want to be patient. He wanted the serum to kick back in and his brain to quit being a mess and he wanted to make love to Loki and never think of Scofield again.

But he nodded anyway.

“Okay,” he said.

However long it took, he’d manage it, somehow.

He had a damn good reason to, after all, sitting in front of him. And he wouldn’t let her down.

  
  
  


 


	97. Ninety Seven

Loki’d let the videos go unwatched for a night. It felt good, was a relief, not to bid one another good night, and then go to watch Steve be tortured.

She was too focused on his future, their future, and too busy thinking about the drawing he’d done of them.

It had been too happy a day to ruin with the dark echoes of the past.

And the morning dawned bright with optimism, at least for her. Earlier than usual, too, since she had gone to sleep much earlier in the night.

 

She woke and ordered breakfast to be delivered, figuring that even if there were leftovers, it would likely be just in the form of bacon and pancakes, which was just fine with her.

She didn’t hear any sign of Steve being up, and hoped it wasn’t going to be another hard day for him-- who knew how he might be reacting, how his mind was spinning through the new information. The changes in how he’d thought life would be, now.

It was good changes, of course, but any news could upset a delicate balance while healing.

So, when the knock came, she made sure to call loudly enough that he would hear, and not be concerned about it being any bad news--

“Breakfast is here!”

She brought the bags to the table and began spreading out the contents, hoping she hadn’t woken him… and that he’d still feel up to celebrating as best they could, today.

 

Steve emerged from the bedroom mussed and still in pajamas, having only just gotten up -- but feeling surprisingly rested.

If he’d dreamt, it hadn’t been troubling enough to linger in his memory after waking.

“What’d we get?” he asked with a yawn. He knew there had to be bacon -- both because Loki was, ultimately, somewhat predictable, and because he could smell it. He smiled at her as he made his way into the kitchen to start up the coffee maker.

 

“Bacon, ham, sausage, pancakes, hash browns, eggs, cinnamon buns, fruit and cottage cheese.” She shrugged, grinning. “Everything sounded good to me this morning. Can you think of anything else you’d like?”

He looked… warm and soft, were the only words that came to mind. The way he looked immediately after waking, with lines from the bedding creasing his skin and a sort of glow of heat coming off of him until his body evened out.

His hair had been growing back in, and while it never looked quite as neat as he’d kept it before, it looked particularly wild at the moment.

All in all, he looked… wonderful. Particularly when he smiled.

She finished unloading the breakfast trays, despite the temptation just to stop and stare and keep thinking about how lucky she was.

 

“All sounds amazing to me. Though I’m kinda surprised you sprang for cinnamon buns,” he remarked, filling the coffee filter and then turning on the machine.

He turned and helped her open up the packages of food, breathing in the aroma of fresh, savory breakfast meats. His stomach gurgled, and he had to chuckle. “Well. Guess I’m gonna be eating super-soldier sized portions again pretty soon,” he remarked.

 

“I thought I might give cinnamon another try. I think I’m ready for it.” she teased.

“And it seems we are certainly ready whenever your appetite does re-emerge. I was perhaps a bit over enthusiastic.”

Considering just how much of the table was covered in foam boxes…

“ _Good morning. Ms. Loki, Ms. Potts asked that I alert you about your appearance in the tabloids again, and reassure you that she will have a team monitoring any information that is put out.”_

JARVIS’s voice startled her a bit, and it took her a moment to understand.

“Oh, ah-- more photographers saw us leaving the show last night.” Loki grimaced. “I’m afraid this shape won’t be good for going unnoticed, much longer. This is, I think, the third time photos have been taken and rumors have swirled around this face. But… it’s alright. I can change my features, next time I go out.”

She shrugged, not entirely bothered by it.

 

Steve was on the verse of teasing back that they’d both be exploring their boundaries then, when JARVIS interrupted. He froze, halfway through scooping sausages on to his plate, a spike of anger at the idea of Loki being hassled again.

Wait.

“Third time?” he asked. He remembered back during their date in October, but hadn’t been aware of another occasion.

 

She grimaced.

“I wore this face when we were searching for you, when we were supposedly in Europe for Thor to do some sort of… reparations ceremony. The vultures decided I must have tossed you aside to be Thor’s lady instead.” She snorted.

“If they only knew what they were suggesting.”

She heaved a theatrical sigh, and gestured.

“Pass me the eggs, when you’ve a moment?”

 

Steve snorted, handing over the eggs after dropping some on his plate. “Well, if I have to be dumped by a beautiful woman, at least it’s for Thor,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Not, he realized, that he had any worries about Loki’s fidelity. He worried about her patience and her willingness to endure his brokenness indefinitely, but not because he thought she’d fall into someone else’s arms.

He sighed, frowning pensively at his food. “If you switch into another woman’s features, they’ll just come up with more scandal. Probably something awful about a-- about an Avengers _harem_ or something ridiculous like that.” He raked a hand back through his hair.

 

He looked so serious, she couldn’t help but want to make him relax.

“Lucky you, a whole harem to yourself.” She made it sound sly, well aware that he had never asked her to change for _that_ reason. Though she had offered, more than once, he’d never taken her up on it. At least, other than the liking he’d taken for Jotun skin.

And even then… the only time he’d truly asked her to change was for this, for his comfort, since the suffering he’d gone through at the hands of men.

“It would be better that I not keep this face, though. Especially if I am to go out with you… coffee, eventually, remember? You are not horribly recognizable now, while you are healing, but with this face to contextualize you…” She frowned.

“Better that neither of us be recognized. I can try a new one before then, though. Give you time to become used to it.”

 

“Well, you _do_ have another face I’m familiar with,” Steve said, standing to fetch a mug from the cabinet now that the coffee was finished brewing. “And you’ve just changed your hair and coloring and never been recognized that way,” he pointed out. And so long as he and Loki weren’t kissing in public -- not a likely event any time soon -- they probably wouldn’t be as much target for gossip if Loki took a man’s shape than that of a woman.

 

She frowned.

“True, though from what I have seen, it is somewhat the norm for women here to appear with differing hair colors. And where I can change the appearance of my face as a man with the judicial application of facial hair… that on a woman is much less the norm.” She smiled at him.

“But for the time being… until we are ready to venture outside, we need not worry about it. I am fine as I am, while we remain in the tower.”

 

Steve pursed his lips, then nodded.

“Okay. If you’re happy... But. You don’t have to change on my account, okay?” He sat back down, coffee in hand. “I’ve been fine with Bruce. I had dinner alone with Tony and... And that was okay. I know I was a real mess right after... after everything. But I _am_ doing better now. If you’re happy like this, then I’m happy too. But I’m pretty sure I’d also be okay if you changed back, at this point.”

He still had bad days, he knew that. But it had been some time now since the slightest reminder of anything that had happened during his time with HYDRA had left him flailing in panic or catatonic.

 

She hummed, not certain it was wise. But… if that was what he wanted.

“I will try going back to the shape you’re more used to, but… if, at any point, it makes you uncomfortable, just promise me you will say something?”

She did not change immediately, waiting instead for him to promise. Though she was almost certain he would not keep it, if he did. He was so adept at keeping his pains to himself, whenever possible.

 

“I promise,” he told her. “As long as you promise to be in whatever shape _you_ want, otherwise.” Male or female, he didn’t care -- it was Loki and Steve loved Loki with all his heart. But he didn’t want to be the cause of her feeling trapped in one form or another.

 

Rather than say anything, she shifted in the chair a little to allow herself to change, to make room for longer legs and broader shoulders.

Once he was comfortably back in his more common form, he shook his head, appreciating the lightness that came from the shortening of his hair.

“Still alright?” He asked, watching for any sign that it wasn’t, and cataloging the sudden difference in the way his voice felt in his throat, just from the lowered pitch.

It would take some getting used to, him being a man again.

For Steve too, he was sure.

 

It was strange to watch. But then -- it was just one form of Loki changing into another Loki. At no point did the person in front of him become a stranger.

Steve smiled softly, taking in the familiar angles of Loki’s face, sharper than in his female body; more sculptural. His hair was shorter, but still curled just below his jaw, and Steve remembered what it was like to run his fingers through those curls...

Loki was certainly _male_ in this shape, but he wasn’t a strange man, or a threat -- he was just Loki, and Steve’s mind wasn’t in any panic for failing to register that.

He took a sip of his coffee, then lowered it again. “Yeah. Pass the bacon?”

 

It was good, easy, even casual, and he could not be more grateful for it.

He pulled a face and took one more piece of bacon before he passed it over, still careful not to let his hand touch Steve’s-- perhaps even more careful, with his current shape.

“Poor Pepper- I think she was going to try to gift me some of her wardrobe.” He looked down at himself in mock ruefulness.

“Ah well. For all the appeal of curves… I do love the way a suit hangs on this shape. May I have the fruit?”

It was… easier, maybe, than it seemed like it should be. But that was hardly a bad thing. Maybe the assurance that he would recover would work to their advantage. Give him confidence in the process, and make everything just that much easier.

 

The shift in Loki’s voice was strange as well -- the intonation and inflection were identical, but the pitch and timbre were different. But all familiar too.

Steve handed over the fresh fruit and cottage cheese. “I mean, I think you look pretty great in anything you wear,” he replied with a shrug and a grin.

And this was... normal. Steve didn’t begrudge Loki’s female shape _at all,_ and thought she looked lovely, but also knew the change had been affected due to Steve’s own meltdown in the incident with the mirror. This felt like they were moving past that.

“I have physical therapy this afternoon, and then group tonight,” he announced. “So I guess you’re meeting with Dr. Ortega?”

 

“That is the plan.” He answered. “I’ve a patient today with damaged nerves, so I am not certain how long it will take, perhaps as much as multiple sessions. But I should not be surprised if you return before me.”

He paused long enough to daintily consume a piece of bacon, before remembering that he moved… differently, as a man, than as a woman.

Adjusting was always just a little strange.

“Anything exciting happening in therapy or group, today?” He asked, not sure what Steve could or couldn’t say, but certain that it would be rude not to ask.

 

“I hope not,” Steve replied lightly, cutting into his pancakes. “Less exciting is probably for the best. Though... I’ll probably need to talk to Amir about accelerating my regimen if I’m going to be getting my strength back faster.” He didn’t know if he’d automatically regain all his muscle mass, or if he’d have to build it up the hard way, but either way, he’d need to talk with his physical therapist about the best way of getting back in shape.

Running had been soundly off the table, but with his leg healing so well, he might be able to make an argument for it in the next few weeks. He could at least get away, he suspected, with walking to and from group.

“I guess I oughta apologize to Natasha about last Thursday,” he said after swallowing, pulling a face.

 

Loki smiled and nodded, though he was frowning internally.

Steve’s healing might be a foregone conclusion, but they hadn’t reached it yet.

“It is not a bad idea to have a list of exercises to help your strength grow as it returns. Only… don’t try to force yourself through them before you’re ready. I know you. But I also know that additional hurts will only prolong your healing process.”

The one boon in this was that he doubted Amir, or anyone else in the tower, would have more knowledge than he about the healing process and the process of regaining strength for someone more than human.

They weren’t likely to have Steve attempting to lift cars or any such thing right off the bat.

Though, again, knowing Steve, that wouldn’t rule out him testing himself with it.

 

Steve sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

As much as he _wanted_ to run, he was still aware he’d only just graduated to walking without a cane, and even if his rate of healing accelerated, as Betty promised... There was ground to cover.

(Which didn’t make him any less antsy to start, now that he knew he’d _heal...)_

But overeagerness to get moving was hardly the worst problem to have, given within the past week he’d been too dour and miserable to move much at all. If he could just cling to this hope, this momentum -- maybe it would be enough to carry him through the bad patches so he didn’t get that low again.

And he had managed to eat more than he’d expected even, the leftovers proving minimal despite the amount of food they’d ordered. That counted as progress too, as his frame was slowly becoming less skeletal and he was holding food down.

He washed the dishes when they were done, and found himself quietly singing beneath his breath;

 

“ _Somewhere, over the rainbow...”_

 

-o-

  


For the very first time, Steve spoke during group.

 

They were going around and doing shares. Steve had taken a seat next to Trey, who he recognized and shared a nod with as everyone sat in their circle at the meeting’s start, and after a few short shares, Trey raised his hand then began to speak, his story coming out gradually as he explained, occasionally pausing to stare at the floor or chew the inside of his cheek.

He’d been in a shootout; and through no fault of his own. Trey and his friend and his brother had all been driving around one evening in his brother’s car when another car had pulled up beside them. Through some unhappy accident, Trey’s brother drove the same make, model and color car as a gang member who had pissed off a rival gang in the area. Looking for retribution, they’d mistaken Trey’s brother for the other man, and opened fire.

The car had crashed. Trey’s brother and friend were both killed. Trey, who had been on the other side, had caught a few bullets, but survived both the shooting and the impact when the car had wrapped around a streetlight.

“I can still watch action movies,” Trey explained. “Like, I don’t flip out when I see a movie of someone getting shot. I know how it _feels_ now, but the sound of it, talking about it -- that’s not what freaks me out. It’s that _smell_ of the gunpowder, and the leaking motor oil. Whiff of either of those, and I start freaking out.” He shook his head. “But, man. Getting shot _sucks._ ”

At the mention of shooting, Steve’s leg twinged in sympathy where HYDRA had shot him during his attempted escape (though the it was mostly phantom pain -- the kind more in his head than his actual muscles -- since Loki’s healing).

And maybe it was his good mood from earlier, or the fact he’d just been more talkative with Loki over the past couple of days, but at that comment, Steve snorted.

“You can say that again,” he muttered, then froze on realizing he’d said it aloud.

Everyone looked at him for a moment, and for a horrible second, the scrutiny was paralyzing; Steve began to feel his chest tighten.

Then, Trey smiled. “No kidding, man,” he said, the tension that had built in his posture as he told his story slowly easing. “No kidding.”

 

He launched back into the end of his story, and no one asked Steve -- _Jack,_ he reminded himself _\--_ to elaborate. When Trey finished, another woman raised her hand, and no one had pushed him to share next, or asked him how he got shot. The meeting moved on and... that was it.

It was almost anticlimactic, Steve thought, feeling giddy with relief and something else he couldn’t quite identify.

He caught Sam’s eye from across the circle of chairs, and the other man smiled and inclined his head.

 

As invigorating as that small victory was, the rest of the session was sobering. Both for the content of the stories told, and for the reminder that these people were still coming here, still processing, months and even years after what they’d been through.

Steve had enjoyed a couple good days in a row, and found out his body would heal. But there were reminders all around him that not all scars were physical, and that recovery wasn’t a swift and easy thing.

When they got to break, he found himself passing by the coffee and slipping upstairs and out the doors with the handful of smokers in the group, just to get some fresh air and clear his head.

The sidewalk outside the church was usually fairly empty -- sometimes there were a few people lingering for whatever group met in the church basement either before or after Sam’s support group. Steve didn’t pay much mind to the man hanging out by the streetlight a few paces away, instead stamping his feet against the hardened snow to try to keep his blood flowing, hands jammed into his pockets. The air was frigid -- enough to make the exposed skin of his face smart -- but there was something cleansing about it. It was a harsh, scouring cold, that woke you up like a hard slap and seared your lungs to remind you of each and every breath you took.

The few smokers had moved away toward the lee of the leafless hedge near the corner. Steve cast a glance at the man by the light, then frowned. Something at the back of his neck was prickling; a vague and unsettling sense of familiarity.

The man had a small but bulkily-shaped bag slung over his shoulder, and he withdrew something blocky and mechanical from it, which he examined and fiddled with as Steve watched, trying to figure out what--

 

_Ck-Click._

 

The sound of a camera shutter slotted everything into place.

Steve had seen the man before. In-- last October? November? Outside a restaurant, his camera pointed at Steve then, at Loki--

Rage bubbled up in his chest, nearly choking him. One of those damn _vultures_ was here. He must have -- what, tracked Steve? Recognized him and followed him here?

Loki had been seen by the photographers the other day, he’d said, in her human form. Had a sighting of ‘Cap’s girlfriend’ prompted one of them to seek him out?

Before he could think twice, his feet carried him down the sidewalk toward the paparazzo standing under the street light. He reached out just as the man looked up in surprise, and grabbed a handful of his coat, slamming him back against the light pole.

It wasn’t as forceful a gesture as it might have been a few months ago, but the guy was a tad under average height, and even weighing in as low as he did, Steve clearly got his attention.

“What are you doing here?” he growled.

He’d been recognized -- that had to be it. He’d been too complacent, too secure in the belief he didn’t look like his old self, but now he was going to be outed and he’d never be able to come back to group. And everyone would know Captain America was fragile and broken and messed up in the head and he’d have let them all down--

The man stared back at him in wide-eyed terror. “Whaa--?”

Steve shook him. “What are you doing here?” he repeated, though his voice threatened to catch in his throat, rage mingling now with panic.

 _God_ , what if-- what if Steve had led him here and the guy took pictures of the other survivors? What if their faces wound up in papers, on websites, and the privacy and anonymity Sam had promised them all was shattered because of _Steve..._ Bad enough that he be outed, but if he was the source of any more pain for the others in the process--

“I’m waiting for a friend, I-- Jesus, what the fuck is your problem?”

The man broke away, pushing Steve back and sending him staggering.

“Are-- are you following me?” he panted.

“The fuck? Why would I be--”

The man stopped. He stared at Steve for long seconds, and Steve felt the pit of his stomach drop as recognition slowly dawned.

 

 

Oh hell.

 

“ _Cap_?” the man breathed in disbelief.

Steve swallowed, standing up and jutting out his jaw. “The people in there have been through enough,” he snarled, keeping his voice low. “They don’t need their faces smeared on some gossip rag for some sensationalist garbage. So whatever the hell it is you’re here for--”

“What? No!” the man waved his hands, letting his camera hang from the strap around his neck. “I’m not-- I don’t do that anymore!”

“Oh really?” Steve demanded, pointing at the camera. “You’re telling me you don’t--”

“ _I did what you said!”_

The man shouted, loud enough that a couple of the smokers glanced back at them. Steve waved to indicate everything was fine, and a few seconds later they turned back away.

He returned his attention to the photographer. “What?”

“What you said,” the man repeated, insistent. “That night, you said... You said you were real disappointed.”

Steve glared. “And you said it wasn’t personal,” he repeated coldly, remembering.

The man winced. “Yeah, I did. But you-- you wrote down an address, under a bridge. You said I had a camera, and that meant I had power. I could _make_ people see the things they didn’t wanna look at, that they should look at, so they’ll do something about it.”

Steve’s memories of his own words were admittedly vague, given he’d spoken them in anger, but he recalled more and more as the man repeated them. His frown deepened, but he moved a bit further out of the guy’s personal space.

“I didn’t figure any of you listened. Wasn’t exactly a _salacious_ soundbite.”

“No,” the man agreed, slumping inward. “But... you were right. And man, getting chewed out by _Captain Fucking America_? Kind of makes you go rethink your life and what the hell you’re doing with it. So I went down to the bridge, and I... Well, I almost got beat up by some guys when they saw me taking pictures, first time. But I worked up the balls to go back without the camera and just talk to ‘em, you know? And... You were right. That’s a better story -- more important story -- than some celeb’s tits falling out of her yoga top or whatever.” He scratched the back of his neck, jostling the camera strap. “Course, TMZ doesn’t want pics of homeless people, but I started a blog, you know? Made it a passion project kind of thing -- actual photojournalism. Eventually shopped it around, got picked up as an ongoing article series in a real news site. It ain’t much, but... Better than acting like a vampire, right? Here, look--”

Pulling out the camera, he switched it on, holding the screen up so Steve could see the digital pictures as he cycled back through them.

There were photos of tents pitched under the bridge. Photos of people huddled in blankets, panhandling in the snow. A photo of an old man with few teeth, clearly homeless, holding up a medal for his service. A photo of a woman with children waiting in line at a soup kitchen, smiling fondly down at the daughter on her hip. And -- less artistically composed, clumsily taken -- a picture of the man in front of him, side by side with a ragged man, both of them mugging cheerfully for the camera.

Turning it off, he looked up at Steve with an expression that could only be described as warily hopeful.

Steve found he didn’t entirely know what to do with that. He swallowed, awkwardly, shuffling his feet to keep the blood moving in his toes. “Doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

“Ah, so... One of the guys I was talking to for the whole ‘bridge project’, ah. He and I kinda got to be friends, and, well. They got a substance abuse support group that meets in the church at ten. I got here early to take him out for coffee beforehand, you know? Emotional support and all, since he’s working on getting clean, getting himself back together. It’s hard, building back up from nothing, you know?”

Steve exhaled, looking the man over. He looked nervous, but not the kind of nervous that came with lying. Steve had clearly caught him off guard, but he appeared to be telling the truth.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied quietly. “I’m... sorry, for how I reacted. When I saw you, I thought...”

“Trust me, not the worst reaction I’ve gotten by a long shot,” the guy chuffed nervously. “Didn’t mean to spook you. Honestly, I had no idea you’d be here -- hell, I didn’t even recognize you until you were up in my face, I mean -- you look like shit, Cap.”

“...Yeah, I know,” he repeated, dryer this time. But his gut twisted uncomfortably at the reminder that he was being seen like this, in this place, and recognized for who he was. “Look, I... I’d appreciate it if you, um.”

The photographer held his hands up. “Hey, no. Off the record, yeah? I mean, if you did wanna say anything to the world about it....” he paused, hopeful, but Steve shook his head.

“No one here knows who I am. I’d like to keep it that way _. Captain America_ draws a bit too much attention,” he explained, a touch of bitterness in his voice. “And that ain’t helping anyone.”

The man paused, then pointedly put the camera back in its case, zipping it shut. “Yeah, no. Wouldn’t help anyone. Sides, I got enough folks who want their stories told.” He smiled crookedly. “But, uh. Thanks, I guess?”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“For, you know. Yelling at me. Don’t get me wrong, it sucked, being told you’re a bottomfeeder by your childhood hero and all, but it made me... it made me make some changes, and, you know. Be better.”

Steve nodded, still a bit dumbfounded by the whole situation. He barely had the strength to knock the guy into a pole; the thought that he’d somehow changed his life felt surreal. And yet, the evidence was present. And if ‘ _Cap in Crisis’_ wasn’t a headline tomorrow, he’d know that this wasn’t all some con.

“You should be proud,” he said, hollowly, because it seemed like the sort of thing it’d be appropriate to say. That _Captain America_ would say.

Judging from the smile that split the guy’s face, it was. “Thanks, man. And hey, here--” he pulled a card out of his pocket and held it out for Steve. “If you ever want to get people to listen or look at things they oughtta hear or see, gimme a call.”

“Okay... Cole,” Steve replied, reading the name from the card as he took it before pocketing it.

And then the man -- Cole -- was holding his hand out. To shake.

Steve stared at it.

He knew he’d already touched Cole when he’d grabbed him earlier, but that had been panic and instinct. This was deliberate. This was different. ( _Why_ was it different?)

He could just walk away. (Rude).

He could tell the truth, that he didn’t like touching. (Bad, bad idea. Who knew how much of a story Cole could actually resist?)

Or he could...

Reach out, and shake Cole’s hand, clasping it and feeling the warmth of his grip, even through the man’s thin gloves. Steve put all his strength into his grip, so it wouldn’t feel weak, and made himself look Cole in the eye. “Good luck to your friend,” he said.

“I’ll pass it on,” Cole agreed, finally letting go. “Speaking of...”

Steve followed his gaze; another man was approaching from down the curb. Steve recognized him, as he got closer, as the ragged man in the last photo. He raised a hand to wave to Cole, and Steve took the opportunity to fall back, away from the cone of light cast by the streetlight and back up the steps to the church.

 

Once inside the vestibule, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, gasping deep breaths.

(His hand tingled.)

The smokers, he realized, had already gone in a few minutes ago, which meant group was probably already in session. Group was in session and he was missing it, he knew, but everything was just... so _much._ The rollercoaster of emotions from the last fifteen minutes crashed into him all at once, as nauseating as the Coney Island Cyclone. The fear of recognition, the panic of hurting his group-mates, the surprise of finding out he’d actually made a difference and the mix of pride and anxiety over having _shaken hands with a damn stranger when he couldn’t even hold his lover._

It was too much. Too much too fast too all at once--

He staggered past the door to the basement, instead heading into the chapel. It was empty, and he sank into one of the pews at the back, wheezing loudly in the silence of the church. Leaning forward, he buried his head against his knees, folding in half and trying to shut his mind up, trying to just _breathe..._

 

 

Sam made note when he lost someone during the break, and considering Jack’s interjection about being shot-- and how surprised even he seemed about having said something-- it was hardly shocking that he didn’t come back.

It was a surprise that he didn’t go home, though; Sam heard him more than saw him go past the door, heading deeper into the church.

He didn’t draw attention to it, or end group early or anything. Everyone else needed this, and he had a feeling that Jack needed the time and the space, plus, if he hadn’t left, it meant maybe he wanted to talk more.

Sam was alright with that. The guy seemed more capable of opening up one on one.

So he saw group through to its normal end, and left everyone with a new quote for them to chew on.

He even took his time cleaning up, rearranging the chairs for the addicts anonymous meeting that would be starting soon. But even with all that extra time, Jack didn’t reappear.

Sam wondered if he’d maybe just gone home, but he couldn’t leave without checking first.

He headed down the hall towards a part of the church he didn’t usually wander into, but this was the way Jack had headed. And the chapel door was open, a bit, at the end of it, which gave Sam a little bit of pause.

He didn’t want to interrupt anyone who was using the church for its primary intended purpose. And that included Jack.

He pushed open the door, and there he was, off to the side by himself. It took a minute for Sam to find the guy, all rolled up on himself as he was. Heck, if not for how the sound of him breathing echoed in here, he might have assumed it was empty.

But it was probably good that he hadn’t; the guy looked like he wasn’t in a good place.

“Hey Jack, sorry to interrupt. Just… checking in. The rest of the group’s taken off. How’re you doing?”

Sam kept his tone light and easy, non judgmental, and not too heavy on the concern. Like people ran off to hide in the chapel during group on the regular. Wouldn’t be the weirdest reaction he’d seen, anyway. But he wasn’t here to judge.

 

At some point, Steve had gotten his breathing under control, by focusing on it, and it alone.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

Rinse, repeat.

There was something hypnotic about it, which was probably how he slipped into something approaching a trance, still folded up in on himself in the dark thinking of nothing but his own lungs, squeezing and expanding.

It wasn’t until Sam spoke that he realized he’d completely lost track of time.

He looked up, surprised, then grimaced. “Shit,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I... ah.”

It occurred to him that he was sitting alone in the dark in an empty church; Sam must think he was one hell of a drama queen.

“Sorry. I freaked out a little earlier. Lost track of... um.” He looked away.

 

( _Inhale. Exhale._ )

 

“Happens to the best of us.” Sam returned evenly. “Mind if I sit?” he gestured to the other end of the pew-- far enough that Jack’d have all the room he needed, while still putting them on the same aisle-- so neither of them had to turn around to talk to the other.

“Can’t pretend I know what caused the freakout, but if there’s something I can do about it, some way to make group easier for you, let me know. Or I got a suggestion box, if that’s more your speed.”

 

Steve shook his head. “It wasn’t group. That’s good. It’s been good, it--”

He broke off, realizing that he might not be able to go back if things went south. He shouldn’t, at any rate; it was a risk to everyone there. Maybe Cole wouldn’t out him, but someone else might recognize him and wind up hassling the other group members.

Or worse. He had enemies. If they tracked him to where he was vulnerable--

_(InhaleExhaleInhaleExhale)_

“I ran into someone outside. He, ah, knew me. From before.” He shifted, for a moment wondering if he ought to tell Sam about the photographer -- about the risk Steve posed to the group’s privacy, and potentially their safety.

If he were a better man, he would.

But maybe Jack Simon wasn’t as good a man as Captain America was.

“I shook his hand,” he blurted.

 

That took a second, but he nodded, fighting down the impulse to smile and congratulate him. It clearly hadn’t been easy, or without repercussion.

“How’re you doing in the aftermath of that?” Sam asked instead.

Clearly not great, or he wouldn’t be holed up in here, alone.

“Triggered a panic attack?” he hazarded, not having to work to sound sympathetic. He’d been there, done that. Mostly on the floor in bathrooms, public and otherwise, so at least Jack was up one on him, at least as far as sanitation went.

 

“Something like that,” Steve agreed, grimly. “I’m... better now, I think. Just zoned out and lost track of time.”

It was embarrassing, but when he chanced a look up at Sam, there was nothing in his face that made it worse.

“Just didn’t want him to realize what a mess I was, you know? I mean, apart from--” he gestured vaguely to all of himself. Cole had clearly been able to tell he wasn’t in peak condition, but at least he didn’t know _how bad_ it was. “Seemed like the lesser of two evils at the time. Hell, it’s just a _handshake,”_ he said with exasperation.

 

“No trigger is ever just what it is on the surface. You were here a week or so back-- you wouldn’t tell Craig to get over it, because it’s just _a building_ , would you? Not everything is getting back on the horse. You gotta let yourself ease into it, when you can. And when you can’t, when you feel like you gotta, but you react badly like today… look man, don’t be hard on yourself for it. You were able to do it at all, that’s an impressive amount of willpower. Kudos to you for managing in the first place.”

It was a slightly rough pep talk, but he knew from the VA that it helped; some brusqueness kept him from falling into the same category as the self loathing pity party that some folks fell into.

“Is there anything I can get you? Water? The meeting room’s full now with the next group, but we could go back to the coffee place, if you need a pick me up after that crash.”

 

Steve almost brushed off Sam’s offer; the man already went way above and beyond, and Steve probably had enough people worrying about him already.

But he couldn’t exactly stay. If the other group -- the one with Cole’s friend -- let out when Steve was still lurking around, he risked running into Cole again. And while he knew Loki would worry if he took too long in getting back to the tower, he still felt too edgy to go back just yet. Remembering the vodka incident, it seemed better to give himself more time before dealing with his other friends.

“Coffee doesn’t sound half bad,” he replied, smiling crookedly up at Sam. “...Thanks.”

 

“Yeah, no problem, man. You just gotta let me sign out on the way out the door, and then we can head out.”

Signing out wasn’t strictly required, but he liked to keep track of how long they ran. Keep things feeling structured and official, despite this not being part of the day job.

He shuffled out of the way, giving Jack room to get up without risking another contact, another cause for anxiety.

“Other than today, how’ve you been since I saw you last?”

Sometimes it helped to distract. And if the topic seemed bad, he could always redirect.

 

“Actually, pretty good,” he admitted. “L-- Luke and I did better.” He stumbled a little over the name, but remembered Loki’s alias with Stark Industries just in time.

“He’s going back to work on a part-time basis, which I think is good for him,” he continued to cover his slip. “And I got some pretty great news from-- ah, a specialist I’ve been dealing with. Some physical stuff I was worried would be permanent is actually going to heal fully, so that’s a real relief.”

He followed a pace or two after Sam, hands shoved into his pockets.

 

Luke.

Sam filed the information away-- not to use, necessarily, unless he saw things take a downward turn that warranted him poking around. But it was rude to forget stuff like that. Made people think you weren’t listening.

“That _is_ good.” Sam returned, turning to look back at Jack, then stopped and nodded to his empty hand.

“You forget your cane somewhere again?”

He remembered Jack having to go back for it last time, and he got it. It was still new, something he wasn’t used to needing, yet.

Though… he was moving alright, surprisingly, for not having it.

 

“Hm? Oh, no, didn’t bring it today.” No longer relying on it or having to keep track of it was a relief, Steve found, even more than the lack of constant pain.

He ought to tell Loki as much. He’d be pleased.

Bracing himself as they headed out the front doors and into the cold, he still felt his breath stolen away by the frigid wind that blew down the narrow corridor of the street. It stung, but at the same time, it was grounding; the dark silence of the church had allowed him to sort of _float_ in his struggle to come down from his panic, until he lost track of time, of his surroundings, of everything but the rhythm of his own breath.

Outside, the sharp sensation of air on his face made it almost impossible to ignore the world around him in pointed detail.

 

Well that was… offhand and odd. Like it was completely normal to Jack for him to be back ambulatory without any sign there’d been an injury, just a week after Sam had seen him limping and needing the assistance of the cane.

Not even all that long after he made it sound like he wasn’t sure it’d ever heal at all.

But he knew the guy’s boyfriend was StarkMed, so maybe it was normal. They probably worked weirder miracles all the time.

Sam decided not to ask outright; Jack was too good at evading that.

“So you ready for Luke to go back to work? I know you said you felt smothered, but it’s not gonna leave you in any sort of a lurch is it?”

He kept them moving, not pushing the speed, despite his curiosity about Jack’s suddenly better leg.

He’d work around to it.

 

“He’s mostly scheduling himself to be out when I’m at physio or here or otherwise busy,” Steve explained. “But I’m good. I think it’s good for us both.” For Loki to feel a sense of purpose and achievement would be a good thing, and the space would hopefully keep them from lashing out at each other on the bad days.

“He actually went out yesterday with a friend. Caught a Broadway show. Afterwards we watched a movie together and reconnected and it was nice to have something new to talk about, you know?”

Something besides Steve’s healing and their own anxieties, at any rate.

He chewed the inside of his lip thoughtfully. “You didn’t seem too surprised to find me in the chapel back there. I’m guessing I’m not the first person to run out and lose it a little?”

 

Sam nodded along, glad to hear things at home for him seemed a little better, even if not by leaps and bounds.

It sounded like progress was being made, and that was what mattered.

“You’re far from the first person, and maybe one of the more understated ones. I mean, I’ve had people get up and leave, or leave during the break, and usually they’re a little harder to check in on-- at that point all I can do is call, so I’m grateful you decided to decompress in the building.”

He tilted his head.

“There a reason you defaulted to the chapel? I didn’t think to ask last time about your churchiness. But I know it helps some folk that we do it there, and some… not so much.”

 

Steve shrugged. “Seemed like the quietest place to go,” he confessed. With its low ceiling, modern blockiness and orthodox decorating scheme, It didn’t bear much resemblance to the churches he’d been used to from his youth; he had to wonder if that was maybe a good thing. He’d struggled so much to reconcile his faith with his romantic inclinations, and struggled with his faith in general after his mother’s death, that while he still had belief, his religiosity was a bit of a fraught subject to think about. There was a lot of guilt and self-reproach there.

“Guess I’m still technically Catholic, but it’s complicated,” he added after a moment. “But it doesn’t bother me that we do it here. It’s a good space.”

 

Sam smiled easily. “Feel like I know a lot of ‘complicated Catholics’. But I’m glad it’s not gonna make things stressful for you, group being there.”

He was happy enough to drop the subject; it was one that didn’t make for good dinner conversation, and, considering Jack’s hesitation, he guessed it didn’t make for good post-panic conversation either.

Then again, he had said Catholic, and after his hedginess as far as his relationship went, that made a certain amount of sense.

He let the silence sit for a few seconds while they kept walking, making the cold take the center of his attention.

He rubbed his hands together before plunging them back in his pockets, his patience not extending to the process of putting on and taking off gloves every time he went through a door.

“Man, I hate to be that guy, but I am real excited for Spring to get here. Summer, not as much, but…” he shook his head and exhaled, a cloud billowing dramatically outward. “How bout you? Looking forward to it warming up some? Or are you one of those cold blooded people? All excited about the flak white stuff.”

 

Steve laughed and shook his head. “Aw hell no. I’ve had enough cold for a lifetime,” he replied. Several lifetimes, probably. “Even if I don’t have to worry these days about the heat getting turned off ‘cause we couldn’t pay, I’m still not a fan.”

And once spring came... He and Loki would be able to go out. See Central Park and the botanical gardens and maybe go out to Coney Island in the summer.

“You said you were from D.C., right? What prompted the move up to New York?” he ask, regarding Sam sidelong.

 

“Moved here from DC-- but I was born and raised in Queens. Came back to be closer to the family. We had a little scare a while back-- grandma’s cooking’s been a little too good for grandpa, and he had a small stroke. Everything’s good now, but I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t spend as much time as I could with them, you know?”

They were getting close to the coffee shop now, and Sam kept an eye on Jack to see how he reacted to this- not everyone could handle other people talking about their problems. Which was a good reason to keep it light-- a past problem, something already fixed, or on the mend.

He’d said he used to be the steady one for his boyfriend, and that he couldn’t be any more. Sam wondered how far that extended.

 

Steve nodded. “I’m sorry to hear your grandfather was sick. I’m glad things are going better,” he replied. And then, because Sam spoke about his family without any of the ire Loki did, which indicated there probably wasn’t any hostility there: “I imagine your family must be thrilled to have you back up here, even if the winters are a pain.”

It was funny that both of them were native New Yorkers who had done a stint in DC before returning, like prodigal sons. He and Sam seemed to have a surprising amount in common now that he thought about it.

“Considering you’re running this group now, guess I’m also pretty lucky you moved up this way,” he added with a quick smile, reaching out to hold to the door open for Sam.

 

“Man, you should see us in the summertime. Kids crawling everywhere, barbecues every other weekend or so. We’re a tight knit group, so me moving back was like I gave everyone an extra Christmas.”

He shook his head, giving Jack room when he went into the coffee shop.

 

“Thanks. And, hey you know, right place at the right time. If not me, you’d find another group; I know there’s a few others at least. One in Queens, one on the south shore. There’d be options.”

Which, maybe that was reassuring to know; that he wasn’t stuck with them here if he decided it wasn’t working out.

“Glad you found us, though. I think this is a good fit, at least, from what I’ve seen, what I know so far.”

Which was to say, not much, really. But personality wise…

“You’re a good listener. And we’re a group of good listeners, if and when you decide you need to or want to talk.”

 

Steve thought of barbecues and children running around underfoot and found himself feeling a little wistful. He’d never had a big family -- it had always been him and his ma -- but he’d join the Barneses sometimes for family holidays and remembered the shrieks and giggles of Bucky’s little sisters and the smell of his mother’s pot roast.

They were good memories.

He wondered if Stark had a grill on the roof somewhere.

And while it was comforting to know there were other groups that met, he doubted that whoever ran them would also check on Steve after every meeting and go out and grab coffee to talk through his problems time and time again.

“I feel bad for missing out on the second half of group,” he remarked, approaching the counter to order. “Was Trey doing okay?” He couldn’t imagine sharing had been terribly easy, and wondered what they’d focused on in the latter portion of the evening.

 

Sam looked slyly at Jack, his lips crooking up on one side.

“I don’t talk about group outside of group. But yeah, he’s doing all right. Progress, you know, one day at a time.” He tilted his head. “You are allowed to make friends though, you know that right? I know some of them hang out outside of group from time to time. Card games, watch baseball kind of things. So you can ask him yourself, next time you see him. Building a community’s half the point of the group.”

And Sam tried his best to encourage it, keep an eye on it, but let that sort of thing grow on its own, without anyone feeling like he was supervising.

He wasn’t quite a school teacher, but sometimes it felt like there was a line he shouldn’t be crossing, when he was leading the group.

Like maybe getting coffee with Jack every week, though that seemed to be doing more help than anything else.

 

“Like going and grabbing coffee after?” Steve asked, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

He knew Sam was the group facilitator, but he’d also said in that first session that he wasn’t a doctor -- he was a peer. And that meant he was one of them, right?

And maybe that was -- maybe he was overstepping bounds. But Sam was going above and beyond to help him right now, and if Steve could offer friendship in return... Well. Still seemed like he was coming out ahead in that deal. But it couldn’t hurt to offer.

He ordered a decaf, milk and sugar, and stepped aside for Sam to place his order, noting that the corner table they’d staked out last time was free, quickly grabbing the seat with the view of the door.

 

“Ha.” He answered, in the half second he got before they needed to order or get out of the way.

Jack got himself squared up, and headed for a table.

He got his usual and thanked the barista, dropping a few singles into the tip jar.

Jack had managed to snag the same place they’d sat on their last visit, and Sam found himself smiling at that, too.

“You know, we run a pretty solid risk of becoming regulars here. Next time, I’m gonna ask if they have a rewards card or something.”

 

Steve chuckled a little at that. “Maybe one of those punch card things,” he suggested. “Not a bad idea.” He stood up and picked up his coffee when the barista called it out, returning to his seat a moment later and holding the cup between his hands. After the biting cold outside, the warmth was good.

Sam hadn’t done anything to set him straight about not making friends with the group leader, which seemed, if not promising, at least not discouraging.

“I’m still finding my way around the city. Manhattan was never really my usual stomping grounds, and a lot’s changed in Brooklyn since I lived there. Feel like I could use some places to make into regular haunts,” he mused, sipping the coffee. He hadn’t ventured out of Stark Tower very much, even when he’d been in good health, since he and Loki fled to New York. Maybe getting out and rediscovering the city would be a good use of his time.

 

“Yeah, I feel the same. A lot of the buildings haven’t changed, but the stuff inside them has gone all different. Takes some getting used to, especially since it feels like the city changes every time you blink. I don’t spend near as much time around here as I probably should, but… like I said, pretty much the whole Wilson clan is back in Queens, so. Lots of commuting.”

He got up to retrieve his own order when it came up and settled down back across from Jack.

“You know, it’s actually amazing how much better you move than the last time I saw you. Whatever you’re doing, seems like it’s working.” He couldn’t help but be curious about that-- specialists, Jack had said. In what, he wondered.

 

Steve shifted in his seat, abruptly self-conscious. “Ah, yeah... Luke knows some good doctors,” he mumbled, which was technically true; Loki worked with Dr. Ortega and knew both her and Dr. Cho, who were pioneers in their field. “And my physical therapist is a really great guy.” Also true; Amir hadn’t slapped him upside the head, even when he was being a gloomy pain in the ass.

Still, it probably was best not to draw too much attention to the speed of his physical recovery, especially as it would start to grow more noticeable. He wondered what he’d do when he started to look more and more like Captain America... would the group stop being an option? Or would he ask Loki to cast a glamour on him? Maybe, he thought, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw, he’d grow out a full beard...

He searched for a change of topic. “So you take care of your family, you take care of vets, and you take care of the folks who come to the group, even when they don’t talk and occasionally hide in the chapel. Anybody you _don’t_ take care of?” he teased, sipping more coffee.

 

Sam shrugged, aware that maybe he should be self-conscious, and equally aware that it wouldn’t do him any good.

“Well, see, that’s the secret: you can’t feel bad for yourself while you’re helping other folks. It’s a rule, I’m pretty sure. Or if it isn’t, it ought to be.”

He took a drink that was mostly steaming foam, and grinned.

“How bout you-- you worry about your boyfriend, about Trey, about me-- anybody you don’t worry about?”

 

“Heh...” Steve took another sip. “Probably not.” He _did_ worry. About Loki, about his friends, about HYDRA and Thanos and who knew what else, and not being able to help...

“I think I worry even more when I feel like I can’t do anything to fix it,” he added grimly.

 

Sam nodded sagely.

“That’s usually how it works. Good news is, there _is_ something you can do. Doing it now, in fact-- just talking, letting them know you’re thinking about them, it goes a long way. Again, that’s why group exists the way it does. Even the folks who don’t hang out much, they’re still familiar faces who know your story, or bits of it, or don’t, but they can empathize.”

 

Just talking hardly seemed like enough. “Guess I’m used to being a bit more action-oriented,” Steve remarked, sighing. It might go a ways, but if aliens attacked, just talking wasn’t going to save anyone.

“How did you transition? After leaving the Air Force and not physically saving people anymore?” he asked.

 

“Sounds like your boyfriend isn’t the only one who prioritizes actions over words.” He said a little slyly, arching his eyebrow.

Still, he took a drink.

“It sucked.” He told him bluntly. “I was a mess. But I had a guy I knew, we weren’t even really friends, and he was way worse. Considering ending things levels of worse, and he was pretty isolated. Couldn’t do _nothing,_ so I stepped up, talked to him. Turns out jumping out of planes isn’t the only thing that clears my head like that. So I figured out that maybe I’m not the worst at this, and went from there.” He shrugged.

“Is that what you were doing after the army? Physically saving people?”

It was a weird way of wording it, like it was a shared experience, but Sam was pretty sure he’d never specified what he did in the Air Force.

 

Steve nodded, brow creasing. He hadn’t figured he was the first person Sam went out of his way to talk to and help, but this proved it. It made sense -- another way of saving lives -- and Sam was good at it.

Steve, on the other hand, would probably just wind up with his foot in his mouth.

“Trying to, anyway,” he answered. “I mean, mostly just by dealing with threats -- not quite like pararescue, but--” He shrugged. “Does it ever scare you, worrying you might say the wrong thing and make it all worse? Deflecting a grenade is one thing, trying to deflect an idea... That seems a lot trickier.”

 

Sam felt his brows lowering, and stopped them quick, trying to think. _Had_ he said…?

“Violence is pretty straight forward, yeah. People, almost never that. But… it’s better to try and mess up than not try at all, right? Or… if you can tell you’re messing up. Like I said, sometimes the important thing is just the person knowing they aren’t alone, that there’s someone thinking of them, or witnessing what they’re going through… and if you can’t handle it, you can always help by finding someone who can.”

He took a drink, finally reaching his tea, then set the cup down, paying close attention to the lid on it when he said--

“Now. You wanna tell me how you found out I was pararescue? Been reading up on me?” He didn’t make the words hard, but he did look up to gauge Jack’s reaction.

 

Steve’s eyes widened. _Damn._ Sam had told him he was Air Force, but now that he thought about it, it was only because of Natasha that he’d known about pararescue.

For a second he considered lying, telling Sam he mentioned it before. Or that someone in group had told him, because surely someone there knew?

But no. Making Sam doubt himself was cruel, as was throwing someone else under the bus. He slouched, pulling a face. “ _I_ didn’t,” he explained, “but, ah. My “scary redhead” friend? I think did some digging on you before bringing me to the VA. She mentioned it the first time you and I met.”

She probably wouldn’t be happy Steve had shared that. And Sam probably wasn’t happy either. But Steve spent so much time now avoiding the truth to try to make other people happy or to protect his identity, he was starting to really hate himself every time he lied.

 

“Huh.” Sam said, not sure how he felt about that.

It made a certain amount of sense, though, and he guessed he should be flattered that he apparently had her approval.

“So… what else you know, what else she find out about me that I haven’t told you yet? Seems you got me at a little bit of a disadvantage, since, you know, I’m not allowed to know about you.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little grumpy, all things considered; Jack got to keep all his secrets, and Sam would ask, but wouldn’t go hunting for answers unless it was a matter of safety. Jack, though, and his friends, clearly didn’t have that kind of respect for Sam’s privacy.

It was hard to feel too happy about that.

 

Steve tried not to cringe at the way Sam’s face went carefully blank. He was upset; and he had a right to be.

“Nothing,” he insisted. “She told me you were former Air Force and Pararescue, you were a peer counselor and not a traditional therapist, and that you were good people. Anything else, I didn’t ask and she didn’t say.” He didn’t doubt that Natasha had dug up everything there was to know about Sam Wilson, from his mother’s maiden name to his credit score. But he’d figured that if there was anything he needed to know, she’d have told him; he trusted her judgment.

“All the rest -- I only know because you’ve told me, or because I’ve seen it for myself. Your name is Sam Wilson, you’re from Queens but lived in D.C., you hate the winter, and you care about people.” He looked down, sighing. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth. I know it... it sucks, having people know everything about you, or think they do, because they read some file.”

 

He watched Jack’s face, and thought that he was either the best actor who’d ever lived, or the red head probably kicked his ass at poker.

Somehow, just the thought made him relax a little.

“Man, I knew she was scary good at _something_.” Sam said, trying to make light of the situation. It wouldn’t help to alienate Jack now.

“Though for future reference, there’s this website called Linkedin. Real useful for finding references and stuff, without having to dig up old personnel files. And besides that, most counselor, therapist types will do a meeting one on one, let you interview them ahead of time.”

He took a drink of his tea and intentionally relaxed his posture, leaning back in his seat a little more comfortably.

“If you want, if it makes you feel better, we can fake like you haven’t read that file and you can ask me any questions you might have now.”

 

Steve shook his head. “I _haven’t_ read anything. I promise, what I said? That’s all I know.” He hadn’t gone digging on Sam, though the opportunity was right there with all of Tony’s tech so close at hand. Truth be told, it hadn’t really occurred to him. And he hated the thought of Sam thinking Steve had violated his privacy more than he had.

“My friend... she doesn’t really go the straightforward route a lot. I think coming at things complicated and sideways is her default at this point. Like she’s been rewired that way.” Growing up the way Natasha had and spending most of her life as a spy, he could hardly blame her. “You know, that first day at the VA, she actually tricked me into going? Got me to think I was backing her up on a low-level infiltration and recon op. Wasn’t until I was in the room that I figured out I’d been duped,” he explained.

 

Sam startled at that, blinking, and then barked out a laugh.

“Man, what the hell?”

Jack had, from what he was learning, one weird ass support group. But on top of that, it said a lot that, clearly in a bad place, using a cane, a month out of the hospital, on rocky ground with his boyfriend, he’d been willing to help his friend do some sort of mission or assignment or whatever they called it where they worked.

“Where do they even find you people?” Sam asked, shaking his head. “Ha. Alright, well. You can tell her I’m not crazy about her methods, if you tell her anything, but I get… it’s good she’s protective of you, I guess. You don’t stalk people from _not_ caring.”

Or something.

He nodded and gestured at Jack’s decaf.

“I’m not gonna hold it against you. You should drink your coffee, though, before it gets cold, loses all of its good for the soul-ness.”

 

Steve smiled slightly, relieved that Sam didn’t seem too upset anymore. He took a long swig of his coffee as instructed. “She _is_ protective. And she cares, probably even more than she likes to let on about. I’m lucky to have her as a friend, even if she can be a bit... unorthodox,” he agreed.

And then, because he felt like he owed Sam, he took a deep breath:

“I’m from Brooklyn originally. Raised by my mom; she died when I was sixteen. I went to art school for a few years, then dropped out because I couldn’t afford tuition. Then I wound up enlisting, a few months after my best friend signed up. Hated the idea of him going off to fight and die somewhere while I stayed home safe and sound.” He stared down at the lid of his coffee cup as he spoke, watching a few errant drops pool around the rim. “So... now you know a little more about me.”

 

Sam felt his eyes widening, and he nodded.

“Thank you. But, don’t you ever feel like you owe me, or anybody else, anything you don’t want to talk about. It’s not about me knowing, it’s about you talking about it, if it makes you feel better. And it’s not about you knowing about me, it’s about someone I don’t know being able to dig up my life story. There’s a difference.”

He shifted a little, thinking. Then:

“Art school, huh? You revisited your art since your thing?”

 

“Just this weekend, actually,” he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Picked up some paints a friend got me for the first time since school, which... didn’t go so well. But then I also did some sketching last night. Hadn’t done much up to that point because my hands kept shaking, but the tremors are mostly gone now, and... I got my-- got Luke to sit for me.”

The conversation and affection that resulted brought a smile to his lips. “It, ah. Went well.”

 

Sam couldn’t help but smile in response. Jack got that goofy look of someone totally infatuated just from thinking about drawing the guy.

Artists.

“Yeah? That’s great! And things are doing better on that front, too? You guys have that discussion we talked about? Managing expectations, making plans?”

 

“Sort of,” Steve said with a shrug. “We talked. Maybe not as-- as organized as that. The making plans thing didn’t really come together. But I brought up how I was worried about him and burnout, and we agreed that he’d be looped in to updates on all my medical stuff since that’s been an area of stress for him. There’s more we probably need to work on, but things right now are in a better place than they were. Or at least, I’m not losing my mind over it as much as I was.”

He’d let Loki heal his leg, which seemed to help Loki as much as it helped him. Loki also now had full access to all his medical files and Dr. Ortega had been instructed to CC him on all her emails to Steve regarding his scans and progress updates.

(And there had been the nightmares and the rosemary...)

 

“Hey, it’s a start. Baby steps, right?”

Sounded like Jack was at least working on it, which was great-- he often had to encourage people four, five times before they acted on advice. It was a process, but… like his leg and him being here, Jack seemed to be all about speeding things along as much as possible.

Which could be great, or it could lead to burnout or a total crash and burn, if he slipped in the process and judged himself too harshly for it, which Sam had a real strong feeling was something that he did. Probably often.

But, baby steps.

 

“And him going back to work will probably help, too. Keep him from focusing all his energy on you, keep both of you from being antsy.”

 

“Yeah. I think it’ll be good for him to have something he can actually fix,” Steve remarked. He might be healing, and Loki had clearly been thrilled to mend his leg, but there were things only time, Steve, and maybe God could fix, if he was lucky. Loki having other people to help -- that was good.

The fact that Loki _helped people_ was good too.

He finished off his coffee, enjoying the sense of warmth it suffused him with, chasing the cold from his bones. The sharp, stinging cold of the wind outside wasn’t like the slow, seeping cold of the cell he’d been kept in. But it lingered in the same way, and he was grateful for the chance to banish it.

 

Maybe he’d have another hot drink when he got home. He was beginning to regret walking to the church this time, since now he’d have to walk home in the cold and his leg, while no longer damaged, was still weaker than it had been, the muscle aching a bit from all the strain, if not from injury.

“Not sure it’ll stop the antisiness, though,” he added, smiling ruefully. “I keep wanting to _move._ ”

 

Sam felt his lips thinning at the prospect of Jack considering himself just something in need of fixing-- him and every other hurt person.

“You know, the folks that leave Stark’s medical lab might be better off, physically speaking, but I know not even Starktech can do magic. There’ll be a whole process for them after that. Cause healing’s always a process-- not a fix.” He kept the reproach as gentle as he could.

“He’s no more fixing them than he is fixing you, is all I’m saying. And I hope it’s not him putting that in those terms.”

 

Steve bit his lip. He couldn’t explain to Sam that Loki _could_ fully heal Steve’s body, only Steve wasn’t letting him. That the patients he was healing at Stark Tower were, for the most part, sick in body, but not completely screwed up in the head.

Couldn’t explain that it was, quite literally, magic.

“I guess,” he said instead. “And no, of course it’s not. I just... know it has to be more fulfilling to have tangible results. To help someone and heal them and not have them flinch away from you when you try to help because something in their head can’t tell the difference between you and the guys who--”

He broke off abruptly, and shook his head, as if he could dislodge the image of Scofield from his mind’s eye.

 

“Hey, nah, if that’s where the breakdown is, I get why you’re trying to kick your own ass over this. But it’s not just ‘something in your head’, man. It’s...like I said, it’s a _process_ , right? You get a burn, it’s hard to differentiate right away between someone poking it to be cruel, and someone putting ice on it. I don’t know if I can continue that comparison, but… yeah, he’s solving tangible, physical problems at his work, and you’re also getting physically better, but the intangible stuff? The stuff that twists things around in your mind? Harder to measure, but you’re working on trying to get better from that, too. Only, unlike a broken leg or something, I can’t slap a cast on your feelings and tell you not to be too rough on them. And you guys just have to figure out how he can help with that process, if you want him to. Even if that means him needing to stop trying.”

Not for the first time, Sam wished he knew the other guy, because it was always hard to know how much was a real concern and how much was Jack’s fear and stresses coming out in one of the only places he had to talk about them.

“I’m sure you’re right, and I’m sure he doesn’t like that he doesn’t know as much about intangible injuries as he does about physical ones. But even if you guys can’t talk about what caused them, maybe you can learn about moving forward, treating them, getting past them, even, together.”

 

Steve flinched at the mention of ice on a burn. Sam had no way of knowing how close to home that particular analogy was, and clearly meant nothing by it. But the flesh on his spine crawled all the same.

He tried to focus on the rest of what Sam was saying; about processes, and healing.

“We’re working on it,” he said, slumping a little. “Guess I’m just not too patient. And I don’t really know how to tell him to help because I’m not sure how to make it better. We’ve mostly found what makes me go into a tailspin just by blundering into it. I mean, if there’s an instruction manual for this...”

 

Sam shook his head.

“There never is. And while, if I knew more, I could probably point you in the right direction… hm. Look: what happened to you, no matter what it is, I’m almost sure you aren’t the only person to have experienced it. Humans can be shitty, but they are pretty damn predictable. Coming to group helps, right? Listening helps? Have you tried looking up what happened to you online? Some folks, they never feel comfortable sharing their story with other people. Some share their stories, their processes, online. It won’t be a manual, because it really is different for everyone, but maybe it’ll help. Give you some ideas to try. And… if there’s anything you aren’t sure about, anything you want guidance on, or a second opinion before you try to implement it, you got my number, right?”

He wasn’t sure if he had another personal card on him at the moment. But worse things worse, he could always just put his contact info right into Jack’s phone.

 

Steve grimaced. He _knew_ he wasn’t the only one to be tortured by HYDRA; Bucky had been, back in Azzano. But Bucky was dead now, for over 69 years now, and Steve could hardly ask him his story now.

He hadn’t asked it then, either. Bucky had pulled away, and Steve had left it alone, afraid to poke at an open wound. Instead he’d let Bucky fight, hoping that would help, hoping the sense of purpose would ground him. And instead he’d gotten him killed.

He swallowed, then nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I do.”

He’d programmed Sam’s number into his phone from the card he’d given him, though he hadn’t texted him yet. He didn’t want to abuse -- whatever this was, dumping on Sam more than he always was. It wasn’t fair.

Though... That gave him an idea.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he looked at it for a moment, then huffed, his mouth twisting wryly. He tapped out a message, and a moment later, Sam’s phone buzzed from within his jacket.

 

> _Its jack._

 

“Now you’ve got mine too,” he said. “I probably can’t offer much that’s worthwhile in terms of guidance or any of that, but... if you ever just need someone to hear you, a pretty smart guy I know told me I’m a good listener.” He smiled slightly, looking up at Sam.

 

Sam was-- oddly touched.

He would never say that the others in the group were selfish-- the point of being in the group was that they shared and listened in equal measure, but his shares were usually reserved for backing up someone else, making an example out of himself.

He couldn’t actually recall the last time someone offered to listen for his benefit.

“You are; and with a good heart, to boot. Don’t think I won’t use it, either. In the meantime, I’m taking a cab today-- you wanna split one and I can have the driver drop you somewhere?”

 

Steve hesitated. He’d walked here, and the tower wasn’t far. But it was a longer walk than he really wanted to make on a leg that wasn’t at full strength, and in this cold. But then, the tower was a conspicuous address...

“Union Station?” he asked. It was right across from Stark Tower, and a far more typical destination, after all. “I can catch the train from there.” Enough lines came together there that it made sense, he hoped.

 

“You got it.” Sam told him, phone still in hand from adding Jack to his contacts. “You ready soon, or would you rather stay for another cup? I got time, if you do, but no pressure.”

He didn’t want him to feel like he was rushing him off.

“I know they don’t particularly like you to bring drinks on trains, but we can always grab a couple to go, too. We may be able to finish before we hit the station, depending on traffic.”

He shook his head, never quite over travel in the city.

 

Steve sighed. He could stay for another cup and talk more with Sam. He _liked_ talking with Sam. but it was getting late, and Loki would undoubtedly be done with his work on the medical levels, and if Steve lingered for too long...

“I should get back before he starts to worry,” he said, pushing his chair back. “Shall we?”

The two of them got up, threw out the empty cups, and headed back out into the cold.

 

-o-

 

 

Later that evening, back in the tower, Steve sat up in bed with his laptop balanced across his knees.

When he’d retired to his room, he’d pulled his wallet and phone from his coat pockets before hanging it up, and in doing so had found the photographer’s business card. The memory made his heart-rate skip and his hand twitch, but he’d managed to keep himself in check with a few deep breaths.

But eventually, curiosity began to outweigh his distress.

 

_I did what you said._

 

‘Cole Cooper’ the card read. ‘Photographer / photojournalist.’ And below, a URL.

So he’d got out his computer and typed in the address, clicking with a mix of intrigue and trepidation.

The page that came up was fairly simple. There was a bio, with a picture of Cole, looking much better-groomed than he had outside the church, listing where he’d gone to school, and only mentioning his work as a paparazzo obliquely -- ‘ _a former candid celebrity photographer, Cole has shifted the focus of his work to less glamorous subject matter.’_ (Steve snorted)

He clicked ‘gallery’, and up popped the photos.

Some of them Steve recognized from Cole’s camera. Others weren’t images he’d seen before, but the content was all too familiar.

There were images of poverty. Of desolation. But, he was both surprised and pleased to note, images of humanity. He’d half expected, half-feared something that exploited human misery as much as the gossip rags exploited popularity. But the majority of the photos treated their subjects with dignity, and when Steve clicked on a few of them for an enlarged view, there was accompanying text, which on closer inspection were quotes and anecdotes from the people in the photos.

They were sad, at times. Grim, and tragic. But many were hopeful, and some were even funny.

Artistically speaking, Cole had a damn good eye for composition.

There were articles too, links to stories in something called “The Guardian” and even a small feature in the weekend edition of the Bugle. ‘ _Photographer calls for action to help Manhattan Homeless, with series focusing on urban poor’s plight.’_

There was a short interview with Cole, which Steve skimmed, until he reached the end:

“ _Someone I admire told me once,” Cooper said, “that people may not want to look at something, but that’s maybe a reason why they really should. Because when they have to face it and acknowledge it, they have to do something about it. And we should all be doing something good in the world.”_

The words echoed in his memory, and Steve read them a few more times before sitting back with a short laugh.

He’d said what he had that night outside the restaurant because he’d been ticked off, not actually believing he’d be listened to.

And yet...

And yet Cole had listened and done what he’d said. There was photographic proof here. And not, he noted, a single image of Loki or himself.

“Well, how about that,” he murmured, closing the laptop and setting it aside, reaching for the light.

 

He probably owed Sam their next round of coffees.

It seemed there was some power in ‘just talking’ after all.

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't remember Steve and Loki's first paparazzi encounter, check out chapter 36!


	98. Ninety Eight

With Steve gone, and enough time spent in their rooms as it was, Loki was almost antsy to be out of them. Not that he didn’t appreciate them, or like them, but… he didn’t want to think of them as a cell, either, and he knew that, especially in light of their discussion about laying low...he could well be in danger of it.

But at least he’d gotten to go out the day before, and at least he could move with relative ease within the tower. A gilded cage, he might once have called it, but these days… it also kept those who would harm Steve well away from him. And for that he was infinitely grateful. And grateful to Natasha for guarding him while he was out of the tower, and thus allowing Loki the chance to work with Ortega.

Though he knew he would need to see Natasha again soon, for another bout of training. They just left him feeling so drained… even when they went well. And he knew Steve would notice. It was damnably inconvenient. But wholly necessary-- he was still convinced of that, even knowing that Steve would recover.

But, fortunately, with Natasha and Steve out of the tower, it gave him time to focus on the work ahead of him.

He pulled on the lab coat that Ortega gave him, followed her into another room, and got to work.

  
  


\---

  
  


Finished for the day, and drained enough to know that he should not-- it would not be advisable for him to go to Natasha for another training day, even though it was certainly late enough, and she and Steve must be back now.

Still, it had been long enough since he had seen her, and he was loathe to have her think that he still only had us of her company when she was doing something for him… training him.

He didn’t want he to feel used, again, and unwanted.

And so it might be worth dropping by, if only for a brief visit. And if they could schedule for another session before he left, at least he would have made something of a personable visit first.

That decided, he pressed the elevator button for her floor and allowed it to take him to her.

He wouldn’t take up too much of her time, he decided.

He was too tired to stay for long, anyway.

He knocked, not surprised when she answered a few moments later-- he’d known he’d taken long enough that they would be returned from Steve’s therapy. But he was surprised by her appearance.

She was not.. Altogether herself. Or at least, she did not look like herself.

Gone was her composure, her masks of indifference or distance.

She looked as if she had been crying.

Instantly his smile fell away, and he reached for her, only making it so far as to rest his hand on her arm.

“Natasha?” He asked, soft, “What’s wrong?”

He fought the panic that something had happened-- that she and Steve had argued, or that Steve had said something to her of what had been done to him…

  
  


She almost didn’t open the door, but for a knock to come this late in the evening, it was likely something important.

Wiping at her eyes and composing herself (there was nothing she could do about the redness, but she could at least keep her face schooled), Natasha took a deep breath and yanked it open.

She started at the sight of Loki, shifted into his male form, the way he did for their sessions. “Shit,” she mumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Did we-- did we have something on the books for tonight?” Had she completely forgotten? She cast around in her memory but couldn’t recall arranging anything--

  
  


“Not at all.” He assured her quickly. “I came only as a social call… I thought I might ask you to come and have a tea with me, but it looks as if you are… in some distress. Are you alright?”

She didn’t look _injured_ at least, though that was a small comfort, and he found himself uncomfortable because he had no idea what could do this to her, outside of someone she cared for. And that only left more fears of her suffering a falling out with Steve.

Which might make him the person she wanted to see least, now, if that were the case.

“If you’d like to talk about it, I am happy to listen.” He added, hoping not to be turned away.

  
  


Natasha blinked, not sure which surprised her more -- that Loki had stopped by for a purely social call all on his own, or the offer to listen to her problems with no apparent strings attached.

“I... That’s kind of you to offer,” she replied carefully. “But I know you have your hands full with Steve. Isn’t he home by now?”

  
  


Loki felt his eyebrows raise.

“I… were you not with him? I understood that you took him to his group therapy meetings.” He spoke carefully, trying not to sound accusatory, but he felt a spike of cold fear run through him. “I have not seen him yet, if that is not the case, I-- JARVIS? Is Steve home and safe?” He asked, just to be certain.

“ _Yes, Captain Rogers is in the shower. Do you want me to ask him to join you?”_

The smooth, soothing voice was quick to reassure, and Loki shook his head.

“No, that’s-- that’s fine, thank you.”

Thus able to return his attention to Natasha, he grimaced.

“I apologize; I admit I was afraid Steve had said something unkind to put you in such a state. Still-- I am happy to listen. Steve is otherwise occupied, as it is.”

  
  


She stepped back slightly; Loki’s tone was gentle, but she couldn’t help feel like she’d erred somehow. “I... He said last week he’d go on his own, moving forward. Took a cab,” she explained. And then, to avoid seeming remiss: “I put a tracker under his coat collar, just in case.”

An invasion of privacy? Yes, probably. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to allow a repeat of what happened with HYDRA.

She thought about sending Loki on his way, but then decided against it. Perhaps a distraction would help. Opening the door further, she stepped out of the way, giving Loki room to follow.

“Has Steve been saying unkind things?” she asked carefully, concerned that it was Loki’s first assumption. It made a certain amount of sense, given he’d thought them to have been in recent contact, but it also worried her, especially in the aftermath of the night they’d come over for borscht.

  
  


He didn’t like it, but he wouldn’t push her on it, despite the fact that she seemed to be trying to shift his attention to Steve rather than whatever it was that was bothering her.

That was a conversation he could have with Steve later; he didn’t want him going out alone, not yet, but he had a feeling it would lead to another fight if he said as much.

“Only when he feels cornered, or has bottled his emotions. We had a talk recently, and we are… working to communicate better. To avoid it. But… since it was not that…”

He stepped inside and gave her space to close the door.

“I will not question you, Natasha. But there is clearly something wrong. Steve and I are fine, for the time being, and you have been a great help, when we have not been. Please, if there is any way that I can return the favor now, you have only to say.”

  
  


She moved over to the couch and sat down, lips pursed firmly together.

On the one hand, this was her problem. It didn’t concern or affect the Avengers, and there was little to be gained in terms of intelligence or tactical advantage by sharing. It was her mess, and she dealt with her own messes.

On the other, Loki was offering. Loki was here. And rejecting the offer could compromise her relationship with Loki, which seemed to have turned a corner a while back into something closer to friendship than a purely utilitarian transaction.

Silence lingered for several more moments, then she nodded to the plain manilla folder sitting on the coffee table, sliding it over to Loki to open.

“The man in that photo,” she said quietly, as Loki opened the folder to reveal the picture on top, “is Osman Yilmaz. I cultivated him as an informant early in my career. Initially I blackmailed him for his cooperation, to help me get the information I needed,” she explained, looking at her hands. “I wasn’t a very nice person then. But he was useful, so I kept using him. At one point, he ran into trouble -- someone threatening his wife -- so I took care of it. I saw it as protecting an investment, but he... He didn’t keep helping me only because of the blackmail after that.” She swallowed.

“Even when I switched to SHIELD, Yilmaz remained my best asset in Anatolia. We weren’t friends, but I. I valued him.”

  
  


Loki looked at what she wanted him to see; the man was unremarkable, save that he meant something to her, and so Loki looked harder, trying to see kindness or care, or something especially good about his face. Something that would cause Natasha to be upset for his loss.

But he didn’t know him, and it didn’t matter to him, directly. Save that it clearly mattered to his friend.

“What happened to him?” He asked gently. “And-- how did you find out?” It seemed likely that her finding out was recent at least, but whether or not she blamed herself for his death was his next concern.

  
  


Natasha waited a beat, then leaned over, flipping the page in the folder and a few faxed documents in Turkish to reveal the next photo.

She didn’t need to look at it anymore; the crime scene image, in all its gorey voyeurism, was seared into her mind with perfect clarity.

“I last contacted Yilmaz six weeks ago,” she said. “Twelve hours ago, he, his wife, and their two daughters were murdered in their home. I was just sent the information from a SHIELD agent embedded in a Turkish bureaucratic office.” She spoke flatly, as if giving a report during a debrief. But there was a slight waver in her voice when she said the next words:

“The word written on the wall--” in blood “--translates to ‘rat.’”

  
  


That was more than Loki had been expecting-- bad enough the man had been killed, but his entire family as well, and so viciously…

“Is it likely that he worked as an informant to others besides you? Six weeks is a long time between your contacting him and his-- their--” murder, was the word, but it was more than that; he was being made an example of, obviously, or there would be no need to have a message.

He closed the folder and sat it beside him, out of her reach, and leaned forward.

“No matter who did this, who he crossed, whether it was at your request or not, you did not do this, Natasha. You know that, yes?”

  
  


“He wasn’t an informant before I met him. Even if he did work with others, I’m the one who forced him into the espionage game. He didn’t have a choice then.” She exhaled through her nose, studying the couch upholstery. “As far as I know, he didn’t work with anyone else. Like I said, there was... a kind of loyalty. I never told any of my contacts at the KGB about him when I worked there, and as far as I know, the only people who knew about him were SHIELD. I told them when several of our agents got pinned down in Istanbul with their covers burned, and I got Yilmaz to bring them fresh IDs to get them out.”

At the time, SHIELD had been trustworthy. They’d been her new family, her new home, and using one of her former contacts to save SHIELD agents’ lives had been a way of proving herself.

“I asked him to look into a possible lead on HYDRA, last time we had contact,” she continued, still not looking up. “If SHIELD is compromised, and someone there found out he was digging into things HYDRA wanted kept secret, then that’s on me. Him being involved in any of this, and being in harm’s way? That’s on me.”

She might have given him the chance to get out. Might have cut him loose and let him live his life. But she hadn’t. She had a certain fondness for the man after this many years, and all the solid intel he’d given her, but ultimately she’d valued him more as a tool, and had prioritized his usefulness to her over his safety. And the safety of his two little girls.

“All of that--” she reiterated, voice thick as she jerked her head toward the file, “is on me.”

  
  


Loki shook his head.

“No, his death is on the hands of those who killed him. His safety was never guaranteed, no matter how hard you worked to keep him safe, but he kept working with you just the same. Likely _because_ you kept him as safe as you could. He may not have had a choice in the beginning, but I am certain he had chances, choices… he could have asked you, later, when you got to be more than just… Black Widow and her informant. Your loyalty to him is intact. As is his to you. It is HYDRA, and those traitors from SHIELD who were part of it, who are at fault.”

He was adamant about that. And, though he said it with a little more hesitance,

“You have been teaching me how to use feelings that are useless, make them into something else. Something stronger. Grieve him, but the blame you are attempting to shoulder? That seems like it would be best turned into something more useful. Like vengeance against those who truly did this to him.”

  
  


She hadn’t worked hard enough, and she knew it. But Loki’s words were... kind. And not without wisdom.

Natasha smiled feebly, finally looking up at him. “Guess you were listening after all,” she said. He did have a point; but at the same time--

“Sometimes, I-- I need to know that I can still feel grief over this sort of thing. That I’m not the kind of monster who sees something like that and just moves on. Not anymore.” There was a time in her career when the loss of an informant in such a fashion would have only registered as an inconvenience. The very fact that she did feel this terrible was, in its way, an awful gift. That she was the type of person now who would take responsibility, and who actually gave a damn.

Ideally, she’d be the type of person who didn’t use people and lead them to their deaths at all. But she didn’t suffer under any kind of illusions over who she really was.

  
  


He inclined his head.

“Steve has taught me something of that.” He told her softly. “It is… good to feel. To know you are not made of ice, no matter how strong you feel it would make you if you were. But I have learned… am learning… how to feel without floundering, drowning in the run off. It is not easy, but… I find it is easier with those you care about around you. And those who care about you.”

As she had been around when Loki was nearly suffocating under the weight of his own guilt, while they searched for Steve. As Steve himself had been around when Loki had been forced to look at his misdeeds, the victims of his invasion.

“When I was troubled, we played chess. I do not know if that will help you as it helped me, but if there is something else that comes to mind, something you would draw comfort from… I would offer it, save that… I do not know.”

Because he had done a poor job of learning about her, he realized. She was like solid stone in his mind, unflappable, strong and unwavering. And he had, time and again, treated her no different than she was kicking herself for having treated her informant. As a colleague, someone useful, but hardly a person beyond that.

He’d tried once to use her as a tool, a weapon, to cause himself pain, and he’d resolved after to do better by her.

He hadn’t done it again.

But that was hardly the sort of better he wanted to be, the sort of better that she deserved.

“How do you grieve, where you are from?” He asked, words soft and gentle on purpose, as he pushed his guilt (still useless) away, and turned his attention, instead, to helping her feel without drowning.

  
  


Natasha snorted. “I think the traditional way is to drown the feelings with vodka, and then maybe read some depressing poetry,” she mumbled, pulling her feet up on to the couch and hugging her knees to her chest. “But if it’s the same to you, I think I’d rather eat my feelings than drink them. Should be some ice cream in the freezer.”

She felt some surprise as Loki spoke of learning to feel, realizing that out of everyone, he probably understood best what that was like. Normally, Clint was her rock -- the one she went to with this sort of thing. But he was out of town, coming back later in the week, and Loki... Loki probably had a better sense of what it was to recover from being a monster than Clint did.

She found herself appreciating that, as she tugged the afghan off the back of the couch, down over her shoulders.

  
  


He felt his lips quirk upwards and nodded.

“That does seem a wiser option. One moment.”

Loki went to the freezer, remembering the night he and Steve had brought the ice cream to her-- not so very long ago now.

Loki had been excited, then, to try it.

He pulled down bowls and struggled, even with his strength, against the solid coldness of the ice cream, before finally managing to lift out a less-than-graceful chunk. He dished some for them both and returned, bearing spoons as well, though he wasn’t certain how useful they would be.

Or how pleasant eating it was likely to be, all things considered.

He passed her her serving, but paused before sitting down.

“ _Would_ you like some tea? To thaw your mouth, after--” he gestured. And since she had wrapped herself in a blanket, it seemed wise to offer warmth.

  
  


She accepted the bowl with a weak smile. “Not yet. Maybe later. If I drink it with the ice cream my teeth’ll hurt.” Balancing the bowl on her knees, she patted the couch next to her. “Here. Sit. Keep my feet warm.” Her bare toes poked out from under the blanket, and it seemed as good an excuse as any to urge Loki to come a bit closer.

Natasha wasn’t the most touchy-feely person in the world, but she could only imagine how touch-starved Loki was given Steve’s current hangups. Maybe he’d relax a little if he had some human contact.

(And, okay, maybe she would too. Touchy-feely or not.)

“Do you mind if we put on a movie? I’m kinda beat, as far as talking goes, but... You don’t have to stay through the whole thing.” She quickly took a bite of ice cream.

  
  


“Whatever you like.” He told her evenly, settling where she said she wanted him. He lifted her feet to rest on his thigh and covered her exposed toes with his hand. Warm enough, he hoped.

“And if you find yourself too tired for company, I promise not to find offense. Only let me know.”

  
  


She nodded. “JARVIS? Pull up something from my nostalgia queue?”

The lights dimmed automatically as the screen clicked to life. Burrowing her toes into the fabric of Loki’s pants, she savored another bite of ice cream, suppressing a small shiver.

“So... Back to being male for now?” she asked as the logo of a now-defunct production studio appeared and slowly faded out.

  
  


“Mm.” He agreed, humming around the spoon in his mouth.

It was good. Sweet, like-- well, cream, but flavored and of course, cold as ice. Ice cream. Genius.

“I went out with Pepper and my female form was recognized and photographed again. And… Steve believes he is doing better, so. I am cautiously trying it.” He lifted one shoulder, trying to express how little it mattered to him, one way or another.

“However, if you’d prefer otherwise for the time being…” He let the offer hang while the music heralding the start of the film began.

  
  


She lifted a shoulder in an echoing shrug. “Doesn’t matter to me,” she replied honestly. She filed the information away though -- both that Loki had to worry about being seen in public, and the note on Steve’s progress.

She’d think about that more later though.

For the moment, the opening music let her know instantly that JARVIS had picked _Dirty Dancing_ out of her queue, and she let herself smile.

“Loki?” she sad after a few moments, through the music and the credits. “...Thanks.”

  
  


Loki looked at her, surprised, then smiled fondly.

“You have done the same for me,” he reminded her.

He was just glad that, for once, he could return the favor. At least a little.

And the ice cream was a delightful bonus.

The movie… well, time would tell.

 

After he was certain Natasha was settled, once she had looked as if she might nod off in the aftermath of her emotional distress, he returned to his floor.

He hoped Steve hadn't gotten worried, since he'd taken so long, but at the same time…

At the same time, _he_ was worried.

Steve hadn't mentioned that he'd asked Natasha to stop going with him. Loki wondered how he was getting there now-- was he off roaring through the city on the motorcycle that SHIELD had returned to him? Was he taking one of Stark’s cars?

Loki didn't know how to broach the subject without it turning into a fight, and he was tired.

So he chose the coward's option and decided not to bring it up right now.

He was home and safe for the time being. Loki had a few more days before it had to be a concern again.

… And, if not Natasha, he had no idea who Steve would allow to accompany him. Who Loki could ask for support.

He took a deep breath, put on a slightly tired smile, and opened the door to their home.

  
  


\---

  
  


The next few days passed with little major incident. No pictures of Captain America at a support group turned up anywhere, and as time passed, Steve grew more and more certain that Cole had been sincere; his secret, for the time being, was safe.

There were, of course, ups and downs. Steve grew frustrated at his next physical therapy session when Amir started him on minor weight and resistance exercises, and Steve discovered just how _weak_ his body still was, struggling to lift weight that wouldn’t wind the average, unpowered man of his (biological) age. He came home from that session winded, sore, and frustrated enough to shut himself in his room for the next few hours, not trusting himself not to be snappish if approached.

On the upside, he found himself drawing more, and the next time he set up the paints, he even managed to do a view of Central Park without anything on his canvas transforming into a war zone. It wasn’t a particularly _good_ work -- he was damned rusty -- but it was decent enough practice for whatever he wound up making for Loki.

He slipped out of the tower a bit more too, for walks or to go down to the store and pick up groceries, rather than having JARVIS order out. He didn’t venture far, knowing he still tired easily, but the stretch and movement and utter indifference of the city were reassuring.

  
  


Loki went back the next day to check up on his patient, as well as Ortega and her child, and then Natasha. It felt better, focusing his energies on multiple outlets, and he hoped Steve appreciated it as well… hoped he didn’t feel as if he was pulling away, rather than giving him space.

He did his best to be around without being intrusive, and respected Steve’s bedroom door being shut as a silent request for space.

Just because he knew he was getting better didn’t mean he instantly felt better, and Loki was trying to remember as much.

But, the unspoken discussion hung over Loki’s head for the next few days, and he knew he needed to say something soon; Steve’s next group session was to be the later that day. And Loki didn’t want him to continue going alone. It wasn’t safe, wasn’t…

Even the thought of starting the conversation made his throat tighten.

There was no way it could go well.

But he couldn’t put it off longer, so he sent a quick text to Steve’s phone once he had finished with another session with Natasha.

He was tired and a little nervy, but not too badly strung out from their work, which was a good enough starting point, he supposed.

At least he wasn’t ruining a good mood.

Selfish.

>> _I should be home soon, Astin Min. Are you available for a quick chat?_

Hitting send made him anxious, but once it was sent, it was too late to take it back. And there really was no better way of doing it that he could see.

  
  


It was Thursday, and Steve had group that afternoon. He was mostly puttering around the apartment, waiting for it to be time to leave (at least, without arriving obnoxiously early), when he got Loki’s text.

He frowned faintly, puzzled since Loki felt the need to _arrange_ a chat instead of just coming home, but texted back.

>> _Sure. Just have to leave for group in a while, but can chat before then._

  
  


The answering message came in just as he stepped off the elevator onto their floor, so he didn’t respond, instead just opening their door.

“I wanted to be sure you hadn’t already left,” he called out, taking care to announce his presence and learn Steve’s whereabouts, just as he knew that this would work best if he sat at the table. Steve might be alright with his being male again, but he was going out of his way not to accidentally threaten or intimidate.

He poured himself a glass of water and took his usual seat.

  
  


Steve waited in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and watching as Loki fetched himself a drink.

It was a little odd, accustoming himself to Loki’s return to his old shape. As much as this was the first shape he’d known Loki in, and the body he’d had for the bulk of the time Steve knew him, in the past weeks he’d grown so used to him being her, that he still half-expected a woman to walk through the door.

“What’s up?” he asked as Loki sat, working to keep the undercurrent of faint concern out of his voice.

  
  


“I wished to talk to you because… until recently, I had been under the… assumption, I suppose, that Natasha has been taking you to your meetings, but she told me that wasn’t the case. Which… worries me. I just wanted to be certain you are safe.”

He tried not to sound disapproving, or too worried, and ended up moving his hands to his lap to hide how they shook slightly with the effort of staying reserved.

But he did not want to fight with or frighten Steve, and he knew he had to work to keep from doing either.

  
  


Steve sighed. _Oh._

(A male body, it seemed, did nothing to decrease Loki’s instinct to _mother_ him, he reflected dryly.)

“The first few times, she did,” he explained. “But now I’m going on my own. Sometimes Sam and I go grab coffee after and talk, so it didn’t make sense for Nat to wait.” He shrugged. “It’s not too far. Sam and I split a cab last time and that’s just because I was a little tired from walking.”

  
  


Loki bit the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to echo Steve’s sigh.

“I had hoped you were at least having one of Tony’s drivers take you-- Steve, we are still hunting down the people who took you, who did this to you in the first place. I know you have a certain amount of anonymity at the moment, but that doesn’t mean-- it isn’t _safe_.”

And he was _walking_ , here, with all those bodies pressing around him, when Loki could barely come near without him flinching. How was he not panicking his way to each and every meeting?

And who was Sam, that he got to go with Steve for the coffee that Steve had told Loki they might get, and had not yet been able to?

He’d thought it was because Steve wasn’t ready to leave, to be walking outside. Wasn’t ready for the people around him.

Apparently that wasn’t the case.

It stung, and made Loki feel small, but that was hardly the focus of this discussion.

A useless emotion, like Natasha was teaching him. He took a breath.

“I’m terrified of losing you again.” He said softly, and hoped it would be enough.

  
  


Steve took a deep breath, counting to three in his mind until the small flare of aggravation fizzled out. He was _not_ going to let this turn into an argument.

“I know,” he finally replied after exhaling, speaking gently. “I know, and I understand. But having a Stark Industries company car drop me off is gonna be a lot more conspicuous than my showing up on me own, and will lead to more questions. Even Nat raised a couple eyebrows,” he added, thinking of Sam.

“It’s honestly not very far, and there’s plenty of cameras in this part of the city. I have my phone on me,” he explained. “I know it’s not perfect and there might still be some danger, believe me, I know, but... I can’t just stay in the tower the rest of my life, only leaving under guard. I _know_ you know how frustrating that is, feeling like you just swapped one cell for another.” He looked Loki in the eyes.

“They took a lot from me, Loki. I’m starting to get some of it back. Some of it I-- I don’t know if I’ll get it all back,” he confessed, swallowing. “But the ability to walk on the street on my own and be a free man, breathing fresh air in my own city?” He shook his head. “I don’t want to let them take that from me too. Not now that I can actually, you know. Walk.” He offered a feeble, lopsided smile.

  
  


Loki swallowed and looked down, clenching his fists and hating the way it felt like he was being lumped in with _them_ , for wanting so badly to take this from Steve.

Not-- not because he didn’t want him to feel free, and like a person. Not because he wanted Steve to feel imprisoned, as Loki had when they’d first arrived.

He just wanted him safe, just as Steve had only wanted Loki safe.

And Loki was afraid that one or the other of them might not survive, if Steve was lost again, taken again.

Tortured, again.

His mind went to the tapes and he refused to be anything like _them_ , not to Steve’s mind.

“I want you to be happy, and able to move freely. I do, and I am sorry for sounding… for being overprotective of you. Cameras and phones, though… it does not feel like enough, and knowing that at the moment, there is so little you could do to fight back--” And he knew Steve would hate to acknowledge it out loud, but it needed said. “I don’t want you to feel as if I am trying to take any of this from you-- I’m not, I wouldn’t. I would just like if… maybe we could speak to Tony, find out if there are other options for… something you might carry with you, some means of defense, or… a way of calling us if something should go wrong. Something less fiddly than a phone.”

Loki knew of several castings that would do the trick, but he also knew Steve wouldn’t let him get that close. So perhaps technology could win the day.

  
  


Steve considered it.

A noticeable weapon would _not_ go over well with the group; he didn’t want to make anyone else feel more threatened just for his safety. But given Tony was able to fit an entire suit of armor in a briefcase, he suspected he’d be able to come up with something that wouldn’t be too circumspect. Subtlety might not be Tony Stark’s default, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of it.

And it would be a good idea to have some means of defense. Both so he could protect himself, and so he could protect those around him if his presence made any of them targets.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s talk to Tony. That sounds like a good idea.” He smiled reassuringly.

  
  


“I know you have a meeting to go to now, and I don’t want to keep you from it. But maybe tonight, when you get back?” He still spoke gently, in suggestion rather than request, but he did have one to make.

“And… I had not been overly concerned, thinking Natasha was with you, but I am afraid I will be now. Would you… just let me know, a text, if you do make other plans after? So I am not fretting.”

He doubted Steve would be happy about having to check in, but he didn’t think the request was unreasonable.

He was trying to focus on being reasonable above all else, at the moment.

Because an _unreasonable_ part of him was already searching for answers, reasons why Steve hadn’t told him he was going alone, going out to coffee with someone else, why Steve hadn’t taken him yet, or asked him to accompany him elsewhere…

It all felt personal and petty and jealous, and Loki knew how Steve felt about that. And more, he knew that voicing it would only lead to the fight he wanted to avoid, and no satisfaction.

_Useless_ emotions.

  
  


Steve nodded. “Sure.” Loki was meeting him in the middle after all, and then some, by not demanding he take Natasha or a driver. Steve could, at the very least, assuage his worries with a text or two. “I’ll text you when I get there, again if I plan on being late, and then again when I’m heading back,” he said. Hopefully that would provide reassurance enough of his safety.

“And... Loki?” He made a face. “I’m sorry for the times I-- the times I limited you because I wanted to keep you safe. I’m getting a better idea of how frustrating that would have been for you, and I-- I’m sorry if I took it too far at any point.” That felt like it was worth saying too, even if it was probably too little too late.

  
  


Loki smiled, genuinely grateful that Steve was so willing to humor him through his fears.

“If it is any consolation, if I was limited, it is because I allowed myself to be so. You, at least, say something before it can become a problem. So, in many ways, it is easier for me than it must have been for you-- and for that, _I_ apologize.”

He shook his head.

“What a pair we are.” He said, sighing fondly. “Alright, I do not want to make you late. Is there anything you need from me? Before you go, or… would you like to have dinner together, after?”

Provided, of course, that he did not stay too late out with _Sam_ for _coffee_.

 

Steve smiled, relieved that any actual fight seemed to have been averted, and glad that they were communicating.

“Hey, we’re doing better than we used to,” he pointed out. “And yeah, let’s do dinner after. And then, if Tony’s free, I’ll go talk to him; otherwise, I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”

He stepped closer, hesitated, then pressed his fingers to his lips in a kiss, before reaching forward and quickly touching those same fingers to the back of Loki’s hand. (Easier than a handshake...)

“I’ll text soon.” And then, “I love you.”

  
  


Loki smiled up at him and closed his other hand over where Steve had touched.

“I love you too, Elskan. Be safe.”

The little touches were so few and far between that it still felt like a prize, a gift, and Loki swallowed the lump that threatened to grow in his throat, determined not to let Steve see how much it meant, how deeply it affected him.

He did not want him to feel pressured to push himself harder for healing.

“I will see you soon.”

And in the meantime, he would be experimenting with his seidhr.

Natasha had a tracker on Steve’s jacket. Perhaps Loki could do something similar.

At least, like speaking to Tony, it couldn’t hurt to try.

  
  


\---

  
  


Some days, Steve felt like an imposter at the support group, just as much as he had in the VA.

The experiences the others shared were frequently beyond what he could relate to; traumas he’d never dealt with, or didn’t have a frame of reference for. Some were far worse, or far longer lasting than what he’d been through, and he felt shame heat his cheeks as he stared down at his shoes for not having the courage to sit up and speak, when what he’d endured hardly held a candle.

But there were other times, when someone would say something in shares or in discussion, and Steve would look up, feeling something familiar echoing in him like a tuning fork resonating to a matching pitch.

  
  


“ _I don’t always know where I am when I wake up, and there’s this horrible moment when I don’t know if I’m back there or not.”_

  
  


“ _It’s the stupidest things that take me back. Dumb stuff that shouldn’t set anybody off, you know?”_

  
  


“ _I don’t know what I hate more. What happened to me, or the person it made me into.”_

  
  


In each of those moments he’d feel his breath catch, and find himself looking at the speaker more closely, as if he could find a part of himself in their face, in their demeanor -- like they had the piece of a puzzle he was trying to reassemble, to put back together the man he was supposed to be.

  
  


-

  
  


It also helped that the space and the group were beginning to feel more and more familiar.

Some of the folks were regulars. Craig and Marcy and Hannah were at every meeting he attended without fail. Many, like Trey, only came to one of the meetings per week, and were either Monday people or Thursday people. Others were more erratic, stopping in when they could make it, or when they needed it. A handful were on a monthly or every-other-week schedule, he found out from some of the others.

(A few showed up once, then were never seen again.)

Sam was a constant; always there, always guiding things, and occasionally sharing if the group fell too silent, but usually opting simply to orchestrate and mediate. Which he did well. On the rare occasions when someone got defensive or antagonistic, or if someone was headed to a meltdown or panic attack, Sam stepped in and smoothed things over or calmed the person down if they needed it. And if they just needed to cry it out, well. Sam always had tissues on hand.

  
  


-

  
  


Sam also wasn’t the only other soldier present, Steve found out.

“Used to just be military. He started this as an offshoot of the VA meetings,” Marcy explained to him during the break. Steve still didn’t talk much during the meeting itself, beyond the occasional murmur of assent or support (not as articulate as what he’d blurted during Trey’s share), but he was taking Sam’s advice to occasionally engage the others, or let others talk to him at least, in the minutes before and after, or during the mid-meeting break.

Marcy wore a heavy canvas jacket and kept her black-brown hair cropped boyishly short. She had mentioned the Marines offhandedly during the meeting and must have noticed Steve’s head jerking up in response, startled and surprised.

“Some of us... We had shit happen to us that wasn’t combat-related,” she said, mixing creamer into her coffee. “Shit you didn’t want to talk about in those meetings because no one in the military wants to talk about it, you know? They brush it under the rug and tell you to shut your mouth or threaten to give you a discharge and tell you that’s why they don’t want women on active duty. In the support group, everyone wants you to talk about PTSD from someone shooting at you, but when it’s your own squad you were scared shitless of, or your own commanding officer...” her mouth twisted, and Steve’s insides felt like they were tying themselves into knots at the implications, his mind racing to understand just how the system could have gone so _wrong._

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, knowing those two words weren’t anywhere near enough. “That’s-- I’m so sorry that happened. Happens.” He grimaced.

Marcy shrugged, not looking at him. “It is what it is. But... Thanks.” She dumped in several packets of sweetener, mixing them with the little red stirrer. “Anyway,” she continued, “I talked with Sam, and we figured there needed to be something else for vets like me who weren’t screwed up by what happened with combat itself. But the local VA didn’t have the budget for it and there was so much red tape dealing with all the government shit anyhow, he ended up doing it out of his house for a while. And then it kinda expanded from there to include civilians, since it was off the books and not strictly military anyway, and over time it morphed into something else entirely. Pretty soon we couldn’t fit in his living room, so we went hunting around for spaces to meet.”

“And found this?” Steve said, nodding to the church basement.

“Yep. They rent the space to us dirt cheap, long as we keep it clean. You can always give Sam some money if you wanna pitch in, but he doesn’t put out a donation bucket or anything because he doesn’t want anyone to feel pressured, or like they shouldn’t come if they can’t afford to help, you know?”

Steve glanced over to where Sam was talking to a newcomer that week, and felt a swell of something in his chest. “Yeah.” He nodded stiffly, and gave Marcy a thin smile. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“You can always spot the soldiers, even if they don’t talk about it,” she added, more quietly. “Posture’s part of it. But you always sit on the far side of the room so you have a clear view of the exits, and always look like you’re doing a sweep when you walk in.”

Steve tensed, dreading that she would next ask him where he served, or what division he’d been in. But instead she sipped her coffee and looked at the others until Sam called for the group to reconvene.

Sitting down in his chair, Steve let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Marcy came here, and not the VA, because she had her reasons. She must have realized -- and respected -- that Steve had reasons of his own. And she hadn’t pressed.

He felt he owed something to her and Sam both.

  
  


-

  
  


He stayed after the meeting’s end, as usual, to help Sam put up the chairs.

“So,” he said, when the room was empty but the two of them, putting the chair he was holding on the rack, then reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. “I, uh.” He pulled out a pair of twenties and held them out. “I’d like to contribute to the rent for the space.”

  
  


Sam’s face did a quick shift through emotions, but finally he nodded, reaching out to take hold of the cash but not accepting it, not pulling it away, just yet.

“Thank you-- I appreciate it. You know you don’t have to, right? And this isn’t gonna put you out too much? I always ask.” He didn’t want to offend, but he knew how very little he knew of most of these folks’ lives… and he knew so much less about Jack than most.

Taking donations was part of the gig, he knew that, but it didn’t make it seem less… weird. Wrong, in a way. It was one thing at the VA, when he was getting paid to take care of folks who had been put through hell, and when the care they were getting as a result was owed to them by the people who put them through it in the first place. He had no problem being part of that. But asking for money from people who didn’t have any faceless moneyed organization taking care of them felt an awful lot like charging people for the shit hand they’d been dealt, and he wasn’t about that.

But he and Marcy had gone rounds on it, and he’d lived with finding small wads of cash in his personal belongings for a bit until he’d promised to accept donations, with the caveat that he wasn’t gonna go asking for them.

So it happened, from time to time, a five here, a ten here. Nothing crazy, and sometimes he got the feeling it was helping them feel like they were giving back, even more than just being there.

But he’d seen Jack and Marcy chatting, he had a pretty good idea where this had come from. He just hoped she wasn’t stepping up her enthusiasm with the idea of helping him out, and turning it into pressuring the other folks in the group.

He’d have to have another chat with her, probably.

Meanwhile, his coffee buddy had decided to cover the next two meetings’ rent, and he wasn’t quite sure how to handle it.

  
  


Steve smiled, though he felt a small pang of worry. Was it too much? Had he made Sam uncomfortable? He knew $40 didn’t go that far today compared to what it used to, and some days he still had trouble with the relative value of money, though he was a lot better with it overall than he used to be. He didn’t want to throw too much money around and make anyone think he was showboating, but he also didn’t want to give so little that it was only a gesture, and not actually doing anything to help.

“It’s no trouble,” he assured. Once, yeah, he’d have just about _died_ at the idea of having forty bucks to even give away, but now... “Doctor boyfriend, remember?” he offered, pushing the money into Sam’s hand. Loki might not be the actual primary source of their income, but it was hard to explain having Tony Stark as a benefactor plus several decades’ worth of military backpay. “Sides. This is more than worth it. For me and for everyone else, I think.”

  
  


“Well, just so we’re clear, thank you-- and I mean it, but I don’t know how much you think it costs. This’ll cover two sessions, so it’s… very appreciated, man. Really. First round of coffee or cocoa’s on me, if you’re interested. And thank your doctor boyfriend for me, too.”

He knew forty bucks didn’t make or break his bank, and probably not Jack’s either, now he was reminded who wrote the checks that paid Luke’s bills, but… the thought was nice, and very in line with what he’d offered last time: if _Sam_ needed to talk.

Hell, Jack was dangerously close to acting like they were just straight up friends, group context be damned.

He wondered if that was a good or bad thing, for getting Jack to talk more. So many folks worked better with strangers. He’d have to tread carefully, make sure his inclination to hang with the guy didn’t threaten his progress.

  
  


Steve shrugged, awkwardly. He wasn’t sure what Marcy meant by ‘dirt cheap’ -- in Manhattan, space was such a premium, it was hard to guess -- but twenty bucks for the space wasn’t too bad. Though that meant his donation only covered a single week. And given not everyone in group looked like they had a twenty to spare, that left Sam covering a lot of cost out of his own pocket.

“I just want to be able to help. This is something... This is something I can do.”

He hung up the last chair and rolled his shoulders. “I should actually get going-- I promised Luke we’d do dinner, and he might panic if I don’t text soon.”

  
  


Sam felt his brows raise and tilted his head to the side.

“Something change there? Didn’t seem to be any panic before.”

Which wasn’t exactly letting him go, after he’d just said he should, but Sam didn’t think one innocent little questions-- about the clingy, needy, and trust issue laden doctor boyfriend-- would hurt.

Especially if it was cutting into Jack’s social life with more than just Sam. No one needed the relationship to take a turn to the controlling.

  
  


Steve sighed. “He found out that I was coming on my own and that our friend -- the redhead -- wasn’t driving me every time like she was at the start. He got twitchy about me going out alone, and we talked it through, and I promised to text to let him know I’m okay.” He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “You’d have been proud of us. We talked it through like adults and came to a compromise and everything,” he added with a crooked smile.

  
  


The process that led to a compromise was good; the problem existing in the first place sounded like paranoia. And Sam couldn’t help but feel more than a little indignant.

“What’s he think is gonna happen to you, in a church basement full of trauma survivors?”

And worse-- he got twitchy about Jack _going out alone_.

What the hell? Was he supposed to be supervised at all times? When he wasn’t here, _was he supervised at all times?_

If so, no wonder he’d run off to find a quiet place to be alone last time. Damn.

Sam felt himself growing twitchy, because he wasn’t sure if Jack had something going on with him that warranted that kind of concern-- which, probably Sam _ought_ to know about, if he did-- or if the boyfriend was just… more levels of messed up than he’d anticipated.

  
  


“It’s not group he’s worried about, I think, just the thought of something happening to me coming or going,” Steve hurried to explain. Loki hadn’t appeared to have any reservations, after all, with the idea of Steve going to the meetings themselves. Just being alone out on the street.

“When I-- When what happened happened, and I was missing, he took it really hard,” he added carefully, more quietly. “I think in some ways it screwed him up as much as it did me.”

  
  


_Missing._

It was the first clue he’d gotten, though coupled with his comments about getting shot and jumping out of planes, Sam really had to wonder what kind of non military job the guy had found after he got out.

The hell.

But… it did lower his metaphorical hackles a little, in regard to the boyfriend. Just a little.

Not knowing what had happened to someone, of course you get a little jumpy if you haven’t heard from them in a while. Still.

“Gotta feel restrictive, after a while, though. That kind of being on a leash. Get back to dinner, but… if you need to talk about it, man, you know where to find me.”

He shrugged, then patted the pocket he’d sipped the twenties into.

“And thanks again. For reals, next time, first cup’s on me.”

  
  


Steve wanted to protest that it wasn’t being on a leash -- Loki had conceded a lot, after all, and Steve wasn’t getting a driver to take him everywhere, or Natasha, or Loki himself -- but he worried that bringing up where Loki had been willing to negotiate down from might simply alarm Sam further. So he shut his mouth and simply nodded.

“Thanks, Sam. I’ll see you Monday,” he told him, before grabbing his coat and heading back out, phone in hand so he could tell Loki he was on his way.

  
  
  


 


	99. Ninety Nine

He sat on the couch in Natasha’s rooms, sipping the tea she’d made and wondering what today would hold.

Their lessons had become… not stagnant, precisely, but easier. It was all practice in centering himself, with few enough external trials that might cause him to falter in his control.

And it was good, built his confidence, and it was… not uncomfortable. Which helped him to play it off when he returned to Steve.

As far as his partner knew, he was merely having tea with their friend.

But Loki knew they couldn’t keep practicing breathing and blandness forever.

He nearly didn’t want to ask, but things had been going… well, of late. With Steve.

Well enough that it seemed stable enough to introduce an element of instability in his training. And he didn’t know how long that window of opportunity might last.

And so:

“I don’t mean to imply that you don’t know what you’re doing.” He began, “But I thought… might we try to put me off balance? Test my centering, now that I have had some time to work on it?”

  


Natasha paused, her tea halfway to her lips, regarding Loki carefully.

She took Loki’s requests with a grain of salt still, but he hadn’t done anything to push her to hurt him of late, and didn’t seem to be in a bad space mentally. From what she gathered, things were going -- if not especially well, then not poorly, between him and Steve, and the last few times they’d met, Loki hadn’t seemed overly wrong-footed.

“We can do that,” she responded, lowering the cup. “Introduce an element of distress. But before we do -- _are you sure?”_

If she was going to put Loki off-balance, she would only ask once.

  


His mouth twisted and he sighed, swallowing his last sip.

“I feel as if, though I am making progress, it is a waste of your time for me to merely focus inwards. I can do that in my own time. And I do. We may as well move forward, if we can, and this seems as good a way as any to see if I am ready. And… it has been some time since I have felt secure in knowing that I can return to my room and not be needed, but at the moment, the likelihood of Steve having an emergency that would require my not being wrong footed when I leave is small. No time, as they say, like the present.”

He sat his cup on the table, stomach fluttering as the back of his mind began imagining how she might choose to fulfill his request.

“When you are ready, of course. I do not mean to rush you, and if there is a reason you do not want to… I understand, and would be glad to know it.”

  


She smiled thinly. “If I don’t want to, it’s mainly because the things I know will unsettle you are frankly unsettling to me too. But I think, in this instance, it’s worth it for both of us to practice being able to suppress that.”

Natasha looked at him consideringly, mulling over her options. She had an idea for something that would fit the bill, for sure. But as for the rest--

“Would you like the floor or the chair?” she asked. In their last two meetings, they’d ramped up from Loki practicing mindfulness while in bonds on the floor to being tied to a chair. He’d done well, but not knowing how poorly he’d react to new stimuli, she wanted to give him the option to do it on the floor if he chose.

  


He frowned; of course.

He was being selfish.

“Are you up for it today, in that case? I know that when I saw you last…” he trailed off delicately, unwilling to poke his fingers in so fresh a wound, but aware that he needed to be as respectful of her mental state as she always was of his.

“My wish to move forwards is hardly a necessity at the moment; only a preference. If you aren’t in a good frame of mind, I have no problem with playing another game of tied down chess.”

  


“It’s been a couple days. I’m fine,” she assured him, the smile less thin, more genuine. It still surprised her, how much Loki actually seemed to care about her wellbeing now -- not from a tactical viewpoint, but from that of a friend.

She felt that fondness in return too, especially with the reminder that he had curled up and watched _Dirty Dancing_ with her the other night simply to make sure she was okay. Which made what would come next even more difficult. But they both needed to harden themselves against the impending threat. Her grief at the loss of her informant only highlighted her own need to practice compartmentalizing.

“And don’t worry, we’ll still be playing chess with what I have in mind,” she added. “Let’s move forward. Floor or chair?”

  


He licked his lips, considering.

“Let us try to continue using the chair; if it proves to be too much, I can be demoted back to the floor.”

But he wouldn’t be happy if he was; he didn’t feel like they had made _much_ progress, and that seemed to be the bulk of it. Losing that would be… disheartening.

But that he could not allow that to affect him.

“Should I ask what you have in mind? Or would that defeat the purpose?”

  


Natasha went and got the chair they’d been using -- well-made enough that it would hold up reasonably well if Loki pulled against his bonds, but not something she was so attached to that she’d mind if it wound up destroyed. She also recovered the silk ropes they’d been using -- she played with the idea of getting chains as a next step, but didn’t know if it was worth it, should the concept of bonds be more important than the method -- and brought them over.

“I can tell you,” she answered, recovering their chessboard and setting it on the table. “But do you want to practice dealing with an unpleasant surprise, or do you want to mentally prepare ahead of time?”

  


He nodded, that was fair.

“If they employ it against me, any unpleasantry will be a surprise by design. So I suppose that is how it should be here, as well.”

He seated himself calmly in the chair, pleased that his heart rate did not climb nor his breathing go shallow. Small victories, but he could take pride in them just the same.

He hesitated, watching her with the bindings, though.

“What was your word that you had chosen, again? In the event this all becomes too much for you. In reality, I should be able to get myself free of the ties, should you need me to. Just say as much.”

  


“Oslo,” she replied, nodding to him her appreciation. “And ‘Cinnamon’ for you.” Something inside her did a little flip at Loki’s concern for her in the situation, but she tamped it down and focused on setting up the chessboard, giving Loki time to settle in the chair and practice mindfulness.

Once all the pieces were in place -- white for Loki and black for her -- she went through the process of tying him to the chair, making sure the bonds were firm, but not too tight, making all her movements obvious and easy to read. Chest, arms, ankles -- and then she was done, taking her seat at the opposite side of the table, pulling out her phone and sending a text to JARVIS with instructions for what to do when she gave the signal. It vibrated once in her hand in affirmation, and then she tucked it away.

“You start,” she said, nodding to the board.

  


Loki took a deep breath through his nose, silently reinforcing his calm.

“Pawn B2 to B4.” He said clearly, grateful that he had come far enough to be able to.

This early in the game, he was still able to watch Natasha, rather than focusing too intently on the board, which meant that he was able to observe her fiddling with her phone-- setting some sort of timer?

He wondered if that was to be the catch, the stressor, that he would only have a short time to complete the game or be punished.

Thanos had done similarly, a few times.

He caught his heart beating a little faster and quickly steadied it, eyes flicking to the board and back to her to see if she had noticed.

  


She nodded, moving Loki’s piece, waiting a moment, and then moving her own pawn -- F7, to F5. Glancing back up at him, she waited for him to give her his next move.

So things progressed for a few rounds -- enough that they both had moved at least one non-pawn piece -- before she spoke aloud again.

“JARVIS.”

The TV screen in the room, where they’d recently watched a movie for fun, blinked to life. Natasha pointedly avoided looking at it, though she knew what scene would unfold on it shortly. The speakers popped softly, and soon enough there was the sound of someone being dragged in on the screen.

She moved her bishop, and waited.

  


Loki felt his eyes pulled to the television, breath catching in his throat as he realized, near instantly, what she had done.

But she seemed unbothered-- because she was good.

Which was why he was here, to learn from her.

He closed his eyes briefly, then turned them back on the board, his attention still divided as his ears strained for the noises, trying to identify _which_ of Steve’s numerous tortures she had chosen to turn on.

He was almost ashamed not to be able to recognize it already-- though from as often as he had seen these, he knew he would soon.

“Knight G1 to H3.” His voice did not shake and his gaze was steady as he turned his eyes from the board to her, doing his best to ignore the screen as thoroughly as she was.

  


Natasha was impressed. Oh, Loki had a tell, for sure -- they’d have to work on that -- but he’d got himself under control quickly, and wasn’t exhibiting the anxiety she’d expected.

That was good.

 _Good,_ she reminded herself, as the clanking of chains over the speakers, accompanied by a grunt, told her without looking that on the screen, Steve was being chained, hung from the ceiling by his wrists to await his torturers. She knew the footage all too well by now, and suspected that Loki did too.

She moved her bishop again, claiming one of Loki’s pawns, ignoring the voices that now floated over the speakers. They were immaterial to her. They were background noise -- non-mission-critical. Her primary focus was Loki (secondary focus: chess).

  


She had put her bishop in danger of being taken by his knight, with no immediately obvious danger to his piece in return-- but she wasn’t sloppy, she knew the game as well as he did, and so he could only conclude that it was a trap.

He stared hard at the board, trying to think ahead, to guess what she was playing at, and yet…

His focus was shaken by the words Verschmutzung said- “ _You have, I think, become accustomed to our needles…”_

Loki wanted to cringe; he knew now which file it was.

The first time Steve had screamed, the second time the doctor had visited him. After they had scarred his back. When they’d pumped him full of punishing poisons just for the pleasure of watching him react.

He felt vaguely ill.

“Knight H3 take bishop F4.”

If it was a trap, he had just bungled into it. If it was a bluff, he had called it. Either way, she was down her dark bishop. He breathed in and watched her, trying to gauge her reaction, or lack thereof.

  


Natasha watched the board impassively as she carried out Loki’s movement, setting the piece to the side of the board. Her bishop was out, but within two moves, her queen would have a clear path to take Loki’s knight.

She moved a pawn, keeping her focus on the board until she’d set the piece down and moved her hand away.

The sounds over the speakers were just recorded noise. Disturbing, but only echoes of events over and done with. They held no surprises, and were no longer hurting her or anyone else, she told herself, watching Loki blankly.

Only...

Only that wasn’t quite true, and she knew it, wincing secretly under her mask. Loki’s face was controlled, but pale; this _was_ hurting him. And if she’d thought it would be easier now that they had a rapport, that he didn’t view her as a weapon with which to flagellate himself with... She supposed she hadn’t taken into account that the humanization would go both ways. Because now she was coolly and methodically hurting a friend. With the pain of another friend.

She remained motionless as she waited for Loki to call out his next move.

  


In the video, Steve was stoic, refusing to give any information, whether it would have been helpful or not, to the doctor, instead worsening his own treatment through pride, and stubbornness, and his damned refusal to bow.

Loki licked his lips.

“Bishop F1 to D3.”

He wanted to get more of his more powerful pieces into play.

He wished Steve hadn’t fought so hard, to keep safe the work of people from so long before… wished they had gotten to him before this had been able to happen.

He wished he hadn’t been leading Steve’s team on a wild goose chase through pinpoints of light that denoted his own guilt, his wrong doings.

“I’d like to find that doctor.” He commented lightly, wondering if that was part of this game. Was he supposed to interact with what was being done to Steve?

  


Natasha eyed the board as she slid Loki’s bishop into place, considering his words, and the deceptively light tone.

“And what do you intend?” she asked in return, as casual as if they were discussing weekend plans, still looking at the board and ignoring Steve’s grunt of pain.

She moved a pawn to block the path of Loki’s bishop.

  


He wondered, the thought beating frantically at the inside of his skull like a panicked bird, whether he was meant to seem threatening, or unaffected, demure or strong, if he was meant to act as if she was Thanos now and act as if he was awaiting orders.

Not for the first time, he wished he knew the rules to her game. But as always, he would have to learn them as he went, much as he had had to do with Thanos himself.

“Did Barton tell you what I did to Scofield?” He asked, tone still light and conversational, even as Loki knew, without looking, that Steve was having salt rubbed on the damage they had done to his back in the previous session.

He kept his eyes steadily on the board.

“I froze the blood in his veins. Not all at once. I let him come to know that he was dying. It was still too kind.”

He looked up at her finally.

“Queen to H5. Check.”

It was too early in the game for the check to mean much, but it felt good to say just the same.

The drawing of first blood, in essence.

  


Natasha only moved to arrange Loki’s piece, then stared at the board in thought. She knew her next move, but the ones that followed required planning. In spite of distractions, Loki was playing well.

Barton _hadn’t_ told her -- at least, not beyond the fact that Loki had killed Scofield. He’d seemed unsettled by it, if not wholly opposed to it. The latter was explained by the condition they found Steve in, but the former... Well. Now she knew. It was gruesome, but given everything she’d seen of what Scofield had done, she found herself rather unfazed.

Moving her king aside and behind a pawn, out of the way of Loki’s queen, she wondered briefly what Steve would think of his tormenter being frozen alive. And realized that, at this point, she didn’t wholly know him well enough to know.

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy to pull the same trick twice,” she remarked.

  


“I do prefer to be a little less predictable, it’s true. And Scofield-- I did that to remind him that once, he mistreated me because I am not human. I did not want him to forget, before his death. But the doctor seems to enjoy causing pain. I don’t know that I would kill him. Instead…”

Loki pondered, pleased that he had introduced this topic, glad that she was allowing it.

It let him voice some of the darker thoughts he had, the ones he wouldn’t share with Steve.

And it allowed him to be distracted by his own words, as well as the game. Made it easier to… not ignore, exactly, but block out the hurt that the video caused.

“I am learning about nerve endings, in my work of healing a patient’s damaged ones. It is slow work; because the afflicted areas are numerous, tiny, and spread out. I think I could do the reverse, though. Gift him with pain that none could dig out. Perhaps even force him to live through the feelings he created in Steve… all of them, every day, on loop, for as long as he lives. And I might bury some healing spells in there as well… just to ensure he lives long enough to suffer.”

He glanced at the board, but his point had been made and his brief opportunity was gone.

“Queen to E2.” He said, placing the most powerful piece back almost all the way.

He left her in front of her partner, ready to take out any piece that might threaten him.

  


Natasha narrowed her eyes as she moved the piece. She wasn’t sure if Loki was putting on an act right now as a defensive strategy or not, highlighting the cruelty he intended. It was perfectly possible that he was slipping into his old, protective strategy of playing the villain when confronted with pain and discomfort. But just as likely, given his protectiveness of Steve, that he meant every word.

It was tempting to chase his queen and slide her rook across the board, but rather than rushing her pursuit, she chose to rearrange her defense, putting her bishop in a better position to defend her king.

“Will that help?” she asked.

“ _No!”_ Steve’s voice gasped over the speakers, as if in answer, and she blinked -- the only evidence of her stifled reflex to flinch.

  


He bit down on the tip of his tongue as Steve on the screen began to feel the effects of the Doctor’s poison.

He raised one brow.

“It doesn’t matter whether it will _help_. I want to do it.” Nothing would be gained, nothing would be improved if he carried through with these actions, and he was sure that meant that they were another of her useless emotions. But, it was hard to care, listening to Steve’s suffering, yet again.

“I have watched these videos a hundred times each. I truly believe that, help or no, I will feel better for having done it. Knowing that he has no strength left to do anything but suffer, unable to harm anyone else.”

In the recording, Verschmutzung’s voice was cajoling, calling Steve a coward, despite how _strong_ he was being, how brave.

And asking him how that felt…

As Loki had done, when he’d first tried to heal Steve, with disastrous results.

This man was at least part of the reason that Loki could not touch the man he loved.

He _wanted_ him to suffer.

“C3 pawn to C4.”

He moved it forward, tempting her to take the piece, to move her pawns, in an attempt to clear the board. He didn’t mind losing some men in the process, if it meant reaching his goal.

  


Natasha moved the pawn for him, and watched him. There was tension in his jaw, his posture tightening -- but not from fear.

There wasn’t any panic or distress that she could see. Just cold, hard anger.

Which... could be useful.

(The way a double-sided blade was useful.)

On the screen, Steve thrashed, wheezing. Then snarled in defiance, tearing at his bonds.

Natasha didn’t look; didn’t let herself feel pride or sympathy. She only allowed her gaze flick to the board, then shifted a rook along the back row, putting it into position to check Loki’s king, if he tried to chase after her with the only pawn currently blocking the path.

  


She had nothing to say to that, and he hid his frown, wishing that he could have continued with that distraction for at least a little longer; the worst of Steve’s suffering in this video was still coming, and he would have liked to have something else to focus on.

Instead, all he had was this veritable mess of a board and his partner’s screams.

Loki sighed and directed her to move one of his knights, neither threatening nor capturing a piece, and not even lining it up to; it was merely a move to get his turn out of the way while he attempted to figure out what it was she was planning.

It seemed he did a lot of that, lately. Aimless drifting while waiting for the next shoe to fall.

He hated it.

  


Natasha moved the pieces. White, then black. She put one pawn forward as a lure, in the path of Loki’s bishop. She doubted he’d take it, but if he did, it would be easy for her knight to sweep in.

Steve had torn free, wrapping a chain around the doctor’s throat, and then--

_Call the other one._

She clenched her jaw, the scar just over her hip twinging. She knew what happened next. _Who_ came next. Not that she’d believed her eyes the first time she watched the footage, forcing herself to watch it again and again. But even with the mask, the arm and the way he _moved_ left her certain.

The _Ghost_.

  


Loki would have rolled his eyes at her play-- obviously she was testing him, trying to see how badly he was affected by their ‘entertainment’, but he meant what he’d said; he’d watched this a hundred times. He knew what was about to happen, the viciousness and strength of ‘the other one’.

Who or what the other one was remained a mystery, but considering their tests and their purpose with Steve…

“The Other One-- do you suppose he was one of their tests?”

He saw the way she had lined it all up- her rook, his pawn, and his king. Fortunately his queen was still nearby.

He had her move her into that line, behind the pawn, but one additional layer of defense between king and castle.

  


Natasha shook her head, noting the defensive move. He was withdrawing his pieces to his king. Circling the wagons, so to speak.

“He predates anything they could have taken from Steve,” she said as she placed her remaining bishop forward where it could easily take Loki’s knight if he tried to withdraw it to defend his King. “Word in the intelligence community was that he worked for the Soviets, before. I don’t know if he went mercenary for HYDRA, or when...” She frowned at the board, assessing the next few moves, but still aware of the figure pinning Steve down by the throat on the screen.

  


He glanced sideways at her, shifting in his bindings-- though not out of panic, but rather from the discomfort of maintaining one position for so long.

“Doing your homework, I see. And how about since… any sign that he survived? Or did we manage to bury him with all the rest? I only ask so I can know how many long slow deaths I ought to be planning.”

She had noted his pulling back and was advancing accordingly. Good.

He looked for his other pieces-- a knight and a bishop, each flung far enough afield to be of potential help, though the bishop was for the wrong color square for where her king rested, and the knight would take some maneuvering to be of any threat to that piece.

So instead, Loki set his sights on her queen.

And asked her to move a pawn, an irrelevant piece, while he worked to plan ahead.

  


“Less research, more lived experience,” she replied with a grimace as she relocated Loki’s pawn. “Crossed paths with him once before, and I still have the scar. And if we’re very, very lucky, he’s under all that rubble you and Bruce brought down.”

Given what she’d heard about the Winter Soldier, several thousand tons of concrete was the only thing likely to stop him. Though he did reportedly go dormant for long periods, so God only knew if he was just biding his time.

She hoped they never had to find out.

Picking up her rook, she considered it, then put it back, instead moving to her queen. She lifted it, then almost dropped it as Steve’s scream ripped through the air.

(She didn’t know whether to be disturbed or relieved that listening to it never got easier.)

  


There were rules, he knew, about touching a piece meaning you had to move that piece, and he considered insisting on it, if only to be pretty as a show of unaffectedness.

But she wasn't. Unaffected.

He cleared his throat softly.

“If this is too disturbing, you need only say so.” He reminded her gently.

“I know it's….” He swallowed, tasting bile. “It is difficult by design, but you are not the one who needs to suffer for this. And I've… I watch these before I sleep each night.”

He dropped his voice for the last, turning it into a confession.

“I don't know that it will do what you want it to. Horrible though they inarguably are.”

  


Natasha frowned deeply at that revelation. “JARVIS, kill the video.”

The screen went mercifully dark.

“I can’t imagine that makes for pleasant dreams, assuming you’re able to sleep at all,” she said, regarding Loki carefully, looking to see if the shadows under his eyes were darker than usual, and wondering if it had been so long that she wouldn’t even be able to tell.

It at least explained why Loki wasn’t having anywhere near the trouble she’d have expected.

“At least we knew threatening Steve isn’t likely to send you into a panic anymore,” she murmured, finally moving her queen. “Unless you think it’s only this specific footage you’re inured to?”

  


He couldn't shrug, but he wished he could.

“This, at least… I have had to become comfortable with the knowledge that this has happened. That I cannot change that fact. That…”

That it had been him who had distracted their rescue efforts long enough for all of this to have happened.

He swallowed.

“I do sleep. Better now than at first. But I don't know if that would change if he was threatened anew. And I do not know that I can pretend I believe you would do anything to harm him. Or us. Not any longer.”

He hoped the words were the kindness he meant them to be, and not an insult to her.

He glanced down at the board, but their discussion was of more interest to him, at the moment. The game could wait.

“Are we… calling this a failure?” He asked, rather than charging forward with a counter attack.

  


She considered it.

“It’s not the challenge I hoped for, but you still managed to be tied to a chair, with unpleasant stimulus, and play a good game,” she remarked. “I wouldn’t consider that failure. And it’s possible that this could still be put to use. If you face someone who threatens harm to Steve or anyone else in the future, then, like now, you can focus on the fact that it _isn’t currently happening,_ and accept that your ability to do anything about it is limited in the moment.”

Knowing he didn’t see her as a threat -- even with the suggestion that he once did -- gave her a bizarre blend of feelings. Frustration, because it limited her in this exercise. A faint twinge of petulance, because being a threat was something she worked hard at. But also a soft swell of warmth, knowing she had his trust.

Something to mull over later. At the moment, she elected to focus on the chessboard: Loki had built a solid defense. She wasn’t sure what his pawns were up to, but he’d blocked most vectors of approach for her -- unless she wanted to sacrifice her remaining pieces.

Not many people could play her to a stalemate.

“JARVIS?” she asked out of curiosity, “are there any video files of Steve that we got from HYDRA that Loki hasn’t reviewed?”

She didn’t think the answer would be in the affirmative, if Loki was watching everything each night. But to her surprise, the AI answered with:

“ _Yes_.”

  


Loki jerked with surprise at that; he’d thought he’d seen all of the relevant videos-- at least, the ones Tony had sent over, the ones where Steve was conscious.

But of course, there was more than the possibility that they had done something to him while he was out of it; it was likely. Nearly assured.

And Loki had been content in not knowing what that was, but…

He had half a mind to ask to be untied, if they were to watch this. But the was the whole point of it, wasn’t it?

To learn to hide reactions and keep himself contained.

He took a deep breath.

“Alright. I guess we should find out how new things will make me react. But first:” He nodded to the board. “Take your pawn with my knight.”

It was just something else that was done to Steve. He owed it to him to watch, to know…. And he needed to be able to control himself.

To keep Steve safe.

He firmed his resolve and waited for JARVIS to start the video.

  


Natasha obliged in moving the piece, watching the screen with trepidation. Of course, it was possible that whatever it was, she’d already seen it, and Loki simply hadn’t. But if it was new to them both...

Natasha was not overly fond of surprises.

“Play it,” she instructed JARVIS. The screen lit up, but the cell depicted on the screen wasn’t HYDRA’s.

Her stomach clenched; it was SHIELD’s. And specifically, she realized moments later, as she made out the figures on the screen -- the cell Loki had been held in, with Steve visiting him.

“Scofield?” she murmured aloud, wondering if he’d been the one who brought the tapes to HYDRA. It was a more comforting thought than the idea of yet another unidentified mole, at least.

  


It took him a moment to understand, to realize what he was looking at. It seemed forever ago… but that was him. And there was Steve. They were speaking, separated by glass, and Loki saw himself slide to his knees--

He understood, suddenly, what was happening- his first bungled attempt at seducing Steve. When Steve had rejected him with donuts.

His brow furrowed, uncertain why this should be among the videos they had recovered. It was embarrassing, but hardly the most useful footage or HYDRA to have. It proved nothing they hadn’t found out otherwise, and was not even as interesting as what had preceded it. If Loki recalled correctly, his ill fated first haircut, and the resulting glamour slip that had led him to changing to his Jotun form for the first time, had been not long before this.

“Perhaps it was merely mislabelled? Sorted incorrectly in all of the panic of Steve’s disappearance?” He shook his head.

“I don’t see why--”

But he paused when the donuts came out.

“Oh… SHIELD doesn’t… _have_ this video I think. Garza said she got rid of it. Fury questioned me about it, later…”

He tried desperately to remember what had happened next-- but of course, this had to be how Scofield had discovered his intolerance to spices. Or had that been from something else?

  


Natasha arched an eyebrow as she watched. It was less disturbing than any of the HYDRA footage, but there was something unsettling about the sheer mundanity of it. Why was HYDRA interested in this video?

Or-- did they have all the videos of Loki’s imprisonment with SHIELD? If Garza had supposedly deleted this one, it would explain why it was unfamiliar, why Loki hadn’t seen the recording, even if he’d lived it. She remembered now, vaguely, the meeting in the conference room where the younger SHIELD agent had admitted to wiping some footage while operating surveillance.

( _Not too thoroughly_ , she noted, with a touch of bitterness.)

“Any idea what’s important about you choking on a cinnamon roll?” she asked, carefully sliding her knight out of Loki’s reach.

  


Loki frowned.

“Later, after this, Steve went out on a mission. I didn’t know he was going, and he was gone… eleven days, I think it was. That was when I first met Scofield. He--” Loki remembered the agony of believing the man, and thought, again, that he had died too quickly.

“He told me that I wouldn’t be seeing Steve any longer. And then he fed me Bhut Jolokia for the entire time he was away. I think this may be how he discovered I can’t stand-- Asgard doesn’t have spice like that.”

On the screen, Steve was trying the ‘poisoned’ pastry for himself, and Loki reacted strongly. Too strongly, perhaps.

Suspiciously strongly.

He tried to put himself into the shoes of someone from HYDRA watching this

“I don’t know. As you said, there were much more important things they could have seen…”

  


Natasha pursed her lips. She was definitely feeling less ambivalent to the idea of Scofield having died slowly and painfully.

“So he physically and psychologically tortured you, using your affection for Steve and your aversion to spice against you. Which he learned from this video.”

Which begged the question -- was Garza trying to protect Steve and Loki from anyone exploiting those weaknesses, and simply failed? Or had she been covering for Scofield when she deleted the footage? Natasha had reached a point where she trusted Sharon Carter, more or less, and nothing had come up on any members of her team when she’d done a search, but at this point, she wasn’t about to rule anything out.

 

Loki furrowed his brow.

“I don’t know that… I don’t think it exactly counts as torture. Steve said something along the lines of… he didn’t even break the rules. He fed me, I believe that was all SHIELD required that he do.”

Again, he wished he could shrug it off; dismiss it.

“And as for believing him… the more fool, I. But… after this, the next day…”

Loki remembered lying in bed, his fingers resting on the spine of Steve’s abandoned art book.

“Fury came in first thing the next morning to ask if I had done anything to the cameras. I assumed that was Garza’s doing, but…”

He glanced again at the chessboard, then back at her, calling out another defensive move.

“Embarrassing as this video is, it’s hardly the stuff of nightmares. Did you want to find something else?”

Steve was pulling out his art book, now, and he knew things would become quickly more personal… and more embarrassing.

  


“There’s a lot of different ways to torture someone,” Natasha commented, moving her rook. “A lot of ways to do it without leaving a mark or breaking a single regulation.” She smiled thinly, without humor. “I would know.”

Loki then asked if she wanted to try something else, and she sighed, shaking her head. “No, we can call it a day -- JARVIS?” The TV clicked off. She continued: “I want to look into a few things, come up with a plan for our next session. Flying by the seat of my pants hasn’t worked terribly well with this, so I’d rather take some time to think it through, if it’s all the same.”

  


“Hm.” Loki hummed noncommittally. “Apologies for having ruined what was a perfectly good suggestion. I suppose my viewing habits have finally had their first real downside.”

He paused.

“Steve still doesn’t know. I… think that’s for the best, all things considered.”

Things were going well, after all… and Steve couldn’t know that Loki had decided to break his trust in that way, any more than he could know that they were moving forward with Loki’s retraining.

He had enough to worry about.

“I suppose… just let me know if there is anything I can do to help? Or when you have found something else you think might be worth trying.”

  


Natasha doubted that this was the first downside Loki had experienced, but didn’t say anything. Though she did resolve to keep a closer eye on Loki and, if he seemed to be in poorer shape than usual, instruct JARVIS to limit his access to the videos. It was doubtful that he was actually gaining anything from them at this point beyond a sense of self-flagellation.

“You didn’t ruin anything. You gave me a delightfully challenging game of chess,” she noted. “And I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to.” She was inclined to agree that Steve not knowing might be for the best.

Certain secrets were better off staying secret.

“I should have something thought up in the next couple days,” she assured him, standing up and moving over to him to start undoing the ropes.

  


He held still, just a little longer, letting her untie him completely before he stood and stretched.

“Take your time. Steve hasn’t got another meeting for a few days, at any rate. But I should have my nerve work done by then.”

He glanced at the chess board again, then gave her a rueful smile.

“While these sessions have done wonders for my confidence in thinking under pressure, you have done me no favors with regards to my certainty in strategizing.”

He reached out to symbolically tip his king, and sketched a quick bow.

“Don’t let the tapes bother you too heavily. If it was Scofield, he is dead now. If it was another… they will be dead soon. Once I am certain Steve is well, once all is well here… well, either Thanos will destroy everyone, or we will find those who yet survive.”

  


Natasha snorted. “ ‘Don’t worry about it, we’ll all be dead soon’ is not as reassuring as you seem to think it is,” she told him, but couldn’t help a smile.

This had been a gamble, with the potential to turn out quite poorly. It hadn’t gone as _well_ as she might’ve hoped, but it had hardly been a disaster. And she’d spent enough time around Loki, Steve, and the other Avengers to call anything that wasn’t an utter catastrophe pretty darn close to a win.

“Let me know when your schedule looks like it’ll be open, and I’ll make myself available. And if you want to swing by for 80s movies or tea in the meantime... My door isn’t usually open, but I’m amenable to unlocking it.”

She showed him to the door, bid him farewell, then returned to the table and sat, staring at the unfinished pieces on the chessboard. She had planning to do.

And a lot to think about.

“JARVIS, play video.”

  


\---

  


Steve was washing his paintbrushes in the kitchen sink, carefully working water through the fibers to dislodge the pigment, when JARVIS conveyed the message that Tony wanted to see him.

“ _Sir has completed a prototype for your request,”_ the AI informed him.

Thanking JARVIS, Steve continued his cleaning until his brushes were clean, his paintwater poured out, and his paints all cleaned up and put away, easel tucked away in the bedroom where Loki wouldn’t accidentally see it. He still had paint between his fingers and under his nailbeds, but he figured Tony wouldn’t mind that he was a bit of a mess himself, and headed to the elevator to take it to the labs.

Loud music was thrumming over the speakers as he entered, and he almost had to shout to get Tony’s attention.

“JARVIS said you wanted to see me?” he called, grateful when the music automatically went down a dozen or so decibels.

He’d done as he promised and checked in with Tony right after his last group session, discussing Loki’s concern and giving Tony essentially free reign to come up with something -- anything -- that would ease Loki’s worries about Steve being defenseless or struggling to get in contact. Tony had immediately pulled up several blueprints and started muttering to himself, which Steve had taken as his cue to leave. In all honesty, he’d figured Tony would get distracted by another project just as quickly, and didn’t expect he’d have anything in place before his next group meeting.

But then, Tony did seem to thrive on bucking expectations.

  


Man, right in the middle of a guitar solo, too.

He sighed and tried not to hold it against Cap too much.

“Yeah, hang on just a sec.”

He got the last of the solder he needed onto the board and held the wire in place til it had safely hardened and he could pull his hand away.

It didn’t take long, which was good. Patience wasn’t his strongest suit.

This, though-- this just might be. It should be.

He tucked the board and wire in and slid the plate section into place, stepping back to admire it. Not bad. Fucking genius, in fact, if he said so himself. And he did.

“Fucking genius. Alright, so yours is over here...” He made his way around the table to a desk against the far wall, beckoning that Steve should follow.

  


Steve looked around the lab, keeping his hands in his pockets to stave off the urge to touch anything. Some of it just looked like rubble, and some of it looked like the future. He thought briefly of how awe-inspired Bucky had been by the machines at the World’s Fair Expo, with Howard and all the rest, and smiled. All those showy presentations had taken their breath away, and the scrap pile of Tony’s lab was probably more high tech than the lot of them. Buck would have a field day if he could see it...

He followed Tony, eyeing a half-finished looking set of red and gold armor as they passed. “Working on a new suit of armor?” he asked. It was a slimmer profile than Tony’s usual, he noted.

  


“Yeah, you know. It’s the only thing Pep can’t buy herself these days, and after you know, the whole _you_ thing, I figured. She needs some kind of defense. I’m trying not to panic shop for Valentine’s day gifts this year.”

He just hoped he could balance not sleeping to get it done with sleeping enough so she didn’t come down and ruin the surprise.

But he’d manage. Genius, and all.

“So here--” He picked up a 3d printed cuff, not yet shiny and fun colors, though he had plans that were more in that direction. He needed to check the fit first, though. Since Steve was a very different size than the one they had on file for him, now.

“Give it a try.” He tossed it, hoping Steve still had pretty good reflexes under all that lost muscle.

  


Valentine’s Day. The reminder that it was coming soon, heralded by all the hearts in the shop windows, sent Steve’s thoughts back to the painting upstairs. He knew he’d have to do something in addition to that, and soon. If even Tony was ahead of him--

Steve fumbled, but managed to catch the thing Tony had thrown to him while his mind had been drifting. Turning it over in his hands, he thought it reminded him a little of the 3D printed cast he’d worn on his leg, though smaller. He blinked at it. “Um. What is it?”

  


“It’s a bracer, obviously. Goes on your wrist. Looks like you just sprained it from too much you time, so no one should be too weirded out by it, but once you have it on, there’s a little round bit on the top that you twist…”

He trailed off, nodding at Steve, encouraging him to do it.

“Just… aim that part away from you. Face it outwards.”

  


“Too much--?” Steve broke off as the meaning sunk in, and felt his cheeks heat. “Tony, that’s disgusting,” he muttered, turning the brace over and figuring out how it slid on, realizing his left hand went in the larger hole, his fingers out the medium one and his thumb in the small one. It fit like one of the wrist-braces he’d seen folks wear to support injuries while they healed, and was surprisingly snug. He wondered if it could be made of a more flexible material though, that wouldn’t limit his range of motion.

Carefully, he rotated his arm so the bulkier portion of the brace, resting against the top of his wrist, was facing away from him and Tony. He figured Tony was giving him something with a communication device built in -- some kind of distress beacon or tracking signal he could set off just in case. But ‘aiming’ the brace seemed to suggest something more. Eying Tony questioningly, he rotated the shallow plastic knob on the inside of the wrist as instructed--

There was a low, pulsing _whoomp_ noise that he felt in his bones and a flash of light. He reared back, blinking, and there--

There was his shield. Or at least, a holographic projection of it, glowing in red, white and blue light as it he were wearing it strapped to his arm.

“Huh,” he exhaled in surprise. “That’s...”

  


“My aunt told me once there’s only one good way to test a shield. I don’t have a gun handy, but… think fast!”

Tony tossed a small wrench at Steve, aimed at his head-ish. It probably woulda missed anyway, but it was in range of the shield, and he’d gotten at least some idea of his reaction time, based on catching the brace.

He’d be fine.

Probably.

  


Steve reacted on instinct, jerking his arm up to deflect the incoming projectile with his shield, gritting his jaw as he realized half a second too late it wasn’t his actual--

The wrench struck the holo-shield with a humming noise, and bounced off, as if it had hit a solid object instead of light.

Steve blinked, looking to where the wrench had clattered to the ground, then at the shield on his arm, and reached out to touch it. It _was_ solid. It made his fingertips tingle a little, humming softly when he made contact, and it was warm, but it had no yield.

He looked up at Tony, eyes wide. “That’s... It’s an actual shield.” And it appeared to absorb vibration like the vibranium did, conducting very little of the energy of impact into his arm. “Tony, that’s-- that’s amazing.” He glanced back at it, then laughed. “And I’m guessing I know which aunt that was.”

  


“Yeah, I bet you can. And it is amazing, I agree. That do what you want it to? There’s also a panic signal, so if you activate it, it’ll automatically alert JARVIS, and you can let him know whose starkphones to push alerts to. I figure at least Loki and I, but anyone else you want can be added to the list as well.”

He leaned back against the table.

“Making subtle stuff is actually kinda fun. If you want a shoe gun or something next, just say the word.”

He glanced at the half finished armor.

“Well. After Valentine’s.”

  


Steve grinned. “I think I’ll pass on the shoe gun, but this is great. Thank you.” He twisted the dial again, and the shield disappeared with a whine and hiss, collapsing inward and winking out. Easier to carry than his actual shield, with none of the weight, and far less conspicuous. It was new tech, but the idea of having a shield with him was a comfortingly familiar one.

“Might want to make it a little more subtle though,” he mused. “I mean, when you get the chance. Maybe scrap the stars and stripes, and... Can this be elastic?” he asked, gesturing to the part of the brace that fit around his hand. “And maybe show me how to hit that panic signal...”

  


Tony heaved a fake put upon sigh.

“Scrap the stars and stripes? Elastic? Some people have no respect for aesthetics.”

He moved a little closer and reached out, before remembering that he wasn’t allowed to touch.

“The dial you twist? If you just pull upwards on it, it’ll trigger the alarm. It’s silent on your end, so for an emergency, it oughtta do the trick.”

He retreated a little, not wanting to trigger anything else-- like a panic attack, or something.

“Any other notes on it?”

  


“Subtlety over aesthetics, Tony -- I’m not trying to be Cap out there,” Steve pointed out as he turned the shield back on, then began moving, rotating his arm quickly and noting how the shield followed with no delay and very little drag. It was virtually weightless, which was strange, but he could see himself getting used to it with some practice. The brace fit snugly -- without squeezing -- and he couldn’t imagine Loki being anything other than thrilled with the result.

Of course, it didn’t seem like he could take it off and throw it like he could his other shield, what with the projector being built into the brace. But as far as defending himself in an emergency, it would do just fine.

“Thank you for this, Tony,” he replied, turning it off again. “I mean it.” He looked Tony in the eyes and smiled fondly. “You do a lot to protect us all.”

  


Tony waved off the gratitude, about as uncomfortable with it as Steve was with being poked right now.

“Yeah well, you know what they say, with great popularity comes great need for protection, or something like that.”

He nodded at Steve’s wrist, almost amused with watching him play around with the shield, even though Tony couldn’t pretend he hadn’t done the same damn thing fifty times at least.

“It’ll take some recalibrating time while I tweak the symbols out and order some durable elastic. You want to hang onto the prototype til I get the next one set up?”

He would still be going to his meetings, after all… no doubt it’d be better for everyone, knowing he had it.

  


Steve thought about it for a few moments, then nodded. “Yeah, if it’s not any trouble.” If Tony didn’t need the prototype back, it would be good to practice with. And if he wore it out of the tower -- it was a bit conspicuous, but he could just wrap an ace bandage around it to hide it from view, and tear it off if he needed to use it.

He hesitated then, tempted to ask Tony if there was anything else being developed. Anything new with SHIELD, or with HYDRA, that he ought to know.

But as incredible as the shield on his arm was, it wasn’t his _real_ shield, because Steve wasn’t fit to carry that shield into battle these days, and needed protecting. Whether or not there were new developments, there was little enough he could do about it.

So he kept his mouth shut.

“I’m amazed you got this done so fast, but you should probably go get some sleep before you tweak it. It’s not that big a rush,” he said instead.

  


Tony snorted.

“Not you too. I’ll get to sleep, promise. Pepper’s home now to enforce a minimum of six hours schedule, which is gonna make getting her present done on time hard as is. But yeah, just so you know, pretty much everything is being sidelined til I finish this. Couple weeks, tops, and I’ll get you the upgrade, but at least you have that for now, so Loki can’t try and mother at you in the meantime.”

He looked Steve over, realizing he’d managed to let some time slip by since he’d last seen him, again.

“She’s not driving you nuts, is she? Cuz if you need to come hang out down here for a while, you’re more than welcome. Open invite.”

  


“She...?” Steve blinked, realizing belatedly that Tony meant Loki. “Oh, no. Things are actually-- they’re going pretty well right now. Loki’s doing more work on the medical levels and spending time with Nat, so we each get some space from each other,” he assured. “But thanks. I might take you up on it, when you’re not as busy.”

It was kind of Tony to offer, after all.

“I should probably leave to you it, at any rate,” he said. “Thanks again, good luck with the armor, and -- let me know if there’s ever anything I can help out with around here.” Odds of that were near nil, but it seemed like the sort of thing he ought to offer at any rate.

  


He considered asking for a scan, but if the next one was gonna be elastic, then it wouldn’t matter. And more, if it was elastic, it’d be able to be adjusted as he kept filling out.

Come to think of it…

“You’re looking good. Hope you haven’t heard it too much, but, you don’t look like a malnourished pound puppy as much any more. Like you said, that’s pretty good-- whatever you’re doing, keep it up. I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”

Maybe Loki nagging had some benefits, after all.

Which reminded him that he needed to eat.

“Actually…” he said slowly. “You feel like taking a fieldtrip to the kitchen with me? I could use a witness to corroborate my sandwich story if and when Pepper starts questioning me.”

Because, sure, he had work to do. And he’d do it. But he could make sure Steve was eating while he was at it as well.

Fucking. Genius.

  


Steve blinked, then chuckled. “Thanks, I think.”

He _was_ filling out a little. He still avoided looking in the mirror, but his hair was grown back in (and perhaps getting to be in need of a trim in some spots), and his clothes didn’t hang as loosely on his frame, so he knew he was, if not back to his old physique, at least looking less like a starved POW.

But it was still reassuring to hear from someone else. Especially when Tony was blunt to the point of painfulness so much of the time.

“I could eat,” he agreed. “And give my testimony, if asked.” Given Tony seemed in a good mood, and Steve himself was in a better place than the last time Tony had gotten him to eat -- it would be good. He’d seen so little of Tony lately, he found himself looking forward to genuinely catching up.

He smiled as he held the door to the lab open, listening to Tony’s rambling all the way up to the penthouse.

\---  
  


Loki could not help but feel guilty, coming to a stop before the door to the rooms that his brother shared with Jane.

He’d been neglecting Thor since Steve returned, and Thor had not complained once about it, nor tried to seek him out or insert himself where he was not wanted.

In short, he had done nothing but give Loki the space he wanted, and Loki, in turn, had all but forgotten he was there.

Even when he’d spoken to his lady not long before.

But Thor had apparently gotten tired of waiting, and had asked JARVIS to summon Loki to him Though, even then, it had been ‘at Loki’s convenience’.

So in short, he was fidgeting outside Thor’s door in a way reminiscent of how he’d done outside Odin’s or their mother’s, when he was a child and had known a lecture was coming.

But there was no point in putting it off; better that he speak to his brother, grovel as he needs must, and make efforts to be better about it in the near future. Especially after all Thor had done for he and Steve.

And as he was the only source Loki had for news of Asgard and Frigga.

He lifted his hand and knocked, schooling his face to be impassive, but mildly pleasant.

  


Thor opened the door hastily at the knock, having been pacing across the sitting room since conveying his request through Stark’s hidden servant.

“Si--” he stopped short, but his smile didn’t waver. “--Brother!”

Loki was in the form Thor was most accustomed to seeing him in once more. He began to step forward, arms outstretched, before catching himself a second time in as many seconds. “Is it... alright if I embrace you?” he asked.

His and Loki’s relationship was healing from the deep wounds it had suffered, but he knew it to be a fragile thing still.

  


Where once he might have denied such a request, in Thor’s hesitation, he saw his own restraint, stopping himself from touching Steve, even in so casual an embrace as this would be.

And he felt that lack on his skin, like the echoes of dreams only just woken from.

He _wanted_ that embrace, and hated the part of himself that made Thor hesitate.

Rather than answering, he stepped forward, opening his arms and enfolding his brother first, comfortable in knowing that his hug would be returned, and not rejected.

That it would cause him no pain.

“I am… I apologize for my absence. I have been finding ways of busying myself.”

Better to be somewhat honest, but still to preserve Thor’s feelings. “These have been difficult times. But how are you?”

  


Thor beamed, relief flooding through him as Loki hugged him; he wrapped his arms around him and squeezed lightly.

A few months ago, it would have been impossible to imagine Loki allowing this. Loki, who had claimed to _hate him_ when Thor first found him here in Stark’s tower, and who now let himself be called brother. The thought warmed him.

“I know you have been much occupied with caring for your Captain,” Thor told him gently as he finally pulled back, “and for that I would never fault you. Steve is very fortunate to have you guiding him back to health.” Which, from what he understood, Loki was doing well. He’d run into Steve and Stark in the kitchen the day prior, and the Captain was not as frail as he’d been, nor his demeanor as cowed. “I myself am well, but I wished to see you to confirm what I have heard, that you and Steve are both... improving?”

  


Loki smiled part way, bemused.

In what area was _he_ supposed to be improving? He had not been injured, stolen… and though Thor had seen him at his worst with Steve gone, he'd been back for a while now. Surely he didn't think Loki was still so unstable as all that?

So he had no idea what he was improving on, to Thor’s mind.

Save, except, in his work with Natasha.

The smile wavered a little as he entertained, however briefly, the idea of sharing his frustration at the lack of forward progress with Thor.

But it was bad enough that Thor knew that he'd become study enough, _weak_ enough, to require help with his lies.

“It is slow going, for both of us. But… there is progress. Mostly by Steve, I think. But he is doing well, and better with each passing day.”

He tilted his head, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

If Thor had only wanted to check in on him, he could have done so without summoning Loki here.

“What of Jane?” Loki asked, casting around for what could be the true cause for his visit. “I saw her recently, but only for long enough to speak with her of Midgardian science that means little enough to me.”

  


Thor nodded. Steve did appear much more hale. And Loki did not seem quite as ill-footed, though he retained some current of unease.

He chuckled softly at Loki’s question. “To speak truly, I have seen little more of Jane than you have. She seems most distressed that HYDRA has used her work and findings in their machinations, and has developed a personal grudge. Her dedication to piecing together everything she can from their science is... significant.” Not that he blamed her. If they had a clear target for him to crush with Mjolnir, he’d have already laid it to waste. But without a clear view of his foe, he was forced to wait.

He led the way in, gesturing for Loki to join him in the sitting room.

“I have done my best not to interfere with her work, though I am whisking her away for a few days’ time for Valentine’s Day,” he said, lowering himself on to the couch.

  


Loki could not help huffing as he sat.

Of course, of all aspects of Midgard for Thor to excel at picking up, their feasts and holidays _would_ be the first thing he learned.

“I had gathered she was displeased.” He said honestly, “And of course I shall assist her however I can. But, what is Valentine’s Day?”

If it was another feast, like Thanksgiving, he couldn’t imagine, even with his improvements, that Steve would want to be part of it. Particularly not after the dinners with Natasha and their group dinner had gone.

Then again, he had been alright with just Tony, and was apparently able to go out to coffee with _Sam_ , so maybe the common element that made things go wrong was Loki himself.

He wondered if there was a graceful way to excuse himself from Valentine’s Day, that the others might enjoy it.

Perhaps Ortega could help him with that...

  


Thor frowned pensively. “Ostensibly a day to honor one of their Saints, or sacred dead. Though I am uncertain of why specifically it is celebrated in this way... From what I am given to understand, in this day and age, it is largely a day for celebrating romantic love between couples, through the exchange of gifts, including chocolate and roses, and a vast quantity of the colors red and pink.” Darcy’s explanation, while lengthy, had mostly been perplexing, and while she’d filled it with details and anecdotes, the actual logic of the day was something Thor had given up on fathoming. What he did understand was that, as Jane’s paramour, it was expected of him to make a demonstration of his affections.

As such, he had (with Banner’s help) planned a trip for him and Jane to a series of islands called Hawaii, where there would be a gentle, warm climate, and apparently, excellent stargazing. The latter of which he suspected would hold most of Jane’s fascination.

“Jane and I will be away for the space of several days, and I wished to warn you. I have... tried to remain available, should you need me. Though I suppose I have overestimated my own usefulness,” he added with a self-deprecating smile.

  


Loki felt some budding horror at the thought of having nearly missed a _romantic_ holiday-- and then a deeper terror at not knowing how to celebrate it, now that he did know.

But that was a worry to consider in a moment. For now, there was Thor, who, in spite of what he’d said, was clearly hurt by Loki’s lack of visits.

“I am sure you would have been of help, could I have convinced myself to leave his side more, brother.”

He felt like he was being manipulative again, giving Thor what he wanted to hear. But it was meant in kindness.

“Perhaps when you return, we may spend more time together, now that I am not so… constantly worried. Since he is doing better. I do hope you will enjoy your trip though, and thank you-- for telling me.”

Especially, he thought, since the last time Thor had left without saying so, he’d felt so abandoned.

This was better.

  


“Steve has been lucky to have such attentive care,” Thor replied, reaching over to give Loki’s shoulder a quick squeeze. Better to have been here, and not needed, than for Loki to have needed him while Thor was nowhere to be found.

(Not again. He’d lost his brother once. He would not be so careless as to let him down again.)

“I would like that,” he said carefully when Loki suggested they spend time together, “though I will eventually need to return to Asgard once more. The longer I am away, the more chance Heimdall’s scrutiny might fall on this place too closely,” he added with a wince.

  


Loki flinched; in all the rest of this, he’d forgotten.

“Yes of course. And you should...check on mother. Perhaps I will give you…” What? A letter? He doubted he could put to paper the words he should say, wanted and needed to, and more, it was not the sort of thing one gave to a recovering woman. Besides, his existence, the fact that he lived, that he was _here_ \-- it all must remain a secret.

And even if she did know of his life now, would that give her any joy? Or only open the door for more heartache?

“If I can think of a suitable gift, before you go, I will… have you take it.” It came out lame, and he sighed.

“Just as soon as I discover if there is a way to celebrate with Steve.”

He glanced down at his lap and then back up at Thor, able only to summon half a smile.

“Thank you for the warning, though- I keep being blindsided by Midgardian celebrations.”

  


“I am sure mother would be delighted to hear from you,” Thor told him. “When I told her that you lived and you were well, that you had found happiness on Midgard--” He smiled at the memory of their mother’s joy. “Even if it is merely a message, I know it would bring her joy. And if there is anything you wish for me to bring for you on my return, you have only to ask,” he added.

He’d brought a chest of Loki’s things back some time ago, but they had been items Thor had selected, and he knew that there were likely possessions of Loki’s that Thor hadn’t considered, and which he might miss or have need of. It would be easy enough to bring another chest back with him if he lied and said he was bringing treasures to Midgard as gifts for his brothers in arms.

“And I am certain you will come up with something for you and Steve,” he said, hoping to reassure. “You have always come up with the cleverest plans.”

He knew that in the past, he had neglected to say as much. But he chose his words with care now.

  


Loki tilted his head, surprised, though he thought he should not be.

“You did not tell me you had told her-- but clearly nothing has come of it.” He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

But Frigga, unlike Thor, could keep a secret.

“But… did she say anything? When you told her? Did she--”

She obviously hadn’t given Thor a message for him, which… he tucked that away to examine later, to keep his face from betraying him now.

“Sorry, never mind. I cannot think of anything now that you could bring… save perhaps more draughts of dreamless sleep, if you can see your way to getting them. Steve… does not sleep well, and I may gift him the one I have for the upcoming holiday.”

It was hardly in the spirit of the thing, as he understood it, though, and he would need to work harder to find something suitable.

Not another necklace, he thought, fingers reaching up to find Steve’s dog tags again.

“But thank you. Maybe I will find time to write something before you leave.”

Though that would be a challenge of its own.

  


Thor bowed his head. “I had not meant to tell any of your presence here, but when she was...” he paused, swallowing. “I thought that her hope for you might help heal her. The knowledge that you are well, that you are among those who care for you, and who you care for in turn -- I think it helped.”

He watched Loki’s face for a reaction, to see if he had erred. The frequent sense of self-doubt he felt around his brother of late was a contrast to the surety and confidence with which he’d lived his life for centuries. On the one hand, it was frustrating to feel as it he was always on a precipice, moving blindly. On the other, he was all the more aware that the precipice had always been there, and he’d frequently blundered over it in the past, heedless of the consequence.

“She loves you,” he added. _As do I._ “I doubt there is any power in the nine realms that could change that.”

  


This was hardly something he wanted to speak with Thor about-- not when he owed him so greatly for his help in healing Steve, for Jane’s role in finding him. And especially not when he had no concept of how to explain, to himself, much less to the audience of his brother, the sheer pain, the raging thumping hollowness of learning the lie.

Frigga had always been kind. She loved him, that was true. And he loved her. But there was a gulf now between them, not merely of space and inability to see one another, but of trust.

And though he knew he had violated her trust as well, some childish, petulant part of him insisted that she had done it _first._ That she had done it for his entire life.

He ducked his head.

“You have better judgment than you used to. I’m glad to hear that anything I have done has helped her, even in so indirect a way as that. Thank you, Thor.”

He reached out, glad not to have to hesitate, and clapped his hand on his brother’s arm.

“I will write to her. I’ll find the time, and the words, so long as you do not mind bearing the message.”

And maybe, if he could swallow the bile rather than spewing it at Thor, then he could save her from himself similarly.

  


Thor chuffed softly in amusement. “I do not know if my judgment has improved, or if I am simply more aware of the ways in which it is lacking,” he pointed out, looking down. “I was not ready to be King. Am not, still. But I...” He frowned. “I am trying, to think more on my words and actions.”

It was, as Jane said, ‘a work in progress.’

“But I will gladly convey any message you wish,” he assured Loki.

 

Loki rolled his eyes affectionately.

“You haven't learned yet to make less open ended offers. What if I sent you back with words for Odin, after that?”

He wouldn't, of course. For his own safety, and Steve's, and the sake of the work that remained for him… but also because if he never had to see or hear of not even think of the Allfather again, it would be too soon.

“But truly Thor, you have been a great help. I know my welcome was… _lacking_ ,” an understatement, of course, “but it has been good to have you here. And I will be glad to see you returned from your trips.”

  


“I can make an open offer to _you_ , brother, because I have good reason to trust you,” Thor pointed out. And while that hadn’t been the case for a while... The Loki he’d seen over these past few months, doting over Steve and ready to search the world over for him, was not the Loki he’d fought during the Chitauri invasion, or the Loki on the bifrost.

This Loki was closer to the brother he’d known in his youth. A bit sadder, a bit more fragile, a bit less joyful. But also kinder in his quiet moments.

His heart warmed at Loki’s next words, and he couldn’t help himself in reaching forward to sling his arm around Loki’s shoulders in a half-embrace, giving him a quick squeeze.

“I will try to return from Asgard as soon as I am able,” he assured him. “And I... I am glad that things between us are mending. I know in my anger I did not show it well, but I missed you sorely.”

  


Did he?

Have any reason to trust Loki, really?

Steve was found. If not for the gratitude Loki felt, he could easily go back to treating Thor as he had before-- held at a distance, at least, if not outright hostile.

This was all reward for his help, for the healing stone.

Even if his presence and touch was a comfort and a boon, and helped to serve as an anchor, from time to time. It was nostalgia and familiarity born of centuries. But Loki had wielded that against him before.

What made him so sure this was any different?

But then… Loki did feel different. He remembered the look on Steve’s face when he had walked in to hear Loki telling Thor that he hated him. Remembered the way his own chest had tightened, and he’d felt defensive.

He had changed. He just wasn’t certain whether the changes he felt in himself matched with what Thor saw-- or thought he did.

“Well, however long it takes, I can assure you I will be here. In the meantime, though… I must admit I appreciate your willingness. To trust me, after… all that I have done, the wrongs I have done you. It is… more than I deserve, and more than I expected. So thank you. And… though I agree, you probably are not there yet, I can well imagine, in time, you becoming a great king. Now that you have learned to listen.”

He bumped his shoulder against Thor’s playfully and grinned.

“It only took you several centuries.”

  


Thor chuckled. “It might take another for me to get any good at it,” he pointed out. “Though now at least I know you’ll be here to smack sense into me when I require it.”

He sobered a moment later. “But I thank you too, for giving me a second chance. I will do all I can to be a better brother to you, Loki, and not to let you down again.” He said this last part earnestly; he had been willing to forgive Loki, but Loki had forgiven Thor his sins against him too. That choice on both their parts had been what allowed them to meet in the middle and share this. And Thor had no intention of squandering it by taking Loki for granted as he once had.

Not when Thor finally had his brother back. Or at least, the man his brother had become.

“I know you have been busy and there is much that likely requires your attention... Steve included,” he said, letting his arm slide away. “I don’t mean to keep you. But I thank you for making the time to come by.”

  


Loki felt the loss of his touch and managed not to move to chase after it, though it was a near thing.

He used to be so much more used to this, to the sparseness of contact.

Another thing Steve had changed about him.

“Your trespasses against me were the acts of a child, and an uninformed one at that. It is unfair of me to hold them against you, when I was taught the same histories as you. We both know what my true people are, and before I learned… well, let us just say that much of my anger has been misdirected. But I will leave it out of the letter I give you just the same.”

He stood, and gave Thor a more than slightly ironic bow.

“But yes. We shall spend more time together when you return.”

If, that is, the reminder of Loki’s true heritage did not give Thor pause.

He found himself wondering, not for the first time, what Thor would do if met with Loki’s true form, but he did not care to test it and discover.

Steve, on the other hand, seemed fond of it. He wondered if he might do something with that for the upcoming holiday.

Or if Steve’s recent treatment at the hands of Verschmutzung, and the scarring that had resulted from ice, might have ruined that, too.

He was at a disadvantage, and he knew it. But at least he could prepare, thanks to Thor and the time he'd gifted him.  
  


 


	100. One Hundred

Steve had done a lot of planning in his time.

He’d worked out the tactical approach for an entire platoon, moving along the western front to capture one of HYDRA’s fortresses. He’d planned small and surgically-precise infiltration missions with a team of commandos. He’d planned SHIELD operations and he’d handled the tactics for the Avengers.

And it was the same strategic, comprehensive approach that he used in all these past plans, that he now applied to the single most critical mission he’d been faced with since his rescue:

_Valentine’s Day._

Specifically, his first Valentine’s Day with Loki. And frankly, Steve’s first Valentine’s Day with a steady sweetheart ever.

Oh, he’d made a few cards with scrap fabric and colored-in butcher paper back in school, and had gone on a few double-dates with Bucky and whatever unlucky girl his date had dragged along. But Bucky had been the one to bring home an entire sack full of Valentines, while Steve only got one or two from the girls who perfunctorily had brought a little something for everyone in the class. He’d ignored the holiday whenever he could.

But not now. Now, he was going to get it right, and make Loki feel as loved and appreciated as possible.

Unfortunately, this planning and execution required _time_.

He contacted Dr. Ortega by email to get her schedule of Loki’s appointments with patients, and checked in with Natasha about whether or not she and Loki planned to have ‘tea’ again soon. He was able to get most of what he needed to do done in those intervals, along with the few random times Loki was out tending to unspecified errands, but he still required at least an hour beforehand with Loki out of the apartment to assemble it all.

Thankfully, Tony was willing to provide an assist, when Steve mentioned as much to him. He was still fine-tuning the armor for Pepper, and offered to get Loki’s help by asking him to shapeshift into Pepper to test the armor’s fit.

So while Loki obliged, Steve settled into a frenzy of work, pausing only when Pepper’s florist called him to give the man access codes and direct him to Tony’s lab...

  


\---

  


“Ok, so, lift your arms,” Tony said, studying the schematics on the tablet. “Does that feel okay? Full range of motion, nothing pinchy, nothing rubbing against your bra strap? Shit, are you even wearing a bra? Is that okay to ask?”

  


Loki huffed a sigh, amused despite the oddness of the circumstance.

“I am wearing a bra, yes. No, there does not seem to be any pinching to note.”

Loki rotated Pepper’s arms, rolling her shoulders within the confines of the armor. She’d transformed without an issue, but had elected to maintain her own voice, to help remind Tony that she was not, in fact, his lady. Not that she expected he would need overmuch reminding.  
While she appreciated the sensibility of having a shape shifter try on a gift such as this, it did not actually make it less awkward to be standing there in her friend’s skin.

“You may wish to add ‘better bra’ to the list of things you build for her, though. I have worn one only a few times, and they are terribly uncomfortable. Additionally, if there were to be any impact…”

Loki drew lines under Pepper’s breasts.

“There are metal pieces here, as well as hook closures on the back, none of which would be comfortable to land on, particularly when pressed on by metal.”

She swung her arms in a wide circle, then crossed them over her chest.

“I must say, all of this is much lighter than I would have expected. It’s very impressive.” And it never hurt to appeal to his vanity, she knew.

  


Seeing Pepper’s face with Loki’s lady-voice coming out of her mouth was... weird. Though not, Tony reflected, as disconcerting as Loki’s male voice would be. (Thank god for small mercies.)

He snorted. “You know, if teenage me knew he’d be asked to engineer aerodynamic, combat-ready lingerie, he’d probably be over the moon,” he mused. Though in the back of his mind, he was already considering designs. “For the time being, I’ll make sure there’s a sports bra in her undersuit. And yeah, wouldn’t be too handy for us regular squishy humans if you needed super-strength just to cart all this around-- pop a squat and make sure it doesn’t ride up in the groin, would you? -- so the suits are basically designed to move all their own weight. It’s why they can be remote-controlled when empty -- the person wearing it is a pilot, but the suit doesn’t require physical exertion to direct. Once you start swinging your arm, the servos kick in and move the arm of the suit in response to the interior pressure sensors detecting your movements.”

  


Loki shook her head, following, but not perfectly understanding, beyond the part where the suit was smart enough to move when you moved. A handy enough premise; she wondered if she could enchant traditional armor similarly.

She bent, first at the waist, then at the knees, crouching down, kneeling, and finally standing back up.

“The shape of the knee is a little strange- perhaps too rounded? It requires some balancing, and rocks when weight is shifted on it.”

She didn’t think that was a large change,though; surely he could add a flat spot without endangering his ability to give Pepper her gift on time.

“For the most part, though, it is very comfortable and well fitted. I am sure Pepper will have her own requests, but to my mind, it does seem quite well equipped and more than serviceable. This is a great gift.”

It certainly made her own gift for Steve pale a bit in comparison. But she knew there was only so much he was comfortable with, just now. She only hoped she had not miscalculated.

  


Tony nodded. “J, bring up the schematics and zoom in on the knee, would you?”

The holographic display responded to his request.

“I guess I have your boyfriend to thank for the idea... I made his sweetheart a suit, so it only made sense that I’d make one for Pep. I put her in one of mine back when we had that whole Mandarin mess last Christmas, to keep her safe, and... Well. I wanna protect the thing that’s most important to me. And this’ll help.” He smiled tightly. “Now, what about when you--”

“ _Sir, you have a delivery.”_

Tony turned just as the lab doors swished open, showing an old, mustachioed man in aviator sunglasses and a ballcap with _Stan’s Floral_ written on it, standing and holding what looked like two dozen red roses.

“Uhhh.... I got a delivery for a ‘Luke Smith’ ?” the man said.

Tony was about to point to Loki, before remembering that at the moment she most definitely did _not_ look like Luke Smith. “Uh, Pep, honey, why don’t you pop over next door and fetch Luke?” he said, jerking his head to the door that led to the adjacent materials supply area, giving Loki a meaningful look. “J, disengage Pepper’s suit, would you?”

  


Loki was careful to keep a straight face as the suit came away-- leaving her-as-Pepper in the scant undersuit she was wearing, which, thankfully, was fairly coversome.

“I’ll send him in-- and I’m gonna hop in the shower. See you in a bit.” She gave Tony a quick smile, watching for his reaction to her use of Pepper’s voice, but didn’t delay for it. Heart pounding, she made her escape.

Through the door lay nothing but a storage room, but it was enough for her to change from Pepper to his usual male form, and another quick tweak made for different clothes-- including the coat that Ortega often gave him, to lend some credibility to his supposed role here.

He returned, contriving to look confused, then allowed his eyes to widen.

“Not exactly the delivery I was expecting to the lab,” he murmured, eyes sliding from the delivery man to Tony, then back.

“Did you.. Need me to sign for anything?” He asked, unsure of how this kind of delivery worked, but well aware of that requirement when food was involved.

“Right here.” The man said, and Loki handed the flowers to Tony, smirking as he had no choice but to accept them, despite it being something he disliked.

He signed on the line and thanked him, then turned back to the roses and reached for the card that was helping to obscure Tony’s face from view.

“It seems this is a summons from Steve,” He said, unable to keep the delighted smile off his face or out of his voice. “Did you get all you needed from me, or…?”

  


“Yeah, Yeah,” Tony said, rolling his eyes, though he was pleased that Steve’s scheme appeared to be on track. It had been an easy enough thing to help with, and Pepper ought to be out of her shareholders’ meeting within the hour. “You kids go have fun. Don’t get too wild and crazy. Here--” he thrust the flowers back at Loki. “Go. Shoo. Off to loverboy.”

If he was lucky, he’d be able to tweak the suit’s kneecaps in time to give Pepper a gift that would hopefully be better received than the strawberries or the giant rabbit had been…

  


Loki could honestly not guess what Steve had in store, but it was clear he hadn’t forgotten this holiday-- much like he hadn’t forgotten the day he’d chosen for Loki’s birth day.

It felt… good, flattering, filled his chest with such warmth to know he was on Steve’s mind. But it made him nervous, too, afraid he might misunderstand the obligations of the day, do something wrong, forget or miss or not do something he ought to, from not knowing.

His searches on the topic had really just devolved into historians of the realm arguing about the truths of what had happened in their world, and the only consistencies he had found were gifts, and cards, chocolates, and repetitive advertisements for diamond jewellery that he could not imagine Steve ever wearing.

He took a deep breath outside of their door, but opened it just the same, the heady scent of the roses helping to remind him that if nothing else, Steve would understand if he got it wrong.

“Steve?” He called. “I got your gift…”

  


“ _Stars shining bright above you...”_

The box of candles Steve had acquired the other day had been heavy enough that he’d been panting and his arms sore by the time he got it back to the apartment, but it was worth it to have the whole apartment now illuminated by candlelight. He’d found a cheap candelabra at a thrift store, along with other candle-holders, and they were placed on every counter and table, lighting everything with shimmering golden light.

“ _Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’...”_

Dinner had been cooked fairly quickly -- no time for a five course meal in the short period of prep he’d had -- but it was fragrant and ready in the nick of time, as Steve heard the door click open. All he had to do was dish it up, and the wine was already uncorked and breathing. The timing, he noted with relief, could not have been better. (Thank god.)

“ _Birds singing in the sycamore trees...”_

“In the kitchen,” he called softly, pausing from humming along with Ella Fitzgerald’s soft crooning from the turntable in the corner. He knew JARVIS had a nearly infinite amount of music on his servers, but there was something about the sound of vinyl that even the AI couldn’t quite replace.

“ _...Dream a little dream of me.”_

He turned and smiled as Loki walked in, waiting to watch his reaction.

  


He couldn’t help but gasp and gape, eyes skittering around the room to take in every detail, though they repeatedly were dragged back to Steve.

He kept doing this, these surprises, dinner, music… there were candles, this time, and flowers, and while there probably wouldn’t be any dancing, because there would be no touching, it was still… Loki was touched.

And now doubly nervous.

“This is all-- it’s so beautiful, Steve.” And so much. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he added quickly, to prove he knew why, at least.

He did have a gift, but it was in his room, and he hardly knew the best way to leave to go fetch it…

“I have something for you, as well… would you like it now, or after--” he gestured at the dinner that Steve had obviously made, not wanting to be rude and cause it to go cool.

  


Steve smiled at the look of shock on Loki’s face. _Good._ He hadn’t lost the ability to pleasantly surprise him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Loki,” he said. Then -- “Let’s do presents after. Join me for dinner first?”

After all, if Loki went into his room, he’d see Steve’s present for him too soon.

He pulled a chair out for Loki, then reached forward to take the roses from him, setting them down on the table, but to the side so they wouldn’t block their view of one another. “I’ll leave the wine pouring to you,” he told him.

  


Loki smiled back and nodded, reaching for the wine to pour while he still stood.

And he poured liberally, remembering what Steve had said when they’d eaten with Natasha-- how the alcohol made him feel good.

Loki wanted him to feel good, and… he’d been doing well. Hopefully things would continue that way.

“Dinner sounds-- and _smells_ \-- wonderful. How long have you been planning all of this?” He asked, taking the seat that Steve had readied for him.

He still felt unbalanced, as if he were playing a game without knowing the rules, and in the back of his mind, he made note to tell Natasha that perhaps that was something they could yet strip out of him.

But for the time being…

“I’m afraid I only learned of the holiday a few days ago, so I… don’t quite know what to expect.” He put a smile on it, even though it naturally followed that he didn’t know what was expected of him.

  


“A little less than a week, but... Once I realized how close it was, I knew I wanted to do something special,” Steve answered, moving back to the stove to turn the burner off and get out bowls, dishing up beds of white rice before ladling out the chicken and broccoli with thick, amber-colored sauce, dotted with sesame seeds.

“And it’s really just an excuse to be romantic. Have a date night, do something nice together.” He smiled as he put the bowls down at each of their places.

It was homemade orange chicken; an echo of their dinner on the floor of their hotel room, the night they’d made love for the first time and then gone out for takeout.

  


Loki felt his lips quirking upwards as the sight and the smell together allowed him to identify this part of the surprise.

“It’s been a bit since we have had this-- I had almost forgotten.”

And it _was_ romantic-- patently so, perfectly planned and executed, and he was both impressed and pleased. Flattered, really.

It made him aware that while he had been trying to ask for little, he hadn’t offered to bridge the gap, or done much to try and repay Steve for these sort of surprises.

He’d have to fix that. Have to make a point of doing more, now that Steve seemed less volatile, and likely wouldn’t mistake his gesture for a vote of non-confidence.

“This does feel special.” He assured him. “And I cannot believe you have been planning this all that time, right under my nose, without my noticing. Maybe I should rethink that invitation to play cards.”

It was a tease, not at all serious, but there was an element of truth to it; what else had he been missing?

  


“I just paid attention to your schedule and when you were out,” Steve said with a shrug. He didn’t mention the nights he stayed up late in his room, working on Loki’s gift. It had been quite a bit of effort, actually, to avoid Loki noticing, but it was worth it to surprise him like this. Steve knew he’d caused Loki a lot of ugly shocks of late, so being able to catch him unawares with something _good_ for a change was a welcome change of pace.

“I also might have mentioned to Tony that I needed you out of the apartment for an hour or so while I cooked,” he admitted, a playful glint in his eye.

It faded though, his expression turning more serious as he lifted his wine glass, and held it for a toast. “I know It’s been a bit rocky so far. We haven’t had a particularly easy go of things. But... I wouldn’t trade what we have for the world. And I am so, so glad you’ve stuck with me. That you’ve saved me, in all kinds of ways.”

  


He bit his tongue, stopping himself from teasing him about sending Loki off to play another man’s beloved for an hour, and was glad of it, when Steve spoke up again.  
Loki swallowed, immediately casting about for the correct response.

He lifted his glass as well.

“There is not a moment of it that has made me think it wasn’t worth it. Rocky or no-- you are the best thing to ever happen to me, Astin Min. And we may debate forever about who has saved who, but… In all seriousness, I am glad that we are an us. Together. And that you had the patience to get through to me, those first few weeks.”

He leaned his glass forward to touch against Steve’s.

“I am so lucky, and so grateful to have you, Steve.”

  


Steve blushed. “Yeah, well. You make me feel like the luckiest fella in the world,” he murmured in reply. “To us.”

Their glasses clinked together, and Steve sipped his wine, noting that the salesgirl hadn’t steered him wrong with the vintage. He was hardly an expert on wine, but he could recognize when something tasted pretty good. And this tasted good.

It really was incredible, he reflected, how much they’d been through in such a short time. It had been... six months? And yet they’d cleaved to each other like they’d spent a lifetime watching one another’s backs, and he could hardly imagine his life now in the modern world without Loki.

Picking up his fork, he tried a bite of the orange chicken, and nearly groaned with relief that it had come out all right.

  


Loki followed his partner’s lead, echoing the toast, drinking, and then lifting his fork to try Steve’s orange chicken.

“You know, I believe you have been holding out on me.” He said slowly. “You led me to think you could not cook, and yet every time you do, it is a treat. You’ll have to teach me your ways.” He took another bite of chicken, this time following it with a forkful of the rice that had soaked up some of the tangy sweet sauce.

He closed his mouth around the fork and hummed his pleasure.

The taste was attached to memories… the conversation they had had, sitting on a park bench, just before he’d first tried it, where Steve had worked to make him feel safe. The good hotel room they’d shared, the newness and the unknown of their relationship.

The two of them taking turns hiding in the bathroom from one another.

Their first time being together.

It was perhaps bittersweet. He knew exactly how they would have celebrated this holiday before Steve was taken.

Now though…

“Did you have plans for after we eat? A movie, perhaps?”

Now he’d take being as close to Steve as he could, as long as Steve was comfortable. Pillows between them on the couch seemed to be the best option at present, and he could be grateful for that.

  


Steve flushed a little. “I’m better at following a recipe than I am at following orders,” he said. “I’m definitely learning as I go with a lot of it.” It helped that he had access to the actual ingredients a recipe called for. Growing up, most of his cooking had been fairly miserable, but he hadn’t had much to work with. There was only so much you could do with a bone, half an onion, and a rancid potato when you were waiting for your pay to come in. Now, he had no such limitations, and all the food he cooked with was plenty decent on its own. “You said you couldn’t cook either,” he pointed out with a wry quirk of his mouth.

He was glad that Loki seemed to be enjoying it. It maybe wasn’t the most ostentatious meal -- he hadn’t taken Loki out to a five-star restaurant to sup of caviar and oysters on the half shell, or whatever else it was that you ate if you wanted to be extravagant -- but it held meaning. It was personal. And Steve had been raised to put more stock in sentimental value than monetary value.

“We, ah, could do a movie. If you want,” Steve said carefully. “I have an idea for something after, but it’s up to you.”

He quickly took another sip of wine. “How was the armor Tony made for Pepper?”

  


Loki tilted his head.

“I said I couldn’t cook using your trappings- I have limited ability back on Asgard. Though I think, with the time I’ve put into it now, I may be more capable here.”

And it was odd, a bit, to think just how much ‘here’ had come to be home. No small amount because of the man across from him.

“And I wouldn’t want to derail your plans. Whatever your idea is, I’m sure it is a good one.”

And perhaps it was best that he hadn’t known ahead of time, about this holiday. After all, if they had made conflicting plans it would have been a minor tragedy.

“Pepper’s armor is essentially Tony’s armor, but smaller and with room for her breasts. It is a wonder, the way it works. I’d never been inside anything like it before. I didn’t try on the helmet, though. Being that enclosed…”

She shuddered, though it was theatrical and came with a smile.

“Still… that was very tricky of you. Again, some will say I’ve rubbed off.”

  


“You’ve certainly picked it up well enough. And I think we’ve both rubbed off on each other a bit,” Steve noted with a smile. “Though Tony _did_ want to double-check the fit, so it was really good of you to help him.”

The conversation remained light, discussing their respective days, cooking endeavors they both wished to try, and the music Steve had selected, as they worked their way through dinner. He paced himself on the wine, despite the generous serving Loki had poured, not wanting to ruin the evening by overindulging and unsettling him. Though it was enough to make him feel a little warmer, and a little more relaxed.

Steve chuckled when ‘My Funny Valentine’ came on, as it couldn’t be more appropriate for the day.

_Don't change a hair for me / Not if you care for me_

_Stay little valentine, stay / Each day is Valentine's Day..._

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, lowering his fork into the empty bowl as he watched Loki fondly, “Your present is in the other room.”

  


He had finished his own dinner off and was just sipping at the wine when Steve offered the next step in his plan.

The other room, of course, being the room Loki slept in.

He wondered at that, how Steve would be so sure he wouldn’t want to clean up after his day before dinner, and what sort of surprise it was. But… Loki rose just the same, taking the wine glass with him.

“Should I go see on my own, or did you want to come with me? Your gift is also in my room-- I hope you haven’t found it already.”

Not, Loki thought, that he could have known what it was if he had found it, but even so. He still hoped it would be enough.

  


“I’ll come with,” Steve said, getting up. He didn’t want to miss Loki’s reaction; he hoped it would be positive, at any rate.

The dishes could wait. He gestured for Loki to lead the way, pausing by the door as Loki opened it. “Look to the wall above the bed,” he instructed gently.

 

He did as instructed, moving into the room a little way so that Steve would have space, and took in his gift.

It was a painting, one that Steve had done, though it looked very little like the things Loki had seen in his sketch books.

It looked… it was New York, recognizably so, but blended with a fantastical element, something dramatically _other_. Not quite Asgardian, but something like it. It was, Loki reflected, almost a blending of their worlds.

He felt his throat catch at the thought, and he wondered if this New York was closer to the way it had been when Steve was younger. He didn’t know enough about it to guess.

His eyes were a little brighter than usual, a little wet, as he turned them towards his partner.

“Steve, this is beautiful. Tell me about it?”

  


It was the largest canvas Steve could remember working with.

He’d been hiding it in his room for the most part, occasionally dragging his easel into the living room to enjoy the better light by the window, but keeping a dropcloth handy to cover the painting from view, and otherwise concealing it in the bedroom when Loki was about.

“I tried painting some places from memory, and they got all tangled up with... with other stuff, from the past,” he explained. “So then I did some sketches and some quick paint studies of the city outside, as it is. And I got the idea... Not the world as it is, or as it was, but what it could be. Or might be in another world, or lifetime...”

The New York he’d wound up painting was whimsical to say the least. Raised globs of paint in red and gold and white marked the scores city lights, some of them swirling away from traffic signals like swarms of fireflies. There was the Empire State Building, only it was flanked with flying buttresses, and capped with shining gold. And there were twisting, fantastical spires, topped with arches that echoed the edifice of the top of the Chrysler building. The jumble of architecture mixed eras from sleek, modern glass to old-fashioned brownstones, to the curving chrome that only seemed to exist in the pulp science fiction paperbacks Bucky had loved. And some of the fluted, spiralling structures mimicked the sketches Steve had done months and months ago, when he’d tried to imagine Asgard from Loki’s descriptions.

In the middle of it all was the Brooklyn Bridge. But the familiar pylons and cables suspended a path of iridescent light, streaked with thick slashes of paint in an array of colors, twisting and curving like a living, serpentine thing up into the sky, weaving past a floating Liberty island and disappearing into the soft, sponge-painted clouds.

In the corner, he’d even painted a small, red flying car -- Howard Stark’s levitating automobile -- only instead of jets, it had eagle wings as it soared high above the magical metropolis.

“You brought a lot of unexplained weirdness into my life,” he remarked, eyes on Loki. “A lot of magic and all kinds of things I never thought possible. But somehow, being here with you... Made New York home again.”

  


Loki let out a small laugh, though the noise had some sob-like properties to it as the dampness in his eyes only got stronger.

Unexplained weirdness seemed like an understatement.

But he got it, he understood…

“I didn’t think,” he said slowly, as he tried to speak through the tightness in his throat, “when I found out who and what I really was, I didn’t think I’d ever truly have a home ever again. Certainly I never would have thought that this world, _your_ world, would be the place I imagine when I think of where I will spend the rest of my life. And yet… you’ve made this my home, because you’re in it. And this-- this blending of worlds, pulled straight from your mind, I wish it were somewhere I could take you, so that we could explore it together. But I guess I’ll have to do the next best thing. Which is sharing my life with you, so we can see how our worlds keep meeting and merging and becoming better with time.”

He offered a watery smile and would have reached to hug him, a few months previously, but instead just brought his hands together and held them to his chest.

“Thank you, Steve. It’s beautiful. And I hope it inspires dreams of such a city. They’d be very good ones, I am sure.”

Before he could feel uncomfortable, though, he went to the chest that Thor had brought him and fished out a jar, roughly the size of both his fists put together, then stacked atop one another three times.

Inside was a very thin sheet of fabric, made of threads of copper and silver which Loki had begged from Tony in his lab.

He’d spent the last few nights weaving them together to create this working.

He offered it to Steve.

“Put your hand over the lid.” He advised.

  


Steve smiled at Loki, glad that he liked the painting; glad that he understood.

And hopefully, for however long they slept in separate rooms still, having this pieces of Steve in his room would make Loki feel less exiled, and less alone.

He was pulled away from that bittersweet train of thought, however, as Loki retrieved something from the chest by the foot of the bed. A moment later, Steve looked at the jar Loki fetched with puzzlement. It was about the size of a milk jug, and the contents shimmered metallically.

He reached out, and did as Loki instructed. “Okay?”

  


“I don’t know if you remember, but… look.” He nodded at the jar in his partner’s hand as it began to react to his touch.

The soft sounds of sleepy birds came first, then a sliver of light which outlined a horizon. Over the course of the next two minutes, the sun would rise. The sky would differ a little each time, the setting, the season, different lands, different worlds, but the constant would be the figures that the sunlight slowly exposed, one dark haired and the other light, leaning against one another.

This time, the first time it was used, was a reproduction of their first sunrise, and so there they were, wrapped in a blanket on the roof of a hotel in DC-- but that too would change.

“I told you once that I wished I could bottle you a sunrise, to chase your nightmares away, for the times I cannot.”

He watched Steve’s face and held his breath, hoping that he hadn’t made a bad choice, that he wouldn’t upset him with acknowledgment of how much worse his dreams must be now.

It felt like a huge risk, and he found himself nearly wringing his hands in anticipation.

  


Steve watched, first in confusion, then in awe.

It was beautiful. And, quite literally, magical.

“Loki, this is...” he exhaled, staring at the jar in wonder as the scene within slowly illuminated. It was like watching a film, but in diorama. He was fairly certain he even recognized the DC skyline at the edge of the world the jar contained, and his throat grew tight as he realized it wasn’t just an image, but a memory that he was looking at. A memory of their first sunrise together.

“You bottled me a sunrise,” he echoed in a murmur, floored by it all. He watched for several more minutes, then looked up at Loki with bright eyes.

“It’s incredible. Thank you. I love it.”

  


“Not ‘a’ sunrise-- every sunrise. As many as I could make. So it can distract you each time, and never grow dull.” He couldn’t help but feel a little smug about it, now that he knew it was being well received.

“I also… I don’t know if your sleep is still plagued, as it was when we shared a bed, or if it might be worse. But I do have this.” He withdrew a bottle from the same trunk. “And more to follow. It will let you sleep, rest, without fear of any dreams. I thought, since you are healing now, making progress, your body can use every bit of help it can get.”

He held that out, too, with a smile.

“But that is as far as I had planned. I do like that we each gave one another a dream, though. In a way.”

He glanced back up at his painting, then back to Steve.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He said again, fairly certain that that was it, as far as tradition called for. Or at least, as far as they could manage, at the moment.

But it felt like enough.

At least, he hoped it was enough for Steve, too.

  


_Every_ sunrise.

Steve looked back at the jar, just imagining it. It was probably just as well when Loki handed him the sleeping potion; he was tempted to stay up all night just watching sunrise after sunrise.

He glanced back at Loki with a smile as he set the jar down carefully. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He paused then, considering his next step. “I... If you don’t mind, there’s something I want to try. You can ask me to stop any time you want, though, or if you’re not enjoying it, okay?”

  


Loki blinked, uncertain what he had in mind that he thought Loki mightn’t enjoy. Something new, clearly, something different, or he wouldn’t look and sound as nervous. His heart went out to his partner, brave enough to ask for whatever it was. And of course, Loki would give it to him.

“Of course, Elskan. What do you need me to do?”

  


Steve pursed his lips. He was... wary about trying new things in this arena. Sometimes they had been marvelous, but other times they had misstepped and left them both feeling wrongfooted and vulnerable. And where it had been so long since he and Loki had shared any physical intimacy, his confidence was even weaker.

  


He almost took it back. Almost said nevermind. But...

But he remembered how much the slightest, briefest touch made Loki’s whole face light up.

“Sit on the bed,” he said, nodding to it. “Close your eyes, and... unbutton your shirt.”

He remained standing as Loki did so, then backed out of the room quickly. “I’ll be right back...”

  


An odd series of requests, but considering how Steve had chosen to celebrate news of his imminent recovery, Loki thought this might be another drawing, another piece of art.

That in mind, he did as requested, though it felt odd to open his shirt without removing it.

Still, he sat back, checking to be certain it hung open as appealingly as possible before he obediently closed his eyes, attempting to look as relaxed as possible and silently praising Natasha or her work with him, while he waited for Steve to return.

At the very least, he could be certain it wouldn’t _hurt_. He wasn’t sure what aspect he might not enjoy-- unless Steve asked him to change to his other form, but even then…

No, he would be fine.

It was Valentine’s Day, after all.

He felt his lips turning upwards at the corners with the thought.

  


In the living room, Steve lifted the needle off the record, and with a word to JARVIS, music began piping over the sound system instead. It wasn’t the same tone and timbre, but it would be easier to hear in the second bedroom.

Then, in the kitchen, he plucked a rose from the bouquet on the table, cutting away any thorns left on the stem with a few deft swipes of a paring knife. Thus equipped, he returned to Loki’s room, where Loki sat on the bed with his eyes closed, smiling softly, a column of pale skin visible where his shirt hung open.

Steve’s breath caught at the sight, and he moved closer.

“You look incredible,” he murmured, moving to sit beside Loki, the mattress dipping under his weight.

Then, gently, he brought the rose up, and lightly touched it to Loki’s cheek, brushing the arch of his cheekbone with the edge of the petals.

  


When Steve joined him on the bed, Loki had to fight not to lean away, though that was the first impulse-- to give him space. He managed not to, but didn’t quite manage to avoid flinching when he felt a touch land on his cheek, and he opened his eyes, immediately concerned that Steve was pushing himself for Loki’s sake.

He turned his head, leaning back when he realized it wasn’t Steve’s hand, until he could see what it was-- one of the flowers Steve had sent him.

He blinked and looked back at Steve, uncertain.

“I-- it’s very soft.” He offered. “Do you… want me to close my eyes again?”

  


“If you want,” Steve told him. “You... You don’t have to. But it might make it easier to pretend.”

He’d got the idea the other day when he’d been placing the order at the florist and looking at arrangements; running a hand over a bouquet, he’d touched the rose petals and thought about how they almost felt like skin -- soft, but firm and alive.

He let the rose drag down to Loki’s jaw, then traced it down the column of his neck.

“Is this okay?” he asked, unsure if it was working, if Loki was enjoying it, or if it was just stupid.

  


He nearly asked ‘pretend what?’, but his mind caught up to him.

He was meant to pretend that it was Steve, and… it had felt like it, at first. Like a gentle, light touch, though knowing now, he could tell the difference.

It wasn’t warm, or strong, the way Steve was, the way he always had been, but…

“It feels good.” He assured him. “Are you-- you want to do this? It isn’t… _just_ for me, is it?”

He felt his insides squirming at the notion, afraid that this was another way for Steve to push himself, afraid that allowing him to continue would be selfish.

He knew he wanted to be able to touch Loki again, but… he searched Steve’s face for an answer.

  


Steve hesitated. “I... I wouldn’t enjoy it if _you_ don’t enjoy it,” he answered carefully. “But. I miss... Being close. Like this.” He swallowed. “I miss...”

One of the green sepals beneath the blossom caught on the collar of Loki’s shirt, and when Steve pulled the rose back, it tugged Loki’s shirt open with it, and Steve inhaled sharply.

 

It was undeniably intimate, and… Loki knew, if he gave into it, if he allowed himself…

He hadn’t done much, in the way of finding sexual release of late. Mainly because his primary chances to do so tended to intersect with the time he spent watching and rewatching the tapes.

Which hardly inspired that sort of response in him.

But this…

“I miss it too. I just… if I. When I get aroused-- will it--? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. And you know that likewise… you can always stop?”

This was _good_ , he thought. Healthy.

A step forward.

He just wanted to be sure they weren’t taking it too soon, or without due caution.

“And if there is anything you want me to do for you-- I could do the same for you, as well? You certainly provided enough flowers.”

  


_When_ , Steve realized that Loki had corrected -- not _If_. The notion made him feel oddly warm. If Loki could see himself getting aroused from this, that boded well. And even if Steve had been distinctly devoid of sexual impulses since his rescue and recovery, he still liked the idea of Loki finding pleasure. Still _very much_ liked the idea of helping him in that regard.

“I’ll stop if you ask me to,” he replied, voice pitched a little lower, a little gravelier. “For now... Just relax.”

He let the petals trail lightly down his sternum, tracing over the skin that Steve had explored with his lips and tongue before, thinking about how Loki tasted and smelled...

The music swelled gently over the speakers, crooning seductively as Steve carefully reached over with his other hand and pinched the hem of Loki’s shirt, peeling it back, exposing more of Loki’s flesh as if he were slowly unwrapping a present, moving with confidence that he didn’t quite feel.

  


The way he sounded when he spoke again-- the timbre of his voice was familiar, and, as if it had been trained into him, Loki felt himself reacting to it. A shiver worked its way down his spine and he let his eyes fall closed, let Steve do what he wanted to him.

He felt the fabric of his shirt, soft as a whisper, as it spread outwards and fell away, little by little.

Loki breathed, focusing on the sensation of the rose as it moved over his skin and the sounds Steve made, little shifts, the way his breath went a little uneven…

“This is… wonderful, Steve, truly. Such a good idea. I’d be jealous if I weren’t enjoying it so much.”

He smiled, though he kept his eyes closed, and carefully let his shoulders fall, releasing some of the tension from them as he rolled his head, baring the side of his neck, now that the shirt was pulled away from it a bit.

Steve always had liked his neck. He wondered what his time away would change… wondered how much had already changed, and he just didn’t know it yet.

But those weren’t the sorts of thoughts he needed to have just now, and he shoved them away.

“Will you--” Loki began speaking without thinking, before remembering exactly how well this request had always gone, before.

He bit his lip.

“Nevermind. It’s-- this is perfect, Steve.”

  


Seeing Loki relax, melting into a softer, more open posture, was good. Reassuring. Steve exhaled softly, drinking in the sight of him as he traced the rose over Loki’s chest. And as he did so, he brushed over one dusky nipple, twirling the bloom against it and flicking gently at it, mimicking the motion he might have once done with his tongue.

And sitting so close -- they weren’t touching at any point, but Steve was close enough to feel the warmth from Loki’s body all the same. He could feel the heavy thud of his own heart, but it wasn’t racing in panic for once.

“What is it?” he asked softly.

  


Loki swallowed, wondering if there was a gentler way to ask, a way that wouldn’t cause the same level of fear and freezing up as it usually did. A way that wouldn’t ruin this.

“It’s just-- you sound so good, the way your voice dips, the way it gets rough and… I was hoping you might… talk to me? While you--” Loki gestured towards his chest with the arm further away from Steve, hoping it would run less chance of hitting him.

“It’s alright though, if you can’t. I know it can be… difficult to think of things that seem worth saying.”

  


Steve hesitated for a moment. When Loki talked to him in the bedroom, it was often in terms of telling him what Steve was doing to him, the effect he was having on Loki. And while Steve could try to echo the same... All it would take would be for Loki to open his eyes, and he’d realize Steve wasn’t erect and know it was a lie.

But there had to be other things he could say -- other ways to make it good for Loki... True things.

Images from the past, like bottled sunrises.

“You want me to tell you how handsome you are?” he asked softly, dragging the rose up the column of Loki’s throat. “How I couldn’t get the image of you out of my head, even before I knew you felt anything near the same? How I had pages of sketches of you, before we ever even kissed?” He flicked the petals against Loki’s ear, and let his smile bleed into his voice. “Or how about how my jaw hit the floor when you walked out that night we all had pizza, wearing that tailored vest and green shirt and looking like a million bucks.”

  


Loki felt no small thrill at this-- these were things he’d outright asked before, asked when they’d first run away together, like how long Steve had wanted him, and what he’d thought of. And here, suddenly, he was being offered all of it.

“When we first met… my eyes would linger on your hands, and your lips.” Loki returned. “Such beautiful hands, so much skill and talent hiding within them. The same hands that fight and hid more strength than any other human… it seemed almost unfair, the beauty they can make. And your mouth-- you didn’t seem to realize how distracting it was. Eyes so blue and lips so pink, while you said the gentlest things. It was like you were made to test me-- and every time I tried to flirt, tried to seduce you…” Loki couldn’t help but chuckle. “You had no idea, did you? So naive. So perfect.”

Steve was right; he could make believe, could almost imagine that those same artists’ hands were on him now, soft and sweet and teasing.

“Still so perfect. Still made for me. I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

  


When Loki talked about Steve’s hands, Steve lowered the rose, using it to caress the back of Loki’s hand. He brushed over his fingers, thinking about the deft spellwork they wrought; Loki might be fascinated by Steve’s hands, but Steve had every bit as much reason to admire Loki’s.

“I guess I never figured I’d be that lucky. That it had to be wishful thinking, or...” he felt his cheeks heat slightly. “Had to take a couple of real cold showers thanks to you, though.”

He playfully tapped the rose to Loki’s nose. Though, their conversation was giving him a new idea. “Take your shirt off the rest of the way,” he instructed, letting his voice drop again, wishing he could get the same low, velvety quality Loki did when he wanted to make Steve lose his mind.

  


Loki felt the air leave him like he’d been punched-- but it was a much more desireable thing. Or at least, a reaction born of desire. His mouth fell open slightly and he leaned forward, opening his eyes to be sure he didn’t accidentally hit Steve.

But that also meant that, as he pulled his shirt off of his arms, he could pin Steve with his eyes, could make something of a show of it-- or at least, as much as one could perform just removing an already opened shirt.

“You didn’t make it so easy, yourself. It was impossible for me to touch myself, and twice as impossible not to think about you. I have no idea how many times I had to will myself soft while at SHIELD. Though I am grateful to say I’ve not had to do it since.” He gave him a lopsided grin and dropped the shirt off the side of the bed.

“Alright, I’m all yours.” he announced, closing his eyes again and waiting for the next touch of the rose on his skin.

  


Steve chuckled softly. “You certainly don’t have to do it now,” he remarked, then began to trace patterns over Loki’s skin with the rose. He ran it over the outlines of his muscles, down his chest and stomach, then, as Steve shifted backward, over the contours of his shoulderblades. He dragged it slowly down Loki’s spine, letting the stem and the stumps where the thorns had been catch against his skin, only to be soothed by the softer petals a moment later.

“I could draw you forever,” he noted. “I do, in my mind sometimes. Think about how I’d capture those little moments when you smile, or when you’re surprised and haven’t had a chance to hide it yet. All those little honest moments that you let me see.”

He reached back around, trailing the rose again over Loki’s upper chest, brushing the nubs there, then leaning in and lightly blowing over them. “It’s a gift, every time you take down one of your walls and let me in, a little further,” he breathed, mere inches away. “Every time you let me see some part of you that I know you’ve hidden away a hundred years or more.”

  


It was a lucky thing that Steve didn’t expect him not to react, because he _was_. He was reacting to his words and his voice, and the drag of the rose and his _breath_ , and Loki’s heart was hammering so hard that he felt like his body was swaying with its beats.

He worried, somewhat distantly, that he couldn’t tell if he was sitting still or leaning towards his partner, body seeking him out the way flowers did the sun.

And the things he was saying… first, the implication that Loki could… could reach down right now, that he didn’t have to abstain… it was tempting, and inwardly part of him quailed at being put so on display when Steve seemingly had no intention of following suit but… but it was _Steve_.

How could that be any worse than being blue, or being a bag of skin and blood?

He’d seen him at all of his worst points.

And still he was _grateful_ , for the moments when he got to see Loki, truly see him.

“I don’t mean to put walls between us,” He said softly. “But thank you for being willing to give me the time to tear down those that were already there.”

Of course-- that, in itself, was almost a lie, a wall… he put them up to protect Steve, though. Not to keep him out. Just to keep him safe.

There was a difference.

(Wasn’t there?)

He was having a hard time thinking… and a hard time, in general.

  


“I know you don’t,” Steve quickly reassured. And if anything, he knew that the invisible wall between them now, the ban on touching, was purely his fault. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done. I truly am. I know it ain’t easy.” Loki had come so far -- sometimes Steve still marveled that this was the same man he’d faced off against in Stuttgart, what felt like a lifetime ago.

He’d been so armored and closed off then -- and now he was vulnerable and soft, yielding to the touch of the flower in Steve’s hand. Responding to it.

Responding to it quite a bit, Steve realized with a downward glance and a small, bashful smile.

“Let me see you,” he said, in a low rumble, the rose sliding down Loki’s belly to pause at the waist of his trousers. “Let me see you do what you couldn’t, back at SHIELD.”

  


The sound alone would have been enough to shake him to his core; what he asked him to do, the ghost of a touch from the flower-- all of it combined was enough to make Loki gasp.

He didn’t lay voice to the doubts he felt, the fear of selfishness and the self doubt that he seemed so often to be made of.

Steve wanted to see him. Liked to see him. Wanted to see him _do this_.

And no doubt this had been what he’d had in mind the whole time.

“Just-- just a moment,” he said, opening his eyes and reaching out to catch the rose in his palm.

He pushed it away so he could stand and get his slacks opened and off, movements uncoordinated and lacking in any grace or elegance.

He wanted-- needed--

He sat back down and then, carefully, laid himself out, knees bent and feet on the floor, but for the most part spread out for Steve to be able to reach him.

Hesitantly, he laved his tongue over his palm and reached down, taking himself in hand.

“Do you want to tell me how?” He asked, looking up at him. “Want to tell me what you’d do to me, if it was your hand wrapped around me now?”

  


Steve bit his lip, considering. He knew Loki loved it when Steve talked about his wants and desires in bed. But it felt... dishonest, to describe what he could not actually bring himself to do. As lovely as Loki was, all stretched out in repose, the idea of touching his heated skin brought a mix of excitement and dread bubbling up in Steve’s chest. Part of him _wanted_ , and yet--

He shook his head. “Want you to _show_ me. What you would have done, back at SHIELD, if no one was looking. What you wanted to do,” he said, huskily.

He let his eyes rake over Loki, drinking him in, then reached forward again and let the rose petals slip over the soft, tender flesh of his inner thigh.

  


Loki shivered, aroused to the point of stupidity, but still doubtful.

Steve wanted a show, and Loki could do that, knew how but…

Generally speaking, he knew how to do that when the other person wanted him, when they reacted to his words, his actions.

Steve loved him, he _knew_ that. But right now Steve didn’t, or maybe couldn’t, respond to any of this. Loki knew he couldn’t, but he had a feeling that if he did reach out and touch, Steve would be soft. Uninterested.

That didn’t mean he got nothing out of this, but Loki needed to figure out what he wanted, and quick.

But it helped that Steve had given him a specific request: What Loki would have done back at SHIELD. What Loki would have done if no one was looking. Loki decided to pretend instead that he was showing Steve then. It wasn’t so different from now, the wall between them not made of glass, but unbreachable just the same.

“First, I would have dropped my masks, my illusions. Let myself look whole and healthy, as good as I could for you. I like looking good for you. Like that you think I look good, even when I don’t feel like I do.”

He lifted his thumb and middle finger to his mouth and used them to move the moisture down to his chest, running his fingers around a nipple, which peaked again under the touch.

He tweaked it, next, pinching at the skin to bring the blood to the surface, making it pinker. He repeated the same on the other side hoping to make them look rosier; more like the images in the gallery.

Steve liked looking at him; he wanted to give him a thousand perfect details for the paintings in his head.

Loki shifted, straightening his spine and lengthening his torso, trying to create good lines.

“What do you think, Steve? Would you paint me like this? It might be fun, making me keep myself hard for however long it takes you to lay the image down.”

  


Steve drew breath shakily. His body might not have been responding as it once did... but he wasn’t wholly unaffected. His heart beat a little faster, and he felt warmer all over. And Loki _did_ look remarkable; a sigh slipped from Steve’s lips as he watching him pinch his nipples, coaxing them into pert little buds.

He remembered how they felt, rolling under his fingertips; under his tongue.

“You _always_ look good,” he murmured, watching in fascination. “Though... you’re also a little too _distracting_ to paint, I think...” He smiled fondly, gently stroking Loki’s flank with the rose.

“I love seeing you happy,” he said softly, lowering himself to lie on his side beside Loki. “I wish... I wish I could do more to make it happen. Wish I could make it easier. But when I see you smile, see you happy, see you being good to yourself, the way I wanna be good to you...” he trailed off, staring at him.

“I wanna see you _feel good._ The way you deserve to.”

  


“You make me feel good. Not just--” He reached down, taking himself in hand and giving a few quick strokes, to demonstrate and summarize the words he couldn’t fully articulate at the moment, “But-- you make me feel good about myself. It’s… not something I’m used to, but. I like it, and... “ He felt himself growing breathless as he continued pulling at his cock.

“And you too. I like seeing you happy.” He hoped this was making him happy, that it was doing what he wanted. “I love feeling close to you, even when we aren’t touching.” And Loki would be hard pressed to think of many things more intimate than this.

He shivered, watching Steve’s face.

“I love the expression you wear when you watch me. You’re so beautiful.”

He tightened his grip, hips beginning to rock into his fist as he spoke.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long, and he was a little glad of it; he didn’t want to draw this out, to risk boring Steve when he wasn’t receiving similar pleasure. But this was… he appreciated what he was doing.

Some part of Loki felt like he had been waiting for permission to feel this way again, and Steve was giving it, and then some.

  


“You’re so gorgeous,” Steve breathed, watching raptly. In a way, Steve realized, he was able to really appreciate how lovely Loki looked this way like he hadn’t before -- not when he’d been distracted by the needs of his own body.

Though as he moved, he noticed that his body was not as devoid of distraction as previously assumed. Surreptitiously reaching down to adjust himself, he found that while he wasn’t hard, he wasn’t completely soft either. He might not be _as_ responsive, but... _Something_ was happening. He wasn’t completely broken in that respect, and the realization brought a swell of relief with it. Perhaps someday--

But right now was more important than someday. And right now, his focus was Loki.

“I love you so much,” he told him. “You’re so good, Loki. So good.” He could tell from Loki’s breathing that he was approaching the brink. He reached in and let the rose brush against the base of his cock, fluttering just over his sack. “ _So good,_ Loki...”

  


Loki’s breath caught again when Steve reached down to touch himself, a brief and fierce flash of surprise, followed by warmth-- something not quite pride, not quite joy, but not dislike either.

He wasn’t-- this _wasn’t_ just for Loki, and Steve wasn’t just doing this for his sake.

Loki felt a coil of tension in his gut relaxing, only for a different one to tense when Steve spoke to him, urging him on, and when the surreal softness of the rose’s petals ran over his sensitized prick, he knew that was the end of it.

His eyes felt heavy but he forced them open, looking Steve in the face, hoping to meet his eyes as his mouth fell open and he came, spilling over his own hand and thigh.

He stroked himself through it and didn’t slow until he rediscovered his ability to breathe.

His words, though, took longer to come back.

“I love you, Steve. Love you s’much.”

He wished he could have reached out for a kiss, but even post orgasm, he wasn’t about to forget. He let his head fall backwards instead and let out a satisfied sigh.

  


Steve watched as Loki came undone with a kind of awe. He was usually on the brink of his own orgasm, or just past it when Loki came; rarely did he get to observe it with this kind of clarity. Now, he got to take it in as his lover’s pupils dilated, his chest hitching, tiny tremors and spasms shaking his body as he spilled.

When it was done, Steve quietly got up with a murmured “Just a sec,” and hurried out, to return within seconds with a warm washcloth in hand, ready to pass it to Loki when he was ready.

“That was beautiful,” he told him, settling back down beside him on the bed. “Thank you.”

  


Loki sat up, holding his hand out for the cloth.

As good as he felt, all of him still singing from the orgasm, it seemed rude to bask overlong in the afterglow.

“No, thank you.” He offered him a smile, and bit his tongue, refusing to ask if that had been what he wanted, what he’d had in mind.

Loki’s self doubt didn’t get to take this from them.

“I have to say, I was not expecting-- ah, is there anything I can do? For you?” He cast a quick, significant glance downwards, to where Steve had had to adjust himself.

He knew he couldn’t touch, but if there was something Steve wanted...

  


Steve cringed faintly at how quickly Loki came back to himself. He’d hoped that Loki would let himself float in his bliss for a while, but he was quickly back to business -- back to focusing on Steve -- before the flush on his cheeks had even dissipated.

“No,” Steve told him, soft but firm, keeping his eyes fixed on Loki’s. “You’ve already given me everything.”

And then--

  


He’d touched Loki before. Little touches. A quick clasp of the shoulder or a hand on the knee -- shaking his lover awake from a nightmare or taking hold of his hand on the roof -- he’d even shaken a stranger’s hand the other day.

He could _do this_.

His heart thudded in his chest, but he leaned forward all the same, before Loki could question it or pull away, and pressed his lips gently to Loki’s in a kiss.

  


Loki felt his eyes widen and he had to stop himself from responding too passionately, from lifting his hands to catch Steve or leaning into the kiss too hard.

He’d never tried to kiss a skittish wild animal, but if he had he imagined it would be a bit like what was happening now.

He returned the kiss as gently as he could, giving back approximately what Steve was giving him, and then it was over.

It didn’t last long, and he didn’t expect it to, or wouldn’t have, if he’d known it was going to happen at all.

The moment it ended, though, he felt his eyes dampen and his face near split with a smile. He was breathless again as if he had just had _another_ orgasm, but this… this might have been better.

“ _Steve_ ,” he whispered, touched and awed, and raised his hands to brush his fingertips over his lips, able to feel his own stupid smile.

  


As Steve pulled back, he watched for any signs that he’d erred or caused Loki distress. But to his joy and relief, the look on Loki’s face was one of awe and elation.

He’d done something right.

Steve smiled down at him, breathing out a happy sigh. His lips tingled from the contact, but-- it was alright.

He’d kissed Loki, and nothing had hurt, or gone wrong. Granted, it still felt... odd. A little uneasy. But he suspected he’d be able to do it again, and that it would get easier with time and practice.

(He also suspected Loki would have few objections to the latter.)

All in all, the kiss had served as a perfect cap to the evening. Dinner was a success, they’d both enjoyed one another’s gifts, he had managed to help Loki reach his sexual pleasure, and now this -- this had been _good._ And with it all came hope that the damage done to him, to _them_ by HYDRA would be healed soon. That they’d find a way to be happy.

Steve smiled at his partner, and let himself feel a moment of perfect, unblemished contentment.

  


“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, hope you enjoyed this week's chapter, number 100!  
> See, sometimes we can have nice things. 
> 
> Unfortunately... not for the next few weeks, though.  
> Mostfacinorous is moving (again) and needs some time off of writing/posting to make that happen, so we'll be posting about when you can expect more Little Talks on our respective Tumblrs- Portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com and mostfacinorous.tumblr.com  
> Follow us there, and we'll try to get you more updates ASAP!


	101. One Hundred One

Loki began the next morning watching videos on his starkpad, but not the ones he usually reserved for bedtime fare; no-- having been reminded by Steve and his request the night before, he’d called up a video from long ago, when all of this had first started. Just a conversation between he and Steve, alone in Loki’s cell at SHIELD.

He missed this, in a way; the ease and the way they’d looked forward to being around one another. The way they’d spoken and shared meals and been friends, long before anything else had had a chance to happen.

He was contemplating how to go about making their current situation more like it had been then, and had come to the conclusion that one of the reasons it was different now, though perhaps better for it, was the lack of isolation. They had both gained so much in the way of friends, confidants…

Even as he thought it, he was addressed by Stark’s AI.

“ _Sir and Ms. Potts wish to invite you to brunch with the other residents of the tower. Sir says it is to be a ‘post holiday whodunnit brunch’.”_

Loki snorted, amused, and rose, setting the tablet aside.

He poked his head into the hall.

“I assume you’ve just received the same invitation I have?” He called, pitched to carry but soft enough not to wake Steve, hopefully, should he sleep still.

He hadn’t seen Steve since they had said their goodnights after being intimate, and he wanted to be sure he wasn’t suffering after what they’d done.

A brunch with everyone, too, would be the largest gathering Steve had been to since returning, so he could hardly blame him if he didn’t feel up to it, but whether it was some lingering glow from the previous night or simply optimism born of the last few weeks’ progress, he had much more faith in Steve being able to handle it than he had as recently as Natasha’s spoiled borscht night.

  
  


Steve had been lying in bed, sketching.

Part of him wanted to get out and move, to run like he once had, but he wasn’t cleared for strenuous physical activity. And after the night prior, he wasn’t sure Loki would appreciate him slipping off first thing. So he’d found ways of occupying himself without even needing to leave his room.

The art block he’d suffered from after his return had lifted in the past week or so, and Loki’s positive reception of the painting he’d done had served as further encouragement. His hands no longer trembled when he tried to hold a pencil, and it was an easy, relaxing way to focus himself and pass the time.

He was working on drawings of Loki -- loose sketches from memory, of Loki’s figure on the bed, a bit of Loki’s face with his mouth fallen open and eyes soft, the arch of Loki’s back in the moment when he came -- when JARVIS interrupted with a message.

He’d quickly tucked the sketchbook away, and poked his head out at the sound of Loki’s voice. “I did,” he confirmed with a smile. “Give me ten minutes or so to clean up and get dressed?”

 

“Of course.” He responded without hesitation.

He’d likely need the same, even after having cleaned himself up the night before.

The last thing he wanted to do this morning was field ‘how does that work’ questions from Tony. Though, judging by what JARVIS had said the brunch was for, with any luck, he would be distracted by other things.

He wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was, or who had done it, but he was fairly certain he was innocent, and so was Steve, which meant that things should be just fine on their end, so long as it did not grow unduly tense.

Loki dressed, as casually as he knew how, and stretched a bit, loosening himself up now that some of the tension he hadn’t fully realized he was carrying had fallen away.

He found himself waiting near the kitchen table, eager and glad, finally, to have a good feeling about going up to visit their friends together.

  
  


Steve hopped in the shower quickly, enough to soap down and rinse like he had with his two minutes’ allotted water back in the barracks. Toweling dry, he picked out a button-down and a pair of khakis -- they stayed up around his hips now, with the help of a belt or suspenders, thankfully -- and got dressed.

He didn’t bother with shaving -- he was getting used to the beard growth -- but combed his hair and emerged a minute later feeling clean and put together.

“Shall we?” he said with a smile.

 

They headed up to the penthouse in the elevator, and emerged to the sight of Tony setting the table.

“Hey, glad you lovebirds could make it,” he called out.

“Hey,” another voice spoke up, and Steve turned to see Barton standing by the window, leaning against the sliding glass door out toward the snow-covered balcony.

“Hey Clint,” Steve said, blinking in surprise. “I didn’t know you were back. How was...?”

Clint shrugged. “It was fine. Not much to report on yet. You’re looking, uh, better.”

“Thanks.” Steve managed a smile. “Um. Who else is coming?”

  
  


“Natasha, Bruce, Thor and Jane got back last night, I think Darcy is here, and… that should be it?” Pepper emerged from the kitchen, plastic bag in hand. “We just had it delivered, I hope that’s alright. Cooking for that many would have taken all morning.”

Pepper glanced from Loki to Steve, obviously worried they’d think less of her hospitality because she hadn’t cooked.

“Of course-- it smells great,” Loki told her, shooting his own glance at Steve.

Then, with a slight frown, he looked to Tony.

“What of Betty? Was she also invited?”

  
  


“She ah, had to head back. To her job, um, but… we’ll be in touch for any further developments.”

Bruce had arrived, and for once he was tinged with color, but it was nowhere near green.

  
  


Steve smiled. “I’m glad you two were able to spend some time together,” he told Bruce softly. He wondered how long it had been since the two of them had been able to share significant time in one another’s company.

He knew Bruce had been on the run for quite a while before the Avengers came together. He wondered if now, with him being settled in the tower and no longer living like a fugitive, there would be a better chance for them, and found himself hoping so for Bruce’s sake.

Though judging from his blush, it looked like Betty had at least stayed for Valentine’s Day.

“Can I help get anything on the table?” he asked Pepper, diverting his attention.

A moment later the elevator dinged and Natasha emerged, a bottle of champagne in one hand and a carton of orange juice in the other. “Mimosa time,” she announced, making a beeline for the kitchen.

  
  


Clint pushed away from the wall and followed Natasha wordlessly, though the set of his shoulders seemed somehow… off, to Loki.

Puzzled, and wondering if it had anything to do with the other half of why they were summoned up here, he raised an eyebrow at Tony.

“So, JARVIS mentioned someone having done something?” Loki asked.

From the kitchen, there was a soft clunking noise, and a muffled oath.

“To answer your question,” Pepper said, raising her voice pointedly and looking at Steve, “I figured we could have everybody dish up in the kitchen and just bring their plates out here? That way there’s more room, since we’ll have a pretty full house at the table. But go ahead and set yourself up on the end, so you don’t get crowded. No one will object.”

She flashed him a smile.

Tony, meanwhile, was regarding Loki through suspiciously narrowed eyes, but no answer seemed to be forthcoming.

  
  


Steve frowned faintly at the odd look that Tony was shooting Loki, but elected not to dwell on it. Maybe something had come up between them the day prior. At any rate, if Tony were upset with Loki, it was unlikely they’d have been invited up.

“Thank you,” he told Pepper warmly, giving her a broad smile and promising to himself that he wouldn’t ruin another meal that she’d arranged. He headed into the kitchen, joining Clint and Natasha as she peeled the foil from the top of a champagne bottle.

“Wanna do the honors?” she offered, holding the bottle out.

Steve snorted. “Yeah, let’s give the traumatized guy the thing that makes loud noises,” he replied dryly. Though he grinned a moment later, when he saw Natasha’s face go white. “It’s fine. I’ll leave it to you. Though I’d bet Barton here could bounce the cork off the ceiling fan.”

  
  


Barton chuckled from where he stood retrieving the orange juice from the fridge, and it was Natasha’s turn to make an undignified sound. “God, don’t tempt him,” she said. Steve noted the set of her shoulders relaxing; still, he could feel her eyes on him as he dished up his plate with food, and he couldn’t help wonder what it was she saw, and what she was thinking.

By the time he’d served up and Natasha had popped the bottle open, beginning to fill several glasses, the elevator dinged once more, this time disgorging Thor, Darcy, and a rather sunburned-looking Jane.

  
  


Loki strode forward to greet Thor, certain that being so publicly on good terms would do nothing but make everyone easier about sharing the space with them.

Even if Thor _was_ to return to Asgard soon. (And perhaps that made it easier, in a way.)

“Welcome back, brother, Jane. Darcy.” Loki barely flicked a glance at the latter, who, while browned a bit, was not nearly so alarmingly red as his brother’s lady.

Though where Jane seemed a uniform color, Darcy did seem to have an odd shape of preserved paleness on her face-- glasses, it seemed, had shaded at least part of her.

He held his hands out toward Jane and clucked his tongue with only slightly exaggerated concern.

“After brunch, allow me to fetch you an oil from my stores; it will help take the heat out of your skin.” He told her, not leaving any room in his tone for her to refuse.

It seemed to fluster her, and she nodded, stammering her way through some form of acceptance or thanks, but Loki had already turned his attention to Thor, primarily to cut off any overly sentimental statements that would come next once he’d finished beaming as though he meant to drive off his own thunderclouds with naught but his face.

“Pepper has laid the food out in the kitchen, and Natasha seems to be making some form of breakfast alcohol.”

“Awright, mimosas!” Darcy nearly sang out, making a beeline to join the others. Loki turned to watch her, concerned that she might crowd Steve in her excitement, but was gratified to see he’d already emerged with his breakfast in tow.

Loki took the chair at the end of the table and pulled it out for him, gesturing that he should sit.

  
  


Steve smiled at Loki, taking his seat. “Thanks.”

“Looks like your appetite’s back,” Bruce observed, sitting on his other side and nodding to Steve’s well-filled plate. “That’s a good sign.”

He made small talk with Bruce as the others filtered in and out of the kitchen, getting food and bringing it back to take their seats. At one point someone passed him a pot of coffee and Steve poured himself some, breathing in the rich aroma.

Everyone looked... happy. Well. Natasha kept looking his way and then glancing aside just as quickly, and Barton was a tad quiet, but as soon as people noticed that Steve was eating and talking more like his old self, the general atmosphere felt more at ease than it had the last time he’d joined them in a group setting.

And it seemed everyone had enjoyed a decent enough Valentine’s Day.

  
  


Loki returned to the table, gratified to find that his seat beside Steve had been left empty, and that Darcy was sitting nearly as far from both he and Bruce as possible… though that did put her next to Clint and Tony, which promised only trouble.

He exchanged a look with Pepper, and she pointedly picked up her mimosa and took a drink, which made Loki need to hide his laugh behind toast.

“So.” Tony said, out of the blue and standing to be sure he was the center of everyone’s attention.

“A few years back, I gave JARVIS what, in retrospect, was clearly a very dumb order. I asked, and I quote, that all Valentine’s Day shenanigans be kept off-record. Now at the time, we were dealing with hacking attempts, people leaking celebrity dick pics, the works. But what I didn’t expect was that the instruction would come back to haunt me in the form of a pair of ruined couches, in a tower full of occasionally superhuman adults, and no idea what happened or who did it. So I’ve called you all here today to eat, drink, be merry… and graciously ask _what the hell is on my upholstery?_ ”

Loki felt his eyes drawn immediately to Pepper, after all of Tony’s talk about how angry she would be if anything happened to the couches, but she looked more amused than anything.

Reassured that this was not nearly so dramatic as Tony was making it out to be, he checked to be sure the speech hadn’t stressed Steve out unduly, then glanced quickly around the table, searching for clues about culpability, since he knew, for once, it wasn’t his fault.

  
  


Steve blushed, grateful that what he and Loki had done the night before was ‘off the record.’ In Truth, he’d largely forgotten about surveillance since he and Loki had come out, and hadn’t thought about it anywhere near as much in the recent months... Not after spending so much time with the glaring red eye of a camera gazing down. (JARVIS’ surveillance at least was subtle and benevolent by comparison).

“Loki and I stayed in,” he announced, clearing his throat.

“And we just got in earlier this morning after taking the red-eye back,” Darcy noted, “so I _know_ I didn’t do it. And Jane doesn’t do wild and crazy unless there’s like, a space tornado or something involved.”

Bruce cleared his throat, and looked meaningfully at Clint, then Natasha.

Both of whom did their best to look inconspicuous, and somehow, despite years of shared espionage training, failed miserably.

“Seriously?” Tony demanded. “What did you-- _how_? I mean, I gotta say, I’m almost more _impressed_ than I am mad.”

  
  


Natasha shrugged.

“Clint made bean dip and we figured we’d watch a horror marathon, because, you know, less romantic subplots, in theory. Then Lucky put his nose on Clint’s foot in the middle of a jump scare, and--”

“And the bean dip became sentient and that’s our story.” Clint said firmly, elbowing Nat a bit obviously. Loki bit his lower lip to keep from making noise, and when Natasha glanced his way, he smoothed his face as carefully as he could.

“We cleaned it as good as we could, but, well… priority was giving Lucky a bath to control the damages, and by the time we got back, it was getting crusty, and neither of us is good at the whole clean up thing, so…” Natasha spread her hands. “Clint will pay to replace them, though.” She hurried to add, and Loki couldn’t help but laugh at that-- and the expression on Barton’s face.

“I think a cleaning crew and a reupholstery job is well within the tower’s damage budget for the year, provided we don’t expect an alien invasion or anything… but, next time, maybe leave a note?” Pepper requested, pinning Natasha and Clint with a benevolent and yet still fear inducing expression that reminded Loki, with a sudden pang, of Frigga.

He popped a piece of bacon in his mouth and sighed.

“Your whodunnit was not nearly so amusing as I’d hoped.” He told Tony. “I really expected something much grander of a scale than soiled furniture.”

Tony snorted.

“Honestly, when we’re done, you should just go _look_ at the living room. Like I said, more impressed than angry.”

He sipped his coffee and sat back down, clearly satisfied with the answers he’d gotten.

  
  


Steve chuckled, glad that for once he and Loki weren’t the epicenter of any drama. Not that the situation had really proved all that dramatic.

He chewed another bite of food, then swallowed. “So,” he said, speaking up and drawing everyone’s attention. “How was your trip?” He addressed this to Thor and Jane.

“Oh my god. We went to the Mauna Kea Observatories -- Thor flew us up, because Darcy was worried about disturbing the local ecosystem -- and the star-gazing was amazing,” Jane gushed. “NASA even gave us a tour of the Infrared Telescope Facility. It was amazing.”

“And, ya know. There was surfing. And _fun stuff,”_ Darcy pointed out, taking a sizeable swig of her mimosa.

Thor beamed at Jane before turning to Steve and Loki. “The islands of Hawaii are unlike anything else I have seen in your realm,” he said. “Though the mountains of fire reminded me greatly of one of our expeditions to Muspelheim -- you remember, brother?”

  
  


Loki grimaced and set his jaw mulishly.

“Were the mountains made of unending flames, discomfort, and misery?”

Muspelheim, where he sent the majority of his magical waste, was a land of fire-- unending, ever burning, and at the time, he’d been perplexed as to why Thor seemed so much more comfortable than he had been. Now, though… it did make a certain amount of sense.

Not that it made him any more fond of the place.

“What’s Muspelheim?” Tony asked, perking up the way Lucky did when he suspected he was about to receive food. “Another planet?”

Loki rolled his eyes.

“I’ve spoken, perhaps, of the realm of ice from whence Odin plucked me as a babe. Likewise, there is one of fire. A balance in all things, I suppose. And what of your world? Mountains of fire to the south to make up for the ice of your far north?”

  
  


“Actually, there’s volcanoes in the north, too. Iceland’s known for having glaciers and fire... And for still telling stories about you guys,” Bruce remarked mildly, giving Loki a nod.

“There’s only three active volcanoes in Hawaii, and one of them is underwater,” Jane hurried to point out. “Most of it is lush and green and beautiful and surrounded by the bluest water you’ve ever seen.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” Pepper told her with a smile.

Thor blinked, his brows knitting together briefly as he looked at Loki, but then the line eased. “Aye. We thank you for your assistance with travel arrangements. I think, when I return again from Asgard, that I should like to see more of this world, and the different landscapes and cultures it holds.”

“Now I’m wondering if we need to get him a passport for that,” Tony mused. “Does being a prince from another world get him diplomatic immunity?”

  
  


“I certainly think so,” Loki piped up, ignoring Thor’s stare, though he knew why-- any reminder of _what_ Loki was still must sit uneasily with him. He’d have to be more careful to avoid bringing it up around him-- he’d have to relearn that silence. At least around Steve he could continue learning how to be himself, as he truly was.

Loki inhaled deeply, but it was silent all the same.

“But then, I still do not understand how SHIELD justified cutting off my seidhr mere moments after a peaceful agreement had been made between us, so… it may be that diplomacy works differently on Midgard.”

Most assuredly so, actually.

The look Thor gave him at that, though, was at once aghast and surprised, and Loki realized he hadn’t told him-- he’d intentionally kept it from him at first, and then after there had been more important things, like finding Steve.

He knew of the technology of course, but the circumstances of its first use against Loki…

“It doesn’t work that differently, but I’m sure the situation was one outside of our usual rules of diplomacy. Anything involving magic, for the most part, wouldn’t be covered in any of our handbooks. Anyway, I’m pretty sure that, as Avengers, you all operate outside of customs so often that there’s some sort of unofficial, or maybe even an official, waiver for your travels. I’ll have legal look into it.” Pepper was calmly cutting up a stack of pancakes while she spoke, and Loki appreciated, again, how unruffled she was.

“Yeah, SHIELD may have something set up; I know they send out agents in teams and groups to other countries all the time. Pretty sure that would be an act of war if it wasn’t approved by the World Security Council.” Clint said, and Loki couldn’t help but think it was mostly to prove he wasn’t entirely ruined couches and surly shooting.

  
  


Steve flinched when Loki brought up the loss of his magic.

They’d fought after that. And things had remained... rough, after that, Loki’s anger over the incident and Steve’s handling of it simmering until it finally boiled over with the last big fight they’d had, the night before Steve had left with the Avengers and been subsequently taken.

He’d figured Loki had worked something out with SHIELD -- some reconciliation -- in his absence, given the presence of Sharon Carter and her team after the fact. But if he hadn’t, and if he’d just buried that anger again, where it would eventually build and build until the pressure caused it to erupt--

He swallowed, looking at Loki with worry.

“Something should definitely be lined up one way or another by the time you get back from Asgard,” Natasha was saying. “I’ll reach out to Sharon.”

“How long are you gonna be stomping around the ol’ homestead, anyhow?” Tony asked.

Thor shrugged. “I am not wholly certain. It largely depends on the state of the realms. Prior to the Dark Elves’ invasion, we had largely succeeded in suppressing the unrest and bandit uprisings that had spawned in the aftermath of the Bifrost’s destruction. But the attack on the heart of Asgard has left many deeply troubled, and it would not do well for the people to see me remiss in my duties to the throne. Though I hope that the more frequently I return to Asgard, the more frequently I will in turn be allowed to return to Midgard without arousing too much concern.”

  
  


Loki lowered his eyes to his plate at the reminder of his misdeeds, and what he’d missed because of his flight from his cell. Not, he knew, that he would have been of much help had he stayed.

And he would have missed meeting Steve again, would never have gained all of this.

He glanced over towards his partner, only to see him looking worriedly at Loki. He offered him a quick smile, silent reassurance that he shored up further by moving a slice of bacon onto his plate with a tiny wink.

He and Thor had spoken; he was prepared for him to go this time. And, as much as he hated that he was part of the reason he had to leave… perhaps he could be part of the reason he came back, as well.

“You might tell Asgard that you are working with Midgard’s scientists and healers, to find if there is a way to bridge the learning of our peoples and advance both. It would also likely give you time alone with Mother, to discuss her treatment.” Loki paused, glancing at Steve again and knowing that there was some filling in he would need to do, as far as his relationship with Thor and his parents went.

“I do, honestly, wish to know as much as you can remember of her recovery. When you are able to return.”

He looked to Jane and nodded at her,

“After you let Jane know you’re back, this time.”

  
  


Loki’s wink was somewhat reassuring -- he didn’t seem too upset, either with the mention of SHIELD or the mention of Asgard, both of which had Steve braced for a negative reaction. But Steve knew they’d have to have a talk at some point, in case there was anything still festering that Loki had buried for the sake of Steve’s recovery.

Thor sighed, lowering his fork atop his nearly-demolished pancakes. “I fear Asgard does not share a high enough opinion of mortal achievements to value their contributions. A view I am hoping to change,” he quickly added with a glance toward Jane. “I fear that our hubris has isolated us, and often lead us to believe -- wrongly -- that the other peoples of the realms are somehow lesser.”

“Yeah, well. America kinda does that all the time, on the more local planetary scale, if it makes you feel better,” Clint pointed out with a shrug, though his attention remained focused on his plate.

“You’ll have influence to change your people’s point of view, though, being prince, won’t you?” Pepper asked.

“He can try, but they live for like, forever,” Darcy pointed out around a mouthful of food. “Longer generations means less social progress since the old racists don’t die out as fast. Stagnates progress and enforces the retention of status quo -- especially since they’re top dogs on the world tree and don’t have enough competition to put pressure on them to change and innovate.”

For a moment, the table went silent. She looked up at the stares she was the recipient of, then rolled her eyes.

“Oh come on. Political Science major, remember? I graduated with honors and everything.”

“Lady Darcy is not wrong,” Thor agreed. “We cling to our prejudices far longer than the mortal races. Though I do hope to bring change. My time here has shown me that our view of Midgardians has been sorely limited, if not outright wrong. And I suspect the same goes for other realms that we have isolated ourselves from.” He took a long drink from his coffee, looking at Loki over the brim. “That being said,” he continued, lowering the mug, “I will visit with Mother and be sure to bring you a full report on her condition.”

“After you tell me you’re back,” Jane added, with a grin and a wink to Loki.

“After I tell you I am back,” Thor repeated obediently, leaning over and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

  
  


Loki found himself smiling at the exchange between Jane and Thor, despite yet another reminder of how far he’d drifted from his erstwhile home. Or perhaps it was merely his partner’s influence, creating such optimism within him.

He looked towards Natasha, wondering if she was marking this the way he was, to correct for it later in their lessons.

And the fact that the loud one had some insights, some intelligence behind her noise, while a surprise, did not escape him. He marked it to mull over-- that her studies apparently leaned toward the reactions of large groups as a whole.

Which meant that there would perhaps be some benefit to speaking with her in the future, if he ever did come to light, or become exposed as Steve’s partner. Or even before then, to begin laying foundations to make things as easy as possible.

But that was a future they may not ever see, if Thanos was not dealt with, and well. So it was a lower priority.

Still, he found himself half-listening to Pepper asking Darcy about her studies, glad to see that he was not the only one considering her uses.

And Thor’s words, pointed and obtuse despite his attempt at subtlety, about how Asgard may be wrong about Jotunheim, made him suddenly wish he could send Thor to see the Wicked play as well. Though he still wasn’t confident enough in his brother’s recent ability to see beyond the end of his nose. He wasn’t sure he would understand _why_ Loki wanted him to see it. And it seemed oddly personal.

So Loki turned his attention back to Steve, glad that the night before had served as such a good reminder of what they could have, if he was just patient enough for it-- Thor’s kiss for Jane was nothing to be jealous of, when Steve had had an even better one for him.

“Did you need anything else? More bacon?” He asked, looking around the table for anything else he could load onto Steve’s plate. Mothering or no, he was recovering, and needed his food.

  
  


Steve rolled his eyes. “I still have plenty,” he pointed out, though he couldn’t help smiling. “I’d have more orange juice if you don’t mind,” he allowed after a moment’s thought. He then turned to Pepper. “So... I understand Tony had quite the project he’d been working on for Valentine’s Day...”

She smiled. “Oh, yes. He gave it to me.” She turned to Tony and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you again.”

“Wait, gave you what?” Clint asked, eyes widening as he looked between them. “Shit, are you two getting married?”

“Woah, easy there,” Tony interjected, a hint of panic on his face. He quickly explained: “I made her a suit. Of armor.”

“A most valuable gift,” Thor noted, nodding in approval.

Darcy leaned forward, eager: “So, are you gonna be joining the Avengers as ‘Iron Woman’ now?”

Pepper shook her head. “My primary job is still CEO of Stark Industries. I’ll be leaving the Avenging to Tony. But if there’s any attacks here on the homefront ever again...” She looked to Tony with a fond expression. “I’ll actually be able to help, and not just watch.”

“I mean, ideally you’ll _stay safe_ ,” Tony pointed out. “It’s meant to be defensive. But--”

“--But we spent quite a while on the training level trying out my firepower and practicing my aim last night.”

“And she’s _better with the repulsors than I am!_ ” Tony bemoaned dramatically, leaning back in his chair as Bruce stifled a snort nearby. “I mean, how is that fair? I _invented_ the damn things!”

“True,” Pepper pointed out diplomatically, breaking a croissant in half, “but I’m the one who benefits from having a good teacher.”

Tony appeared somewhat appeased by this, sipping his coffee with a sigh. “I suppose.”

Across the table, Steve heard Thor murmuring to Jane, leaning in to ask:

“Do you wish me to acquire you a sword or warhammer of your own?”

  
  


Loki hung back to hear what Pepper thought of her gift before he drifted into the kitchen to fetch orange juice for Steve. He returned just in time to overhear Thor’s offer. He would have pretended not to have heard, but couldn’t help but huff a little laugh at the mental image of Jane, small woman that she was, lifting an Asgardian sword or warhammer and immediately tilting sideways under the weight.

“I imagine it would be best if you asked Natasha to work with her instead,” he told Thor lightly, with a nod towards the Widow. “Then she needn’t rely on a weapon that is, frankly, entirely out of place here.”

And maybe it would allow Natasha a chance to befriend more people who would not think of her solely as a tool or a weapon, as Loki once had. Jane seemed like the sort who made friends easily and was patient with their quirks-- at least, if Darcy was anything to judge by.

He took his seat and passed the glass to Steve, putting it close enough for him to take without risking touching him, as was becoming habit.

“Tony,” Bruce said, out of nowhere, and it made Loki turn to look his way as well.

“Yeah?” Tony asked, obviously game despite not knowing what Bruce had in mind.

“Have you ever run aptitude tests for your suits? I’m curious if maybe women who spend a lot of time in heels have an advantage when it comes to achieving balance in flight.”

Darcy was staring, and Loki was reminded of her earlier all too exaggerated attempts at flirting with Bruce, but she seemed more impressed than anything, until her expression split into a wide grin.

“Oh man, if you and Rhodey end up training by wearing heels, I want front row seats. No, better, I wanna sell tickets. Pepper, can I sell tickets?”

Pepper shook her head.

“I doubt it’d happen. The only heels Tony wears are cubans.” She reached over and patted his hand, but Tony was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before.

“Do you think heels strengthen your inner ear? What about ice skaters? Ooh, or ballerinas?” He turned his attention to Natasha, who raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, I would love an excuse to get into one of your suits.” She told him with a sunny smile. Loki tittered while Tony blanched a little.

“Now that thought is terrifying.” He told her, and even Clint had to laugh.

“We’d all be out jobs if you gave Tasha a suit.”

Which, Loki thought, might be a nearly fair point. Something worth considering, if a need arose.

  
  


The conversation largely descended into silliness from there, and debates on the relative tactical advantages of fashion accessories, as well as absurd bets on who would win against Natasha in hypothetical scenarios. And through it all, no one cast Steve uneasy glances, or talked to him like a frightened child, or treated him like he was made of glass.

The whole situation was refreshingly, beautifully _normal._ Steve permitted himself to laugh aloud and enjoy the brunch with the gathering of his friends. And when he shifted his weight and his knee bumped against Loki’s under the table, he froze for only a moment, then turned and smiled softly at his partner (and no one, it seemed, had noticed the movement, or the beat his heart skipped in the process.)

All too soon, the plates were wiped clean, and Thor was standing with a heavy sigh.

“You must excuse me, friends, for I will have to change my attire for my return to Asgard.”

“Suuuure,” Darcy drawled. “Conveniently getting out of dishwashing with the old ‘intergalactic traveler’ excuse.”

 

Loki arched his eyebrow and turned, still grinning from the unexpected, and maybe unintended, but no less treasured contact with Steve, to look at Darcy.

“You have been here how long now? And when was the last time you actually had to wash a dish?”

He clicked his tongue and looked up at Thor, then made a split second decision and stood, navigating his way around the table to steal one last embrace before he was left only with those little touches that Steve could muster for him.

“Return when you can, brother. I look forward to what news you may bring.”

The words were formal and a little distant, implying that it was not his brother whom he would miss, but it was only to offset the vulnerability he felt, doing this in so public a setting.

He let go and clapped Thor’s shoulder once more, a quick squeeze that had always communicated much, between them.

He did not return to sitting, though, well aware that it was only a matter of time before everyone was finished and began drifting off.

“Aside from Thor, what are the rest of your plans for the day?” He asked, bright and conversational, and offering them a means of moving past his and Thor’s now obvious reconciliation without comment.

  
  


“Well, being as it’s Saturday, I don’t have any meetings, so I think I might ask Tony for some flying lessons -- _at low altitude, Tony,”_ Pepper clarified as Stark began to grin near-maniacally.

“Well, I’ll be taking readings on Thor’s departure by bifrost, so I’ll be compiling that into the rest of my data,” Jane added, with slightly less enthusiasm and a wistful look at Thor.

Beside her Darcy scoffed. “Oh please. You _love_ data.”

“I love _new_ data,” Jane retorted. “These readings are likely to be redundant, which will confirm my earlier calibrations, but--”

“I have a new book I plan to start,” Bruce said with a shrug.

Steve was still smiling at Loki, startled by deeply pleased by the sight of him hugging Thor. He had to wonder if his own aversion to touch had quite literally driven Loki into his brother’s arms, and while the thought gave him a slight pang, he couldn’t wholly regret it. It was good for Loki to have people outside Steve. His friendship with Natasha, with Pepper, and now his brotherhood with Thor -- these were all good. And as Thor’s friend, Steve’s heart had ached for him every time Loki had professed his hate for him. Seeing things mended between them -- it was good.

Real good.

“I think I promised a real swell guy I’d take him out for a walk around town and a cup of coffee,” he remarked idly, setting his napkin aside and pushing out his chair with a smile. He heard Stark snort (“ _Who says swell?”_ ), but paid him no mind.

  
  


Loki turned towards Steve, eyes wide and delighted. He felt an incredulous smile spreading across his face, and though, inwardly, he wondered-- was he pushing himself now because of the night before? Was he worried still, like he’d said before, that his being touch shy was one strain too many for Loki? Was he forcing himself to do too much, too soon?

But then again, he could go out with _Sam_ , so why not with Loki?

Suddenly, it felt a bit like they were the only people in the world.

“I still don’t drink coffee,” he reminded him, gently teasing, “But I would love to go out with you.” He wanted to reach for Steve’s hand, to show off that they could, but everything so far had been initiated by Steve, and that seemed… wisest, for now. No need to push him if he was already pushing himself. That would be more selfish than Loki could stand to be.

He wondered if Steve would take him to the place he went with Sam, or if it would be somewhere else. Somewhere just for them.

(Somewhere where Loki wasn’t intruding on his place with his friend.)

“Do you know where you want to go? Or should I have JARVIS find us a place?” He asked carefully.

  
  


“Let’s just walk and see where the mood takes us,” Steve replied quietly. In truth, he didn’t want to commit to going anywhere too far, in case he got sore or tired or just overwhelmed. Worse came to worse, they could pop into the Starbucks one street over and get Loki a tea.

He turned to Thor with a smile. “I hope everything’s going well in Asgard and you have a safe journey, Thor.”

“I thank you, Steven,” Thor replied with a nod.

“And Pepper -- thanks for the brunch invitation, and, ah, the opportunity to redeem myself as a guest,” Steve added, turning to her with a sheepish look.

Pepper rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing to redeem, Steve, you know you’re always welcome.”

And then--

And then he’d made it through brunch, with friends, with no meltdown or embarrassment or drunkenness or _anything_ going wrong. Loki was smiling, Steve’s stomach was full, and he felt _alright._

Once they were in the elevator, he took a deep breath, reached out, and let his knuckles brush against Loki’s.

It still made his heart skip.

But it was no longer, he found, in an entirely unpleasant way.

  
  


\---

  
  


Breakfast had set the tone for the rest of their day, and things went well. They’d been out for their walk when Thor took his leave, the sky going bright and beautiful with the light of the Bifrost.

It still gave Loki a small flutter of discomfort, knowing that Heimdall’s attention was so near, knowing that another brilliant streak could mean that Asgard was coming for him. But no second streak came.

They did, eventually, find their way to a coffee house, and somehow they managed not to be run into or jostled, despite the busyness of everywhere.

The warm drinks chased away the chill, and the warm glow in Loki's chest made him forget, for a time, his jealousy at not being the first to be out with Steve like this, since his return.

They did not rush back to the tower, taking their time and managing not to spend the entire time stressed or paranoid. It was just _nice._

But Steve was tired when they got back, and Loki could hardly blame him for begging off for some time to rest or time alone-- either way, he deserved it. He'd been out and about much more lately, more accessible and more social. It had to be draining, though Loki wouldn't mention that. He didn't want to look the gift horse in the mouth.

They ate together, and it was quiet and small, neither of their appetites large after so grand a breakfast.

And it was good. The first day that Loki would call entirely good in quite some time.

He was grateful for it.

And as he fell asleep, he stared up at Steve's vision of a shared future and hoped that it was the sign of the shape of things to come. More good days. More easy healing.

 

Unfortunately, even half asleep, he knew their luck never held.

And so, when JARVIS woke them in the middle of the night, Loki could hardly be surprised.

He roused quickly and moved into the hall to see if Steve had been awakened as well.

  
  


Steve poked his head out of his bedroom just in time to see the light come on and Loki emerge from his room.

He’d awoken from uneasy, but unmemorable dreams to the sound of JARVIS’ voice, and the realization that he was being roused in the middle of the night had instantly put his nerves on edge.

Something was clearly wrong.

There were no alarms, however, and no sign that they were under attack. Still, he’d slipped on the wrist-brace shield that Tony had fashioned for him, though it was obscured by the flannel robe he’d pulled on over his pajamas.

“What’s happening?” he asked, wondering if Loki knew any more than he did. “JARVIS just said to get up, that we were needed--”

  
  


Loki shook his head.

“I don't know. But due to the timing, I dislike this even more than the last time. Stay close, and be prepared if I need to move us quickly…”

He trailed off, not giving voice to the threat of potentially needing to lay hands on him.

He dressed himself the fast way and looked to Steve.

“Ready?” Loki couldn't help but doubt it.

Though… he was, somehow. Jaw strong and set with the determination that nothing and no one could break him of.

“Are you alright for this, or… I can go alone and update you if you’d prefer.” He winced even making the offer, well aware how it very well might be received, but he wanted to be sure Steve was taken care of.

Wanted to keep him safe, whatever was happening.

  
  


Steve shook his head. “I wanna know what’s going on,” he said, firmly. He held the door open and lead the way out into the hall.

He hit the button for the elevator, and a moment later it stopped, the doors opening to reveal a very mussed-looking Bruce, still buttoning up his shirt, shoes on the floor beside his bare feet. He gave them a sheepish look. “Um. You guys going up too?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, considering that he perhaps ought to have thrown actual clothes on. Though, if there was a crisis, he would probably be expected to stay put.

He got in the elevator, which took the three of them the rest of the way up.

Natasha and Clint had beat them there, and Tony was perched anxiously on the edge of the couch, with all the lights in the sitting area of the penthouse turned on. Steve looked around, grateful that there didn’t seem to be any signs of an attack -- no destruction or injury -- but there was tension in the air all the same.

“Where’s Thor?” Tony asked, looking around.

“Asgard, remember?” Natasha reminded him.

“I’m guessing we could have used him for whatever this is,” Clint mumbled.

“Speaking of,” Steve began, stepping forward, pulling his bathrobe tighter around himself, “what’s going on?”

  
  


Seeing that there was no good place for Steve to sit and mindful of his still healing injuries and his need to be apart, Loki pulled a chair from the nearby dining room, setting it down without actually looking at it, hoping not to draw too much attention to it.

Steve would know what it was for.

Tony’s eyes followed Loki’s actions, though, and then flicked to Steve, and Loki felt his mouth thinning into a frown, but Tony didn’t comment, instead gesturing at the screen.

“JARVIS, put on Agent Carter.”

As he requested, Sharon Carter’s face appeared, her expression pinched with worry, and Loki felt himself tensing, wondering what news she had that warranted rousing the Avengers in the middle of the night.

He found himself drifting a bit to circle Steve, protecting his back, little though he needed it in their home.

He didn’t like this one bit.

  
  


Steve sighed as he realized Loki had fetched him a chair, feeling too anxious to sit still -- but he sank into it all the same, hoping it would at least keep Loki from fretting about one thing.

Both their attention was promptly taken by the appearance of Sharon on the screen.

“What’s the situation?” Natasha asked her.

“At approximately 0134 hours this morning, a cargo ship went missing in the north Atlantic, roughly 200 miles off the coast of Greenland,” Sharon said, launching right in with no preamble. “The ship was transporting cargo for Roxxon Energy Corp--”

Tony snorted, derisively.

“--And went out of contact at 0122, vanishing from radar twelve minutes later,” she finished, ignoring him.

“That’s... weird,” Bruce observed, “but it seems like a job for the Coast Guard more than it does for us?”

Sharon’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It would be,” she agreed, “if not for the ship’s cargo manifest. Turns out, Roxxon’s been working on developing an alternative to Stark Industries’ ARC-reactor technology, to help them compete in the unlimited renewable energy market.”

“Of course they are,” Tony grumbled. “So, what, they’re stocking up on palladium?”

“I wish.” Sharon looked even more sour. “Looks like they chose a different tactic. The manifest was heavily encrypted, but they were distressed enough about their missing cargo to tell us what they’d been shipping. After a little encouragement, at any rate.” She sighed, expression unnervingly sober: “Looks like they were working to develop energy tech from anti-matter.”

“Huh?” asked Clint, at the same time that Bruce hissed “ _shit_ ,” under his breath.

“I thought anti-matter was just theoretical stuff. You mean we actually have it outside of science fiction?” Steve said with a frown.

“Yeah, CERN started cooking some up a while back. I’ll fill you in on the wonderful world of modern science later,” Tony assured him. “So, hang on. Roxxon’s been screwing around with antimatter and-- they _lost_ it?”

Sharon nodded. Tony cursed.

“Well, if you don’t like these guys, isn’t that a good thing?” Clint asked. “I mean, looking for the crew of that boat and making sure they’re okay is obviously important, but--”

“Antimatter is dangerous,” Natasha interrupted.

“It annihilates if it comes into contact with matter,” Bruce explained. “A hundredth of an ounce has the same destructive potential as the A-bomb dropped on Hiroshima.”

“Kaboom,” Tony added, miming an explosion for emphasis. “And the only way to keep it from annihilating is to keep it in a vacuum, suspended with magnetic and electric fields. That system gets compromised, and--”

“--Kaboom, yeah, I got it.” Clint grimaced. “So... do I wanna know how many A-bombs just went missing? How much did these idiots lose?”

“Not much,” Sharon confirmed. “Antimatter is considered very hard to make and to preserve, though Roxxon’s clearly made progress in both those fields. But any amount of antimatter going unaccounted for, however infinitesimal--”

“--Is a problem,” Natasha finished grimly.

“My team is on the Quinjet, headed to you,” Sharon informed her. “Wheels down in 30, twenty-five if this tailwind keeps up. We’ve got satellites doing sweeps near the region where the ship went missing. We suspect sabotage -- someone may have boarded it to get to the cargo. Antimatter on the black market would go for more than the GDP of most countries. We don’t want to risk a landing, but we can do an air-drop of your team to infiltrate and secure the ship, along with the payload.”

“We’ll suit up,” Natasha confirmed, speaking with the authority of a team leader.

(In his chair, Steve folded into himself slightly, painfully aware of how little he had to contribute.)

“I’ll have Garza forward you the schematics we have of the ship and all other data we have so far,” Sharon stated. “See you shortly.”

Her image cut out, the video call ending.

  
  


Loki was paying attention, tense and and confused-- there were a lot of things being tossed around that he didn’t fully understand, but he got the gist well enough. Danger.

And Steve slumped, no doubt aware he would not be able to help.

Loki held still for a long moment after the call ended, then looked to Natasha and then down at Steve.

It felt like betrayal, but he needed to offer. For his friends’ sake. Their friends’ sake.

“If you would have me, I may be of use.” He spoke quietly.

Their talk reminded him of the dark elves’ bombs, imploding and pulling whatever they touched into nonexistence. And while he could not contain that, they specifically said it was an explosion- forces moving outwards. And that to prevent it happening, they needed a vacuum.

He’d formed a shield enough to keep toxic gasses out, before. It might be enough.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, no doubt surprised by the offer, but she nodded.

“You heard the woman; They’re here in half an hour. Meet back here by then.”

There was a general scramble as the others stood and began making their way to their respective quarters to prepare.

He and Steve would have waited anyway to avoid the clench of so many in the elevator, but Loki couldn’t help but be nervous about how he would react, how he would feel about all of this, when they were alone.

He didn’t put it off, though.

“Are you alright? Would you rather I stayed?” Loki asked, the moment it was quiet in the room.

  
  


Steve swallowed. _Yes,_ a small, pitiable voice in the back of his mind cried; the same voice that protested whenever his mother had left for a double-shift at the hospital, or Bucky had gone anywhere without him. The same voice that quailed at the fact that the Avengers had been called to assemble and it hadn’t even been in question that Steve would stay behind. But he’d been silencing that voice since he was a boy, and had plenty of practice at this point.

“No,” he replied instead, with a quick, forced smile. “Sounds important; they’ll need you.”

The safety of the world had to go ahead of Steve’s feelings; he would never allow otherwise. And if anything happened to the other Avengers--

Steve wouldn’t be able to help. Wouldn’t be there to protect any of them. But Loki could.

He stood from the chair. “Let’s go get you something to eat before you go,” he said. “Make sure you’re not running on empty.”

  
  


Loki didn’t frown but it was a near thing. Steve’s smile was half grimace, and no matter how good he was, he must have some reservations-- Loki wasn’t sure what they were, but he wanted to assuage them before he left.

But perhaps that would be easier if Steve was somewhere where he was more comfortable, like their home. So he just nodded and took a step back to give him some room.

“That does seem wise.” He said mildly.

After all, he didn’t take any time at all to get ready; the armor that Steve had designed and Stark had built was in his pocket.

Which… he realized that Steve may have been too out of it to realize that was what he had on, when they rescued him. Loki didn’t know that they had spoken of it since.

In the elevator, in the silence between floors, he volunteered-- “I will be glad to have the armor that you created; it really is a wonder of design.” He shot a little smile Steve’s way, trying to gauge his reaction.

  
  


Another quick smile; “Stark mentioned that he owed Pepper a suit since he already made you one,” Steve said. “I’m glad it turned out well.”

They reached their floor, and once in the apartment, Steve moved right to the kitchen, putting on the kettle and getting the bread out to make Loki some toast. “You... went out with the team a lot, when I was-- not here?” he asked.

  
  


Loki hesitated, not sure what the right answer was. He didn't want Steve to be upset with him; he hasn't exactly been a _good_ team member in his absence.

“We searched for you. Small groups of us. And a few times-- we had a few.” Loki swallowed his guilt over the false leads; he needed to maintain some evenness of mind if he was to go out. “There were a few times we thought we'd found you, before we truly did. And for those… I went out with the team.” He confirmed evenly. “I am not… a great team member, as you know. But, in the thick of it, we all have one another's backs.”

He watched Steve's back, hoping that was what he wanted to hear.

“If you will tell me what you are worried about, astin min…” he trailed off, hoping Steve would take the invitation.

  
  


Steve nodded. It was good to hear from Loki, who was usually the most pessimistic, that they still all had one another’s backs when he was on the team. That, as the others had told him over the last several weeks, they had all worked well enough together.

(without Steve.)

“I’m just worried,” he said, putting the bread in the toaster. “I’m used to being in the thick of things. Used to being able to look out for everyone-- to look out for you. Sitting this out feels...” he trailed off with a sigh. “I’m glad you’re going, I just wish I could go with you. But I know I can’t, that I’m a liability right now, and that I’m just being stupid. And I’ll be worried until you get back.”

He looked back at Loki, and suddenly felt a swell of déja vu -- the image of Bucky in his smart new uniform, ready to ship out, while Steve would have to wait at home, helpless and impotent while everyone else went into the line of fire and risked their lives where he couldn’t follow--

He swallowed. “Wait here,” he said abruptly, turning on his heel and disappearing into his room.

  
  


Loki bit his lip, a memory of their last night before Steve had been taken flashing through his mind. His own worrying, his own attempts at bucking the decision to leave him here.

But… that had been different. And was no doubt the source of at least some of Steve’s worrying. He had only seen Loki performing poorly. Between the practice that Loki had bungled and the injuries he’d sustained in the park... no wonder Steve was concerned with not being able to take care of him.

There was much of his progress that Steve had missed out on, and he knew it must chafe, much as it had chafed for Thor, the unknowable gap between Loki as he’d known him and Loki as he had come to be. The thought made him unexpectedly sad, but fortunately Steve was not there to see any betrayal that his face may have offered.

He wondered what it was he was waiting for, what Steve had gone off to fetch.

He wasn’t left to wait long, though his eyes widened and he felt his stomach plummet when Steve reemerged.

“Steve…” he said quietly, heartache apparent in his words. “You know you cannot-- even with it, you are not well enough. If it bothers you so greatly, I can stay. You know you are my priority. But you can’t--” he bit the words off, loathe to tell Steve what he could and couldn’t do.

That was, after all, what Steve had done to him that started off the argument that they had parted ways with.

  
  


It took Steve a moment to realize what Loki thought he intended, and he quickly shook his head. “No, Loki, I’m not-- I know I can’t go. I’d be putting everyone else at risk if I did,” he hurried to assure him.

The weight of his shield, which he had gone to recover from his closet where it had hidden since his return, out of the way and largely out of mind, was already weighing on his arms. He held it out to Loki.

“It’s not for me,” he explained quietly. “I-- I can’t protect you out there. Can’t shield you from anything. But I figure, if you take this-- maybe it can.”

It was the best he could offer. All he had to offer, really.

  
  


Loki took it gingerly, careful not to touch Steve but unable to help but remember Thor standing at the door, holding it out to him as the only part of Steve available to mourn.

He bit his lip, not wanting to refuse the offer; it was weighted with Steve's need to do _something_ , a need that Loki knew all too well. But Loki was not accustomed to fighting with a shield. He was used to making his own, and having his hands free for casting. But, on the other hand… an idea began to form.

“Thank you.” He told him. “I will carry it proudly.” Steve's favors were so good; Loki needed to think of a way of repaying them that wouldn't result in leverage for torture.

He cleared his throat and ignored the sound of the toast popping up.

“When we went out before, I went as a woman, or wearing my helm. But… it has been some time since you were seen with the team. What would you think of my taking back up your form, for this mission? Of course the others would know, but that way if we are seen…” he trailed off, hoping the suggestion was a good one.

He would never do it without Steve's permission, of course, but...

  
  


Steve hesitated.

It wasn’t a terrible idea, on the surface. Letting Captain America be seen in public would assuage worries and suppress rumors. But on the other hand -- it would throw something new and strange into the team’s dynamic, into Loki’s combat style, that could add an unnecessary level of complication.

And if HYDRA made a second attempt, as Loki feared they would whenever Steve left the apartment alone --

“That ain’t a bad thought to try sometime,” he replied carefully, “but if this tanker’s out in the ocean, I don’t know who’s gonna be there to see. Might as well fight as you. And if you need your hands free, I can get you the shoulder harness for the shield -- if nothing else, it’ll keep your back protected,” he offered. His hands know empty, he clasped and released them nervously at his sides.

“Don’t need you to be me. Just need you to be safe. And, ah. Do a better job of coming home in one piece than I did,” he added with a thin, rueful smile.

  
  


Loki nodded, conceding the point.

“I will keep it in mind. Perhaps there is something local that will do to get you back out there.” Or a trap that he could set, maybe with Natasha’s help.

But that was a consideration for later.

“I swear to you that I will return. I have no intention of leaving you now, Astin Min. Not when I have only just gotten you back. I love you.”

Again, he would have kissed him. Instead, he lifted the shield and pressed his lips to it.

“But I will carry your protection with me, and gratefully. If you will fetch the harness, I will dress the toast. What would you like on yours?”

He needed this to go well and needed to… to leave on good terms.

And he would be sure to tell him he loved him as many times as he could, before he left. He didn’t ever want to think that Steve might not know again.

  
  


Steve felt his cheeks warm at the sincerity of Loki’s words, spoken like an oath. “I’m too keyed up to eat right now. Toast is all yours -- but I’ll fix something in a bit,” he promised, then turned back toward the bedroom to dig out the spare shoulder harness for the shield.

When he emerged with it, the kettle was hot, and he quickly turned off the flame and retrieved a travel mug from the cabinets, dropping in a tea bag of black tea and pouring the hot water. “North Atlantic is gonna be cold,” he noted, handing the sealed cup to Loki. Not that the cold would probably bother Loki much. But this much Steve could do.

“ _Agent Carter’s team is approaching and cleared for landing,”_ JARVIS announced. “ _Avengers are requested to assemble on the landing pad.”_

Steve swallowed, looking at Loki. “Good luck,” he said. “I love you too.”

And then, steeling his nerves, he offered the last and most meaningful benediction he could think of, and pressed his lips to Loki’s in a quick kiss.

  
  


It was happening more often of late, Loki reflected, the last of his toast in his mouth and Steve’s shield in hand.

Steve seemed to be trying to touch him more, to kiss him more, and… he could not pretend that it didn’t thrill him, send elation coursing through his veins. But it also worried him; so close on the heels of Valentine’s day, so soon after Steve’s talk where he promised to be better for Loki…

Maybe they could have another talk, assuage his fears that clearly remained, once Loki returned.

But he had every intention of coming back; after all, there was only one way to get another kiss from Steve, and another.

And he needed to be alive for that.

 


	102. One Hundred Two

Loki changed into the new armor in the elevator, swung the holster into place over it, and snapped the shield on. He steeled himself for someone to say something, but he also knew that was the least of their worries.

There was a job to be done, and…

Only belatedly did he realize that JARVIS had included him among the list of Avengers.

It nearly made his steps falter, but Natasha was watching him approach, and he managed to recover in time to draw even with her without embarrassing himself.

“I have an idea I’d like to discuss with you.” He said by way of greeting. “Remind me when we get back.”

He looked around, checking that everyone was there, then looked skyward as the plane descended.

  
  


Natasha and most of the others had already congregated on the landing pad to meet when quinjet. She pursed her lips together as the black mass of the jet approached through the night sky, the wind whipping cruelly around them frigid and sharp. Despite her role as de facto team leader over the past several months, and her experience leading the Avengers on several missions now, it felt odd to be still in this position now that Steve was back, and just downstairs.

She hoped he didn’t resent her for it.

Nodding to Loki as he got closer, she arched an eyebrow, wondering what it was that he had in mind. “Duly noted,” she told him, catching sight of Stark and Potts a few steps behind him, Pepper wrapped up in a parka over her pajamas.

“Not joining us, Iron Woman?” she asked with a quirk of her mouth.

Pepper rolled her eyes. “No thanks. Besides. Someone has to keep an eye on this joint while you’re all off running around.” She reached up and gave Tony’s armored shoulder a pat. “Good luck.”

It was said facetiously, but knowing Potts had a functional suit of Iron Man armor was actually rather reassuring, given the rest of the Avengers would be off-site and potentially leaving the tower undefended. Natasha didn’t think this was a red herring of a mission -- Carter was better than to fall for that -- but she did make a habit of considering all the worst case scenarios. Mainly because considering them ahead of time left her able to respond faster when shit inevitably did hit the fan.

She turned back to the plane as the ramp descended, revealing Carter and her team, their SHIELD-issue coats over their uniforms in anticipation of the weather.

  
  


The reminder helped to ease the tension Loki felt about leaving, somewhat.

Knowing that not only would Steve not be _alone_ \-- there would be friends still around him, and at least one of them had weapons at her disposal to aid in defense at least long enough to get a message out.

No matter how far they were, Loki would find a way back if he could. No matter the consequences, as long as he could get there in time, this time.

When the door opened, Loki stepped forward, clearing his mind as much as possible to ready himself for this mission. Worrying for Steve would do him no favors, he knew.

And it would do his teammates considerably less good, if he were distracted.

It was good to see the others again, though- Ferra and Murray and Carter and Garza. He assumed Bradley was flying, and wondered if he’d be joining them, if they were meant to talk through things further before they left.

He looked to Natasha, not wanting to seem as if he were questioning her authority on his first time out that didn’t revolve around the search for his partner.

  
  


Natasha held back as the rest of the team boarded, and frowned as she got a view of the shield strapped to Loki’s back.

That was... interesting. Though, not especially relevant at the moment, unless he planned to use it to completely change up their combat dynamic. It seemed unlikely -- she made a note to check in with him during the flight as they worked out their plan of attack on approach. For right now, it didn’t bear commenting on.

At least, not by her. Agent Ferra, it seemed, had other inclinations:

“Magic hands! Nice vibranium bling, there. You know Ben’s gonna be jealous the whole ride, right?” she said, stepping forward with a wide grin.

“Oh my god, _why are you this person,_ ” Murray muttered, turning red, though his attention remained riveted to the shield.

Natasha snorted as she boarded last.

“Satellites are still scanning, but we’re charting a course for the North Atlantic,” Carter told her, stepping in closer.

“I’ve asked JARVIS to make Stark Industries imaging satellites available to you, so if those help speed anything up...” Tony shrugged with a metallic clank.

Garza, where she sat on top of a crate with a laptop, lit up. “Thanks! I’ll patch in their feeds to our search algorithms...”

Natasha’s gaze briefly lingered on her, recalling the footage she and Loki had watched and their conversation.

_After_ , she told herself. It wasn’t as urgent as the antimatter.

  
  


Loki shook his head, settling into an empty seat, which necessitated the removal of the shield.

He looked fondly at Murray and sighed.

“If you promise to be very careful, I will let you hold it. And I am sure Ferra will take a photo for you.”

It was still odd to think how very very young some of these Agents were, even by human standards. But they knew what they were doing, and were good at their jobs. Loki could hardly fault them, particularly when those aboard this ship, and back at the tower, made up the entirety of the people he could trust on this world.

He could almost hear Natasha and Agent Carter’s eyes rolling from here, but given the expression on Murray’s face, he thought it was worth it.

“Is that wise?” Bruce asked, though he was looking mostly at Loki when he said it, so he missed the way Ben’s face fell before he could quite hide it.

“Steve hasn’t been seen in awhile. It might be good to have some assumed appearances from him.” He gestured. “Besides, who is to say that Benjamin did not simply find a fairly convincing fake? I see no harm in it.”

“No posting it anywhere until Potts gives the okay.” Carter told him, with the tone of someone who was used to making such decisions. But Loki was glad; at least it allowed him his fun.

Murray, of course, nodded excitedly.

“Yeah, no problem. I mean of course, I wouldn’t anyway. But yeah.”

And at least the energy managed to become a little less tense, until Garza spoke up.

“I’ve got a ping, but… it’s pretty far off course.”

Tony moved to look at what she was seeing, and Loki settled back, though he did still pass the shield across the aisle and into Murray’s shaking hands.

  
  


Natasha let Tony step in, but followed along with Carter, hanging a step back so they didn’t crowd Garza too badly.

“What’re you seeing?” Sharon prompted gently.

“Well, they did something to hide themselves from radar pretty effectively,” Garza explained, “So when I say we’re looking, I mean we’re actually eyes-in-the-sky looking.” She glanced up at Natasha and Tony, apparently describing this for their benefit. “Course, it’s the middle of the night, so it’s not exactly easy. But I’ve got algorithms scanning for any visual anomalies consistent with the general size of that ship, and then cross-referencing with known courses to eliminate otherwise identifiable boats. I’ve got a shadow on satellite imaging that’s the right dimensions, but it could be another ship that’s unaccounted for.”

She rotated her laptop to show the picture in question -- a pixelated smudge of darker black with a few pinpoints of red and green light in a literal sea of dark gray.

“Have we got anything better?” Carter asked.

“Not yet.”

“Then get the coordinates to Agent Bradley,” Natasha said. “We’ll adjust course. But keep looking in the meantime -- see if you can get a cleaner view to verify.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Murray striking a Cap-like pose with the shield as Ferra took a picture. Part of her almost wanted to snap at them -- a mission this serious was incongruent with their antics -- but she restrained herself, biting down on her tongue. Carter would comment if necessary. And while the Red Room never allowed its agents to act like children en route to a mission, the Red Room had never allowed its agents to _be children at all,_ so it was probably not the best frame of reference.

Natasha focused her anxiety into a knife’s edge of planning, mapping out all contingencies. That worked for her. But for Stark, it was banter, and for Murray and Ferra, well...

“What’s our ETA?” she asked, resolving to ignore them.

“Assuming we maintain this course? Bradley can probably get us there in under two hours. Faster if the wind isn’t against us,” Carter replied.

  
  


Loki did his best to listen in, and caught the bit about it taking two hours.

Enough time to rest further, if he didn’t think he’d wake disoriented, and risk dreaming. Enough time to feel uncomfortable with so many people in the plane, and without so single minded a focus as when they’d been searching for Steve.

He knew he should worry more about their current mission, but frankly, it was hard to plan when there were so many unknowns.

He found his fingers itching for the feeling of Steve’s tags running through them, and allowed himself that small distraction, while he watched Ferra hand Murray’s phone back to him.

Murray, in turn handed the shield back over, and Loki took it, in exchange for a small smile.

“How is Captain Gorgeous, these days?” Ferra asked, helping herself to the seat next to Loki.

And Loki realized he had no real idea how to answer that. These were not exactly Steve’s friends, but neither were they the public of the world. They had helped to rescue him. And, hell, Steve himself had seen Ferra on the edge of death.

“He’s still recovering, but he has come a long way.” Loki volunteered, hoping that would be enough. “He is very glad to be home, though.”

It did not feel like a betrayal to say that much, and Ferra nodded.

“Yeah, I imagine. Well, give him my best when we get back.”

Murray agreed, and to Loki’s surprise, they left it at that. He couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful, though.

“And how is your family? I imagine they must be surprised at your sudden and complete recovery.” He tried not to sound too smug about that, but from the look Ferra shot him, he didn’t think he’d been completely successful.

“Yeah, I mean, they know I work for the government and that I had access to some pretty dramatic trial medicines, so I think they just bought that whole… thing. But I’d also been kind of withdrawing before that, so there was several months where they hadn’t seen me. Wanted them to remember me as I was, sort of thing. Means I could fib my recovery into taking longer than it did.”

Bruce was listening in, and looked startled.

“You-- ah, you’re the Agent that Loki cured of cancer?”

Suddenly, Loki recalled that the idea for the project had been inspired by a call Steve had made to Bruce, and that though he'd said as much when they were working on tracking hi seidhr while Steve was missing, Bruce had been focusing elsewhere.

In a way, he had been as much responsible for the return of her life as Loki was.

“She is.” Loki told him, voice warm. “You would never know it now, though, would you? Steve asked Doctor Banner here his opinion on bringing you to me, or… perhaps Banner suggested it. I wasn’t privy at the time to that sort of thing, but, either way-- he’s as much to thank as Steve is.”

“I wonder, would you be willing to let me do some measurements, some tests? This makes you the oldest known patient of Loki’s brand of healing, and I’d love to study long term effects of that kind of exposure.” Bruce sounded younger when he became eager, and Loki thought the interest might have something to do with his suddenly reclaimed ability to share his findings with his Betty.

“You know, most people don’t follow up an ask like that with calling me old, but yeah, if we don’t get immediately whisked away, I’m down. That alright with you, Magic Hands?”

Loki hid his grin behind one of those hands then nodded, keeping the amusement out of his voice as much as possible.

“Of course. I trust Doctor Banner.” He nodded to Bruce, then turned his attention back towards the others, curious whether any progress had been made while Loki worried and made small talk with the other members of their team.

If he had to entertain the entire time, the next two hours would not be fast ones.

  
  


Clint had been checking his bowstring and cables, making sure his compound was in good condition leading up to the op. Lucky had chewed on one of his strings a while back, but he’d since replaced it and so far, all looked to be in working order. And sitting this close to Loki and Carter’s team, he could easily hear their whole conversation, even over the quinjet’s engines.

It was still weird sometimes hearing people -- SHIELD agents -- bantering with Loki. It no longer made him feel nauseated or chill with horror, but there was a definite surreality to watching it happen right in front of him.

Though as he tended to his own gear, he found his eyes drawn increasingly to Loki’s. Or, more specifically, Cap’s -- which Loki had brought with him.

“So are you gonna be slinging that thing around in battle if it comes to a fight?” he asked, clearing his throat and nodding to the shield. “Not your usual style...”

  
  


Loki looked over to meet Clint’s look, and realized instantly what he meant.

“No,” he told him, not sure if it needed to be a reassurance. “No, I… Steve wanted me to wear it. So that he could watch my back, even while he isn’t with us. Besides, I would be too afraid of losing it.” He offered a slightly crooked smile.

“Though depending on the size of the vessel in question, I may end up leaving it here out of necessity. The most important thing is being able to do what I need to, and he’d understand that.”

He looked critically at Clint’s bow and raised an eyebrow.

“You’d know what to expect better than I would, though. Will there be room for you to maneuver?”

If so, there should be room for Loki with the Shield.

He thought.

  
  


Clint pretended not to hear the soft ‘ _aww’_ sound Agent Ferra made when Loki explained the reason for carrying the shield.

Of course, he didn’t doubt for a minute that Rogers would be that cheesy. And totally goddamn earnest about it too.

Then Loki raised an eyebrow at him, and Clint couldn’t help but feel it was a challenge. With a few deft movements, practiced enough he could do it in his sleep, he folded and compressed the bow from its full range to a short form, and then collapsed it into a storable size and slotted it into the rig with his quiver on his back.

“I’m pretty good at getting in and out of tight spaces,” he replied, a hint of smugness in his voice.

“If we wind up belowdecks, it could be narrow,” Carter noted from a few feet away. “But it should be maneuverable to a point. If we were dealing with a submarine, I might worry, but the shield ought to be fine on a ship of these dimensions.”

“Speaking of ships,” Bruce said hesitantly, “the Other Guy might not be the best person to have on something sinkable. And he’s also probably not great to have next to anything unstable. Like, oh. I don’t know. Antimatter.” He shrugged.

“Unless someone’s weaponizing it,” Tony pointed out.

“We don’t have Steve or Thor at the moment,” Natasha added. “Hulk and Loki are our heaviest hitters right now. I agree that it may be best for you to hang back unless the situation calls for it, but I want you ready, Bruce, in case things go south.”

  
  


Loki blinked, startled and trying desperately to hide it.

He’d never exactly been considered a ‘heavy hitter’, though he supposed, in comparison…

It was true. They were short team members whom they were perhaps more accustomed to working with, and they had him instead.

“Frankly, at this point, our options for where The Hulk will be, if he does come out, are plane or ship. And once you’re in the water, there’s little more damage you can do.” He pointed out, not, he thought, unreasonably.

Loki nodded at Clint, acknowledging his somewhat impressive trick of knocking down his bow, even though it was hardly the first time he’d seen it. It didn’t seem like it would be particularly useful while folded up, but that was fine; the hawk was resourceful.

Loki would just keep an eye on him.

“I will bring the shield, then. And- would you rather that I go in first, being, as you said, the heavy hitter?” He couldn’t help but preen inwardly at the description. “I do have my own shields that I can erect, so if we’re going to be shot at, we can have some warning in that way.”

Bruce didn’t seem fully convinced by the argument, but at least he didn’t seem to have any reservations about the possibility of needing the Hulk.

“How far below the surface of the ship is the antimatter being held?” He asked.

Likely, Loki thought, to try and remember not to damage its containment, should push come to shove.

  
  


“We don’t know,” Sharon said. “We have no intel about where and how exactly the cargo was loaded. We have a few notes on the other cargo that’s on board, but that’s not detailed enough to give us much information. And that’s all assuming we’re even closing in on the right ship.” Her lips were pursed, though her expression softened as Garza caught her eye with a worried glance.

Natasha frowned. “And not knowing who or what has interfered with the ship, we’re largely going in blind. Stark, when we get close, do you think you’ll be able to do a flyby and scan the ship? See how many warm bodies are on board, without tipping our hand too much?”

Tony nodded. “I’ll have JARVIS put the suit in stealth mode. Though depending on how reinforced the hull and other containment measures are, there’s a chance -- _just a chance, mind you_ \-- I might not pick up _everything.”_

“So, are we thinking corporate espionage, pirates, foreign military assault?” Clint asked. “I mean, how do we know this ship isn’t missing because it just blew itself up?”

“An explosion of that magnitude would have registered on a seismograph,” Murray answered. “We’ve been monitoring it, and no one’s reported any kind of tremors or other indicators of a large-scale blast.”

“As for who we’re running into...” Ferra shrugged and grinned. “One of life’s many surprises!”

“I like to be the one doing the surprising,” Natasha said dryly. “The jet probably won’t be able to land on the ship, so we’ll have to drop in. Bruce, I don’t like the idea of you freefalling, so Loki or Tony will carry you. The rest of us who go in can stick to parachutes. Loki -- once Tony does his sweep, do you think you’d be able to scout ahead once we drop without immediate detection? Assuming we manage to get in without being noticed immediately.”

It would be early dawn, but still largely dark as they approached, which would hopefully work in their favor.

  
  


Loki cleared his throat.

“As far as carrying Bruce… I cannot actually fly. Or… whatever you think I would be able to do to get us there. I can run far, fast, invisibly and permeably, but that is the extent of it.”

He considered.

“And jump; I suppose I do absorb shock a little better than you do, but… that would very much defeat my not being detected. I tend to land… heavily. That said, yes, I can look inwards, much as I did on our overseas HYDRA raid, though, like Tony, my abilities have their limitations there as well, if you remember. I will do what I can, though. Unless you meant physically. I can go ahead without detection, yes. Though that will leave you without me and exposed.”

Without his shields, or his protection.

He doubted Steve would take it well should any of them fail to come home.

They were his team, after all, his friends, and he already felt badly enough about not being able to be here.

“I’ll be fine jumping alone. I have a little experience.” Bruce said drily. “That shouldn’t be enough to green me out.”

Which was reassuring, Loki was sure. Though he didn’t know how many bullets it would take to make things go differently, once they’d found their feet.

  
  


Natasha nodded. She had thought Loki’s ability to seemingly teleport short distances would work, but it seemed she’d miscalculated. Better to know now, at least. “Ok. You jump with a chute then, or with Stark. Agent Carter, how many chutes do we have?”

“Six.”  
“Okay. That’ll serve Bruce, Clint, Loki, myself --”  
“I’d like to come with,” Carter interjected.

Natasha paused, then nodded. “And Carter. Also -- Agent Murray, come with us. Agent Ferra, you have seniority -- the bird is yours. Agent Bradley will keep it in the air and Agent Garza will monitor any radio chatter.”

Everyone nodded, and Natasha quietly drew a deep breath.

She wondered briefly, what Steve would think; what strategies he’d employ, or what he’d be thinking of right now that she wasn’t.

  
  


Loki thought he heard Ferra muttering something about not being a grandmother, but it was just out of his earshot which meant, thankfully, that it was definitely out of both Carter’s and Natasha’s.   
Murray, on the other hand, had to work hard to hide his amusement.

Loki was thinking it over as quickly as he could, despite their having time yet for mulling.

It would be Loki, Bruce, Clint, Tony, Natasha, Carter, and Murray.

Of them, Loki and Tony were the best to put between the guns of their enemies and their people; Bruce keeping to the rear seemed wisest, so that he didn’t shift unless necessary.

Unless, of course, there was a chance of being fired upon from the rear as well. In which case he ought to be in the middle of the group.

Loki wondered, briefly, if he carried a gun, then almost laughed at himself for the stupidity of the thought.

Of course he didn’t. The adrenaline of having to use a weapon would more than likely turn him into an even larger one.

Well. They just had to hope this could be done quietly and calmly, he supposed.

It seemed like a very unstable hope to operate on, but at least he knew that if it came down to it, he could push the Hulk into the sea, and hopefully keep him away from the others.

He only hoped the Hulk could swim.

He considered asking, but thought better of it; Banner seemed to be fighting down how tightly wound he was as it was. Loki wasn’t going to contribute to the wrong side of the equation.

But with so many unknowns, it was difficult to make any grander plans than that.

Save one.

“If I’m to be using a parachute, which I understand generally… perhaps someone should demonstrate to me how they work?”

That, at least, was immediate; a worthwhile distraction-- something that could fill the time and keep him busy without him seeming anything but serious about what lie ahead.

  
  


“Right, ah, I’ll... help with that,” Murray quickly offered, fetching one of the plane’s parachutes so he could point out the necessary functions to Loki.

Natasha stepped back, nodding to Sharon. The two of them retreated from the others.

“What about the other cargo you mentioned?” Natasha asked. “Anything else explosive we have to worry about?”

“Doesn’t look like it. Some precious metals, some batteries that are flammable, but should be stable. Whole lot of ‘mobile defense’ tech prototypes, whatever that means, that they’re moving from Hammertech -- apparently Roxxon acquired a large chunk of the company when Justin Hammer went to jail, but it seems like it’s just being shuffled from one storage unit to another. Nothing high-profile, which is probably why they stashed the antimatter on this shipment in the first place.”

“Do we know anything about the ship’s crew?”

“Nineteen souls, including the captain,” Sharon answered. “Could be dead. Or it could be an inside job. If we need to evacuate them, it’ll be a damn tight fit in this plane, but we should have enough fuel, even with the added weight, to get to land.”

Natasha chewed the inside of her lip. “Do we have any incoming backup who can handle them if it comes to that? If we recover the antimatter, I’d like to keep our focus on that, rather than babysitting sailors all the way back to the States.”

Sharon nodded. “I’ll put a call in for a ship to be on stand-by.”

They hammered out logistics as the jet continued out over open water and time dragged by. Garza remained glued to her screen, occasionally calling out information as she uncovered it, or the gradually but consistently shrinking distance between them and the cargo ship she’d found.

  
  


Parachutes, as it turned out, were fairly simple, fairly ingenious mechanisms. Loki had to admit to being impressed, and did so easily. On Asgard there were means of flying, but if you fell, you fell-- and likely deserved it for having been stupid enough to fall in the first place. Though you likely wouldn’t die, unlike if one of the mortals here fell from one of _their_ machines. Such daring people, Midgardians. And cautious, or as cautious as they could be.

That in mind, he almost felt bad about taking up one of their limited supply, but then again, they needed quiet and surprise for as long as they could manage to maintain it. And he was hardly a featherweight, when it came to landings.

Better to take the pack and follow Murray’s directions, which seemed mainly to concern timing.

Those left on board the plane would be needed here, anyway. It was hardly a wasted resource.

And it was Natasha’s decision, as the leader of this mission. He wasn’t going to challenge that.

He glanced her way, thinking of her guilt over the death of her informant.

She would do all she could to be sure this went well, but if it did not…

He’d figure that out later.

For now, the mission.

Very dangerous, very unstable cargo was never ideal to be planning a fight around, and yet they were doing just that.

He felt himself growing antsy-- not anxious, exactly; it did not yet feel real enough for him to be afraid. But he did feel increasingly caged, and ready to be in action. The waiting was the most difficult thing, right now.

Fortunately there were people enough to provide minor distraction, even if only through observation.

Bruce was meditating, which provided next to no entertainment value. Tony was talking quietly with Ferra, which could very easily spell trouble for the future, though Loki was not too concerned. Particularly since Murray was hovering nearby and casting glances back towards Carter somewhat regularly. Loki could only hope that meant they would get some sort of advance warning about whatever plotting was taking place.

He wandered toward the front of the plane, almost surprised when no one objected, but then again, he wasn’t exactly the threat he had been, once.

He stepped past Garza, barely noticing when she angled away from him with her screen, and stopped in the doorway to the cockpit, where Bradley was at the controls.

He nodded his greeting.

“I hope I am not distracting you; I merely wanted to say hello. Ensure you do not feel ignored.” He made it sound light, but he knew that if push came to shove, Eli and his control of the plane could make the difference in their survival. And so it did not hurt to gauge his reactions, his state of mind, while there was little else going on.

At least, for Loki. Eli himself was busy, but he didn’t intend to linger overlong.

  
  


Eli looked up briefly at the intrusion, nodded, then returned his attention to the displays and controls. “Thanks,” he replied. “We’re making good time. Jet stream works in our favor with this trajectory, so we’ve got a good tailwind.”

Nodding out the jet’s windshield at the uninterrupted darkness of clouds and water, his mouth twisted wryly. “Sorry there ain’t much of a view.”

  
  


Loki laughed softly, more forced than not, because he knew that Bradley would not be able to see his equally put upon smile.

“The scenery is hardly your fault. Though I am glad that this portion of the quest isn’t difficult, at least.”

It was equally not Bradley’s fault that Loki had no idea what he was meant to do with himself for the remainder of the ride, however much of it was left.

He had no weapons that needed checked or sharpened; his knives were ever keen and his siedhr strong and sure.

But he didn’t want to make a nuisance of himself, so he retreated, with a brief, “I’ll leave you to it. It is good to see you, though.”

  
  


Eli turned in his seat as Loki began to leave, chewing his lip before speaking up. “Hey, how’s... How’s Cap doing?” he asked, a little softer, a little awkward. Like he wasn’t wholly sure he had a right to ask.

  
  


Loki paused, almost surprised though he knew he shouldn’t be.

“He is recovering,” He said with another not-quite-real smile. “We are told he will return to his full strength, given rest and ample care. And he has always healed faster than most, so… it is only a matter of time.”

Sticking to the physical, he realized, made everything sound so much more hopeful. Even if it was physical contact that provided the most obvious of barriers, the tip of the iceberg of what must be incredibly deep scarring on his mind, his soul, all of which was untouched yet.

Save by whatever progress he could make for a couple of hours, a couple of days a week.

Loki knew so little about that… he was trying to give Steve space, and hoping that something being better than nothing would be close to being _enough_. But he knew he should try and bring it up.

Maybe once they returned from this trip.

Maybe.

  
  


The trip across the Atlantic was both brief and interminable. There was limited time to plan -- but the limited planning available meant that Natasha spent most of that time considering every way things could go horribly wrong.

“Kinda like Bogotá,” Clint muttered to her when he walked past her, giving her a wry grin.

“Antimatter isn’t c-4,” she replied.

“Both go boom,” he pointed out.

“Hopefully not in this case,” she told him, and he chuckled as he moved on past her to check on Bruce.

She and Sharon were going over the schematics for the cargo ship for the umpteenth time when Eli’s voice came on over the comm:

“Approaching target, less than five kilometers.”

Stark stood up with a clank of metal. “Is that my cue?”

Natasha took a deep breath and focused herself. “Yes. Agent Bradley, please put us in a holding pattern once we’re two kilometers out, and engage stealth mode. Stark -- I need you to do recon. Scan the ship, focus on identifying and locating life signs and any anomalies that might indicate where the antimatter is. Do a sweep, but don’t engage, and try to avoid detection. Everyone else -- get ready.”

The tension in the air had been palpable for the entire flight, but now it was electric. Natasha put her comm in her ear and strapped into her chute, then thought briefly about how Steve wouldn’t even bother with one if he were on this mission and calling the shots.

The plane slowed, the noise of the engines dropping in pitch, and she could feel their altitude lowering. Carter barked for everyone to get clear of the hatch, and they retreated as the doors opened to a roar of wet and frigid air.

Stark snapped shut his faceplate, and offered them a jaunty salute. “See you in a few!” he called out, then took off out into the darkness.

The hatch closed, and they hunkered down to wait. Garza pulled her computer monitor around for the rest to see, showing an outline of the ship, a yellow dot for the quinjet, and another smaller red dot tracking Stark’s movements.

Soon enough, his voice came in over their earpieces.

“ _Coming up on the right-- starboard? I should be calling it starboard, huh? -- anyway, that side. Doesn’t look like anyone’s on deck, but J tells me it’s about eighteen degrees out, so I can’t say I blame ‘em. Initiating scanning...”_

The red dot swooped close alongside the ship, and Natasha had to fight the impulse to hold her breath.

“ _Hull plating is pretty thick -- sensors aren’t crazy about it. Separating infrared data from known heat sources in the schematics to isolate likely bio-signs...”_

  
  


Loki sighed.

He could see more with his seidhr than Tony could with his scanners, but only just. Which meant that the most help he could be on the ship itself would be if he did as he’d suggested, and went in ahead of the others, with shields up-- or else silently, invisibly, and as quickly as possible.

That in mind, he ran through the directions Murray had given him for the parachute again, checking to be sure he understood, then looked to Natasha.

“Do you want me to jump first, then? Go into the ship before the rest of you follow?” He spoke quickly, not wanting to talk over Tony if he did find something.

“If he can’t get us information--”

Murray put his hand on Loki’s shoulder, and Loki turned, surprised.

“It’s not a great idea to let you jump by yourself your first time out. Somebody should go with him.” He said turning to look to both Carter and Natasha.

He got the feeling that Murray was volunteering, but still Loki shook his head.

“I can go unseen; the only way for me to take someone else with me invisibly would be to carry them, thus all but negating my maneuverability.”

He looked to the women in charge, in turn.

“I can do this.”

  
  


Natasha sighed. “I know you can,” she assured him lowly, not wanting to deal with shattering Loki’s self-confidence and ego at this stage. “But I don’t want anyone going off solo once we have boots on deck. If we split up, it will be in groups. _No one_ goes off on their own,” she added, the last part louder for everyone’s benefit. “There might not be a lot of places to go missing out on the open ocean, but I’m personally not in the mood to take chances with a repeat of what happened with Rogers.”

She took a moment to make sure that sank in. Then, Tony piped up on comms:

“ _Looks like twenty-three bio signs. Maybe twenty-four -- or one guy might just be on the husky side. Hard to say.”_

“That’s four more than the crew manifest,” Carter noted.

“So we have four hostiles?” Bruce asked.

“At least,” Clint growled. “Could have been more embedded in the crew. Or some of the crew might be dead.”

“ _There’s a cluster of seventeen or so toward the aft cabin,”_ Tony supplied. “ _Looks like a real party. Not that everyone got invited from the looks of it. Two on deck, toward the front -- don’t think they saw me, ‘cause I’m awesome. Three in a room up front, others scattered throughout. No dice on an exact location of the antimatter, though there does seem to be increased magnetic interference at the center of the ship.”_

“That suggests it’s in the forward half of the cargo area,” Garza said, pulling up schematics.

“‘ _I guess that narrows it down... a little. Want me to do another pass?”_

“No,” Natasha told him. “Come on back. Bradley, get us in position to jump -- if the only men on deck are at the fore, we aim for the aft-deck. Loki -- Murray is right. You’ll jump with him.”

  
  


Loki nodded, a slight jerk of his head, that was all. He was already unclasping the shield from his back to make room for the pack. With it on his arm and his parachute on his back and his helm covering half of his face, he felt like he _looked_ ready, at least.

Steve had been right, not to let him go out before.

Everyone here knew their purpose, their strengths within the group, knew one another’s abilities. Even Natasha, whom Loki had spent the most time with, had little concept of what he could do-- which was dangerous. He hoped no one relied on powers he didn’t have once they engaged. But if nothing else he had shields. He’d be able to protect them, if he could keep an eye on everyone.

It felt, suddenly, like a lot of pressure.

Pressure which was wiped away as the back of the plane opened and the darkness and cold faced them.

This was what they were jumping into, and for a moment, Loki saw the void, the emptiness at the edge of the world, and panicked.

_Not again_.

Then his eyes adjusted and he saw the water below, made out the rough outline of the ship, its few lights enough to help guide them.

A hand on his elbow, and he turned to see Murray.

“We’re going to let Hawkeye and Sharon go first, so you’ll have people to follow.” He told him, and Loki realized that the rushing wasn’t only in his ears-- the wind outside of the jet was loud as well as cold.

He nodded again and stood away, watching as Clint signed something to Natasha, received a nod, and checked the straps to his pack one last time.

He spared Loki a glance and a nod as he moved past, and Carter patted Murray on the arm, and then they were gone, out into the air.

“Now us.” Murray said, pulling Loki along, and if he had balked, he knew Murray would not have been able to budge him.

But the reminder that these-- these brief, breakable humans, were doing this so calmly--

He fell into step with Murray, and when they reached the edge, they did not hesitate. Loki followed his companion’s earlier instructions, and with some guidance in the form of his hands on Loki, tugging him into the correct shape, he was pushed in the right direction.

Below them, he saw Clint and Carter’s chutes deploy, smaller looking than he expected, but then the dark was playing tricks on his perception of distance and height.

He was glad, suddenly, that he hadn’t been allowed to go alone. He was likely to have simply crashed into the side of the ship, at this rate.

But he had no more time to think about it, because Murray was tapping him and gesturing-- time to pull the string.

Not wanting to endanger the young agent by taking too long, Loki hastened to comply, gratified by the jerk of sudden drag slowing their descent, and able to see that Murray’s worked as well.

A few moments more, and his boots hit the deck. He pulled the strings to free himself and looked back, able to make out the shapes of Natasha and Bruce.

He moved the parachute out of the way so they didn’t slip on it, and joined the others, watching the deck of the ship rather than the sky beyond.

The last thing they needed was any surprises. And the first thing they needed was instruction from their leader, now that they were ready to begin their invasion and reclamation of the stolen boat.

Tony landed beside them and lifted his faceplate.

“Good first jump?” He asked, and Loki wondered if he had been standing by to swoop in, had it not been.

He nodded again, unable, suddenly, to find the words he was so famed for in light of the fear he was carrying of letting down his team.

He searched his mind for them.

“It is a nice change to be falling on purpose.” He returned. Tony flashed him a quick grin, and he turned when movement out the corner of his eye alerted him to the arrival of the rest of their team.

  
  


Natasha’s feet hit the deck, and she immediately looked over to Bruce as he touched down. In the dark, it was hard to judge how he was faring. “You okay there, big guy?” she asked softly.

She heard a deep inhale, then saw Bruce’s silhouette nod. “Yeah. Not my favorite activity, but I’m good.”

“Great. Let’s get these chutes out of the way.” She nodded to the others, and they quickly began to bundle up the spent chutes to discard them over the side, so they wouldn’t be as easily detected or in the way. “Comm check, 1 2 3. Everyone live?”

A chorus of murmurs replied, echoing within her earpiece. “Good. Carter, Barton -- I want you two to move forward along the deck. Tony counted two guys above, so take them out. I don’t want anyone between us and a clean extraction. If you don’t know for sure they’re hostile, use non-lethal force.” Clint’s arrows were quiet, and he had stun-arrows in his quiver. He worked best with Natasha herself -- but as someone who knew the SHIELD playbook and had undoubtedly done her homework on all of them, Carter was familiar enough with his style of tactics that she’d suit him as backup. “Once you’re done, find and secure the bridge; estimated three hostiles. I don’t want them getting any communications off to their friends on shore. If you need backup, say so.”

“Got it,” Clint said, pulling out his bow and snapping it open. Carter pulled out a small cylinder, then began to screw it on to the barrel of her firearm with a quick nod, before the two of them took off and melted into the gloom.

Natasha took a deep breath, scented with the briny air and burning with cold in her lungs.

Then, she continued: “Everyone else, we need to figure out how many of the biosigns belowdeck are hostile, and how many aren’t. Stark; you, Banner, and Agent Murray stay aft, scout out the cluster of seventeen biosigns you registered. Report, but don’t engage. Loki, you’re with me. We’re scouting mid-ship.” Where Stark had detected the magnetic disruption that was their best clue to the antimatter’s location.

 

He nodded, silently wishing he had the ability to go with each team, to be able to shield them. But they were trusting him to do his job, and he had to do the same.

He stuck close to Natasha, watching as each group broke off to their assignment, and glad that they had all had a chance to look at the layout of the ship before they got here.

It would make running to their aid easier, if needed.

He registered Natasha’s movement and matched it, not looking at her so much as watching all around them both as he followed her to the stairs that would lead them down.

“Shall I lead?” He asked, voice low in the event there was anyone listening, though he could only sense one life nearby. A guard, perhaps, something mundane and routine, and one who, with any luck, still did not suspect anything.

But there could always be more.

As Tony said, the walls, ceiling-- all of it was thicker here, no doubt because what the were seeking was underfoot.

He lifted Steve’s shield into place and expanded it, moving his seidhr upwards and outwards, erecting what amounted to a wall between them and anyone who might try anything, below.

It was odd, not feeling the need to tell his companion to have his back; he simply took it for granted that she would, and was comfortable with that.

He pushed aside that realization and the warm feelings it threatened to bring with it for later.

For now, he needed to focus on the stairs and the mission ahead.

  
  


Natasha nodded at Loki’s offer to lead. She knew he could move quietly, and had keen senses. She’d cover his six, and signal if she needed him to turn a different direction.

The corridors were tight and dark, rendering her thankful she wasn’t claustrophobic. The ship was large enough that the ocean swells didn’t rock it too violently, but there was a steady rise and fall that she found herself compensating for all the same as she and Loki checked through and cleared a stretch of hallway, swaying almost as if in a dance.

“ _Two on the deck are down,”_ Clint reported over the comms. “ _Heading to the bridge now. Looks like they’re pretty solidly equipped- there’s money behind this.”_

“Acknowledged,” she murmured, keeping her voice pitched low. Engines and hydraulics rumbled and hissed around them, so she didn’t think she’d be overheard, but she wasn’t in a hurry to risk it.

“Sense anything?” she added, this time to Loki.

  
  


“We’ve company. Only one person, somewhere near, but moving. Ahead and to our right. Patrolling perhaps.” He matched her tone and volume, trusting her to know best how not to get them caught.

He shook his head, not entirely sure if the rest of what he was sensing was a sound or a physical movement or something that sat in the realm of science or magic or somewhere in between.

“I think we must be near the containment as well- do you feel the-- the buzzing emptiness?”

In honesty, he wasn’t sure she _could_. But best to give her as much information as he could.

“The inner walls are much thicker than the outer ones.”

He paused as they came to a place where two walkways met, straining for any sign of which direction they should be going.

“Do we want to find the person and question him, or look for a way toward the middle?”

Shield or no, he may be leading, but he was not the leader on this mission, and he was attempting to keep as much in mind.

  
  


She chewed the inside of her cheek. Her own tendency to infiltrate and evade prioritized reaching and securing the target. But having a team meant having to look out for their safety, and leaving a potential hostile free to ambush them wasn’t ideal.

“If they’re alone, we shouldn’t have trouble neutralizing them,” she replied. “Better to take care of it now, when we have the element of surprise.” From there, they’d progress down to where the antimatter was likely stored. And if they had a guard patrolling around it, then it probably wasn’t far. “Lead the--”

Tony’s voice came over the comms then, interrupting her.

  
  


“ _We’ve got what looks like five hostiles, and twelve hostages. Hard to tell them apart -- looks like the bad guys snuck in with the crew, so they’re all rocking civilian sailor chic, but I’m pretty sure the ones with guns are the bad guys, and the ones on the floor are just having a really crap day.”_

Natasha pursed her lips. Hulk and Iron Man could take out five men easily, but she didn’t want to risk Banner hulking out if they didn’t need him to -- especially with civilians. “Are any of them injured?”

“ _Hard to say. Agent Babyface thinks he can get a closer look.”_

“Monitor, but keep out of sight for the moment,” she told them. “Don’t engage until we have confirmation from Barton and Carter.” Then, she signalled for Loki to keep moving forward.

  
  


Loki swallowed, nodded, and pressed forward, pushing down his discomfort with the reminder of just how _young_ Murray was.

But he was good at what he did, or he wouldn’t be here. Loki clung to that, as much as he was allowing himself to cling to anything, just now, and moved onwards. The person they were looking for was just ahead, and Loki stepped to the side to allow Natasha to see.

The man was clearly armed, carrying his gun before him, but he didn’t seem particularly alert. As Tony had implied, there was no overt branding on his clothing, no uniform identifying him as the enemy.

Save, of course, the fact that he walked freely and boldly, unafraid of the ship’s captors, and thus implying that he was one of them. But he would let Natasha make that call.

She had said they would ‘neutralize’ him. Whether that meant death or not remained to be seen.

  
  


Natasha nodded to Loki, making a handsignal for him to hang back and keep an eye out.

She knew how effective he could be. But sometimes his efficiency left very little for them to interrogate.

Moving silently, it took little effort to sneak up on the man; she leapt up on his back, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him off-balance, and snaking her arm around his throat. Tightening her grip and flexing her bicep, she put pressure on his carotid, and brought him to the ground within moments.

The choke-hold wouldn’t keep him out long, but two zip ties from her belt restrained him quickly enough. She also pulled a knife out of his boot, and a second weapon from his holster.

“ _This is Carter, we have the bridge secure. Two hostiles down. Third predicted hostile unaccounted for. I’m downloading all the information from the onboard computers, and Barton is disabling communications.”_

“Acknowledged,” she replied. “Head aft when you’re done. We’ve taken out an additional hostile midship.”

She waited a beat, then slapped the prisoner.

  
  


With one last quick look around them, Loki slid the expanded shield into the holder on his back, freeing his hands.

“May I?” He asked, gesturing at the man, and with one swipe he adjusted his krellr upward so that he regained consciousness.

And, seeing as he was already so close, Loki clapped his hand across his mouth to prevent him alerting any others who might be within hearing.

“Shh, shhhhh. Do you know who she is?” He saw the man’s eyes slide to Nat’s face, then downwards, and Loki gave him a little shake for his disrespect, even in the worst of circumstances.

“Do you know. Who she is?” He repeated, lower, as he put more pressure on the man’s face. Enough that his teeth might be creaking in their settings, but Loki knew they didn’t have much time.

The man nodded, and Loki eased up.

“Then you know what will happen to you if you do not answer her questions.”

He gave him one last shake and sat up, erecting a small barrier around them as he did-- something to keep any noise that might happen fully contained.

He looked to Natasha, and waited, tensed to follow any order she might give.

  
  


It was tempting to smile at the assist Loki was providing; it certainly helped, and she appreciated it, but when her mouth curled upward, she had to be sure the expression was predatory and not pleased.

“Where’s the payload?” she demanded, not beating around the bush.

“I don’t--”

She switched on one of her Widow’s Bites, which crackled with energy. The man’s eyes widened, drawn to the static discharge.

“Where. Is. The. Payload.” She spoke each word distinctly, leaning in close enough that she could smell the sweat coming off of him.

For a moment, he looked ready to cave. There was real fear in his eyes, and the muscles in his face twitched with indecision. But then the moment passed as his expression went flat with resignation.

“C-cut off one head--”

_Damn. Of course it had to be Hydra._

“I don’t have time for this,” she snarled, then slammed her fist into his temple, hard. A few years ago she might have broken his neck, but leaving him concussed, bound, and out cold was sufficient right now.

Two down on the deck. Two down in the bridge. One down in front of her. Twelve prisoners. Stark had counted twenty-three, possibly twenty-four, leaving them with seven remaining hostiles to neutralize. Which made their odds pretty good at the moment.

“We need to find the antimatter,” she announced, standing. “Carter and Barton will help the others secure the hostages.”

  
  


Loki heaved out a sigh and stood, toeing the man over to lie against the wall, and clearing the walkway as best as he could, in case they needed to make a quick escape in that direction.

It wasn’t a particularly wide walkway, and they would likely trip over him anyway if that was the case, but at least he could say he’d made the effort.

“The interior walls only began thickening back there, and I have yet to see a door, so my guess is that we should continue heading forward, and skirt this wall- there seems no other reason to reinforce it, unless what we seek is tucked away behind it. And-- that buzzing is only getting louder.”

He hoped he didn’t sound insane, that she could trust that he sensed something, even if she couldn’t. But he had to speak with confidence, lest she second guess him the way he did.

He tried to recall the plans for the ship, tried to place them on what he remembered seeing.

“Was the door to this area towards the front of the ship?” He asked, only hoping her memory was better than his. And that he was not leading them the long way around a room whose door was just a few feet in the opposite direction.

  
  


“I think so,” Natasha confirmed quietly, drawing a deep breath to regain her focus. The air here was stale-- some of the salt smell from above-deck permeated it, but there was also the smell of oil and sweat and too little ventilation. “We’re closer to starboard right now, so look for anywhere with a left turn.”

She followed Loki, grateful for his shielding (both vibranium and magical), knowing how easily a shot could ricochet wildly in these corridors. They crept forward, and she noted every creak and groan of the ship, in case it heralded the approach of an enemy.

  
  


Despite their silence, they made good time, the darkness of the corridor nearly allowing them to overtake the hallway before he realized it was there, and he got the shield up just in time to deflect-- something. Not quite bullets, likely something akin to the chitauris’ weapons, for when fired it lit the area, and when it fell it fizzled out.

Fortunately Loki was capable of creating his own light.

And so he did, in the form of a silencing bubble, built around the man’s head. He turned the shield enough so that Natasha could get by if she wanted.

“He can’t speak.” He told her quickly, lest she attempt to question him. But at least it would keep him from calling for help.

The light of the spell lit a sign on the door that the man stood beside, as well, and Loki breathed a sigh of relief.

They’d found it.

_Authorized Personnel Only. Hazardous Materials. Proceed With Caution._

He nodded at it, waiting for orders.

  
  


Natasha’s eyes widened a fraction at the-- _spell_ Loki conjured, and the man who was now grabbing at what looked like a fishbowl of light around his head, frantic and mouthing words that brought no sound. She really needed to sit down with Loki sometime after this and fully catalog his abilities. She considered getting out more zip-ties, but whatever Loki had done seemed to have incapacitated the man enough (and she wondered morbidly if the spell allowed air through or not), and she saw no tell-tale bulge of weaponry still on him. He groped at something on his belt, but it was too small for a gun, and without the ability to speak, a comm would be useless.

Moving past him, she paused at the door Loki found. It could be a red herring -- or a trap, the paranoid part of her thought -- but it could also be exactly what they were looking for.

“Shields up,” she murmured, making sure her widow’s bites were deactivated, pulling out and extending a collapsible baton instead. She didn’t want to risk interfering with the containment device’s electric field with an errant shock, but she wasn’t going in unarmed either. “You take point; I have your back.”

  
  


Loki nodded.

“Just a moment-- Let me--” He caught the man’s hands up in bindings, causing him to drop whatever bit of technology he’d been fiddling with.

For safety’s sake, Loki kicked it off somewhere to the side and sat the man down, hard.

“Goodnight.” He told him, and dissipated the silencing ball, just in time to push his hand down on his head-- and send all of his krellr rushing downwards.

He lost consciousness immediately, and Loki turned toward the door, drawing the shields back up before him. Aside from the clattering of the dropped-- Loki assumed it was some form of communication device-- it all was perfectly silent. Perfect.

He opened the door with his free hand, making sure the shields were angled so that no surprises inside would cause any harm to Natasha, before opening the door the rest of the way and quickly stepping through. Immediately, he searched for anyone who might be hiding in amongst the machines, but there was no one. And even if he hadn’t been sure whether or not the technology would throw off his casting, he’d be able to see if someone was there.

It was not as dark in here, no doubt because lights were using so little energy, in comparison to everything else in the room.

“Well.” Loki said, not worried about the volume over the sounds of mechanical whirring. “I’d say we found it.”

  
  


The device was large. Not so large they couldn’t move it, but it would take some strength. Thankfully, Natasha noted, she’d brought an Asgardian along.

“We shouldn’t move it until the ship is secured,” she said. “It shouldn’t take everyone else long to take out the rest of the hostiles. Last thing we need is someone dropping it if a firefight breaks out.” In fact, such a scenario would probably be the last thing any of them experienced at all.

She touched a finger to her comm; “Loki and I have found the payload. The immediate area is secure. We--”

She broke off at the sound of a nearby clang. She turned, hackles raised, expecting to see the man Loki had taken out broken free. He remained motionless, however, and she frowned.

  
  


_Clang._

  
  


_Clang._

  
  


Almost like footsteps, heavy and metallic. “What the hell...”

  
  


Loki pulled his eyes away from the device.

“I didn’t hear you in my communicator.” He told Natasha quickly, raising his shield and already moving to angle it into place between her and whoever was approaching.

“The walls may be too thick here. If need be, I should be able to take this-- let the others know.”

As he spoke, the source of the steps came into view, and it wasn’t human at all.

And though it stopped, the steps did not. More than one, then, walking in unison to hide their numbers. And without any sign of life, so that Loki had no idea how many there were, or how close.

A small blinking light off to the side drew his attention, and he swallowed, realizing that the device he’d so carelessly tossed aside must have been the control to activate them.

The robot did not give him much time, immediately opening fire, though Loki noted that he was not its target.

He got the shields up, the first round of bullets mostly hitting the magical shields, and thus dropping to the floor. But it adjusted very quickly, and the next round bounced off of Steve’s shield, some of those bullets ricocheting back towards the robot itself-- and one even hitting the next robot to arrive square in the face, as if Loki had planned it that way.

But the thing raised its arms just the same, and began firing.

“Get a call out quickly,” He cautioned. “We may need to fall back-- we don’t want those rounds hitting what’s inside.”

  
  


_Mobile defense tech_ , Natasha thought numbly, remembering Carter’s description of the cargo manifest as _goddamn robots_ came into view.

Boy were they going to have a conversation about _that_. Later.

She ducked and rolled outside under Loki’s shields, crouching behind a crate outside the line of fire.

“We have added hostiles!” she shouted into the comm. “We have the antimatter located, but one of the goons here activated weaponized robots. I don’t know how many.”

“ _They what?”_ Tony demanded.

“ _Shoot, there’s more ahead of me,”_ Carter said.

Which meant more than just what she and Loki were facing. _Dammit._

“Stark, they may be Hammertech designs,” she said, knowing Stark had some experience with Hammer’s work. “More might be moving toward you. You won’t be able to stay hidden long, they’ll all know we’re here. Loki and I will guard the antimatter; protect the hostages. I’ll be out of comm range until this area is secure.”

A blast overhead came close enough to singe her hair, and she gritted her teeth before diving back toward Loki and his protection, trusting him to open the magic shield enough for her to get back through.

  
  


Loki let out a breath as he heard Natasha giving orders and heard the others responding.

At least they had been able to warn them.

Even so, any injuries they sustained-- He glanced back through the shield toward the device, which had finally stopped blinking.

That was his fault. And they were not out of danger yet.

Once she was back behind the barriers, he raised them fully, and took his arm out of Steve’s shield, leaving it suspended in the middle of the magic.

“We can attack from this side and not be attacked.” He informed her shortly, readying a blast aimed for the first two robots. “I only wish we had some way of knowing how many there are. Well. I suppose when the shooting stops--”

In fact, so many were shooting now that looking out through the shield was a little like looking upwards through a pool during a heavy rain. Impact after impact and ripple after ripple spread over the surface of the spell, almost ceiling to floor.

Loki glanced behind him to see if there was any obvious damage to the antimatter container, but he didn’t know enough to know for certain.

“Is it okay?” He asked, jerking his head that way.

  
  


“Well, we haven’t been atomized, so probably,” she noted, dropping to a firing stance on one knee as she drew her sidearm and began taking shots at the incoming wave of robots.

Stark or Banner would probably be able to do a better diagnostic of the device holding the antimatter, but neither of them were present. For a moment, she bitterly regretted the choice to send them after the hostages instead of prioritizing the antimatter completely. But -- no. That wasn’t who she was anymore. She and Loki could hold the line until Stark and Banner were free and could reach them.

She hoped.

One shot to the head-like structure, and one robot reeled, but then kept advancing. She cursed beneath her breath. “Any idea where the best place is to hit them?” she asked, aiming next for the thing’s knee-joint in the hopes of taking it down that way.

  
  


That, at least, Loki could be of help with.

“Save your rounds and I will find out.” He instructed, changing the spell somewhat so that it would search out weaknesses.

He launched it at the closest automaton and watched carefully as it zipped around it, groaning a little when it finally found its mark. The light faded into the creature, lit it up from within, and then it crumpled, with a slight spark.

“The base of the ‘skull’,” he announced, readying another spell to find something on the side facing them. “Let me see if there isn’t another somewhere more convenient.”

He launched the second one, still watching it intently.

“I am sorry. Had I acted sooner, he would not have had the chance to wake them.”

There was a narrow section on these robots, just above the ‘hips’, and there were plates that came from the top of the ‘pelvis’ that were clearly intended to shield the area. This spell led his eyes to it, then severed the metal handily, breaking the machine in two. The lower section continued to function for a moment, then fell, but the shooting stopped immediately.

“There-- where the spine is exposed and at its thinnest. Aim for that. Wait-- how many rounds do you have yet?”

He knew there was a finite number of times that she could shoot, and knew too that there may yet be more trouble that she would need those bullets for.

He was, as yet… okay. He had power at hand. He could manage this, for a time.

 

Natasha calculated quickly. Fifteen rounds per magazine, and she had one extra magazine in her boot, with two shots already fired from the one she had loaded; “Twenty-eight,” she answered. She’d been expecting hand-to-hand more than a firefight in this situation, and she was regretting the assumption. At least knowing where to shoot would keep her from wasting ammo.

It was hard to aim through the shimmering shield, but the next three rounds she fired off took a robot down apiece. But where she knew how many bullets she had, and how many people were aboard, she had no idea how many of these damn robots were in the ship’s cargo.

(An unforgivable oversight. дерьмо́ _._ )

Still, Loki’s shield was holding. And the more of them that congregated here, hopefully the fewer were attacking the cargo hold.

Then a shudder ran through the ship, metal quaking underfoot. For a horrible second, her mind flickered to that damn _Titanic_ movie Clint had made her watch; had they hit an iceberg?

The thought was dismissed as quickly as it came, however, when the shudder was followed by a distant and distorted roar.

“I think the Other Guy just joined the party,” she observed grimly, lining up and taking another shot that cleaved a robot at the spindly midsection with a shower of sparks. Which meant that whatever opposition the others were encountering, it had been enough to prompt Banner to transform. That knowledge, plus the fact she now had to account for a rampaging Hulk in her planning, was less than optimal.

  
  


Loki inhaled sharply, but tamped down his discomfort.

He and Banner were not the people they had been, the first time he’d tangled with his monster. They’d worked well enough together when they destroyed the HYDRA base where they’d found Steve. And they both had other things to worry about.

“Let us end this, then, and see to our people and those they protect.” He spoke gravely but pressed a hand to her shoulder and gently nudged her out of his way.

“Shield your eyes so that you will be able to see afterwards.” He advised.

He took a deep breath and wound the power together, creating hardier versions of his previous spell, meant to keep on taking the robots down until none were left. He pressed his hand flat to the shield and pushed, sending a light streaming outwards until it fractured and exploded, like the fireworks Steve had made sure he got for his birthday. Each branch began a lethal dance, dropping one robot after another, darting from one machine to the next.

It used a fair amount of seidhr, was bright and lacked subtlety, but the Hulk and the activation of the robots had no doubt long since given away the game, and he had enough of his power left, for the time being, that it was not a worry.

As the lights retreated down the hallway and faded out, Loki followed them, feeling the progress of his seidhr until the last of them was taken down. The last of the seidhr light return to him, coming to rest against his palm until he opened a hole in the shield to accept it back into himself.

He swayed a little on his feet, the sudden loss of so much energy and subsequent return of a portion of it disorienting, a bit like standing too quickly. He shook his head and took up the shield, making it mobile again.

“After you.” He told her quietly, and silently thanked the norns that he had someone here to follow for a little bit.

  
  


Natasha covered her eyes as instructed; when she opened them again, there wasn’t much but wreckage left. It was a sobering reminder of just how much power Loki could pack in a punch. Not that she had much time to dwell on it.

Stepping out, she touched her comm immediately. “Status?”

“ _I’m with Stark,”_ Carter’s voice replied. “ _You two alright?”_

“We’re good,” Natasha answered. “Loki just did some kind of magic EMP, from what I can tell.”

“ _We took out all five HYDRA guards at the aft of the hold. We have a few robots left, but they’re manageable -- Hulk crushed the bulk of them. He ran off after some further forward, so he may be heading your way.”_

The groaning metal and tremor under her feet seemed to reinforce this. Natasha pursed her lips, breathing in through her nose at the prospect of dealing with Hulk. “Hopefully we can calm him down. We could use Banner on this device. Radio Bradley, let him know to bring in the quinjet as close as he can -- no sense being stealthy anymore.”

Her mind was running through all the moving parts at a mile a minute; the jet, the antimatter, the ship, the robots, the hostages, the hostiles, her teammates--

\--Moving her finger from her ear, she looked back at Loki critically. “You doing alright after that?” she asked, hoping he wasn’t too drained from whatever it was that he’d done.

Especially now that she could hear Hulk’s growl as he approached.

  
  


Loki swallowed, but nodded.

“It will take more than one such attack to drain me. But you should stay behind me, in the event that Banner doesn’t recall the danger he might pose against the antimatter, in this form. If I have to move him, just stay out of the way as best as you can.”

He wondered how the Hulk would react to finding himself suddenly on the deck, out in the cold, and whether that would help… but at the very least, it should get him away from the antimatter-- and Natasha, who was, after all, one of the more human and breakable of the Avengers.

The Hulk rounded the corner and came into view, his big toe catching one of the fallen robots’ heads and sending it rolling near comically down the hallway.

Hulk couldn’t be comfortable, Loki reflected, surprised he was standing still enough that Loki would have time to think. But he looked so cramped, his head tucked down and his body held at an angle so that he leaned forward, making himself shorter.

Loki did his best not to show any sign of fear, even calling down the shields until he just held Steve’s on his arm.

“Hello Hulk,” He greeted, proud of how even his voice managed to emerge. “I think we’ve got all of them.”

The Hulk’s nostrils flared, and Loki had a sudden wild worry that he, like dogs, could smell fear.

“Smash?” Hulk said, and it somehow was a question.

Loki looked to Natasha, wondering what, if anything, she knew about how to get through this intact.

  
  


Natasha took a steadying breath.

The sheer power of the Hulk unnerved her. Her strength lay in cunning and agility. She could turn an ordinary man’s strength against him, or manipulate him into doing what she wanted, preying on his expectations and biases. But Hulk’s mind was too simple, too alien for her to deftly twist, and his strength more than she could handle. He was one of the few beings against which she felt powerless, and memories of being pinned under rubble in the helicarrier rose unbidden to the forefront of her mind.

But the Hulk in front of her at least appeared to have calmed in his rampage. He was glowering at them, but hadn’t lunged forward and crushed them.

( _Yet_ , she thought unhelpfully.)

A childish part of her wanted to run and hide. But she was team lead. And if Steve were here--

If Steve were here, she knew exactly what he’d do.

She swallowed. “Let me,” she told Loki quietly, then stepped forward.

Hulk turned to her with a menacing grunt.

“Hey Big Guy,” she said, willing the quaver out of her voice. “Good job clearing out the robots. I hear you did good work back there.”

Hulk scowled. “Metal men here broken,” he said, sounding almost _sulky_ as he swiped at one of the robots Loki had disabled, sending it crashing into the wall with a shower of sparks.

“Yeah, nothing left to smash here,” she agreed. “We do have something we need help with though, and we need Banner to do it.”

That earned a growl, so deep she felt it in her bones. She grit her teeth against her body’s own involuntarily responses of fear. “No Banner. Hulk!” Hulk declared.

“Hulk did good,” she assured him. “Hulk did real good. But right now we need Banner to do good too. Can you help us with that, Big Guy?” Against all her instincts screaming at her, she stepped forward, reaching out.

Hulk regarded her in confusion, and oddly, pulled back, as if unnerved.

“It’s okay,” she said, keeping her voice low and even, the way she did when Loki verged on panic. “It’s okay. We just need you to take a rest, okay? Take a rest and help us out...”

Hulk’s protruding brow furrowed, and his posture collapsed inward, shoulders hunching as he let out a gruff exhale, like a punctured balloon.

Or -- maybe it wasn’t just his posture. He hunched in and Natasha could swear he was seeming smaller, less vibrantly green--

  
  


She held her breath.

  
  


This process he had not seen before, and though it was a poor excuse, it did explain why he failed to notice the man approaching until he heard an all too familiar sound. His stomach sank and something in the back of his mind seized with remembered pain and fear.

He stepped to the side, eyes finding and focusing on the gauntlets rather than the man wielding them, but he wasn’t fast enough. And it was already too late.

Loki was thrown by the shock, but it was directed at the Hulk, and he seemed to take the majority of the damage. Which was to say, he didn’t seem to take any-- though what transformation had occurred already was instantly reversed and he turned and roared his fury at the suddenly trembling HYDRA soldier.

Who… promptly fell, a bolt blossoming out of his skull that hadn’t been there a moment before.

Loki blinked, but Barton’s appearance on the scene made quick explanation of that.

“Well,” he began. “That could have gone worse…”

Behind them, a light began flashing, a siren began to scream, and there was a jolt like someone had just thrown the ship they stood in several feet into the air.

“Let me guess-- that’s where the antimatter is?” Barton asked.

Loki nodded, lips pressed together and stomach still trying to settle.

“Oh.” Said Clint. “Well, shit.”

  
  


_Shit_ was right.

It happened so fast. Her focus had been on Hulk, and not on the corridor. She’d miscounted the number of hostiles -- forgotten there was potentially one other roaming through the body of the ship amidst the chaos of the robot attack.

And that had provided the opening for an attack they couldn’t afford.

“Easy!” she shouted to Hulk, who roared his displeasure at the lifeless corpse. Natasha grimaced at the familiar design of the shock gauntlets, and the realization they must not have destroyed all of them back at the HYDRA base where they’d found Steve. Schultz’s designs had proliferated.

And from the sound of the alarms, caused a hell of a problem.

“Please tell me the shock from those things didn’t hit the antimatter containment,” she pleaded, looking over her shoulder at Loki, even though she sensed from the frantic beeping of the device within the chamber that she already knew the answer.

_At least we haven’t all blown up yet. That’s something._

  
  


“While they call me the god of lies, now doesn’t really seem the time.” He shot back, though the attempt at banter was feeble, and he dropped it immediately.

He felt drawn in too many directions-- he should stay, as the most capable of stopping-- or at least, _surviving_ the Hulk should he lose all control. But he was also the most resilient and should therefore go in and check the containment.

He glanced at the Hulk, who was watching them, his arms twitching listlessly. He seemed more human than Loki was accustomed to, and had been more verbal before, but that was after he’d had something to destroy. Clint had robbed him of the pleasure with the man who’d attacked them. Not that he held it against him at all.

“I am going in to look at it. Warn the others, and shout should you need me. I won’t be long.” He glanced again at the Hulk, then met both Natasha and Clint’s eyes, nodded once, and turned heel.

He raised the shield as he approached, having to cast a light just to see, as the shock had apparently shattered the bulbs.

He frowned as the light wavered and drifted towards the containment; he hadn’t told it to do so.

As it grew closer, he could see some sort of crack in the thick-- whatever material it was. And it widened a little as he watched. The light disappeared inside, and though it was a weak little spell, he was still able to feel the shudder, like an earthquake aftershock, as it rolled through the air of the room.

He felt queasy all over again, and backed out quickly, casting a shield over the door once he was through, though he could tell the gesture was an empty one.

When the containment gave-- and it was a _when_ , certainly, and not an _if_ , the walls of the ship would mean nothing.

He licked his lips.

“How far away can we get in the next few minutes?” He asked.

He knew next to nothing about any of this, and wasn’t sure they had even that long, but he could feel the power of the thing nudging at his shield even as he spoke.

  
  


Natasha paled. “Not far enough, I don’t think,” she murmured.

Something clanked and echoed. Her insides clenched at the notion that there could be more robots somewhere aboard. “Stark,” she said, touching the comm, “what’s your status?”

“ _Hello to you too, sunshine. All hostiles neutralized. We moved all the hostages to the deck, and we’ve been loading them into the quinjet to warm ‘em up and let Ferra make absolutely filthy sailor jokes at them--”_

“Stark!” she barked, interrupting him. “If you leave now, can you clear the blast radius in the next few minutes?”

The comm was silent, and for a minute she worried the connection had died. Then--

“ _What??”_ Murray’s voice cracked.

“Can you make it?” Natasha demanded.

“ _If... If you guys book it up here we might have enough time--”_

She looked back to Loki. “Is there-- is there something you can cast on it to buy us time so we can all get out?”

  
  


He took a deep breath.

“It’s possible I could… move it. Away, at least a little ways. Buy you extra distance, if you leave now, and I put it off until the containment has all but failed.”

Though… there was the problem of what would hold it while he moved it. The whole ship would have to be moved as well, but he needed to be standing to start his running, magically enhanced or not.

“I’m sorry, no, I wasn’t thinking. That wouldn’t work.” He swallowed and tried to force his thoughts to clear.

“I can… I can put up shields. Wrap it up. But I can’t form a perfect vacuum. I can hold it for a time, but… only a short one, if that. And I’ll need to see it.”

Which meant he would need to stay near it. There was no chance to run a test, to see if this would work or not. And he didn’t want to be responsible for their deaths if it turned out he was wrong.

He felt a sort of numbness crawling over his mind, a creeping cold like he was freezing over. Fear, he supposed. He held the shield-- Steve’s shield-- out to Natasha, knowing he couldn’t think about that too hard.

He was the strongest, and the best hope they had. He had to protect them. Steve would do the same.

He hoped Steve wouldn’t-- he had to pull away from the thought. There was too much there that he didn’t have time to address.

“You should go. Now.”

  
  


Natasha froze. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her til now failed, leaving her legs so leaden she didn’t know if she could run if she wanted to. The reality of Loki’s words was that their options were fast diminishing. Soon the antimatter would go critical, and she had to make a snap decision now to save as many lives as possible.

And as many as possible in this situation didn’t look like it was going to mean _all._

“Clint, get Hulk out and go,” she said flatly.

“ _No!”_ Hulk growled, slamming his knuckles against the metal deck and making it rattle with all the petulance of a toddler.

“What the fuck am I, the Hulk-whisperer?” Clint demanded, shaking his head. “No way. We’re not-- you guys are coming with!”

“Clint.” She breathed in slowly, trying to ignore the way her skin crawled, knowing the decision she was making. “Go. Someone needs to watch Loki’s back in case there’s any other surprises on deck here.” If anything interrupted him or distracted him, they might lose precious minutes the jet would need to get clear. They couldn’t afford that. One life was worth the risk.

She looked up and met Clint’s eyes, hoping he’d understand that. In response, he firmed his jaw. “ _Bullshit_ ,” he murmured, barely audible over the klaxons. “I’m not leaving you, Nat. Orders or no.”

She wanted to argue; wanted to get him safe. But there wasn’t time.

Four lives or eighteen. _Snap decisions_.

She touched the comm: “Stark, Carter -- get everyone on the jet and move, now. Clear the airspace as fast as you can, this thing is going to blow.”

“ _You can’t--”_

“ _What about--”_

“ _Romanoff--”_

“Go!” she shouted, before switching her earpiece off, heart thudding almost painfully in her throat. “Loki, buy them as much time as you can.”

  
  


Loki nodded, put the shield on his back, hesitated, then offered--

“If Hulk were to open a hole to the deck, if he can get through, we could move upwards. It would give us a better chance that-- I might be able to shield us, when the other shields fail.”

If he had enough left.

He had to have enough left. He’d just have to ration it, and hold on as long as he could.

And it would give them something to do other than stare at him while he tried to hold it.

“If you can. It would help. If not-- that’s still my plan. Hold it as long as I can, and then shield us. If Hulk can’t smash through, try and get him back to Banner, and stay close together.”

They weren’t good instructions, and he knew he didn’t sound sure or hopeful, but it was all he had in him at the moment.

He reached out for the shield over the door and pushed it in, carrying it with him to the containment tech, and using it to patch over the breach.

Then he began growing it, seeking out any further cracks-- and there were a lot. It was already filled with fissures, only just holding together.

And he could feel the power inside, fighting to keep eating through it. And each bit of the container that it managed to pry loose, it consumed, and grew, and grew stronger…

Loki swallowed and poured himself into the shield, holding tight to his control of it.

Trying hard to be aware of all of it at once, trying not to let anything escape.

Usually a shield was easy. Put it up, keep feeding it, and it would hold. But this one had to keep changing. Had to keep fighting. And he couldn’t let anything else interfere.

Not even thoughts of what would happen if he failed.

Not even thoughts of what would happen to Steve if he failed.

He just couldn’t fail. For his friends’ sake, for his partner’s… for his own. He grimaced and wrapped another layer of shields around the first, reinforcing the areas taking the most battering.

It wasn’t going to last for long.

“They have perhaps three minutes.” He called, unable to keep the horror out of his voice.

That was all he could give them. It didn’t feel like enough.

  
  


_And then shield us._

  
  


Those four words at least held some hope; the plan wasn’t just to consign themselves to be vaporized -- which, in the moment she’d declared that she’d stay, Natasha had figured would be the case.

She nodded, schooling herself. “Hulk, can you smash through to the air?” she asked, pointing upward.

Hulk grinned back at her, face splitting into a macabre smile. “Smash,” he agreed with a pleased growl, then launched himself upward and began tearing at the metal ceiling above. The groaning of stressed metal put her nerves on edge, and she retreated into the chamber after Loki, Clint a step behind her; they both had their weapons raised, ready to put down any more HYDRA goons or bots that tried to interrupt Loki.

Three minutes wasn’t much, but the quinjet could break the soundbarrier. She could only hope Stark and Carter had listened, and that it would be enough.

Their fate -- _all_ their fates -- lay in Loki’s hands now.

“Least if this doesn’t work, none of us have gotta die alone,” Clint quipped, shooting her a wry grin over his shoulder.

Metal crashed to the ground and Hulk roared, punching upward through the decks, tearing away at solid steel like it was tissue. Natasha could almost swear she felt a draft of cold air.

“At least there’s that,” she murmured.

  
  


His shields shuddered as the antimatter ate at its bonds and grew. He shivered, suddenly more certain than he had been that what he was doing wasn’t enough.

If it grew as it fed, which seemed to be the case, then the ship they stood on was naught but oil for the fire. He’d been right the first time; he needed to get the antimatter out. Preferably sooner than later; while some of its containment yet survived.

“I have to move it.” He told them. “The longer it stays here, the larger the radius of damage will be when it goes. As soon as Hulk has made his hole, you have to let me know. Then climb onto the deck and go all the way aft-- I’m going to throw it the opposite direction and… and blow it early.”

If the problem was instability, he could contribute to it. That was, depending on who you asked, what he did best.

He fought for strength, and pulled, as a test, to see how much would move-- how much weight he would have to lift to pull this off.

It was not a small amount, but he could do it. Maybe.

And he still had to have energy left for a shield.

He felt sweat building on his brow and tried to keep calm, tried not to panic.

There was no one else who could do this, and no other way.

If he didn’t do this, he would die. His friends would die.

He would never see Steve again.

Never hold him again.

Never get to say goodbye.

He couldn’t do that to him. Not after all he’d already been through. He deserved so much more than that, so much better. Deserved someone strong enough to deserve him back.

Which was all Loki wanted, desperately, to be. Someone worthy of the love Steve had given him, even though he’d never deserved it.

Bolstered by the thought, he pulled again, and felt the mass, containment and antimatter both, moving where he willed them.

“I am ready when he is.” He said, his words, like the rest of him, stronger.

For the moment.

  
  


_Less than a minute left_ , Natasha thought.

“Looks like he’s close,” Clint observed, leaning out and jumping as some debris landed with a clang. The noise of Hulk’s passage was more muffled.

And abruptly, it fell silent.

Clint frowned. “I think--” he began, then lurched back as Hulk fell back down and landed with earth-shaking impact.

“Hulk smashed,” he announced, sounding rather self-satisfied as he straightened and looked them over.

Natasha spared a nervous glance for Loki, to make sure he hadn’t lost his focus when the ground had lurched beneath them. _Thirty seconds?_ “Good work, Hulk -- any chance you can give the three of us and that device a lift up to the open air?”

Better to use Hulk’s energy than Loki’s, when the latter might be limited. And better to keep them all close together. Hulk out of all of them would be the hardest to kill, but she didn’t think even he could survive an antimatter annihilation event.

By way of answer, Hulk shuffled forward, head ducked low, and grabbed Clint in one meaty hand, eliciting an undignified squawk from him as he placed him up on his shoulder.

 

Loki chanced it, looking back to be sure that Clint was unharmed-- but the Hulk seemed to be managing his strength just fine.

Some distant part of Loki filed away the mental image and vague plans for making bird on a perch jokes later-- if there was a later.

He watched as Hulk gave Natasha his other shoulder, then approached Loki himself.

“Just a moment.” Loki warned, beginning to back out towards the hallway of the ship, clearing the door and bringing the antimatter with him.

It was heavy, but it was also a relief that he wouldn’t have to haul it upwards himself.

“As soon as we are above deck, I need you to throw it as hard as you can away from the direction our friends left in, alright?”

He sent a mental tug at the shields, holding them together and feeling spread distinctly thin.

“Hulk toss.” He agreed, which Loki appreciated. At least he knew he understood what was being asked of him.

“Okay. Take this--” Loki handed the weight of the thing off, trying to keep it steadily shielded so that it would remain contained, no matter how it moved or fought.

The Hulk cradled it surprisingly gently in his huge, meaty hand, and Loki marveled at the sheer strength of Banner’s beast. And then at how careful he could be, as he wrapped a hand around Loki, carefully leaving his hands free.

“We’re ready.” He announced, and Hulk grinned, gathered himself, and leapt upwards through the jagged holes he’d torn between decks.

Loki closed his eyes as the frigid air hit him in the face and tried not to shudder. He was so cold-- already exhausted, and more sensitive for it. But the job would be done soon, one way or the other. He just needed to hold on.

As his lungs filled with the same cold that was sinking though his clothing, the antimatter shuddered.

He felt some of the shields giving, seidhr stretching and failing.

“ _Now!_ Hulk, throw it now!” There was no more time. They’d run out.

He watched as if divorced from himself, as Hulk threw it. He transformed the shields that were left into an attack, squeezing and piercing the antimatter even as he pulled some of them back to wrap around the four of them.

  
  


Something happened, not quite a flash, not quite a bang, but it was as if the air was ripped from his lungs, and his heart forgot to beat--

  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter is fairly long (you're welcome!) but just as a heads up, next week's will be a little shorter than usual. It all balances out, though, right?


	103. One Hundred Three

Going back to sleep was out of the question. Steve wound up making a pot of coffee, despite the early hour, and then anxiously paced the apartment.

He tried sketching, but he couldn’t focus and his lines were shaky and frenetic. When he snapped off his pencil tip for the second time, he muttered a curse and set the sketchbook aside.

“JARVIS?” he asked. “Any idea on the status of the team?”

“ _They remain aboard the quinjet, Captain Rogers,”_ the AI responded.

Still in the air. Steve took a deep breath. “You’ll let me know if there’s any major developments I oughta know about?”

“ _Certainly.”_

“Good,” Steve said, rubbing his temples, then went and got dressed in workout clothes before heading down to the gym.

 

It was, of course, empty. He eyed the punching bag and other boxing gear longingly, but headed to the treadmill instead. He hadn’t been cleared for high-impact exercise. Still, running ought to help clear his head. It had always done so before, when he’d run near-marathons each morning just to silence his thoughts and find some peace. Not that he had that endurance right now, but--

_\-- But if he did, he’d be on that jet instead of here, useless._

  
He grimaced, turning on the treadmill and setting it for a gentle pace to start. No time like the present to start getting back into shape. If he was lucky, there was a chance he’d be back in fighting shape by the time the next call-out happened.

It took depressingly little time before he was dripping sweat and gasping for breath, his legs aching with protest.

  
  


The sky was still dark out by the time he’d wiped down the equipment, returned to his floor and showered, but JARVIS informed him he had an invitation from Pepper to join her for breakfast all the same. Steve wondered if she’d got any sleep either, or if she’d been up this whole time too. Dressing again, he headed up to the penthouse, where Pepper -- fully put-together as ever -- was waiting with a smile and a light breakfast spread. And it was only because he’d grown to know her well over the past five months or so that Steve detected the strain in her smile, and the way the edges didn’t fully reach her eyes.

“Does it get easier?” he asked, once they were both sitting and he was buttering up a croissant, despite his complete lack of appetite.

She didn’t have to ask what _it_ was. “Not really,” she admitted, putting some fruit on her plate. “I mean, yes. When I first found out I thought he’d lost his mind. I thought _I_ was losing _my_ mind. And then all I could think was ‘ _he’s going to die,’_ all the time.” She shook her head. “After that, yeah, eventually it got easier. Barring the times when our home was blown up or I was kidnapped or the other things that... tend to happen,” she added with a sigh. “But I don’t feel like I’m going to throw up or cry every time he leaves home in that armor anymore, so there’s that.”

Steve frowned. He had never really thought before, he realized, about what a toll Tony’s presence with the Avengers must have taken on Pepper. A surge of guilt washed through him at the oversight.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

She shrugged, popping a grape in her mouth. “The team actually helps. Knowing there’s other people watching his back in case he does something stupid or gets in over his head, whether it’s the Avengers or Rhodey.” She looked up at Steve, and her face softened. “He’s got Loki watching his back now. And Loki’s got Tony watching his, and all the others. They’ll be okay, Steve.”

“I know,” he replied. “Just... wish I was there with them. Watching both their backs.”

“I know you do. But hey, I need someone back here to help me hold down the fort.”

He snorted. “With all due respect, Pepper, I doubt you need my help with anything or ever have,” he told her with a wry grin.

Her smile came more easily for a moment. “Well, maybe I just need you to play the damsel in distress at some point so I can try the new armor out.”

They talked and ate and for a short time, Steve’s frayed nerves were eased by the distraction. But eventually Pepper’s watch beeped, and she excused herself to go join a conference call involving foreign investors, with the promise she’d only be a few floors down if he needed anything.

 

Steve returned to his floor, and was once again alone with his looming anxiety.

He turned on the TV, hoping for distraction. He flipped through some children’s cartoons, spent a few minutes on a nature documentary before it went to commercial, then flipped to the weather report followed by the news. He could barely concentrate, and considered getting up and making another cup of coffee (not that his nerves needed it). He started to stand--

  


“ _Captain Rogers?”_  


He froze. “Yes, JARVIS?” _Say they got it. Say they’re heading home._  


“ _I regret to inform you that I have lost contact with Mister Stark’s suit, and with the quinjet’s communications system as of five minutes ago. I have been unable to restore contact despite extensive troubleshooting protocols, suggesting potential hardware damage or other interference.”_

 

Steve sat back down, hard.

“You can’t-- you can’t contact them?” His heart began to thud in his chest, worse than when he’d been running full out in the gym. “What happened?”

“ _I am unaware. Mister Stark entered stealth mode half an hour ago, limiting his satellite interfacing. My home servers have not received any data uploads since then from the remote copy of my operating system installed in the Iron Man suit. All I know at present is that there is a loss of connection.”_ Steve could almost swear the AI sounded _worried,_ though that could be his own projecting.  


“You can’t raise Agent Carter?”

“ _No sir. None of her team is responding.”_

“What about SHIELD? Can you get Hill? Fury?”

“ _Currently attempting to establish communication channels. I will notify you in the event of success.”_

Steve’s chest was feeling tight. He tried to breathe deeply, and it was like sucking air through a straw. _They’re probably just out of range,_ he tried to tell himself. _Probably weather interfering, or Tony shorted out his comm, or--_

  


“Breaking news from the USGS, where several minutes ago, a tremor was detected originating in the northern Atlantic, not far from the coast of Greenland. While this area is not usually known for seismic activity, scientists registered a quake of 4.5 on the Richter scale--”

Steve stared at the newscaster, her words drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears.

_It’s them. Oh god, it’s them. The antimatter--_

The antimatter had detonated. That was why the communication was gone. That was why scientists were picking up on the blast. There was no one left to communicate with and they were gone and Steve hadn’t been there he _hadn’t been there he hadn’t been enough and they were--_

“ _Captain Rogers?”_

Steve’s breathing was reedy, whistling in gasps as he doubled over.

“ _Captain Rogers, shall I summon Miss Potts?”_

Pepper. _God_ , he couldn’t look Pepper in the eye and be the one to tell her they were dead. That Tony was dead. That Loki--

“No,” he managed to choke out, shamed by his selfishness.

 _Maybe it wasn’t them,_ he thought desperately as he stood and stumbled toward the bedroom, his limbs leaden and uncoordinated. It was possible that there _was_ just a quake, right? And the comms were a coincidence? He was grasping at straws, he knew, but he couldn’t accept that they were gone. Not without seeing for himself.

_(Not that there will be anything left to see---)_

He sat down on the edge of the bed, chest and throat closing like a vice. He needed-- he needed to know. Needed to hear Loki’s voice. He needed to tell Pepper, or at least, that was what he _knew_ he should do, but she would be too devastated to handle his weight too once she knew. He couldn’t bleed all over her, and right now he felt like one massive open wound. But at the same time he felt so close to shattering he didn’t know how he could do any of this on his own.

His one remaining option came to mind, and he fumbled clumsily for his phone. “JARVIS,” he gasped, not trusting his shaking hands to dial, “call Sam.”

 

Sam was at home still, the morning block all taken up by the others, which meant he’d been able to sleep in to a relatively late hour, for a change. And man, when did seven am start feeling ‘late’? He’d even elected to skip the morning run he usually took, resulting in him feeling lazy and content over his coffee and eggs.

Until his phone went off.

He didn’t pick up on the first ring, waiting for the caller ID to catch up, but when it did-- _Jack_ \-- he picked up right away.

“Hey, this is Sam,” He said, trying not to sound too worried or too happy; like anyone from group, this call could go either way. “How you doing, Jack?”  


 

The phone rang. Maybe it was too early. God, it was barely dawn, maybe Sam was still asleep, maybe--

It rang again, and Steve finally heard Sam’s voice.

“Sam,” he began, but his voice cracked and he couldn’t breathe, his throat too tight and his vision blurring.

  


He sat his fork down and sat up straighter.

“Jack? You there?” Sam swallowed hard, clearing the eggs out of his throat.

He sounded like he was in trouble.

“Do you need me to come get you from somewhere?” He asked, already standing to look for his shoes.  


 

It took Steve a second or two to parse what Sam was offering, and another to realize the implications.

“No!” he blurted.

Sam couldn’t come to the tower. He wasn’t stupid, he’d connect the dots and figure out who ‘Jack’ really was, and Steve couldn’t handle that just now. And he couldn’t go to Sam either -- not when JARVIS might have an update and he’d be at risk of missing it. “I can’t leave, but you can’t--” he broke off, breathing raggedly and combing his fingers roughly through his hair. “ _Shit_.”

  


Sam swallowed air, and bit the tip of his tongue, stopping himself from cursing too. He’d had a bad feeling about the controlling boyfriend-- he should have done something, said something… But right now he needed to focus on this. Jack sounded _wrecked_.

“Okay, deep breath. Are you hurt?”

One thing at a time.

  


“I’m fine,” Steve managed, though it certainly felt like a lie. The low and even sound of Sam’s voice felt like the only thing tethering him.

“I’m safe,” he amended. “But...”

He struggled to find both words and the will to say them, not sure how or how much to tell Sam, and not sure what he had the strength to say at loud. Giving voice to too much might make it real.

“It’s Luke,” he said finally.

“He-- He went on an op. And they just-- they lost contact with him. With everyone.”

It was as much of the truth as Steve knew for certain. And he couldn’t think of a better lie to couch his cover story in. Not when Loki was missing in action.

  


Sam blew out, even though he knew Jack’d hear it through the phone.

Okay, not what he’d expected. And… it didn’t quite fit with Jack’s story of what Luke did. But… well, he couldn’t be too surprised. And it was beside the point at the moment.

“How long have they been out of contact? You know how buggy those things are, man. I once lost contact with my partner at less than a hundred yards apart.”

Though… he did say Luke worked for Stark, and they had phones that could make calls from space and a few miles under the sea. He winced, already kicking himself.

But maybe Jack needed the positive spin.

  


Steve tried to breathe deep, but it kept catching on the inhale. “Ten minutes ago,” he answered. Then, “Maybe.”

It was possible the comms were just malfunctioning. Many things were possible. But for the quinjet to go dark at the same time was damn unlikely.

Still, hearing Sam give voice to the possibility made it sound like less insane of a reach, and the vice around Steve’s chest let up ever so slightly.

He inhaled shakily. “I shouldn’t have-- I’m sorry I bothered you this early, I just. I’m losing my mind right now and you were the only person I could think of to call,” he admitted, ramblingly.

  


“No, man, you definitely should have. I’m glad you did. I get why you can’t leave, and why I can’t be there-- I’m sure it’s above my security clearance _and_ pay grade. But… I’m happy to stay on the line with you til you hear from someone, if you want? And I understand if you suddenly hang up, that’s probably what happened.”

He found himself wandering out into the living room and glancing at the clock over the TV.

He had about half an hour before he’d absolutely need to call work, if he was gonna be late; hopefully they could get in touch with Luke before then. But if not… well, he’d evaluate where Jack seemed to be as he got closer.

  


Steve wheezed a laugh, which came out somewhat hysterical. “Whatever your paygrade is for dealing with schmucks like me, it ain’t enough,” he said. Because somehow, even with Steve barely telling him anything, Sam understood. And he was a hell of a lot better a man and a friend than Steve deserved.

“I should have been with them,” he added softly, exorcising the words that had been gnawing at the back of his mind since the quinjet had fired up its engines for takeoff.

  


Sam pursed his lips.

“No one wants to hear this, but with the condition you’re in, it’s for the best you weren’t. Trust me, if it’s dangerous enough that you’re this worked up over not hearing from them, imagine how much worse it’d be if Luke’s attention was divided-- trying to keep half an eye on you and half an eye on whatever he needed to be doing.”

Which wasn’t a great distraction, he’d admit, but hopefully he could get some of the guilt out of Jack’s voice.

“Besides, if you fell out of contact and I was left here wondering about you, you know how little I have to go on to try and figure out what happened?” He tried to keep it light, to make a joke out of it. “Not that I’m fishing for details right now, just to be clear. That’d be taking advantage.” He drifted back into his kitchen and reached for his coffee.

He had a feeling that either Jack was gonna try and buy him coffees for a year after this, if everything turned out okay…

Or he was going to take up residence in the basement of the church if everything wasn’t.

Sam couldn’t even begin to imagine the panic the guy must be in-- he lost his unit, and now his boyfriend was out without him, and out of contact. And assumably his friends were all out there too-- Jack’s entire support group except for Sam, potentially all wiped out in one swoop.

He was right about one thing-- this was way out of Sam’s paygrade. And he had very little idea of where he could even start to help.

But he needed to keep his head up. Jack was dealing with a Schrodinger’s cat where the cat was his entire life right now, and Sam couldn’t play into him fearing the worst.

  


“I know.”

Steve knew it was true, but it didn’t make it any easier. He was in no shape to be on the mission. But at least if he’d been there... If they were all dead, he wouldn’t have outlived everyone he loved _again._

It was a selfish impulse, he knew: the urge to self-destruct. He’d had it when he’d woken up in New York to find everything changed, everyone gone. But he’d soldiered through it, and then the world had needed him. He’d been able to tamp down on the impulse until it eventually sputtered out as he carved out a new life for himself, with new friendships and _Loki_.

If the worst had happened and the Avengers were really gone, the world would still need heroes. He would have to pull it together and step up. Even if Steve Rogers was a wreck, he’d have to find a way to lock that part of himself away in a box and be Captain America, so he could honor their legacy.

(The thought made him want to scream his throat bloody and raw.)

“I don’t know what to do,” he said flatly. “I know there’s nothing I _can_ do, but it’s making me crazy all the same. Being useless.” Where being useless was the whole reason he was here and worrying and not with his team in the first place.

It struck him that the last time he and Loki hadn’t gone on a mission together -- where Steve had gone without Loki -- disaster had befallen them then too. Perhaps God was trying to point something out to him. Or, he reflected bitterly, perhaps the devil had a real shit sense of humor.

  


Sam found himself nodding along, even though Jack wouldn’t be able to see it.

“That’s the worst. Not being able to do anything, feeling powerless. So you’re in a weird limbo space right now, and I get that-- let me ask you this: Is there anything around your place that… needs doing? Laundry, cleaning the kitchen, whatever. The more mundane the better. Something that… you know, if it turns out worst case scenario, it’s something that you’d probably just forget about for the foreseeable future?”

He wished he could advise that Jack eat or do some sort of self maintenance, just in case, but he knew how that could lead to a spiral of guilty feelings.

Better to avoid it; if he had to track the guy down and drag him into a shower later… well, he’d figure out how to do that.

...it’d just be harder without being able to ask the red head to help; he’d always figured in a worst case scenario with Jack, she’d be on Sam’s team. But if the worst case scenario was the truth, suddenly, Jack didn't _have_ a team.

Damn, that was…

That was something he couldn’t think about too hard right now.

“Doing something-- even if it’s nothing that’s directly related, it’s gonna be a lot better for you than just sitting, waiting to hear. And you can put me on speaker if you need to; I’m not trying to get rid of you. That’s not what this is about.”

  


Steve breathed in, trying to keep his inhalation steady this time. “I’ll-- yeah, there’s some laundry I could do.” It was mundane, like Sam suggested, but it felt strange to treat this like just an ordinary day, when it felt like the world had just stopped turning. Then again, it was a reminder that even if Steve’s own world came crumbling down, everyone else’s would keep turning. The war had kept going even after Bucky fell; even if Loki was gone, millions of people in the city below would never know, and would keep going about their day, fetching coffee and heading to work and living out their lives.

Like Sam probably ought to be doing right now. Steve winced. “I should let you go so you can get to work.”

  


“I got a bit before I have to call in, and if you need me to do that, I will. Honest, Jack, you’re fine. I’ll let you know if I need something, alright? But right now, why don’t you go get that laundry, just spend a minute sorting it out, and you can… I don’t know, tell me what you’ve been up to since I saw you last. Sound good?”

If he did have to call in, it wasn’t the worst day for it. They weren’t short staffed, for once, as far as he knew no one was sick, and none of the real desperate cases he was managing were scheduled to come in today.

Not that there was such a thing as a good time for this to be happening to Jack, but as far as Sam’s schedule went, it was about the best case scenario for him to be around.

Though… things would get considerably harder if their worst fears proved true, and Jack had no support system to take over from him.

He was just supposed to be first aid, for things like this.

But he’d deal with that when they got there. He just wished Jack seemed to be closer with anyone in group than he was. It’d help to at least have one person to tag team with.

Still, Sam’d manage.

  


Another deep breath. Steve wanted to take him up on it -- talking with Sam was easy. Easier than _this,_ at any rate. But it wasn’t fair to monopolize his life or his time; not when others relied on him too.

“If -- If I hear more, one way or the other, I’ll tell you.” If all was well, after all, he’d owe Sam an apology for this. And if it wasn’t--

If it wasn’t, Steve wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it through alone.

JARVIS had to hear something soon. From Fury, or Hill. SHIELD would send a jet out, surely, to investigate. Or the team would come back online, and Steve would eat crow for making such a fuss. (God, he hoped it was the latter.)

He’d do the laundry, he decided. And then--

“I ain’t been much of a Catholic in a real long time,” he told Sam, “but right now... I think I might just try praying again.”

  
  


 


	104. One Hundred Four

Everything went white.

Natasha kept one hand on Clint, the other wrapped firmly around Hulk, clinging for dear life as everything, even the air, vanished.

For a heartbeat, there was a rush of heat and sound and light so intense, Natasha thought the world had ended.

For another heartbeat, it did.

Then she came to as she hit the water.

She’d barely drawn in a lungful of air before a wall of water struck her with bruising force, driving her down beneath the surface where the icy temperature locked up her muscles, paralyzing her. Not that she could have swum to the surface -- in the chaotic roiling of water and bubbles, she had no idea in which direction it lay. Her lungs were burning, and she wondered at the irony that she might survive what amounted to a small atomic bomb, only to die of something as banal as drowning, when her head breached the surface again and she sucked in another gasping breath.

The ocean had been relatively still when they’d boarded the ship, but it was wild now as if a hurricane had torn through. And in a way, she realized as she bobbed over the waves like a child’s hapless bath toy, it had; the explosion and the annihilation of the antimatter had the force of a dozen storms, and must have displaced a significant amount of water, with more now rushing in to fill the void.

Another wave pushed her down, and she surfaced, sputtering, blinking seawater from her eyes. She’d lost track of the others when she fell. And now--

“Clint!” She croaked, treading water despite the numbness settling into her limbs. “Loki!”

The height of the waves limited her field of vision. Already, she could feel herself beginning to tire, just from the effort of staying afloat. “CLINT!” she shouted again, only to cough as more water caught her in the mouth--

Something surged up and breached the surface with a familiar roar.

She never thought she’d be _that happy_ to hear it.

“H-Hulk!” she called, attempting to paddle towards him, determining quickly that right now even an angry Hulk was better than the wrath of a wild and empty ocean.

Hulk snorted, shook his head like a dog, then spotted her; within moments, he closed the distance, reaching out to wrap an arm around Natasha and -- to her surprise -- cradle her close.

“Friend,” he grunted, holding her above water. She let her eyes close for a moment as she caught her breath, grateful for the rest.

“We n-need to find the others,” she told him, once she could manage more than one syllable. She refused to believe Clint or Loki had drowned. Loki was far too tough for that, and as for Clint--

Well, she just refused.

“Find,” Hulk repeated. Then, still holding her, he began to paddle through the choppy waters.

The sun was creeping up the horizon, soft gray dawn illuminating tumultuous and monochrome sea, providing enough light to search by as she scanned for her friends...

 

He woke from a sharp pain in his chest and a piercing cold that seeped into his very bones, if not deeper. He couldn’t breathe, and he clawed at his surroundings.

He rose, thank the norns, and felt air on his face, but immediately lost contact with it, even as he opened his mouth to breathe and managed to get nothing but water.

He was close enough to the surface to feel the way the ocean was at war with itself tossing and churning and pulling him in every which direction, and he thought he might be pulled apart if he didn’t drown first.

He couldn’t hold onto the thought though-- that one, or any other, because he was panicking, fighting the tide like some wild thing, terrified and unwilling to just give up. Not now-- he’d made it this far, and he needed to know-- needed to see what had become of the others.

He finally found the air again and immediately began kicking his feet and flailing his arms under the water, trying to keep himself upright despite the waves, while he gulped in air, coughing and spluttering and wincing in pain as he discovered how raw his throat felt.

It didn’t work, and he felt himself tugged under again.

The next time he surfaced, he threw his arms out before him, and saw, for the first time, why the cold wasn’t unbearable.

Or, it would be. It just wasn’t in this form. Especially not when a thin sheet of ice was attempting to form where his arms touched the water.

His distraction allowed him to be pulled under again, deeper this time, and he had to struggle to find the surface.

But immediately, he put his hands together, creating a small loop. And in it, a small plate of ice.

He held onto it the next time he went under and pulled it back up with him, growing it as naturally as he breathed, and, as near as he could tell, without using any seidhr at all.

Which was good, because he had none left to speak of.

When the ice was large enough to haul himself partially on top of it, and thick enough to provide some level of buoyancy, if not stability, he looked around.

He couldn’t help but be afraid of what he would see, but… he didn’t see anything. No floating bodies, no signs of the ship they’d been on, no signs of the quinjet.

Just… a vast sea of… sea.

Angry, stormy sea that could easily have swallowed his friends whole.

He choked on a sob, and startled as the ice under him nearly doubled in size in response.

He heard, rather than saw, when someone else found the surface, and did his best to kick his way over, though he half-feared that he would be trapping one of his teammates under the ice.

He was gratified when he saw hands grasping the edge of his ice, now nearly long enough for him to lay fully on top of it, though he didn’t.

Clint pulled himself up, filling his lungs before he opened his eyes and registered what he was looking at.

Loki lifted one hand, trying to show he meant no harm without risking losing his grip on the only thing keeping them above the surface, for the most part.

“Clint, it’s me, it’s Loki.” He said, and Clint just nodded jerkily. He was still trying to breathe and Loki let him, feeling as the water at his back began to harden as well. He couldn’t help but be glad that, if nothing else, he’d managed to find Barton now. It didn’t make any further reparations, but… at least he wasn’t dead. And neither of them was alone.

For the time being. He registered, then how hard Clint was shaking.

“Have you seen any sign of the others?” He asked, worried for Natasha, who was likewise human, no matter how strong she was. And Hulk-- would the cold knock him back into being Bruce? And even if not-- could Hulk survive the cold?

Clint spasmed and coughed up some water-- or maybe he vomited, Loki couldn’t tell, but the choppiness of the sea made either equally likely.

“N-no.” he croaked. Loki shook his head.

“Can you climb atop the ice?” he asked, unsure if it would actually help. It was frozen, and the air around them was cold, but he thought the water was colder… though it was hard to say, in this skin.

Clint just gave him another jerky nod and reached forward, his hand scrabbling and slipping, unable to find a grip.

Loki held his breath and grabbed him, pulling him up as best as he could, relieved when there was no blackening of his skin that he could see. And no sign of pain. At least he hadn’t made matters worse.

But once Clint gained the top of the ice, he all but collapsed, just holding on for dear life as they rocked with the waves, still occasionally being drenched as one overtook them.

“Don’t let go, Jack.” Clint muttered, and Loki frowned, hoping he wasn’t so far gone as to be hallucinating.

But he was exhausted, too, and he had no idea how long either of them would be able to last, like this.

 

The violence of the ocean was subsiding, but the swells remained huge, surging around them like an ever-shifting landscape of hills, obscuring Natasha’s view in every direction.

There was no sign of the ship; not even debris. Not _anything,_ she thought numbly, heart sinking.

Hulk grunted, his breath the only warmth for miles as it gusted against her shoulder. “There,” he growled, nodding his massive head.

Natasha turned stiffly, but there was only gray water. She frowned. “I don’t--”

And then, just for a second, she saw it between the waves. A glimpse of red, white and blue, in a familiar configuration, which sparked a flicker of hope.

One-handed, Hulk began to paddle, kicking his legs and pulling them both through the water with long strokes. Natasha shivered and burrowed in closer against him, trying not to think of how absurd it was that she was cuddling up to _the Hulk_.

They rose on a wave’s crest, and then they were in view -- not just of the shield, but what looked like a small iceberg with two figures clinging to it.

“Oh thank god,” she mumbled. And a bit louder: “Hey!”

 

Loki thought he heard-- he turned, looking for the source of the noise, and never thought he would be so glad to see Hulk coming towards him.

“Barton-- Barton, they’re fine.”

The words came out quickly, nearly exploded from him, though he knew it might be a lie.

They were all only fine in that they were alive for the time being. But maybe together they could figure something out.

He did his best to turn the ice to face them, though he knew that meant he was facing them, too. And he just felt so _tired_.

Once they got close enough that he thought he could be heard, he waved.

“It’s me, it’s Loki.”

He would have thought he’d be too exhausted to have any emotions like embarrassment or nerves at being seen this way, but if they were all going to die, he would have preferred they never see him like this before hand.

Clint was sitting up, and as Hulk got closer, he held his hand out, stabilizing himself with the other.

“Nat, thank god. Do you have any communications? Mine are all… fried, or drowned, or. They’re dead one way or the other.”

Loki wasn’t sure the ice would hold both of the humans, but he supposed it was smart; he and Hulk were supposed to be the strongest of them. At least they might be able to propel them in a direction, if there was any way of knowing which way was the right one.

A wave threatened to overturn the ice, and Loki had to grab Clint to keep him from sliding off.

Maybe it wasn’t wisest after all.

“How are you doing?” He asked, almost afraid to hear, because he knew that at the moment, in the shape he was in, there was little enough he could do to help anyone, let alone save them.

 

Natasha sagged against Hulk in relief as they approached. Clint and Loki were both alive.

And Loki was... blue.

 _That’s new,_ she noted. But not, she determined, relevant at the moment.

“Cold,” she answered him, because now that she knew her friends were alive, her new main concern was the frigid temperature seeping into her bones. The explosion hadn’t taken them out and the ocean hadn’t drowned them, but with enough time, the arctic temperature would do them all in all the same. And while growing up Russian had given her a certain resistance to the cold, she was still only human, and only capable of lasting so long in freezing water.

She touched a trembling finger to her ear, then shook her head. “I think... I think the b-blast must’ve f-fried the comms,” she said, curling her fingers under her chin in hopes of suffusing them with _some_ body heat.

Hulk made a low noise of distress, looking between her and Clint. “Ice,” he said after a moment. “Ice cold.”

“Sure is, buddy,” Clint mumbled from where he lay on the oddly-formed iceberg. The only sea ice, Natasha noted, anywhere to be found.

“Hulk less cold.”

“Well good f-for you,” Clint retorted.

Hulk huffed, then Natasha felt him shifting and yelped as he fell backward, thinking for a second he meant to dive under. Only now Hulk was lying on his back in a dead-man’s float, spread out with Natasha lying on the expanse of his chest.

“I think,” she realized aloud, “he wants you to c-climb aboard.” Which wasn’t a bad idea, really, consolidating as much of their body warmth in one place as possible. Hulk seemed less affected by the cold, and Clint and Nat needed to stay out of the water until they got rescued.

 

Loki smiled faintly as he made sense of the Hulk’s grunting a spare moment before Natasha did.

She was right- it was cold enough that they were being outwitted by the Hulk. Which didn’t bode well. Though Loki had no idea what his excuse was meant to be. He was fine enough with his ice.

“I’ll hold it steady as I can for you.” He told Clint. “You’ll be warmer with Hulk and Natasha, but all I’ll do is make you colder.”

Clint looked at him, long and hard, but eventually nodded and made his way over to them, managing to keep his falling into the water at a minimum.

At least he kept his chest out of it, which Loki thought was good.

He could see their krellr, this way, could see how it was gathering inwards. Keeping their centers warm, trying to keep them alive. It would mean bad things for their hands and feet, if it was allowed to continue for too much longer. Even Hulk, with his green tinted krellr, was feeling the effects, albeit more slowly than the others.

“Do you think we gave them enough time?” He asked, hoping there was some way to guess, to know-- hoping the others would be safe, at least.

He wasn’t sure how much hope he had for them; he thought the captains of ships might steer clear of this area, with as rough as they had unintentionally made the water.

If the quinjet had made it out, they would come back looking for them. If it hadn’t… it seemed likely that they were as lost as their friends.

 

Natasha pulled Clint close as soon as he climbed on to Hulk, like he was some kind of big green raft. There was just enough room for them both to curl up tight, their wet clothes squelching and breath fogging and forming crystals of ice in their lashes and hair.

In her boots, her feet were numb. Distantly, she hoped this didn’t mean she’d lose any toes. She’d avoided it so far, and it would be a shame to never dance en pointe again. Though that would hardly be a concern if they froze to death out here.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled in reply to Loki, looking over Clint’s shoulder at him, where he resided on his island of ice. Strange and blue and _alien_ in a way she hadn’t thought of him or Thor as being for a long time now.

“If we did... If they’re okay, they’ll come back.” They were too hopeful to write off any chance of survival, however slim the odds. They’d come look for them in the wreckage; she had faith in that much. The only question was whether they were in any condition to do so -- if they’d failed to clear the blast radius, or if the jet had sustained damage, then they were on their own. And it seemed like they’d already run through most of their luck.

At least, she thought as she laid her head down on Hulk’s chest and listened to the slow, bass thrum of his heart, it was a quiet way to go, if this wound up being it. Peaceful, really, with the sound of the ocean all around them, and soft dawn light illuminating the creeping fog.

“If not,” Clint muttered, a shiver running through him, “maybe s-someone will dig _us_ out in seventy years.”

 

Loki frowned.

He was tired, but the cold didn’t affect him in this skin. At least, not this cold; he was made for much worse.

Which meant something else for him: If they died of the cold, he would be the only one left alive if and when help showed up. He would be forced to watch the life slowly draining out of their bodies, and there was nothing he could do to help it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they dig you out sooner than that.”

Provided, of course, help came or they found land before he starved or dehydrated. But of the four of them, he was in the best position or survival. In spite of his exhaustion.

His seidhr was drained down to the dregs. His pocket held… there was a canvas bag there, which held his herbs and few instruments of healing, all of which were useless, but the bag itself... It took more effort than he would ever admit to drag it out, and it was quick work of his Jotun fingers to tear out the seams. When he was done, he had a piece of fabric no larger than the laughably small towels he and Steve had had in that first hotel together.

Even still, he held it out towards Natasha and Clint.

“Just try and stay warm. I’m sure help is coming.”

Hopefully they had gotten far enough away. And, hopefully, they were not too far away now.

He lay his head down on the ice and let his eyes close so that he was not watching the slow fading of his friends’ krellr, the slow loss of their lives.

There was nothing more he could do. And he was so _tired_.

 

Clint clumsily caught the scrap of canvas and pulled it over them; it was hardly a blanket, but any protection from the bite of the wind was _something._ Natasha watched though, as he watched Loki, and didn’t miss the furrow in his brow. She knew Clint well enough to guess what he was thinking; that if Loki could survive this cold by his alien biology, then perhaps Clint and Nat ought to have left him behind.

(Nevermind that Loki might not have made his shield as strong if he’d been the only one. Nevermind the precious time it would have taken them to get abovedeck...)

“We made them l-leave right away,” she said quietly, nudging him with her knee and clenching her teeth to stop them chattering. “They had... enough time... to get away.”

“Yeah,” Clint huffed, turning back and pulling her closer.

The soft rush of the waves was soon the only sound, beside the Hulk’s low breathing and the whistle of the wind. Natasha caught herself drifting, eyes falling shut, and jerked awake. She was tired and cold (so cold), but they had to stay awake.

Had to stay...

“Clint,” she mumbled, elbowing him as his eyes shut. “Don’t...”

The sun was up but it brought little warmth with it. The world was still cold and still around them. The waves sloshed. Hulk breathed. The wind--

The wind changed.

Stiffly, Natasha turned her head, just enough to see a darker shape approaching through the mist.

“Told you,” she managed, a faint smile pulling at her aching face.

Help had finally come.

 

\----

The process of getting first aboard the rescue ship, and then waiting for the quinjet, then offboarding the noncombatants from the quinjet and onto the rescue ship took so much energy that Loki didn’t have that he was unable to summon the proper amounts of horror at the idea of all of these people seeing him this way.

By the time they were all back aboard the quinjet and alone with their people, it was all Loki could do to remain tenuously upright, and even then, the side of the ship was doing the majority of the work.

But they had all survived. Despite the hypothermia that Clint, Natasha, and Bruce all suffered from, they were alive. And fortunately there were changes of clothes and blankets for each of them, which was a good start.

He still wished he could do more; help get their krellr moving, give them spells of warmth, something-- anything.

But as it was he lacked the seidhr to so much as summon a spark, much less anything else.

He curled himself inwards, trying to touch as little as he could and take up as little space as possible, glad that even Murray seemed wise enough not to approach him while he was like this.

At least that kind of idiocy was reserved for Steve.

He felt a wave of relief, finally to be able to allow himself to think of him, knowing he’d be returning to him soon. His Steve.

He hadn’t died, or gotten any of their friends killed, though it had been a near thing. And as it was, Steve wasn’t fond of touching yet, so Loki didn’t have to worry about--

The thought sputtered out as he thought of Steve’s careful touches, the small kisses he’d begun to give.

He knew what had happened to Steve’s back. If he arrived like this… there was every chance it would undo all of their progress, ruin everything.

He didn’t want-- couldn’t live with-- the idea of Steve being afraid of him.

Wide eyes and chest aching, he met Natasha’s eyes, glancing around to make sure the others were suitably busy.

“You remember, the video with the salt?” He asked, keeping his voice quiet. “I can’t go back like this.”

He wondered if there was somewhere they could leave him, or somewhere they could hide him when they returned, but knowing Steve, that would only alarm him more.

He didn’t want to do that, either.

He looked down at his hands.

“I don’t have enough left in me to-- I can do it, but.” He pressed his lips together and gathered himself, as well as his thoughts. Just this one more thing.

“I am going to try and change back. I may lose consciousness. If it doesn’t work… leave me on the quinjet. Don’t let anyone touch me, and… don’t let Steve see me like this.” The last came out in as close to a whisper as Frost Giants were capable of.

He knew he should tell someone else, Carter or Ferra, maybe, someone less on the verge of collapse themselves. But then again, he needed someone who would understand why he needed to do this. And with Tony in his suit outside to work on repairing the communications, that left just her.

He grimaced apologetically, then remembered himself and how that would look in this face, and said it instead.

“I’m sorry.”

 

Natasha frowned. “If you’re going to do it,” she murmured, “wait until we’re close to landing. If you overdo it and pass out, we can get you to medical quickly enough. I’ll have JARVIS keep Steve out of the way once we’re in range.”

It was certainly odd, seeing Loki like this -- though given everyone had also seen him turn into a woman with little explanation, the rest of the team had more or less rolled with it, with even Tony being surprisingly sensitive and only briefly referencing Loki’s color (“ _Man are we glad to see you alive, Papa Smurf!”_ ). The sailors they’d rescued had been a bit perplexed, but were shaken up enough by the explosions and attacking robots that the blue guy huddling in the corner hadn’t been the most bizarre thing they’d encountered.

The mission was a strange sort of success. The ship had been obliterated, along with all its cargo, which Roxxon wouldn’t be pleased about. But the antimatter hadn’t fallen into enemy hands, and had annihilated in the middle of the ocean where at worst, it had killed a few innocent fish. Natasha didn’t know if she’d ever feel warm again -- it had taken over an hour to get her and Clint warmed up enough that they weren’t shivering uncontrollably, and poor Bruce when he’d changed back was a damp and shaking mess -- but the sailors who weren’t HYDRA had been rescued and the team was all alive.

That last bit, she’d come to decide, was the most important part. As an assassin, she measured her mission successes by whether people died; she much preferred, as an Avenger, to measure them by people _living._

“Truth be told, I think Steve is just gonna be happy to see you in one piece, blue or not,” she told Loki.

 

He frowned.

“If table salt can set him off, what do you think my being made of ice will do?”

He swallowed, able to picture, only too well, the image of Steve’s stricken face.

“And if I do it now, and pass out, I may be alert again before we reach the tower. It is only-- it’s overexertion. And… if not now, if I sleep, I don’t trust my ability to be woken safely in this form, in time to change.”

And sleep, that was all he really wanted to do. To close his eyes and have all of this be over when he woke. There was nothing more he could do, anyway.

“At any rate, too little seidhr is nothing that medical can help me with.”

He just wished his body hadn’t betrayed him this way, hadn’t forced him into this position.

“I’m sorry; I’m sure you want to rest too. I’ll let Murray know-- he’s had some limited dealing with following my directions when it comes to seidhr workings.”

He twisted his lips, upset at the stark difference between healing Ferra and this wholly selfish need not to be a monster for any longer than he needed to.

He looked up and looked around, trying to catch one of the others’ eyes so that he didn’t have to raise his voice and risk scaring anyone with it.

 

Her frown deepened. Steve had been doing a lot better as far as his anxiety went, from what Natasha knew, but by the way Loki had flinched from any contact since shifting into this shape, she wasn’t sure it was Steve’s distress alone she had to worry about. She’d originally chalked Loki’s antsiness up to the explosion and their subsequent swim, but something about this form seemed to be eating at him in a way that his other shapeshifting hadn’t.

“It’s fine,” she said softly. “I don’t sleep well on planes anyway. Do what you need to, and I’ll keep an eye out for you from right here.” She offered a reassuring smile, pulling her blanket around her a little tighter. She had questions, but she could save them for later; for now, they were both too exhausted to delve into the matter.

 

He looked back at her, surprised, and followed her movement with his eyes. Her krellr was coming back, glowing brighter and beginning to move again, though it was still slower than it should be. But they-- she, Clint, and Bruce, were all in the process of recovering.

He hesitated, on the brink of apologizing for not being able to warm them, but it wouldn’t do any good.

And the last thing he needed right now was to remind anyone, especially himself, of how useless he was. And doubly so when partnered with this form-- he looked nothing like their friend, and could not even be of any help.

So he just ducked his head and mumbled his thanks to Natasha.

Even if she did sleep, he knew he could trust her to pass on his instructions. And… he felt exhausted and raw, vulnerable in a way he didn’t think he had been since he’d first found out about this form, this shape lurking under his face.

He shuddered, feeling ill.

He just wanted it _gone_.

He reached inside of himself, though he knew there was nothing there. He had to follow the proper channels just the same, scraping at the edges of his being, looking for any last dregs of seidhr. But it was gone. There was nothing left. And so he reached out past himself, and it felt a little like turning himself inside out.

He pulled it in from the air around him, from the paths the seidhr traveled when it flowed in and out. But it was like lapping up mud puddles. This was not pure, clean power. This was tainted by the uses that Midgard’s nature found for it. The seidhr was being torn in two as he pulled it through him, and it was like trying to straighten the curve of a river with his bare hands.

This seidhr knew what it was meant to be doing; this wasn’t it.

But he needed this, had to do it. Just this last thing, and he could sleep.

Twice, he almost lost his grip, almost failed, but he’d come this far and that was no longer an option.

Finally, he managed to wrestle the power into himself, shape it the way he needed and then…

He let go, allowing it to snap into his veins, the contact rippling through him almost painfully.

He wasn’t sure if it worked or not, but he had no more to give. He slumped against the wall, shuddered once more, and did not worry any more about anything.

\---

 

When JARVIS told him that the quinjet had re-entered Stark Industries’ satellite range and was heading home, Steve nearly wept. Pepper had found and joined him the second she’d got off her call and been informed of the communications development; they’d waited in fraught silence for nearly an hour together, and she’d hugged him so hard when the good news came through that he could feel tremors of relief running through her.

Of course, they didn’t have any radio communications with the jet -- only the knowledge that it was inbound. But if the jet was intact and heading back, then _someone_ had to be piloting it.

They stood on the tower roof in their winter coats, watching the horizon and holding cups of coffee to keep warm. And when a dark speck finally appeared and began to grow as it approached, the thudding of Steve’s pulse almost drowned out the wind.

He was reminded, briefly, of the way he’d felt when he’d run into Phillips’ tent on finding that the 107th had been decimated, demanding to know what had happened to Bucky while terrified about what the answer might be. _Please let all of them be on that jet._

The wind whipped bitterly cold as the quinjet came in for a landing, but Steve barely felt it. He’d been numb for hours.

 _Please,_ he thought, watching the gangway descend.

_Please._

 

The shakes had mostly stopped, which was good, because even that felt exhausting, but she’d been telling the truth; sleeping on planes was not her forte. Usually she was busy riding an adrenaline high when she was in one, and now it felt damn near Pavlovian.

Plus she had Bruce, Clint, and Loki to worry about. Bruce and Clint, at least, didn’t seem to have her problem with sleeping, and since they’d conked out pretty close together, she figured they would be sharing body heat.

She’d checked their breathing once or twice by leaning over and sticking her hand in front of their faces, but… they were okay. Alive. And they were almost home now, and they’d all be able to warm up. Hot tubs, hot drinks, warm beds…

Loki, though, wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t blue anymore, which he’d been concerned with, but almost before that change had finished taking place, he’d slumped over and stayed that way.

Murray had come over to make him more comfortable, and then he’d come to sit with Natasha. They’d spoken in low voices about the part of the mission that she hadn’t seen, while she absorbed the heat rolling off of him. It had made the trip back almost pleasant.

But they were landing now, and she had heard Bradley saying something about Steve and Pepper waiting up top for them.

Going out into the cold, and the conversation that would follow with Steve would be less pleasant.

Somehow, she was sure things would have gone differently, better, if he had been well and in charge. But they had done their best with what they had, and she could stand by that.

Besides, he was going to have the shock of seeing Loki getting carried out to deal with, before he even got to her.

“Tony?” She called, and he came right over.

“What’s up?” he asked, though the hole his faceplate left while it was tilted up.

“Loki’s unconscious. He says it’s nothing medical can help with; magical exhaustion. But Steve’s gonna have a heart attack. Can you carry him? I can go first, try to explain…”

“Yeah, no prob. Didn’t know the Duracell bunny could power down like that, though. It’s a little creepy.”

She was inclined to agree, not that she’d tell him that.

Her eye caught on the shield, and she knew it would make it harder for Tony to carry Loki if it was strapped to his back, and handing it to Steve would give him something to do with his hands. But she also didn’t want to be the one to climb out of the quinjet holding it. He’d just assume the worst.

“Murray, you can give Cap his shield back, once I’ve had a chance to do some damage control.”

She just wished that conversation could take place indoors.

Sighing, she pulled the emergency blanket tighter around her shoulders and nudged Clint awake.

“Come on, guys.” She said, speaking louder now. “We’re home.”

She stood, legs weak feeling but able to bear her, at least, and got herself ready. She needed to be out the door and explaining as soon as the door opened.

She just had no idea of what she should be saying.

Thirty seconds later, she was finding out, though.

She crossed the roof to stop before Pepper and Steve.

“A few of us went for a little swim, but we’re all in one piece.” She began with, skipping over the hi’s. “Before you panic, he’s not dead, just… less than conscious. He used too much magic. Saved everyone in the process, though.”

That seemed like a nice way of putting it. She couldn’t help but be a little short, though; she was freezing. Again.

She knew it wasn’t a good look on her.

 

Steve’s heart leapt at the sight of Natasha; both in relief at seeing his friend alive, and distress at the fact she emerged alone. He strode forward to meet her, to ask, but she headed him off, apparently anticipating his anxieties.

He swallowed, parsing the information she’d concisely conveyed. _All in one piece._ Loki was drained, but not dead. They were all alive.

“Thank you,” he replied. “I’m-- when JARVIS told us he’d lost communications, you had us worried.” An understatement, if ever there was one. He smiled weakly. “I’m real glad to see you, Nat.”

The others were filing out of the quinjet now, Murray holding Steve’s shield and Bruce and Clint both wrapped in thermal blankets, looking a bit worse for wear. Steve swallowed. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see to Loki -- but once he’s okay we’ll join you for the debriefing.” He might not have been part of this mission, but if he hoped to be back on the team in the future, he needed to stay abreast of their missions and what had happened in the field. He had questions, of course -- a million or so, about what had happened and how Natasha and the others had wound up taking a dunk in the Atlantic -- but they could all wait until after he’d confirmed Loki was alright with his own two eyes.

Which happened a breath later, when Tony emerged -- helm off, but armor on -- carrying Loki bridal-style as he stepped out on to the deck.

“Tony,” Pepper breathed from beside Steve, stepping forward.

“Hey, Pep,” Tony said with a smile. “Sorry about that. Gimme just a minute to get Sleeping Beauty here settled.”

 _I’ll take him,_ Steve nearly said, before remembering he no longer had the strength to carry Loki that way. He swallowed. “If you wouldn’t mind bringing him down to our floor...”

“You got it, champ,” Tony said with a wink, though he looked as exhausted as the rest. Pepper accompanied him back into the tower, and Steve itched to trail after them.

“The anti-matter?” he asked Natasha, because that much seemed important to ask about.

 

“The containment for it got compromised. Some asshole brought one of those quake gauntlet sets on the ship. It exploded, nearly took us out with it. But--” She nodded towards Loki, then wrapped the blanket tighter around her.

“Take your time getting him settled. Me, Clint and Bruce have some hypothermia to deal with before anyone’s going to be of any real use in a debriefing.” Her teeth were starting to chatter again, and she started walking towards the open door to the inside, forcing him to follow or get left behind.

“He did good, Steve. None of us would have made it out of the blast if he hadn’t been there.”

She hesitated, not sure if she should bring it up now or wait for the debrief-- not sure if talking about it was better with or without Loki around.

As the warm air inside hit her, she decided she should wait to broach the subject of Loki turning blue.

After all, he’d been so damn adamant about Steve not seeing him that way. And his explanation-- the video with the salt, the fact that he’d been hanging out on the only ice that could be found, and how weird he’d acted after they got picked up... she was curious.

Not curious enough not to want to crawl into a bath before she started asking questions, though.

“I’ll call down before I call everyone together. I’m thinking Loki should probably be part of the debrief, since he and Hulk did the majority of the heavy lifting.” She angled herself towards the elevators, ready to sneak away.

Warm air was nice. Warm water would be nicer. And some hot tea would really make things perfect.

“Uh, hey Cap?” She heard from behind them, and she turned, realizing that Murray was still holding the shield.

He looked almost guilty for having it, which would be funny if she wasn’t more worried about how Steve would react to being this close to him, and having it held out for him to take.

Still, nothing for it but to watch and see how he handled it. Worse things worse, she could bring it down to him later. After a bath, and maybe a nap.

 

Steve inhaled shakily, not wanting to dwell on how close a call it sounded like -- _None of us would have made it out of the blast if he hadn’t been there_ \-- but also unable to help himself. And considering what had happened to Loki the last time he’d had a run in with someone wearing those shock gauntlets--

He was almost grateful for Murray’s voice interrupting his thoughts, and forced himself to smile as he took the shield back. Murray held it out by the rim, like a platter, allowing Steve to grip it without any risk of their fingers brushing together. The weight of it felt all wrong where it ought to be familiar, but that didn’t matter right now. “Thanks, Ben,” he said, earning a beaming smile back from Murray, who at least looked a bit less ragged than most of the Avengers.

“I’ll... I’ll see you all later,” he said to Nat, nodding to them both before beating a swift retreat into the building to follow after Tony.

It didn’t take long to catch up, and they rode the elevator down together. Loki, he noticed in the close confines, looked exhausted; his hair was damp and stringy, dark circles underscored his eyes like bruises, and his pallor was almost gray. He was half-tempted to tell Tony to go to medical, but-- no. Loki would prefer to wake in his own bed.

 _Their_ own bed.

“This way,” he said as the doors opened on their floor, guiding Tony to the master bedroom while suppressing his own bitterness at his inability to carry Loki himself. He pulled the (now-freshly-laundered) sheets back, clearing a space for Tony to set Loki down. It probably spoke to how eager Tony was to go reunite with Pepper that he didn’t say much, beyond a handful of flippantly reassuring words as he headed back out the door.

Alone again, Steve breathed deep -- then got to work stripping Loki down, grimacing at how wet his clothing still was beneath his armor, and how truly expended Loki’s power had to be if he’d left himself in this state.

It was oddly easy to touch him like this; perhaps because his contact was more with Loki’s clothes than with him, though more likely because Loki wasn’t conscious for any of it. There was also a pragmatism to getting Loki out of his wet clothes -- a mission with a clear objective, that left little room for anxiety about the physical contact. It was practicality, Steve reflected; not intimacy. And soon enough, he’d wrestled Loki out of his gear and down to his underthings, tugging the blankets over him and tucking him in. Recalling what Natasha had said about hypothermia, coupled with the clamminess of Loki’s skin when Steve’s hand had brushed against it, he doubled back to the linen closet for an additional quilt, making sure Loki was well covered and warmed before allowing himself to flop down atop the covers beside him.

 _He_ hadn’t been the one to use every last drop of his magic or save his entire team from a massive explosion, but he felt nearly as drained as Loki looked all the same. Between the terror of losing his team and the long period of not knowing, his emotions had been wrung dry, and he was tempted to close his eyes and join Loki in his rest.

But he had a promise, he remembered, that he needed to keep.

Grabbing his phone from the bedside table, he took a quick photo and fired off a text -- just a few words -- that satisfied his obligation. Then he dropped the phone on to the blankets and reached over, holding his breath at the nervous thrill he got as he interwove his and Loki’s fingers.

Holding Loki’s hand, he watched his partner, and waited patiently for him to finally wake.

 

Sam’s phone went off, buzzing against the wood of the check in desk, where he was leaning to chat with Allie. She was a good listener and he was happy to have a slow enough day that he could catch up. It was also good distraction to keep him from worrying about his coffee buddy.

But when the phone went off he still grabbed it as fast as he could, startling her in the process.

“Sorry, waiting on news from a friend.” He explained shortly, thumbing open the messaging app.

'Home & Alive’ the message said, and a moment later the picture loaded.

Jack was smiling for the camera, looking a little worse for the wear after the morning he'd just had.

And behind him, next to him in bed, was Luke; out of focus, and clearly out.

He stifled his annoyance at that; the guy couldn't have been back all that long, and Jack seemed like he needed all the reassurance his partner could give.

But he knew he shouldn't judge. Who knew what the guy had been up to, or through.

He squinted, taking in this first glimpse of Luke.

He was younger looking than Sam had expected, somehow. Didn't look particularly healthy either-- he wondered if that was normal or just part of the reason he was asleep already.

“Good news.” He told Allie, glancing up, then looked back down to type a quick response.

> _Glad to hear it. Get some rest-- coffee soon?_

He figured that covered everything, and would give him a chance to do follow up later, make sure Jack was okay.

Satisfied, he put his phone into his back pocket.

“Alright, sorry bout that. You were saying-- Jeff from Tribeca?”

Allie picked up where she left off, and things did smoothly back into the realm of normal.

\---

 

Loki didn't wake all at once; he became aware of warmth first, then soreness.

He groaned, shifting a little, then opened his eyes quickly when he registered the grip on his hand.

He blinked a few times, urging his brain to catch up to his body's alertness.

“Steve?” He asked. “Wh--?”

It took another second to register where he was, where _they_ were. He hadn't been in this bed in months, had barely seen this room in the same amount of time. And Steve holding his hand-- like none of that had happened. He was careful not to squeeze it, or move it, afraid that he would lose the contract as soon as he reminded his partner that it was there.

“Is everyone okay?” He asked, mind finally able to function, even though his voice still came out on a croak.

He had no idea how long he been out, how long they'd been back. But they were, that was the important thing.

 

Steve had drifted off at some point in spite of himself. His eyes fluttered open, and he smiled with a soft hum; this was one of the few nice dreams he got, where he woke next to Loki, the both of them quiet and lazy as the light streamed in over them.

“Hey,” he murmured.

But then Loki spoke and his voice was wrong -- a rough, hoarse sound instead of the low purr Steve enjoyed, and his question--

Steve blinked, then pulled back to sit up, now fully awake.

“Everyone’s fine,” he hurried to tell him. “Nat said you saved them all. You were unconscious when the plane touched down, but everyone else was alright.” Or at least, everyone Steve had seen, but he trusted that the rest of Carter’s crew was fine. More alert now, he looked Loki over, hoping to find some sign that the rest had done him good.

“How are you feeling?”

 

Steve sat up and Loki immediately looked down to their hands, silently memorizing the feel of his touch before it slipped away again.

He shook his head, though, knowing he needed to answer Steve.

“Wrung dry.” He admitted wryly. He didn’t mean it to sound as dire as it did, but he couldn’t help the quality of his voice.

He didn’t want to ask how he had ended up here, if he had been unconscious, but at least Steve had said nothing of his being a Jotun, which meant that his efforts-- the ones that had rendered him unconscious-- had worked.

He wasn’t about to ask or explain as much, though.

He let his head fall back against the pillow.

“I’m glad it all worked out.” he looked up at the ceiling, so familiar once and now, already, strange. He swallowed.

Probably whoever put him here hadn’t realized that he had his own room. Someone had just assumed that Steve’s bed was his, and--

“I’ll-- if you give me just a few minutes, I’ll go to my room, so that you can have yours back.”

He didn’t apologize; he had no control over it, and he was too tired.

Besides, all of his effort at the moment was directed toward not reacting, not letting his eyes grow wet.

He’d thought, for a while there, that he was dead. That Natasha and Clint and Bruce were going to die because of him.

He had no doubt already missed the meeting where they reviewed the mission, and Natasha, their leader, explained how he had ceased to be useful at exactly the worst time.

He had failed, and he knew it.

And even though Steve didn’t… yet… he still couldn’t have the reassurances and comfort that he all but ached for.

And he knew too that he needed to do an inventory, be sure all of his faculties were there, that he hadn’t lost anything to the mind of the beast-- that was the longest he’d ever been in that skin.

And _everyone_ had seen him.

He groaned and closed his eyes.

There was nothing he could do about any of it, now. Nothing he could do to fix it, even if he was at his most useful.

One day, one mission, and he had ruined everything.

_Damn._

 

Steve tensed with worry as Loki groaned. Was something further wrong? Had the drain on his magic caused him pain?

He wished that he could pass his _krellr_ to Loki the way he once had, but with the serum suppressed as it was, he didn’t know if he still could. Or if his energy would be worth a damn.

“Stay,” he told him, quiet but insistently. “I’ll get-- will something to eat or drink help? I can make you that tea you like,” he offered. He doubted Loki had eaten on the mission, and it was well past noon now, judging from the light coming through the window.

“The mission debrief will keep until you’re ready. Everyone else looked like they needed to sleep it off too, so there shouldn’t be any rush.”

 

Tea sounded nice, but would require sitting up, which would require energy. Food seemed even more like work.

But Steve wanted him to stay-- that was nice. He supposed if Steve really wanted away from him, he could use Loki’s room. Everything he was hiding from him was digitally locked away and safe, so that was fine.

At least, until he mentioned the debrief. Loki flinched at the thought of it-- the only thing worse than it having happened was the prospect of having to sit through it.

“Are you coming to the debrief, too?” He asked, keeping his eyes closed and trying to sound as neutral about it as possible.

Better to know now so that he could tell him the basics, at least begin to put his own spin on things.

Or maybe figure out a way to beg Natasha and the others not to bring up certain things.

Though… that would probably defeat the purpose of the meeting.

He sighed and opened his eyes.

“It was… not an easy mission.” He told Steve softly. Then, pausing, he realized that he may well do even more harm just by talking about it with him.

“How are you feeling, Astin min?”

 

Steve nodded grimly. _Not easy_ had to be quite the understatement _._ The substance that could take out whole cities if weaponized had exploded, and _somehow_ , the team had survived. And from the sound of it, Loki played no small part in it.

(Unlike Steve. Whose biggest contribution had been _laundry.)_

“I’ll be going, yeah. I want... I want to make sure that, once I’m back in fighting condition--” he stopped, licking his lips and nervously running a hand back through his hair. “Next time you go out, I want to be with you. And I gotta keep on top of developments and strategy if I’m gonna do that without being a burden.”

He had to get into shape first, of course. Get his strength back. Get his head screwed on right. But he hoped, when the time came, he wouldn’t be left at home sitting alone and bothering Sam as he fretted over his friends and partner while they saved the world without him.

He blew out a breath, then made himself smile. “I’m better now that you’re home. Those couple of hours when communications were knocked out and JARVIS couldn’t tell us what had happened, were, ah. Well, ‘not easy’ either.”

 

He frowned and stopped himself from reaching for him, but it was a near thing.

“I am sorry, Steve. I wish you had not been worried. And you know I would be glad to have you with us, when you’re ready-- provided I ah--” He pressed his lips together, searching for words.

“The debriefing may not be easy either.” He settled on. “There are-- some things I want to tell you before the others have the chance to.”

And he wished he had more time, time to rest, to gather himself. But who knew how long it would be before they called for Steve and he.

“I endangered our friends. Natasha, Clint, Bruce-- all nearly died for me-- because of me. And. And I ran out of seidhr when the explosion happened, and we were tossed in the sea and… the cold. It forced me into-- I changed. Everyone saw. Our friends nearly died and I nearly left them to it. But there was a boat, and-- and _everyone_ saw.”

He could feel his breathing going shallower as he fought not to panic, but he needed to fight-- Steve couldn’t support him, now. Couldn’t bear Loki’s weight. And Thor, who he might otherwise have defaulted to, was still in Asgard.

He took a deep breath.

“I don’t know that I will be allowed out with the Avengers again.” He said firmly, though he did not meet Steve’s eye, lest his resolve shatter. “And I don’t know that it will be a particularly productive debriefing.”

 

It took Steve a moment to recognize what Loki meant by _changed_ , but his heart sank when he did.

Drained of magic, exhausted and afraid, Loki had been forced into the shape he hated. In front of everyone -- friends and strangers alike (though Steve supposed there had to be some small consolation that he wouldn’t be recognized for himself when he was in his frost giant skin). And given he was probably more resilient to the cold in that form, he had to blame himself for not being chilled like the others.

“Oh Loki,” Steve breathed, aching with sympathy. “Shoot. I’m sorry that happened. But -- listen, when she walked off that plane, do you know what Natasha said to me?”

He paused, making sure Loki was looking at him and meeting his eyes. “She said to me ‘he did good.’ That you did a lot of heavy lifting, and none of them would have survived that explosion without you. And if you ask me, any guy who helps bring the entire team home alive is someone you’re happy to have on your six when you go out in the field.”

Reaching across the bed, he took Loki’s fingers in his hand once more and gave them a squeeze. “You brought them home safe and you came back to me. Honestly, that sounds like a win.”

 

The smile Loki gave Steve was watery, and his simple kindness, even in the face of Loki’s failures, wrecked him as it always had. Made him weak, or at least exposed his weakness.

Carefully, so as not to scare him, he gave Steve an answering squeeze.

“I’m sorry. I know I sound pitiful. I’m just-- I am still so…” He gestured with his free hand, unable to find any word but ‘empty’ and not wanting to apply it, lest Steve take offense.

His heart was as full of his partner as ever, it was only his mind, his body, his power… the entire rest of him that felt useless.

He blew out a breath.

“Are you certain I should stay? I may not wake for several hours if I sleep again.”

It felt only fair to warn him.

“I am fairly certain I can make it at least to the couch on my own power, if that’s better.”

 

Steve huffed a laugh. “If you think I’m letting you out of my sight again today for even a hot minute, then you’ve got another thing coming,” he told him. He said it jokingly, but the thought of letting Loki leave turned his stomach -- as if he’d stop being real the moment he walked out the door, and Steve would be plunged back into the reality of all his ‘what ifs’ which had plagued him prior to the quinjet’s return.

“You’re tired,” he said, softer, all too aware of just how fragile Loki looked. He was brittle, and so Steve would be as gentle and tender as he possibly could. “Just rest. Sleep as much as you need and... I’ll be here.”

Everything else would keep.

 

Loki swallowed, taking in air and trying to force out the thoughts of how much he didn’t deserve this.

But at least Steve knew, and wouldn’t be surprised. And at least he hadn’t seen or had to deal with Loki’s Jotun form.

He was still glad of his choice to change back, even with the cost.

It meant that Steve had been able to hold his hand.

“You rest too, elskan. I can’t imagine your morning has been much easier. I will be here when you wake, remember?” He gave him a lopsided smile, well aware that, for a month and more, he hadn’t been. But he planned not to let that happen ever again.

  
  
  


 


	105. One Hundred Five

Steve considered sleeping more, but his brief nap had left him feeling at least somewhat refreshed; and there were other members of his team he wanted to check on, without having to wait for a formal debrief.

So once Loki was solidly out, Steve slipped away and closed the bedroom door behind him, bidding JARVIS to alert him as soon as Loki looked like he might wake; and if Steve didn’t make it back in time, to tell Loki where he was, so he wouldn’t worry.

He took the elevator to Natasha’s floor, then gently knocked on her door.

  
  


The bath had done wonders. As had the tea, then broth that she’d managed to convince her body to take.

It had been a rough mission and a rough flight back, but she’d slowly eased herself warmer once in her own apartment, first with upping the heat, then a lukewarm shower, and the entire time it had felt like she was on fire. So by the time she lowered herself into what was unquestionably a warmer than advisable bath, she was actually mildly uncomfortable. But by the time she got out she felt a lot more human.

She’d texted Clint and Bruce to be sure they were doing the same, and considered texting Steve, but… one, she wasn’t sure whether Loki needed it, and two, he was probably still out, and Steve couldn’t exactly man handle him into a bath right now anyway.

She was sure Loki was in a bed, probably piled high with blankets, and he had healing powers anyway. She’d have to hope that was enough, unless she heard otherwise.

She was curled up on her couch, not-quite-dozing, blankets wrapped around her and hands wrapped around a mug, when someone knocked.

She got up immediately, deftly not tripping or spilling, and answered, trying to snap back into full alertness.

“Steve,” She greeted, hiding both her surprise and her concern.

She wouldn’t have expected to see him at all, knowing how he and Loki got about one another. But then… things were changing. And there was probably only so much you could do while your partner was out like a light.

“Come on in. I was just going to make more tea-- want some?”

  
  


“Thanks, but I’m alright,” Steve replied, noting as he crossed the threshold that the temperature rose a good ten degrees. The thermostat had to be cranked up to eighty.

Natasha herself was clad in pajamas and a fluffy robe, her hair slightly damp but her cheeks flushed with color. She looked more alert than she had coming off the jet, and Steve found relief in that. “You’re looking better,” he said, moving to take a seat on her couch.

The heat was actually a bit cloying, but he couldn’t fault her for it or complain. As bitter as he’d been about not being on the mission, he had to admit to himself that he was grateful he hadn’t been dropped into arctic waters _again._ Being frozen once was more than enough, and he wouldn’t wish any variation of the experience on anyone in his team.

 

She shrugged in a ‘suit yourself’ kind of way, refilled the electric kettle, and flipped it on.

Normally she liked the whistling pot and the whole water boiling process, but right now she was much fonder of getting warmth into herself, and electric was just faster.

“You want anything else? Something cool, maybe? I know I’ve got it desert warm in here right now.”

She couldn’t speak for looking better, but she had definitely thawed out. Once she was sure she wasn’t gonna start shaking again, she’d probably follow Loki’s lead and have a good nap.

But first: whatever Steve needed.

She leaned back against her counter and took a good hard look at him.

He looked better than he had recently, but still a little on the sickly side. Though how much of that was worry, it was hard to say.

“How’re you feeling?” She asked.

  
  


“Glass of water,” Steve conceded, more to be polite towards Natasha’s hospitality than actual thirst.

He exhaled when she asked how he was feeling. Of course, _he_ hadn’t been in mortal peril, so he had little room to complain. But he still felt unsteady, like the state of the world around him was fragile and likely to shift underneath him like loose sand.

“Did you know the explosion caused a big enough shockwave that the folks who monitor for earthquakes picked it up?” he asked instead. “It was on the news. Right after the comms cut out and JARVIS lost contact with all of you. I’m guessing it must’ve been what scrambled your tech?”

  
  


She brought him the water he’d asked for, glad he’d take that much, though she knew there was precious little comfort she could give him otherwise. Especially when he asked about the explosion. Something that had apparently reached him long before news of their survival did.

She could remember all too easily how Loki had acted when Steve was missing; again, she worried about the two of them, how close they were, how mutually reliant.

“It was a lot of antimatter,” She said evenly. “I’m not surprised. Though I’d taken out my comm before then. We needed to focus, and I’d ordered the quinjet out of the way, so of course they were arguing with me.” She lifted one shoulder and gave him a wry little smile.

“Leading. Not all it’s cracked up to be. Don’t know why so many people always seem so eager to be in charge.” She watched his face though, taking in the stress lines and the dark circles under his eyes.

“Sorry we worried you. How long did you spend thinking everyone was dead?”

The light on her water turned orange and the lever popped up; it was hot. But she didn’t move, just yet, wanting to be as close as she could without making him uncomfortable while they talked about this.

  
  


Steve held the glass, watching condensation cloud against the surface of it.

“A couple hours,” he replied quietly, as if he hadn’t been counting the minutes. This wasn’t supposed to be about him, after all. He was fine. He’d been fine. Safe. Unlike his team.

_(“Men are laying down their lives, Buck, I have no right to do any less--”)_

“You must’ve done a pretty good job if you got everyone home safe,” he told her, clearing his throat. “Leading, I mean.” Something even Steve didn’t have a perfect record with. “Besides, I’m not sure I’d trust the job with someone who really _wanted_ it.”

  
  


She smirked.

“Tony would be _devastated_ to hear that.” She let the smirk fall away, though, and sobered. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to do that to you. Obviously, we would have rathered the antimatter not implode, but, like you said, at least everyone came home. More thanks to Loki than anything.” She kept her voice light, despite thoughts of how they almost hadn’t, and how that had been her call-- if she hadn’t stayed, the others might not have either. Or at least Clint wouldn’t have. And Loki and Hulk had done pretty well without the two of them...

If things had worked out differently, she could easily have killed her best friend.

“Speaking of, you’d know better than me-- how’s he doing? I think I’m gonna need a first aid for aliens handbook before we go out again.”

  
  


Steve lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “He’s asleep. Doesn’t look to be hurt anywhere, just exhausted from what I can tell.” He’d got a pretty clear look, after all, when he’d undressed Loki before tucking him in. “He woke up for a little bit, but he’s back out now. He seemed.... Worried, though. About how he did, and his position on the team. I told him what you told me, and that it didn’t seem like you were too unhappy with him, and I’m hoping it’s just him not thinking clearly because he’s tired.” Which could probably be said for most of them at this point. Steve thought back to his panicked call to Sam with a wince.

There was something else though, that Loki had mentioned. Something perhaps better discussed with Natasha alone than brought up in the briefing in front of everyone.

“When you guys wound up in the water, did Loki turn blue?” he asked her.

  
  


The fact that Loki thought poorly of his performance was… not surprising, she supposed. Not because he’d done badly; as far as she was concerned he’d bought them time and shielded them from the blast. Kept them alive. But, knowing how he tended to react to things…

“I’m happy to tell him myself how well he did, once everyone’s all rested up.” She assured Steve, comfortable with that, at the very least.

As for the other, though…

She paused, well aware that she was caught in a delicate position.

She didn’t want to lie to Steve when he asked her point blank. But Loki had specifically knocked himself out so that Steve wouldn’t know.

She couldn’t be certain, without speaking to Loki, what he wanted her to say, and she didn’t have either the time nor the opportunity to ask right now.

“I think even Hulk turned a little blue.” She said, cracking a joke and trying to gain herself some time.

“Why do you ask?”

  
  


It was a good deflection; it might have even worked, if Steve didn’t know the answer already, allowing him to pick up on the slight pause before Natasha answered.

“He told me he.... Changed,” he explained, aware they were both being cautious in defense of Loki’s privacy. “He’s got a lot of hangups about that particular shape and being seen in it. I just thought you oughta know, so maybe we can avoid anyone asking too many questions about it or making a big deal out of it.”

  
  


She rubbed her chin and retreated into the kitchen to finally make that cup of tea. She was almost surprised at how much Steve knew, sine Loki had seemed so afraid of letting him see him that way. She knew a fair amount, too, from what Loki had told her when they'd started training him to meet Thanos again. But she had no way of knowing what Steve knew, what she knew-- no way of knowing what she could say without betraying Loki's confidence.

“I can send out a memo to the teams, easy enough. They’ve seen him change before, and no one’s gonna hold it against him if he shape shifts into something better suited to keeping himself alive. But… It’s already been several hours, and there were two ships’ worth of civilian crew with camera phones. My guess is the new blue Avenger is already making waves.” She cringed. “Pun not intended.”

Returning, she passed the thermostat and turned it off before settling down on the couch, giving Steve space.

“On the way back, he was awake, exhausted, drained, but awake. And still blue. Whatever hangups he has, he told me that changing back might knock him out, and he did it anyway. That kind of decision, that kind of hangup, that’s a liability, and it’s something to keep in mind for future missions. I get he’s sensitive about it, and you probably don’t want me talking to him about it. It wouldn’t happen to be something that came up while you were talking to him on record at SHIELD, would it? Just so I can understand a little better.”

Because that was exactly what she wanted. Learning more of her friends’ secrets through video cameras in cells.

  
  


Steve grimaced. Their encounter with the press with Loki as a woman and the subsequent lurid speculation had been bad enough. If images of himself in his blue skin became the way his role as an Avenger was made public, he’d _hate_ it. Possibly enough to disappear from the team altogether.

“It... did come up,” he said, setting the water glass down on a coaster on Nat’s coffee table and watching the condensation run down the sides. “But I know some of the footage around that time got corrupted, so I don’t know what’s preserved. And honestly, I’m not comfortable with more people learning about it from that. It feels.... Invasive,” he explained with a shrug. When he and Loki first showed up, letting Tony and Bruce review the footage had been a necessary evil. But now, it was like a violation of trust.

Still, Natasha had to find out somehow, and Loki would both be uncomfortable with sharing, and somewhat unreliable in his account. Which left Steve.

“Loki’s adopted. From another species, one that Asgard isn’t on friendly terms with. He’s convinced they’re all monsters, and that if he spends too long in that shape, it might affect him mentally,” he explained, concisely as he could. “That might be the longest he’s been in that shape, to be honest.”

  
  


The ‘corrupted’ footage that she and Loki had found in with HYDRA’s tapes hadn’t included anything about his being another species, she thought, and she internally blanched at Steve deciding that was invasive-- even with both parties knowing the filming was being done, and who had access to it. Which was a far better circumstance than she and Loki and Stark having seen what Steve himself had been through.

Still a problem for another day, and even if she wanted to broach the subject, she wouldn’t do it now.

He’d had a rough morning, and so had she. And he was here out of concern for Loki. So she needed to focus on that. One thing at a time.

“Auto speciesism, that’s a new one on me. Is there any truth to it, though? Him changing shapes, does it have the ability to affect his mind? I mean, he was quieter than usual, but I figured that was from being tired. I didn’t notice anything really out of the ordinary.”

She knew he hated what he was, enough to try and kill off everyone like him, but it might also explain his doubts with regards to his place on the team. He might not realize him being blue didn’t mean the same thing to them as it did to Asgardians. Or, maybe the other species, the non Asgardian blue one, had different chemical balances in the brain; if it really did mess with his head, that might explain his fear of Steve seeing him, how he’d huddled in on himself on the quinjet. It might explain his quietness on the way back, even before he had passed out. And him thinking the other shape was monstrous and a danger to his mind made it make more sense, why he’d wanted to change back. Even beyond the reason he’d given, not wanting Steve to feel the cold coming off of him. Though she saw the sense in that, too.

She watched Steve, considering.

“And how do you feel about it? His whole blue thing.”

  
  


“I’d love him if he was purple with green stripes; it doesn’t make a lick of difference to me,” Steve answered firmly. “Honestly, every shape he’s changed to, he’s always been _Loki_ underneath -- he didn’t change to a different person just because he turns into a woman. She was Loki. And the few times he’s been a frost giant, he’s still been Loki then too near as I can tell.”

Of course, he didn’t know anything about frost giant physiology for sure; he was outside his area of expertise here by a long shot, and even scientists trained for this stuff would be left guessing without ever having met another member of Loki’s species for comparison. And yet--

“I saw a lot of people, back in the day, insist people were different mentally, and less than human, just because of their race,” he said quietly. “They’d always have some justification if they met someone who challenged those expectations -- that they were different because they were raised differently, or just a lucky accident of nature. They didn’t wanna accept that everything they believed about certain groups was just wrong, and that they were people too, and really not that different at all.” He ran a hand back through his hair. “Hell, still see some of it still today, though it’s not as overt. But I think-- I think Asgard is racist as all hell when it comes to other worlds, to be perfectly honest. And I think Loki’s had that drilled into him for a thousand years, and he can’t let go of that, even when he’s turning it in on himself.”

  
  


Or maybe _especially_ when he was turning it on himself, she thought, but she didn’t want to go into that-- not right now, and not when it should be something she talked about with Loki, maybe one of these times they were working together on getting him ready for Thanos. Because that big of a sore spot? She could be sure they’d poke at it, if they wanted to influence him. She was just surprised it hadn't come up more during their work together so far.

“Do you want me to have a separate meeting and get it out of the way so the others don't ask, or poke at him about it?”

She wasn't sure that was kinder-- if he found out it'd only make his paranoia worse.

“I don't think he'd be any happier about that. But we have our team and B team as well.”

  
  


Steve groaned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, raking the fingers from both hands now through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t want to be talking about this behind his back, but I also don’t want anyone making a big deal out of it and freaking him out even worse,” he admitted. “I don’t know what the best way of balancing that is, or if I’m out of line for trying to control it and protect him at all.”

He wanted to protect Loki, to shield him in the very few ways left to him. But he also wanted to respect his boundaries. What middle ground there was felt like quicksand, and Steve was floundering in it.

“Could we just -- send a memo, and have JARVIS delete it once it’s been read? ‘Don’t mention Loki having been blue at the briefing’?” He wasn’t sure of the odds of that being respected, though hopefully Tony knew enough that he wouldn’t say anything.

  
  


She considered for a second, sipping her tea.

“Do you think that might make him more worried? If everyone conspicuously says nothing-- I feel like, it might be best to wait until he’s there, mention it in a positive light, and move on. I think not saying anything will only confirm his assuming the worst, which it sounds like he’s already doing, when he’s conscious.”

She shook her head.

“I appreciate you letting me know it’s a touchy subject, and why. I’ll at least let Stark know, so he doesn’t start calling him a smurf or anything, but… I think the rest of them will be fairly good about it. And trying to explain via a memo would just make them more curious, I think. I can also wait until he wakes up and talk to him about how he wants to handle it-- if you think that’s a good idea. Maybe you could be part of that conversation. Because by then we might have a better idea of how much damage control we need to do externally as well.”

She was trying to get this right, but it was hard to balance everything. Something else occurred to her though, and she sighed.

“Another thing we might need to be ready for is the possibility that there was damage done as a result of the implosion. The waves out there-- if not for Loki’s little ice island and my Hulk shaped raft, we might have drowned long before the cold became an issue. And he seems like the kind of person to blame that on himself, too.”

  
  


He nodded along, grimacing because Natasha was right. And how ironic that Natasha, the career spy, was arguing for the straightforward, honest approach while Steve had suggested subterfuge. _What the hell was even happening to him these days?_

Then she brought up collateral damage, and Steve blanched. “Damn,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. He’d had to turn off the news earlier, too strung out by anxiety to keep flipping through channels for any possible clue as to what happened. Now, he dreaded checking it to find news of possible tidal waves or sightings of Loki’s jotun form, knowing the effect they’d have on his partner -- though he’d be better off learning about them before Loki did.

“Is anyone on Carter’s team monitoring the media for this stuff?” he asked. They hadn’t taken a dunk in the ocean, after all. “It’d be good to have a heads up before we debrief.”

  
  


She hesitated, then sighed internally.

“I’ll get Garza on it-- and maybe have Darcy take a look too, as long as she’s around. She might have some insight into public reaction if news does get out, and between them and whoever Pepper keeps around for PR, if we need to come up with a spin for this, now’s probably the best time, considering he just saved an entire ship of people, plus the Avengers. We don’t have to say who he is, of course. But… there were photos of you carrying him out of the attack on the park. Maybe Stark accidentally saved him but turned him blue or something. We’ll figure it out, don’t worry. And again, you both should be part of that conversation.”

Besides, her getting Garza and Darcy working together meant she’d have a second set of eyes on anything Garza was doing. She just had to hope that Darcy had picked up enough from Jane and her tech work to know if anything fishy was running in the background.

“I don’t want to push the debrief back too far, but I’m sure JARVIS can compile a list of issues for us to look over, as far as mission fallout goes.”

  
  


Steve nodded. Pepper’s PR skills were significant, and they had resources on hand. Damage control would happen. They’d just need to come up with a cover story. A _lie_.

(Thankfully, Steve was getting good at those. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.)

He began to reach for his water glass, but paused as he noticed the tremor running through his hand. Instead he balled it into a fist against his knee, breathing deeply.

_They’re alive. They’re alive. Everything else can be dealt with; they’re alive._

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment had passed. “I didn’t mean to barge in here and start telling you what you should do. You’re team leader and you’ve obviously got this under control.” She was thinking more clearly than he was, at any rate. “I just wanted you to know about Loki and-- And to see that you were okay.” He looked up and shot her a strained smile.

  
  


She shook her head, able to see that she’d done something to cause him to tense up, and the problem was, she didn’t know what it had been.

Made it hard not to repeat the offense.

“I appreciate it- on both accounts. You have insight I don’t, and it’s good for me to know about things that will cause problems, both inside the team and outside it. And… like I said, I didn’t really want the job, I don’t have a lot of faith in my being suited for it. But it helps having someone to talk to about this stuff. I’m just sorry my head’s screwed on a little funny, still. But nothing a nap won’t fix,” she hastened to add, lest he start worrying over her more.

“We’ll get the rest of this figured out soon. Promise. Meantime… it might not be a bad idea for you to get some rest too. Just in case Loki takes it as badly as we worry he might.” She gave him a half shrug, trying to illustrate that it was just a suggestion.

Team leader or not, she wasn’t about to send him to bed.

She made for a pretty crap babysitter.

  
  


Rest. Right. Steve knew that was his cue to stand up and leave, but his muscles didn’t seem to want to obey his mind. He stared at the water glass, acutely aware of his own breathing, and remembering how it had wheezed asthmatically past the lump in his throat when he’d thought--

“I thought you were all dead,” he said, just over a whisper, not looking at her. “I--”

He broke off, swallowing hard. “Shoot. Sorry, I should.... I’m really glad you’re alive, Nat.” He managed to stand, but clumsily bumped his shin against the coffee table.

  
  


She stood too, reaching for him but not touching, when she saw that he’d kept his balance.

“No, you shouldn’t. You came here intending to help me with my problems, and try to stop Loki from having any. I shoulda been more receptive to yours. Sit back down, tell me… do you need to talk about it? What you thought, what you did? You know I’m happy to listen.”

She wasn’t sure she’d be much help-- this wasn’t really her forte, but she could at least let him get it off his chest.

  
  


Steve breathed in shakily. He ought to leave. Nat was exhausted; the last thing she needed was to be shouldering stuff for him. And yet--

“I called Sam,” he admitted, voice tight. “I... didn’t tell him details, but I might need to figure out how much he’s pieced together. I don’t think the stuff I’ve told him about my, ah, domestic situation adds up. But I’ll take care of it,” he quickly added, not wanting that to become another mess of his that Natasha had to clean up and deal with. “But in case he, ah, reaches out at all.”

  
  


She bit down on a few things she could say, nodding instead and giving herself a minute.

She wasn’t as quick on her feet with this sort of thing right now but that was okay, as long as she went carefully.

“Did he help? Today, I mean. Was he able to give you tools or… whatever his counseling thing is, is it working for you?”

If not, then moving Steve, finding him someone else to talk to, that might be the best option. Smartest, safest. But if it was helping… well, she wouldn’t push it. He needed every ounce of stability he could get in his life, and Wilson seemed stable and fairly normal, from everything she’d been able to dig up.

  
  


A vaguely hysterical chuckle slipped out before Steve could stop it. Tools. He didn’t have tools. He barely had a rope to hang on to and half the time he felt like he only had enough of that to hang himself with.

“Well, I didn’t go find a plane to crash, so I guess that’s something,” he said, voice pitching a little higher than normal. It sounded strange to his ears; alarming. He wrapped his arms around himself, then shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean... Yeah, he helped.”

  
  


She couldn’t quite stop her brow from furrowing, and added a visit to Wilson to her mental to-do list.

“Yeah, that’s something alright.” She said softly. “Remember: I picked Wilson because he’s one of the few people I think would be qualified and trustworthy enough to handle the truth, if you ever felt like getting it out there to him. So if you think he’s getting too close, that’s your call, but I wouldn’t worry too much about it either way.”

That was the easy part. The other half--

“Was that a bad joke, or a real thought you had? Crashing a plane, or otherwise. When you thought we were dead, how far were you from jumping ship, so to speak?”

She thought he’d been doing better, but that sort of thing could mess up even a fully stable person, and she knew he wasn’t that, no matter how hard he was trying, no matter how bad he wanted to be.

“It won’t change anything, I know, but… it’s good for me to know, so I can help. And make sure you’re okay, if anything even sort of like that happens again.”

If they had to go out of communication, she needed to be sure he’d have someone with him. Pepper maybe, Wilson… they needed more non-combatant friends. Or maybe it was better to leave Loki behind. If anything happened to the rest of them, at least Steve would have Loki.

It wasn’t ideal, but… she’d have to work on other options.

  
  


There was a temptation to answer with the truth. Steve’s hands balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white with tension. Words bubbled up, ready to spill out, telling Natasha about how the uncertainty, even as it felt like it was killing him, had been the only thing keeping him going, clinging to the possibility that they might be alive. And if the bodies had been found and it had been confirmed that everyone in his life was dead again, he didn’t think he’d survive it a second time. He wanted to tell her about all the graves at Arlington and how he couldn’t stand to have more headstones to visit. Wanted to tell her about the broken helmet Scofield had tossed into his cell and how Steve had _broken_ , he’d given up and stopped fighting for once in his damn life and that had been the thing to do it.

But...

If he told her that, he’d be benched for good. If they knew how fully he’d broken, nobody would let him carry the shield again; _Captain America didn’t break_. Couldn’t.

And if they never let him in the field again, he wouldn’t be able to protect them.

No. Better to keep his mouth shut, and let that secret die, buried with Scofield and the rest of HYDRA that Loki had demolished. No one else had to know. He’d swallow the rest.

He flexed his fingers at his sides. “...Just a bad joke,” he told her after a lengthy pause, looking sheepish. “Sorry.”

  
  


She highly doubted that, but he was as good as saying he didn’t want to talk about it-- or at least, not with her. Which was fair.

She’d just have to make sure he was talking to the person he was supposed to about it. She definitely needed to plan a trip to the VA office, sooner than later. Not today, probably, but. Soon.

“Not the worst one I’ve heard.” She told him evenly. “And I’m sure it helps, too, having him back now. Seeing that we’re all okay. So don’t sweat it, alright? And Sam-- if we need to find another option for you, we can. If you need to tell him the truth-- if you think everything will settle back down and be okay, then that’s good too. I’ll let you make the call on that; you’d know best. But I’m here to back your move, whenever you want to make it.”

She twisted her lips, then had a thought.

“Loki’s not here to mother hen at us-- you want a glass of vodka? It always soothes my nerves after a day like today.”

Nevermind that today was hardly over yet-- she was gonna blame the time difference and mark it off as a loss. And she dared anyone to hold them drinking against them, right now.

  
  


“Thanks,” he told her, sincerely. He felt a swell of gratitude for her willingness to let it go, followed by an even larger swell simply for her being here and alive. It would be devastating enough to lose Loki; to not have Natasha’s presence and friendship to lean on in the wake of that was unthinkable.

As tempting as the offer of a drink was, Steve didn’t trust himself with alcohol anymore. It would be all too easy for his fragile self-control to break down if he had a few. “I should probably head back down in case he wakes up again,” he said instead. “Let you get some sleep yourself.”

Then, awkwardly, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, feeling the warm solidity of her through the fabric of her bathrobe. He let it rest there for a second, giving a quick squeeze, then let go. “Thank you, Nat.”

  
  


The touch was unexpected, and she was gratified to find he was doing better in that department.

“Thank _you_.” She returned, forcing all the warmth that she could muster into the words.

“You make my job a lot easier with your insight. But yeah-- we’ll all talk more once we’ve all rested up. _All_ of us.” she said lifting an eyebrow and looking down her nose at him.

“Get back to your guy, I’ll see you on the other side of this date with my bed.”

And several notes she needed to make on the ever growing to-do list she was building. But she’d tackle the things on it later, too.

  
  


\---

  
  


The meeting with Loki and Steve hadn’t gone much the way she’d thought it would. In fact, of the few options she’d walked in expecting, he’d answered with none of them. He sat motionless and almost expressionless through the reports of just how far eyewitness accounts and images had spread, and only twitched a little when she suggested adopting that form for when he went out with the team.

His refusal had been flat, though, and final.

Apparently his plan was to ignore the media, ignore that anyone had seen it. He wasn’t planning on changing into that shape again anytime soon. And if he needed to go on another mission, he’d do it in the armor Steve had designed. That was all. He had other things to focus on. They all did.

Based on the way he’d acted, shut down and numb and wary, she had elected not to go into the discussion of damages. That, she saved for the main group discussion, though she led with the news that no one was to answer questions about Loki’s blue identity with anything other than the fact that he’s a friend of the Avengers. Near as she could tell, it wouldn’t hurt anyone to think that they had plenty of friends.

From there, she’d moved on to discuss the impact that the explosion had had-- seismic activity, but nothing strong enough to topple buildings.

“A 4.5 is the sort of thing you sleep through in Malibu.” Tony had added, helpfully dismissing it with a hand wave. “And ‘you’re welcome’ to all the caribbean islands we just lowered the water level on, who says global warming’s a big deal?”

Bruce had raised his hand, amidst titters from Jane, Garza, Ferra, Bradley, and Darcy, and then they’d gotten back on track.

Hydra was still out there, obviously. They had come armed with still more of the shock gauntlets, and they couldn’t assume they’d seen the last of those, and for whatever reason, they’d been really interested in both the antimatter and robots. None of which boded well.

“Thoughts?” Natasha asked, opening the floor up to everyone else.

  
  


“What do we know about these robots?” Steve asked, as this was the first he’d heard of them.

“They were cargo, already on the ship,” Carter said, looking grim from where she stood against the wall. There weren’t enough chairs in the conference room, so it was a mix of them sitting and standing. “We missed them in the manifest -- didn’t realize they were bots. Roxxon bought out a portion of Hammertech after Justin Hammer went to prison. HYDRA may have known about them all along and gone after them as well as the antimatter--”

“--Or they could have been a weapon of opportunity,” Bradley added with a shrug. “Antimatter seemed like their focus. Bots could have just been a handy bonus and way to fight us off.”

“So, for a group that was supposed to have gone extinct in the 40s, we now know HYDRA is alive and well and still bold enough to pull a stunt like this in spite of our going after them with guns blazing for the last couple months now, and that they have--” Clint began ticking items off on his fingers, “earthquake gauntlets, killer robots, tesseract portal tech _\--_ am I missing anything else?”

“A quinjet,” Steve added.

“Magic dampeners,” Tony said, glancing at Loki.

“Potentially Cap’s blood,” Bruce murmured.

“And we’re still working out exactly how much SHIELD intel was passed on to them by inside agents,” Carter finished, mouth firming into a displeased line.

  
  


“At this point, we have to assume that any alien tech Fury’s had his mitts on, trying to weaponize, they probably at least have notes on, too.” Tony added, leaning back in his chair, but for once looking like he was taking the meeting seriously. “They had notes on my self sustained arc reactor in the stuff we found in England. So whatever they’re building, they’re looking to big guns for the pieces parts. Janey’s been working on sorting through the journals and notes we found-- might be worth getting more of team science involved. If they’re going after something like antimatter, I feel like they had a plan for it. You don’t commit to storing it, otherwise. It’s pricey and… you know. Explodey.”

Loki looked around the table, brows furrowed.

“And Jane’s notes on the bifrost would have been included in her work- it, too, is an energy source, though one they cannot hope to harness. Even still… I agree with Tony, uncommon as that is. If you’ve any way of tracking large energy movements, it may be worth mapping that against the places we’ve been to that were HYDRA’s, and perhaps to choose places we should look into next.”

It just felt like there was too much to do- Steve was healing, slowly, but even still, making progress. And Loki needed to stay close to ensure he was able to continue. But he also needed to make more progress of his own, with Natasha, to prepare for Thanos. The day would come eventually, and he needed to be ready. And HYDRA refused to roll over and die, no matter how much of its roots they thought they had scorched. He wouldn’t give them another opportunity to hurt Steve again.

But he needed to recover more fully before he should-- could-- take on any of that. It was frustrating, and sent him leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms, and hoping that no one would ask for him to do anything, so he wouldn’t have to vocalize his weakness.

  
  


“We’ll probably want to notify several governments to keep their eyes on any nuclear material they’ve got and make sure it’s all accounted for,” Carter noted. “Stark, make sure all your R&D is on high alert. Murray, reach out to Roxxon and other major tech corporations to warn them about possible attacks on energy-based projects. I’ll see if we can get a hold of anyone at CERN and make sure they up their security, in case HYDRA tries to get their hands on any more antimatter there.”

“Speaking of,” Jane piped in, “can I get a copy of the manifest from the ship to know how much antimatter was listed?”

Carter agreed, and a few more topics were covered. The sailors who had been aboard the ship and hadn’t been secretly HYDRA had all been vetted and returned to their homes, barring one who was under precautionary observation for a concussion -- and Steve was relieved to hear that the non-HYDRA casualties from the incident appeared to be nil.

Still, it bothered him that, after all this time, it still felt like they were chasing after HYDRA without an understanding of what the hell they were doing. Back in the war, they’d sussed out Schmidt’s plan from their intel and worked directly to head him off and keep him from accomplishing his goals to decimate world capitals and wipe out governments that might resist his new world order.

Now...

“Do we know what they _want_?” he asked, as the rest of the table fell quiet. “We know they’re assembling all this tech, all these resources -- we know they went after me to learn about the serum. But what’s their endgame? Those moles Fury found -- have any of them talked?”

  
  


“Every mole we’ve turned over so far is dead.” Natasha said evenly. “Not all by their own doing- which means there’s still more we haven’t found yet. And that means while we try and figure out what they want, we need to keep as cut off from SHIELD as possible. And low tech as much as we can- No offense, Tony, but Garza managed to get in her first day working with us, so you aren’t as secure as your ego wants you to think.”

Loki didn’t miss the way Natasha looked between Tony and Garza, nor the way Tony raised his hands, but most of his attention was truly on Steve.

He was, again, seeing the bigger picture.

“Weapons. Transport. A way of enhancing their soldiers. It does sound a bit as if they expect to begin a war. At least, that would be my guess-” he looked around the table, and immediately wished he’d kept his mouth shut, as he’d just managed to remind them all, once again, that he was the only would-be conqueror present. And also stating the obvious. Immediately after humiliating himself and endangering the others on a mission, and while presently useless.

He tried not to collapse in on himself, but it was a near thing, stopped only by the reminder that Steve was here to see it, and would only feel guilty for not being able to shoulder Loki’s burdens.

He maintained his composure. Barely.

  
  


A war. _Again_.

Steve inhaled through his nose. It did make sense; you took a super soldier if you wanted to make more of your own. And SHIELD had taken one look at the tesseract, with all its power, and promptly turned to making weapons out of it. How much worse would HYDRA be with energy like that in their hands?

“I digitized a lot of the files we recovered, but when we scanned them earlier, we were mostly looking for anything that could lead us to Steve,” Bruce said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe we oughta go back through them with some different perspective?”

“I’ve been going through them for data and any advances their scientists have made in wormhole physics,” Jane piped in. “We can use my lab, since half the boxes are down there anyway. And if we’re working with the hard copies, we won’t have to worry about anyone figuring out what we’re looking for.”

“I’ll make a Starbucks run,” Darcy sighed. “But y’all have to pay me back this time.”

“I have some direct lines to both Fury and Hill that are secure,” Carter announced, facing Natasha, “but I’ll be moving my team back into the New York safehouse and operating from here. We’re clean, and I know a few people who operate under the radar that I think we can trust if we really need backup, but we can limit contact with the rest of SHIELD until Fury’s done cleaning house.” She didn’t look happy about anything she was saying, but, Steve noted, she seemed to be on the same page as Natasha, the both of them heading their respective teams and working cooperatively.

(He could see Peggy so clearly in that pragmatism, and it made something in his chest tighten ever so slightly.)

  
  


Natasha nodded along, but shot a quick glance toward Steve and Loki before she spoke up.

“Actually, I have a couple of questions for one of your team members before we go ahead and give everyone access to the hard copies.” She had to be careful how she approached it, of course- not wanting to step on Sharon’s toes, or let Steve find out exactly what they had.

“Among some of the files we found videos, from Loki’s time in SHIELD’s holding. Videos that were not in SHIELD’s archives, because Garza said that she had destroyed them. Which begs the question of what they were doing in a Hydra base. And also makes me wonder if maybe that same leak isn’t how the magic dampeners that Tony managed to pick up from SHIELD during the brief time they were online also ended up in Hydra hands.”

She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall, eyes on Garza.

It was better to do this here to save having to explain ten times if something went wrong, and also because the people best equipped to handle it were all in this room.

Natasha saw the way Loki had stiffened in his seat from the corner of her eye, and though she wasn’t sure where he was on magical recovery, she had a feeling that if he had enough, he now had a knife in his hand, under the table.

She shook her head minutely, hoping that would communicate enough.

“Garza?” She prompted. “Any idea how footage under your control managed to get scraped off of the cutting room floor at SHIELD and sent to Hydra?”

  
  


Steve tensed up as soon as he realized what Natasha was saying. HYDRA had footage of Loki’s captivity; of Loki’s weaknesses.

Of _them._

(And Natasha had known, but she hadn’t said anything until now...)

“What?” Garza demanded, looking stunned. Beside her, Carter had frozen, and then frowned.

“Romanoff, if you’re accusing one of my people of something--”

“You think I’d work with _them_?” Garza interrupted, voice cracking in indignation and distress. “With-- with HYDRA? Are you crazy?”

Everyone else in Carter’s team shifted, a few of them stepping closer to Garza, as if closing ranks.

  
  


It was almost touching how loyal the rest of Carter’s team was, how little doubt they had that this accusation was missing its mark. And if not for the fact that she didn’t believe in coincidence, she might be doubting it herself.

“It was your department.” She said, voice calm and level. “And from what I’ve seen, you’re no slouch when it comes to security-- again, you bested Tony’s on your first day here. So if not you, then someone better than you, which, I think it’s fair to say most people in specialized fields keep tabs on their competition. Or, if not better than you remotely, then someone who had to be working closely with you at SHIELD. That isn’t a lot of options, and I’m curious to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

She glanced briefly at Carter.

“I realize you cleared each of your team members before you came here, but as none of us were privy to the process, you’ll have to forgive my being a little cautious.”

She glanced back around at her own team, giving silent permission for the rest of them to speak up if they’d noticed anything out of the ordinary as well.

  
  


Garza’s eyes were bright, and Steve felt a pang of sympathy as he watched her. “I don’t _know,”_ she said through gritted teeth. “If I did-- if I’d noticed any holes or suspected anyone I’d have _stopped it._ There’s plenty of tech specialists higher up than me, but--” she shook her head, looking helpless, shoulders slumping, and she looked torn between anger and despair.

“It could have been me,” Murray blurted abruptly.

Everyone stopped and turned to him, Carter looking perplexed. “Ben--”

“The security feeds in SHIELD are wired,” he explained. “No one wants to risk a signal getting intercepted, so there’s no remote signals. Everything runs through cables between the cameras and the monitoring stations to make it harder to hack. Which means if-- if someone intercepted the feed--”

“They would have had to do it between the cell and the monitoring station,” Carter concluded.

“And... any footage I deleted from the servers... If they were cloning the data by splicing the feed from the cable and not copying it from the servers, it would explain how they got the footage I destroyed,” Garza realized, staring up at Murray with a weak and watery smile.

“Which means it might not have been someone in the tech department at all,” Bradley added, a tad more sour. “Meaning the suspect pool got a hell of a lot wider.”

“Or it could have just been the HYDRA agent we already know about with access to Loki’s cell, and the camera in it,” Steve muttered, feeling ill.

  
  


Natasha sucked on her teeth, considering, then nodded.

“I hope you’ll pass that on to Fury, then?” She asked Sharon. “He needs to go over the wiring with a fine toothed comb, along with everything else.”

She sighed and looked back at Garza.

“I apologize. And if it helps-- if you weren’t good, if you weren’t worth having here, one- you would never have made it, and two, we would have sent you back on just the suspicion.” She looked to Carter again and nodded.

“Every security flaw is a chance of something like Steve going missing happening again. They were well informed, it was well executed, and they were able to hold him thanks to a long term leak at SHIELD that included tech and, we assume, medical information. We have to be damn sure that they don’t know we’re coming for them now, that they don’t know what we know, and, vitally, that they don’t learn anything more about us that will give them the upper hand. So- Tony, Garza-- maybe we should do some fine toothed combing of our own? And in the meantime, I still want this kept as low tech as possible. If that means writing notes that you eat when you’re done with them, I’m fine with it.”

“Let’s avoid the pica, I’ll buy some dry erase boards or something.” Tony said, waving his hand, probably for JARVIS to make a note.

Loki frowned, aware of Steve’s upset. He looked towards him, trying to gauge if it was too much, if he should try and end the meeting, or get him to leave.

The reminder of Scofield was obviously doing him no favors, but he wasn’t certain-- it seemed he was alright, for the time being.

He leaned toward him, to try and have some small amount of privacy while the others were concerned with figuring out a secure means of communication.

“Elskan? Are you alright?” He asked, words barely a whisper.

  
  


“Fine,” Steve murmured back, knowing exactly what they were both thinking of. “Just... not sure if I’m glad he’s dead, or disappointed I don’t get to do it myself,” he replied with a small, wry twist of his mouth.

Any further conversation was interrupted though, by the screech of Garza’s chair as she pushed it back, standing abruptly.

“You _apologize?”_ she said incredulously, cheeks turning bright red as she stared at Natasha. “‘ _You’re good enough at your job that we didn’t just fire you when we thought you might be a squid nazi for no goddamn reason’_ \-- that’s meant to be an apology? Fuck that!” She looked about to cry again. Murray reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off.

“I know we’re not important,” she continued, gesturing to the SHIELD team. “We don’t have superpowers or anything, we’re just-- just the backup. I do the tech stuff Stark is too busy to do. I get that, I’m-- it’s what I signed up for, and I’m fine with it. But you’re supposed to be a god damn _superspy_ , and you couldn’t spend ten seconds on Google to learn ‘Garza’ is a common _sephardic jewish surname?_ ” Her voice cracked again.

“Sarah,” Carter began softly, but Garza drew back, shaking her head.

“If you’re gonna go around accusing your allies of teaming up with the guys who were too fascist for the fuhrer, you’d better have some damn evidence or do your homework -- or you’re probably gonna run out of friends real soon,” she concluded, before turning and running out of the room.

Stunned silence reigned for a moment; then Ferra, and, surprisingly, Darcy followed after her.

“...Well, shit,” Tony said after a second’s pause.

“Can we talk after this?” Carter said to Natasha, a coldness to her voice and expression that no longer reminded Steve of any part of Peggy he’d known.

  
  


“Of course.” Natasha answered, internally sighing.

She didn’t make a move to defend herself here, though; those who most needed to hear it had already left, and emotions were running too high.

For Loki’s part, what had begun as a tight lipped smirk about Scofield’s fate had turned into a frown; he was reminded again of just how young the majority of Murray’s teammates were. Hardly more than children.

He didn’t have the sort of rapport with Garza that he did with Ferra and Murray, but he wondered if he should say something, try to comfort her. After all, he knew how it felt to have suspicions leveled at him. Though, at least in his case, those suspicions were all well deserved.

Probably it would not help, then, to be comforted by a one-time attempted dictator.

And he could not help but look worriedly between Natasha and Agent Carter. The friction surrounding their respective commanding roles was one he’d noticed and made some effort to play off of, in the past. No doubt he could have-- should have, put some effort into easing it, once he’d realized it was not a tool that he needed to make use of.

But that was a regret and opportunity for it was passed.

He could only wonder what the outcome would be, and hope that today’s meeting had not lost them allies, as Garza had said.

“Anything else we need to go over, or does that about wrap it up?” Clint asked, though he managed to sound abashed as he spoke up.

  
  


Steve abruptly felt a warring mix of impulses.

Part of him wanted to go after Garza and offer reassurance and mend the damage within the team; they couldn’t afford to lose what few reliable SHIELD allies they had, after all. But out of all of them, Garza probably knew him the least, and if he tried to go and smooth things over as Captain America, he’d be in danger of undermining Natasha’s authority.

He also wanted to check in with Natasha to follow up about just how much SHIELD video HYDRA had -- but she and Carter would probably want to meet, so that would have to wait.

He felt he ought to say something aloud to the team; something rallying and comforting. But he had no idea what to say, and felt less and less sure he of all people had any right to say it. He couldn’t help but feel like the nexus of all their HYDRA fears, his disappearance having heightened their paranoia, and he clearly was no longer in any position of leadership.

So ultimately, he stayed silent until the meeting was dismissed, staying close to Loki as they made their way to the elevator.

“Did you know HYDRA had all that video of you in your cell?” He supposed it wasn’t a huge surprise -- Scofield had known plenty, and even without footage, his intel would have been passed on to the men he was working for. But something about it still made Steve’s insides clench.

  
  


Loki slowed his walk so his strides would be better matched to Steve’s, easier for him to keep up with. Even though a part of him wanted nothing more than to run for their rooms and be grateful for what they hadn’t said-- to hide before they could change their minds and start asking questions.

Instead, he kept his composure and chose his words carefully.

“I suppose I had assumed as much, yes. There being a mole and them having access to information about me, I took it as a given that they would have passed it on. If SHIELD was interested enough in my seidhr and knowledge, I can only imagine HYDRA was at the very least matched in interest. As for the video that was destroyed on SHIELD’s end, but which HYDRA had… I was there when Natasha discovered it. It didn’t occur to me to think that Garza might have been a spy, though.”

And it was true; he’d noticed Natasha watching her, but hadn’t put two and two together, which left him feeling bitterly stupid.

Worse, though, was that he had not considered until now what that meant for Steve; Loki was hardly the only one on those videos.

“I’m sorry,” He said, stopping short. “I didn’t think to ask if-- was that used against you?” He spoke gently, afraid to send Steve spiraling, and mentally braced himself for further news about how he and his actions had been used to hurt Steve.

  
  


Steve grimaced. He didn’t want to talk about his time in captivity -- didn’t want to think about it, just wanted it behind him -- but he could give Loki an answer about that much. “No, I don’t think so. Scofield was a jerk, but mainly about stuff I already would have figured he knew,” he said with a calculatedly nonchalant shrug.

He was grateful, at least, that the revelation hadn’t been a nasty surprise for Loki just now, and that Natasha hadn’t kept it from him. That they’d both kept it from Steve rankled a little, but he reminded himself as they got in the elevator back to their floor, that given his present failings, nobody owed him all that much about the team’s state. That he’d been allowed to sit in on a debrief for a mission he’d had no part in at all was more of a courtesy than anything else.

“How’re you doing?” he ventured once they got back to their own floor, hoping to suss out how Loki felt in the aftermath of the meeting, during which no one had mentioned his frost giant form much at all.

  
  


He nodded jerkily.

“I’m glad.” He said shortly, willing to leave it at that. Steve’s expression said enough about his willingness to discuss Scofield or the videos any further.

Which was, he supposed, for the best. He still didn’t like lying to Steve, and if he asked many more questions, well…

“I am… fine. It does feel a little like, in speaking with Natasha, we’ve created an elephant in the room, but. It’s also clearly not the most pressing thing. Perhaps everyone will forget about it, in light of the work ahead of us and the… ah, misunderstanding with Garza.” Loki paused, then sighed.

“I keep forgetting how young they-- you-- all are. None of you seem to act it, save for times like that.”

  
  


That gave him pause. Steve, of course, was aware of how young Murray, Garza and Bradley were. It wasn’t that many years between him and them (at least, biologically), but he also didn’t consider himself to be in the same age bracket. He’d come up in a time when everyone had to grow up faster, after all, and there were seventeen and eighteen-year-olds out fighting on the front. And where everyone else (well, alright, mostly Stark) joked about his advanced chronological age, it was odd to hear Loki describe _him_ as young along with the rest.

“They’re all tired. It was a rough mission, even after some sleep, everyone’s still recovering. I think with a little more time, it’ll all even out,” he said, heading into the kitchen. “And... Honestly, I don’t think you turning blue mattered as much to everyone else as it does to you. They’ve seen you change genders and use magic and all other kinds of strange things -- turning into another alien race kinda gets thrown into that same bowl of weird that we’ve all learned to roll with when it comes to you.”

  
  


Loki shot him a crooked smile.

“Steve, you flatterer.”

He let the expression fall away quickly enough, though, and was thoughtful.

“I hope it does even out. And I wonder-- Natasha said nothing to me of her suspicions, not that I think she would count me as a confidant, but… even Clint seemed surprised. As you said, it was a rough mission. I know she does not blame me for the near miss with hers and Bruce and Clint’s lives, but what of herself? With a leader so closed off as all that, it’s little wonder that some excess suspicion is seeping out the edges. I wonder if she has anyone to speak to-- if she and Carter could see eye to eye, perhaps that would be a good match. They certainly both seem to have the talent for it.”

He glanced sidelong at Steve.

“I… played the two of them off of one another, while you were gone, to manipulate them into doing as I felt was necessary to find you. I must admit to feeling some responsibility for the state of their relationship now. But maybe I can help to mend it, as well.” He shrugged. “At least, I will do what I can. And you? How are you doing, after all of that?”

  
  


Steve looked at Loki sidelong when he mentioned playing Natasha and Sharon off of one another, unsure of how much stock to put in that -- neither woman seemed easily played -- but held his tongue. He did have a point though, about Natasha being too closed off. Steve had been there himself, made similar mistakes, and knew how heavy the burden she was now shouldering could be.

He would talk to her. Perhaps offer what insight he could, or simply listen. Just... not right now.

“I’m alright,” he answered, busying himself with putting the kettle on. “I was thinking... If you’re okay, I might go to group this evening. I missed the last session. But if you’d rather I stick around--” and Steve was frankly a little loathe to let Loki out of his sight for long, “--I can just go next week.”

  
  


After allowing Steve to think he’d died- and potentially taken all of his friends with him-- the last thing Loki wanted was to fail him by being selfish and getting in the way of his being able to speak about it.

Goodness knew Steve couldn’t stand to talk to him about such things.

Not anymore.

“Of course; I’ll be fine if you’d like to go. I’m sure it will probably help, after... Everything.”

No matter how much Loki tried to protect him, Steve still managed to get hurt. He deserved better; deserved to be able to feel better. And group seemed to help him do that.

Bandages for the hundred small wounds Loki caused, just by being around him.

And he knew such thinking was only him wallowing in misery after the mission; but better he do it in the privacy of his mind without laying voice to it. Better still if Steve went away for a bit, and he could exorcise himself of it before he returned.

“Should I wait for dinner with you, or do you think you’ll go out after?” He asked, careful to keep his tone bland and… interested, but not jealous. Tried not to have any concerns that could be seen or heard.

He only hoped he’d gotten better at it than he used to be.

  
  


Steve thought about it. Sam would almost certainly want to follow up, given the near-meltdown Steve had subjected him to, so it would only be courteous to make time for that. But at the same time, he didn’t want to be away from Loki for long. Not when the reminder of how easily he could lost him made every second feel precious.

“How about I text you when I’m leaving, and I’ll pick something up on my way home?” he offered. “Spares us having to cook. You in the mood for anything in particular?”

  
  


Loki inclined his head, doing his best to be gracious despite the relative non-answer.

“I can’t think of anything special, but I think anything will be good, provided it’s warm.”

He flashed him a quick smile, then nodded toward the kettle that he was putting on.

“Though I think you’ve read my mind, as far as that’s concerned.”

He didn’t actually feel cold anymore, but the memory of it lingered, like an unpleasant taste on the back of his tongue.

“Are you… will you be okay getting there? I know we had this discussion and you have Stark’s creation, but. It has been, as you said, a difficult day or two. I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

  
  


Steve shot a smile over his shoulder as he recovered a pair of mugs from the cabinet. “I’ve got the holo-shield brace, and I think I’ll be okay. But if anything comes up, I’ll give JARVIS a call. Or just call you directly, if I need you to come get me,” he assured him.

A few days ago, the need to make that reassurance -- that he wasn’t completely incapable, that he wasn’t an inept weakling -- might have grated on his nerves (it had been a reassurance he’d given to well-meaning people for most of his younger life, after all.) But now, he figured they could both use a bit of verbal bolstering and comfort.

So he made them both tea, which they drank while making idle conversation that covered some more details of the mission, but steered away from any overly charged topics. Afterward they sat on the couch to watch an episode of a nature documentary JARVIS had recorded, Steve leaning against the pillow between them, feeling Loki’s solidity on the other side.

And when the time rolled around for Steve to put on his coat and head for group, he barely hesitated at all before leaning in and pecking a quick kiss to Loki’s cheek.

“I’ll text you soon,” he told him.

  
  


Loki watched him go with mingled relief and fear.

It would be nice to take off the masks for a bit, take down the walls he’d erected to hide the burden of his emotions behind.

But there was the fear that his lies weren’t as solid as they had been, and Steve would see that Loki was barely stable enough to stay afloat, much less to hold up his partner.

Or maybe he already knew. Maybe that was why it was easier for him to talk to someone else, easier to explain his feelings, his hurts, his nightmares, to a stranger than to Loki.

He took a deep breath, turned the kettle back on, and debated the best way to let out some of his pent up feelings. Something that wouldn’t result in any messes that couldn’t be cleaned or questions when Steve got home.

  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will not be a Little Talks update next week, but we will be back in a fortnight!


	106. One Hundred Six

He hadn’t expected to see Jack so soon after The Scare-- that was what he was calling it in his head, given the lack of information to call it anything smarter. He had gotten the message about Luke getting home, complete with photo, but no further explanation.

It was a little bit of a weird coincidence how all these new photos of the Avengers were showing up, but he did gather that they’d gone to rescue a ship’s worth of crew from some sort of disaster. An odd job, and odder still that they would bring along a medical R&D guy, if that _was_ what Luke had been doing. But he knew so frustratingly little…

His eye did catch on a picture from the news story, apparently from the phone of one of the folks on the ship that had ended up collecting the crew from the Avengers’ quinjet.

In it, there was a green blob that could only be The Hulk, two figures laid out on top of him. One of them had bright red hair that stood out like a flag on the green background.

But that didn’t mean…

Much.

Maybe.

All it meant was that when Jack showed up for group, he was buzzing with more questions than usual, and not even sure if he’d get a chance to ask them. There was no telling what sort of shape Luke might be in, or how controlling he might be this time.

But Sam knew he’d have to take what he could get; at the very least he intended to make sure Jack was alright.

“So who wants to speak first today?” He asked, the opening talk coming to a close. He looked around the circle, trying hard not to play favorites or show a bias. “Anyone have something they want to celebrate, or get off their chests?”

  
  


Steve saw Sam try to catch his eye, but he quickly looked down -- still not ready, when he was so shaken from everything, to do much sharing.

Instead he listened as Marcy talked about getting a job offer she was excited to take, for a place whose work environment she felt would be a lot better. Craig had finally cleaned out the closet and taken his lost loved one’s old coats and warm clothing to a shelter to donate. Trey had gotten approval on a lease so he could move out of his mother’s place, and he was equal parts anxious and excited to get a measure of autonomy back. Allison had refilled her medication on time and hadn’t skipped on or rescheduled any of her therapy appointments all month.

There were smiles and nods and encouraging words, as everyone supported the celebration of tiny victories that may have seemed inconsequential somewhere else, but which were worthy of note here. Steve thought of shaking Cole’s hand, or walking without the cane, or working things out with Loki in regards to him going to group alone without things descending into a fight, and suspected they would all be treated with the same gravitas.

“Hey man,” Trey said once Hannah had finished her share, looking at him sideways, “ain’t none of us gonna make you open up your soul over any dark shit you don’t want to talk about, but you’ve gotta have something happy going on, right?”

There was a murmur of agreement, and several supportive smiles turned his way.

Steve froze, looking up at Sam, whose brow was slightly furrowed. And he _knew_ he could decline, if he wanted to... He wouldn’t forfeit his place here.

But it was an easy enough thing, just sharing something positive. And a little victory.

“I’m Jack,” he said, clearing his throat. As easy as being on stage in the Captain America costume in front of hundreds of people had become over the years, sitting here in the false role of Jack Simon in front of half a dozen pairs of eyes was abruptly far more daunting. “I, ah. I haven’t been so good with... physical contact, lately. But, um.” He licked his lips, then smiled softly down at the scuffed vinyl flooring. “For Valentine’s Day, I actually kissed my partner again.”

The gentle applause he earned and the huge, grinning thumbs up from Trey made him feel warm, despite the shoddy heating of the church basement.

  
  


Sam smiled at that, giving Jack an encouraging nod to go along with the soft clapping that followed.

“That’s great.” He said softly, “Though as a reminder, we don’t single anyone out to contribute, if they don’t volunteer. I might, from time to time, but only if someone approaches me with something they want to share first.” It wasn’t a strong reprimand, though, and he was glad that something had come easily to mind for Jack, because ‘the other day my partner didn’t die when I thought he did’ would be much harder to brush past-- and if he was in a headspace where nothing seemed to be going right, that could have been a major blow.

But Jack was so used to having to keep secrets, it was little wonder he didn’t speak up more.

“Still, good to hear everyone’s making progress at their own paces. And it’s worth taking a little bit of time-- I know I say not to get caught up in the past too much, not to let it drag you down, but sometimes it can be helpful to look back and acknowledge how far you’ve come. It may not feel like much when you’re living it, but every step counts.”

He looked around the circle, and gave everyone a fairly broad smile.

“How about those new year’s resolutions? Everybody still on the wagon, or do we need to make some adjustments?”

And around they went again.

It was good, easy, even. Supportive no matter what the answers were, and he was damn lucky to have such a good group.

Though his eyes kept straying towards Jack, who looked surprisingly put together, considering how he’d sounded on the phone not that long ago.

  
  


Steve didn’t contribute much, but he listened and nodded and stayed engaged, refusing to let his mind wander back to the tower and all the tribulations and troubles it held. Instead he concentrated on the resolutions people discussed, their triumphs and their setbacks.

During the break, Trey looked at him sheepishly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to put you on the spot or anything,” he said, looking genuinely contrite.

Steve shook his head. “Nah. It was... The good stuff is easier. And I needed the push.” He probably wouldn’t have spoken up otherwise, and it had been surprisingly painless. No one had reacted badly to Jack Simon having a ‘partner’ and presumably being queer, and everyone had been happy for him. It was... nice.

Trey nodded, smiling. “Baby steps, man. Just keep taking baby steps.”

The rest of the session seemed to fly by, buoyed by a fairly positive mood. Soon enough people were bidding their goodbyes, and Steve was helping to fold up chairs, staying mindful of the weight of the still-bulky shield-brace on his arm.

  
  


“Gotta say, man, even if our coffee hour ends up being a thing of the past, I definitely miss having a chair stacking buddy the days you don’t make it.” Sam kept it light, not turning it into a quip rather than an accusation.

Still, he was pretty aware of how Jack had been tied to his phone recently, and how, with the miscommunication, he might be on edge, it was probably better to try and talk now, rather than counting on having more time.

“How you doing? The other day sounded pretty rough, and I know I didn’t get all of it.”

  
  


Steve checked to make sure everyone was gone -- Marcy was checking her phone in the hallway, but out of hearing range -- before responding. “I’m alright. Yesterday was rough, but... I really appreciate you picking up. It meant a lot, and it was really good to have someone to talk to. And I’m real sorry I dumped all that on you first thing in the morning,” he said, watching Sam carefully, trying to judge if he’d overstepped any particular line in calling him the way he had. Sam did this as a volunteer, after all.

“Pretty sure I owe you at least a coffee for that,” he added, hanging up one of the chairs.

  
  


“Well you know I’m happy to take you up on that anytime.” Sam assured him. “And really, I’m glad you called. Better than anything you might have done if left to your own devices, I’d bet. How’s Luke?”

All he’d gotten was a blurry photo, and while a picture could tell a thousand words, he could have been wrong with all of them. Still, dude got home and passed right out, didn’t point to things going smooth and easy and according to plan. Unless the plan had been an eighteen hour day or something.

  
  


Steve faltered briefly, mind flitting back to the ‘joke’ he’d made with Natasha the other day in an unguarded moment. He wasn’t wholly sure what he would have done if Sam hadn’t answered, or if Loki and the others hadn’t survived, and he was frankly afraid to examine that too closely.

“Luke’s okay,” he managed after what he hoped wasn’t an overly conspicuous pause. “Exhausted, and a little worse for wear, but. He’s alive. And he saved a few other people while he was at it,” he added with a small, proud smile. _More than a few,_ really, but he had to keep the scope believable for the fiction of Jack and Luke. “I’m gonna pick up dinner on my way home, but if you wanna grab a quick cup of coffee first...?”

  
  


Sam couldn’t help but let out a surprised little chuckle at that.

“Lookit you, dating a bona fide hero. That’s great, though, glad to hear it. Glad he made it back, and things’re gonna be alright. And yeah, I’m free for coffee.”

He racked up the last of the chairs and turned to watch Jack doing his last.

He hadn’t noticed before, but he was moving his arm a little gingerly, and it was a bit bulkier under his sleeve than usual-- a brace, he figured, and with a sinking feeling, he suddenly wasn’t so sure that Jack hadn’t done something stupid and hurt himself in all the uncertainty after all.

But he’d wait to bring it up, at least until they were sitting down with some hot drinks. Even if he did run the risk of getting one in the face; at this point, he didn’t think it was Jack’s style.

“You wanna go to our usual place, or did you have somewhere in mind for dinner? We can aim that direction, if it’s more convenient.”

  
  


_Bona fide hero indeed._ The thought made him smile a little broader. No matter what Loki thought of his performance, from what Natasha said, he’d helped really save the day. Steve was damn proud of him. He’d have to keep working on making sure Loki knew that.

He shrugged in response to Sam’s question. “There’s about a dozen places between here and home I can stop at, so I’m not too worried. Let’s do the usual.” He was leaning toward getting them something from the noodle bar that had opened up just around the corner from the tower anyhow.

“How’ve you been? Besides incredibly patient?” he asked as they finished tidying up and headed for the door, pulling on his scarf and gloves in preparation for the cold, pausing to fumble with his phone to let Loki know he’d be a little while longer.

  
  


Sam laughed.

“Don’t say that too loud, my gramma will show up just to tell you how wrong you are, on account of the number of plants I’ve murdered.” He shook his head, but didn’t miss that Jack was apparently still on his texting leash.

Which was still better than he’d expected, considering that call.

He waited for Jack to finish his text, just in case he was one of those folks who was no good at multitasking, busying himself with his own hat and gloves and scarf and coat and all the fiddling that came with them.

“I’m good. Still trying to convince the new VA receptionist that I’m not boring, but when half your life’s classified, what’re you gonna do?” He shrugged. “Otherwise, a lot of the same old. How about you? Other than yesterday, of course.”

  
  


Steve chuckled. “Boy, do I know that feeling,” he muttered sympathetically, thinking about the impossibility of having a social life when he worked at SHIELD, beyond occasional after-hours drinks with other agents. Hell, half the reason he’d spent so much time talking to Loki down in his cell back in those early days had probably been plain old loneliness.

He pocketed his phone, then snorted at the question. “ ‘ _Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?’_ ” he quipped dryly, then shook his head. “Sorry. Um. Yesterday was... a lot. Other than that, things have been....”

He trailed off. Things had been good, or had _seemed_ as much, but with HYDRA still active and working to some goal and the threat of a schism between the Avengers and Carter’s team, he wasn’t sure how much of that had been his own ignorance.

“I need to get back into fighting condition,” he said instead.

  
  


Sam let out a low whistle.

“That good huh?”

He shook his head ruefully, aware that his scarf was gonna start muffling his voice when he pulled it up in about a second, but fortunately it wasn’t a long walk.

“That’s a tall order, Jack. I mean, losing a cane is one thing, and even then, that was fast, but pushing yourself… well, I know we talked about how that’s a bad idea. You can end up hurt worse than where you started. Just promise if you’re gonna try, you do it right. With doctors’ orders and all.”

He gestured at the injured arm.

“And less of whatever caused that. How bad is it?”

  
  


Steve fought not to roll his eyes. After all, Sam had no way of knowing Steve had access to magical healing, or that his body would (hopefully) start to repair itself at an accelerated pace as the serum kicked back into gear. And for the average person’s physiology, it was sound advice. “I have a physical therapist,” he reminded him. “I’m not gonna go about it stupid. But I need to start working on everything with the goal of getting back into the field.”

He’d be damned if he’d sit out one more mission than he had to, waiting helplessly for news of whether or not the people he cared about had made it out alive.

Sam’s next question caught him off guard, and it took him a second to realize what he meant. When he did though, the lie he’d practiced earlier while wrapping an ace bandage over the bracer came easily enough: “It’s just a sprain -- I slipped on some ice.”

  
  


“Yeah, I’m sure you got a physical therapist. I’m also sure, knowing you-- much as I do, I mean-- that you do what they say, and then some. Just remember what I said today-- you might be measuring yourself against your peak, but try measuring against your lowest low sometime, so you don’t get frustrated with how long it takes. Bodies take time, man. You gotta let them.”

As for slipping on ice, it wasn’t unheard of or even unlikely. Heck, in a state of recovery, a sprain was lucky. So he let that one go, but wasn’t about to forget it.

Just in case.

He huffed, the air in front of him clouding from the heat of it, even through his scarf.

“I’m about sick of ice. I know we’re nowhere near the end of it, but I could do with about twenty more degrees right about now. Thirty, if I was feeling greedy.”

  
  


“Nah, it used to get way colder than this,” Steve replied with a smirk. _Colder, and the snow piled higher, and the old stove would creak and groan as if threatening to give out before winter’s end..._

There was a flood of nostalgia there that he quickly dammed up. He didn’t need the reminder of what he’d already lost; he was all too keenly aware of what he still stood to lose.

And so he shook his head, burying his hands deeper into his pockets and stepping gingerly over a puddle of slush. “I know it takes time -- hell, it’s _been_ taking time. But I have to do something, Sam. I can’t keep being _helpless_.”

  
  


“Global warming’s good for something, I guess.” He quipped.

 _Used to get colder than this_ ; who’d this guy think he was? He was what, thirty? Sam probably had him beat by a year or five.

Hard to tell, though, even with the weight he’d been putting on.

As for the rest- Sam sighed.

“There’s helpless, and there’s reckless. Just try and make sure you stick a landing somewhere inbetween.”

He reached forward and pulled open the door to the coffee shop, pulling his scarf down simultaneously.

“I’ll grab the table?” he asked, just to be sure the offer of buying still stood.

  
  


Steve nodded, and lined up at the counter, returning to their usual corner table a few minutes later with both his and Sam’s usual orders, feeling some comfort in the sense of routine it all had. Though Sam’s words about helplessness and recklessness sounded so much like the chiding Bucky would have given him back in the day, Steve felt some of his comfort eroded by a bittersweet nostalgia.

“I just don’t think,” he said, sitting down in the seat that afforded him the best view of the door, “that I can handle going through... yesterday, again. It’s one thing when people I care about take risks and I’m there to watch their backs, but being left at home and being useless--” whether it was sitting in the tower while Loki dealt with an antimatter bomb, or doing the show circuit while Bucky was shot at by German soldiers, “-- I can’t stomach that. Whatever I have to do to make sure I can protect the folks I love, I’m gonna do it.”

He always had.

  
  


Sam nodded, giving him a hard once-over.

“Alright, I can understand that. So practical question-- and if this is too nosy or whatever, go ahead and tell me to butt out. But how far off are you from bare minimum that’d get you out in the field? Do you have baseline requirements for whatever it is you do?”

As usual, the coffee was slightly too hot to drink yet, so he pulled the top off to let it cool for a minute.

“I’m just saying, I gotta stay in shape too, so if you need a spotter or a workout buddy…”

He wasn’t entirely sure of the motivation behind offering more and more time with this guy, but he knew it was easy. Something about him made Sam relax in a way he didn’t usually, secrets and all.

And maybe some of it was concern; after all, half those secrets could be hiding some kind of domestic abuse, and what little Sam knew about him just made Sam want to protect him, somehow, which was probably why they got along so well. That same protective streak, that same hatred for feeling useless.

  
  


Steve pursed his lips. The truth was, he didn’t know -- and he couldn’t predict the pace of his healing, as it didn’t seem from what Betty said that it would be a linear thing. He could be months, or weeks away from being field-ready, and he had no idea. “I’m not sure where I’m at, truth be told -- though physio’s been going well lately. I gotta be at least up to boot camp fitness standards, though.”

He was sorely tempted by the offer of spotting -- but that would require either him to go out to Sam’s gym (giving Loki more to worry over) or inviting Sam to the tower facilities, which was just not something he was ready for. And if he got too strong too quickly as the serum re-established itself, there would be a lot of questions he didn’t know yet how to answer.

“I’ll keep that offer in mind,” was all he said, noncommittally, sipping his coffee with a grateful smile.

“So, how’s the family doing?” he asked.

  
  


“Oh yeah, they’re good.” Sam told him with a nod, putting his lid back on and taking a sip.

He tried not to feel disappointed, or rejected or anything like that, and reminded himself that he had rules about keeping a safe distance from the people in his groups, anyway.

Rules that he was actively breaking already, but you know. No need to press his luck.

“I got asked to come over and look intimidating the other day for my niece’s first date. He seems like a good kid, way more gracious than I was at that age. Didn’t even bat an eye. I might have bruises on my arm from the niece, though. She didn’t appreciate the message we were sending, and, gotta hand it to her, she’s got a point.” He shrugged, bypassing any awkwardness by grabbing the new topic with both hands.

“How bout the rest of your friends? They made it back okay, too? I don’t have to mourn the terrifying beauty that is your friend who signed you up, do I?”

He was pretty sure Jack would have said by now if anyone he knew had died recently; he probably wouldn’t have been able to keep it hidden, in fact, so it seemed safe enough to joke about. He hoped.

  
  


Steve chuckled and shook his head. “She’s fine. They’re all fine, thank god.” He sipped his coffee and relaxed a little as the warmth of it spread through him. “Can’t say I blame your niece. Though I’ve never been asked to give the shovel talk either...”

He paused, then grinned at Sam. “You know, she’s not _that_ terrifying, if you’re on her good side,” he told him.

  
  


Sam barked out a short little laugh.

“She’s about as protective of you as I am of my niece-- you shoulda heard, it wasn’t quite a shovel talk, too damn subtle for that, but. When she came by before she signed you up, I was wondering what the hell we were getting ourselves into.” He chuckled softly and shook his head, not bringing up the fact that he still didn’t know.

“ _Scary_.” He repeated. “Not saying I’m not into it, but you aren’t gonna convince me she’s some kind of teddy bear, either.”

  
  


“Not a teddy bear,” Steve acknowledged, “but she’s not exactly a grizzly either.”

It was a little funny to think that Natasha had given Sam the third degree before bringing him around, though the humor faded fast when he remembered Garza’s red and watering eyes. He didn’t want any innocent casualties resulting from his friends’ desire to protect him or their fear for his safety. His well being wasn’t worth more than anyone else’s.

“If she does give you any grief though, let me know, and I’ll talk with her,” he added. “Though, uh. You came up the other day, and she seemed to think pretty highly of you.”

  
  


“Yeah?” He asked, surprised, and sipped his drink to try and stop from looking too pleased with himself. “How bout that. But nah, haven’t seen her around since you stopped bringing her. Probably giving you your space. Which is good!” He hastened to add.

Things were already complicated enough with his friendship with Jack without trying to get him to set him up with his scary probably some kind of government agent friend. No matter how hot her specific brand of scary was.

  
  


Steve couldn’t help but smile into his cup at the hint of a grin on Sam’s face.

They steered clear of too many heavy topics as the conversation went on, and all too soon Steve had finished his coffee and had to bow out, citing his need to pick up dinner before ‘Luke’ got hungry.

He promised to attend the next group session and -- as they were leaving -- took Sam’s hand and shook it.

  
  


\---

  
  


He was on his way back from the gym level-- a place he didn’t often go, but one that had done some good today. He blessed Stark and his ability to create punching bags that could withstand the force of his blows.

At least it left him calmer, more centered feeling, despite the much-loathed sensation of sweat beneath his clothes. He’d be ready to face Steve and look placid and peaceful, just as soon as he’d showered.

He climbed into the elevator and hit the button for their floor, but was surprised when it stopped early, and the doors slid open.

He grimaced at the woman on the other side.

“Jane, I’m sorry--I must smell terribly. Ah, I can take the next one if you like?”

  
  


Jane blinked, then quickly strode in to the elevator. “Actually,” she said, “I was on my way to see you. And trust me, I did grad school lab work with guys who pulled three all-nighters in a row without showering, you’re fine,” she added.

The doors closed and she chewed her lip, putting her thoughts in order as she glanced down at the tablet in her hands. “Loki -- I’m gonna cut to the chase here. When the antimatter went off, did you do something to negate it, or contain it, or minimize the blast?” she asked, looking back up at him for the answer.

  
  


He furrowed his brow, trying to think, but shook his head.

“I think… it seemed to be pulling at the shield I had around it, and, in honesty, when it did go off, I was more concerned with turning the shield back to keep Clint, Bruce, Natasha and I alive.”

Of course, now that she said it, he wondered if there mightn’t have been a way to move the blast elsewhere-- surely robbing Muspelheim of some fire wouldn’t have been too bad, but… he hadn’t thought of it.

He felt a brief surge of guilt, before his mind realized there was a more important thing to focus on, at hand.

“...why do you ask?”

  
  


Jane frowned, tapping her tablet and making a note. “Okay, that... I guess that makes sense tactically.” Her shoulders slumped. “Doesn’t solve my problem though,” she muttered, running a hand back through her hair -- a nervous gesture she’d done so many times, it was turning into a frowsy mess.

“I’ve run the math half a dozen times since the meeting earlier today,” she explained, voice tinged with frustration. “I got the manifest, they had the antimatter on it, but... The quantity listed doesn’t match up to the strength of the blast. The tremors should have been stronger, the coastal events from water displacement more significant -- hell, if the amount that was listed had annihilated with no other mitigating factors, I don’t think the quinjet would have escaped the radius in the time they supposedly had. There would have to be _significantly_ less antimatter than what Roxxon reported.”

  
  


None of which was good news, save that the quinjet _had_ gotten out of range.

“ _How_ significant?” he asked quietly, reaching for the calm he’d had just a few minutes before, even as the elevator stopped on his floor. He didn’t leave, though.

“And have you spoken to the others about the discrepancy yet?”

It was possible they had reported something wrong-- gotten the times wrong, perhaps, or… maybe the midgardians lacked a properly accurate way of measuring how much water was actively not in the ocean now, as opposed to the day before the mission. He wanted to think it was some flaw in their math, but he knew, too, how brilliant Jane’s mind was. She’d been the one to find Steve, after all.

“Natasha and Agent Carter should know right away.”

He found himself reaching for his phone, wanting to tell Steve,but… he wasn’t sure it was the best idea.

He wasn’t home; if it caused a panic while he was at a restaurant picking up food, or out on the street somewhere…

No, better to wait until Loki knew for sure what he needed to report before he worried Steve again about something that, at the moment, none of them could do anything about.

If there was some antimatter missing, they still didn’t know where it had gone, or who had it.

Though, he thought grimly, he could make a good guess.

  
  


Jane grimaced. “It’s antimatter. I’d say _any_ discrepancy is significant. At least, anything more than a few particles.” The violence of even an infinitesimal quantity of antimatter annihilating was alarming, after all.

She chewed her lip again. “And I haven’t gone to them yet -- I wanted to check with you first, in case you did something with your seidr that would account for it that I hadn’t factored in. But apparently not.” Glumly, she stared at the tablet, as if it would yield up some epiphany if she kept looking at it long enough. “I could understand _underreporting_ the amount they had in some cases, but the manifest was confidential. _Overreporting_ it doesn’t make sense, unless they were leaving a generous margin for security reasons, though considering they got boarded by HYDRA, they don’t strike me as being that security-savvy. So either someone at Roxxon fudged the numbers, or...”

She trailed off, no longer wanting to finish the thought as chilling realization sunk in.

  
  


“Let us hope there is some unaccounted for small explosion elsewhere in the world that we have yet to find.” He added, feeling grim about the whole thing.

“JARVIS? Will you summon Natasha and Agent Carter?” He asked.

“ _Agents Carter and Romanov are together in the small meeting room on floor 19. Shall I alert them to your arrival?_ ”

Loki hesitated, not wanting to step on Jane’s toes or appear to be taking credit for her discovery. Besides, he was certain he looked a mess. Nothing he couldn’t clean up with a bit of seidhr, but where he was still rebuilding his stores, and with this news to boot, he was hesitant to squander it on vanity.

“Do you want to tell them on your own, or would you rather I came along with you?”

 

Jane hesitated. “They’re still--?” She fidgeted with the tablet, realizing that Carter and Romanoff had probably been at whatever it was they were discussing for quite a while now.

It wasn’t ideal. But she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I think I’ve got it. But... Thanks.” Walking in to deliver bad news to two already unhappy secret agents wasn’t ideal, and frankly, she wouldn’t have minded Loki’s backup (and wasn’t that an odd thought, given where they started). But he probably wanted to get back to his floor and shower.

Jane could take it from there. She gave Loki a tense, quick smile, and hit the button for floor 19. “I’ll update you if anything else comes up.”

  
  


He gave her a quick nod.

“Thank you for coming to me, first, to ask. I appreciate it.” He responded, holding the doors and stepping through.

“Good luck, and if there are any further questions for me, have JARVIS alert me and I will join you.”

At least this should give him a few minutes to make himself look presentable again-- whether for Steve or more of the team.

He let the doors go, lifting one hand in a half-hearted wave, and hurried back to their rooms and into the bathroom to shower, mind and heart racing as he turned over what sorts of things might come of the loss of antimatter.

And worse, suddenly, despite everyone surviving, his first mission felt even more like a failure.

He wouldn’t call Steve yet, but he was anxious to see him home and safe.

  
  


\--

  
  


The next morning, Steve met with his physical therapist Amir and told him his plan.

Amir was initially skeptical -- he’d seen Steve in very poor condition, after all -- but after Steve completed a number of movement exercises without struggle, he’d been more amenable, and some of his effusive enthusiasm began to leak through.

Steve wasn’t anywhere near ready to begin the kind of hard training he needed if he was going to be back in the field; he was still healing, and his muscles had atrophied significantly, even without the injuries. But he was ready to start being serious about his PT and getting to that point. He would _not_ stay helpless, or remain weak when he had an option to be otherwise.

He might not have Erskine and the serum this time. But, he decided, Amir and his treadmill would do just fine.

  
  


Steve was sweating heavily when he left the gym near noon, feeling shaky and sore but pleased with himself -- so long as he compared himself to where he’d been a few weeks ago, and now where he’d been before HYDRA. But as he opened the door, he almost barreled into a slighter, shorter figure.

“Sorry!” he exclaimed, stepping back, right as Garza blurted the same.

Steve blinked, looking down at her. “Oh. I didn’t realize you guys were all staying in the tower?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Guess the Avengers want their SHIELD allies close enough to keep an eye on,” she replied, watching him warily.

Steve sighed. She was... probably not wrong. But that shouldn’t be the reason they kept their friends close. “Are you okay?” he asked her.

“I’m... yeah,” she replied, looking up at him curiously now. “Thanks. I guess. I’m... mostly embarrassed that I kinda lost it the other day.”

“I think most of the Avengers living in the tower have ‘lost it’ at one time or another, so you’re staying in good company,” he told her in a weak attempt at humor.

The awkwardness hung thickly in the air.

“So, I’m just--”

“--I was gonna--”

They both stopped, and Steve chuckled uncomfortably, running a hand back through his sweaty hair and leaving it standing in spikes. “I, ah. I wanted to say ‘thank you,’” he told her. “I know you tried to scrub some of the footage of me and Loki, and that you and your team helped everyone find me. You’re all valuable assets, and I haven’t had to chance to get to know you at all, but I appreciate the work you do. Even though it’s so classified you’re getting hardly any credit. You’re not... you’re not ‘just the backup.’ To any of us.”

Garza blinked, then flushed. “That’s.... Thanks, Captain.”

Steve shrugged, holding the door open for her. “It’s just Steve now,” he told her.

Garza shook her head, the corner of her mouth pulling upward. “Nah, man. You’re always gonna be our Captain.”

She let the door fall closed behind her, and Steve headed for the elevators, wondering what to make of that.

  
  


\---

  
  


“This is boring. I’m bored.”

“You’re like a _child,”_ Bruce mumbled in exasperation in response to Tony’s complaints.

“Nazis are boring. No amount of obsessive history-channel specials can make them otherwise. Narrow-minded, tunnel-visioned fascists. They didn’t even acknowledge, like, half the physics available to them,” Tony griped, setting aside another ream of documents. “I mean, there’s not even any good science in here, it’s all angry crazy-guy screeds right outta the 1930s.”

Jane sighed as she scrolled through digital files. “There does seem to be a lot of work related to the Tesseract here, though as far as I know, they only had their hands on it during WWII.”

“SHIELD had their hands on it,” Tony pointed out grimly. “Phase Two. There’s a good chance HYDRA got their intel.”

“If Jane’s right and there’s a chance HYDRA got some of the antimatter off the ship before we arrived... would that be a comparable source of power to the Tesseract?” Bruce asked.

Jane made a face. “I never worked with the Tesseract, but from what Erik said... they both might be powerful as hell, but I don’t know if they’d be comparable?”

“Seriously, this is all just-- listen to this,” Tony read aloud, “ ‘ _The superior being shall be the first in a new race of gods to walk this earth’_ \-- newsflash, buddy, we’ve got gods walking the Earth, and they keep eating me out of house and home. Well, Thor mostly...”

 

“Yes, I’m afraid my brother has always had a stomach like a pit.” Loki said easily as he entered. “Though given he’s gone as often as he is here, it must even out a bit.”

He looked around and arched an eyebrow.

“But I suspect that has little enough to do with HYDRA and where they may have taken the missing Antimatter. I came to see if there was any way I might be of help?”

He turned toward Jane.

“Is there any chance of us building a map of antimatter, much as we did the one of instances of my seidhr? You’d mentioned tracking the tesseract similarly, did you not?” He glanced towards Tony at the last, then paused.

“Or is it like finding Steve, in that it does not give off something, so much as suck it in?”

  
  


“Neither,” Jane said with a grimace. “Antimatter releases radiation when it annihilates, which we might be able to track, though it decays rapidly with minimal fallout. But if it’s maintained in a stable state, then no. Unless we hunted down every electromagnet on the planet.”

“Basically, unless it goes ‘boom,’ we have no way scientifically of knowing where it is,” Bruce added with a dejected look.

“In the meantime, we’re digging through files to see if we can find the reasons why HYDRA needs this stuff,” Jane explained, gesturing to the files.

“My current theory,” Bruce said, rifling through a few papers, “is they might be looking for an energy source to create radiation similar to the rays used in Project Rebirth, since that’s consistent with their wanting Steve.”

“Meanwhile _I_ think,” Jane interjected, “their preoccupation with portal physics is--”

“ ‘ _It is only through the eradication of chaos and the implementation of a true, perfect order through the universe that we can ascend...’_ seriously, what the hell am I even reading?” Tony interjected.

Bruce sighed. “What box is that from?”

Tony glanced down. “Looks like one of the recent ones.”

Jane leaned over his shoulder. “Well, they must be quoting old material. That quote is attributed to Johann Schmidt from the looks of it, so it has to be seventy years old.”

At that, Tony shook his head with a noise of disgust. “No new ideas in seventy years -- what’d I tell you? Boring!”

Bruce looked up at Loki apologetically. “We wouldn’t mind your company on this one, if you aren’t busy with other stuff.”

  
  


Loki shrugged.

With Steve recovering enough that he had more demands on his time for physical activity, he found himself left with the option of healing others, or seeking out the Avengers to try and make himself useful. And given the fact that he didn’t get to interact with his patients… well, this appealed to a part of him that just wanted to be around people, and sounds, and conversation, for a time.

“I’d be happy to help, though, again, my understanding of the science is spotty at best. You want me to search for any mention of needing a power source? Specifically in relation to any information on replicating Steve’s serum or creating a transport system like the bifrost, is that right?”

He pulled a box towards him and settled on the floor with it, poised to begin digging once he understood.

“And clearly there are _some_ new ideas-- after all, they haven’t been after these power sources for that long. We would have noticed sooner. Which begs the additional question of _why now?_ ”

  
  


Bruce shrugged. “‘Now’ could have been several years in the making. Steve only came out of the ice pretty recently. So if they’re after creating more supersoldiers... well, I’m proof there’s been more than one attempt since the forties,” he noted with a grimace. “But Steve is the only success so far. Having potential access to him could have taken that plan back off the backburner.”

“And if it’s wormholes they’re trying to work with, we’ve only had contemporary contact with bifrost portal tech since Thor showed up in 2011,” Jane added. “Before that it was purely theoretical.”

“And HYDRA’s apparently been alive and well since World War Two, despite the appearance of having been squashed like a bunch of nazi bugs,” Tony said, scowling. “Looks like they floundered a bit without Skull and after the Allies kicked their asses, but they obviously kept up with the whole fascist übermensch idea. And they seem committed to Schmidt’s ideology. Which, by the way, the guy went on ad nauseum about if these files are anything to judge by -- they keep turning up more bits of his manifesto.” He held up one of the pages, reading aloud theatrically. “‘ _Death is the One True Order, and as instruments of Destruction, as the Sword of Order, we shall relieve this world of its freedom and establish Supreme Order, tearing down the Old to replace with the New’_ \-- I need more mustache so I can twirl it while I read this.”

“He sounds like a Saturday morning cartoon villain,” Jane noted with a thin smile.

Tony snorted. “Right? At this point, I’d have paid money to watch Cap sock the guy in the jaw.”

“Focus,” Bruce reminded, though his tone was amused. He looked up at Loki with a shrug. “Honestly, we’re just looking for anything that sticks out or suggests an agenda. There’s a lot of bullshit to dig through, but the better we understand them and what they’re about, the more likely we’ll be to get a step ahead of them instead of reacting all the time.”

“I’ll put on more hot water for tea,” Jane said, straightening up and cracking her back. “Do you take it with sugar?”

  
  


Loki shuddered; the paper Tony read was the ramblings of a mad man, and one such as that as a leader, particularly one who inspired the sort of devotion he apparently had… it never boded well. Even despite him having been gone so long.

“I do, thank you.” He told Jane, flashing a smile.

Over the edge of his box, he glanced at Bruce, giving him a thorough once over. He seemed well enough, healthy despite their exposure to the cold. And he wasn’t treating Loki any different since being exposed to his Jotun form. None of them were, and though he knew Steve was probably right-- it meant nothing to them, unlike his own feelings on the subject-- it still was… nice. To feel, if not accepted in that shape, certainly not rejected because of it.

He could only be glad that Thor had not been there.

He sent another glance in Jane’s direction, grateful that she had not seen directly. She would have no reason to search for the images, as he had. And even less reason to mention it to his brother, when he did return.

It seemed, against all odds, that his slip had been fairly without repercussion, this time. Save the rumors, which would die down in time, he was sure.

The images were not clear enough, too much blue from the sea and sky, allowing his Jotun form to blend in rather than stand out, for once.

They were safe. His secret was safe. For now.

At least, until they figured out what Hydra was planning.

He turned his attention back to the paperwork at hand and nearly groaned.

The print was small and rambling, and there was a lot of it.

It was going to be a very long afternoon, he was sure.

  
  
  


 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just In Case](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4299231) by [AgentMal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentMal/pseuds/AgentMal)




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